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thef1diary · 18 days ago

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Language Of Leaves | F. Colapinto

Summary: Franco begrudgingly agrees to watch your plants, but caring for them leads him to realize he’s growing just as attached to you.

warnings: fluff, a few spanish sentences - w translation (correct me if it’s wrong!)

wc: 3k

masterlist

Franco had been wholly reluctant from the moment you asked him to take care of your plants. The request hadn’t even fully left your lips before he shook his head, immediately retreating a step, his hands raised as though warding off some ludicrous proposal.

“¿Estás loca?” (are you crazy?) he’d exclaimed, his brows furrowing in exaggerated disbelief. “You’re asking the wrong person here, I would kill your plants without even realizing. They don’t want me around, trust me.” He looked at the leafy green oasis you had so carefully tended to with a mix of apprehension and resignation, like the plants themselves were quietly mocking him from their pots.

But you knew Franco well, you knew that if you pressed just a little, his tough facade would soften. So, you laid it on thick, giving him that soft, pleading expression that he could never quite resist when it came to you. You looked at him with those big, hopeful eyes, layering in just a hint of sadness. “Franco, please. My plants will wither without someone to care for them. Leaving them alone for two whole weeks… it’d be like abandoning children.”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve. He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the plants and then to you, a faint crack appearing in his armor. You could practically see the thought unfolding in his mind—imagining you returning home to drooping, lifeless plants, the beautiful greenery reduced to a shadow of what it had been. His resistance wavered.

And then you delivered the final blow: a tiny, almost-mournful pout. You knew it was his Achilles’ heel, the expression that always seemed to make him relent, no matter how absurd the request.

Franco sighed—a long, dramatic sigh, muttering under his breath as he glanced away, pretending as if he hadn’t already lost this battle. Finally, he held out his hand for the paper in yours, grumbling all the while, “fine. Solo por dos semanas.” (only for two weeks)

Franco took the paper with a resigned sigh, eyeing it skeptically as he skimmed the instructions. You had done your best to make it as straightforward as possible, keeping the notes to simple instructions for sunlight and water. Still, he seemed to regard even this minimal guidance as a daunting task, his brows furrowing with each line he read. You could practically see his mind racing, piecing together the responsibility you were trusting him with, and how high the stakes suddenly felt.

But since he had already agreed—thanks to that soft pout of yours he couldn’t resist—he knew it was too late to back out now. He folded the paper carefully and gave you a look, one last attempt to salvage his pride. “I’ll try my best, okay? But if you come back and a plant or two doesn’t make it, that’s not my fault.”

There was a slight smirk on his face, though, as if he was secretly determined to prove himself wrong, to come through for you.

You lean in and press a quick, warm kiss to his cheek, murmuring a soft, “thank you, Franco.” The gesture is small, but the effect is immediate. A flush rises to his cheeks, painting them a rosy pink that he tries to hide by looking away. He clears his throat, obviously flustered, and rubs the back of his neck as though the warmth spreading there might somehow disappear if he just ignores it.

He lets out a low cough, shifting his stance uncomfortably, and mutters, “Yeah, yeah… don’t mention it,” his voice gruff, but betrayed by the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Before you can say anything else, he gives a quick nod and ends the conversation right there, stuffing the paper in his pocket as though ready to make his escape before you see just how much your kiss affected him.

When you finally left for your trip, Franco lingered in the doorway of your apartment, taking in the quiet space that was now his responsibility. He moved to the middle of the room, staring down at the list you’d left him. The handwriting was familiar, your looping letters filling the space with gentle reminders and careful instructions, but it was the little doodles that captured his attention.

You’d sketched a happy monstera leaf next to its name, a tiny sun with a smiling face by the plants that needed more light, and even raindrops beside those that liked extra water. He found his fingers drifting over the paper, tracing each drawing, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Qué linda…” (how cute) he murmured before catching himself and pulling his hand back with a quick cough.

“They’re just plants, Franco,” he told himself under his breath, trying to brush off the warmth in his chest. Still, he couldn’t deny that the thought of you sitting down to make this list—carefully, as if you were entrusting him with a life-or-death mission—made him feel… something.

The first day was straightforward enough. He followed each instruction you’d left to the letter, checking off each plant on your list and measuring out water carefully. Some plants didn’t need watering every day, so he noted the days with reminders on his phone. He’d warned you he wasn’t the best plant sitter, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally prove himself right.

As each day passed, he found himself coming over more often than necessary. Even on days when only one or two plants needed watering, Franco would still make the trip, convincing himself it was “just in case.” What if something went wrong overnight? What if he’d missed something? He checked each plant like they were little patients, leaning close to inspect the soil.

By the fourth day, he was getting into a rhythm. He began with the smaller plants, crouching down to check the moisture in their soil. If it felt too dry, he gave them a splash of water; if it seemed damp, he left them alone.

But then he reached your monstera, the plant you considered your prized possession. He stilled, a strange sensation of dread creeping over him as he noticed the edges of the leaves starting to turn yellow, a slight droop to the usually vibrant foliage. His heart dropped.

“¡Mierda!” (shit) he muttered, kneeling down to inspect the damage. “No, no, no…” Panic crept into his chest as he pictured you coming home to find a mess of dying plants. He knew how much these plants meant to you; you tended to them with such devotion, treating each one like it was a beloved pet.

“No me hagas esto, por favor. ¿Qué te hice?” (Don’t do this to me, please. What did I do to you?) His fingers brushed over one of the yellowed edges, his brow furrowing as he searched for any clue. “I swear, I followed everything she wrote down,” he muttered, almost like he was trying to reassure the plant—and himself. He took out the list and reread the instructions for the monstera, scanning the page as if a hidden solution would suddenly appear.

The room fell silent, save for his own low muttering as he kept inspecting the monstera, turning the pot gently and studying each leaf like a doctor checking a patient’s pulse. “Okay, maybe it needs a little less water? Or more light?” He tried everything he could think of, even nudging the pot slightly closer to the window. “Dios mío,” (my god) he breathed, wiping a hand over his face. “She’s going to kill me if it wilts.”

But then he paused, remembering something else.

Franco looked around at your cozy, plant-filled home, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. He remembered how you’re always doting on these plants, cradling each one gently as you water or trim leaves. He’d always found it amusing, the way you’d coo at it as if it were a pet, fingers lightly brushing over its leaves, calling it mi bebé, whispering reassurances in a soft voice, and he’s never missed the way your face lights up whenever one of them sprouts a new leaf or a flower bud.

Franco never understood it, thought it was just some odd habit. But now, facing the wilting monstera, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t as silly as he’d thought.

He cleared his throat, feeling utterly ridiculous. “Alright, monstruo,” he muttered, using a nickname he’d given the big, leafy plant.

“We’re gonna make this work, ¿sí? No más hojas amarillas, ¿entendido?” (Yes? No more yellow leaves, understood?) He felt silly, but if talking to them helped even a little, he was willing to try.

“She really loves you, ¿sabes? She’d hate to see you like this.” (you know) He reached out and gently touched one of the yellowing leaves, his hand lingering there, almost as if he were holding its hand.

He could picture you now, laughing at him for talking to a plant—to your plant—but he kept going anyway. “I’ll do better, okay? Whatever you need. More sun, less water, whatever it takes. Just… hang in there. Don’t make me break her heart.”

He sat back on his heels, staring at the monstera for a moment longer. He felt strangely connected to it, like he’d made a pact, a silent agreement between them.

In the days that followed, Franco grew more and more attached, unconsciously mimicking the little rituals he’d seen you do. He hummed softly under his breath as he watered, sometimes even pausing to glance at the list you’d left, your handwriting now familiar and endearing to him.

He no longer approached your plants like a checklist to get through. Instead, he slowed down, taking the time to touch each leaf and test the soil carefully with his fingers, just like he’d seen you do a hundred times.

When he came across your spider plant, a small and slightly finicky one that he’d once jokingly called “the diva” because of its stubborn leaves, he paused, lightly brushing his thumb over the thin, arching fronds. “You’re giving me more trouble than all the others combined, you know that?” he said, his voice softer than before, almost like he was confiding in it. “But I get it… you’re probably used to her touch, not mine.”

Each day, he began to greet them with a quiet “hola,” as if entering a room full of familiar faces. He knew the way you did it, how you’d walk in and give each plant a little greeting or a compliment. And now he found himself doing the same thing. “Looking good,” he’d mutter as he checked the moisture of your jade plant, nodding approvingly, even though it was just a plant in silence.

The last thing Franco expected was to miss you. But somewhere between fussing over your plants and memorizing every instruction you’d left behind, he started to notice the silence. Your laughter, your endless chatter about plant care, the way you’d smile as you talked about each one like it had a personality—all of it lingered in the empty spaces of your home, making it feel strangely hollow.

He never said it out loud, but as much as he protested, he enjoyed coming over, having coffee with you as you arranged your plants, rambling about which ones needed more light, which were delicate, and which were “just a little dramatic.” You’d look at him with that soft, knowing smile as he pretended not to care, and though he’d grumble about “too many plants,” he never left without sneaking one last look at your little green haven.

He wondered how you’d react if he managed to keep them all alive. A small part of him—a part he tried not to examine too closely—wanted to see your face light up when you saw the plants, thriving and green, as if he’d managed to preserve something precious to you.

Sitting there on your living room carpet, surrounded by all these green, leafy “babies” you’d entrusted to him, he realized he wasn’t just daydreaming about your reaction to the plants. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be here with you, to share these quiet mornings side by side, maybe with a cup of coffee and your gentle teasing. He imagined your hand on his arm, laughing at his sudden “attachment” to your beloved green haven, and he felt a pang of longing he couldn’t ignore.

Franco had always admired you, but these past two weeks had somehow made him feel closer to you, made him wonder what it would be like if he weren’t just a friend.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing these plants as “yours” and started treating them like they were his responsibility too.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your two-week trip came to an end. It was well past midnight when you let yourself in, leaving your suitcase by the door as you spotted a lit lamp in the otherwise dark apartment. You padded softly down the hall, stifling a yawn, but stopped in your tracks at the sight that awaited you.

There, in the middle of your living room, was Franco, sound asleep on the floor. His back was against the sofa, his head lolling to one side, and in his hands were two of your plants—your small, temperamental spider plant and your “drama queen” fern. Even in his sleep, he cradled them carefully, as if afraid one wrong move might damage them.

You couldn’t help but smile, taking in the sight of him nestled between your plants, his face softened in sleep, looking far more at peace than you’d ever seen him. You stepped a little closer, crouching down and noticed the smudges of soil on his hands and the slight disarray of the room, as if he’d gone through a nightly ritual of checking on each plant before dozing off right there on the floor.

As you reached out, your fingers barely grazing a stray curl from his forehead, he stirred, eyes fluttering open, his gaze meeting yours. His sleepy, unfocused eyes sharpened as he realized you were there, inches away, and a hint of surprise flickered in them.

“Ah… estás aquí,” (you’re here) he muttered as he realized he was still holding onto your plants.

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he placed them gently beside him, his fingers lingering on the leaves as if reluctant to let go.

You both remained close, his sleepy eyes meeting yours, and suddenly the room felt charged, every inch between you alive with an unspoken electricity. He didn’t move away, and neither did you. The silence was warm, thick with all the things you hadn’t yet said, every shared glance and lingering touch from before echoing in this small, tender space between you.

“I didn’t expect to find you like this,” you whispered, the words coming out softer than you intended.

He laughed lightly, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he leaned back, eyes not leaving yours. “I didn’t expect to get so… attached,” he admitted, his voice dropping, a hint of something more in his tone.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you raised an eyebrow, teasing. “To the plants or…?”

His gaze flickered down to the fern beside him for a moment, and then back to you, as if he could no longer resist the pull drawing you closer. “They were good company,” he murmured, his voice softer now, like he was confessing something he’d been holding back, “but… I meant you.”

Your smile softened, and before you could second-guess yourself, you had leaned in, bridging the last inches between you until your head was nestled gently against his chest. He shifted to hold you, his arms wrapping around you naturally, as if they’d been waiting for this moment. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady but just a bit faster than usual, mirroring your own.

He tightened his hold around you, one hand settling at the small of your back while the other drifted upward, his fingers trailing gently along your spine. The touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the simple act of holding you close.

You let yourself relax fully into his embrace, feeling the way his fingers seemed to map out a quiet symphony along your spine. There was a tenderness in his touch, a kind of reverence that made you feel like this moment was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

“Franco…” you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips as his gaze flicked to your lips, lingering in a way that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. His thumb brushed against your side, an almost absent-minded gesture, yet one that spoke volumes, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you with the tips of his fingers.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded, leaving only the soft rise and fall of his breath mingling with yours. His eyes closed briefly, like he was savoring the closeness, and when they opened, his gaze was deeper, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his tone laced with a sincerity that sent a thrill through you, making you forget everything but the warmth of his presence.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I missed you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently grazing his cheek.

Franco’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The moment hung between you, suspended in time, gentle and full of unspoken promises.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile was warm, content. There was no rush, no need for words anymore. Just the quiet understanding between you, as if the silence said everything that needed to be said.

And in that silence, you both stayed, savoring the peace of finally being close in a way you hadn’t been before.

taglist: @blakebearsblog @arieslost @lilorose25 @jamieeboulos @cinderellawithashoe @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel

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communistkenobi · 2 years ago

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I was listening to Behind The Police (podcast about the history of American policing) recently and at one point the hosts were discussing the tendency of white supremacist/fascist violence to have this element of absurdity to it - ie, people dressing up in white KKK robes and calling themselves wizards while attacking black people - and the point of this is to deny their victims the decency of “straightforward” experiences of violence. To later recount that a group of wizards attacked you makes you to sound absurd to whoever you’re talking to, and it becomes more difficult to make sense of. it’s all “just a joke bro.” your discomfort and fear and confusion and pain is the punchline. and modern right wing discourse is so laughably deranged as to be a joke in itself (perhaps best epitomised by the now-memetic phrase “the fluoride in the water is making the frickin’ frogs gay”), but this is of course deliberate. the rhetoric of “satanic pedophiles are sacrificing children in the basement of a pizza restaurant” or whatever is employed because it distracts from the real message they’re trying to deliver (ie, antisemitism). it isn’t just a denial of reality but a very particular form of cruelty that makes it more difficult for the victims of right wing violence to be taken seriously, to make sense of what’s happened to them.

and it feels like the same thing is happening now with transphobia - rhetoric that insists on “protecting children” from trans people while the US is actively loosening their child labour laws (x) (x). this isn’t a case of mere “hypocrisy,” this is rhetorically deliberate. the rank absurdity and insincerity of their words is meant to deny you the ability to think clearly, to distract you, to make you sound like a crazy person, to enrage you, all the while they get to carry on as if they aren’t saying or doing any of these things

#racism tw #antisemitism tw #transphobia tw #book club

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23victoria · 1 month ago

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word count:11𝓀

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authors note: i am so sorry is this is complete shit, i struggled with this so much and….yea, i hope it’s good and again i’m sorry likes, asks, and reblogs are appreciated! i hope you enjoy :)

𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔭𝔞��𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱?! CLICK HERE!

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The plush carpet muffled your footsteps as you paced the length of the suite, the glass of wine in your hand barely touched. You weren’t here for the wine, after all. The cool rim of the glass pressed against your lip was a distraction, a flimsy attempt to calm the anxiety swirling in your chest. Your reflection caught in the mirror, and you almost rolled your eyes. Dressed in the black lingerie you’d splurged on for the occasion, you looked... ridiculous. Sexy, sure, but ridiculous. Who pays $6k for sex? Apparently, you do.

You snorted, shaking your head at yourself. God, what the hell am I doing here?

The reasoning had seemed airtight at the time. Two years of celibacy after that disaster with your ex—who, naturally, had managed to ruin not just your relationship but your self-esteem too. He'd cheated, and when he left, he took a piece of you with him. Trust, confidence, maybe even desire. All of it was locked away in the aftermath of his betrayal. But you were a grown woman, an adult who could make her own decisions.

I could fuck anyone I want to, right? You thought, half-defending yourself, half-mocking the idea. Right. Except I haven’t. The lingering anxiety had kept you paralyzed, unable to even flirt, let alone let someone close again. So, you made an impulsive choice, one that had you sitting in a five-star hotel, waiting for a stranger.

Not just any stranger, though. The best. That's what the website had promised, and you had researched thoroughly—more than you cared to admit. Every review, every service listed, the options detailed right down to the type of man you could request. It all felt clinical, safe. A transaction.

That’s all this is. A simple transaction. You repeated it like a mantra, hoping the words would settle the knot in your stomach.

But the number—$6,000—echoed louder in your mind. Six grand for sex. You winced, taking another slow sip of wine, trying to justify it again.

He was supposed to be the best, though. The reviews had gushed, the site had practically bragged about how this guy was the epitome of everything you could want: good-looking, professional, discreet. For what they charged, he better be.

But that didn’t stop the anxiety from clawing at your chest. What if you got too stuck in your head? What if, after all of this buildup, the wine and the lingerie and the research, you chickened out? You’d waste his time, your time, and a small fortune on top of it. $6,000. Jesus.

You laughed at the absurdity of it. Of course, I’d make a stupid decision like this.

But the laughter faded quickly, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the suite, your skin buzzing with nerves. What if this doesn’t even help? What if it makes things worse? You pushed the thoughts away, though they clung to the edges of your mind like a fog you couldn’t quite shake off.

The sound of a knock at the door yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. Your heart lurched. You hesitated for a moment before setting your wine glass on the table. With one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you crossed the room and opened the door.

And there he was.

For a split second, your mind went completely blank. Standing in front of you was, hands down, the hottest man you’d ever seen in person. He was just a couple of inches taller than you, with a lean but muscular build that suggested he worked out without being overly bulky. His shirt hugged his chest in all the right ways, and his dark hair was styled effortlessly. You blinked, mouth slightly open, as you tried to take him in.

“Bonsoir,” he greeted, his voice a low rumble laced with the softest French accent. “My companion should be here any moment. Sorry, he’s running late.”

You blinked again, still processing. Fuck. That accent. You were barely listening to what he was saying, too distracted by the smoothness of his voice, the way the words rolled off his tongue with an effortless charm that made your stomach flip. Lord. This man alone was worth the $6k.

But as his words finally registered in your brain, confusion crept in. Companion?

You stared at him, your mind catching up a little too slowly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, his head tilting as if trying to read your expression. You must’ve looked confused—because you were.

Before you could voice the question on the tip of your tongue, there was another knock at the door.

You froze for a second, then watched as the man—Charles, you assumed—stepped aside to let in whoever was on the other side. And that’s when he walked in.

Another man, just as stunning as the first. His presence hit you like a wave. Taller than Charles, with broad shoulders and an air of confidence that instantly commanded attention. His smile was devilishly handsome, and his dark eyes sparkled with something teasing as he took you in. He introduced himself with a thick, sexy Spanish accent that nearly made your knees buckle.

“I’m Carlos,” he said, his voice so deep it sent a shiver down your spine.

You just stood there, mouth slightly parted, trying to process the fact that two incredibly hot men were now in your hotel room.

─── �� ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The room was quiet, a charged sort of anticipation lingering in the air as you moved about, keeping yourself busy. Both Charles and Carlos stood patiently in front of you, but you were distinctly aware of every glance they exchanged, every slight smile they gave each other. In a weak attempt to fill the silence, you turned to the small minibar by the window, which you’d noticed was stocked with a surprising assortment of wines and liquors.

“Would you guys… like a drink?” you offered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I think there’s some champagne, maybe wine, or even whiskey if you want.”

Charles’s eyes followed your every move, and Carlos leaned back with an amused expression, both men seemingly content to just watch as you babbled on.

“And, um, I got some food, too.” You gestured to the tray of tiny sandwiches and fruit that sat on the table near the window, small bites you’d hoped might keep your nerves in check. “You know, just in case anyone’s hungry. They’re little, so they won’t ruin your appetite, but they’re actually quite good! I mean, the hotel did a great job with the whole presentation thing…”

You trailed off, catching the amused smiles that Charles and Carlos exchanged as you kept talking. Charles raised a brow, and Carlos bit back a laugh, clearly enjoying your rambling. You suddenly felt heat rise to your cheeks and stammered a little as you continued, “I just figured, you know, if we’re going to spend some time here together, it would be good to… um, settle in, I guess?”

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched you with a look that was both patient and playful. He exchanged a knowing glance with Charles, who finally spoke, his soft accent lingering on your name in a way that made you freeze mid-sentence.

“Y/N.”

The sound of it in his French accent, low and smooth, made your heart flutter. You could feel yourself hanging on every syllable, the room somehow feeling even warmer as you turned to face him fully.

“Yes?” you murmured, breath catching in your throat.

He held your gaze, his lips curving up at the corners in a gentle smile. “Breathe, relax.” He reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm, his fingers warm and reassuring. “What are you nervous about, baby?”

It felt like a dam broke, and before you knew it, the words were spilling out. You hesitated, took a deep breath, and finally, with a tentative glance between them, you spoke. “I… well, it’s just been a long time for me,” you admitted. “I haven’t done anything like this in a couple of years.”

They both nodded, their expressions patient and encouraging, inviting you to go on.

“I was in a relationship,” you continued, voice quieter now. “He cheated on me. It… kind of destroyed me, to be honest.” You offered a small, self-deprecating laugh. “He also had a few choice words to say about me before we ended things. Made me feel… insecure, I guess. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Charles’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening. “What a fool,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed. “He’s an idiot and a piece of shit for saying any of that to you. You deserve better, you know that, right?”

Carlos nodded in agreement, stepping closer with an intense look that softened when he met your eyes. “He didn’t deserve you, mami. But tonight? We’re making up for those two years, trust us.”

They both looked at you, waiting, not pushing, but you could feel the anticipation building between you. It was like standing on the edge of something exhilarating, and a part of you wanted to let go and trust them. You took a breath, feeling a surge of boldness. What were the odds that two men this stunning would walk into your life again?

“Okay,” you whispered, looking between them, the single word hanging in the air with an almost electric weight. They shared a look, subtle but charged, and then turned back to you.

Charles smiled. “Before we get started, there’s just one more thing. We need a safe word. If you want to stop at any point, if anything feels uncomfortable or just too much, you can say it, and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

You thought for a moment, rolling the idea around in your head before giving a small smile. “How about… wine?”

Both men chuckled, Carlos’s deep laughter filling the room as he tilted his head. “That’s cute, mami. Okay, ‘wine’ it is. And we’ll use a few more, too—just to make sure you’re always comfortable. Say ‘green’ if you want us to keep going or go a little faster, ‘yellow’ if you want us to slow down, and, of course, ‘red’ if you need us to stop. Sound good?”

You nodded, the nervous flutter in your stomach finally beginning to settle. Carlos smiled warmly, eyes meeting yours. “I need verbal confirmation, mami,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

“Yes,” you replied softly. “That sounds good.”

They exchanged another look, a shared understanding passing between them, and then Charles turned to you, his gaze soft but filled with a quiet intensity. He moved closer, settling on the edge of the bed beside you, and lifted a hand to gently stroke a strand of hair away from your face.

“Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “Let’s start.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As you lay back against the silken sheets, your heart raced, caught between excitement and nerves. Charles was so close, his presence enveloping you as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck. The sensation sent shivers cascading down your spine, igniting every nerve in your body and causing you to arch instinctively toward him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry, a velvet caress against your skin. Each kiss he placed along your collarbone was tender yet deliberate, a promise that made you melt into the bedding, your body responding to him without reservation.

His mouth traveled down, kissing a path that made you gasp softly, your breath hitching as he lingered at your chest. The warmth of his body hovered over you, and as he pressed his lips against the soft curves of your body, it felt as though the world outside faded away completely.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed, his voice low and commanding as he settled between your thighs, looking up at you with an intensity that made your heart race. The anticipation hung in the air, heavy and sweet, as he moved closer.

“Charles…” you whispered, almost pleadingly.

“Trust me,” he replied, and with that, he pulled down your lacy black underwear pressing his finger on your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins. The sensation was overwhelming, and you gasped as his fingers slowly entered you, moving in and out slowly. He coaxed you into the rhythm as he curled his finger expertly, finding that spot deep inside you that made you gasp even louder.

“See? There you go,” he praised, his voice smooth and honeyed. “So perfect. So responsive for me baby, hmm.” Each word seemed to seep into your skin, igniting something within you. The room felt alive with the sounds of your breathy moans and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you.

Charles watched you intently, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he added another finger, stretching you deliciously. “So beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto yours as he focused solely on you. “You taste so delicious.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, feeling the heat pool lower in your abdomen as he licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop. The sight of him enjoying you so thoroughly sent another wave of heat through you, your heart racing faster than ever.

“Don’t hold back,” he urged, a low growl escaping his lips as he maintained that intoxicating rhythm. “Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

You could feel yourself spiraling, the pressure building as he curled his fingers deeper, drawing out moans from you. “I… I can’t…” you managed to whimper, the words barely escaping your lips as you trembled beneath him.

“Shh, just let go,” he encouraged, his voice dripping with a mixture of authority and tenderness. “You can do it. I’m right here.”

His confidence flooded through you, and with every thrust of his fingers, the world outside the hotel room faded away completely. You surrendered to the sensations, feeling the tension in your body reaching an unbearable peak. Your vision blurred, and you could feel the heat pooling inside you, ready to explode.

“Charles,” you gasped, feeling the waves of ecstasy start to crash over you. “I’m—”

“Yes, baby, let it happen,” he coaxed, his eyes dark and fierce as he continued his relentless pace. “You’re doing so well.”

With a final curl of his fingers, you came, the pressure bursting as pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave. Your body tensed, trembling beneath him as moans spilled from your lips, each sound wrapping around the dim room like a spell. Charles watched you with an intensity that made your heart race, his fingers never faltering as he helped you ride out the high.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You floated down from the heights of bliss, feeling both blissfully vulnerable and utterly adored.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the taste of you lingering between you. As he pulled back slightly, a playful smirk danced on his lips. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

The intimacy of the moment left you breathless, a lingering warmth settling in your chest. You smiled back at him, your cheeks still flushed from pleasure and the glow of the dim light, feeling both exposed and cherished.

But before you could catch your breath, another wave of desire crashed over you, and you felt yourself yearning for more. Charles shifted closer again, his lips brushing against your neck, igniting the fire that still simmered within you. “You’re not done yet, are you?” he teased softly, his breath warm against your skin.

You shook your head slightly, the thought of indulging in this moment with him—and with Carlos, who you knew was still there, waiting, watching, heightening the anticipation—sent a thrill through you. “Let’s see how far we can take this,” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye as he kissed along your jaw, his lips trailing down your throat.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Carlos broke the tension, his voice low and sultry. “My turn now, mami. Let me taste how sweet you are.”

Before you could fully process his words, Carlos was there, his mouth on yours, and it sent a jolt of electricity straight through your body. His lips were warm and inviting as they enveloped you, and the sensation was overwhelming. You gasped, when he pulled away, kissing his way down your body until he’s between your thighs, your hands instinctively finding their way into his hair, gripping tightly as he teased you.

His tongue flicked expertly against your clit, sucking and biting, driving you wild. Each swirl of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you, building on the lingering sensations from Charles. “Oh, fuck Carlos…” you moaned, your back arching slightly, the pleasure making your heart race.

“Fuck, baby, that’s hot,” Charles muttered, his eyes dark with desire as he watched Carlos work his magic. The sight of your pleasure fueled him, and you could feel the heat radiating off both men, the intensity of the moment heightening every sensation.

Carlos wasn’t holding back; he was relentless, his mouth moving skillfully as he worked your clit, driving you further into ecstasy. And when his tongue plunged in and out of your warmth, every movement made you whimper, the sound escaping you before you could catch it.

“God, yes…” you breathed, your hips instinctively rolling against his mouth, seeking more, needing more. The world around you blurred, and it was just you and the exquisite sensations you were feeling.

“Ride my face, mami,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice sending an additional thrill through your body. You obliged, moving to sit on his face, your hands on the headboard as you instinctively moved to grind against him, the pleasure building higher and higher.

“Ohh, fuck,” you yelped, feeling the tight coil in your abdomen beginning to unravel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you, and you felt your body respond, shaking under the intensity as you approached the precipice of your next orgasm.

Carlos continued his relentless assault, slipping three fingers inside you, and you moaned loudly at the feeling, pulling his hair tight, urging him on. “Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, the combination of his fingers and mouth driving you wild. “P-please don’t stop!”

And he didn’t, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. As he inserted a fourth finger, the sensation was overwhelming. You felt yourself teetering on the brink, ready to plunge into that sweet abyss of pleasure.

“Carlos! I’m gonna—” you gasped, feeling your body tensing, the waves crashing around you.

“Let go, mami. I got you,” he encouraged, his voice deep and sultry as he lapped at you hungrily. At those words, your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shaking, your body writhing under him.

Carlos didn’t stop; he continued to eat you out through the waves of your orgasm, each thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue sending aftershocks through your body. “Oh my God, Carlos!” you cried, feeling the intensity of it all consume you.

“Fuck mami, you taste so good,” he murmured against your sensitive skin as he licked you clean, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and lust. “I could stay in between these sexy thighs of yours all day.”

Completely breathless, your body a trembling mess of pleasure, as you basked in the aftermath of everything. Carlos finally pulled away, leaving you dazed and reeling from the intensity of what just happened. Your legs felt like jelly, and you were sure you’d lost all sense of reality for a moment.

Charles chuckled softly, clearly entertained as he watched you come down from your high. “I’d say that’s a successful start,” he teased, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You managed a breathy laugh, your heart racing as you looked between the two of them. “You two… wow.”

Carlos grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Just wait until you see what else we can do, mami.”

Charles leaned closer, a playful spark in his gaze. “What do you think, baby? Are you ready for more?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I think I’m ready,” you said softly, your voice steady and filled with determination.

Charles’s eyes lit up, and Carlos’s smirk widened. “Good,” Charles replied, his tone sultry. “Because we’re just getting started.”

“Close your eyes, mami,” Carlos said, his voice a deep, seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You hesitated, a flicker of doubt creeping in. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Do you trust us?” His tone was confident, teasing yet soothing, coaxing you into submission.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a warm blanket. This was all new territory, a blend of exhilaration and trepidation. “Yes,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, surrendering to whatever they had in store for you.

You heard a soft sound, like fabric ripping, and your heart raced as you felt something cool and smooth wrap around your eyes. The realization hit you: they had blindfolded you. The world around you shifted into a haze, every sound amplified, every sensation heightened. You could feel the heat radiating from both men as they surrounded you, their presence both comforting and electrifying.

“Just relax, mami,” Carlos murmured, and you felt him lay down beside you. His lips found your skin, kissing up along your breasts, his mouth moving with deliberate care as he bit and licked, teasing you into a frenzy.

A soft moan escaped your lips, involuntarily. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and delicious anticipation, your body arching towards him, craving more.

As his mouth worked its magic, you felt another warmth against your thighs, a slow, deliberate caress. “You’re so sexy, baby,” the voice said, and you realized it was Charles. His breath was hot against your skin, teasingly close but never quite touching.

Your heart raced, the anticipation leaving you trembling. They were both here, right next to you, guiding you into a world where your senses reigned supreme. You felt someone’s hands travel up your thighs, moving closer to your core, teasing you. “You like that?” Charles asked, his voice deep and low, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Y-yes…” you gasped, biting your lip as the sensations heightened. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged with unspoken promises.

“Let’s make this even more fun, shall we?” Carlos said, his voice low and seductive.

Suddenly, you felt warm wax drip onto your stomach, and the sensation made you gasp, your body instinctively reacting to the heat. “What are you doing?” you managed to stutter, a mixture of excitement and fear flooding through you.

“Just trust us, mami,” Carlos cooed. “You’ll love it.”

As he leaned down to kiss the area right next to the wax, the contrast between the heat of the wax and the coolness of his mouth was intoxicating. He pressed gentle kisses along your skin, creating a delicious tension that left you breathless.

The moment felt electric. With every kiss and caress, you surrendered a little more, letting them guide you deeper into this world of pleasure. Carlos’s fingers lightly traced your clit, teasing you, while Charles’s kisses grew more passionate, sloppy and eager on your mouth.

Suddenly, you felt Carlos’s fingers slip lower, just brushing against your asshole. A sharp gasp escaped you as he continued to tease you, working you into a frenzy. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised, his tone dripping with lust. “Just let go and enjoy.”

The tension built inside you, a knot of anticipation tightening with every flick of his fingers. You could feel your body responding instinctively, the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Carlos…” you moaned, your heart racing as he continued to tease you.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Carlos pressed his finger inside you stretching you and making you squirm. “Shhh,” he soothed, as you felt the slight burn of being filled. “Just relax, mami. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

You could hardly process the pleasure coursing through you as he added a second finger, moving in and out, stretching you just right. “Oh, fuck!” you gasped, your body arching into him as the sensation intensified.

“That’s it,” Carlos murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “So good for me, mami.”

Charles, ever watchful, leaned closer, kissing you more deeply, coaxing your tongue to dance with his. You melted into the kiss, feeling utterly consumed by them both. The combination of their touches was intoxicating, and you surrendered completely, losing yourself in the pleasure.

“Three fingers now,” Carlos warned, and your breath hitched in anticipation. He pushed a third finger inside you, and your body quivered, an involuntary moan escaping you as the sensation hit you like a bolt of lightning. The stretch was exquisite, a heady mix of pleasure and slight discomfort that made your heart race even faster.

“That’s it, mami,” Carlos coaxed, his fingers curling just right inside you. “You’re taking it so well.”

Charles pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, his expression a mix of admiration and lust. “You’re incredible,” he said, breathless.

The combination of their praises and the sensations swirling around you was almost too much. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, ready to plunge into that sweet release. “I’m—” you began, but Carlos cut you off.

“Not yet, baby,” he said, his tone firm yet playful. “I want you to feel every second.”

And with that, he began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, deliberate motion, curling and pressing against your most sensitive spot, coaxing you closer and closer to that edge. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your body betraying you as you let yourself slip into the abyss of pleasure. “Please, Carlos… I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Good,” he replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying the control he had over you. “That’s exactly where I want you.”

Charles leaned in closer again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, deepening the sensation and pulling you even further into the haze. You felt your body quivering, the heat coiling tightly in your belly as Carlos continued his movements, the rhythm building higher and higher.

With a final thrust of Carlos’s fingers, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, intense and consuming. You cried out, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck, yes,” Carlos said, his fingers continuing to work you through your release, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you. You could feel his excitement radiating, and your heart raced with the intensity of it all.

“Perfect, mami,” he murmured, kissing your thighs softly as you came down from the high.

You lay there, utterly spent, but also electrified. Charles and Carlos exchanged knowing glances, clearly pleased with how you had responded.

“Are you okay, mami?” Carlos asked, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, trying to catch your breath.

"That’s good baby. Are you ready?" Charles murmurs, his accent wrapping around each word. You nod, and he gives a small, reassuring smile, waiting for your permission as he begins slowly pushing himself into you, the sudden stretch making your back arch off the bed as you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

He’s patient, attentive, and entirely focused on you, each movement deliberate and giving you the time to adjust to his size. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts pulls you in, allowing you to relax into the experience. Feeling bolder, you breathe out, “More.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly as if surprised, but a spark lights his gaze. “What was that, baby?” he teases softly, his voice playful, inviting.

“Faster, please,” you manage, giving in to the sensation. His grin widens, satisfied. And as he begins to deepen his thrusts as he moves faster.

Charles’s pace was relentless, every thrust deeper and harder than the last, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches, your fingers gripping the sheets as your body moves with his. His hands grip your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him as he pounds into you, the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the breathless gasps escaping your lips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Charles groans. His pace doesn’t slow, his body moving with precision and force. You can feel your orgasm building, the tension winding tighter with every thrust until it feels like you’re going to break.

“Damn, mami. You look so pretty like that,” he murmurs, his gaze smoldering. “Look at that face, those lips… I love those lips,” he says, leaning closer until he’s right by your head. “So beautiful. Open up that sweet mouth for me, please.”

Your eyes meet his, filled with desire, and you nod, parting your lips invitingly.

parting your lips as Carlos slides his cock into your mouth, his grip firm but gentle on your throat as he begins to fuck it. The sensation of being filled from both ends sends your mind spiraling, the overwhelming pressure making it impossible to think of anything but the pleasure consuming you.

Charles’s pace quickens, his grip on your hips tightening as he continues to fuck you relentlessly. Your moans are muffled around Carlos’s cock, but you can feel the vibrations from your sounds as they travel through your throat. The weight of it all—the fullness, the pleasure, the intensity—has you clawing at Charles’s thighs, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile.

“So sexy,” Carlos praises, his voice rough as he thrusts into your mouth, his grip on your neck keeping you in place. “Doing so good mami… taking both of us like this.”

The praise only spurs you on, even as your body threatens to give in to the intensity of it all. Your mind is foggy, lost in the pleasure as Charles hits that spot inside you that has your toes curling, a rush of heat surging through your core. The tension in your body snaps, and before you know it, you’re coming hard around his dick, your thighs tightening around him as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Charles doesn’t slow down. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, each thrust pulling more pleasure out of you until you’re trembling, your body a mess of overstimulation. Carlos’s hand moves to pull your hair, holding you steady as his cock moves deeper into your throat. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation but the heat between the three of you only intensifies.

Your body shakes with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but Charle’s fast pace pushes you toward the edge again. His grip tightens on your hips, as he moves faster before he pulls out realising on your stomach.

Carlos’s thrusts grow erratic, and with one final one, he comes down your throat, his groans mixing with Charles’s. You swallow easily, the warmth of him filling your mouth.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm when you hear Charles's low voice. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his tone sultry and full of admiration. “But I think it’s time for us to give you a taste of something truly unforgettable.”

Carlos looks at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You ready for that, mami? We’re going to take care of you.” His confidence radiates, and you feel that familiar flutter of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, your breath still shaky from the pleasure they’ve already given you.

“We want to show you just how good it can be when you let go completely,” Charles explains, moving closer, his body brushing against yours, making you acutely aware of every part of him. “You’re going to feel incredible, I promise.”

“You can handle us,” Carlos says, and your heart races.

“Okay,” you reply softly, feeling a surge of warmth at their reassurance.

“Good girl,” Charles praises again, his voice rich with affection. You hear the sound of movement, and you can only guess at what they’re doing. Then, you feel the bed shift as both of them position themselves closer to you.

“Now, let’s have some fun,” Carlos murmurs. You feel his warm hands on your thighs, gently pushing them apart, and your pulse quickens as anticipation builds.

“Are you ready for us, baby?” Charles asks, his voice husky and low. You nod, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat radiating from both of them.

“Remember, you can say the safe word at any time,” Carlos reminds you. “Just relax and let us take control.”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling both excitement and a hint of nerves. “I’m ready.”

You feel one of them—Charles, you think—kissing along your thighs, slowly moving closer to your center, while Carlos positions himself at your ass. You can feel the heat from his body, the weight of him above you, and it makes your heart race even faster.

“Don’t worry, mami,” Carlos says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I’ve got you.” You can taste the sweetness of his breath, and it ignites something primal within you.

As Charles starts kissing your folds, you gasp, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your body. “So responsive,” he praises, his voice muffled against you. “I can feel how much you want this.”

You arch your back instinctively, craving more of the delicious sensation. “Charles!” you moan, the name slipping from your lips as he devours you, his tongue flicking expertly over your sensitive clit.

“More, baby?” he asks, teasingly slow. You can hear the smile in his voice, the confidence that makes you feel safe.

“Yes. Please!” you gasp, urging him on.

Just then, you feel Carlos’s mouth on yours, his kiss deepening as he leans in closer. Charles, the pressure inside you builds again, and you feel your body responding instinctively. Carlos pulls away just enough to let you catch your breath. “I want you to look at me while we do this,” he says, his dark eyes locking onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your skin tingle.

You nod, focusing on him, even as you feel Charles continuing to work his magic below. The two of them are a perfect harmony of pleasure, each taking you higher as they share their attention. Then you feel it, the burning stretch as Carlos’s dick enters your ass. You can’t help but moan “Oh fuck!” at the sensation, feeling him fill you up so deeply in parts that never been touched before. The world outside fades away, leaving just the three of you, locked in a moment of raw ecstasy.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Carlos urges softly, watching you intently as he thrusts in and out of you slowly, his fingers griping your ass, as he works to increase the pace.

“Can you feel how good that is?” Charles asks, looking up at you, his dark eyes filled with mischief and desire. “I want to see you come again. Show me how much you want it.”

“Oh fuck! Too much!!” you cry, feeling another wave of pleasure crash over you. The combination of his movements, the way Carlos is fucking you, it all blends into a perfect storm of sensation that’s utterly overwhelming.

“Yeah, just like that, baby. I love those sounds,” he says, his voice sultry and encouraging, and you can hear the excitement in his tone.

“More, please,” you beg, your body writhing against the sheets as you surrender to the pleasure.

Charles moves to lay in front of you, his hands moving your leg to lay over his waist as you feel his dick enter your pussy. Not expecting that, you yelp. “Charles!” The initial thrusts are slow, giving you a moment to adjust, but the sensation is still overwhelming. You feel every inch of them as they slide in and out of you, each movement perfectly synchronized. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips.

As their pace quickens, your body gives in to the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness pushing you toward another climax. You try to hold on, but the sensation is too much. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely holding together as they both pound into you. “It’s too much… I can’t…”

“You’re such a good girl for us,” Carlos praises, his pace relentless as he pounds your ass.

“Come for us, mami,” Carlos urges, his voice deep and throaty. “We want to feel you around our cocks.”

You can’t hold back any longer; the sensations are too intense, too beautiful to resist. “Oh, oh fuck” you cry, your body arching as pleasure overwhelms you, a wave crashing over you that leaves you gasping for breath.

They don't stop, their pace quickens, thrusting in and out of you even faster, fucking you through your orgasm, driving you further into ecstasy. “That’s it, baby. So beautiful,” he praises, his voice filled with desire.

As you ride the waves of your release, you feel Carlos leaning in, kissing you softly, his lips warm and inviting. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, adding to the delicious tension.

“Can you handle more?” Charles asks, a wicked smile on his lips as he watches you with dark, hungry eyes.

You nod, feeling that familiar heat igniting again. “Yes, I want more,” you breathe, craving both of them in ways you never knew possible.

“Alright, let’s give you what you want,” Carlos grins, moving to position himself behind you while Charles remains at your front, his dick still buried inside you.

You can feel Carlos adjusting himself behind you, the anticipation making your heart race. “Are you ready, mami?” he asks, his voice a deep growl that sends shivers down your spine.

Yes,” you whisper, your body aching for their touch.

“Good,” he replies, and then you feel him moving closer, pressing against you, the weight of him enveloping you. “Just relax for me, okay? We’ll take care of you.”

With that, he gently slides into you against Charles's cock, filling and stretching you in a way that you've never experienced before, sending a jolt of pleasure and pain through your body. “Oh my God!” you scream, the sensation overwhelming as both of them stretch you beyond your limits.

“Just breathe, mami,” Carlos whispers, his voice soothing yet filled with desire. “We’re going to make you feel so good.”

Charles leans in, capturing your lips with his, the kiss deepening as you feel Carlos thrusting behind you, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust pushing you further into bliss.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Charles praises, his voice low and sultry against your lips. “Just let go and feel everything.”

You’re too full, your body overstimulated, your mind unable to process the sheer intensity of both of them stretching you. Pounding into you at the same time, the feeling is indescribable, leaving you on the edge of tears as your body adjusts to the fullness. Every inch of you feels like it’s on fire, and yet, you crave more.

You nod, surrendering to the sensations as they both take you higher, your body responding instinctively to their every touch. Carlos grunts, quickening his pace behind you while Charles continues his relentless pace too as he kisses you deeply, every brush of his lips igniting sparks within you.

With each thrust, you can feel the pressure building again, your body teetering on the edge. “I’m so close!” you cry. As their pace quickens, your body gives in to the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness pushing you toward another climax, the sensation is too much. The pressure builds again, stronger this time as their movements become more urgent. Both of them drilling in and out of you leaving you in a blissful fucked state.

“Come for us, baby,” Charles urges, his voice a low whisper filled with desire. “We want to see you fall apart.”

With a final thrust from them both, the wave crashes over you, and you scream out in ecstasy, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you completely.

“That’s it, mami! So sexy, fuck!” Carlos praises, thrusting into you as you ride out your orgasm, the world fading into a haze of bliss.

Charles looks at you with that wicked smile. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, and you feel your heart swell with warmth and desire.

As you come down from your high, you realize that you’ve never felt more alive than in this moment with them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As the aftershocks of your intense release begin to fade, you nestle comfortably between Charles and Carlos, feeling a comforting warmth envelop you. The dim lighting of the hotel room casts a soft glow, highlighting the contours of their bodies as they lean in close, their breaths mingling in the sultry air.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Charles asks, his voice low and filled with genuine concern. He studies your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. There’s something tender in his gaze, making your heart flutter unexpectedly.

You nod, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. “I’m more than okay,” you reply, a smile breaking across your face. “That was... amazing.”

Carlos chuckles, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “We aim to please, mami.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer to him, and you can’t help but revel in the sensation of being sandwiched between two incredibly attractive men.

As Charles gets up to get the warm cloth, Carlos remains beside you, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your thigh. “You’re still shaking still,” he observes, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly, I’ve never felt anything like that before,” you admit, your cheeks flushing at the memory of the pleasure you just experienced. “It was overwhelming.”

Carlos nods, his expression softening. “That’s completely normal, mami. Just take your time. You did an amazing job.” His voice is warm and reassuring, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Charles returns with the cloth, a bottle of water, and some snacks, pouring a glass for each of you. “You were perfect, baby,” he says, laying back down next to you, a satisfied smile on his face.

You snuggle between them, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection as their presence envelops you.

*☾⋆･ﾟ taglist! @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @blakesbearblog @cel-be @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @demyackerman @poppyflower-22 @danieldaviddarren33 @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @goldenroutledge @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris @armystay89 @tellybearryyyy @magixpracticality @eoduuung @danieldaviddarren33 @flowerpetalk

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solarspirit · 6 months ago

Text

How They Comfort You

(luffy, nami, sanji, zoro, usopp)

with the east blue five because i miss pre time skip one piece

edit: over 300 likes?! tysm i didnt think my random thoughts would get so far

Luffy

As goofy and dumb as he usually seems, Luffy is actually pretty perceptive.

If he notices you sulking by yourself, he’ll plop right down next to you, holding a big juicy stick of meat to share with you

Food always makes him feel better, so it should make you feel better, right?

If you want to vent your troubles to him, he’ll nod along with a very serious expression and not understand any of it. At least he’s trying!

If you cry, he’ll panic for a second before making silly faces to distract you and eventually cheer you up

Overall, he’s not great with what to say, but his presence and (somewhat helpful) attempts to make you feel better are comforting

Nami

Out of all the Straw Hats, she’s the best person to go to for comfort

She’ll actually ask you what you want, if you need advice or words of comfort, she’ll give them to you, and if you just want a hug or silence, she’ll do that instead

Nami’s a hugger, so her go-to is to give you a warm hug anyway.

If you’re on an island, she’ll treat your sadness with retail therapy. Even if you don’t buy anything, trying on different outfits or looking at whatever you’re interested in helps take your mind off things

If you’re really inconsolable, she’ll offer you something from her treasures she knows you’ve had your eye on. Only as a last case scenario, and she insists it’s a one time thing (it won’t be)

Sanji

Obviously, he’s going to cook for you.

Sweet, savory, salty, whatever your comfort food is, he’ll make it as soon as he notices you’re sad.

Although he already bends over backward for you anyway, he’ll be even more compliant with anything you ask for to try and make you feel better.

If you smoke, he’ll offer you a cigarette and some kind words to tide you over

If you don’t, he’ll still give you solid advice or comfort to make you feel better. He’s pretty logical and is able to figure out how to solve whatever you’re going through.

Zoro

Zoro knows when something is wrong, but doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do about it.

If you’re sulking, he’ll sigh and sit with you until you break the silence. If you don’t want to talk and just need someone to be with you, he’s your guy.

Zoro will give you solid advice if you ask for it, but won’t sugarcoat it. It’ll be blunt and straightforward.

If you want comforting words for him, you’ll get them, but he’d rather just pat your head and listen to you vent.

He’s one of those people who doesn’t know what to do when someone cries in front of them, so it’s a little awkward if you start crying.

If you initiate it, he’ll let you cry into his chest and tell you it’s okay (partially because he doesn’t know what else to say).

He’s not great at comforting you, but he tries his best

Usopp

Usopp relies on humor and lies not fully true stories to cheer you up.

Whenever you’re sad, he’ll come up with a tale of a grand adventure to take your mind off things

Whatever he’s talking about, it’s so absurd that you find yourself laughing through your tears, or so indignant on proving what he’s saying is false that you forget your troubles

He won’t let you be sad by yourself either–if he notices you’re sulking, suddenly the ship has a random repair he absolutely needs your help on, he needs your help with canon practice, any excuse to pull you out of your sadness

If that doesn’t work, he’s always willing to listen to what you have to say and has surprisingly good advice on how to feel better

#luffy x reader #nami x reader #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #zoro roronoa x reader #usopp x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #luffy headcanons #nami headcanons #usopp headcanons #zoro headcanons #sanji headcanons #monkey d luffy x reader #one piece

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alastor-x-reader-stories · 2 months ago

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"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader - Part 3

prev first

“Hey, Alphabet.”

Alastor’s eye twitched. He swiveled his head around 180 degrees, grinning down at the short king that had approached him.

“Hello, Lucifer! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The king leaned more heavily on one leg, spinning his cane with his left hand. “Charlie’s getting kind of worried about one of the residents, so she asked me to look into it.”

“Aaaannd?” Alastor said, snapping his neck as he tilted his head.

Lucifer said your name. Alastor’s ears twitched.

Something was going on with you? Charlie was worried? What had happened-

“So what the fuck do you want with ‘em?” Lucifer said, raising an eyebrow.

“Pardon?” Alastor straightened up his posture as he spoke, turning to face the king completely.

“You’ve been stalking them for the past, like, two weeks.” Lucifer said. He spun his cane back towards him, nestling it under his arm as he motioned with his hand “Let me remind you: you’re not allowed to harm residents of the hotel.”

“I wasn’t aware I was attempting to.” Alastor said, eye twitching yet again.

“Then why are you following them- oh.” Lucifer cut himself off abruptly, seemingly having an epiphany. The fallen angel’s eyes widened, light gleaming in them “Oh! OOOOOH!”

“….what?” Alastor said, not following the king’s train of thought.

Lucifer was bouncing on his feet, grinning so wide it rivalled the Radio Demon’s. His eyes were practically sparkling “I know what’s going on~!” He sang, elbowing Alastor in the side “Y’gotta be straightforward, bambi!”

Alastor took a large step back and took a good amount of joy watching the king fall into his face. He cleared his throat, tilting his head slightly “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

Lucifer rose from the floor, propping his chin up on his hands while kicking his feet behind him “You, y’know, want their attention!”

“That’s absurd.” Alastor hissed.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“None.”

“You sure?”

“Lucifer if you continue this pointless back-and-forth I will rip out your wings and grill them.”

Lucifer actually paused, letting the side of his head hit the floor as he studied Alastor. There was a bright flash of sparkles and the king appeared on Alastor shoulder in the form of a snake (with a hat). “That kind of sssoundsss like a threat they came up with.”

Alastor chucked Lucifer off of his shoulder. The king poofed back into his usual self mid-air and hovered there. “SooOooOooo…. Do they… y’know?” Lucifer giggled, fanning his hand outwards as rainbow-colored magic filled the space between them “Inspire you?”

“This conversation is pointless and I’m leaving.” Alastor scoffed, making true of his statement by immediately shadow-ing away.

Lucifer landed on his feet and put his wings away. Seems Bambi either doesn’t realize or is too stubborn to admit it out loud. Well. If there was one thing Lucifer learned about the glorified bellhop…

Is that man was made of 105% spite.

Later that day at dinner, Lucifer forsook his usual seat in order to sit next to you. While some of the residents were mildly confused by this (as usually people never ventured from their self-assigned seats), no one particularly cared.

You paid him little extra attention either, simply moving on with the meal as per usual. However, seated across from you, Alastor’s eyes were narrowed intently at the king. Lucifer grinned and dusted off the old charm.

“Heeey, y’know, I was wondering…why are you in Hell to begin with?” Lucifer said, propping his chin up on his hand “Surely an angel like you just got lost?”

Charlie spat out her drink on her end of the table and keeled over while coughing violently, Vaggie frantically rubbing her back to get her situated. Once she was all right (giving a shakey thumbsup), you gave the king a bemused look.

“It’s rude to ask a person of indistinguishable gender what got them hell-bound.” You hummed.

Lucifer paused in his response, too concerned with Charlie’s situation. She gave him another thumbsup and he hesitantly turned his attention back to you.

“Sorry, can’t help myself.” He lidded his eyes, leaning slightly closer “I simply can’t help but want to learn all about you~”

You put a hand over his face and pushed him back “Personal space.”

“Fair.” Lucifer said with one finger up, his voice muffled by your hand.

You retracted your hand and rolled your eyes “Well, I’m not a super share-y person…I mean I’ll do it during Charlie’s redemption activities but that’s about it.”

“And that’s okay!” Charlie chimed in, “I appreciate your efforts!”

You gave her a thumbs up. Lucifer took the pause to glance at Alastor, to find the deer man only paying half attention. Well. That wasn’t what he was aiming for. Absentmindely, Lucifer picked a fry off your plate and chomped down on it.

“Dad! That’s not your plate.” Charlie said, motioning awkwardly.

Lucifer was going to apologize (he’s a bit of an airhead, he knows…) but you made the funniest goddam squeak he had ever heard in his life. Never had he seen anyone so comedically offended by someone eating their fries.

He couldn’t help it- he laughed.

“Dad!” Charlie squeaked “Don’t laugh at them-!”

“S-s-sorry Char-Char but that SQUEAK- Oh my lord…”

He wasn’t the only one laughing. The spider person was joining in, throwing arm across your shoulders in a friendly manner while you seethed in silent resentment. Bar cat chuckled a bit under his breath, Vaggie and Charlie were both trying to suppress their giggles, and Nifty was howling with deranged cackling. Alastor took a drink from his mug but didn’t react much more than a slight snort.

“Lucifer I am going to fill your socks with mayonnaise when you sleep.” You muttered out.

Everyone burst into more hysterical laughter.

Except Alastor.

Who broke his mug in his hand like it was made of crackers.

At the sound of shatter ceramic, everyone’s attention shifted to him.

“Whoops!” Alastor grinned, shrugging non-chalantly as blood dripped down the hand that now had shards of ceramic in it.

“OhMyGosh, Alastor!” Charlie yelped, jumping to her feet “I’ll get the first aid kit-“

“No need, Charlotte!” Alastor hummed, getting to his feet. He reached over the table and picked you up by the back of your shirt like a kitten, tucking you under one arm as he walked off with you. “This one is responsible for the mug shattering, this one will take care of the wound.”

“Wait- Alastor-“ Charlie took a step to follow, but you waved her down and gave her a reassuring smile. Charlie hesitated a moment before sitting back down.

The table fell into an awkward silence. Lucifer was vibrating in his seat while grinning. Nifty was doing the same thing. The rest of the table-people wondered if they were somehow communicating this way.

Meanwhile, for you, Alastor had you held like a suitcase as he entered the kitchen, setting you on your feet.

You dusted yourself off and made for the cabinet the first aid kit was in. Alastor, frankly, had no plan other than to get you away from that joke of a king. So he was left standing their awkwardly as you patched his hand up gently. (He could’ve done it himself, it didn’t even hurt, he just did not want you wasting those ‘threats’ on that stupid lawn-gnome looking bastard)

“There you go.” You said, putting the unused first aid materials back in the kit and the kit back in the pantry.

Your name left Alastor’s lips.

You looked back at him, head tilted slightly.

His treacherous mind abruptly shoved forward the memory of you biting him. Teeth sinking into his shoulder, his blood on your face and the cold look you gave him afterwards. His heartbeat started to race. It was so different from now, your big eyes looking at him softly as though you could warm his entire soul with your gaze alone.

How amusingly two-faced of you…

“Alastor?” You said. He jolted back to the moment, tilting his head.

“Aplogies. Thank you, my dear.” He hummed.

“uh. Sure.” You said, tail flicking in irritation. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told!”

=============================================

Deer man's in denial.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #fluff #humor

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lisafication · 1 year ago

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This post is uh, extremely normal I swear

So hello yes I am absolutely On My Bullshit regarding my new favourite game.

That’s right, it’s the cannibal incest game, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. And I’m here to shove five thousand words of pretentious analysis down your throat because, and I do not exaggerate, I think it is one of, if not the best written game I have ever played. And I have played a lot of games, including Baldur’s Gate 3, Final Fantasy XIV and Undertale, to name a few narrative luminaries to come to mind.

That wordcount is not an exaggeration. My brainworms are extremely powerful and now you can share them with me as I walk you through my insane skyscraper of inference-driven analysis.

Or you can click away. I really wouldn’t blame you, it’s quite a lot.

Content Warnings: …Yes?

(To drop the bit for a moment, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley covers extremely disturbing material and challenges you to examine aspects of living in this world that many have taken for granted all their life, it is not a comfortable game, this will cover similar topics and will often echo the game’s unremitting scepticism on basic principles of society and humanity and you should look after yourself first. My Content Warning is framed as a joke, but it’s also quite real in that the game is designed to make you uncomfortable and there’s no shame in that not being for you.)

This was originally posted on and formatted for Sufficient Velocity, and you can probably more easily read and discuss it with me here.

With that said, let’s dig in. I have had to split this into multiple posts because tumblr will only allow so many images. There will be spoilers for all endings.

She’s excited, are you?

It’s All About Ashley

It really is, isn’t it? I mean, for approximately eighty percent of the total game as currently released and the entirety of Episode 1, you’re in control of Ashley, just as she’s in control of her and Andrew’s relationship for 80% of the game, up until the various ending sequences where it begins to slip. The only other characters who really matter at all in and of themselves are Andrew and her mother — and the former is under her thumb, and she eats the latter. It’s all about Ashley. Even her obsession with Andrew is, ultimately, about Ashley.

But who is Ashley? What is Ashley? Why is Ashley, even? Let’s take a look.

Ashley as presented to us in Episode 1 is very straightforward, so let’s list off the traits we’re given — she is malicious, she is fearless, she lacks empathy, she doesn’t have anything resembling a conscience, she demands Andrew belong to her and her alone, she has him at her beck and call.

In Episode 2, we’re ostensibly shown how she has him at her beck and call— she leverages the threat of reporting Nina’s death over him and had him swear to be with her forever. We’re shown that even as a child she was “just, like that” — but as a child, she hadn’t learnt to live with it yet, to laugh at the farce of it all.

Yeah, exactly like that!

And she does this throughout Episode 1 — The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is a remarkably silly game much of the time, finding moments of absurdity and levity against a backdrop blacker than pitch — and most of the time, your internal narration is coming from Ashley and the jokes will not-infrequently come at her own expense.

She will later get negged by her human sacrifice for her poor ritual circle drawing

Her reaction to being told that her soul is as dark and viscous as tar is “You guess you already knew that” — it’s confirmation to her, not new information. