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reidrum · 17 days ago

Text

under the mistletoe

note: happy first day of reidrumas! a nice little munch!spencer to keep you warm <3

summary: in which penelope uses a plant to get her friends together, or the time you find yourself under the mistletoe with spencer

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, munch!spencer, fingering, oral (f receiving), heavy kissing, idiots in love, friends to lovers, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and heels

wc: 2.8k

12 days of reidrumas

The annual BAU Christmas Party became an accord Penelope headed all on her own, and was a job she took very seriously. The amount of times the team had been called away on a case near or on a major holiday is too sad a number to count, so whenever there was certainty that there would be no case or bureau event, Penelope went all in.

That is, on David Rossi’s credit card, of course.

Light up sleighs and reindeers adorned the front lawn of Rossi’s mansion, of which was decorated with red ribbons and twinkle lights galore. The silhouette of the biggest Christmas tree you think you’d ever seen was illuminated in the window as you approached the front, rubbing clammy hands down the sides of your dress.

You don’t even know why you’re so nervous, just that you are. While it had been some time since you had joined the team and you have definitely had some fun nights out with them, the nerves never get easier to deal with when you know a certain genius will be in your presence.

It seemed everyone knew of your crush on Spencer except the man himself. The way your face heats up when you’re near him, the words tripping over each other as you try to speak, somehow are not dead giveaways to him. If he notices your nerves, he doesn’t mention it, and you don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

A call of your name from the bottom of the stairs grabs your attention, and you see none other than Spencer coming up the stairs to meet you. He straightens out his sweater and looks at all of you, “You look nice.”

Suddenly you forget what words are, “Um…I.. thanks! I just got this, and I thought the antlers would be cute too.” you gesture to the light up headband.

“They’re really cute.” he smiles and gestures you to walk in, and you’re both ambushed by Penelope immediately.

“You’re here! Oh, you look so cute with your little reindeer antlers,” she gushes, “And Spencer! Looking so dapper!” You both walk down the hallway with her, seemingly leading you to the kitchen when she abruptly stops halfway.

“You’re too cheery. What did you do?” you squint.

“Don’t hate me.”

Your eyebrows raise, “What did you do?”

“Why would we hate you?” Spencer says at the same time.

Penelope pauses, and with a hint of mischief in her voice, “Look up.”

Your eyes trail upwards to the arch of the door you’re both stood in, and there hanging with its leaves and red and white berries tied in ribbon, is of course, mistletoe.

“Penny.” you mumble under your breath. If she heard you she paid no mind, only beaming at you both with her Cheshire cat grin. You look over at poor Spencer, who’s sheepish smile and red cheeks are breaking through his stoic demeanor.

“Did you know mistletoe in nature is actually poisonous? It’s a parasitic plant that has to grow on other trees in order to survive. But it’s holiday tradition comes from Norse mythology when the son of Odin is killed and his mother is so upset her tears turn into the berries on the plant, as a symbol of her love for him.” Spencer rambles out of nervousness.

“That sounds nice Spence,” Penelope grabs both of your hands and positions you in front of each other in the doorway, “Okay great, I’m sure you know the rules of mistletoe. Now kiss.”

“Penelope.” you lightly chide. Her persistence is a match for no one, there’s no way of getting out.

“You have to, that’s the rule! If you don’t, Christmas will be ruined!” she sighs dramatically.

You blink at her a few times hoping she understands that she’s out of her mind and that it’s a little cruel to put you and Spencer in this situation. This is probably his worst nightmare. He has that thing with germs you remember and you both are merely friends so there’s no way he’d see you like that, yet alone want to kiss you because a plant said you had to.

Spencer clears his throat in front of you, and says with a soft voice, “Well, if it’s going to ruin Christmas…”

Huh. Maybe not as cruel as you think.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, “You’re okay with this?”

He nods sheepishly, “I—I mean I love holidays, and even though I’d never done this part of Christmas, I’d hate to break tradition….”

You look at him with disbelief, but Penelope’s smile could not be wider and she squeals, “Amazing! Okay, I’m ready.”

You both look at her knowingly, and she immediately puts her hands up. “Alright, fine! I can take a hint. But, I want details later, both of you.” she busies herself off in the kitchen.

Spencer turns his body to face you, hands tentatively reaching out to ghost the curve of your hips. His eyes look to you for permission, and with a slight nod he takes purchase, bringing you closer while resting his hands on your sides. You gingerly place your flat palms on his shoulders, and it’s then you realize just how close you both are. His breath fans softly against your face, and even in heels you find yourself rising a bit further to meet his lips.

Just mere milliseconds before your lips meet he whispers with the softest pitch you’ve ever heard, “You sure this is okay?”

You think you give him a nod and a word of approval, but it’s lost as soon as you press your lips onto his with no hesitancy. His hands pull you closer to him, leaning deeper into the kiss. The endorphins run loose before being corralled immediately as the kiss ends as quickly as it began.

He pulls back and he stares at your puffy lips, lips that are puffy because of him and it’s enough to drive him insane. He needs to find a way to have you like that again, to feel your lips against his again fearless of a watchful eye, to show you that he really doesn’t give a damn for tradition, but would do rituals and ceremonies on end if it meant getting to kiss you like that again.

You’re about to say something when your name is called from the living room, the other girls now noticing your arrival and waving you over to grab a drink. You look between them and Spencer, “I should go,” you say reluctantly, “Find me later?”.

He smiles softly, “I’ll find you later.”

You hesitate before moving, wondering if it’s even a good idea. But you realize you’re already this far deep, so what difference would it make? Your eyes dart between the girls and Spencer once more making sure they’re not looking, and rise to your toes again to kiss his cheek, “See you later, Spence.”

A blush rises to his cheek as he touches the spot with his fingers, watching you walk into the living room. You might be the death of him, he thinks.

—

The party’s gone on, games of white elephant are played and countless wine bottles are scattered around the place. He finds himself in an aimless conversation with Matt and Luke, he thinks they’re talking about some sport, but all Spencer can think about is you and your damn lips.

You’re addictive, he’s come to find. He’s had a taste of the forbidden fruit and now fully empathizes with Eve, thinking if something was as nectarious as you, he’d also have to go to great lengths to get it again.

He excuses himself from the conversation, not caring if they said anything, and goes off to find you. You’re sat on the loveseat with JJ that’s entirely too small for the two of you, but you certainly look comfy wedged into the seat. He circles around the back, resting a hand on your shoulder to let you know of his presence and bending down to whisper in your ear, “Is this a good time to find you?”

You startle a little at the voice, calming once you recognize it to be Spencer. You’re surprised he actually came and found you like he said he would, and by the look of his face it seemed like a determined mission.

“I’d say it is,” you smile up at him, his body looming over you behind the couch. He holds a hand out for you, “I’ll be back, J.” you tell her as you stand up. She looks between you and Spencer and a smug look rises to her face.

“Okay…be safe.” she winks. You groan.

Spencer leads you away from the bustle of the living room and further into the depths of Rossi’s mansion. You both walk side by side, talking aimlessly about anything and everything, grateful to have moments just walking with each other. You push open on a fancy door, revealing a vastly large room but with the same crown modeling as the rest of the place. A three piece couch set rests in the middle, and bookshelves filled with antiques line the walls.

You’re intrigued by the telescope pointed out the window, bending down to look through it. Spencer looks up from the book he’s holding on the other side of the room and watches you. You’re ethereal, the moonlight casting a soft glow on your figure making you look like an angel from above. You gaze through the lens to look at the stars, and he can’t help but wonder how lucky he is to have you in front of him and not in the sky with the rest of them.

“Can I confess something?”

You straighten your back and turn around, eyes widening, “Um, sure.”

“Nothing scary, I promise,” he reassures.

“That’s not concerning.”

He takes a deep breath, “I had an ulterior motive, when I came to find you.”

Your brows furrow nervously, “What do you mean?”

“No no, I meant it, it’s nothing bad,” he confesses, “I just… really wanted to kiss you again.”

Oh. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Who else?” he chuckles.

You stammer, “W—Well, I just wasn’t sure…”

He nods and slowly walks to you, “Would that be okay?”

You look up at him and see that he’s so close again. The waft of his cologne invades your senses. His hair is long again, you told him once he looked good with long hair and he hasn’t so much as looked at some scissors since then. The ends of his curls tickle your forehead when his head dips, lips mere nanometers away.

“Yeah.” you barely muster an audible whisper.

The corners of his lips twitch, “Yeah?” he says in the same pitch, leaning even closer.

“Please.”

His lips press to yours again for the second time this night, and he kisses you with a fervor you couldn’t comprehend. He brings one hand up to cradle the back of your head, padding the impact as he uses the other to back you against the wall. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging on the roots that makes him fold even more into you.

Kisses travel down the side of your neck to the nape, and he spends time littering the area with lovebites. The soft gasps that leave your mouth only spur him on, but it’s not nearly enough for him.

“Sweetheart,” he pants between kisses, “Need to—fuck—need to taste you, please. Can I?

Your blown out eyes meet his, and it wasn’t even an option to say no when he was begging you so desperately, “Yeah, yes, please.”

His hand snakes through the slit on your dress, tracing the edges of your panties and grinning when he hears your breath hitch. He toys with the edge some more before dipping a finger below the band, never touching you where you really need him but getting awfully close.

“Spence..” you whine.

He groans, “Fuck, you sound so pretty saying my name and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He puts you out of your misery when he finally drags the pad of his index to the bundle of nerves at your center, tracing light circles that draw the prettiest moans he’s ever heard.

You grip his forearms for more stability, feeling your legs turn to jelly. Spencer sees your struggle and wraps an arm around your waist, “I got you, pretty girl it’s okay.” A few more minutes of teasing you and marking you relentlessly and he decides you’re okay enough for him to stand on your own, so he can sink to his knees in front of you.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he crouches down, making sure you’re okay every step of the way. His finger is still tracing a line from your clit to your entrance, the wet line seeping through your panties. He bunches up your dress and silently gestures to you to hold it, and steadies his hands on either side of your hips. He presses chaste kisses up your thighs, your breath getting heavier with each one closer to your center. The delirium hits an all time high when he presses a firm kiss to your core.

Skilled fingers hook your panties to the side, revealing you in all your glistening glory, “Look at you,” he marvels hoarsely, “that all for me?”

You nod fast, “Yes, yes Spence please.” you whine out, you’d sound like you were in pain if it were anyone else.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, don’t do that. I’m gonna take care of you, promise.” he coos, calming your pleas, “Come on, leg on my shoulder.”

The new angle opens you up beautifully for him and he can’t help himself when he leans in and swipes a tentative tongue through your folds, satisfied when he hears the sound of a guttural moan leave you.

You immediately slam your hand over mouth as he taunts, “Careful sweetheart, can’t be too loud or someone’s gonna walk in.”

You try to keep your moans and whimpers to a minimum as he continues eating you out like a man depraved, like all he was meant for on this earth was to be between your legs. He prods a finger around your entrance and slowly slips it in, you whimper and clamp your fingers into his hair tugging tightly.

Spencer groans into you at the feeling, and adds another finger swiftly moving them in and out. You’re getting close, he can feel it from the way you clench around his fingers, unable to stop himself from thinking about how you’d feel clenching around him.

“Ah—I’m….I’m close.” you whimper.

He speeds up ever so slightly, “Yeah? Okay angel, you can let go, it’s okay.”

Soon your climax washes over you, with you gripping his hair tightly and his fingers never faltering as he rides you through it. He slows down his pace as you come down before gently taking them out and giving you one last lick through your folds before standing up.

You yelp but it’s quickly muffled by him kissing you again. He feels you smile into the kiss and matches you before you both start giggling and pull away.

He can hear the smile in your voice when you rest your forehead on his shoulder, “That was…”

An arm wraps around you again to hold stable, “Good, I hope?”

You press a soft kiss at the base of his neck, “Really good. I guess we have to thank Penny now.”

“Actually…”

“What?”

“I may have been the one to tell her to put some mistletoe up.” He confesses sheepishly.

“You told her? S—So you could…like…” you ramble.

“So I would have a chance to kiss you, yes.”

You get real shy in front of him as if he wasn’t on his knees for you five minutes ago, “That’s really sweet…you could’ve told me.”

“I wanted to! But I thought you might not feel the same way because I notice how you are around me and I didn’t want to overwhelm you, but then Penelope told me you felt the same and I just figured one of us had to pull the bandaid off.”

You smile shyly, “I get nervous around you, because I really really like you.” you quietly admit.

He pulls you close into his chest, kissing your forehead softly, “Well that’s good then, because I really really like you too.”

Penelope is obviously over the moon when she finds out, giddy as can be knowing her two best friends are now together. What she doesn’t tell you, is how she sends the mistletoe to a preservation company to be pressed and framed. She’s just preparing to have the best gift ever to bring to your wedding.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #reidrumas

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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

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Soft Dami is my favorite, especially when he has a partner or friemd and hides it from his family.

This became a ‘Batfamily trying who Damian is hiding from them.’ Type fic.

Damian hates sharing. Absolutely loathes it.

He already bore a shared moniker with his older siblings who -for the most part- have moved on to bigger and better things, creating their own versions of justice as vigilantes, leading teams of their own.

He shared a lot with his siblings and has come to hate the phrase sharing is caring, to Damian it was nothing more then a phrase that was so overused and abused by the likes of Dick and Jason, so much so to the point that the word had lost it’s dictionary meaning.

So when he entered in a relationship with you, Damian vowed to keep your name out of his mouth within the presence of his family. Which at first was extremely hard as all poor Damian could think about was you and how blessed he was that you’ve given him a chance; He had to bite down on his tongue a most of the time whenever he was asked if there was anyone at school that he had taken a liking towards.

Of course he has someone he’s taken a likening to, you. However he couldn’t let himself falter so easily and only scoffed at the question as though it was beneath him, before then reminding everyone at the table that he was only at school for academics and honing his artist skills, nobody in that rathole of a school could ever hold his attention for longer then five minutes.

Luckily his family believed this excuse and let the dropped the topic not long after, much to his relief in knowing that he was spared another day from ever having to share the one person in his life -outside of his family- that he cared deeply for.

However luck tends to run out and the glaring fact that his family was sharp as knives- especially Tim- at detective stuff, so much so that in retrospect Damian knew he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was the day his siblings eventually figured out everything…

‘He’s…smiling.’ Dick looked back at Jason, Tim, Duke and Steph before looking back at Damian who was subtly smiling down at his phone. ‘Oh my god he’s actually smiling.’ Dick repeats as Jason shoves him out of the way to get a better look.

‘He’s smiling alright, but what about.’ Jason said.

‘Or who.’ Steph piped up and the others looked at her.

‘Wanna elaborate on that Steph?’ Jason asked, raising his brow and she shrugged. ‘I’ve been noticing recently how Damian’s been more on his phone than he’s ever been since getting one.’ She begins. ‘He never engages in the group chat, not once but here he is, using his phone and smiling at whoever’s on the other side. Damian is actually talking to someone.’ She finishes, feeling happy at the fact that Damian had opened his heart to at least someone

‘Or he could be planning a murder.’ Tim said sarcastically and Steph playfully punches him in the arm. ‘But let’s go with the idea that he’s talking to someone for convenience sake.’ He adds on, rubbing his arm.

‘How do we prove it though?’ Duke pipes up, catching the other’s attention. ‘We’d have to somehow get Damian away from his phone long enough for us to check but the question is,’ Duke then looked at Jason, Steph, Tim and Dick, ‘who’s going to be the one to lure him out while the rest of us have a look?’

‘I think we should take a-‘ Dick was greeted with a face full everyone’s pointed fingers aimed in his direction like guns. ‘Vote.’ His face fell as his siblings gave him false sympathies before shoving him into the library with Damian and slamming the door behind him. Hard.

‘What do you want Grayson.’ Damian said, the smile upon his face now gone the moment he realised that he was no longer alone to freely text you, at least not without someone looking over his shoulder.

‘Oh hi Damian.’ Dick greets as he moves towards him, taking note of how he kept his phone close to his chest, almost as if he was hiding something he didn’t want anyone else to see. ‘I overheard Bruce this morning saying that he had something to talk to you about, something about implementing harder training modules for you?’ Damian practically perked up at this and Dick found his opening and honed in on it by shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m not entirely certain that’s the case, so I’d double check with Bruce if I were you.’

Damian looked at his sibling for a long period of time and sighed. ‘Fine, I shall check in with father but Grayson I swear to god if this is a lie…’

Dick crossed his heart. ‘Scouts honour.’

