#send roses cheap

[calypsocolada]

someone else bought you flowers... ft. nanami, gojo, toji, hakari, takuma, & higuruma

authors note: hi. this is just a lil something I wrote while on break at work. my birthday was last week and I wanted to write a lil something but got too busy. until now! pls enjoy. bye. ps: probably gonna write a second part for some of the other boys...

cw: suggestive, slight jealousy, fem reader

wc: 2.2k

click here for my masterlist

“Baby?” You hear Nanami’s voice from the kitchen, you lean back in your chair, spying down the hallway. When you spot him a smile spreads over your face. 

“Hi honey, you’re home early.” You say, pushing to your feet as you make your way towards him. He’s standing near the island in the middle of the kitchen, hand outstretched towards the bouquet of flowers you’d set there. “Thank you for the flowers by the way… what was the occasion?” You ask, outstretching your arms to give him a hug. Nanami pulls you into him, kissing the top of your head. 

“I didn’t send you these cheap flowers, honey.” He intones against the top of your head. You pull back, slightly surprised. 

“Hmm?”

“I know your favorite flowers. Those are practically weeds.” You laugh softly at his words, he’s still holding you gently.  He’s serious as he looks at the bundle of flowers with scrutiny. 

“So I have a secret admirer?” You ask as Nanami’s gaze sharpened. 

“It seems. But they don’t know you very well. Pity.”

“You’re a flower snob.” You tease as Nanami tightens his hold around your hips. 

“I just know my girl.” He kisses your cheek first, then your jaw and neck, he trails up to your lips, pausing before they meet. “And my girl deserves only the best quality flowers.” You scoff out a laugh and he shuts you up with a kiss. 

~

You flicked the card from the flowers, your coworkers gushing beside you as you blushed embarrassed. 

“Wow… he really went all out.” Your coworker beamed, leaning to smell the bouquet. You turned in your chair, popping open the card. 

You shine through my darkest days... Signed, your future. 

The card was sappy but the flowers were a nice thought. Satoru liked to embarrass you sometimes and even though you weren’t really a flower kind of girl you still appreciated him thinking of you. The elevator to your floor dinged and your coworker giggled, nudging you. 

“Here’s Mr. Romantic.” She teased as you turned and spotted him. He smirked at you, giving you a little wave. You gathered up your stuff as he met you halfway, taking your purse and lunch bag. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you two walked to the elevator. 

“Someone got you flowers?” He asked as you blushed, rolling your eyes. 

“Uh huh, someone…” you teased back. “My future apparently.” You said as you two stepped onto the elevator. 

“Your future?” Gojo echoed. 

“Who apparently shines through your darkest days?” You and Satoru met eyes before he reached out and plucked the card from the flowers. He looked over it for a second. 

“So my girl had a secret admirer?” He says, pocketing the card. 

“Oh? They’re not from you?”

“I know you don’t like flowers, baby.” He says as the door slides open and you two walk out. He was right, you were more of a sweets person. “You know for someone who’s your future they don’t know you very well.” He teases as you laugh. He holds out his hand for the flowers as you hand them off. He presents them to an older lady walking by who blushes and thanks him. 

“You pawned off my pretty flowers.” You teased as he took your hand. 

“Thanks because you need arm space for all the shit I’m about to buy you.” He winks, pressing a kiss to your cheek, pulling you towards the city.

~

You huffed coming through the door, arms full of at least fifty roses. You struggled until an arm jutted out, pushing your front door open for you. 

“You’re home early, baby.” Toji’s voice intoned, deep and smooth from just waking up. 

“There was a mix up with the shifts at work so I got to leave.” You say, watching Toji’s eyes stick to the roses in your arms. “This was sweet of you by the way. I didn’t get to read the card yet.”

“Don’t bother.” He said, eyes sharpening. “I didn’t send these.” 

“Oh?” You hum, setting the bundles of roses on the table as Toji plucks out the card, tearing it open. He reads it over and hikes up a brow. 

“This is some corny shit, baby.” He laughs, handing over the card for you to read.

Roses are red, violets are blue, the best part of my day is you. 

You audibly laughed. 

“Yeah if I had read the card I would’ve known you didn’t send these.” 

“These are expensive,” Toji says, plucking one of the petals from a rose. “Looks like some rich bastard has his eye on my girl.” There’s a glint in his eyes that had your stomach bottoming out. 

“How inconvenient.” You tease as Toji pushes the roses right off the table into the trash. Your lips part in surprise. 

“We can’t just-“ he’s swift with his movements, pulling you into him, large hands on your waist as he turns you to face him, bodies pushed together. 

“I’ll kill him.”

“It’s just roses.” You smirk as he sharpens his eyes. 

“You want some roses, I'll buy you thousands, not some schmuck from work.”

“Toji… are you jealous?”

“Hush.” He whispers against your lips before kissing them.

~

“Morning, you sleep well?” You push inside the front door, struggling between the bags and the flowers. Hakari glances up from his phone and sets it down on the coffee table. It was evident from the lingering scent of coffee and his disheveled appearance that he had just gotten up.

"Yeah, like a corpse," he replies, helping you with some of the bags. "What's with the flowers?"

“Oh?” You glance at the flowers. “I thought you sent them to me?”Hakari raised an eyebrow momentarily, taking a close look at the bouquet.

"Not from me, babe. You sure they ain't from some secret admirer?" He teases with a lighthearted smirk, plucking one of the flowers from the bunch and twirling it idly in his free hand.

“Well if they aren’t from you then they are from someone else.” You respond, walking towards the kitchen. Hakari follows closely behind you, setting the bags down on the countertop. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed, a curious smirk on his face as he watches you set up the flowers in a vase.

"So, who do you think sent 'em? Got any ideas?" 

You pluck out the card, flashing it to him. 

“I haven’t read it yet.” 

Hakari's smirk widens in anticipation as he looks at the card, intrigued. He lets out an exaggerated scoff, pretending to be unbothered.

"Well, don't just stand there. Read it already. See who's been sending you flowers like a sap." You pull it open, reading the card. 

“Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow, from your secret admirer.” You recite. Hakari lets out a genuine chuckle at the message, a hint of mischief glimmering in his eyes. 

"That's pretty sappy, gotta hand it to 'em. Secret admirer, huh? Who do you think it could be?" He crosses his arms, feigning nonchalance, as he waits for your response.

“You don’t seem to be bothered with someone sending your girlfriend flowers?” You tease, tossing the card on the table. Hakari swipes it up, reading it again. Hakari chuckles once more, a smirk playing on his lips. He steps closer, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Nah, not really. I can't blame 'em for having good taste. And besides, I trust you." He reaches out, gently pulling you in by your hips, his smirk turning into a sly grin.

"But you still didn’t answer my question. Got any ideas who sent 'em?"

“I have no idea who it could be.” You tease, laughing softly “I have to say though, they did get my favorite flower. That’s nice attention to detail.” Hakari raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh really? Your favorite flower, huh? Must’ve gotten lucky." He steps a little closer, his hands still on your hips as he looks down at you, a playful smirk on his face. He leans in, speaking in a low, flirty tone. "I wonder, do I match up to this secret admirer?"

“Hmm… do you? When’s the last time you got me flowers?” You tease, his grip tightens just slightly. Hakari lets out a mock sigh of feigned annoyance, rolling his eyes jokingly.

"Alright, you caught me there. I can't remember the last time I got you flowers. But that ain’t the only way I can get your attention, you know.”He steps even closer, his hands slowly wandering lower as he gently pulls you flush against his body. His eyes locked on yours in a playful glance.

~

Takuma frowned at the sight of flowers in a vase on the counter. He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. He walked towards the bathroom, poking his head in where you were taking a shower. 

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah?” You called out from the shower. 

“Someone got you flowers?” He asked as you turned off the water and blindly stuck your hand out for a towel. Takuma pushed further into the bathroom, handing you a towel. He waited a moment as you stepped out, wrapped yourself in a towel and wrung out your hair. Takuma leaned on the doorway, a pout on his face as you glanced over at him. You took in his pout and furrowed your brows. 

“A coworker got them for me...Not sure who though.” You said, reaching out and gently grabbing the hem of his shirt. 

“It’s not Chad is it?” He asks as you pull him to you. 

“It’s not Brad, and getting his name wrong won’t make him go away, ya know?” You tease as he smirks. 

“Oops.” Takuma shrugs. “So a secret admirer?”

“Uh huh. Did you read the card?” You ask as Takuma idly twists a strand of your hair with his index finger. He shakes his head. “Well apparently they like that I read while eating my lunch, they say it makes me look smart.” You fill him in as Takuma narrows his eyes. 

“You eat alone?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I like to eat in the courtyard.” 

“I’ll have lunch with you from now on.” He says as a smile fits to your lips at his obvious jealousy. “I don’t want some bozo thinking he can just write love poems and watch you from afar.” 

“Baby, are you jealous?” You tease. 

“Yes.” He says without hesitation making you giggle as you run a hand through his hair, tucking it out of his face. He leans into your touch. “You do know how hot you are right?” He asks, making you laugh. 

“Calm down, I brought the flowers home for my mom, she likes daisies. And I’d love lunch with you everyday, even if it’s so you can puff out your chest.”

“No... no puffing of chests is happening. I’m just going to have lunch with my insanely hot girlfriend everyday for the rest of time.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

~

You had fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for Hiromi to get home. When he finally arrived late, he quietly stepped in through the front door, not wanting to wake you as you slept on the couch. There was an unfamiliar bouquet of flowers on the table by the couch that he glanced at before setting his things down and pulling off his jacket, loosening his tie. You stir awake on the couch, slowly sitting up as you yawn and stretch. 

“You’re home late.” You remarked as he made his way over to you, running a hand through his hair before he’s pulled down next to you. He chuckles warmly as you sidle up beside him, placing your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“Did I wake you, love?”

“No… it’s alright.” You smile sleepily as he places a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Waiting up for me?”

“Always.” You answer fondly. A small hum left his lips as he started to shower you with kisses, trailing down to your jaw and down to your neck. He held you close, grip tightening a bit. 

"You didn't have to, I told you to go to bed even if I came home late"

“Well I wanted to thank you for the flowers. What was the occasion?”

“Flowers? I didn’t send them love.” Hiromi points out, still pressing absentminded kisses to your jaw and neck. It was hard to focus on his words. “I’ll toss' em for you.” He intones, pulling you into his lap. 

“You’re not jealous are you?” You ask heatedly against his lips. 

“They’re cheap, baby, they'll be dead by the morning.” He states, pulling you closer by the hips. “And rightfully so.” 

“So you are jealous.” You tease feeling his grip tighten. 

“And if I was?” He asks, voice low and warm, a slightly teasing tone to his voice. You laugh as he peppers more kisses. 

“I’d say it looks good on you.”

[pucksandpower]

Hi!! I always see fics of Charles being the one who isn’t believed he’s in a relationship (and i eat it all up cause it’s such a fun trope 😌) but what if it’s the reader’s turn. Like she’s a normal university student who always talks about her boyfriend but her friends and her fellow students just don’t believe her so Charles decides to surprise her and just be the proof. Thanks in advance!!

Daydream

Charles Leclerc x engineering student!Reader

Summary: You are living the dream … except no one actually believes that your boyfriend is really your boyfriend

You walk into class after the winter break with a sun-kissed glow and a new watch on your wrist.

Your friend Matteo notices it immediately and lets out a low whistle.

“Wow, that has to be the most realistic looking fake I’ve ever seen! Where did you get it?” He asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes but smile back. “It’s not a fake. Charles gave it to me for Christmas.”

Your friends barely give you a chance to get the last word out before they burst out laughing. You feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment and annoyance.

“Oh sure, I’m certain that your very real boyfriend, Charles Leclerc the Formula 1 driver, just happened to give you a €340,000 Richard Mille for Christmas,” your other friend Livia jokes.

“Come on guys, I’m serious! Charles and I have been dating for months now. We met when I was interning with Ferrari last year,” you insist.

But your friends just keep chuckling and shaking their heads in disbelief.

“If you were really dating an F1 driver, you would be posting cute couple-y pics all over Instagram. There’s no way anyone in that position could resist showing off a little,” Matteo argues.

You let out an exasperated sigh. You and Charles agreed to keep your relationship out of the public eye for now to avoid media scrutiny. But your friends just see this as further proof that you’re making it all up.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed to be seen with an engineering student,” Livia quips.

That stings a bit, even though you know she doesn’t mean for it to.

You slump down in your chair, absentmindedly fiddling with the exquisite watch on your wrist. You hadn’t realized it was worth so much when Charles gave it to you. The way his eyes lit up when you unwrapped it on Christmas morning was priceless. He was so excited to spoil you in any way he could. And now your friends think it’s just a cheap fake.

Charles is always doing ridiculously romantic things like flying you out on a private jet just so you can spend any free weekends together and sending you bouquets of roses bigger than you are. But no one believes that he’s really your boyfriend. To them, it’s all just part of an elaborate scheme you’ve concocted.

You met Charles when you were one of ten engineering graduate students selected for a prestigious internship with Scuderia Ferrari. You spent six months working in Maranello, learning from some of motorsport’s brightest minds.

Charles took an interest in you immediately. He would come by your workstation in the aerodynamics lab, peppering you with thoughtful questions about your projects. You would discuss aerodynamic principles and simulations for hours. Even ex-team principal Mattia Binotto said the two of you had a visible “synergy.”

Your internship had since ended but your relationship with Charles continued. You tried to play it cool at first, not wanting to seem overly eager. The day after you went back to study in Milan, he asked you out to dinner. Your first date lasted five hours as you talked endlessly about everything under the sun. You were amazed at how you never ran out of things to discuss.

Over the next few months, you grew closer and closer. Charles would take weekend trips to Milan just to see you, even if it was only for a few hours. He told you that you grounded him and reminded him that there was more to life than racing.

When he asked you to be his girlfriend after inviting you to the Monaco Grand Prix, you were shocked but ecstatic. You knew then that your hectic schedules won’t make it easy but Charles is unlike anyone you’ve ever known. He makes your heart race faster than a V12 engine.

You’re shaken from your reminiscing as Matteo waves a hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N! Come on, tell us where you got the watch. I want to get one too! It looks so identical to the real thing that we could probably sell it to some suckers on eBay.”

You shake your head with a huff. “Forget it, I’ll tell you all about my ‘fake’ boyfriend another time.”

For now, you’re just counting down the days until you can see Charles again.

No matter what anyone else may think, the two of you know that your love is real.

***

You’re humming along to your playlist as you drive Charles’ Purosangue on the winding roads leading to Milan. The SUV handles like a dream and you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having 715 horsepower under your feet.

Your own trusty Fiat had broken down while visiting Charles in Monaco over the weekend. He insisted you take the Purosangue for the almost four hour drive back rather than waiting for a rental. You tried to decline at first, anxious about driving such an expensive vehicle. But Charles wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I don’t like the idea of you driving all that way alone in some random rental car,” he argued. “This will be much safer and more comfortable for you, mon amour.”

You finally relented, unable to resist when he turned on the charm. Charles gave you a lengthy tutorial of all the car’s features before sending you off with a lengthy kiss and plans for your next visit.

As you pull into the Politecnico di Milano parking lot, you realize just what a scene you’re about to cause. The other students are used to seeing you in your almost ten-year-old Fiat, not a glittering metallic Ferrari.

Sure enough, jaws drop and whispers follow you as you step out of the driver’s seat. Matteo quickly spots you from across the lot and comes jogging over eagerly.

“No way! Is that ... is that a Purosangue?” He gapes. “What are you doing with that?”

“Funny story actually. My car broke down when I was visiting Charles in Monaco last weekend. So he let me borrow this while mine is in the shop.”

Matteo stares at you blankly. “Visiting Charles ... in Monaco?” He throws his head back and laughs. “Your dedication to this bit is honestly impressive, Y/N. But there’s no way that the Charles Leclerc just gave you his Ferrari to drive back to Milan.”

You sigh but you’re determined not to let Matteo get under your skin this time. “Believe what you want. But I had an amazing weekend with my boyfriend before heading back to reality today.”

You head into class, Matteo trailing behind you, still shaking his head in disbelief. Livia immediately jumps up when she sees you.

“Shut up, is that really a Ferrari outside?” She gasps. You nod nonchalantly and take your seat.

“Y/N here is trying to convince us that her boyfriend let her borrow it over the weekend,” Matteo says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“You do realize those start at €390,000 right?” Livia says. “Why on earth would Charles Leclerc of all people let you drive his brand new ultra luxury SUV around?”

You throw your up hands in indignation. “Maybe because he’s my boyfriend and he wanted to help me out! Why is that so hard for you guys to believe?”

But instead of listening to you, other classmates join the conversation and chime in with their own theories about why you suddenly have a Ferrari.

“Maybe she rented it to play a prank on everyone,” suggests Liam.

“No way,” Eva argues. “Maybe she got a big inheritance? Some distant rich relative died and left their fortune to Y/N?”

You groan internally. But before you can respond, your professor walks in and instructs everyone to take their seats.

Through the lecture, you catch people whispering and pointing discreetly at you. By the time class ends, you just want to go home and video chat with Charles about your frustrating day.

As you pack up your things, Livia comes over. “So have you thought about what you’ll tell people when they see you getting out of that Ferrari for the foreseeable future?” She asks.

You blink at her. “The truth? That Charles loaned it to me while my car is in the shop,” you say slowly.

She pats your shoulder. “Come on Y/N, the joke was funny at first but now it’s just getting sad. No one actually believes that you’re dating Charles Leclerc and driving his cars around. Just tell us where you really got it so we can all move on from this weird fantasy life you’ve constructed.”

You stand up abruptly, shoving your notebook in your bag. “It’s not a fantasy,” you spit sharply. “It’s my real life and I’m sorry you can’t accept that. But I don’t need to convince you or anyone else.”

You storm out of the classroom, blinking back frustrated tears.

Pulling out your phone, you text Charles.

I miss you. My friends still think I’m making this all up. I can’t wait to see you in Spain next race.

Charles texts back immediately.

Not as much as I miss you. Don’t worry about what other people think, we know our love is real.

And you looked so hot driving my car 😉

You smile down at your phone, comforted by his words. You may never get your friends and classmates to believe your relationship, but as long as you and Charles know the truth, that’s all that truly matters.

Sliding back behind the wheel of the shiny Ferrari, you feel your stress melt away. Who cares what anyone thinks? You have an amazing boyfriend who trusts you with his most prized possessions. And someday when you and Charles are ready to share your love with the world, everyone’s jaws will drop in disbelief.

For now, you’ll just enjoy the ride.

***

It’s nearly time for summer break and you’re sitting outside with Matteo, Livia, and some other friends, soaking up the sunshine.

“We should all go backpacking around the Greek islands in August!” Suggests Livia. “We could start in Athens, then ferry to Mykonos, Santorini, and end in Crete. Who’s in?”

Everyone voices their enthusiasm for the idea. Then Matteo turns to you. “How about it, Y/N? Take a break from your ‘boyfriend’ and come adventuring with us common folk.”

You take a deep breath and stir your coffee, debating on how to break the news. “That sounds amazing but I already have plans for the summer.”

“Oh yeah? Going home to see your family?” Matteo asks.

You take a deep breath. “Actually, Charles and I are going on a vacation for a few weeks.”

Your friends erupt into laughter.

“A holiday? With Charles Leclerc?” Livia giggles. “Girl, your fantasies are really taking off lately!”

You frown in annoyance. “I’m serious. Charles chartered a yacht and everything. I wish you could see how excited he is for our first big trip together. He’s been planning it for months.”

Livia pats your hand gently. “Sweetie, we know you’re probably feeling financial pressure with school and all. You don’t have to lie about going off on some glamorous vacation. If you can’t afford to join us in Greece, just say so.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “This isn’t about money. Charles and I have been looking forward to this since the start of the season! I’m sorry that our relationship is still so unbelievable to you.”

Your aggravation must show on your face because Matteo holds up his hands appeasingly. “Look, I’m sure whatever you end up doing this summer will be great. But clearly this whole Charles charade has gone too far. It’s time to come clean.”

You stand up abruptly, grabbing your things. “I don’t need to come clean about anything. My relationship with Charles is real, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

You storm off fuming. Your friends’ outright refusal to even entertain the notion that you could be dating Charles is so patronizing and demeaning. Do they really think so little of you?

That night, you vent to Charles over FaceTime about the conversation.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard for them to believe me! I know we’re not exactly a super conventional couple but it’s like they think I’m delusional,” you sigh.

Charles gives you a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry they’re being like this, mon cœur. But try not to let it upset you too much. We know the truth about our love. That’s what matters.”

You nod, cheered as always by his encouragement. “You’re right. I’m just so excited for our trip! Sailing around the Mediterranean with you all to myself? It’s going to be a dream.”

Charles grins. “Oh I can’t wait either. The yacht has a hot tub on deck under the stars. I want to make sure it’s just as magical as you deserve.”

You spend the rest of the call discussing your vacation itinerary and plans for when your families will join you in Sardinia.

Charles reassures you again not to worry about what others think.

“Soon we’ll share our love with the world. But for now, let’s just focus on us,” he says softly.

By the time you hang up, your frustration has faded. Matteo and Livia may not believe you but in a few short weeks you’ll be cruising the bright blue Mediterranean with the man of your dreams.

The day finally comes for your trip to begin. As Charles helps you aboard the sleek yacht, you forget all about your friends. They don’t know him like you do. And they definitely don’t know how he kisses you goodbye at the airport or the special way his eyes light up when he says “I love you.”

This vacation will be everything you’ve been dreaming of. And you know Charles will do whatever it takes to make it unforgettable.

As the yacht pulls away from the marina, the only thing on your mind is the blissful weeks ahead with your love. Everything else fades blissfully into the background.

***

You walk with the group of engineering students through the halls of Maranello, thrilled to be back at the Ferrari factory. You did your internship here last year but walking around still feels surreal.

As you pass the simulator room, you hear someone call your name.

“Y/N! Hold on a second!”

You turn and see Gianni, one of the simulator engineers you befriended during your internship. He jogs over holding a sleek black ring.

“Charles left this after his session the other day,” he presses the familiar band into your palm. “Can you get it back to him?” Gianni asks.

You grin, turning the ring over in your hands. Charles hates taking off his Oura fitness tracker but has to for simulator runs.

“Of course, I’ll give it back to him when I’m in Monaco.”

You turn back to your friends, expecting this to be the final push they need to believe you.

But Livia just rolls her eyes. “Come on Y/N, he is obviously in on this whole charade. I bet you convinced him to play along!”

The other students nod, chuckling. Your smile disappears.

“What? No, Gianni and I really worked together when I interned here! This isn’t some weird prank,” you insist.

Matteo pats your shoulder condescendingly. “It’s alright, you don’t have to keep pretending with us. We get it, you want people to think you’re dating Charles Leclerc. But it’s getting kind of sad now.”

You clench your fists in frustration as the group moves on. Why are they being so stubborn? You clearly know people here and have a real connection to Charles.

When you pass the aerodynamics lab, your mood lifts a bit. Your favorite team leader, Fabio, is there working on computational fluid dynamics simulations.

“Y/N! So great to see you back here!” He greets you warmly and pulls you into a friendly hug.

You chat with him for a few minutes, explaining about the visit. As you say goodbye, he adds, “Tell Charles I said hi when you see him this weekend!”

But Matteo just scoffs as you walk away. “Let me guess — he’s in on it too?”

You don’t even bother responding this time, too irritated. Why should you have to convince your so-called friends of anything? You don’t owe them proof when they’re clearly set on ignoring it.

As the tour concludes, Livia pulls you aside, her expression serious.

“Look Y/N, we’re a bit worried about you. All these stories ... it just seems unhealthy. We think you should talk to someone,” she says gently.

You gape at her. “Unhealthy? Because I mentioned my boyfriend a few times on a trip to his workplace? You guys are unbelievable.”

Livia frowns. “Come on, it’s more than that and you know it. The jewelry, the car, the traveling ... it’s all an elaborate fantasy life. We just want what’s best for you.”

You feel anger bubbling up inside you. Livia reaches for your arm but you jerk away.

“You want what’s best for me? Then start believing me! I love Charles and he loves me. I don’t need therapy just because you refuse to accept the facts,” you snap.

Livia looks taken aback. You don’t wait for her response, just turn on your heel and stalk away fuming.

You pull out your phone and call Charles, needing to vent. When he picks up, the sound of his voice instantly calms you.

Charles listens patiently as you recount the horrible field trip. “I’m so sorry they’re being like this, ma belle,” he soothes. “But you handled it well. Don’t let them make you question yourself.”

You sigh. “I just wish they could see how happy you make me. I hate that our love seems so unbelievable.”

“It’s their loss for not seeing what we have,” Charles replies. “Soon everyone will realize that I only have eyes for you.”

You chat for a while longer, feeling reassured. Your friends’ doubt used to make you sad but now it mostly just angers you.

You know the truth. This weekend when you fly to Monaco and fall asleep in Charles’ arms, what Matteo and Livia think won’t matter one bit.

The only thing that matters is the love between you and Charles.

And one day, both of you will make sure the whole world knows that it’s as real as it gets.

***

It’s Friday morning and you’re stuck in your Principles of Advanced Aerodynamics lecture, anxiously watching the clock.

The Italian Grand Prix weekend starts today but your professor refused to excuse you from class early. Which means you’re missing out on precious hours with Charles before free practice later today.

You resigned yourself to not seeing him until tonight when the classroom door bursts open.

And there stands Charles, looking unfairly handsome in a Ferrari branded polo and jeans.

“Sorry to interrupt professor,” Charles flashes a charming grin. “But I’m going to need to steal Y/N away for the weekend.”

He shoots you a playful wink and your heart melts.

Your classmates erupt in excited whispers as they realize that the Charles Leclerc is standing in front of them. Your professor’s lips are moving but no discernible sound comes out.

The professor struggles to find words for a moment. “You’re ... you’re Charles Leclerc!” He stammers.

Charles smiles humbly. “Yes sir. And as I’m sure you know, the free practice for the Italian Grand Prix starts today. I’ll need to have my good luck charm there with from the very start.”

He extends his hand to you.

You grab your bag, legs wobbling as you make your way to the front. Charles wraps a supportive arm around your waist.

“You see professor, Y/N is my biggest supporter. My results improve dramatically when she’s present. So surely any Ferrari fan would agree that she must be trackside all weekend?” Charles urges charmingly.

The professor nods mutely before seeming to find his voice again. “Yes, of course! We certainly want the best results for Ferrari here at home. Y/N, you’re excused for the day. If you give me just a moment ...” He rummages through his bag with shaking hands and pulls out a Ferrari phone case.

“Would you mind?” He asks sheepishly.

“Not at all,” Charles smiles, taking the case and scrawling his signature across it with a provided permanent marker.

Your professor looks ready to faint. “Thank you so much. Enjoy the race weekend. Forza Ferrari, sempre!”

Trying not to laugh, you quickly gather up the rest of your things. Your friends watch wide-eyed as Charles takes your hand.

“Ready, mon amour?” He asks.

When you nod, he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you passionately in front of the entire class.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your lips.

You cling to him, dizzy from the kiss. “Not as much as I missed you. I can’t believe you came here just to pick me up.”

Charles caresses your cheek. “I’ll always come for you. Now let’s get going to Monza. I want to show you how much I appreciated your good luck texts before practice.”

He keeps your hand clasped firmly in his as you make your way outside. When you glance back through the windows, your classmates are still staring after you in stunned disbelief.

Once you’re in the familiar 488 Pista, you finally let out the laugh you’ve been suppressing. “Did you see the looks on everyone’s faces? I thought Professor Mancini was actually going to faint.”

Charles grins. “I know dramatic gestures aren’t usually my style but I wanted them to see once and for all that you’re mine.”

He lifts your intertwined hands to his lips. “No more doubting our love after today. And I meant what I said — you’re my good luck charm, Y/N. Having you here this weekend means everything.”

You smile up at him softly. “I’m just happy I can be here to support you.”

He kisses you deeply, still parked outside of the Politecnico, not caring who sees. And you know without a doubt that this amazing man and your once-in-a-lifetime romance are completely real.

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of excitement. In between practice sessions, Charles takes any chance he can to steal moments alone with you in his driver’s room.

His tender kisses and whispered reminders of his love send your heart racing faster than an F1 car.

***

It’s race day in Monza and you’re walking through the paddock hand-in-hand with Charles. His physio and press officer trail behind you both as Charles waves to the cheering Tifosi in the stands.

Suddenly, you hear voices calling your name.

You look over to see Matteo and Livia leaning over the fence, trying to get your attention.

“Y/N! We’re so sorry we didn’t believe you!” Livia shouts.

“Please come talk to us!” Yells Matteo. “We feel awful about everything!”

You stop short, conflicting emotions swirling through you. Charles senses your hesitation and squeezes your hand supportively.

“What do you want to do, mon cœur?” He asks. “I can try to get them paddock passes last minute if you want to talk.”

You bite your lip. Part of you wants them to witness first-hand the depth of your relationship with Charles. To show them just how wrong they were to mock and belittle your love.

But another part of you is still hurt by their stubborn refusal to believe you all this time. Do they really deserve VIP paddock access after the way they treated you?

“I don’t know, Charles ... they were so patronizing about our relationship for so long. I’m not sure they deserve the reward of paddock access after demeaning my feelings,” you reply.

Charles nods thoughtfully. “I understand. It’s completely up to you, of course. But it could be nice for them to see up close just how real our love is. Watching us together will help it finally sink in.”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips. Charles does make an appealing case ...

“Alright, I can’t say no to that adorable face,” you laugh and kiss his cheek. “But maybe keep them waiting a bit first as payback!”

Charles grins mischievously. “I think that can be arranged.” He pulls you in for a passionate kiss, dipping you backwards dramatically.

The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles, a wild and beautiful sea of Rosso Corsa.

When you come up for air, you see your friends watching open-mouthed from the stands. Charles winks at them over your shoulder before leading you away, his arm curled firmly around your waist.

Several hours later, Matteo and Livia finally receive their paddock passes. They rush over to you right away, profusely apologizing again.

“Seeing you and Charles together in class was unbelievable, but this ...” Matteo trails off, darting around at the bustling paddock with wide eyes. “You really are dating an F1 driver!”

You exchange an amused look with Charles. “Yes, that is what I’ve been trying to tell you for many months now,” you laugh.

Livia hugs you tightly. “I’m so sorry for ever doubting you. But after today, we’ll never question your relationship again.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I hope after witnessing our love up close, you will see there is nothing Y/N wouldn’t do for me, just as I would do the same for her.” He gazes down at you tenderly and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You and Charles both laugh as your friends turn red. “We’re really happy for you two,” mumbles Matteo. “Hopefully we can all start over now.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Of course! Y/N’s happiness is what matters most to me and I know how important her friends are to her.”

You feel yourself falling even more in love with this man and his endless patience and compassion.

The race keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish. When Charles takes the top step on the podium, you and your friends scream loudly enough to be heard in Milan.

That night at the celebration, Charles gives a sweet toast about how your love inspires him.

Matteo and Livia watch with tears in their eyes.

“Wow, when you said your boyfriend was romantic, you really meant it,” Livia whispers.

“I told you, Charles is one-of-a-kind. I’m so lucky to be his and to be loved by him.”

Charles comes over and pulls you into his arms, nuzzling your hair. “I’m the lucky one, mon ange.”

He stops and takes both of your hands, gazing into your eyes intently. “I never want you to doubt what we have, Y/N. You are everything to me. My whole world.”

Matteo shakes his head in wonder as he takes in the pure love clearly shining in both of your eyes. “We’re so sorry we ever doubted that what you have is real. Seeing you together, it’s obvious your love is straight out of a fairytale.”

You grin up at Charles, your heart overflowing. With his kisses still lingering on your lips and surrounded by friends who finally believe, you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Now everyone can see your love just as clearly as the two of you always have.

***

Today is the day you’ve been working towards for years — your graduation from the Politecnico di Milano with your Laurea Magistrale in Aeronautical Engineering.

The auditorium is packed with proud families as you line up with your classmates, dressed in formal robes and caps. Charles insisted on coming, despite it being right before the start of a triple header. And having him here means the world to you.

When your name is called, you grin widely as Charles’ cheers rise above the polite applause of the audience. He gives you a standing ovation, not caring that he is blocking everyone’s view.

His pride and support brings happy tears to your eyes. You blow him a discreet kiss and see him pretend to catch it, pressing his hand to his heart.

After the ceremony ends, you rush straight into Charles’ arms. He swings you around then kisses you deeply. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour! All of your hard work has paid off.”

You hug him tight, overwhelmed with emotions. “Having you here today, supporting me every step ... it’s the best gift I could ask for.”

Charles strokes your hair tenderly. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. But I do have one more surprise ...”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope with the unmistakable Ferrari seal.

Handing it to you, Charles bounces excitedly on his toes. “Go on, open it!”

With shaking hands, you open the letter and read the words offering you a position as a Junior Aerodynamics Engineer with Scuderia Ferrari.

“Charles, what ... how ...” you stammer in shock.

He smiles widely. “Enrico Cardile was very impressed with the work you did during your internship as well as your thesis.”

You continue staring at the letter. “But I don’t want special treatment just because I’m your girlfriend. I want to earn a position at Ferrari on my own merits,” you say uncertainly.

Charles grasps your hands. “Mon ange, you know I would never influence the team’s decisions. They want you because of your skills, not our relationship. I only asked if I could deliver the news as a graduation gift when I found out.”

You bite your lip. “It’s just ... I don’t want anyone thinking that I didn’t earn this.”

“Listen to me,” Charles quickly gets serious. “You are the most talented, driven, and intelligent person I know. You’ve worked relentlessly for this and Ferrari recognizes that. Please don’t doubt for one second that you deserve this.”

His sincere words dissolve your concerns. He’s right — you interned successfully with the team already. You can do this.

You throw your arms around him again. “Then I accept the offer! I’m going to be a Formula 1 aerodynamicist!”

“You will be incredible, Y/N. I can’t wait to see you thriving there. You’re going to change the world with that beautiful mind of yours.”

You cling to him, overwhelmed with emotions. “I couldn’t have done any of this without your love and support. You gave me the strength to keep pursuing my dreams.”

Charles tips your forehead to his, eyes shining. “And you gave me the gift of true love. My life is so much richer with you in it.”

He kisses you until you’re both smiling too widely to continue. Taking his hand, you turn to look out at the gathered families, classmates, and professors mingling around.

Just months ago, no one believed your relationship with Charles was real. But here you stand, ready to take on the world together.

Your storybook romance has grown into an unshakable partnership.

As Charles squeezes your hand, you know that the next chapter of your lives will be even better. You can’t wait to build your future with this amazing man — both on and off the track.

***

10 years later

You take a deep breath as you walk into the familiar lecture hall at the Politecnico di Milano. Looking out at the eager young students, you remember sitting in their place not so long ago. Back when you were just starting your engineering studies, never dreaming you would one day return as a guest lecturer.

Charles insisted on coming with you today and you scan the room until you spot him sitting inconspicuously in the back row, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. He gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

“Good morning, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I am Y/N Leclerc — Head of Aero Development at Scuderia Ferrari and former student right here at Polimi.���

As you start your lecture on the aerodynamic theory behind Ferrari’s latest championship-winning car, you easily slip back into the familiar rhythms of university life.

Discussing complex simulations and wind tunnel testing with these eager minds reminds you of the days you were in their shoes.

You can hardly believe it’s been 10 years since you sat in this very room, never imagining the incredible journey ahead.

After joining Ferrari, you and Charles found ways to balance your personal and professional lives through compassion and communication.

Winning your first World Championship together was a euphoric blur of champagne and ecstatic team celebrations. Being the first female Director of Aerodynamics in Formula 1 was daunting but Charles never stopped believing in you.

When he got down on one knee after winning in Monza and asked you to be his wife, it was one of the happiest moments of your life. Planning a wedding while chasing championships was no easy feat but your passion for racing and each other kept you going.

Now, five championships later, you’ve settled into a blissful rhythm as partners both on and off the track. There were tough times and painful losses but coming home to each other’s arms helped erase the remnants of any bad day.

As you wrap up the lecture and open the floor to questions, a female student raises her hand. “As a woman working in F1, what’s the best advice you can give aspiring engineers like me?”

You smile, thinking back on your own self-doubts starting out. “Don’t be afraid to take up space and make your voice heard,” you tell her. “Formula 1 needs more brilliant women like you. If you love the science and the cars, pursue this career fiercely no matter what anyone says.”

The student thanks you excitedly and you make a mental note to talk to Charles about establishing an engineering scholarship for female students.

After the lecture finishes, Charles comes up to greet you with a tender kiss. “You were incredible up there. I’m so proud to call you my wife.”

You kiss him back, still just as dizzyingly in love as that first date all those years ago. “I couldn’t have done it without my biggest cheerleader here supporting me.”

As you walk hand-in-hand back to the car, you think about how far you’ve come together.

A storybook romance, successful careers, and most importantly, an unbreakable partnership built on love and trust.

When Charles said your love would overcome any doubt, you never imagined how right he would be.

But now, as the Italian sunlight glints off your matching wedding bands, you know the best is still yet to come.

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 24 - Park Rosé x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

This was a weird place to meet a superstar like her. Well, it really wasn't the first time you met. You two intended to work together in the past, but ended up never happening. So here you are, in a small bathroom in the freaking gala of some music award, kissing Rosé and grabbing her ass.

She's a singer, a superstar, and you're a songwriter and producer whose career is finally taking off.  In that context you were invited to this gala, you just had your first successful song a few weeks ago and now you're here kissing a superstar. Life is really smiling at you right now.

Rosé is hot as fuck, everybody knows that, and apparently she found you hot too.  Otherwise why would she be kissing you and allowing you to grab her ass till the point of spreading her cheeks? Or maybe it was just all the alcohol you drank playing that stupid game. The thing is that you were enjoying each other so much.

She was kissing you with hunger. Grabbing your face and touching your neck and chest. Your hand travels to her chest too to grope one of her small tits, and she responds by touching your bulge. You didn’t have much time because after all you were in a bathroom in a crowded gala, but things were getting hotter between you too, so you can’t help but take this to the next level. 

You release her chest from the oppression of the dress and stop kissing Rosé to put your mouth  to work on her nipples. They are small and brown, and get hard at the first touch of your breath. You suck Rosé tits and she pays you moaning and masturbating your clothed shaft, while her other hand is playing with the hair in the back of your neck.

Your hands come back to her ass only that this time you lift her dress and touch directly her bare cheeks. This damn crazy girl is wearing no underwear at all with this so easy to take dress, she definitely is a freak and you are grateful for that. Now her black dress is around her waist leaving her almost naked in front of you. But that far from making her shy inflict more arousal into her, making rose unzip your pants and take out your cock. Her hand is moving with expertise over your hard and throbbing shaft making you suck more violently her nipples. 

You knead her buttocks with fervor even using your fingertips to put a little pressure on her small anus, you think to put a finger there but you prefer to put another part of your body inside her instead. So you grab Rosé’s waist and lift her body to push her against the wall, she instinctively wraps her legs around you while you manage to press the tip of your cock to her wet folds.

With a single movement you penetrate her putting your entire length inside her soaked pussy. Rosé’s pussy is welcoming your meat so well, she’s tight and presses your cock with her walls. She’s so tight that just after a few pumps you are resisting the urge to unload your milk inside her pussy. 

You kiss her again, more to mute her moans than anything else. Even when outside is playing loud music and everyone is lost on countless conversations you still don’t want to make too much noise. The only sound that is produced inside that bathroom are the wet sounds that make your cock with every thrust, because Rosé’s pussy is wet till the point you think is staining your pants. But it is better than staining her expensive dress that makes your suit look cheap. 

Her pussy is not only tight but also feels warm, like the perfect environment for your hard cock. That convined with the fact that youre fucking one of the most desired womans in the word is sending you to your climax, but you don’t want to fill Rosé’s cunt before she had a orgasm. So you thrust with all you have, putting your shaft inside her pussy as deep as is humanly possible to you in this position, and that seems to have an effect on Rosé because you can’t hold her moans anymore. 

You broke the kiss to let her moan freely while she’s being hit by her orgasm. Her pussy squeezes your shaft and makes you explode too. Your milk fills Rosé’s pussy to the brim while more of her juices are coming out of her. Her orgasm feels delicious on your arms, her body is trembling because her pussy is sending jolts through her entire system, while she moans wildly with her sweet voice. Like you can expect from a singer like Rosé, even her moans are on key, and obviously during her orgasm her voice still sounds heavenly.

Finally you stop stuffing your meat on her tight pussy and let Ros’e put her feet back on the ground. Her legs are shaking and you have to help her to stay standing, but beside that both of you are giggling out of excitement for what you just did and without thinking you kiss her again. This time the kiss is with less hunger and more passion, but also is short.

Rosé now leans against the wall, supporting her weight on her back to help her sore legs. She collects some of the mix of fluids coming out of her pussy with her finger and takes them to her mouth. “Mmm you really filled me.” She said tasting your semen combined with her pussy juices. “Wanna come to my apartment for round two?”

[elliespassagerprincess]

super confident!ellie x really bold and forward reader at a party and they’re both just bored and the more ellie talks to reader the more shes stumbling over her words by how quickly she responds to ellie’s lines and ellie knows she’s fucked bc she cant stop thinking about the girl that she fucked at the party yayyyyy

Rose - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! i had so many ideas for this, i might make a part 2 because yes or ill make a different version ughhhh...i hope you enjoy it<3

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: sexual themes

Summary: in which she cant forget you

authors note: i submitted my application, lets see if i get accepted because i will lose my mind if i don't

masterlist

The smell of weed was the first thing that reached Ellie's nose when she walked into the house.

Mid term exams has had her stressed and she's barley been out. Whoever said college would be easy, lied because she's never been this stressed.

She needed to blow off some steam and what better way is there than to get blackout out drunk and to fuck a random girl she'll never talk to again.

It was too early in the night to make a move. She need to wait for the straight girls to get drunk, and for the overly emotional girls to come her way.

She sat on a couch scanning the room. So many victims, so many options.

Who will be the lucky girl tonight?

"You know its gross to eye fuck innocent people?" she heard a voice talk next to her.

A small frown appeared on Ellie's face when she turned to you.

Holy shit, who are you?

Her eyes scanned your body.... fuck

Maybe you'd be the lucky one

You noticed her staring and you rolled your eyes before saying: "Take your pervert eyes off me"

Oh you were feisty.

Ellie never had a problem with women. Most of them threw themselves at her, all she needed to do was say a few words and give them a small smile and they'd be moaning her name minutes later.

She was confident that she'll get you too. She just needed to pull out all the stops when it came to you.

Ellie chuckled at your comment "I'm not a pervert, I'm just checking to make sure you don't have a weapon on you?" she joked.

"What weapon? My strap on?" You snorted.

oh.

Ellie wasn't expecting that.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" you teased at her sudden silence.

Ellie shook her head quickly gaining her composure.

"Has anyone ever told you that you were pretty?" She quickly tried changing the subject.

You hummed "quite a few... has anyone ever told you that you suck at flirting?"

Now this made her jaw drop.

You didn't giggle like she expected, you didn't give her a shy smile.

What the fuck is happening?

"You're boring" you state, you got up and left.

You left the Ellie Williams speechless.

The longer the night went on the more her mind drifted to you. Her mission of finding someone to fuck ended as soon as you came into the picture.

She wanted you. She was on a mission to find you. But between all the people grinding up against each other she thought that would be impossible.

"Hey there loser" she heard your voice she immediately turned to you.

"h-hey" did she just fucking stutter?

"Did you find someone to fuck yet?" you asked she shook her head.

"Maybe we can..." Ellie went silent, too shy to finish her sentence.

She made two scissors with her hands and she made a scissoring motion "you k-know.... me and you"

You laugh at her. You fucking laugh at her.

"Don't be pathetic, use your words"

Ellie felt humiliated. Why were you telling her what to do? Normally she was the one giving orders. Ellie decided that its time to switch roles. She wanted to be in charge.

"Well lets go to the bathroom and ill show you what i can do"

"so you're saying im some kind of cheap fuck?"

"N-no i mean... i meant like-"

"see fucking pathetic"

Ellie was sweating, her cheeks were tinted in a dark shade of pink.

What were you doing to her?

You gently took her hand "show me where your dorm is" was all you said.

The rest was a blur to her.

Lips passionately touching each other, clothes flying off, your fingers in her. A tiny rose tattoo on your left shoulder. She's never cum so hard in her life.

After tonight she knew you fucked her over.

No one had made her this nervous, no one has ever made her finish this hard, no one had ever made her this submissive.

Who are you?

Ellie groaned when she heard her alarm go off. She rolled over to the side of the bed you were laying on, but you weren't there.

She opened her eyes to a cold empty bed.

"Fuck" she sighed.

She never got your name, she doesn't have your number, she doesn't know anything about you.

The memory of you on top of her, you moaning was all she could think about.

Fuck, how she just forget that? How could she forget you?

The only thing she remembered was the rose tattoo on your left shoulder.

"Fuck rose who are you?"

<3

[iznsfw]

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.

[copinghex]

Sincerely yours, me | T.S

Summary: Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

The first gift was misinterpreted, as harmless as it could be, a man like Tommy wouldn't simply eat anything sent to him.

Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, Polly waited for Tommy to get home. On the table, a delicate box from a nearby bakery and a letter caught everyone's attention, not only for the gesture but also the date.

If anyone would search for Thomas Shelby in city registers, all they'd find would be his army register, indicating his date of birth was 19th September, months earlier than the true date, a cold Wednesday morning of November. Whoever sent the gift was close enough to the family to not be fooled by the erroneous papers.

That day, Tommy entered the kitchen in quick steps, unconsciously or not, he always worked more on his birthday, not being particularly fond of celebrating.

“Is anything special about the age of thirty?” Polly asked.

“...no,” noticing the suspicious gifts on the table, Tommy reached for the letter, the envelope contained no information other than his own name, “who bought this?”

“No one, it was left on the door this morning,” she turned the box to show him the bakery’s name, “the place isn't cheap, they wouldn't leave it at the door without someone to collect it,”

“So someone ordered and left it at the door,” Tommy concluded.

“What does the letter say?”

The first thing Tommy noticed was the calligraphy, it wasn't neat nor horrendous. He could see the author tried their best to look nice.

Dear Tommy,

Originally, I was excited to write you this letter. Now that I have your cake and shall deliver it tomorrow, it makes me question if this was a good idea.

I believe birthdays are meant to be celebrated with those we have dearly. You seem to think otherwise, nevertheless, I hope you (and your family) enjoy the flavor I picked.

I wish I had bought you a gift as well, I had an eye on a pocket watch from a pawnshop in London, it'd seat nicely with a brown three piece you have, unfortunately my budget is not endless.

I hope you enjoy your birthday and wish you all the happiness, prosperity and good fortune.

Sincerely yours, me.

P.S I've taken notice I mentioned the cake spent a day in my house, if the thought ever crosses your head, do not worry, it cannot have spoiled, I kept it on the ice box all the time ♡

“So?” Polly questioned.

“Take a look at the calligraphy,” he handed her the letter, “does it look familiar?”

“Not at all, I can check in the books, but it's too neat to belong to any of our men, also there's a heart in the end,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “I want you to go to the bakery and ask who ordered it, then ask all the neighbors about the person who left it at the door, anything is useful,”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! I've things to do but to investigate a birthday cake!”

“Polly,” Tommy opened the box, “whoever sent this is watching from close, what do they plan to do with all this information? It can't be good,”

“Alright,” she sighed, “I'll ask, but I bet is nothing more than some of the neighbors’ daughters wearing her heart out for you,”

“Fucking finally,” John suddenly entered the kitchen, “Polly said we'd only eat when you arrived,”

“No one is going to eat,” he looked at the cake, the white topping could be easily deduced as vanilla while the bottom was chocolate.

“What?! What not?”

“We don't know who fucking sent this, it can be poisoned,”

“Or someone wants to send a message,” Polly added.

“Or it's just fucking cake,” John argued, “ugh, forget it,”

As John left, Tommy threw the box in the trash, the light sweet scent rose up to his nose and looking superficially, it seemed like nothing but an innocently sent birthday gift. He wouldn't risk it though, if he was wrong about it, it'd be shameful to die over a piece of cake.

Weeks went by without further information, all the bakery was able to tell was that the person who made the order was a woman, nothing they hadn't already deduced. The dust settled, with no signs of danger or special dates coming by, nothing disturbed Tommy's routine.

The second gift was delivered by Scudboat, at the end of a shift in the betting shop he sneaked his head into Tommy's tiny office with a bulky envelope.

“Tom? I'm going home,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy didn't lift his eyes from the papers on the desk.

“Someone left this on my desk today, it's for you,”

His shoulders dropped in a tired move, one more problem was everything he didn't need, “Who did? Did you see?”

“No, we had a full house today, I'm sorry, man,” Scudboat left.

First, a wooden horse fell from the paper. The delicate miniature wasn't bigger than a pocket watch, but the details revealed it was made by talented hands.

Dear Tommy,

Although throwing the whole cake away did offend me, I admit I'm the one at fault for this huge miscalculation, I have no enemies myself and yet, I'd be hesitant to eat something anonymously sent to my door.

Therefore, please accept this horse as a gift instead. It sat dusting up on my shelf for way too long, if you ask me, it resembles Monaghan boy.

Sincerely yours, me.

Tommy placed the miniature in the corner of his desk, it immediately set amongst his other belongings as if it was made to be there.

Slightly crumbling the paper, he fought the urge of ripping it apart, no harm was done and he couldn't find any subtle threats between the lines, but the thought of being observed made him tremble.

The possibility of someone being truly in love with him crossed his mind and was quickly shaken off. Tommy knew he wasn't lovable, at least not anymore, at most it must be infatuation from a stupid woman.

Putting the letter in a drawer, he carried on with his paperwork.

The third gift came three weeks later, when Tommy thought she had given up on him. A worn out bracelet he recognized from an Appleby fair, years ago he bought one for Greta Jurossi and managed to sneak up some more while the seller turned around to get his change. He remembered distributing them amongst her friends.

Those faces were all blurred in Tommy's memory now, shadows from a past that seemed so distant it felt like another life.

The envelope wasn't neat like the previous ones either, delivered by Ada herself, all she offered as explanation was an entertained smile and a “read the letter, Tom”

Relief washed over him learning that Ada was the one collecting information. The worry’s weight left his shoulders and then, the whole scenario felt as laughable as a joke.

Tommy,

It has come to my attention that my letters do you more harm than good. What a shame, I had planned to toy with you a while longer, but seeming it doesn't have the expected effect, I believe there's no option other than revealing myself.

I assure you I never intended harm and Ada was of great help in keeping an eye on you. Please, do not be upset at her, she was manipulated by having me watching Karl whenever needed.

Thomas, you are very dear to me, I've made it clear through the last few months, because of it, I'll be at the Garrison this Friday from 17:00 to 18:00, at the last table in the corner, we've never been complete strangers so you'll recognize me.

All I ask you is to not show up with selfish intentions, to mock me or satisfy your curiosity. I want to be someone close to you, someone you trust and perhaps like. If this possibility exists, come meet me, if your heart is permanently closed, I understand, but please do not come.

Sincerely yours, //////////

Tommy slowly put the letter down, the red scribbles where her name should be evoked sympathy within him. He imagined a simple girl, a silhouette between Greta's friends, switching pen colors and ruining the end of a tidy letter.

Lighting up a cigarette, he rubbed his tense brow, decisions that involved others were always harder and he doubted he'd get used to it someday.

He also couldn't deny curiosity was eating him alive, he needed to know who was sweet enough to look away from the atrocities he committed after France and still love the man he became.

Love, the word sounded so foreign to him he made a decision. He'd go to the encounter, even if he wasn't sure he wanted a relationship, having someone who loved him would be useful.

The week went by fast, around a quarter to five Tommy ordered everyone out of the Garrison, two cups and a whiskey bottle waited with him. He wouldn't define what he felt as excitement, perhaps satisfaction in finally closing that case.

Leaning on the counter, he stared at the doors, a hesitant shadow showed up on the glass panel, the knob moved down and a few seconds passed until she got in.

Her eyes widened seeing the pub empty, a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes met his squinted ones. She gulped, frozen at the entry. Tommy sized her up and his gaze softened, an afternoon tea at the Jurossi’s house years ago, he'd barely noticed her, apparently she had noticed him.

“You came,” she greeted.

“I was curious,”

“Tommy, I asked you to not-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “it was brave of you to keep me in the dark for so long,”

“It was barely two months,”

“Could've been much more if so you decided,”

“Why would I? You didn't see to enjoy my… admiration at all,”

Pouring them drinks, Tommy called her to the counter. She shyly smiled as he handed her a glass and made a tiny toast.

“It was clever,” he complimented, “I recruit clever people,”

“So this is business focused?” she looked down, disappointed.

“Amongst other things,” with his glass, he lifted her chin, “I think we can achieve great things together,”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Crazy Forever || LN4

Summary: The truth always comes out in the end. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, dub/con, dark themes WC: 1.3k F1 Masterlist || Part One (Crazy For you) || Part Two (Crazy For You Too) || Part Three (Crazy For The Three Of Us) || Part Four (Crazy Forever)

“Stay,” Lando begged as he curled an arm around your waist. “I want cuddles.”

“I have to go, I’m going to be late,” you said with a yawn. It had been another bad sleep and you put it down to the lack of sleep tea that used to knock you out cold, but you couldn’t stay in bed all day. “You should get up too, you have to pack for Australia.”

He groaned and he sat up, the blankets fell to his lap as he stretched his arms above his head. “Don’t remind me. You do realise you don’t have to work, love.”

“Don’t, we have been over this, Lan. You already pay for everything and it’s too much. I want to pay for the baby things with my own money.”

“It’s my baby too.”

“It was still my fault,” you mumbled as you left the room. 

You were called into the HR meeting room almost immediately after arriving and you sat down with a frown as your boss avoided all eye contact. 

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly as your palms began to sweat.

Your boss's cheeks turned pink and he slid his phone onto the table, a picture you recognised on the screen. Nausea rolled through you as you slapped your hand over the screen to hide the image but everyone had already seen it. “Where did you get that?”

“You sent it to me.”

“No, I didn’t,” you argued as you covered your mouth. 

“Yes, you did,” he muttered as he took the phone back and showed you the contact number. It was yours, and it was sent while you had been driving to work. “I know you are going through some things but this is unacceptable.”

“No, really, I didn’t send this. I-I don’t know how it happened but it wasn’t me.”

Your boss sighed heavily and looked at the HR manager. “I think it is best if you take the rest of the week off and we will schedule a formal meeting for next Monday. If you decide to hand your notice in before then it will be accepted without this going onto your record.”

You knew what he was saying between the thinly veiled threats and you reached for the small paper bin before retching your breakfast into it. A look of pity came over their faces and a handkerchief floated across the table for you to wipe your lips. “Thank you,” you mumbled as you rose from the table, despite wanting to throw the trash can at them. “I’ll send my resignation through today.”

“It’s for the best this way,” he said as he deleted the nude photo Lando had begged for when he was away testing in Bahrain. He had promised it was just for him, because he missed you so much.

You really shouldn’t have driven home in your state. You could hardly see the road through the humiliating tears that streamed down your face. 

“Lando?” 

You sighed with relief when you found the apartment empty as you weren’t sure you could face him at that moment. You didn’t know how he had done it, or why, but there was no one else who had the picture.

You would have sold your soul for a drink as you changed out of your work clothes and flopped onto the bed feeling miserable. You would have stayed there if it wasn’t for your phone vibrating with a notification, and you noticed an echo coming from Lando’s closet. You climbed over the bed and opened the door, listening for any other sound. It was quiet, but you heard it coming from under his clothes drawers. 

You tugged at the panel of wood and it popped off easily to reveal a mess of power cords, clothes and bags of powders squirrelled away. Shuffling around deeper, you saw a screen light up at the bottom and saw the notification that was mirrored on your phone. You reached for beyond the set of keys that matched your car and old apartment, right down to the cheap Eiffel Tower replica key ring.

“What the fuck…”

“I really wish you didn’t see that.”

You slammed the panel shut but it was too late, Lando was standing in the doorway to the room with his arms crossed over his chest. He had stolen it, the phone you had lost, the one you had replaced, it had been in his possession this whole time. All your social media profiles, iMessages, everything was at his disposal - even your period tracking app.

He had stolen everything you thought you lost. Keys, clothes, chargers. He even stole your perfume. You thought you were going crazy, but he had been orchestrating it all.

Tugging the panel away, you grabbed the clear bag of white powder and sniffed it. It had the same sickly sweet scent as the lemon and ginger tea he made. Grabbing another, you felt ill as it had the same relaxing aroma as the chamomile tea he used to make each night, the one that put you in a deep sleep.

“You roofied me?” You wanted to sound angry and bitter but you only sounded broken as you dropped the bags.

“You’re my girlfriend, why would I drug you?” he snickered as he walked into the room, taking the bags and flushing them down the toilet in the ensuite. “With what drugs?”

“You got me fired…why are you doing this to me?” It felt like déjà-vu and you were sure that you had this conversation before. Smacking the sides of your head you screamed as you tried to remember. Why couldn’t you remember?

“Hey, shhhh,” Lando soothed as he caught your hands and lowered them to your sides. You struggled against his hold as he wrapped you in his arms but he was too strong. “I just wanted you to be free to travel with me. Now we don’t have to be apart, ever.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” you growled as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. “This is insane, you’re fucking crazy!”

He released you as abruptly as he had caught you and you held your hands up as you backed away. You needed space, from him and the situation, you needed time to think.

“Where are you going?” he chuckled as he followed you out of the room, each of his strides longer than yours.

“Anywhere you aren’t.” He overtook you in the hall.

“You know I can’t let you go.” He blocked the door and slid the bolt across before facing you. “You’re carrying my child, you’re not leaving. You have no job, no house, no friends. You need me.”

Hopelessness fell over you and you hung your head in shame. “I wish I never met you.”

His laugh tickled your cheek as he embraced you again, his hand spreading wide over the back of your head and guiding your face to the crook of his neck. “No, you don’t,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re just angry, and that’s okay. We’ll get through this rough patch together and you’ll realise what a blessing this is. You and me, our baby, together, forever.”

“Forever?” you echoed in defeat.

“Forever. You’ll never want for anything, baby. Whatever you want you can have, I’ll make sure you are treated like a princess.”

“The kind that gets locked up in a tower?”

He laughed and kissed your forehead sweetly. “Only if you try to leave me. But you’re not going to try something silly like that are you, love?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. He was right, you needed him. He could provide for you and the child you carried, so you would behave.

“I won’t,” you whispered as your shoulders slumped.

“That’s my girl. I knew I chose right,” he hummed happily. “None of those other women could have been you.”

Cold dread shivered down your spine. “What women?”

“The others that applied to rent my apartment,” he said as pulled back to look into your eyes, a dark smile on his lips. “The one I own next door.”

[dailyfigures]

Welcome to the Official DailyFigures Bootleg Spotting Guide™!!!!

here are the steps that i like to use! each step does have exceptions so just keep going down the list until you're 100% sure!

1. where are you buying the figure?

if you're buying from a trusted figure store there is no need to worry. sites like amiami, solaris, nin-nin game, good smile company, crunchyroll store, etc. do not sell bootlegs. if you're buying from ebay or similar sites, an individual seller, a local store, etc. you need to be a little more careful. 

2. does the figure have a bootleg?

not every figure has a bootleg made of it! check myfigurecollection to make sure.

example ;

rapunzel miku has a bootleg, better check well before buying! vampire miku doesn't have a bootleg (yet?), you're good to go!

3. is the figure ridiculously cheap?

if the figure is extremely cheap for no apparent reason, it's probably a bootleg.

example ; 

this is a bootleg. no one in their right mind would pay 150 bucks for a real figure and sell it for 8.

4. is the figure being sold from china?

almost all bootlegs (apart from people reselling their bootlegs) are produced and sold in china. obviously there are real collectors selling real figures living in china too so there are exceptions, but i'd be careful if you're inexperienced.

example ;

almost all the bootleg sellers on ebay are located in china.

5. how are the seller's reviews?

if it's an individual seller you can ask them for proof of past sales. if it's a reseller website like ebay you can check the reviews on their profile. some bootleg sellers use bots to give themselves overly positive reviews. be wary of accounts with a lot of sales and somehow 100% positive reviews!

example ;

this ebay seller sells bootlegs and has 100% positive reviews.

6. how do the pictures of the figure look?

there's 3 options ;

☆ the figure looks like an obvious bootleg in the picture (unsure how to tell? we'll get to that!) -> it's a bootleg.

☆ the seller only uses the official promotional pics and none of their own -> suspicious. there's no way to visually check the figure so this is very risky.

☆ the figure looks good in the pictures that the seller took -> either this is good news OR the seller stole these pictures from someone else and will send you a bootleg. a red flag is using pics with bad quality and multiple different backgrounds/lighting (they stole the pictures from multiple different people). make sure to reverse image search their pictures!

7. how do you recognise a bootleg just from looking at it?

let's say you're looking at an ad and maybe the lighting is a little vague so you're just not fully sure whether the figure looks right or not. here's what we do!

1. get a picture of a bootleg of the figure in question which you can find on myfigurecollection (figure page -> pictures -> bootlegs).

2. get a picture of the real figure, preferably a user picture since promotional pics can look a little better than the real product. (figure page -> pictures -> figures).

3. pick some details that are clearly different between the original and the bootleg.

4. get a picture from the ad you're unsure about. check the details you've just picked. does it match the bootleg or the real figure? there we go!

example ;

these are user pictures of a real miku figure and a bootleg where i circled the differences i picked. in this case; the way her hair flows, the direction the pink flowers grow in and the length of the stem of the yellow rose.

here are two pictures i found in two different ads of this figure. i circles the differences i picked; the first pic has long straighter hair, pink flowers growing to the left direction and a yellow rose with longer stem. this is real! the right pic has shorter curled up hair, pink flowers growing straight down and a yellow rose with a very short stem. this is a bootleg!

thank you for reading my guide!!! i am by no means an expert, these are just the steps i like to use myself and i am absolutely open to suggestions and questions! :)

[starryevermore]

i will go to lunar valleys in my mind ✧ tamlin & azriel

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: tamlin x archeron!fem!reader; azriel x archeron!sister

summary: to azriel, you are the most brilliant star shining in the night sky. 

word count: 7,954

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, pining, not proofread

PART ONE

Azriel stared at the cream invitation. It had landed in front of him just moments earlier, but he had already read it a few dozen times. The words were seared into his mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lord Tamlin and High Lady Y/N. High Lady. You were Spring’s High Lady. There was no way, he knew, that you could, would, ever return to Velaris when you had a court to run. He had been invited to your coronation, too, months ago. But in the year since you left for Spring, he never visited. Despite Feyre and Rhys’s insistence that you missed him, and Lucien’s chastising him for never going, and even Elain’s quiet disapproval, he knew better than to make the journey. He meant what he said to Rhys all that time ago. 

If he went to Spring, he would bring you straight back home. 

Because he had built you a home. Azriel knew how you never felt truly at home in any of Rhys’s homes—not the Town House, not the House of Wind, and not the River House. The House of Wind was the most comfortable to you, because it offered the most solitary, but it was not your home. One night, you had told him of your dream home. A quaint cottage in the woods, close enough to the city to go when you pleased but far enough to still be calm. A nice personal library, a cozy kitchen. A big fireplace that you could curl up with a nice book. Azriel committed those details to memory and spent many months making your dream home come a reality. He intended for it to be a mating gift, for when the bond finally snapped for you. 

It only collected dust.

He sat there now, at the dining table he had spent weeks picking out. His shadows flitted about, hissing at him to go to Spring. To get you before you were tied to Tamlin forever. Azriel would not. He couldn’t force you to sacrifice your happiness for his sake. You had to be happy. That was why you never returned to Velaris. You were happy in perfect Spring with your perfect mate. To bring you back here would only taint you.

“You are not going,” Rhysand said. Azriel didn’t look up from the invitation to know his High Lord had winnowed into the room. Rhys had found out about the house a few weeks after you left, concerned when Azriel hadn’t reported for any missions. 

“I haven’t gone there in a year. Why would I go now?”

“I thought the same when I was going to let Feyre live her life with Tamlin. And then she called down the bond, and I was whisking her away without any thought of the consequences.” Rhysand leaned over the table, pushing down on the invitation so that Azriel would look up at him. “She is happy with him. She looks alive when she is with him.”

“And she looked dead with me?”

It was a cheap shot, and Azriel knew it. But he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he wasn’t right for you. That the Mother had made a mistake. There were so many poorly-matched mates, and he was certain this was the case when the bond snapped for him. If you were content with Tamlin, then that meant you didn’t feel the same hole in your soul that Azriel did. 

His High Lord let out a sigh. “You know that’s not what I mean, brother. You remember how she looked when we forced them apart. She is finally happy again, and I won’t let anyone jeopardize it. Feyre won’t allow it.”

Azriel shoved Rhysand’s hand off the invitation. He stared at the date. It was six months away. A long time to be sending announcements for a mating ceremony, but it was surely to be a huge event for the High Lord and Lady of Spring. He imagined it would be the biggest event of the year. His teeth ground together. That should be you and him.

He dropped the invitation and rose from his seat. Shadows swirled around him as he stalked out of the house. Ignoring Rhysand’s calls behind him, Azriel took off into the air. He couldn’t stand this anymore.

“They didn’t come,” you whispered, head leaning against Tamlin’s chest. His arms wound around you. You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. Your face crumpled. Letting out a shuddering breath, you said, “I shouldn’t be surprised. They haven’t come here in months, but I thought…I thought they would come.”

A finger tilted your chin up so you would look up at your mate. Tamlin’s eyes were soft. “If they’re the ones who decide to burn bridges, it is not your fault.”

“I know, but…” You sighed. You looked out the large window overlooking the gardens. Despite the blanket of night covering the grounds, you could see the beautiful, blossoming rose bush Tamlin had planted earlier that month. A tradition, he’d said. “I hoped something would have changed.”

Tamlin leaned his cheek on the top of your head. His steady breathing was the only thing keeping your from sinking to the floor. “I know it hurts, but it’s their loss. You are an amazing female, my love. I could never understand why they’d want to throw that all away, but that is their mistake to make.”

You wiggled out of his arms and stepped closer to the window. Your hand pressed against the cold glass. “I don’t understand what changed. I thought things were going well. Feyre stopped glaring at you to your face—”

“What?”

“—she still glared behind your back, but it was an improvement. Rhysand didn’t make comments wishing for your death. Even Nesta held her tongue. The only one who never came around was Azriel, which hurts because I thought him my friend. But for them to all decide I’m not worth the trouble anymore? It feels like they carved out my heart and stomped on it.”

Tamlin was silent for a long moment. You could feel his eyes looking you over, searching for any sign that you were about to waste away like Feyre had. Down the bond, you feel his love and comfort. But…there was something else there. Pain, anguish. Were you hurting Tamlin somehow? Were you making him doubt your love for him by talking about this? You looked over your shoulder at him. 

“There is still cake from the celebration. I’ll go get a couple slices from the kitchen, and some wine. Does that sound alright?”

You nodded. Tamlin smiled and left the room. You looked back out the window. Part of you was tempted to push the window open, scale down the wall, and run through the gardens until the pain of the loss of your family was only a dull ache. The other part of you just wanted to be held by your mate.

You loved Tamlin. You really, truly did. But, in recent months, you felt like there was something missing. When the high of getting to know him, accepting the bond, and becoming High Lady of Spring finally died down, you were left with a hole in your chest. Small, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking, but enough to make you question everything. 

Had you been wrong to come here? 

Something tugged in your chest. Ordinarily, you would have thought it would be Tamlin. He always was so quick to send you comfort through the bond, but this felt different. Colder, but a comforting sort of cold. The kind of cold of a fan being waved on you during a sweltering summer day. The cold of a drink after hours of laborous work. The cold of a shadow slithering around your hand, pulling you out of harm’s way. The cold of Azriel’s hands on your burning face as you sobbed at being forcibly separated from your mate.

It tugged harder. It felt closer to snapping. But to what? You had a mate. You had Tamlin. What other sort of snapping could there be? 

Your hands tugged at your hair.  You had been so sure months ago. Why were you spiraling now? What had changed? It was more than your family, your sisters, not showing up to your mating ceremony. No, this was something deeper. Something that you had been ignoring for too long. Something that was starting to boil over. Tears began to streak down your face. A scream of frustration fell out as your hand smacked against the pane. 

The temperature in the room dropped. 

“Are you hurt?”

Everything went still. Slowly, you peeled yourself off the window. No. He couldn’t be here. Not after all this time. He hadn’t deigned to see you in over a year. You had sent invitations and letters, and they had all gone unanswered. Even when you told Feyre to pass him along the message that you missed him, you never got a response. Yes, you had left without a goodbye. But did that mean you deserved to be ignored? 

Perhaps he truly only saw you as the latest object of his affections. Perhaps you never were anything close to a friend of his. 

A hand stroked your hair. You sucked in a breath. “I swear, if he’s hurt you, I will snuff out this Cauldron-forsaken court’s light before he can even blink.”

You scoffed. Slowly you turned, your eyes narrowing at him. “That’s rich. If you care so much about my well-being, where were you the last year? Did Feyre send you here to tell me that she’s throwing in the towel? That she’s decided I’m not worth the effort? That she’s forbidden everyone else from coming to Spring, too?”

Azriel blinked. “What?”

“I mean, it was rich for her to not come today. It would make sense for Rhysand not to come if she didn’t. But for everyone else to not make an appearance? Even Lucien wasn’t here, and he’s Tamlin’s best friend! No one has been here in months! I can only assume the High Lady ordered gave orders to stay away.” You shook your head. “You must only be here to finally clue me in, so I’ll stop littering their desks with silly little invitations.”

He took a step closer to you. You wished you had the space to back away. Shadows wrapped around your ankles. He reached out to hold your face, but you jerked away. It was impossible to miss the hurt in his hazel eyes. And—why did your chest ache? “I’m afraid I’m the reason no one made an appearance.”

Pain struck through you. Azriel? Did he truly think so little of you because you chose your mate? You once overheard a fight he had with Rhysand—heard him say that it was only fair that he had a sister. With Feyre, Nesta, and Elain all happily taken, that had left you. Did he convince them all to hate you because you chose Tamlin over him? 

You pushed him away. “How dare you,” you hissed. 

“It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s much worse. You couldn’t have Mor, but that was fine because at least it was because she prefers females. You couldn’t have Elain. That was fine, because there was another Archeron sister waiting in the wings, praying to be picked. But then you couldn’t have me, and you had to poison everyone against me.” You gave him your harshest glare. “Why couldn’t you have pined after someone else? I hear Gwyn is single. Why didn’t you go after her? Why did you have to stoop so fucking low?”

“I didn’t!” he shouted. His voice echoed off the walls. You were sure Tamlin could hear him, but you didn’t care. Not when it felt like your chest was caving in. 

“I thought you were my friend, Azriel. I may not have always treated you the best, and I apologize for that. But I know when I’m only being picked because I’m the last option available. I deserve better than that, and you know it. Of everyone, you should know that. What did I do to deserve such cruelty?”

“Nothing!” He ran his fingers through his hair. His shadows swirled around in a flurry. Was he about to set them out to attack you? Get rid of you as a final fuck you? “They weren’t here because I am going crazy without you!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You’re my fucking mate, Y/N!”

Any words you were ready to spit out dried out in your mouth. What? That couldn’t be possible. You had a mate already. You had Tamlin. And yet…There was still that tugging in your chest. Familiar, but not. 

“I have known since Nyx’s birth. I wanted to wait until it snapped for you, but it didn’t. It snapped for fucking Tamlin. As cruel as it is, I was grateful that Feyre and Rhys took you from him. At least it gave me a chance to make you see me. But then I came back from that mission and you were gone.” Azriel took a tentative step towards you again. You made no effort, this time, to push him away. “It fucking killed me to know you were gone. No one saw me for a month afterwards. I started to come around, eventually, but it was never the same without you there. I didn’t come here, to Spring, because if I did, I would have stolen you away again, because I cannot live without you. Then, six months ago, I received the invitation to your mating ceremony, and I lost it. Disappeared. Everyone has been on the hunt for me, to make sure I didn’t cause a war between our courts.”

You stared at him, unblinking. The ache in your chest only grew stronger. Could he be right? Could he truly be your mate? But what would that make Tamlin? Was it possible to be mistaken over who your mate was? Was it possible to have two mates? You wanted to cry—for you, and for Azriel. 

“I apologize for what my actions have done.”

“Why are you here now?” you asked. He said nothing, so you continued, “You stayed away this long. Why are you here now?”

Azriel let out a breath. “I had to see if you were happy. I…I imagine the mating ceremony has already been consummated, which would complicate things, but…If there was any chance, any at all, that I could be your knight in shining armor, I had to take it. If you were, I would leave you be. Let you live out your life as Spring’s High Lady and never again interfere. So, I have to ask, are you happy?”

That tug in your chest finally snapped. All at once, everything Azriel felt came crashing through. The full extent of his pain, the anguish raging through his body. The glimmer of hope as he stared down at you, waiting for your answer. Your hand reached out without you thinking, touching his chest. You could almost see the golden thread binding you to him. 

“Yes,” you said.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the gleam of his siphon bouncing off at you. “But?”

“I feel a hole in my soul.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah?”

“One, that I’m beginning to realize, is shaped like an Illyrian.”

The smile grew. He reached out, cupping your face in his large hands. Azriel’s thumbs swiped over your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Leaning against his palm, a smile began to cross your face. Azriel leaned in, nose brushing against yours, until his lips connected with yours. 

A gasp escaped you at the contact. It was…electric. Unlike anything you experienced with Tamlin, save for the intensity of it all. If Tamlin was the innocent joy, Azriel was the passionate fervor. You had experienced the frenzy with Tamlin, but you were sure it would pale in comparison to Azriel. You could feel the full weight of his emotions through the bond—the lust, the adoration, the desire for more. 

A chord struck in you. If you could feel all of this with Azriel, then Tamlin could—

Tamlin’s snarl ripped through the room. 

He fought to keep a lid on his barely-constrained anger. Whenever Tamlin felt such explosive anger, he had a tendency to hurt those he cared about. You deserved better than that. And, even if your relationship with Feyre had become strained, he was sure she would make good on her threat anyways. But, Mother, how else was he supposed to react when that Cauldron damned Shadowsinger was kissing his mate?

Tamlin had suspected for a long time that Azriel harbored feelings for you. When you came to the ball, Azriel clung to you like a leech. Always hovering, always watching you. And when Azriel would leave you, those damned shadows of his would always linger. Even when Tamlin finally got a moment alone with you, the Shadowsinger burst in the room as if thought Tamlin was about to hurt you—pulled you out of his arms, tried to keep you from him. He knew there was a reason Azriel hadn’t visited once—hadn’t even sent word to you—in the last year. He just never thought the Illyrian would have the audacity to whisk you away hours after your mating ceremony. 

It must be a Night Court tradition. 

You pushed Azriel away—too gentle for Tamlin’s liking—and stepped toward him. Your eyes were wide, apologetic. You reached out for him, urged him to wrap his arms around you. He did, but not once did he look away from Azriel. He didn’t trust that the Illyrian brute wouldn’t stab him in the back at the first opportunity. Especially not with Truth-Teller strapped to his waist. 

“I can explain, Tam,” you said, cheek pressed against his chest.

Tamlin smoothed a hand over your hair. He tugged on the bond, let you know that he was not upset with you. He could never be upset with you. “You are not to blame, my love.”

“Of course I am. I wanted Az to kiss me.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest before he could stop it. Okay, perhaps he could be upset with you a little. Though, he supposed he couldn’t fault you entirely for harboring feelings for the Shadowsinger. You had told Tamlin once that, although you were suspicious about Azriel’s motivations at times, he had been something of a friend. The only one, save for your sisters, that you could call a friend. When you’re that lonely, it’s easy to fall for the one person who’s kind to you. But that didn’t mean Tamlin had to like it. 

“He’s my mate, too, Tam.”

He pulled away. He searched your eyes for anything sign of deceit, for any sign of manipulation. Tamlin found none. He looked back at Azriel, who still stood far away, watching you carefully. It looked like he was ready to yank you away from Tamlin at the first sign of distress. Night Court folk always held grudges. 

This was…unexpected. If Tamlin didn’t trust you, he might have thought you were trying to deceive him. Triads had existed a long time ago, when Prythian was in its infancy. There was a time where there were more males than females. People believed that the Mother would allow the female multiple mates in an effort to stop the fighting over the few, precious females that existed. Of course, all of this was speculative—a work of fiction. No one had seen a triad in millennia. No one was sure they’d ever existed at all. 

Yet, when Tamlin pressed his nose to your hair, he didn’t just smell your scent mixed with his. There was something different, less familiar. It was faint. Barely noticeable unless he searched for it. A mating bond, in its infancy. As he turned his gaze to Azriel, he knew who it belonged to. 

“What do you want?” Tamlin near-growled at Azriel, still cradling you against his chest. 

“For her to be happy,” Azriel said. “I was going to let her go, never reveal the bond. I was going to let her live a life with you, but I had to make sure she was happy before I gave her up forever.”

Tamlin wanted to say that you were happy. That you had all you needed here. And, yes, you were happy. You loved the Spring Court. If Tamlin thought you beautiful at the ball, it paled in comparison to the way you seemed to come alive in Spring. But he couldn’t deny that, in recent months, as the Inner Circle stopped coming, as it became clear that Azriel would never visit, that something inside of you was dying.

And he had heard the tail end of your conversation with Azriel before he kissed you. You wanted Azriel as a mate. Tamlin knew better than to deny you of that. He never again wanted to see you as lifeless as you had been when he brought you home from the Night Court. 

“She’s High Lady,” he said, “she cannot be whisked away from here.”

“I understand,” Azriel said. “Perhaps, though, she could spend a few months with me, in the Night Court? Most of her year will be spent here, ruling by your side. I only ask for some time.”

You turned your head to look at Azriel. Your brows pinched together. “You would do that?”

“I would rather only have a part of you than none at all.”

Tamlin looked down at you. He hated the idea of you being taken away to the Night Court. It reminded him too much of how Rhysand had grabbed you and winnowed you away—of how Night’s High Lord had done the same to Feyre years prior. The nasty, jealous part of him roared at the thought of you going. But when he looked at your hope-filled eyes, he knew he wouldn’t deny you. 

To Azriel, he said, “Give us the month to get our affairs in order.”

Azriel nodded. It was done. 

“Be careful with her,” Tamlin hissed.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he picked you up. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other hooked under your legs. Your arms looped around his neck. Though winnowing you would be easier, quicker, Azriel dreamed of flying you to the home he built for you. 

“She is not a doll so easily broken.”

You scratched at the back of his neck. Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Though you intended the action to be a means of chastising him, he only thought about how nice it would feel to have those pretty polished nails of yours rake down his back. “Play nice. Both of you,” you said. 

Tamlin stepped over to you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “If you change your mind,” he said, “let me know. I’ll bring you home.”

Azriel stepped away before you could kiss Tamlin on the mouth. It was petty of him, to be sure. But he didn’t like the implication that you would not feel at home with him. What did Tamlin know? He wasn’t there for you when you came out of the Cauldron. When you were only a shell, sat at a piano all hours of the day, the melody of your pain echoing through Velaris. Tamlin was not there to hold you as you cried, begging for the pain to end. Tamlin never begged Rhysand to go into your mind, to give you pleasant dreams, so that even if you only experienced peace in your sleep, at least you got to feel it. 

Tamlin might have taken you from the Night Court. He may have made you his High Lady. And he may love you, but he didn’t know you hurt like Azriel did. He did not make the same promise Azriel did to never let you be hurt again. He did not know that, as Azriel was returning from that mission, he was planning to ask if you wished for him to take you to Spring. He was going to give you the choice that he and the rest of the Inner Circle so terribly deprived you of. Azriel had only been angry when you were gone because he never got to tell you goodbye, never got the chance to see you one last time before sending you off for your fairytale ending. But then, after the Inner Circle’s first visit, Feyre told him you looked like an entirely different person. 

Tamlin might love you, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his happiness to let you be with another male. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Azriel asked you.

The week before, Tamlin had sent your clothes, some books, and sheet music ahead. Azriel took special care to set up your room. It was the master bedroom, of course. Azriel relegated himself to a smaller guest room. Even if you were going with him to see if you truly wanted the bond with him, he was not going to force you to share a room with him. 

“I’m sure,” you said. You turned to Tamlin and nodded your head at him, urging him closer. Reluctantly, Azriel did not step away this time. He could deny Tamlin all he wanted, but he wouldn’t do that to you. The High Lord leaned down and kissed you softly. “I’m write you, Tam.”

Tamlin smiled. “I eagerly await your letters.”

After bidding him another farewell kiss, you let Azriel take to the skies. Although Azriel was not fond of his Illyrian heritage—the culture and its males, save for his brothers, disgusted him—he would never tire of flying. He didn’t think it could ever get any better, but that was before he had you in arms, clinging tightly to him while he flew over all of Prythian. 

A laugh, a beautifully loud laugh, escaped you as he pushed himself faster and faster. He shot you a wicked grin and a wink before shooting straight up, turning over backwards, before righting himself on course again. The laugh turned to a scream. Your nails dug into the back of his neck. 

“What?” he teased. “Don’t like going upside down?”

“You’re rotten,” you said, but you smiled up at him anyways. He liked your smile. You smiled with your whole face. Pretty dimples, crinkled corners of your eyes. Even your eyes themselves seemed to twinkle. 

“Yeah? I think you’ll find I’m the rottenest of the bunch.”

“Not so rotten if you’re my mate, though.”

Azriel prayed you couldn’t see how red his face was turning. If you did, you didn’t say anything. Only further settled in his arms, watching the clouds as you passed them by. 

Though Azriel preferred flying fast, loved the thrill of it all, he found himself wishing he had savored this moment a little longer as he landed outside of the home he built for you. He sat you gently on the ground, a hand on the small of your back as you steadied yourself. 

“I thought we would go to the River House or the House of Wind,” you said. 

He couldn’t tell if you were disappointed or not. You only stared up at the cobblestoned cottage, the wisteria growing along the walls. You eyed the window boxes filled with your favorite flowers. Azriel opened his mouth, ready to offer to take you elsewhere, when you turned your gaze to him. 

“What is this place? How have I never known about it?”

“It was supposed to be a mating gift,” Azriel said. He couldn’t look at you, afraid for how you might react, so he stared up at the cottage. “You told me, once, about your dream home. I can only hope that this compares.”

“When did you build it?”

“I started it the day after I found out we were mates,” Azriel said. And because he knew you were going to ask when that was, he continued, “The day Nyx was born—when you were crying because you were so scared about losing half your family and I just held you. That’s when I knew.”

You said nothing for a long moment. Azriel swallowed a lump in his throat, praying to the Mother he hadn’t scared you away. That you wouldn’t ask to be taken back to Spring, this entire thing be damned. You didn’t do that, though. 

No, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth instead. “Thank you, Az.”

Shadows flitted around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients you wanted and bringing them to you. Azriel often chided you for turning his shadows, the very things he used to spy and torture and kill, into little pets, but he loved it all the same. There was something he liked about you exposing the darkest parts of him to the light. Besides, it was his fault for leaving the shadows behind with you while he went to the market. 

You placed the tray in the oven, giggling as the shadows pulled you away to shut the door on their own, another group of shadows fiddling with the knobs so that it was at the right temperature. As the brownies baked, you took to cleaning up the mess you made. Humming a tune, you began to collect the dishes, swaying your hips as you took them over to the sink.

In the month since you had returned to the Night Court, you quite enjoyed spending time with Azriel. His plan to sleep in the guest room did not last long, for you found yourself so enamored with him that you practically dragged him into your bed. That was the first time his shadows allied themselves with you. A part of you, now, dreaded the idea of having to leave him behind when you returned to Spring. Tamlin and Azriel did not get on well, but you were certain they could at least learn to tolerate each other if they spent time with each other. 

You dried off your hands, gazing out the window over the sink. Somewhere beyond there were the rest of your family. Though Azriel had reacquainted himself with the Inner Circle, apologized for causing as much trouble as he had, he had not revealed that you were in the Night Court. He glamoured his scent so that they could not pick up on how your own scent mixed in. You wondered how Tamlin might have responded to their inquiries to visit you in Spring, but Azriel didn’t say much besides Feyre worried she had offended you. 

Good, you mused. She should be worried. She had made you grieve your relationship with her. She made you sick as you contemplated where you went wrong. She made you feel like you lost your entire family by choosing your mate. If she sat in worry, she deserved it. 

A shadow tugged on your wrist, alerting you to the fact that the brownies were finished. The shadows didn’t allow you to take the tray out yourself, but did let you begin to cut them and place one on a plate for Azriel. You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. 

Tomorrow, you were to return to Spring. But tonight, you would accept the bond with Azriel. 

You hadn’t said a word to the shadows about your plan, yet they buzzed around the cottage as they readied for the romantic evening to come. Petals littering the floor, candles lit up around the room, a romantic song playing over the symphonium. You almost thought the shadows wished to seduce your mate more than you did. 

One tugged on your wrist as the door opened. You did hold back your smile this time as Azriel walked into kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter. 

“Welcome home,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

Azriel smiled against your lips. “What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” He pulled away for a moment, sniffing at the air. “Have you been baking?”

“Brownies,” you confirmed. You twisted out of the arms and took the plate that the shadows hovered over to you. “For you.”

He stared down at the plate, then looked up at you. “I couldn’t—” he said. 

You picked up the brownie and brought it up to his lips. “I insist. I have been blessed by the Mother with two wonderful mates, and I intend to have you both fully.”

Thunder rumbled in the sky as Azriel sank his teeth into the treat, never taking his eyes off of you. You swiped your thumb at the corner of his mouth, collecting the crumbs, and licked them off. A growl ripped through his chest as Azriel tugged you against him. 

“I suppose that’s why the cottage looks like something straight of Nesta’s romance novels?”

“You can thank your shadows for that. They did that all on their own.”

“You truly have reduced them to busybodies like all the rest,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold an ounce of malice. Azriel kissed you softly. “I suppose I should thank them, though, because I fully intend to ravish you tonight.”

“Oh, I hope that’s a promise you intend to keep.”

Thunder rumbled again. The scene outside turned darker as storm clouds began to roll in. You were prepared to ignore it all when a flash of lightning made you jump out of your skin. The front door slammed open, the wood hitting the wall so hard you were almost certain it splintered. Azriel’s hold on you tightened. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. You peered over to the foyer, blood running cold as you took in the appearance of Night’s High Lord, your sister just a half step behind him. 

“I didn’t think you were so foolish to steal away Spring’s High Lady, brother,” Rhysand said. 

“I was not stolen,” you snapped. “I came here willingly. Tamlin knows exactly where I am, and that I shall be returning to Spring by morning.”

Your sister said your name softly, stepping around her mate and toward you. “You’re already leaving?” she asked. 

“I have been here a month. That is plenty long to be away from Spring and my other mate.”

Feyre’s eyes flicked to Azriel, then to the tray of brownies abandoned on the counter. “You know.”

“No thanks to you,” you said. “How long were you going to let me cry over Azriel not coming to visit before you told me it wasn’t because he hated me?”

“You know I couldn’t tell you. I hated learning about my own mating bond from the Suriel. I didn’t—I couldn’t let you live through that same pain.”

“No, you just let me think my only friend hated me. You let me think you all hated me, because you were too busy trying to find him before my mating ceremony to respond to any of my letters.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at you. “We couldn’t have told you anything. We hardly understand how a triad works. How could we have explained it to you without sounding like we descended into lunacy?”

“You could have said anything!” you protested. “Feyre, you could have told me anything short of the truth. There was a threat to the Night Court, or perhaps that there were some diplomacy issues you needed to tend to. But, no, you rather that I cried to Tamlin every night, prayed that you would send some sort of sign that our relationship was not beyond repair.”

Feyre took a step toward you. Rhysand reached for her wrist, to stop her from nearing you, but she shook him off. “And I will regret that for the rest of my days. You know I have never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you have. You are my sister, Feyre, but you treated me like I was no one to you. Tell me, were my letters to all the others ignored under your orders, too?”

Her glance away from you told you everything you needed to know.

“I spent my mating ceremony, what should have been the happiest day of my life, grieving the loss of my family. I will never get that day back again.” You grabbed for Azriel’s hand, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing tight. “Don’t expect an invitation to the next.”

Feyre’s eyes snapped to yours. Silver lined them. “Please—”

“I would like to return to Spring, now, please,” you said to Azriel. “It seems I have outgrown Night.”

Without a word, Azriel winnowed you away. 

Tamlin stared at your back as you slept. You had been quiet ever since you returned from the Night Court. Tamlin understood—Azriel had explained how Feyre and Rhysand came to the cottage as you were accepting the mating bond with Azriel. He recalled the fury in your eyes as you stated that Azriel would remain in the Spring Court until the frenzy subsided. He didn’t see you much over the following weeks, so he couldn’t speak much to your state then. But when Azriel, rather regretfully, announced he would be returning to Night to deal with the fallout, you began to withdraw. Tamlin was left with the aftermath. And like Feyre before you, he wasn’t quite sure how to make things better. 

Unlike Feyre, he was going to do whatever he could to help you. He would not let you waste away, fade away into nothing. 

Tamlin kissed your bare shoulder then slipped out of the bed. If you noticed, you did not move. He continued on to his study, ignoring the curious looks of the servants still lingering in the halls, and settled at his desk. He procured a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write. 

Azriel, he began, I apologize for my abruptness, but I must ask that you return to Spring expeditiously. While I understand that the Night Court is your home, Y/N has not been faring well without both of her mates. You do not need to forsake your home, but any time that you could spend here would be appreciated. Yours truly, Tamlin. 

He sent the letter off. Tamlin remained at his desk, waiting for a reply. But one did not have to wait for long as shadows began to soon flood the room. In the past, the sight of the shadows would have made Tamlin’s skin crawl. It was no secret the depths the Spymaster would go to, to extract information from his targets, and those very shadows were just another in his arsenal. But their arrival was signal enough that Azriel had arrived, and that was enough for the weight on Tamlin’s shoulders to lift ever so slightly. 

“Where is she?”

Tamlin rose to his feet. “Sleeping. She doesn’t know I asked for you to come.”

Azriel nodded. A few of the shadows abandoned the study in search of you. The shadows, generally, still disturbed Tamlin. In the month you and Tamlin got your affairs in order, those damned little things scarcely left your side. He was certain they even hissed at him for daring to be near you. Slowly, though, they began to grow on him as they came to the collective understanding that both parties were looking out for your best interests. 

“How have things fared in the Night Court?” Tamlin asked. 

“Feyre is distraught,” Azriel said. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if trying to stop them from rolling right out of his head. “Rhys has been insisting I bring Y/N back so they can talk things through. He does not take kindly to my own insistence that, if Feyre wished for things to get better, she should be the one to make the first move.”

Tamlin snorted. “And here I thought you were just a loyal dog.”

Azriel flashed a smirk. “Oh, I am. Just not to him.”

Good, Tamlin thought. If there was anyone who deserved his loyalty, it would be you. Kind, sweet you. Tamlin once thought your family was loyal—they certainly seemed to think they were looking out for your best interests when they took you from the Spring Court. And they had been so diligent about visiting you before. Every month at the start of the month, he would receive a letter asking permission to visit. The Inner Circle always arrived before he could accept. That was, until the invitation to the mating ceremony was sent out. Despite both you and Tamlin sending inquiries and invitations, not a single one ever responded. When they failed to show up at the mating ceremony, Tamlin decided then that he would never forgive them. 

“How long do you intend to stay?” Tamlin said. Azriel brought nothing with him, save for the clothes on his back and the weapons strapped to his waist. 

“As long as you’ll allow it. I tendered my resignation this morning,” Azriel said. “I’ll begin the search for a home here in the morning.”

“Don’t bother,” Tamlin said. Azriel looked stricken. His brows pinched together, mouth settling into a frown. Realizing his error, Tamlin corrected, “You can have a home here if you like. Your own room, or you can share ours. We might have to get a bigger bed, given your wingspan, but it would be no trouble.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “You would do that?”

“You are her mate as much as I am. You may be willing to settle for only a piece of her life, but I would be remiss if I stopped you from having all of her.” Tamlin waved his hand, urging Azriel to follow him. “I have some more comfortable clothes you can change into. We should both rest.”

“Tamlin—” Azriel said. Tamlin paused. “Thank you.”

“There is nothing to thank me for. Will you need to return to the Night Court for your things, or will you be purchasing replacements?”

As they walked down the hall, the servants even more confused than before, Azriel said, “My shadows will retrieve the necessities. There won’t be much. I intend to have a fresh start here.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing Spring is all about rebirth then.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Tamlin watched as Azriel smiled when they reached the bedroom. He slipped inside, so silent that Tamlin could’ve been convinced that he was alone if he didn’t see the Shadowsinger with his own two eyes. Tamlin lingered in the doorframe as Azriel approached your side of the bed and knelt down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmured a quiet I love you. 

Your eyes fluttered open. You blinked slowly as you took in Azriel’s appearance. “You’re supposed to be in Night,” you whispered. 

“I believe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You turned your head slightly, brows pinching together when you didn’t see Tamlin laying beside you. “Does Tam know?”

“Who do you think invited me?”

A sleepy smile twitched on your lips. “When do you leave again?”

“Whenever you decide to push me away.” Azriel kissed you. “And not a second sooner.”

Feyre stared at the cream invitation. It had landed on Rhysand’s desk just moments earlier, but she had already read it a dozen times. The words were seared into her mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lady Y/N and Azriel. But the part she found herself reading over and over again, trying to make sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination were— P.S. I would greatly appreciate your attendance. You are my sister, and I miss you being a part of my life.

If she went to Spring, she would have her sister again she so terribly pushed away. 

Because she had missed you. It had broken her heart to know you had come to Night to be with Azriel yet never came to see them. She couldn’t blame you, of course. You had been right. Feyre should have said something to you. It wasn’t fair for her to keep you completely in the dark. She hated when others had done it to her in the past. Why did she ever think she could do the same to you? Yet, even in the months afterward, she wasn’t sure what to say to you. 

She still didn’t. 

Feyre sat in the River House, at Rhysand’s desk, glancing between the invitation and the RSVP she was going to send in response. Rhysand stood behind her. When the invitation arrived, he said that the decision was fully hers. That he would support whatever choice to make. To stay in Night and continue to allow the relationship to strain, or to go and begin the mending process. But was there anything left to mend? You were happy in Spring with both of your mates. To go there now would be to ruin the life you’ve built for yourself. 

“Do you want to go?” Rhys asked after several moments of Feyre holding the pen in an ironclad grip.

“I haven’t seen her in months. I haven’t been to Spring in over a year. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Because you miss her, and she misses you. Don’t torture yourself with thoughts of maybes and what ifs. You know Y/N wouldn’t have sent the invitation if she didn’t want you there,” Rhysand said. He pointed to the postscript, tapping his finger on it. “It’s a peace offering.”

“I hurt her.”

For as long as Feyre could remember, she had been trying to protect her family. For a long time, it was all she knew. Things changed, of course, when she came to Prythian and her sisters all became High Fae. But the base desire, to ensure their safety and security, still resided deep inside her. It was why she had been so scared when you said Tamlin was your mate. It was why she panicked when Rhysand said Azriel had disappeared after being invited to your mating ceremony with Tamlin. Yet, in both instances, she had been the one to cause your pain. What if that was all she could do now? Maybe she was better off, maybe you were better off, if she stayed away.

Rhys let out a sigh. “You did, but she’s giving you a chance. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?”

“It is.”

“Then, I think you already know the answer.”

Feyre pressed the pen to the paper. She slowly wrote her response, worried that if she moved too fast, she would write the wrong thing. But, Cauldron, it didn’t feel write to just write a letter to you. If you were truly inviting her back into your life, if you truly were trying to mend the relationship, you deserved more. 

She dropped the pen and rose from her seat. Rhysand followed her and she stalked out of the office. Ignoring her mate’s questions behind her, she went to the living room where the rest of the Inner Circle waited for Feyre and Rhys. Everyone stared at her when she arrived. She couldn’t take this uncertainty anymore. 

“Well?” Nesta asked, breaking the silence. “Are we breaking this ridiculous stalemate together, or will I be going to Spring alone?”

“Together,” Feyre said. “We’ll go together, now. I’m sure they won’t mind a surprise visit.”

Nesta flashed a rare smile. “Good, because Elain and I would have dragged you there kicking and screaming.”

[mazikeenhyde]

Less than a Minute - Part 2

The reaction to this is not what i was expecting at all, for my first ever attempt at fan fiction i assumed maybe one or two may read it but i would end up deleting it and hiding back under my duvet! Yet my mind is blown by the love and reaction >.<

Part 2 is here! This is definitely gonna be a mini series, there's a lot more to come! Part 3 is in the works and will be out later this week.

For now...

-WARNING – 

A Poly!Judgment-Day fanfiction containing themes and mentions of DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, LONLINESS, PANIC ATTACKS, SOME SMUT, ANGST, SADNESS, ALCOHOL etc 

Overall, I’m just trying to make you all cry… again >.< 

READER X JUDGMENT DAY – POLY – Rhea, Damien, Finn, Dominik x READER- Written in  first person (Reader Female) 

Italic font - Memory/ Flashback

Less than a minute Part 2 

Dominik sat on the edge of the hotel bed; the cheap cotton blend bedsheets crinkled underneath his jeans as he struggled to stay still. With his eyes held tightly closed he ran his hands up and down his thighs, his knees bouncing up off the floor and his heels tapped nervously against the carpet. His breath hitched and his panic was starting to show. 

Taking in a sharp sudden breath he rose to his feet, one hand behind his head he paced the same steps in the room, he had begun to feel every emotion all at once and there was no one around to save him from himself.

Hands still shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The thumbprint passcode wouldn’t recognize his hand due to the sweaty palms, so it took a few attempts to type the pin number in correctly. 

“Co..Come on, come on, pl…pl..please” his words were distant and far apart, his voice was failing him. He held his phone up against his ear as he struggled to catch his breath. 

In that moment his heart skipped a beat, it ran cold, the air in the room felt like the temperature dropped to below zero. There it was, that noise. 

The bedside table played an all too familiar tune as it lit up with Y/N phone screen and Dom’s face turned pale, his fear quickly turned to frustration, then to anger. 

“FUCK” he threw his phone to the floor, only remembering Y/N had left hers behind. She was often the one he would turn to when his anxiety peaked. With all the changes coming their way in the world of wrestling Dominik has relied heavily on her support to keep his panic attacks at bay. It was increasingly showing how hard it was going to be to turn against the people he loved whole heartedly. Gratefully he had Finn by his side who was also being forced to turn, so Dominik didn’t feel quite so lost or alone in it all. 

With his hands still shaking Dominik reached across and grabbed Y/N phone from the side. The screen flashed up with his name and a picture of the two of them together with Rhea from the Christmas just gone. Both himself and Y/N with sweet little reindeer face painted noses and fluffy antlers whilst Rhea had been dressed as a sexy Mrs. Claus. 

The WWE had requested a few of the superstars to take part in a Christmas charity photoshoot. Damien and Rhea were dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Claus and Dom Dom, being the little submissive he was had been dressed as Rudolph. Y/N and Finn had joined them briefly in the photo studio in what they had said was support but Rhea was convinced it was for their own entertainment, and it hadn’t taken long for the two of them to be sent packing by the photography team thanks to the wolf whistles and giggling. 

When the photographer had finished Damien, Rhea and Dominik had returned to the Judgment Days clubhouse to find Y/N and Finn waiting for their arrival. Finn was dressed as an Elf with a sack of presents over his shoulder, while Y/N was in full matching attire to Dom, painted nose and all. 

“Ho Ho Ho” Finn laughed as they entered the room, sending a cheeky wink Damien’s way. 

“I think you’ll find…that’s my line Finn” Damien remarked chucking as he made his way over towards the pair of them. 

“Aye maybe, but I still need to check that you are on the Nice list before you get to have a rummage in my….sack” raising his eyebrows suggestively Finn bit his bottom lip. Damien now stood in front, towering over he wrapped his hand around Finn’s neck pushing him up against the wall. They paused a moment before Finn dropped the bag and laughed pulling Damien into a deep kiss. 

Y/N smirked at the two men as she made her way over to Rhea and Dom who were half distracted watching the boys make out session. 

“What about me Mrs. Claus, did I make it on the nice list?” Y/N whispered seductively, running her hand down Rheas arm. Dom mimicked Y/N movements to Rheas opposite arm as he leaned in to nuzzle at her neck. The goosebumps rising across her tattooed skin she took a sharp breath before glancing back at Y/N and pulling Dom away by the scruff of his mullet. 

“Naughty list more like, you two brats hold the record” she laughed and lent down to nuzzle into Y/N neck nipping at the skin. In that moment Y/N felt her entire body heat up in an instant, the knot in her stomach tightened as she failed to catch a breath. Smirking at her work Rhea pulled herself away and let Dom go whilst readjusting her outfit. “Now Dasher and Dancer, Smile for Mami” and pulling her phone out she snapped the photo. 

--------

The Rain had set in hard; it had washed away the puddles on roadsides flooding the sidewalks.  The clouds hung low engulfing the neighboring streets ahead as the storm began to fully draw in. The moon had disappeared, only on occasion would it shine through as lightening illuminated the silver linings of the cloud break.  Damien was driving at pace while Finn scanned the face of every person they flew past as best he could. Deep down inside though he knew, he didn’t need to see her face to recognize the love of their life, for whom had been missing for hours by now. 

“She must be freezing” Damien’s voice was soft, broken. “Her coat was still on the hook, how many times..” He gripped the steering wheel tighter in ager as his demeanor changed. “How many times, have I reminded her, to take her god damn coat when she goes out!” he yelled. He wasn’t really angry mind you, he was scared, and Finn knew that. Staring back out the window at the anonymous strangers rushing into taxis or sheltering under bus stops Finn closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. He knew now wasn’t the time to break, he had always been the strong one, even if he didn’t feel it in that moment, he couldn’t let that show. 

The streetlamps were indeed lit, but offered very little sight into the surrounding alleyways. Rhea sat in the back seat of the car chewing at her thumbnail, blankly staring out the window her mind flew at a million miles a minute. Every thought, every fear, every question came to mind but was quickly pushed out by another. Y/N was fine she thought, she was happy when they left, in these last days she had been fine.

How had she not known there was something wrong with Bunny.

Unless she had known? 

Had she? 

Rhea stopped chewing her nail for a second, eyes widening slightly. It was as if her brain had rebooted and kicked into gear. 

“Less than a minute?” Rhea whispered under her breath, a sudden realization hitting before the car horn bought her back to reality as Damien slammed on the breaks sending her and Finn flying into the seatbelt lock.

“¡Absoluto Idiota! ¡Mira a donde vas!” Damien shouted slamming down on the car horn again. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car in fronts tyres screeched away throwing back the flooded road surface against their windscreen. 

Finn reached over to take Damien’s hand in his, loosening the death grip he had locked in. 

“Pull the car over love, lets regroup.” Finn offered kind words as Damien pulled into the layby shutting off the engine and throwing his head back in exhaustion. 

“Rhea?” Finn turned to face her in the back, visible tears fell down her face as she gripped the seatbelt locked in tightly across her chest, the anxiety she felt was more obvious than ever as her blank forward stare had fully locked in. 

“Rhea? You alright?” Finn asked again looking at her with deep concern, glancing over briefly at Damien who turned to face her as well. 

“Rhe?” Damien reached out to give her a gentle shake. 

“Less than a minute…” she spoke gently again, in a slightly louder but muffled whisper. 

In that moment Rhea’s eyes shot open wide as she scrambled for the seatbelt lock to unclip herself.  

“I KNOW WHERE SHE IS” Rhea’s voice shook, each word breathy and panicked as she scrambled herself out of the car throwing the door open and running off into the downpour. 

“RHEA!” Finn screamed as he stumbled out of the car whilst opening the door, but she was too far gone. 

They two men watched as her silhouette disappeared down the street, her dark attire blending in all too well with the night. 

Damien glanced over to the back seat where Rhea’s coat lay in the passenger footwell, he reached over and grabbed it as Finn climbed back into the car, dripping wet from his brief time in the rain. 

Holding up the jacket Damien shook his head, “These women and their coats…”. 

[lunarforager]

Beginner Witch's Guide: The Basics

Hello friends and all my beginner witches! Welcome to my Beginner Witch's Guide where I will be sharing my wisdom in regards to the craft! This series of posts will be a set of guides to all sorts of aspects in the witchy world from crystals to tarot to baneful magic.

---

Beginner Materials:

(Keep in mind that none of these are necessary materials to practice witchcraft! These are just some ideas for what you can start practicing with!)

Crystals

Not only are crystals insanely beautiful, but they are also super useful for your practice. Some great beginner crystals include rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, and obsidian! Crystals can be somewhat expensive, but these tend to be ones you can find for fairly cheap!

Herbs

So many herbs can be used for the practice, and the best thing is that so many herbs can be easily purchased for relatively little from the local grocery store. Yes! The herbs in those little jars on the shelf can be used in magic no problem!

Salt

Salt has been used in many different cultures in many different forms of witchcraft as protection from negative energies and curses. Salt is a priceless thing in the witchy world!

Candles

Candles aren't necessary (technically nothing on this list is) but many spells will call for candles of various colors but the good thing is, candles can be found for super cheap in places like dollar stores or thift stores! And colors don't matter as much as people might tell you. White candles can used in place of others for pretty much any spell that calls for colored candles.

Tarot Deck (or deck of cards)

Tarot is a great way to start getting into divination and so getting a tarot deck can start you on that path of learning. They can be somewhat expensive, so a normal deck of cards can also be used! There are so many guides online of how to use a normal deck of cards for tarot readings and there are also great guides on how to start getting into tarot.

---

Thank you for taking time to read over this post! I absolutely love sharing my knowledge about the craft with people and would love to share more with anyone reading!

Feel free to send me messages or asks about the practice and I'll try my best to answer them, but I also just love talking to people in general haha!

Valete my friends!

[brainlessrot]

Penguin Pebbling

Involves collecting and giving small objects, like pebbles, as gifts to people you care about.

because i do penguin pebbling very often and i wanted to indulge myself a lil bit 🤭

also sorry for disapearing for like... 5 months!!! requests are now open again <3

Characters ;; All of the students (grim included)

Contents ;; could be seen as either platonic or romantic (except ortho's and grim's!), GN!reader, no beta read‼️around 1200 words total, 50~ words per character

Riddle ;; i think he would see it as weird and although he would keep it he doesn't think it to be sentimental, for him its just some random rock you randomly gave him, may give you some trinkets (no rocks :( ) as payback (prolly roses or rose themed stuff)

Trey ;; he wouldn't understand why you chose to give him a... rock? probably put it in some drawer in his room and forgot about it unless you explain why

Cater ;; doesn't understand but will keep the rock in his bedside table, may understand that its a sentimental gift from you and if its pretty enough he will post a pic of it!!!

Ace ;; throws it away. Nah but hes similar to trey, confused abt why would you give him?? a rock you found somewhere on the floor?? would prolly make fun of you if you told him why (but the way his face lowkey matches his hair is proof that hes gettin flustered)

Deuce ;; HE GETS YOU!!! will absolubtely cherish the lil rock AND give you some in return, you two may start a rock gifting competition to see which one of you gives the prettiest one to the other

Leona ;; "...what is this". will throw it away (this time fr) unless you specifically tell him its a sentimental gift, then he will throw it in a drawer and forgets abt it (man does NOT care abt a rock sorry :/) but if you are especially close to him and the rock is pretty he may send it back to his brother for it to be made into some jewelry... but DO NOT mention it if he wears it

Ruggie ;; if its pretty enough he will display it in his room, if not, he still puts it carefully in a box with other trinkets, may also find you one for yourself (my man gets it!!) and may even give you some dandelions he was saving for a quick snack if he finds you while out (doing Leona's work) walking

Jack ;; super confused but lowkey touched, will put it with his (many) cactai, if you do it multiple times, he will start giving you some he found on a run that he thought you would like

Azul ;; if he likes you hes giggling and kicking his feet, will put it in his desk at the VIP room, no matter if its just a broken brick or a cute crystal you found, the tweels make fun of him for this

Jade ;; probably has gifted you some by himself that he found on his lil mountain treks, may put whatever you give him in one of his terrariums as decor

Floyd ;; loves it a normal (crazy) amount, cherishes the rock SO much, probably gives it a small hat and face and brings it around the school, will loose it and demand you find another one for him... he might throw it at you to get your attention

Kalim ;; definition of !!!!YIPPIEEE!!! puts it on his bedside table and stares at it while giggling before going to sleep, beware, you will find boxes of gemstones (not the cheap ones!!!) in front of your room at any moment now

Jamil ;; may try to hide it but he finds it cute, covers his face before accepting the rock, leaves it on his desk for when he goes back to his room to give him a small boost in mood, doesn't reciprocate the rock giving but isn't against receiving more from you

Vil ;; what. what the hell is this. unless its throughly clean and has some interesting colors/design/it's pretty he will throw it away woops, doesn't understand the appeal but if youre sad he threw it away hell ask you for "the prettiest rock for him, the prettiest person you've seen"

Rook ;; now youre inexplicably finding rocks EVERYWHERE, your pillow is lumpy? rock! you wanted cereals for breakfast? filled with rocks! went to put on your socks? why is there a rock?! he may even throw them at you from afar!! (believe him he didn't actually think it through he just wanted to surprise you)

Epel ;; kinda gets you!! may not reciprocate the rock giving at first (he prefers personally carving you some apples as a gift) but will if you explain to him the sentimentality behind it!! will save any rock you give him and maybe even send one back to his meemaw if he deems it cool enough

Idia ;; Doesn't really?? get it at first?? but when he was (forced to be) outside he saw a cool rock on the sidewalk and went "oh hey they would like this one!... Oh damn." a light bulb went off of his head at that moment, he wont really give you any rock bc he simply doesn't go outside, but will put the rocks you give him between his idol merch and figurines

Ortho ;; the epitome of just there for the vibes, doesn't understand jackshit of why youre doing it but if youre happy he's happy!! will test the rocks to see what compound or kind they are and tell you funfacts about them

Malleus ;; OH LORDDDDD hes kneeling down and holding his chest the moment you open up your hand and present him with the rock, A GIFT??? FOR HIM?? FROM YOUUU???? hes a very shinnies boy so be prepared to find anything gold anywhere in your dorm/room, he actually gets you from the start and is so happy, like straight up giddy, cackling in his room as he makes a small altar for the rock (half joking)

Lillia ;; also very giggly and understands the act of gifting rocks as a show of friendship (or more) will also leave small trinkets on your way (some of them are hundreds of years old... be careful)

Silver ;; hes used to small animals also giving him offerings and trinkets, so he understands the sentimentality behind the little rock, will also give you some shinny stone he found while resting in the forest, look it has the shape of a chipmunk!!

Sebek ;; he doesn't understand, he doesn't care. nah but seriously he really doesn't get why even if you explain it to him, no "it reminded me of you", "i though you would like it", "its pretty tho!!"s will make him understand, but please do ignore how close he set it to his Malleus' altar

Grim ;; acts like he doesn't want it and might even throw it away in your face, but the moment you turn around hes running back and searching desperately for it, he wont ask for any but if you give him more he aint complaining, hes like the

+"do you like it?

-"no"

+"then ill take it"

-"BACK OFF, NO WAY!"

[impala-dreamer]

His Eyes In The Mirror

~Just a little roughness between lovers...~

Dean x Reader

NSFW Drabble ~ It's just porn.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Dean’s fingers wrapped loosely around your throat and the world around you seemed to melt into a foggy mess of shapeless color. There was only the grin on his lips and the reflection of his mossy green eyes in the mirror as he took you from behind.

His fingers tensed and you held your breath. Your jaw dropped as he squeezed and your heart pounded like a jackhammer in your chest.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “You look so fucking perfect like this.”

His hips cracked against your flesh and your eyes rolled back into your skull. The pressure of his body against yours, the thick, throbbing heat of his cock buried deep inside your cunt made everything else fade away. The cheap motel room vanished; the rough bedspread softened beneath your hands and knees. The lamplight dimmed, the ugly wallpaper blurred.

Dean thrust hard and you let out a gasp; all thought dissipated into nothingness as he plowed into you.

“Fuck!”

He grinned and let go of your throat, sliding his hand firmly down your spine.

“Feel good?” he asked, right hand joining his left on either side of your hips.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you moaned, barely able to make your lips move as a wave of pleasure shook your body. “So… so good.”

“Gonna wreck this little pussy,” he growled, teeth bared as he slammed in again.

Every thrust was like a jolt to that sweet spot inside and your muscles were tight and aching. His blunt nails dug into your flesh and you grit your teeth as pleasure washed upward from his touch.

“Want that?” His grip tightened. “Want me to mess you up? Ruin you?”

“Please…”

Dean sucked in a slick breath through his teeth and slammed into you, grinding your hips back against him as he settled deep inside. Your body trembled and you dropped your face into the mattress, arms weak and hardly able to hold you up much longer.

“Oh no.” His tone was as rough as the fingers that tangled in your hair, crudely yanking your head back. “You’re gonna watch…” Your face lifted, eyes widened as the pain spread over your scalp. “Every…” Green eyes glowed with unearthly lust, sending a shiver through you as you stared into the mirror. “Single…” His body slammed into yours and your pleasure spiked. “Thrust.”

Without warning, you came, throbbing on his thick cock and spilling down your thighs, soaking the sheets.

Dean grinned and quickened his pace, enjoying the tug of your body over him. “That’s it,” he grit, “just like that…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[yuellii]

“ Would I have the honor to invite you for dinner? There's a banquet held by someone I don't know. I'd say it would be lavish of us if we don't enjoy it. ” — tennant / gn reader

“A rose for you,” she presents. And that slow, deep rumble of her voice sends a shiver that stirs your attention.

There is a tremor in such a thing, one that overshadows your body when she leans standing over your chair. Perhaps it was her hat, and the way it hovered over your heads; Or perhaps it was the large coat hanging off her shoulders, and how it created this air of mystery around her figure. But even a tremor so lightweight caused you to nearly choke on your drink when she presents you such a fresh rose out of nowhere.

“Tennant,” you name, though it was not your intent to carry slight distaste in your voice. Similarly, you couldn’t help but lean back against your chair to avoid her close proximity. “I don’t believe you were invited here at tonight’s banquet.”

She hums. “I see you aren’t one to fall for lowly, cheap tactics, my lord,” she says disappointedly, yet there is an baritone of amusement that flows through the air of her lips. “I thought that surely, you’d be flattered enough to allow me as your plus-one. What can I do to please you, should roses not suffice? Another drink? Perhaps a diamond?”

Along her string of words, she finds her place on the seat next to yours at the banquet table. Ah, that cannot do. These seats were already reserved before the event, and it was only a matter of time until the rest of your table attendees arrived as well.

“The people here,” you sighed, “They’ll no longer fall for your trickery, I fear.”

A refusal enough on your part—you could only hope she got the message. Her offers of wealth and of diamonds were only scams, and you came to know that very well. But when she merely scoffed, you only groaned to remind yourself just how persistent this mad woman can be.

( Especially, with you. )

“I’m shocked!” she expresses with a dramatic hand over her heart. There is a feigned hurt in her voice, but the way she holds back a smirk is very apparent. “Would you really think so lowly of me?” And at this, she leans closer to you by the dimly lit table side, feeling all-the-more suffocated at her nearing proximity. Damn this woman. “A kind gentleman would not bestow any trickery,” she says, as if you’ve spoken the most absurd words in the world. “And I believe that I am above a gentleman who would offer fake diamonds, wouldn’t you agree?”

You roll your eyes. “Asking me to agree with you is like asking me to marry a corrupted congressman.”

She smiles, attractively so. “This is why I like you…” her voice trails. She tilts her head, leaning it downwards to the side and then looks up at you. “You’re a glowing luxury”—her words are muttered with barley contained excitement, practically breathless—“perfect for deceiving the likes of this greedy, greedy nobles around us.”

There is a question left unspoken in the way she gazes so enticingly at you; half lidded eyes glowing red under the expensive lighting of this banquet. She was a feat of her own, already breaking into here in the first place. And now, she just needed you to officially invite her as your plus-one invitation. The best thing you could do was refuse her. But unfortunately, she has seemed to figure out your weakness by now.

“Stand up,” you sighed. “Let’s go get your ticket.”

There is a winning smile on her face.

When she stands, she moves forth to offer her arm to you. With the way you so naturally hold onto her, she feels a confidence at her confirmed guess: It was not a desire for roses, or diamonds, or any material thing that would win over your favor.

Rather, it was Tennant herself.

She grins to herself. Oh, she hopes she doesn’t break your poor heart.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Thanks to Vasillian for sending this in- you can own a mansion for less than $300K! Look, garages for 6 cars! The real estate description says it has 0bds & 0ba, but it does have them. It also says that it needs a tremendous amount of repairs, but it looks livable. 1935 build, located in Hays, KS, and has 2 acres of land. Asking $295K (But, the seller is motivated- it's been on the market for 294 days, Zillow says it's worth $274,500, so you negotiate it down.) Let's take a peek inside.

The grand hall entrance. I don't see any work needed here, except to strip this wallpaper. Looks like the piano conveys. Beautiful newel post on the original stairs.

So, this is the grand sitting room. The fireplace is non-working, but it's big. What made them select such a small print for such large rooms? And, it looks newly put up. Well, I'd have to live with it for awhile.

An arched doorway to the dining room.

Nice large room with wainscoting. The floors are all new.

Okay, the kitchen is shit. The cabinets are dated, no imagination, cheap, and they took the damned microwave. But, you use it temporarily.

Not sure what this room is, but it could be the primary bedroom and it's huge.

Because thru that doorway is a walk-in closet.

They're not built-ins, so it's a cheesy walk-in closet, but at least they left them.

I'm confused, now. Same wallpaper and carpet, what could it be? There's a fireplace and piano. Family room? They left 2 pianos.

This is definitely a bedroom, but it has open stairs that come up here. There's a walk-in closet and it looks like they left a bureau.

Is that a roll-top desk? Nice. You know how I love when stuff conveys.

So, I guess the bed would go in here?

Very large en-suite with matching rose sinks and tub.

This hall leads to another part of the house, but I'm not sure where.

It looks like the attic.

Seems odd to have a wood stove up here. There's also a fridge, which they left behind, and what looks like a kitchenette.

It's a weird space, but I like it.

Here are stairs to a lower level.

What is this place? Look at the mirrored ceiling and there's bridge w/openings to look down to a lower room. I'm really diggin' this house.

Are you kidding me? Look what's below- an indoor pool. There's a soaring 3 story fireplace and everything. Party time! Looks like they're in the middle of repairing it.

Oh, this is cool.

For less than $300K? Come on. I'll take it.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2390-E-27th-St-Hays-KS-67601/91133722_zpid/?

[fire-gemron]

Summery: When you move to Japan from your home country, you need to find an apartment cheap and fast. You didn't realize you were moving into the former apartment of a serial killer. And you definitely didn't know something was already living there.

A/N: so, I saw a post by @wayneswife about this idea and could not get it out of my head. I tried to send you an ask to ask permission to use your idea, but your asks were closed. I really hope you won't be too upset with me for this, but if you would prefer I take it down, please just say so and I will, no problem.

Overseas crime cases weren't generally covered where you came from, so you thought you could be forgiven for not knowing who Adami Adashino was. Her name hasn't even been mentioned when you were renting your apartment, it wasn't until you were moving in that you heard some of your neighbors whispering the name. By then, well, it was too far gone to turn back. You were there, you'd already put money into it, and you didn't have enough to find somewhere else.

It was fine, you reassured yourself. It was superstition, ghosts weren't real. Besides, from the articles you looked up, she hadn't even killed anyone in the apartment. It was fine.

It was fine.

You sat on your kitchen table and looked around the little apartment. Every single light was on, it was filled with the things you had brought from home or purchased in your short time there, it was comfortable and cozy. It was your apartment now, not Adami's.

So why couldn't you shake the creepy-crawly feeling of eyes on you? Why did you think you kept seeing things out of the corner of your eye?

You'd probably just freaked yourself out reading that article and it was just your imagination. Yes, that was it. With that thought in mind, you shut your laptop, rose from the kitchen table where you'd been sitting and headed for your bedroom. You hesitated just a second in the doorway, though, your hand hovering over the light switch.

It's fine.

You swallowed hard and flicked the switch. The kitchen was plunged into darkness behind you, and that crawling feeling of being watched wriggled it's way up the back of your neck. You hurried to your room.

You had that same moment of hesitation as you reached for your bedroom light, before forcing yourself to flip it off and practically dove into bed.

For a long moment, you just laid there, the blankets pulled up around you as you looked out into your darkened bedroom. Slowly, you began to relax. You took a breath and let it out slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself try to get to sleep.

But that creepy-crawly feeling was still there. If anything, it was worse than ever. With an irritated huff, you opened your eyes -

And found someone leaning over you.

For a half second, you froze, staring up at the man there. 'Man' was a... choice word. He was thin, his skin grey, his lips stretched into a inhuman smile. Long, long hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes. The only thing you could see underneath was a flush of ruddy color.

You took all that in during the span of a heartbeat before a scream burst from your lungs and you scrabbled away from him. Your back hit the wall, and you shoved yourself up it, using it to get yourself back to your feet. The man hadn't moved. He was kneeling beside your bed, his head cocked to the side, and his smile now turned down into a confused little frown. He chirped something in a language you didn't understand.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" you demanded.

He just looked curiously at you.

He wore what looked like a tattered old kimono, his hair long enough to fall down his body all the way to the floor. He looked like the very picture of a ghost from any number of stories. He sat up a little, his hands in his lap, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth curled into a frown.

He looked so... dejected.

Despite the shock and creepiness of the whole situation, you felt a little bit bad.

He said something again. The phonetics sounded almost like Japanese, but no words you'd ever heard before, but between his look and the lower, sadder pitch of his voice, you could assume that he wasn't exactly happy. He placed a hand on the floor, using it to twist away. With your back pressed against the wall, still too stunned to do anything, you watched as he crawled away and out of your bedroom door. It was only when he was out of sight, that you blinked out of your stupor. You stumbled away from the wall and went to the door, looking out into your apartment.

But there was no sign of him.

After a moment, you whispered to yourself, "What was that?"

~~~

You didn't see the man for days after that, but you were pretty sure he was still around. You could feel eyes on you sometimes. After a few days, when you came to be comfortable with the fact that he wasn't going to hurt you, you found yourself talking to him, even if he never answered you. After a little while, it became almost natural to talk to him, even if it felt more like talking to an imaginary friend.

It took a few days of this before you began to notice him out of the corner of your eye at night. He never loomed over you again, but sometimes he'd be there, in the corner of the room. Sometimes things were moved or picked up. Plates you left on the table had been moved to the sink.

It was... nice.

But things weren't all roses and sunshine. It was difficult living in another country, and you were having a problem connecting with people. You were lonely. Maybe that was why you'd started talking to Mr. Ghost in the first place, but it wasn't really helping all that much.

But that day hit harder than most. It was your birthday.

Your birthday and you'd never felt so alone.

You were sitting on a chair near the window, your legs drawn up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. You had your cheek on your knees, tears dripping down the curves of your cheeks as you looked out the window. You felt awful, so incredibly homesick and lonely, and you couldn't stop.

The chirp of unfamiliar words pulled you from your thoughts. You lifted your head and glanced over toward the room.

Your resident ghost was sitting there on his knees, not far from you, watching you. Even if you couldn't see his eyes, everything about his expression radiated concern and distress as he looked at you. Planting his hands on the floor, he scooted a little closer to you.

He cared. You didn't know why, but he cared about you somehow.

Slowly, you unfolded your legs, slipped out of your chair, and sank down to the floor on your knees just in front of him. For a second, you two just looked at each other, before, suddenly, he lunged for her. You gasped, but before you could do anything, he'd grabbed you and hauled you close.

You froze, held against his chest, his arms wound around you. He murmured something soft in your ear, but you didn't recognize the words, still. Yet, he was so gentle with you. The tension bled out of your body, and you wrapped your arms around him. Your fingers curled in the worn, soft fabric of his kimono, and you clutched at it tightly, turning your head into the crook of his neck. His long hair fell around you, tickling at your arms. He stroked a hand down your back softly, sweetly. You hiccupped a small sob against his neck. He held you a little tighter and cooed in your ear.

Among the unfamiliar words, you recognized one phrase in Japanese.

"Daijoubu."