‘Tt.’ Was all Damian uttered before leaving the room, not realising that he had left his phone on the plush couch in the library.

Bingo dick thought as Jason popped his head in through the doorway. ‘Is little Robin gone?’

‘Little Robin is gone.’ Dick confirmed and watched as Jason’s head disappeared as he, Steph, Tim and Duke came into the room, closing the door for extra measure in the instance Damian realised his fault and comes running back with his sword to skewer them all.

‘Now,’ Stephanie rubs her hands together maniacally, ‘let’s see who our Damian has been talking to.’ She then picks up the phone, expecting it to be locked but to her surprise, it wasn’t, she gasps.

‘What? What is it?’ Tim asked, trying to get a look at the phone screen.

‘He’s left his phone unlocked. Rookie mistake.’ She replied and Dick, Tim, Jason and Duke only stared at her, unamused.

‘Just…tell us who he’s been texting so we can put this to rest.’ Duke said as the others agreed, the anticipation was killing them at this point, but so would Damian if he comes back just when they were so close to discovering the truth.

‘Okay, okay sheesh, I’ll look.’ Steph said and looked away from her brothers and back down at the screen, looking intently before her face became one of confusion as he read the contact name aloud. ‘My treasure.’

Dick blinked. ‘What?’

‘Give it here.’ Jason snatched the phone from Stephanie and it wasn’t long for his face to be one of confusion as he looked towards his other siblings, holding up the phone. ‘The contact name is literally just my treasure. No photos of them, nothing.’ He tells them as Tim snatched the phone from him.

‘I could find us a name in under five minutes maximum but-‘

‘What’re you doing with my phone, Drake?’

Tim, Duke, Steph, Jason and Dick froze upon hearing Damian’s voice, followed by the unsheathing of a sword.

‘Should we run now or?’ Dick asked.

‘Running sounds good.’ Duke agreed.

‘Running sounds great.’ Steph joined in.

‘And it has beneficial effects on the body.’ Tim chimed.

‘Running it is by unanimous vote.’ Jason then said as all of them sprinted for their lives as Damian chased them out of the library, sword in hand, and eyes full of fury and other conflicting emotions.

He knew he made the right choice in changing your contact name on everything, but knew if they had been given just a bit more time and looked deep into his photo album, they would’ve saw a beautiful portrait of you that he drew a while back that would’ve gave everything away.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff

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asilentsongbird · 1 year ago

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Original post

"You have been charged with evading arrest. Do you accept the charges against you?"

You really don't know what to say. Especially since it's Neuvillette asking you.

You had been quietly, secretly dating for a few months. Neither of you were ready to talk with others about your relationship, and Neuvillette was always worried someone might use your relationship to their own advantage.

You shrug at your boyfriend, unsure of what to do. He lets out a sigh, as though this whole thing is an inconvenience. It sort of is.

He knows as well as you do that the charges won't stick. Because out of all the places you were last night, you were in the perfect place for an airtight alibi.

You were in Neuvillette's arms.

"I suppose?" you manage, feeling quite put on the spot.

It can't be helped, really. Though you had been to the Opera House before, you had never been there as a defendant. Most of the time you came here to pick Neuvillette up when he worked too late.

"Then we shall proceed."

Your shoulders slump slightly. Well, at least you'll get to see the Fortress of Meropide.

"Though typically at this time we would go over the charges and discuss evidence, I will have to intervene on this trial. The defendant could not have evaded arrest," Neuvillette said calmly, arms crossed over his chest.

To anyone else, he looks like the picture of ease. It's kind of nice being so close to Neuvillette right now, it allows only you to see the tips of his ears turn pink.

"Oh? And how can you say that?" Furina demands, looking quite upset that she isn't going to get a show.

Somehow, Neuvillette manages to stay composed as he answers, "Because she was with me last night."

Oh, poor Neuvillette looks ready to die from embarrassment. He was never going to live this down.

"I KNEW IT!"

You cover your face with your hands out of embarrassment, though it was a bit funny to see Furina leaning over the balcony of her chair, looking beyond happy that Neuvillette finally said something.

"Yes, well, if that is all, then I will dismiss this case," Neuvillette said, clearly embarrassed.

"IT MOST CERTAINLY IS NOT ALL!"

From the excited look on Furina's face, and the exasperated one on Neuvillette's, you had a feeling that this really was far from over.

Oh well, at least you don't have to keep anything a secret anymore.

#neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader

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literaryavenger · 10 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday

Summary: It's your birthday and the only person who doesn't seem to be excited about it is you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Angst. Fluff. Language probably. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: This story was completely self-indulgent, but I hope someone out there likes it!

Masterlist

You’ve always been very reluctant to celebrate your birthday.

You haven’t had a birthday party since you were 12. The following year your mom died a couple of days before and neither you nor your family were in the mood to celebrate anything.

It wasn’t by any means unexpected, she had been sick for a few years, but it still hit you hard.

You were the youngest and were far too young when she first got sick to really understand everything going on.

You were 8 and all you really remember is watching your mom get more and more sick until eventually there was nothing more the doctors could do.

Her death hit you hard and you closed yourself off, never talking about it or even crying after the day of her funeral. To this day you’ve still never cried, in front of others or even by yourself.

You started exercising to channel all your energy, refusing to do anything more like the therapy your family suggested.

When you were 15 you discovered SHIELD and decided you wanted to help others, so you signed up for the SHIELD Academy, working your hardest and pushing yourself to your very limit.

You ended up being not only the youngest cadet ever, but the youngest to actually graduate and then the youngest recruit at SHIELD at only 16 years old.

Natasha was very impressed when she heard about you and took a liking to you, convincing Fury to make you part of her team during her missions and teaching you everything she knows.

That’s how you ended up in the Avengers Initiative, not that you felt you didn’t deserve it since you know how hard you worked and everything you gave up to work towards this achievement.

The team themselves were initially skeptical since you were barely 18 during the battle of New York, but they were quickly proven wrong when they saw how well you handled yourself against the Chitauri.

You were devastated when SHIELD fell, but carried on as an Avenger, battling Ultron and then moving to the Compound with the team.

You met the actual Bucky for the first time when you were 22, during the whole Civil War thing with Baron Zemo. Like Natasha, you were on Tony’s team, fighting mostly Pietro, but the conflict eventually ended.

It took Tony some time to get over the whole “Bucky killing his parents while brainwashed” thing, but, as he likes to say, he can’t call himself a genius without admitting that Bucky didn’t have much of a choice.

Thanks to Tony’s help Shuri was able to find a solution to Bucky’s brainwashing faster than she would’ve alone, meaning Bucky didn’t have to go back into cryo and was pretty quickly cleared to join the team, about a year after the airport battle in Leipzig.

You were warmly accepted by everybody and, the more the team grew the more you felt at home with these people.

And now you wish you could burn down the whole compound because, somehow, Tony convinced you to have a birthday party for the first time in 13 years because, in his words, 'you only turn 25 once'.

Good news is you managed to make him limit the guest list to the team and other people close to you like Maria Hill and Fury. Bad news is you’re still gonna be the center of attention, which you hate.

You couldn’t stop Tony from making everyone dress up for the party, and you couldn’t stop the team from getting you gifts even though you insisted all you wanted was everyone together and to have fun with them since for the longest time nobody ever even knew when your birthday was.

What you didn’t realize was that the only person more worried than you about your gifts was Bucky.

Since he joined the team the two of you have gotten close, starting with his first training with the team where he very loudly told Steve about his disbelief that someone as young and small as you could actually be an asset to the team.

You quickly put him in his place by taking him down after less than two minutes of sparring, taking full advantage of his underestimating you because he “didn’t want to hurt a pretty little thing like you.”

Admittedly he was impressed and wasn’t shy about letting you know that, while the rest of the team snickered at his initial shock when you pinned him down.

You became friends after that, not as close as you’d like but friends nonetheless.

If you were honest with yourself you’ve been harboring a little crush on the supersoldier, but he’s never shown any interest so you resigned yourself to just being his friend.

Something that you did come to treasure, though, is your and Bucky’s late night talks.

It started with you walking in on him in the kitchen on a late night where you couldn’t sleep, nothing new to you, but the two of you barely talked other than acknowledging each other.

You took a bottle of water and left.

A couple of days later you ran into him again and you stood there in silence while you made yourself a cup of tea and then left for your room.

A few days later again he was just sitting there and said nothing as you made your tea, except this time you put a cup in front of him and silently took a seat next to him at the counter.

Two nights later when you arrived at the kitchen he was already there with a cup of tea in front of him and one in front of the seat next to him.

You didn’t want to assume it was for you, but you took a chance when you noticed it was the cup you always used, a blue mug with Stitch on it that says “Let’s get weird”. Your favorite in fact.

You hesitantly sat down next to him and, without you having to ask or without even looking at you, he told you that the nights you stay up late because you can’t sleep you tend to be more quiet during the team dinners and while you hang out afterwards.

You didn’t say anything in return and just sat there, trying not to overthink how much he seemed to watch you.

But the more nights you spent like that, the more you two talked and you gathered quickly that Bucky is a very observant person, nothing more.

You loved the time you spent together after dark where you’d talk about everything and anything, but come morning it was almost as if it never happened, which you came to accept.

It weirdly made the nights you spent talking even more special, which was almost every night.

But back to the present, you’re currently getting ready with Natasha and Wanda, who know much more than you about hair and makeup and are always happy to help you out with getting ready for Stark parties.

You put on the black cocktail dress with rhinestones all over the corset and a slit down the left side, then the three of you make your way to the party room and you take a deep breath before entering.

Everyone is already there, all dressed up in fancy clothes as they all shout “Happy Birthday”.

You laugh and say hi to everybody while they all take turns hugging you, there’s not too many people but everyone important to you is there.

Even Laura and Clint’s kids are there, which you consider a second family at this point, since Laura always did treat you like a daughter.

You hate to admit that it's a nice party.

Knowing you, everyone makes an effort to not put you too much at the center of attention and you just go around talking to your friends like every other party.

Eventually time comes for the cake and, the moment you kind of dreaded, opening the gifts.

Since it's the first birthday you allowed the team to celebrate everyone decided to go all in for your gifts, which you picked up on from the very first gift you open.

Pietro got you a first edition of “The Picture Of Dorian Gray” which is your all time favorite book, Wanda and Maria got you a leather jacket and an amazing pair of boots that you knew were expensive because you were all out shopping together when you came across them.

Steve got you a gold heart-shaped locker with a picture of the team inside it, Natasha got you a charm bracelet with a little charm to represent everyone on the team, and Sam got you a cute necklace with your birth stone on it.

When you open Fury’s gift you start laughing since it's a gun, a SIG SAUER P226 to be precise, which is very Fury.

“It was my first gun when I joined SHIELD.” He says with a smile and you smile back, knowing how much thought he put into this gift.

You open Clint’s gift next, a bow and arrow that he already taught you how to use, and Laura got you a pair of diamond earrings.

Your heart melts when you open Lila, Cooper and Nathaniel’s gifts, respectively a friendship bracelet, an Avengers action figure of yourself and a Stitch plushie.

The three of them hug you tightly as you say thank you and now you only have two gifts left, Tony’s and Bucky’s, and they’re both little boxes.

You open Tony’s next, thinking it’s some fancy necklace or earring but you frown when you see a car key.

“Is this the key to your car?” you ask Tony, knowing full well you’re holding the key to an Audi R8 Spyder, the car Tony’s let you borrow so many times you’re now wondering if he’s gifting you his spare set of keys.

“No.” He says casually “It’s the key to your car.”

You’re even more confused and simply stare at him with your mouth gaped, not really processing the information.

“Y-you… You got me a car?!” You almost yell out of shock and everyone else starts laughing at your antics when you start basically jumping up and down and hugging Tony, squealing like a little girl.

“Well, come on, let’s go see it!” Tony says enthusiastically after you’ve calmed down, and you get up, just as enthusiastic, but are stopped by Steve’s voice.

“Wait, wait. You have one gift left.” He says, picking up the small box and giving it to you. “It’s from Bucky.”

You were so pumped up by the car, you almost forgot about it and completely miss the mischievous look Steve gives Bucky and the murderous glare Bucky gives back.

You also miss Bucky starting to protest before you open his gift, but he instantly shuts up when he sees your face falling the second you open it.

It’s a small necklace with a blue rose in it, it really looks like something you’d give a little girl more than a 25 year old woman.

You look at it for a minute, running your finger on it before you raise your head and look at Bucky.

The whole room goes silent as they all watch you worriedly, everyone noticing immediately that tears are streaming down your face.

Nobody understands what’s happening and nobody knows how to react or what to do, it’s like they’re all frozen by the sight of you being vulnerable for the first time ever.

Meanwhile Bucky’s heart is beating so loud he’s sure everyone around him can hear it, and he feels himself starting to panic at the thought of having ruined your birthday with that stupid gift.

Everybody else got you expensive gifts and all he did was get you a small, cheap necklace that reminded him of a story you briefly talked about once on one of your late night talks about a necklace you had as a kid.

He saw it at the mall while looking for a gift for you, remembering the sweet smile you had on your face when you mentioned it and the fleeting sad look he thought he saw when you told him you lost it when you were 12.

He was really proud of himself for that gift, but the more he saw the other gifts you got the more he regretted his choice, especially after Tony gave you a fucking car.

And now you were crying, not saying anything while just looking at him.

He doesn’t know what to expect from you at the moment, nobody does, he thinks you might yell, throw his gift back at him, tell him how much you hate it and him.

But you surprise everyone by throwing your arms around Bucky’s neck, hugging him tightly while crying into his shoulder.

You honestly forgot telling Bucky about that story and certainly didn’t expect him to remember it, especially since you always got the feeling that he didn’t care about your talks as much as you.

You just assumed that come morning he deleted everything you told him to make room for more important things, and you didn’t blame him.

But he didn’t.

What you didn’t tell him about the necklace is that your mom gave it to you because blue roses were her favorite, you had that necklace since you were born but you somehow lost it the day of her funeral.

That day you lost the two most important things in your life and cried yourself to sleep, and that was the last time you allowed yourself to be weak and cry.

Until today.

Bucky hesitantly wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back hoping to get you to calm down. He looks around at the rest of the team, panicking a little and not knowing what to do.

Everyone else is as clueless as he is, never having seen you in such a state before.

Bucky starts apologizing, his heart breaking at the sight of you crying, and he feels horrible that it’s because of him.

You shake your head quickly and pull away a little to look at him, wanting to reassure him you’re not sad or angry but incredibly happy, but words refuse to come. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and finally manage to speak.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” It’s quiet, but it’s something, and it’s enough to make Bucky let out a breath of relief at knowing you don’t hate him or his gift.

He brings you back in for another tight hug, almost forgetting about everyone else in the room as you hug him back without hesitation.

You’re honestly not even embarrassed at crying, all you care about at the moment is Bucky, his arms around you while he lets you bury your face in his neck, like you’ve been wanting to do for years now.

“Happy birthday, doll.” He whispers in your ear and, for the first time in 13 years, you really feel like it is.

972 notes · View notes

feralthoughtdump · 1 year ago

Text

Let Me Wrap My Teeth Around The World

Warnings: minors DNI, small age gap (everyone is 18+), manipulation, love-bombing, possessiveness, social anxiety, the male gaze, financial exploitation, obsessive behavior, ownership, toxic dynamics, moral corruption, smut, virginity loss, coercion, dubcon, dark

Word Count: 4.1K

It’s been a while since Coriolanus found someone as the object of his affection. The last time was a few years ago, and it did no good for him. But this shy, sweet, beautiful Capitol girl was someone who could pose no risk to him and seemed to have wormed her way into the recesses of his mind.

She was the shy girl in one of his University classes. Rumors circulated about her wealth or lack thereof. She was some prodigy who earned her way into the school through merit rather than money, and it left an open inquiry as to who her parents were. He didn’t know what drew him in. The House of Snow had just regained a semblance of wealth and power, and associating with a girl like her could easily create cracks in the foundation.

She wasn’t wealthy enough to come from a district family who bought their way in, but she certainly wasn’t like the other students who took classes with her. Though she wasn’t wealthy, she wasn’t necessarily poor, at least not as poor as his family used to be, but he could recognize the signs of the consistent repair in her uniform, using the same stitches Tigris would use on his old clothing. It turns out she had come from a family of seamstresses and artists.

He also learned that she loved pretty things, not just spotting them but making them. Her apartment was always decorated with little knick-knacks and drawings that covered the walls. Coriolanus would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy spending time in her dingy apartment. It was small, run-down, nothing more than a studio with a bed, desk, kitchenette, and a heat pipe that screeches and clangs at the most ungodly hour. But he loves staring at how her brows furrow as she sketches or how she tucks her lower lip between her teeth in frustration. Despite being unable to help her work, she was always happy to have him around.

This leads him to her small apartment at least once a month with a new pair of pants that were a bit too long or one of his father’s old shirts

Even though he could afford to have his pants hemmed by a tailor or simply ask Tigris, he prefers going to her. After all, she’s become familiar with his preferred inseam length, and Tigris has become colder and colder towards him.

He always insists on paying her even if she refuses.

“We’re friends, Corio,” She said the first time. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Just this once, let me take care of you.” He insisted, pressing the cash into the palm of her hand.

Just this once turned into every single time. Then, it became buying her meals and small gifts. He got her internships with other high-ranking game makers. Eventually, he convinced her that her old apartment was too small and worn down for a nice girl like her, and he moved her into a spare room in his apartment and turned the other into a studio. Then, he started taking her to parties and events she could never afford to go to, and he always made sure to buy her a dress even if she insisted that it would cost less if she could just make one herself.

When their fellow students would snicker at her, he’d slip poison into their drinks. Never enough to kill them, just to get them sick for a week or so.

Somehow, Coriolanus finds himself taking her under his wing, becoming a mentor to her in some type of way. She maintained that soft and sweet air about her, but with his help, she became someone her peers respected. Once, she was the girl who made other students in the University roll their eyes because she always tried too hard. Now, she was the girl who had connections and handed in exemplary work. She was the carefully created success story of a middle-class Capitol girl who climbed the ladder with hard work and determination. Now, she could spread her wings and fly, but only as far as he would allow.

With the arrival of winter comes the start of planning another year of games, and the Crane family was more than happy to host a commencement gala.

This time, he bought her a pretty red dress she eyed in a store window a few days ago.

The quiet gasp she lets out when he opens the box is music to his ears.

“It’s even more beautiful in person.” She whispers the fabric pooling in her hands like blood. “I can’t let you keep buying me things like this. I can’t take this.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. She always opposes, with her voice becoming soft, objections and promises to pay him back, tumbling from her lips. But that wasn’t what he cared about. He cared about how she presented herself. He got her internships and dragged her out of that shoebox of a studio apartment. She was a product of his hard work, and he wanted to show it off. “Think of it as a gift.” He smiles, gently lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “You’ve worked hard these past few months.”

“Corio…”

“Put it on; we have to leave in a few minutes.”

…

She’s stuck to his side whenever they attend these events. Her shy demeanor doesn’t do well in large crowds, and with an endless supply of expensive liquor, Coriolanus doesn’t want her wandering about alone.

Throughout the evening, she’s been good. Smiling, looking pretty. Saying hello to the people he introduces her to, holding onto his arm, and letting him know when she’s feeling overwhelmed so he can rub circles on her back.

People compliment her, telling her how beautiful she looks. Pride thumps against his chest. Of course, she looks beautiful. The dress he picked falls on her body like it was made for her. The red is beautiful against her skin, and the fabric drapes beautifully around her hips, showing off her elegant back.

Eventually, she breaks away from him, needing to use the restroom. But after a while, he realizes something isn't right without her beside him.

He worries when he can’t see her, and he finds himself rushing through small conversations and pushing past people to try and find her in a sea of people.

Eventually, he spots her staring at the city's vast expanse, leaning on the balcony's edge. She’s slowly nursing her third glass of champagne in one hand, and the other picks at the cuticles of her thumb.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires, approaching her with a hand on her back.

She jumps at his touch, but relief crosses her face when she sees him. The last of the champagne is quickly swallowed, and she passes the empty glass to an approaching waiter.

“Nothing, really. I’m okay.”

From the tension in her forehead, he can clearly tell that she isn’t okay. Though he knows she hates it when he pries, he still chooses to do so.

“You aren’t, so tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s a beat of silence, and she sighs.

“I feel out of place, Corio. I feel like I don’t belong here.”

“What do you mean? Of course, you belong here.”

“Everyone here is just so…” She looks down at her heels, trying to find the right words “I don’t know, I’m younger than everyone, and most of the people here have played a part in the games and all I’ve done is get coffee and print papers for them.”

Her lashes flutter as if blinking away tears, and he can’t have that. Not here.

“Hey,” he lifts her chin with his fingers and strokes her flushed cheek with his thumb. “Don’t get all tearful on me. You’re with me. I promise you, you belong here.”

From the frown curling on her lips, his words clearly aren’t working, so he shifts the conversation. “What do you dream of being? What do you want to do?”

She opens her mouth but hesitates.

“Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?”

“I promise.”

“I’d like to be a designer.” A small smile starts to cross her face. “A fashion designer with my own line and everything.”

He could see a future where everyone in the Capitol wore her designs. Or not everyone. She was too good for that. All of his hard work has been put into helping her rise alongside him. If she wanted to do something, she had to be the best.

“I think you would make a great designer.” Without a second thought, he presses a small kiss to her forehead. “I know you will. I’ve seen your work.”

A giggle falls from her lips, and affection blooms in his chest. Nowadays, he wonders if he could ever love someone. But love is so subjective. He had molded her into someone who would be fit to stand by him as he rose in the ranks. Isn’t that the closest thing there is to love?

…

“Here, let me help you.”

The champagne has loosened her up, causing her to stumble on her feet. She leans against him and laughs when his arm hooks under her knees to carry her past the front door.

“Such a gentleman.” She croons. “Always taking care of me.”

“It’s what I do best.”

He sets her down on the edge of his bed so he can bend down to undo her heels. Without much thinking, he gently kisses the inside of her ankle. His eyes gaze up at her, gauging her reaction, and she shyly tells him, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

It’s as if something in him shifts. Coriolanus always harbored an attraction to her. On multiple occasions, he would fuck his fist after their little “tailoring” appointments, thinking about her on her knees, his cock stuffed in her mouth. Ever since she moved in, he’d sneak glances through the crack of her door, catching glimpses of her in stages of undress. He’s never acted upon it. His ego certainly wouldn’t be able to take the rejection, but now that she’s asking him to kiss her with those soft lips and glittering doe eyes, he’s safe to act on his desires.

He surges forward, engulfing her in his hold. Hands cupping her face to keep her lips pressed against his. His teeth graze across her bottom lip,

She smells like vanilla and roses, igniting that deep-seated hunger inside him.

He has always hungered for power within the political spheres of Panem, but right now, his hunger is hyperfocused on her. To own her, to control her.

He wants her to answer every beck and call. If he were to say jump, she would ask, ‘How high?’ If he asked her to crawl to him, she’d drag her delicate knees across whatever surface she stood on. He wants her to belong to him—mind, body, and soul.

Their lips are locked together as her hands fumble to remove her dress. Sensing her struggle, he releases her face to help, undoing the ties around her neck. She carefully lets it fall off her body, letting the vibrant red silk pool around her feet.

“I’ve never done this before.” She murmurs against his lips. “I haven’t done anything past kissing.”

“Really?” He looks down at her and wants to coo in adoration when she shyly glances away. “No one’s ever touched you before?”

“Just… myself… and this one boy from the academy a few years ago but it was over our uniforms.” She hesitates, and he can feel his cock twitch in his pants. Coriolanus already owned most of her clothing, living space, and future career. It was all owed to him. But her virginity? He can truly make her his. His girl.

He crawls on top of her, caging her in his arms.

“I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

His fingers trace her skin, from the line of her neck past her collarbones, dipping under the white lace underwear that clings to her hips.

“These are pretty.” He flicks the rosette sewn to the center of the waistband. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Maybe. I made them myself.”

She lifts her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs. They part, creating room for him to slot himself in between her knees. Her hands reach to remove his shirt, but he bats them away.

“Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

As he unbuttons his shirt, he observes the way her chest rises and falls, how her lips are parted, and how her tongue darts out to lick at her lips in anticipation.

His fingers push past her lips, pressing down on her eager tongue, already swirling over them.

“Get them wet. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes close as she sucks on the digits. Saliva pools in her mouth, dripping past the corners of her lips.

They are released with a pop, and Coriolanus groans, the strain in his pants becoming unbearable.

Two of his wet fingers slide between her folds, teasing at her opening. A gasp slips past her parted lips at the feeling of his fingers pushing in. It was torturous how he managed to curl his fingers just right, eliciting a stifled whine from her lips. She pulls her hips away, overwhelmed by the stretch and the growing pressure inside of her. Though he knows she’s fingered herself before, his fingers must feel foreign, better than what she can do for herself.

He pushes a third inside of her, opening her up, and he can feel how she flexes around him. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, trying to pull his hand away, but he persists, continuing to curl his fingers against that spot inside of her.

“Don’t fight it.” He demands, pistoning his fingers. “I’m just trying to make you feel good.”

Her gasps and whines eventually turn into moans. She clenches around his fingers and bucks her hips forward as if her body is begging him for more.

“I think,” She arches her back, and her voice becomes gaspy as if fighting to fill her lungs with air. “I think I’m close.”

“Already?” He spits onto her clit and presses his thumb against it. Electricity surges through her body as he rubs it in slow circles. She watches him with parted lips and shaky breathing as he fuels her oncoming orgasm. “Oh, you’re making this too easy for me.”

Her head is thrown back, and a strangled moan falls from her lips—sticky arousal floods around his fingers, and her walls spasm around them.

“There you go.” He soothes, pressing kisses to her cheek. “That feels good, huh?”

She’s laid out on the comforter, chest heaving and skin flushed. Coriolanus grabs his stiff cock through his pants, trying to ease the growing tension. But he decides he can’t wait to give her a break.

Her ears perk up at the metallic clink of him undoing his belt.

“Corio, I- I don’t think-”

He shushes her with a kiss.

“It’s alright, you can take it. Yeah? Remember what I promised?”

“That you’d be gentle.”

“That’s right.” He kicks off his pants and frees his cock from the confines of his briefs. “I’ve always been good to you, haven’t I?”

She nods in agreement, eyes widening at the size of him.

He licks his lips as he presses the tip against her cunt, slowly easing his cock inside of her.

As he sheathes himself inside of her, he presses her thighs to her chest, forcing himself deeper into her warmth.

She lets out a sharp cry and grabs his waist, trying to push him back.

“You’re too big, Corio. I don’t think you’ll fit.”

He hurries to kiss away her complaints. To distract her from the pain. He couldn’t wait. He needed to feel her. He needed her. Whispering against her lips, he soothes her. “You’re okay. I’ll go slow. Yeah?”

Broken moans fall from her lips as he bottoms out. He groans in pleasure as her fingernails dig into his back, scrambling for some kind of purchase. She was so tight, so wet, and so warm, gripping onto him like a vice.

Very carefully, he rocks his hips back and forth, letting her adjust to him. The sounds she makes, combined with the slick squelch of her cunt are obscene. Even with his slow movements, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to last long.

He drops his lips to her neck, teeth grazing the fragile skin before biting down.

“Ah- please, don’t leave a mark.”

Disregarding her words, he sucks a slowly blooming bruise onto her neck. He doesn’t care if it’s dark. He wants people to see it and know who left it there.

Maybe he does love her, he thinks. He loves how she complements him, her sweetness dampening his harsher attributes. He loves her creativity, her ambition, and how she always hungers to better herself. She’s perfect. She could be more than just a designer. She could be influential, a figure in the history of Panem.

“I have an idea.” He hums against her neck, stilling his hips.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to be part of the games.”

“What do you mean?” She impatiently shifts her hips, trying to get him to move again.

“You can be a…” he pauses to think, looking into her blown-out pupils, “a stylist. You can design the tributes' looks for the opening ceremony and the interviews. Maybe we can implement uniforms for the actual games.”

She pulls back, but he keeps her locked in place, hands grabbing at the flesh of her hips. Her eyes no longer look glazed over with lust. Instead, there’s a flash of clarity within them.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No, Corio.” Her voice is firm. She has her mind made up. “I won’t do it.”

His lust begins to mix with anger. She can’t deny him. Not now, not ever. Not after everything he has done for her.

His hand reaches for her chin, and she whimpers.

“Yes, you will because I’m not asking.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” She struggles against his hold. “You don’t own me.”

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” He snarls, fingers digging into her jaw. “I gave you this life, and I can easily take it away from you.”

“Let go of me, please.”

Earlier promises of being gentle are tossed away. She’s beginning to let out pained squeaks from the pressure on her cheeks, and the hand on her hip digs into the soft flesh, creating red divots close to drawing blood.

“Look at all that I have given you. All of your nice clothes and these fancy internships were because of me. Without me, you’d be freezing to death in that shed you used to live in.” He pulls his hips back and slams his cock back into her dripping cunt, eliciting a cry from her. “I made you who you are.” He cruelly bullies his cock into her, picking up his speed every time her hands weakly try to push him away. “All you have to do is be good for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He forces her to look at him, to stare into her glassy eyes. “Are you going to be good?”

She doesn’t reply, or rather, she can’t. All she could do was strain against him with dark, mascara-stained tears rolling down her cheeks.

Those eyes that once gazed upon him with fondness are now filled with fear.

“Are you going to be good?” He punctuates his words with a hand to her throat, giving it a light squeeze. It’s enough pressure to establish a threat but not enough to take away her ability to breathe.

Her teary eyes blink, and she nods.

“Yes,” She whispers. “I’ll be good.”

“So,” He slows his movements and brings his lips to her ear, warm breath tickling her skin. “What do you say?

Once again, he circles her sensitive clit with his thumb.

She sobs, clenching around him, and he can tell that she’s close to cumming again.

“You’re not going to cum until you answer me.”

“Please, Corio, don’t make me decide. Not right now.”

“I want-” He groans, feeling himself falling close to the edge. “I need an answer.”

She sobs and tries to look away, but the hand on her face won’t let her.

“Please.”

His face moves closer to hers, her hot breath fanning his cheeks.

“I can feel you clenching around me, and I know you can’t hold it in. Give me an answer now.” More tears stream down her face, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “If you cum before giving me an answer, I’ll ruin this pretty cunt.”

There’s a second of silence, save for the sound of his skin slapping against hers before she nods.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes, what?”

“I’ll do it.”

He quickens his pace, chasing after his own pleasure, and she all but screams.

The fire in his burns, ready to overtake him, but something isn’t right.

“Open your eyes.” He demands. “I want you to look at me when I fill you up.”

She blinks her eyes open, all wide and wet, and he’s unable to hold back. Tightening his hold on her, he forces his hips against her own, burying his cock to the hilt and releasing inside of her. She flutters around him, desperate gasps for air falling from her wanting mouth as she cums with him.

They stay in this position, both trying to catch their breath. Coriolanus is the first to pull away, rubbing her thighs to loosen the tired muscles.

She lays there, surrounded by his fluffy white sheets, saying nothing. He gently kisses her cheek, attempting to pull an answer from her, but when it proves unsuccessful, he leaves to draw a bath.

…

“You don’t have class tomorrow, right?”

The question draws her out of her gaze, now realizing she’s curled up in the tub with her knees drawn to her chest. The water is warm, cloudy, almost milky, and smells like roses. She couldn't bear to look at him right now, but she managed to force an answer from her lips.

“No,” she fights the urge to flinch when his fingers brush her hair away from her neck. “It’s my day off.”

“Good.” Coriolanus dips the washcloth in the tub and gently wipes it against her skin. “You’ll come with me to see Dr. Gaul. Bring your portfolio.”

Her body shudders at the thought of meeting the woman, but more notably, knowing that the man she held so much love for was nothing like the man he portrayed himself to be.

She once thought that he was her patron, but the truth was that he was her owner. All of the riches she had gained this past year meant nothing now. They weren’t hers. They were his. He had given her a life of safety where she could flourish and provide for her family, but it was one separated from the world she once knew. Her parents and friends from the fabric shop were replaced by the same obscenely wealthy elite who would have thumbed their nose at her if it weren’t for the proximity to him.

Every gentle brush of his fingers on her skin reminds her of what he’s done to her. How he now owns her.

Her mind falls to a lecture from a year ago. It was about evolution and apex predators. The boa, she remembers, was nonvenomous but deadly, wrapping themselves around their prey, squeezing their bodies until their circulation stopped and their lungs could no longer pull any oxygen. What’s more chilling, she thinks, is that they know to monitor their heartbeat, waiting for their heart to stop before swallowing them whole.

He’s wrapped himself around her, tightening his hold. She knows she can struggle, but he won’t loosen his grip. He’ll just constrict around her, tighter and tighter, until there’s no more room for her to fight—no more room to breathe.

“I’ve been very sweet on you, and I can keep doing that.” He hums. “But, I can be cruel as well. You and I both know I don’t want to do that.”

Finally, she finds the courage to look at him; those blue eyes are now colder than ever.

She tries to whisper, but when he raises a brow, she clears her throat and meekly responds.

“Thank you, Coriolanus. For everything.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha · 9 months ago

Note

hantengu (+plus all of his clones) reaction to their wife giving them their first ever kiss on the lips. This would probably take place like at the beginning of their marriage. Also if you don’t feel comfortable with making wife reader kiss Zohakuten on the lips, you could do like his nose or the area above his lips. Thank you! :))

𝓐 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓴.

Hantengu x Fem!Reader Kissing HCs

Synopsis: The Upper Rank 4's now wife couldn't resist kissing her sweet husband just to see his reaction, or in her case, her sweet husbands.

Warnings: A bit of NSFW elements on Sekido's, Karaku's and Urogi's parts, otherwise it's just a whole lot of sweetness \(>v<)/

Divider credits:

Saradika's roses, golden railing and that weird green thing

Purples sparkles and paint roll splodge thing

Water like waves

Note: OMG THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!! I LOVE IT!!!! ALL OF YOU HAVE THE BEST IDEAS!! (I wrote this really quickly cuz the smut is taking WAY too long for even me so have at it in the meantime, anyways, enjoy the food ^3^) + please forgive me if this isn't too great, this is my first time doing HCs. I couldn't really picture a full on one-shot with this so I turned them to HCs, it's also a great way for me to try it out for the first time (° 3 °) + did not proofread (I never do)

The mere fact that the Upper Moon Four out of all the six (eight) upper moons actually got married, much less got into a relationship and somehow managed to keep it is a shock in itself for not only the other moons but for Muzan himself. If anything, he thought it'd all end in just a few days, but no, his fourth strongest demon is married now. Oh well, he could care less for any of his employees. As long as they did as they were told, they were free to do as they wish.

As for the newlyweds, they were perfect and happy. The wife's family was very happy for the pair, though, they had been under the impression that it was just one man and not a demon that could split into younger versions of himself. That would've been quite the scandal. Now, the day – or in this case, night – after the wedding, they are all simply relaxing in their shared home after having returned from a mission.

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮

— The first thing this little demon does is rush to his wife, sobbing and bawling his eyes out about the fact that demon slayers tried to kill him, claiming that he "can do no wrong" or that he's being "wrongly accused of crimes". It's the same old thing and even then, she listens to every word he has to say as he shivers in her palm.

— Is quite surprised to say the least. He didn't expect the soft lips of his perfect wife to press against his small head but that doesn't mean it wasn't welcomed, if anything he cried more, though this time, not about the fact that he was hunted by demon slayers. Well, maybe that too, but that was only so his wife could pity him more and give him more kisses.

"T-They were all s-so awful! Their b-blades against my n-n-neck was so a-agonising!! It scared me!" He sobbed while hugging her thumb, wiping his tears and snot on the sleeve of his kimono as he continued his complaints. "Oh, my poor husband. Maybe some kisses will make you feel better." She said as she places a multitude of soft pecks on not only his head but also his small body. The small demon could not resist the feeling of his wife's lips against him and thus moved closer so more of his body could gain the sensation of her lips pressing against it.

— Is far too shy (scared) to ask for kisses. Instead, he uses his manipulation tactics to get her to pity him and so she could kiss him. A little bit of guilt here and there but it is all worth it for a few of his wife's kisses.

— Is the one who enjoys getting kissed by his wife the most after Aizetsu and surprisingly enough is very greedy for them to the point where he forgets being shy and simply begs for her to kiss him.

"P-Please kiss me again, d-dear! Just o-one more time!" He pleaded, almost on the verge of crying again at the thought of his wife's show of affection stopping. She chuckles softly at his desperacy for her kisses and is even a little bit surprised at how much he craves them. Usually he's busy cowering in a corner or something. "Of course, my love. I'll give you all the kisses you want." She cooed before her lips pressed themselves against his cheeks.

— Gets extremely flustered if it's on the lips. He'll begin to stutter and perhaps even forget how to speak as his face flushes a bright red despite his still heart not really giving a proper blood flow.

— Must always kiss him whenever he leaves for a mission or in general, or if you go to bed or anywhere else really and it must be on the lips, he will settle for nothing less. And I mean nothing less.

— Will kiss you softly in your sleep if he returns from a mission and you're already lights out before cuddling up beside you.

— Favourite places to kiss you are your lips, forehead and cheeks, how cute.

𝐒𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐨

— Sekido is probably at the patio rubbing his temples, trying to get a moment of silence and peace all to himself after having dealt with his annoying younger selves. Their tomfoolery and clown-like behaviour makes him want to absorb them so they shut up, especially Karaku who doesn't know when to keep his trap shut.

— The tension in his head is instantly relieved at the mere sound of his wife. He had heard her approaching from a few rooms away and is pleased with her presence before standing up to give her a firm hug and sighing heavily to begin his complaining about the other clones.

— Completely caught off guard and stunned to silence when he suddenly feels his wife's lips against his face, only blinking in pleasant surprise as his crimson eyes stare into hers. He never knew how much he liked her kisses until now.

"They are such a pain to manage and it makes want to rip them all to shreds so they could shut their traps for once!" He spat angrily while shaking his head in annoyance. The urge to punch something grew ever so stronger as he then got up to grab and throw something before he was interrupted by the feeling of soft lips on his jawline. "Don't break stuff, Sekido, those are expensive." Her soothing voice rang out in the large space, the soft sound waves of her voice reaching his hypersensitive pointed ears and instantly calming his extreme rage.

— Will immediately ask for more kisses and is not ashamed about it, though that won't encourage him to openly ask infront of the others, especially not Karaku.

— Surprisingly enough, he gets a bit hot and bothered at just your kisses alone and even moreso when on the lips. Poor clone is constantly stressed out that any outlet of relief already gets him so worked up. Doesn't mean it's unattractive, if you know what I mean 👀

"Again." He huffs softly, rough hands grabbing onto her waist and pulling her to his frame before his lips connect to hers. Immediately, his tongue fights its way through her mouth, intertwining with hers and venturing as deep as it could. His hands hold onto her waist firmly before one of his them slips just below her buttock and groped it firmly, the other slipping upwards and cupping her breast.

— He was beginning to enjoy himself before his advances were stopped by you with the excuse that the others would hear and would also want to join, much to his disappointment and irritation.

— Nevertheless, he's well-aware that you're right. While he doesn't mind sharing you with the others in the slightest, he'd like to have you alone for a little while due to how worked up he is.

— Will give you kisses should you go anywhere that's not near them and may even follow you just ensure your safety and expect the same when he's going on missions.

— Favourite places to kiss are neck, lips and jawline.

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮

— At this point, she's had the idea to go around and kiss the other clones to see how they'd react and she had a fair idea of what Karaku's reaction would be. Karaku, who was in the kitchen doing God knows what, was surprised when his wife suddenly approached him and kissed him on the lips.

— I mean, who said he's complaining? If anything, he can put aside time he had made to play fight with Urogi for a few kisses and perhaps more from his wife (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

"Am I that irresistible to you, sweet thing?" He purred teasingly, face leaning in far beyond her personal space (not that she minds). "Perhaps." She teased back before backing away her head. "Oh no, no, stay a little. I'd like to have some more little kisses from my little wife!" Karaku wasn't going to let her get away that easily, no way. The demon grabbed her hips and pulled her closer before kissing her neck and jawline, slowly trailing his lips upwards towards her lips.

— Instantly got handsy with you (no surprise there), hands busy down there groping your asscheeks as if they were some stress toys while he's busy making out with you. Almost seemed like he wanted to lift you up...

— His mouth was definitely everywhere, especially near your cleavage. The guy has a weird obsession with your boobs and not just in the horny way.

— Was definitely disappointed when you pulled away and said you still have the other clones to attend to but didn't fuss about it. He's just happy he got to get a few grabs on his wife here and there and managed to get a make out session with her, even if short.

"Alright, alright, fine. But were definitely continuing this when you're done." Karaku says before giving her rear a slap and disappearing into the living room as she stood there chuckling at his behaviour. She expected nothing less from the pleasure demon.

— Will often try to engage a make out session with you whether or not the others are present and not giving a rat's ass about what they may think, do, or say as long as he got to taste your lips.

— Favourite places to kiss are definitely cleavage/boobs and neck. He's that guy.

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮

— Shocked but gladly welcomed it as his face gained a light red colour before he kissed back harder. Instantly went soft and (politely) asked for more kisses, also wanting to feel his head be held in her delicate hands.

— Immediately begins to complain about Sekido having yelled at him too much and that he was following orders. Out of each clone so far, Aizetsu appeared the most stressed and frustrated and the only way he could out that was through crying since he didn't really possess any other emotional receptors other than sorrow.

"He always yells so much, it hurts my ears and head... Even when I do what I'm told he still yells." The now crying demon sniffles softly into the crook of her neck. She pat his back softly as she listened to him vent while also scolding Sekido in her head at his brash behaviour. "Please kiss me, darling... Your love always makes me feel better." Even if he couldn't feel the emotion love itself, he loved it when his wife would express her love for him no matter what way that may be (pause).

— The longer this goes on, the sappier he gets as he constantly asks for words of affirmation and kisses while snuggling you more. While he prefers kisses on his forehead and cheek, he isn't too shy to kiss back on the lips and they're not just the soft once you see in those love story movies.

— The man (demon) can kiss just as well as the others, I mean for goodness' sake, they're the same person but at different ages of their shared life (even though that's barely noticeable). Aizetsu can start a whole make out session if he so wished with the way his tongue was dancing with yours right now, but all he wants right now is comfort from the frustration his second oldest counterpart had caused (Urami is the oldest, dumb dumb excluding Hantengu).

— Like Hantengu, he's a sucker for kisses. Please kiss this man anywhere (pause) because he loves it. He'll kiss you too in return, can't only take without giving something in return for his lovely wife, now can he?

— He comes to you when he's sadder than usual for kisses and snuggles so he can calm down or in case the others are too loud.

— Favourite places to kiss are corner of your lip, nose and temple

𝐔𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐢

— Oh boy, this one is already so hyperactive and it only gets worse when he gets attention from his wife, so imagine how giggly and jumpy he was when he suddenly felt her lips connect to his. He could almost ascend to the heavens even though that's not where he's ever going.

— Will demand for more because it makes him happy and according to him, he gets "a pleasant feeling" in his chest that he can't get enough of.

— Will instantly grab hold of her to deepen the kiss, so much so that he forgets she needs to breathe (oopsie). He does apologise for forgetting so there's a plus.

"You taste exquisite, songbird. I could kiss those lips forever and not get tired from it." Said the lively harpy clone before once again going in for a deep and passionate kiss while being mindful of his talons and wrapping his wings around her.

— Guaranteed privacy screen with his wings when your kissing him. It reminds him of how you belong to nobody else but him, that you love only him (and the clones) and have eyes for nobody else. It's also a way of asserting his dominance.

— Absolutely LOVES it when you put your hands on his chest, it fuels his already inflated ego since he's the clone who shows off the most ("How do you like my talons?" ahh). Not only does he like to gloat about his talons and their strength, but he also LOVES to show off his body to you and boast about how good he looks (for you).

— Can't have Urogi headcanons without mentioning his wings now, can I? Since – according to actual research – caressing a bird's wings can get them aroused/sexually frustrated (if you don't do anything else), Urogi loves it when you place small kisses on his wings. It makes him feel oh so good. Sometimes he forgets he can't just grab you randomly and make love to you right then and there. Oh well, a kiss will do for now.

"Kiss my wings, it feels good." Urogi commands rather bluntly as he flared his wings out for her, caressing her face gently to coax her into kissing them. She chuckled softly before doing what was requested from her. She was quite surprised to hear a soft, barely audible moan from Urogi before realising why he wanted her to kiss his wings. That gives her ideas for... future playtime.

— Gets embarrassed when you hear him moan and uses the excuse that you must've heard wrong or teases you about wanting him (I sure do 😝). He will never admit that his wings do more than just get him to moan.

— Favourite places to kiss are ears, collarbone, forehead and lips.

𝐙𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧

Now, hear me out. While I among many other people see Zohakuten as a child, I've got a more complicated view on it. I see Zohakuten as an adult child if that makes sense. I am comfortable with writing him being married to an adult woman because essentially, he is still an adult, like he has the mental age of an 87 year old man. I can write stuff like kissing and even minor spicy stuff for him but that extends only so far (i.e: him purposely shoving his face into Y/N's breasts like Karaku just to get attention or just very slight groping). I will not go any further than that point. No exceptions. He still physically appears as a child.

— Now, this is a little different. After everyone had calmed down and the wife was wandering elsewhere, they all had gotten the sudden strong urge to fuse. They all realised that Zohakuten wants to have a turn and who could blame him? They just got married and not to mention he rarely ever reveals himself.

— Imagine her surprise when she hears a deep voice – somewhere in the range of Sekido's voice – calling out to her "Woman." and turning around to see a the youngest clone standing there with his arms behind his back.

— Of course, like a good husband, he asked how she fared while he was out on a mission and the usual before respectfully asking for a kiss, however, there was a very faint hint of envy present. She knew he was a tad bit envious of his older counterparts being able to gain her affection at any time of the day or night while he couldn't so of course she couldn't resist him.

"I've missed you..." He mumbles softly before wrapping his arms around his precious wife, reveling the feeling of getting to hold her in his arms even if only for a moment. "I've missed you more, my darling." She coos in return before cupping his small face and placing a soft kiss on his lips. Zohakuten in turn intensified the kiss, his fangs grazing her lower lip as he did so and arms tightening around her waist.

— Believe it or not, this little fella is a certified gentleman. Ignoring what he said to the Love Hashira (💀), this boy is the most gentlemanly after Urami. He's the type to hold your hand like those princes with their princesses to assist you when walking down the stairs.

— I mean, everytime he reveals himself, he greets you with a small bow and a kiss to the back of your palm, idk what more you could want from this little cutie.

— Although, he can be quite vulgar, he tones it down a massive amount when he's around you and is less scornful thanks to the calming effect your presence has on him.

— Do not he surprised when he's simply staring at you with a harsh look as if you've just murdered his main body, that's just him suppressing the urge to kiss you.

"Uhm, d-dear?" The wife calls softly to Zohakuten who's been doing nothing but stare at her with the harshest glare she's ever seen him stare at her with. Zohakuten snaps out of his daze as his expression softens before he hums inquistively. "You've been staring at me like I've just sided with the demon slayers. Is everything, okay?" His eyes then widen slightly before he sighs and shakes his head. "Oh... no. I just simply wish to kiss you, that is all." Her cheeks gained a red tint after that surprisingly blunt and honest confession as she then smiles. "Oh, well... Who am I to say no?"

— Is very honest about what he wants if he's caught. Unlike the other clones – excluding Urami – and the main body, who try to hide what they want, Zohakuten is not shy to admit that he wants your lips against his and he will say that with the straightest face.

— Loves it when you kiss his forehead, it makes him feel all soft inside and he doesn't know why or how.

— Favourite places to kiss are hands, temple and lips.

𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢

— His presence alone surprised her even more than Zohakuten, especially when he walked out of the room that Hantengu was in. Urami reveals himself every once in a blue moon due to the fact that he simply wishes not to deal with his younger selves' bickering and monkey business. However, seeing as all the others gained a bit of affection from their wife and that they're newlyweds, he too wished to spend some time with his wife.

— Much like Zohakuten, he's very gentlemanly when it comes to asking for affection from his wife. He respectfully asked if he could hold her and lift her up to his level so he could kiss her properly.

— Hear me out. The best kisser after Karaku. I don't know, he just looks like he has so much experience with women (which he kinda does 😒), like look how massive he is 😳.

She was surprised when a rather large hand gently grabbed her waist to turn her around. "Oh! Hello you!" She greeted happily as she looked up at her massive husband before hugging his legs. He was surprised but allowed it and even picked her up into his arms before kissing her temple. "Yes. I figured why not also be present when the others are gaining your addicting love?" Quite a flirt.

— Urami is surprisingly chill when it comes to kissing yet also really passionate. Like think of just wanting a quick kiss from big ass hubby over there and he picks you up only to give the most leg-shaking casual kiss ever 😫.

— He's quite a flirt. You could almost say he's near Karaku's level just minus to pervert stares, touches and so on. Like, he's the type of "Formal old man dilf" type of flirt and knows how to use his words, he just doesn't do it often due to how rarely he's present and even if he is, he's just mostly quiet (most sane clone).

— Should he ever engage in flirting with you, be prepared to have a face painted red and him drinking blood as if it were tea as he sits there with his most neutral expression.

— I swear, his kisses make you think you're a virgin again with how well he does it. Like, he even uses his fangs to graze your lips and even your tongue softly while also (respectfully) touching you to the point where your legs aren't even jelly, they're straight up water (😏).

Urami felt the familiar grip of his wife's hands on his kimono and knew that he was once again doing a flawless job at making her melt like ice in his arms and he couldn't be more satisfied at that fact as his fangs gently graze her tongue that was being twirled with his as if it were a sort of waltz. "You're doing it again." The tall clone teased before resuming their kiss.

— Holds your face or hands when he's kissing you cuz he's just that guy.

— Favourite places to kiss are hands, neck and forehead.

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emmcfrxst · 1 month ago

Note

OKAY and what about a happy ending for reader, Logan and Laura??? Like in that one little drabble you wrote her mom!reader somehow resuscitated/healed Logan after he was ‘chest fucked?’ Nobody dies and Mom and Logan get to raise Laura together like normal parents!!!

Cue some happy mommy/daughter headcanons with Logan loving his girls 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the term “chest fucked” made me laugh out loud so thank you for that

one thing you come to learn about laura is that she absolutely LOVES to be the little spoon. she’d never felt particularly cared for (or safe) in her life before she met you and logan, so when you hand her affection on a silver platter she just becomes quite honestly a little obsessed with it. she loves everything about the concept of spooning because it’s easy affection— you can be watching tv or reading in bed with her curled up into your arms, cradling her, and it both makes her feel loved and makes her feel safe because she’s come to associate your touch with pure, unconditional love and support. like i’ve mentioned before, you’ve quite literally began to carry out with the purpose of being her mother, her protector; she knows that no matter what happens, you’ll always, always have her back and that comforts her to no end. she’s very physically affectionate with you, to the point where she feels comfortable initiating physical contact on her own— she knows you won’t refuse or judge her, and she’s been deprived of love for most of her life so having a parent who is willing to hand out love and care like this honestly has made her a little greedy (in a funny, endearing, child-like way. she absolutely adores you and she does not have the words to properly express how much you’ve impacted her life).

affection is a little less easy between logan and laura; they’re both a little awkward with each other— logan because he’s unsure of just how to initiate any kind of physical affection to anyone that isn’t you, and laura because she’s unsure whether or not he would reject her (he wouldn’t. ever. he might grumble about it but it’s just for show. he would never ever dare to reject laura’s affections because he knows just how badly this could affect her; he’s the human embodiment of touch starvation from years of abuse and pain and he’s come to learn just how truly impactful a little love and care can be, that’s something he’s learned from loving you and being loved by you) so the only kind of affection they really partake in at first is through play fighting/bickering. i’ve mentioned this before but laura really brings out the child in logan; he loves to tease her and be playful during their interactions, even if she sometimes gets annoyed with it (it’s the Howlett Poor Anger Management Starter Kit) so he shows his affection through little acts like pinching her cheeks, ruffling her hair or pushing her aside with his hip while they’re helping you out in the kitchen. the playfulness is fully reciprocated, because laura can and will jump on him and basically force him to carry her around the house like a little baby monkey (which is one of the reasons why he affectionately calls her his little monkey, i’ve talked about this specific nickname and the whole carrying thing in the two posts linked in this reply) and the whole frenemies thing they have going on at first really helps them bond and like i’ve said before, also helps two very traumatized people associate touch with something that’s fun, light, and positive. their interactions do end up growing from play fighting/wrestling as a way to express affection to actual, genuine (although tentative) affection in the “usual” way; laura will often rest her head on logan’s arm/shoulder if they’re sitting side by side, and it’s not uncommon for you to see laura’s head resting in logan’s lap while he reads or vice versa— they slowly find something that they’re both comfortable with, and it always makes you a little emotional when you think of how far they’ve come in not only their personal journeys, but also in their shared one. it’s not over-the-top physical displays of affection, but it’s simple and it’s genuine and that’s really what makes this so beautiful to you. logan probably won’t admit it out loud because he’s not particularly good at voicing his feelings (although he’s been actively trying to be better at it for your and laura’s sake), but there’s nothing in the world that he loves more than having you and laura by his side, both literally and figuratively.

#laura kinney x mom!reader #daughter!laura x dad!logan #dad!logan x daughter!laura #dad!logan x laura #dad!logan howlett #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan fluff #old man logan imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine imagine #xmen fluff #xmen imagine #anonymous #answered

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solbaby7 · 7 months ago

Text

Drifting Away

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: angst (sorry but it just hurts so good) swearing, mentions of poor mental health, romantic undertones

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

Azriel could hear you crying at night.

He wasn't sure when it started; how long it had been going on before the slinking shadows darted about the house, enjoying their free reign when he hears a noise. One so soft he nearly brushed it off as a breeze but he hears it again. A little louder, more throaty and then it clicks; the undeniable sound of despair being swiftly hidden away by the dark hours of the early morning when others were asleep and none the wiser.

There's an urge to check on you, one so overwhelming he taps his fingers against the smooth mahogany desk filled to the brim with mission reports and carefully notated maps with neat notes tucked in the corner. His ears strain for the sound again, mentally agreeing that if he heard it once more, he'd have no other choice but to check it out.

But nothing sounds.

Not for one minute, or two or twenty but he doesn't forget about it.

Especially not when he sees you the following morning, wearing a bright smile and laughing louder than anyone else in the room. He's subtle in the way he observed you, notating your mannerisms and the effortless charm that dripped from your tongue.

The picture of a well adjusted woman. One who seemed happy and fulfilled until the final line was spoken and the one-woman cast bowed for her performance, basking in the applause from a crowd well entertained.

You were attentive; borderline motherly in the way you took care of everyone around you--easily handing off the food from your plate without even batting an eye and Azriel's brow quirks in attention when he hears you decline more when offered; insisting that you're full, showing off a clean plate as you casually wipe your mouth against dark linen cloth.

However, he's certain you didn't take even a single bite.

It piques his interest; the warning signs of a silent struggle and he finds himself unable to stop from noting other things about you.

Like, the way you seemed to be a reliable sounding board. Mor or Feyre or Cassian would come to you for advice, spilling their burdens on your shoulders and you always welcomed them with open arms. You would nod quietly, never once interrupting and always providing such carefully curated advice. The kind you learned through life experience; pain and sorrow and true mind numbing emptiness that came from growing up with bright embers of hope; only to be pushed into the world and realize how far people will go to snuff those embers out.

And never once did they ask if you needed comfort in return.

“For a spymaster, I would have assumed you’d be better at being subtle when you stare.” It’s startling how silent you’d been, shifting from one end of the room to the next without being detected by his hearing or his shadows—shadows he now notices are circling around your feet, tickling at your bare toes against the wine red rug. “What were you looking at anyway?”

Hazel eyes are calculating when they take you in, brows furrowing when you smile down at him, humming to yourself as you twiddle your toes through the ebbing darkness that grows around your legs, teasing at the hem of your dress with a little tug. “You.”

Rhysand sits proudly in a chair big enough to be a throne, large decorative pillows perched under his arms and a grinning Feyre eased into his lap, head curling into his neck with content. Even Nesta and Cass were sitting closer than usual on the couch, feet bumping at the others as she pretended to be absorbed in some book but there was no way she was actually focusing with Cassian’s arm curled around the back of her shoulders. Mor chats idly with Armen, glittering jewelry shoved on two slim fingers and you can’t help but linger on all the incredibly powerful beings around you.

Such purpose all around and somehow you still couldn’t find your own.

“Well, it’s not everyday I get the privilege of your attention.” You twirl once, the material of your dress skimming the tips of his fingers. “Do tell—how do I look?”

Azriel doesn’t correct how that couldn’t be further from the truth. There’s a pause, his voice more soft when he speaks so it gets drowned out in the chatter behind you. “You look lonely.”

The reply makes you stop your toying with the shadows, gentle smile faltering when you squint down at him, throughly caught off guard. “What?” Azriel watches the second you seem to recompose yourself, smile sliding back in place but he can see the way you look at him, regarding him cautiously; wondering where he was getting at. “That’s ridiculous. I live in a home filled with my closest friends and family.”

You anticipate the nod, the smile and then the conversation will continue like nothing had ever happened; the answer appeasing the questioner and you’d continue about your day as you did all the others. But Azriel doesn’t change the subject, doesn’t accept the answer provided. Instead, a golden hand raises, tea still steaming over the rim. “Then, why do you seem so sad?”

“Where are you getting this from?”

“Because I heard something last night,” He watches the way you freeze, lids squinting a fraction and your hands actually tremble at your side.

“Hm," It’s alarming how good you are at taking control of the conversation; how your body adapts to the emotion that your brain predicts Azriel wants you to convey—happiness. His head slowly tilts to the side when you tip your head back and laugh, one that was so convincing even he nearly fell for it; but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Always the spy, when do you ever take a day off?"

Az can't seem to tear his eyes off of you, not when Cassian chimes in with an inebriated laugh, a heavy hand clapping down on his brothers shoulder and you're grateful for the distraction. The ability to slink into easier conversation, to craft a carefully woven picture of serenity but the golden gaze boring into the back of your head is distracting; makes your hands shake ever so slightly over the width of your glass, the condensation dripping cool trails down the length of your arm.

He doesn't get the chance to speak to you for the rest of the night; either being whisked away by his brothers or somehow getting lead away by Elain and Fey when asking for help bringing out a few more things from the kitchen. Shadows trudge by, being his eyes and ears when one returns with the same conclusion; gone, gone, gone.

For the rest of the night, Azriel remained on edge, unable to relax into the drink in his hand and his foot is practically bouncing a hole in the hardwood when the others finally start filtering out for the night; stumbling into one another on their way to their rooms. Ears strain to hear each door close and he's light on his feet when he bristles down the hall, sharply turning to the right and once he's at the end of the hall he comes to an abrupt stop.

Light still pours out from the crack beneath your door and nerves build in his stomach when he sees the shadow of your feet walking past; there was no reasonable explanation to be here—on this floor—and that becomes abhorrantly apparent when the door opens and your raising a brow at him. "Listening in on ladies in their bedchambers is not very gentlemanly of you."

"I wasn't. Well, I was but it wasn't like that." Azriel's walking past you, entering your room without even asking and he seems genuinely startled by the way it looks. Not that it was dirty or unkempt but it was painstakingly bare. Years of living there and still there were no pictures on the wall, no trinkets or feminine flare; just a bed with thick blankets and a shelf filled to the brim with books. A desk with a single sketchbook and a little bag of pencils and charcoals.

"What?"

He's still taking it in; it had to have been nearly eighty years and still it looked almost identical as it had when Rhys had first offered it to you as your own. "It's just not what I expected, that's all."

Your arms are crossed over your chest, hair braided tightly and it swayed as you walked, still dripping wet from a shower. It was alarmingly warm but you still wore a long sleeved shirt and fluffy socks that went up to your knees. "What did you expect?"

Az shrugs, turning to face you when he hears the way you slowly close the door. "You've been here a while. I suppose I had just expected to see more of you in here."

"Another one of your assessments?" There's no hiding the bite in your tone, the defensive stance you take when he begins wandering around; eyes eating up what little things you did have. Fingers graze over the spines of books, picking up one with tons of little dog-eared pages. "Please do tell what my lack of interest in interior decor says about me."

Book pages flutter, stopping when he catches one page more crinkled than most and his brows furrow when realizing the wrinkly circular dots were tears—your tears. "I wasn't evaluating you but since you asked," Azriel tucks the book under his arm and your lips part with a huff but he doesn't acknowledge the grumbles you give about taking things without asking. He's too busy scanning the contents of your desk; a cup of pens, little bottles of paints and a few brushes to accompany them. The thin drawer attached is half-filled with sketchbooks that were tightly bound an sealed with wax; a clear sign to stay the fuck out. "It shows that even after claiming to be perfectly content in a house filled with your so called "closest friends and family", you still refuse to get settled. That could stem from a plethora of things; variables I've accounted for but a definite conclusion is still pending at this time."

"Asshole," You all but hiss, smacking his hands away from sifting through the pages of the sketches and scribbles scrawled beside them— angsty little depictions of your thoughts when things got too overwhelming; when all you craved was a hot bath, one of Rhys' expensive bottles and an empty house so you could dance the line on how long you could hold your breath underwater.

"You asked." Ever the observer, noting the key you pull from under the neckline of your shirt, bending at the knee to unlock the side cabinet and open it just enough to shove the sketchbook inside. It's locked up tight and the intrigue only grows. "You also didn't say I was wrong."

"Fine," You concede, arms behind your back and braced against the desk, a body barrier between him and the secrets you weren't ready to confess. "You were wrong."

Azriel only smiles and your breath actually catches by how genuinely handsome he is. For once, he's not in his fighting leathers but somehow, the laid-back fashion of his dark sweatpants and t-shirt had your knees even more shaky. "Okay, then tell me something about you—something real."

The request startles you, brows screwing up and nose crinkling. "Why?"

A hand waves around him, shadows sliding over barren walls as if to aid in making Az's point. "Because, I should be able to get everything I need to know from being in what should be the most intimate place in the world for you but all I can get is that you like expensive sheets and quality curtains."

"I enjoy good sleep." It was the only two things that mattered when the sadness really set in. When minutes blurred into hours and in a blink of an eye you'd somehow skipped all three meals and everyone was shuffling away to their rooms for the night. "And I'll have you know the pens and colored pencils alone are more expensive than the duvet and curtains combined."

Azriel hums, fingers ghosting over the tin specifically made to hold them in place, perfectly color coded and all sharped to a point. "You draw? How don't I know that?"

"Because it doesn't save lives." It's meant as a joke, it even sounds like one but for some reason the shadowsinger can't seem to share the laugh. You refuse to meet his eye, creating some distance and tucking the key swiftly back under the fabric of your shirt, hands moving to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves. "I'm not all that good anyway."

"Good enough to spend so much money on supplies."

You let out an annoyed sigh and it doesn't affect him one bit; in fact, he finds himself enjoying any other emotion besides the faux smile he'd seen permanently plastered across your features. Your room smells like something Azriel can't place and he finds himself moving again, taking in more and more, trying to find the source of the sweet scent. "Is there a reason that you're here? You know, in my room instead of your own on the floor above us." You begin to trail behind him, following his line of sight and you too begin looking for whatever he was, rummaging through your closet and sniffing at your perfumes. "What are you doing?"

"I can smell something," It comes out distracted, body working without rationality when he ducks into your bathroom, sifting around shampoos and conditioners, soaps shaped like flowers and ivy but none of it is right. Not until he moves to the little cart by your clawfoot tub, fingers ruffling about vials and jars until he finds something that has your spine straightening. “What is this?”

There’s a pause while your will your voice to relax. “Infused rum.”

“Infused with?”

A scoff, bare toes on glossy floors when you snatch the bottle from him. “I don’t know, I don’t pay extra to get a history lesson. I just like how it makes me feel.”

Azriel raises a brow, eyes scanning the rest of the cart before sparing a glance at the empty tub. “In the bath?”

“Everyone has their own version of relaxation.” The bottle clinks back into place on the cart, tucked inconspicuously next to the other brightly colored vials and jars; perfectly hidden to anyone not equipped to pay attention to such things. “Do you usually question Mor or Elain of their drinking habits?”

It’s meant to push him away. To cut deep and throw him off your trail because Azriel was getting too close—too personal. “I would if they came to dinners faking smiles.” One step ahead forces you to take one step back, eyes squinting like a wounded animal bracing for one hell of a fight if it meant getting away. “I would if I saw them fading into nothing after spending their nights sobbing themselves to sleep.”

“Now you’re just speculating.”

“Am I?” Azriel pushes, evading your space and ignoring your attempts to create distance. It has to be some sort of manipulation tactic; distracting you with his intense presence in order to scramble your brain so that by time you realize he’s backed you into a corner—it’s too late. “Then tell me I’m wrong.” His left hand raises, his wrist enclosed in shadows as his fingers curl around your neck. Your pulse hums against his skin, heartrate spiking at the intimate touch and all words are robbed from your vocabulary.

“Azriel—“

The low rasp of his voice cuts you off, gentle grip never faltering from your neck. A shiver runs down your spine, the callouses on his thumb a welcomed roughness when sweeping at the curve of your chin. “It’s okay to be sad,” His scent is overwhelming, affecting your body similarly to a few glasses of fae wine and it takes effort for your knees not to tremble. “Just don’t let it consume you.”

For a second you think he’ll kiss you with how intensely he stares at your mouth, pulse still jumping against his fingertips.

The distance never fully closes and the phantom reminder of his touch remains branded on your skin as he slowly exits your room. And for the first time in years, instead of sniffling wrinkles into novels overflowing with friendship and love or drowning your sorrows in curated liquors —you sit at your desk and draw the sharp lines of Azriel’s jaw and that intense darkness shadowing golden irises and somewhere along the lines, you find a sliver of hope.

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #az x reader #azriel angst #acotar angst #azriel x reader angst #acotar fics

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cheyisagirlkisser · 1 month ago

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Fading with the Leaves: 1/2

‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

݁ ˖ ◜WARNING: Sensitive content. Mentions of grief, PTSD, violence, etc.

݁ ˖ ◜Word count: 4k

݁ ˖ ◜Description: After Ellie loses Joel, everything changes. Her touch fades from your body, replaced with a bitter shell of who once loved you. There is no promise that she will ever return, and you have to learn to give up, though that's easier said than done. PART TWO OUT CLICK HERE

You followed her everywhere she went like blood trailing behind a body, and somehow also like a blessing that's inevitable to humanity, a much needed saving.

You would someday save her.

Ellie constantly felt the flatbacks hit. All of the moments she once took for granted with Joel and now all of those memories felt as if they were for nothing; she was once factually content with her life. The loss and the trauma that she had faced before Joel came into her life became nothing but a scab when she moved to Jackson.

From top to bottom, Ellie was a smart girl. She knew how to kill, how to survive, and how to get herself out of dangerous situations in creative ways. She was raised into violence and grew into a complicated adult. One thing they don't tell you about living in a hellish world like hers is that the flustered, awkward feelings that arise from a sweet face aren't something any knife or round of ammo can prevent.

You were always in her vicinity and at first, she felt as if she were crazy. This beautiful, sweet girl wanted to talk to her? She just couldn't believe it. As time went on, you'd naturally grow on her like the prettiest species of vines that she didn't think to ignore, unlike the verdure that sprouted on the abandoned bricks of the old world.

The blush in your cheeks, those soft smiles passed around town like your own personal calling card, and the scent of cheap strawberry lotion following you like a cloud only haunted her mind. She felt all of this before Joe's death happened. Unfortunately, she knew how much she loved you much before that, and it would be like an everlasting fear that even if she pushed you to the other side of the world, the salty taste of your skin would be engraved into her mind and it made her sick to her stomach in a way that made bile sound appetizing.

Two happy years of having you, or so she thought.

You had been dating for two long years, and it wasn't like some perfect relationship anyone could say was flawless. Ellie only found that to make you more lovely to her poor heart. She couldn't comprehend how someone could have flaws and her own body indulge in those like she was ravaged from thirst and needed you in every way, shape, and form. She needed your sensitivity, your lack of common sense in pressuring situations, and your clinginess. And somehow, your response to the behavior only put her obsession into a magnifying glass.

Ellie's constant flashbacks will never just be of Joel, as bad as those are. No, it's a mix of yearning and grief.

She'll remember the way your lips parted late into the night when she'd place her warm fingertip to your bottom lip, pressing down and sliding the flesh against your tongue in a way that made her belly clench with an undeniable need to take every bit of your soul away and keep it for herself. Even now, mentally separated from you in her current state of life, she would never get tired of you. You were far too vast, like an ocean and she could not bear to be handed a life jacket.

Being so in love can be such a beautiful blessing. Before Joel, she often returned home from her hunting trips to your presence and while days were undeniably tough, you were always a soothing balm that coated her soul twice-over.

Being in love can also make you want to tear apart the world brick by brick, branch by branch.

Ellie couldn't afford to love after Joel died. She swore it off. There was no immediate shut-down in which she broke up with you and isolated herself. It was more like a slow withdrawal from the life she once felt even an ounce of comfort from. She stopped eating your home-made meals and opted to a beer to tide her. Slowly, it became the stronger liquids. Nights that used to be spent well-rested curled up against you turned into late-night hunting trips that she came back from and collapsed onto the cold couch, regardless of you waiting for her in bed.

Ellie knew her behavior was unfair, and you deserved the fucking world, if not a loving partner. But she couldn't be that for you. You were just so beautiful and sweet, she hated imagining you in place of Joel or beside him, a grave complete with fast-fading flowers and that name she loved to say engraved into the stone. Imagining you bitten was even worse. She wanted to keep you all to herself, lock you inside the home just to know you'll always live. But when she was paranoid with thoughts of illness. There was no key to unlocking the doors of death as it hit all mortals. There was only acceptance, and that was a feeling unplaced in her life after such wretched, unfair acts had caused her to lose the one person who willingly raised her into a semi-okay human being.

There was no proper apology she could give you for the snappy words. There was no hug that followed, and no softness in her gaze when her feelings would implode onto you, coating your sensitive feelings with her own pain; Ellie began to hate herself, and yet the cycle was never going to end, it seemed.

You always loved Ellie with every ounce of heart you had, which was a lot. You weren't the angel she made you out to be. You only wanted to feel loved when you took a chance into giving her your heart.

But by God, you fell face-first into the heap of mess named Ellie.

She haunted you just as you did her; her auburn locks that so messily beautiful, even the inevitable loose strands were like pieces of perfection carved into one singular person. Her face was molded by emotions you always struggled to read and yet fantasized about her informing you of, and her skin was tainted with freckles that ate away at the apples of her cheeks. By any means was she flawless, either. Enough said of the endless list that made you fall for her so strongly.

Living with her was once a treasure you thought was too good to be true, like some conditions came with it. It wasn't until after everything happened that the reality of the harsh world hit you and refused to make Ellie see how much you wanted to be there for her.

Most people would believe comforting someone in a time of loss would be the right thing to do. You felt this natural instinct watching the light fade from Ellie's face the day after Joel's soul left the Earth. You'd never wanted to save her so badly from her own obsession with intense loss, yet she didn't even give you the chance to. Stuck was the love that you wanted to feel her release onto you, like a key voluntarily jammed in a lock. You watched her destructive behaviors and your tears were nightly shed. You wanted to feel her love again, and to be reminded that she still had those obsessive needs entailing your presence, but the reassurance never came. The nights got longer and the bed, cold.

The cold winter breeze blew over the Wyoming farm. Grass was mainly dead, frigid flakes of snow beginning to coat the ground. The sheep were all cozy in the barn that you herded them into. These past few months, you had a habit of doing most of the work around the farm and the house. It was a necessary habit, because Ellie wasn't in any condition to do the work; she was either drunk, asleep, silent, or out hunting. However, even the contributions made in the form of game were lacking. Most days, it was small rabbits or squirrels. You could tell she was beating herself up over that too, behind the lack-luster eyes.

Your hands reached over for the pie dough, weaving through threads of the material. Your hands always seemed to twitch slightly these days, but it was usually cold in the house, making for a reasonable explanation. More than anything, you wanted to pretend all was well.

Baking was always something you loved to do when things got tough. Before you even knew Ellie, you'd spend your time frosting cupcakes or shoveling a tray of brownie batter into the oven. Now, you were just reminded of how many times Ellie had come into the kitchen to steal one of your creations and kiss your cheek. You longed for the way it was so easy with her at one point in your lives.

Still, you placed the pie into the oven and waited. You waited with the silence, pacing around restlessly. Ellie was in the bedroom, probably buried under the blankets, but not asleep. You wanted to give her something to come out for.

30 minutes later, the timer went off. No sign of Ellie. You sighed and with mitts, took the apple lie out. It had the scent of cinnamon tainting it, an aroma that used to be Ellie's favorite. Still, you didn't want to give up. You carefully placed the pie onto the counter and slowly headed for the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible.

"Ellie?" You called out, making sure to be gentle with your tone. Anything could set her off, and even a frown was something you wanted to avoid.

Ellie muttered out a soft respond, mostly incomprehensible.

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "I made your favorite pie. You want a slice?"

"Don't feel like getting up," she mumbled.

You frowned slightly at that, but something in you wanted to still push. Gently push. "You can have a slice in bed, I'll bring you-"

You were cut off.

"Just go, okay? I don't want the damn pie."

Followed by a soft sigh from underneath the blankets, and a bit of shuffling.

"I'm sorry..just go, please. Put the leftovers in the fridge or whatever."

Your heart sank a bit, and you hated getting snapped at. Still, you loved her. Sometimes, you endured some fucked up things for love.

You closed the door behind you.

Winter season was one of your least favorites of the seasonal climates. Summer was much nicer, you thought. Beautiful rays of sunshine that painted the grass with greenery. Hours spent in the creek a mile from the farmhouse turned into your eyes flickering down into the icy surface, thoughts muddled with Ellie. You hoped she would break soon.

Today, you woke up and went on with your usual morning routine. You made breakfast, and you made sure to leave leftovers in the fridge for Ellie, even though she had already left for another hunt, without a word, of course. You spent the first quarter of the day doing chores and enduring the cold to take care of the livestock. Once done, you felt restless. You wanted to do something, but you didn't know what. Life felt so boring these days, and you wanted to break away from the routine you and Ellie found yourselves in. So you decided to do something special in hopes she'd appreciate you.

When Ellie came home from her hunting trip, she opened the door and was floored.

The kitchen table had centralized candles, warm soft glow emitting and adding light to the rather dim room. It was a heat that used to exist between the two of you and lingered like a smoke filling a car, a car Ellie intended to escape from. There was a new cloth laid out, and on top of it were two glasses of red wine and two plates of spaghetti, truly one of Ellie's favorite meals, or was one of her favorites. However, she lastly noticed you standing beside it all with a nervous but hopeful upturn in your lips.

You looked fucking gorgeous.

Ellie always admired your style, even back in Jackson. It was clear that you sometimes wandered off during patrol in search of some pieces to bring back to your closet. She used to find it extremely endearing, teasing you over some claw clip in your hair or a new skirt you found in an abandoned home's master bedroom.

Now, standing in front of her, your hair was up and loose strands fell like a stream from a waterfall, all chaotic and natural but there was much intent behind it. Your lips were an exaggerated rosy pink, and they were slight parted like two delicate, plush petals. They looked like the petals of a pretty tulip picked straight from a meadow, only being the most perfect flower of all. If she had seen you months ago, she would've had the cosmetic substance coating your lips smudged over your pretty face. Now, she could only brush past it as her eyes flickered down to the satin dress hugging your body in ways she'd only seen when you were naked.

"I'm not doing this with you," She stated, trying to sound monotonous but ultimately failing, "I can't do this tonight."

"Ellie, sit down. Just eat with me, please." You gestured to the chairs, vulnerability still written all over your pretty face and signed on your trembling lips.

"I'm not hungry."

"You know that's not true. You skipped breakfast this morning and probably lunch." You knew you were pushing it, but you were at your limit with the way things were going. You knew she was struggling, that no dinner could heal her, but you still wanted to at least make a start.

That's when she doubled down.

"Because I'm not fucking hungry. I'm going to watch tv now." She walked right past the table and when you reached out to grab her, your grip a bit too clingy. She turned around, and the irritation that used to be subtle boiled over.

It used to be subtle, at least. There were always recent moments in which her agitated moods doubled into more, something that bordered the anger that she contained towards Joel's killers. Now, she can't help it; it leaks out through her voice, the tone that you've now grown to hate. You wonder how much you can stand, but she'll be sure to show you.

Her hands gripped at the kitchen table, pushing it away and sending the glasses of wine to be shattered into glass shards spread all over the tiled floor; a quite accurate representation of what seemed to be happening inside of you at the moment. The plates hit the ground as well, and there was a mess that joined the red liquid staining the floor you mopped hours ago.

Everything was a fucking mess.

You stared at her in silence. Ellie stared back, but not meeting your eyes. She wasn't making a move to leave you alone in the kitchen, though, as if she wanted to see your reaction. She wanted to see if you'd given up on her so she wouldn't have to worry about you leaving her like Joel did.

"Why'd you do that?" You spoke, and you sounded so hurt, so done. It sent a pain through Ellie's chest; she had never witnessed such hopelessness from you.

Always so sweet and carefree, as if you were oblivious to the world around you, to all of the death and violence that followed human kind. Ellie used to need that behavior from you because you would provide her with a beacon of light that she wasn't able to be herself. However, now, that beacon felt ever-blinding. She felt the need to drop the lantern that was your hope onto the floor, even if it shattered her in the process.

Silence followed.

You didn't question her again. You simply grabbed a kitchen towel, knees falling to the floor as you began to rub at the spilled wine. It wasn't like how you had cleaned earlier, not like it was something you focused on to forget Ellie's negligence. Now, it was like you were on the midst of reaching your lowest point in life. Fuck, now that made Ellie feel really, really guilty.

Tears were patching up your vision, making it hard to see. Streams of salty moisture was now visible on your cheeks, hands shaking as you frantically tried to gather up pieces of glass without a thought to what it'd feel like to hurt yourself with a shard brushing up against your skin.

Ellie tried to reason that she should scurry off upstairs to leave you alone without a second thought, but her mouth was speaking before she could process what she was saying.

"I know it's not your fault. It's all mine." She sounded, for the first time, like she cared.

You gazed up at her through tear-clouded eyes. You should've probably kicked her out for the night, told her to go back to Jackson and crash on Jesse's couch. Something deep within you, something foolish and perhaps even blind, stopped you.

"Just..head to bed, okay? Go to bed, and I'll get this all cleaned up." You mumbled quietly, and the lack of hope or effort to appease her didn't go unnoticed by Ellie. She could tell you were about to really be done with her.

This would be the first night she would be sleeping in your shared bed. She probably would've protested, but all the fight contained within her to push you away was released. Ellie only nodded and her footsteps faded as she left the kitchen.

Cleaning vigorously only helped distract you from the racing in your chest just a bit.

You used to believe that Ellie was confidently obsessed with you. Her heart used to seem so yearning for you and her hands, those needy hands would always seek you out. Now, you felt as one-sided as this had started. Nothing could completely wipe away the pain of feeling unwanted, no amount of scrubbing away the wine or sweeping up glass. Nothing could ever be the same, you were starting to believe.

The kitchen floor was shiny now, but you felt like a train-wreck inside. You longed for life to feel easier, even with the struggles you were forced to endure. It's much harder to face those alone, and it's especially hard when the person you're losing is slipping away on their own and not by the grim reaper's grasp. Your hands grasped at the table for support as you lifted yourself up off of the ground after scrubbing away the mess completely, and you slowly entered the bedroom.

Ellie wasn't buried underneath the blankets. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and you could tell she was waiting for you to be done cleaning. You felt uneasy in your stomach, and all you wanted was for her to finally speak. But she was silent until the words that made your face pale left her chapped lips.

"I have to leave."

"...what?" You wanted to put up a fight. You wished you had it in you to scream and yell at her, to beg and plead for her to stay, but she'd completely drained your once rose-tinted cheeks of power. She held a grasp over you and intended to squeeze.

She finally looked at you. "I have to kill them, and then maybe I can come back to you and be who you need me to be."

She was truly demented now, you thought to yourself. Your fingers were twitching, fidgeting with the end of your sleeve. She had the audacity to speak again.

"I can get revenge and maybe then, I can-"

"Just go. I'm done pretending like I want this. I feel like I'm living with a damn ghost, Ellie." You couldn't take it anymore: the one-sided fights, the one-sided feelings, the constant distance and sleepless nights. At this point, you weren't sure if you wanted her to return. She looked surprised that you had agreed so easily, though, and it left her feeling even worse because Ellie could tell that you just simply gave up.

"Alright, then. I promise I'll be back. I promise I still love you. I'm so sorry." She stood up slowly and her hands cupped your face. You made no move to lean into her touch or to push her away, only silently appreciate her warmth, even though your mind was telling you she probably wouldn't be coming back.

She leaned in, her warm breath on your cheek, and pressed two plush lips to it. You let out a breath of your own and closed your eyes. Footsteps rang in your head louder than her boots realistically were.

When your eyes opened, she was gone.

Spring followed suit of the bitter winter.

The trees that were once devoid of life sprouted new potential, and the creek stream flowed ever-the-same. Little white flowers with their pure petals sprouted in your yard, and the sheep seemed to be more content with the grassy utopia grown throughout the yard now that the cold was behind it.

Overall, the atmosphere was lighter and swept clean of a hopeless, frigid ache. It had been approximately four months since Ellie left.

The first and second month was the hardest. You wondered how someone could just leave the person they claim to love the hardest in their life. You thought that the pain would be never-ending, but you were always changing, just like the seasons. Just not in chronological order, only through cycles that couldn't end.

Even after four months, sometimes you thought of her. You wondered if she was gone from the Earth, her body left to be feasted upon by infected or if she was on some dirty floor with a bullet in her head. You wouldn't be surprised; the girl had too much bravado, and she'd be sure to get herself killed that way. She couldn't suck it up, even to the one behind the gun. Still, the ache in your chest was lightening.

You felt guilty to think that you were moving on. She could actually come back, and she'd be needing you more than anything. She could walk through that wooden door at any minute and grovel over the months she hurt you.

You were starting to wonder if you could bear to take her back. The chores were easier than ever, though, now that you didn't feel the tense grief looming in the air. The house was empty, and you were completely alone, and somehow not as lonely as you could imagine.

However, late at night, you would dwell on what Ellie would do if she were here, and if the grief she carried would've been passed like it should've been. You could somehow feel the way her breath would tickle your neck and she'd trace her chapped but soft lips over your skin like she was tending to more than just some girl. Like you were her goddess, and that was how things once were. You could still smell her everywhere in your bed, the scent of sweat mixed in with Earth. It always lingered and the memories of her ghost touches seemed to hit you like a flash bang.

Those nights grew less and less frequent, however.

Summer nights were spent in the old house you inhabited in Jackson.

The farmhouse was much too spacious for one person, so after much consideration, you returned to the settlement.

You were welcomed with warm, open arms. You desperately missed your friend, Dina, and how she matched your spirits. You spent the summer going to parties and bonfires, staying over at Dina's house and smoking the occasional weed. Your once quiet lifestyle turned into what it once was, maybe even better. Nights became filled with the sound of your crackled laughter, and Dina sporting up some joke that Jesse would roll his eyes at watching you topple over, clutching at your stomach as if it were the peak of comedy.

Your house felt warm and filled with new emotions; it was like the once pale, neutral undertones were painted over with a layer of bright, fresh paint. Still, the cracks in the walls of your soul would remain at times.

Always did the freckled face, the auburn tufts of hair, and the wide eyes follow you, though. After a while, it all seemed to fade away, like a bath bomb in water. You pulled the drain out and you believed that you closed the chapter on Ellie's presence in your life.

It was then, on a late July day, that she returned.

#ellie tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #abby tlou #ellie smut #ellie x y/n #tlou ellie #ellie x fem reader #dividers by kodaswrld

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aesthet · 8 months ago

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Sweet Spot 𓍢ִ໋🀦

Alhaitham x fem!reader

contents: squirting, fingering, small story before smut, curious Alhaitham, mind fucked reader, bottom reader x top alhaitham

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Alhaitham wasn't interested in sex until he met you. Well it was a book to be exact, a 'How to' sex book that he came across in a bazaar held in the city of wisdom.

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"Book sale! Book sale! 40℅ off!" A man yelled promoting his books. The scribe isn't the type of person to go down town and be surrounded by people, but when he heard they sell books from all across Teyvat he just can't help but check it out.

While Kaveh wonders in the furniture section, the Scribe found himself between piles of books. He was looking around when he came across a book, quite a thick book but somehow light. The cover shows a hand, holding what seems to be a peach with the title 'Ladies' favorite secret',

"a cliche title" He mumbled when the merchant that's selling these books appeared behind him.

"Ah~ I see you're a cultured man, hm? " He wiggles his eyebrows, but after not seeing any reaction from the taller man he immediately cleared his throat and continued with his words "Pardon me friend-- are you interested in this book? "

But before Alhaitham could reply, the merchant continued his words "This book is written by a quite famous author amongst the ladies and she decided to help the men out here." The merchant then took a deep breath and held the book infront of Alhaitham's face "With this hand painted cover she presented a book to make your girlfriend happy! " The merchant smiled widely, and again after faced with an expressionless face, the merchant laughs awkwardly. "O-or partner, I don't judge!" the merchant said, thinking Alhaitham was offended by his words. But after not receiving any reaction he decided to change the topic.

"Say, friend? Care to take the book home with you? It's 40% off and your-"

"I'll take it" Alhaitham cut short

"What?" The merchant blinked a couple of times

"Need i repeat myself?" Alhaitham said, accidentally intimidating the poor merchant.

"O-oh! that wou;dn't be necessary. Uhm, Is there anything else? " The merchant fixes his wrinkled top, cold sweat trickling down his neck.

"No" He replied, though there was also another book that caught his eye. It was a Kama sutra, but he doesn't need it. For now that is, after all the bazaar will be going on for two weeks. Plenty of time

-+- - + - - + - - + - - + --+- - + - - + - - + - - + --+- - + - - + - - + - - + -

A few days passed by and you noticed him being more bold, with his movements. Such as; helping you from behind when cutting a certain fruit, reaching for a book on the top shelf, getting a blanket from the closet and pressing himself against you while doing so, pulling you closer by the waist, and even taking a shower together more often. Teasing you, giving you bedroom eyes and a not so subtle hints.

So it's not surprising when you start to become more flustered around him and that made you overthink things. But those thoughts stopped when one day, you were cleaning the house and when you're dusting the bookshelves, you found a book that you've never seen before and after reading a little bit of the book. You can't help but wonder 'is this really him that bought this-'

"What are you doing? " The familiar voice cuts off your thoughts, making you flinch. "Alhaitham, you scared me" sighing after realizing it's just him. He walks over to you, towering you making you feel small. He looks down to see which page you were on "'How to find the sweet spot" he said, smirking slightly.

You looked down, realizing you're still holding the book and on page 69, coincidentally. So when you look up at him with a nervous smile along with an awkward chuckle only to be greeted by Alhaitham's eyes that are filled with something you've never seen from him. A wanting gaze.

"Want me to touch it for you, doll?" He leans in, kissing you. And after you agreed. He immediately puts you in a position, making your back lean against his broad chest as he holds your legs open as he bury his skilled digits in your cunt, curling it upwards and deep hitting your sweet spot. "Ah! Alhaitham--" you whined when his fingers dug deep into you, feeling it in your abdomen and a you writhed around feeling sensitive.

He hummed "Is this it? the sweet spot?" he mumbled to himself, learning your insides and taking notes of what makes you whine and shake like a leaf. "H-hah~ Alh-Haitham-" You moaned holding his wrist, feeling something build up in your abdomen. At this point you're drunk on his fingers, buried really deep in you and reaching spots that you can't reach with your own fingers. And after realizing the feeling that is in your abdomen is similar to the feeling you feel when you're about to pee. You panicked and try pushing his fingers away, only to have your wrist held by his other hand "W-wait, 'haitham! I-" he shushed you, his face beside your ear looking at the way his fingers pump in and out of your tight cunt.

He lets out a pleased, leaning in to your ear and nibbled on your ear "It's okay, no need to hold it in. Just let it out" You shake your head, scared at what's a bout to happen. Creaming around his two fingers, you begin to feel that you can't hold it in anymore and you told him "I-i can't it's too much!--angh~" he fondled your nipple through your shirt with the hand he used to grip your hand earlier. He shushes your whines with a kiss, swallowing every noise that comes out of your mouth.

With whines and moans filling up the room, you finally did what he said and finally let go that feeling building up in your abdomen. And when you did it felt like you blacked out for a few seconds, exhaling and letting out a relieved moan. You didn't realize you've squirted, and slouched against his chest. Alhaitham saw the big gush that sprayed from your pretty cunt, he was surprised and amazed that his doll can do such a thing!. That left you shaking and a whimpering, sweaty mess. Alhaitham then sat up and looked at your face again, then something inside him clicked. So without missing a beat he pushed two fingers in and began to massage your sweet walls

"A-hah! A-wait! I'm still sensi-tive! " You whine, writhing against the sheets and trying to push away his hand. But he only pushed away your hand and pressing down on your stomach. That resulted with a loud moan being ripped away from you. Despite your efforts of trying to push him away, you can't help but enjoy it and soon you became a mumbling mess., cumming again not long after.

He looked down to see your flushed face, too drunk on the feeling of his fingers. He tuts at your adorable face, in the midst of your heavy panting he pulled out his fingers and licking his fingers clean. "I didn't know you can be so messy" he said, easily changing your position.

"Wait, what are you doing?" you asked him and he replied with a chuckle "Oh? so you thought i was done with you?" he asked you with a smug smirk. That alone tells you that you're going to be here for awhile.

#genshin smut #alhaitham smut #fem reader #gens #genshin impact #genshin imagines

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lvlyfawn · 5 months ago

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KATE MARTIN X PREGNANT WIFE READER

word count; 640 words.

authors note; i love love love feedback!! please come into my inbox and tell me what you think, it really helps to motivate me!

— cried when you told her. tears of joy of course, the two of you had been expecting it. the treatment was bound to work at some point, and if it didn’t, you’d adopt. holding the pregnancy text in hand, you’d cried as well.

— you had recorded your reactions as the test was flipped over. just for the memories, not to post. the pregnancy was not nearly ever posted, you preferred to keep these nine months all to yourselves. the public knew that the kate martin and her wife were expecting their first child, but it wasn’t found out until you were almost ready to give birth. once the baby was born, you tried to keep their face and name out of the media as much as possible. you and kate only wanted this baby to have the most normal life they could have.

the most you’d post, was pictures where you bump was not shown.

— nearly always had her hand on your stomach. everywhere you went, kate stood next to you holding onto you protectively. if you wanted space, your wife stood not too far away, but far enough to keep you happy. in addition to always touching your belly, she’d kissed it all of the time. she truly couldn’t believe it was finally real.

— kate just hopes for a healthy baby, not specifically a boy or a girl. but, when you found out the gender of the baby, the girl was over the moon. you were having a boy. every second she got, she rambled on and on about how good this would be for her nephew, carson. one of the greatest joys of the pregnancy was watching your wife hold carson in her arms and tell him about how his new cousin would be his bestfriend.

— every morning your wife sat on the side of the bathtub, holding back your hair and rub her hand on your back attempting to soothe you. she wishes morning sickness wasn’t a thing at all :((

— cooked for you every night, and every morning. always making or buying what you craved. her cooking wasn’t great, but you never wanted to hurt the poor girls feelings. so the two of you spent lots of time eating out. the thought was what counted after all.

— kate was forever thankful that carson had provided her with practice, and that she had awesome role models that gave her many tips. of course, you’d wake up late in the night to pee, and you’d find the blonde in the living room tiredly watching videos on how to swaddle or burp a baby.

“kate, baby, come back to bed. give the teddy bear a rest. you’ve got six months.”

— speaking of late nights, the girl would sit next to you with her hand on your stomach trying to feel some sort of kick. she couldn’t help but feel jealous that you’d always get to have the extra closeness to the baby during these nine months. and that you’d always be the first to feel the kick. but times like these, she cherished, it helped you to share the experience with her.

— after the six month mark, and your bump had grown larger, kate did everything for you. she took care of everything, cleaning, preparing the nursery, and she still had time for her career. the girl was constantly doting on you, showing how much she truly loved you. no matter how many times you told her she didn’t need to do this all, she’d insist.

— and once your child is born, it’s born somehow looking like the perfect mix of both of you, even though you knew that wouldn’t be possible. funny how you carried this baby for nine months, yet he is just as sassy as kate.

divs by @/anitalenia , feedback encouraged + anons are on. taglist; @bveckers @kmoneymartini @cosmopretty @charlottehughess @aubreygriffin. comment to be on taglist!!

#kate martin #wnba basketball #kate martin x y/n #lv aces #iowa wbb #kate martin x reader #las vegas aces #kate martin fanfic #iowa hawkeyes

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amuyyi · 4 months ago

Text

she wants me (to be loved) .

synopsis; you have always loved huh yunjin, but not in the way she loved you.

trope; huh yunjin x f!reader, angst, unrequited (?) love, bittersweet ending

wc; 4.6k

cw; idk like one cuss word LMAO

a/n; i swear im still in forever writers block but THIS FIC IS INSPIRED BY THE SHE WANTS ME TO BE LOVED WARRIOR CATS AMV ON YOUTUBE ITS ABOUT BLUEFUR AND THRUSHPELT PLEEEEK WATCH IT AND/OR LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE READING IM JUST SO ARRGGHHH also its almost 4 am i am half asleep i just realllyy wanted to finish this. also i used to be a theatre kid so.

You have always loved Huh Yunjin. But not in the way she loved you.

You recall very vividly the first day you met her.

It was the middle of freshman year of high school, and you had just moved into New York from out of state. Your father had just gotten a new job opportunity, and practically wasted no time packing all of your things to move in the middle of the school year. Perfect. New place, new faces, and definitely no friends. Everything an emotional teenage girl needed in a cruical stage of her development. All of the other students in your classes were nice enough, but everyone already had their established friend groups by now, and you simply didn't fit what they were looking for.

Despite the different environment, there was one thing that this school provided that provided some sort of familiarity.

Theater.

Back in middle school and for the brief semester you had in your old high school, you had always been a fan of the big stage. The music, the dramatics, the acting… It was all so whimsical and alluring to you. How could you not get involved?

(Okay, honestly.. You had gotten really into musical theater in middle school once you found a Hamilton animatic and it became your sole personality trait for a good two years or so–)

Unfortunately, you were too much of a coward to truly put yourself out there like the actors around you. High school insecurities and poor self esteem truly did take its toll on you back then. So instead, you settled for being part of the stage crew.

You thought that getting involved with a club would make it easier for you to socialize and make friends. You could join a community. Yet somehow, it made everything all the more difficult.

Everybody seemed to already know each other and have their own established friends. On top of that, everyone also seemed to know who they hated as well. You would always overhear what other actors and techies would say about one another and it only just put you off from making friends even more. The whole environment was incredible… cliquey.

Still, you had nothing else better to do, so you stayed. It was… Fine. You still had no real friends, but you did enjoy doing various tasks around the stage. Working with stage lights, helping prepare costumes, painting backdrops. It keeps you busy. It was routine.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to walk in on actors practicing their lines or their songs backstage. Back home, you knew everyone involved within the production– including the actors. You would always compliment them and occasionally even provide help whenever you didn’t have your own techy jobs to fulfill. The main problem? This isn't home. Nobody here was your friend.

But when you found a pretty girl practicing for this semester's production of Phantom of The Opera in an empty hallway, you couldn't help but stop in your tracks and stare. You’ve never seen her before. Well, it's not like you bothered to pay much attention to the people around you anymore— but you feel like you wouldn't miss a face like hers.

She had the prettiest brown hair with highlights and the cutest beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. She was pacing around the hall, script in hand as she did various vocal exercises. The sound of her voice echoes off the walls, and it was just as angelic as she looked.

“Prima Donna, your song shall live again…!” She sings out, her voice at a steady yet powerful vibrato throughout her verse. Her Bel Canto was skilled and practiced, and you can't help but wonder how long she’s been doing this for. Surely she’s overqualified for a simple high school production? You needed to hear more…

She moves her hands in elegant and dramatic forms as she immerses herself into the self-centered character of Carlotta. She played the roke perfectly, considering how most definitely had your attention now.

“You took a snub, but theres a public who needs you, think of the cr—“

A loud thud rings throughout the hallway, startling the mystery opera singer as well as yourself. Shit. You look down and see the culprit. Well, it was you. you caused the interruption— but more specifically, it was a freshly decapitated mannequin head with a wig you were going to more securely attach to the top. It was a bit of a horrific sight, in all honesty.

Now that you think about it, this prop might actually be for her. Though you didn't have much time to ponder that thought considering the mysterious brown haired beauty has now caught you eavesdropping on her singing.

The head rolls across the tile floor and lands at her feet. You feel your face warm to what was most likely a bright tomato red as she picks it up by its shortened neck, the wig threatening to fall off as it dangles limply off of the top of its head.

“I'm assuming this is yours?” She smiles kindly at you, though a bit wary. Understandable, really. You would be wary of yourself too if you were in her shoes.

“Y-Yeah, sorry…” you nervously laugh, taking the head from her hands as you try to pat the wig back into place.

“You sounded good, by the way!” You quickly stammer out, absentmindedly hugging the head to your chest, “Like… really good. Seriously.”

The mystery girl laughs at your flustered words, and she waves her hand dismissively. Her cheeks warm bashfully as she shakes her head.

“Thanks but… I have a lot to work on. My tones off, and I still need to memorize these lines by tomorrow…” she trails off, moving to press her back against the wall, sliding and sitting down on the floor.

Fiddling a bit with the mannequin head, you don't allow yourself to think too hard before you suddenly blurt out.

“I-I can help!”

You watch as her pretty brown eyes widen slightly, and

“Really? You sure you arent too busy?

You were actually quite busy, but she didnt have to know that.

“Of course not,” you lie confidently, sticking a hand out, “I’m y/n.”

She eyes your hand curiously, but ultimately shakes it, “Yunjin. Jennifer, if you’d like.”

From then on, you would spend every other day after school with Yunjin, helping her recite her lines, fitting her for costume changes, and even finishing that mannequin head prop for her.

Soon after, your after school hangouts turned into out of school hangouts and then eventual sleepovers every weekend. You learned everything possible about Yunjin. Like how she had always dreamed of being a performer, how she wanted to make it big in the Kpop industry, how she loves snakes…

Since then, you knew you loved her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

On one seemingly normal spring afternoon, you were abruptly torn away from your sunkissed siesta with the sound of your door being kicked open.

With the growing bond between you and Yunjin, you made the mistake of giving the girl a spare key to your own home. (Oddly enough, your parents werent against the idea. They considered Yunjin like a second daughter.)

You whine out as she grasps at your half asleep form, shaking you aggressively.

“I got accepted into a company, y/n!! I'm gonna be a trainee!”

Eyes shooting open, you try to sit up through the aggressive grip Yunjin had on you.

“No kidding?” You croak out, looking at her with disbelief.

“I'm not!” She cheers, bouncing happily through your bedroom. Trying to match her energy through the grogginess, you slip out of bed, stumbling a bit as you tumble into her arms. Yunjin laughs at your state, wrapping her arms around your waist to keep you steady as she jumps excitedly.

“I’m going to move back to Korea next month— this is so exciting!!” She squeals out, and your smile falters ever so slightly. Move? To Korea?

Still, you bite back the sickly feeling developing in your stomach as you squeal alongside her.

You were happy for her, and did nothing but support her all throughout her time in Korea. Called her every night after training, sent her pictures of school life without her, even voting for her in that odd survival show she participated in. You did anything and everything you could to be the best friend you could be.

Yunjin always had the stars in her eyes. But in yours? There was only ever her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The day that everything truly changed is still fresh in your mind.

After spending years chasing after Yunjin, it feels like you have finally caught up to her. She's back in the states after her time in Korea, and she's planning on staying. She looked a little different than before, but it was the same old Jennifer you knew and loved— even when missing a few moles and deeper eyebags.

Upon her arrival back home, it was like no time had passed. Once again attached at the hip, as it should be. You practically made it your job to crawl into her skin at any given moment and to pamper her with all of her favorite things.

You would treat her to meals, spontaneous shopping sprees, and simple girls nights out. All of the good stuff to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, your attempts to keep your best friend happy came with their own obstacles. you would occasionally find advertisements or clips of idols that would show up during your time together, and for just a brief moment, you would see that usual spark within Yunjin’s eyes falter. It was a stark reminder of what she could have had.

It hurt you to see her get reminded of her time as a trainee. It truly was everything she wanted and more. But it was okay, you were here now, and you weren't planning on letting her go this time.

You’d drop any and everything for Yunjin. You allowed her to vent whenever she needed, to come over whenever she wanted, and to indulge in spontaneous late night meals whenever you two felt like it.

Needless to say, your wallet was crying by the time summer was nearing its end, but you didn’t mind at all. Yunjin was back. She was happy. You were happy. Things were finally returning to normal.

The two of you decide on a college to attend together in Boston, both pursuing a major in business. It's neither of your first choices in majors, but it's a good enough money maker in the long run.

The pair of you sat in Yunjins bedroom, with you comfortably propped up against her bedframe on the floor whilst the brunette lay comfortably on the mattress. You hugged the djungelskog plushie you had gifted Yunjin some birthday ago close to your chest as you atared at your phone, with Yunjin crunching away on cheez-its as the entire La La Land soundtrack softly plays from the record player in the corner of the room.

Its nearly less than a month until move in day at Boston University, and you feel beyond giddy. Actual independence? And spending it with your best friend slash secret crush? Your dreams were coming true. Looking through your college dorms on the website, the pair of you converse about the future.

“What kind of theme do you think we should go for our dorm?” you ask, leaning your head against the bed to look up at Yunjin, who was still crunching away contentedly at her snacks.

“I'm not sure… But I do know I want to cover my wall with all of my posters…”

“Ooh! Yeah!! I can add fake flowers on the walls…”

“ Of course, we need a bit of girlish charm— oh! we need to make room for a record player and my guitar.”

“Google maps says there's a 7-eleven near the campus…” you murmur, your short attention prompting you to immediately shift to another topic.

“ Should we go got late night snack runs?”

“Duh.”

“Or maybe if we get tired of the dorm food, we can get equally as crappy convenience store food for instead–”

Suddenly, the music from Yunjin’s phone gets cut off, being replaced with her ringtone (it was Come Inside Of My Heart by IV of Spades ) as she huffs.

“ sorry, hold that thought..” She murmurs, answering the call.

You didn't know any Korean, the only bits you’re familiar with are the phrases Yunjin taught you to talk with her parents (which you also butchered) so you naturally begin to tune out whatever she begins to say on her end. Despite this though, you easily pick up on the shift in tone as she speaks. Professionalism, skepticism, to Shock. That was all you could read off of Yunjin as you looked up from your phone, curiously glancing at her. Her eyes were boggling out of her skull, and she placed a hand over her mouth before ending the call.

The brunette remains frozen in place, hand still over her mouth as a silence passes over the room.

“So….?” You ask, crawling up onto the bed to sit next to her.

Yunjin’s voice is shaky, yet laced with a twinge of excitement and disbelief as she speaks, “I just got a call from Hybe. I… I have the chance to debut.”

You don’t know what came over you at that moment. It felt like the world came collapsing down on you. Right now, you should be happy. Jumping for joy, focusing all on Yunjin and her chance for success. She's been given a real chance to make her dreams come true, even after it seemed impossible, even after all the years of rejection and work. This was all she wanted in life and more— you should be happy? Right?

But you’ve always been a selfish person. Or maybe you convinced yourself you were ever since that day. You don’t know. Maybe in that moment, you realized you could lose everything you’ve been waiting for. You’d lose the girl you've chased after for so many years now. If you didn't do something now, you wouldn’t have the chance to do it ever again. You were a greedy person, so you confess.

“Yunjin, I love you. I always have.”

The words feel like a slap to the face, and it shows. It shows in the way her eyes widen and smile falls. This was a bad idea, but you can't back out now. Your eyes begin to water as your voice cracks.

“I… I don’t want you to go— to leave me…” you choke out, “What about uni? Our dorm? What am I going to do without you?”

You knew you were being manipulative, you knew you were being selfish. But you didn’t care. You wanted her to know how you truly felt. You didn’t want her to leave you, not again. Your heart couldn’t handle it.

Through tears threatening to spill out, you can see her cheeks slowly dust a faint shade of pink as she processes your words. She seems… hesitant. Over what? You weren’t too sure. You weren’t too sure if you even wanted to know.

The silence that washes over the two of you is beyond suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning, digging your nails into your palms as you look away. If you looked at her, you were scared you’d break, and the tears would begin to flow. After a few moments that feel like hours, she finally responds.

“I believe you have feelings for me…” she begins, voice soft yet strained. For some reason, those words leave a bad feeling in your gut. You muster up enough courage to meet her gaze. She looked just as hurt and conflicted as you felt. Yunjins grip on her phone tightens as she takes a deep breath, continuing, “...but I can’t give this up, y/n. It's my dream.”

That was the moment you knew you truly lost her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

In another life, you and Yunjin would be at Boston University together, pursuing that business degree that neither of you want.

It's a dream that used to occasionally return to you when Yunjin was overseas. Every now and then, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, and you’d check Yunjins location. She’d still be in Seoul. It was okay though, because you knew she’d always come back. She always came back. Now it haunts you every other night.

The dream is always so incredibly vivid and real. You would wake up to Yunjins many alarms that she somehow manages to sleep through every single time, and you’d peel your eyes opened to your shared dorm room. Though you didn’t have much time to admire the beauty of it all through the sound of an alarm continuously dragging you out of your slumber. She’s always been a heavy sleeper. you’d have to jump on Yunjins sleeping form to even stir her into some form of consciousness.

Yunjin groaned in protest, but you knew her. She wasn’t truly bothered, not when it came to you. Instead of entertaining your futile attempts to wake her up, she would wrap her arm around your waist, dragging you down with her as you squeal out.

She's warm. Her brown bobbed hair has grown out by now, black roots peeking through the top of her head as you join the mess that is her bed (and hair.) She smells like vanilla and wood, and you can't help but laugh into her embrace. You’ll be late to the dining hall for breakfast, but it doesn't really matter. There was a 7-eleven nearby that could provide breakfast while the two of you rushed to your classes– in which you had meticulously planned to have almost every single class together.

After a long day of school, you would return back to your dorm both collapsing on your respective beds as exhaustion settles in. It was decorated just the way you two liked it. With both boy and girl band posters littering the walls alongside some fake vines, flowers, and a multitude of polaroids you two have accumulated over the years.

Once the two of you move out of the dorms and graduate, you’d find an apartment to share. Dual income and no children, that was the way to live. Alongside a cat and a dog, of course. You’d have a black cat named Binx, and a golden retriever named Dug, something you two had discussed many times before.

It’s beyond perfect. You lay on the couch, comfortably in Yunjins arms as a blanket is lazily draped over your forms. Binx is settled upon your lap as Dug takes up the space on the rug. The tv is playing Coraline— a staple movie for you two, and you'd smile. Yunjin would lovingly return the grin, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

And then you’d wake up, the grim reality of your situation compared to your dream sending tears flowing down your cheeks. You’re constantly reminded how Yunjin wasn't yours. Not in this lifetime. And it hurt more than anything else.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You’ve always been there for Yunjin, both before and after she became famous.

In High school, you of course supported her throughout your brief time in the drama club. But you also provided a shoulder to cry on, a free source of math homework answers, a friend.

When she moved back to Korea to become a trainee, you helped her through the rough patches. Hours of dance training, rigorous workouts, and unhealthy dieting took a toll on her. But you were always there through the phone, no matter the time.

Even after her debut, you remained loyally by her side. Yunjin grew busier and more distant over the years, and it was understandable. You were busy too. With college, internships, and general “adulting,” it was a challenge to remain in contact. Still, when you two did find time to talk, Yunjin would tell you stories of her members, of the rumors and scandals that would plague the group. It hurt to see her hurting, especially knowing you couldn't be there for her like before. But you were glad to see her achieving all she wanted and more.

You hop into one of Yunjins late night livestreams (even if it was the morning for you.) It wasn’t like you couldn’t just call her whenever you wanted, but it was just another one of the little things you would do to continuously support your friend. Yunjin never made a scene whenever you popped in, but always made sure to look for your comments and read them out every single time.

“Sing something from Phantom or you’re lame?” She reads out, a soft laugh slipping past her lips as she does so.

The idol gives the camera a knowing look, one that only could be read by you, and you smile as she clears her throat. Phantom of the Opera is what brought you two together, after all. She spends a few minutes doing short vocal exercises to warm up her voice, and the sight is oddly nostalgic. Yunjin then sits up straight as she begins to sing, and you feel your heart twinge slightly at her song choice.

“Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me,

Once in a while,

Please promise me you'll try.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Now here you were, in a completely foreign country, placed in more than accommodating seats within the VIP section of this unfamiliar venue you’ve never even heard of before. There were hordes of men around you, all cheering in a deep voiced mass for the girls on stage. You stuck out like a sore thumb. Yet, there was Yunjin. You watch her, shining brightly on stage whilst donning a fresh head of bright orange hair. It suited her. Her fiery passion, her fierce determination that got her here in the first place, her glowing smile. It was all only a physical expression of who she was on the inside.

Yunjin had insisted on getting you these tickets– even going out of her way to even cover part of your plane ticket here despite you having a very stable and office job now. You tried to tell her you were happy enough to see her from the nosebleed seats in the back, especially since it was all you could afford on such short notice. But she refused, pulling some strings to give you the best seats possible. She wanted you here. More than anyone else.

You’ve seen Yunjin perform before. How could you not? You could vividly recall the way she would sing out and capture the entire crowd’s attention from the stage of your high school’s auditorium. How she would perform with such confidence and precision, how she performed like she was made for this.

Things have changed a lot since then. There was no business college in your future together anymore. No planned dorms together. No more late night talks. No 7-eleven snack runs. Yet oddly enough, despite the changes, this was seemingly no different than before. Every person in the crowd was entranced, immediately allured by her natural charm and her passionate voice. You included. Just like those many years before, she still managed to have you bewitched on the sidelines while she chases after the spotlight.

So you cheer. Joining the roaring crowd as you call out Yunjins name, a bright smile playing on your lips as you do so. You’ve always been her biggest fan, after all. You swear you saw her make eye contact with you, seemingly providing her an energy boost as she sings out to the audience. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

Once the show is over, you find your way to the backstage area. You tried your best to explain to the security how you were friends with one of the members, and how she invited you back there. Unfortunately, your Korean was less than conversational, and you pretty much looked like an embarrassingly desperate and obsessive fan until Chaewon came and saved the day.

“y/n-nnie! Come, Come!! I saw you in the crowd!!” She chirps out sweetly, abruptly pushing past the guard and dragging you backstage, leaving the security both confused and a bit exhausted. This might not have been the first time the girls have tried to meet with their friends after performances.

There were people everywhere. Stage hands, stylists, makeup artists, and more, all rushing around you two and occasionally praising Chaewon. You felt beyond out of place, and probably looked the part too. Despite having Yunjin as a friend, you’ve never once felt like you were friends with a celebrity. She was simply your Jennifer, and that was more than enough. Being here though, you could truly see the extent of the impact she had on people. How so many people respected her and admired her.

Lost within your thoughts and observations of the crowd, you barely notice when Chaewon lets go of your arm, leaving you to fall victim to a bright orange mass stampeding your way. Without warning, you’re tackled into a hug by none other than Yunjin herself. You swear you see stars as the air gets forced out of your lungs.

“y/n!! You made it!!” She beams, giving you a firm squeeze pulling away to fully take in the sight of you. Her arms are still firmly wrapped around your form as her eyes almost sparkled with pure affection for you. Your cheeks warm at the contact, and you can't help but shyly avoid her gaze. Even after all of this time, she still has the same effect on you. After letting out a soft breath, she quietly murmurs, “I was singing for you, y’know.”

And your heart aches. Aches for what you two could have had. Aches for feelings she chooses not to reciprocate. You want to be angry with her. Despise her for leaving you behind and living this luxurious celebrity life.

Yet your heart also swells. Swells with pure affection for the girl you love. The way she holds you, how she insists on having you attend, how sweetly she says your name. All of it makes you crumble all too easily. She truly cares for you, and never let the fame change that. You truly were lucky to have her.

“Really, now? You sure you weren't singing for the sea of men you forced me to sit with?” You laugh out, gently shoving her, “I swear I heard a guy say he ditched a family dinner to be there.”

Yunjin loudly laughs at your comment as she shakes her head, “How about you come over to our dorms to celebrate tonight, yeah? We’ll even let you pick a movie – or I’ll make them watch whatever you choose… Please?”

You were a bit hesitant. These were Yunjin’s friends. You didn’t want to intrude, especially after a crazy night like this. Yet, despite your reluctance, Yunjin stares down at you with those damn puppy eyes, and somehow manages to get Eunchae and Chaewon to join in…

“... Okay, fine,” you groan out, feigning disappointment as you see Yunjins eyes light up. “but we’re watching Coraline.”

The girls all cheer and pull you into a tight hug, with Yunjin holding onto you just a bit tighter than the others.

Huh Yunjin loves you. But not in the way you want. Yunjin wants you to be loved.

And loved you are, even if it means she can't be yours.

#kpop fanfic #gg fanfic #kpop #kpop x female reader #gxg #kpop gg #kpop x fem reader #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #wlw #gxg imagine #yunjin x female reader #Spotify

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iznsfw · 11 months ago

Text

Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

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

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

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

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

“Vodka.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

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

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

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

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

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

Loneliness?

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

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

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

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

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

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

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

Their lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your table?

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

YENA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did you—how did she—

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

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

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

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

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

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

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

So no, you’re not buying it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

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

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

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

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be.”

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

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

“You sound disappointed.”

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

Yena kneels.

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

So is your dignity.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect hair, too, you note.

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

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

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

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, uh…”

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

“Well?”

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

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

He stares at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

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

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

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t mind that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, Yena…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

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

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

“Chaewon?”

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

And yet here she is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s the last thing you ever heard.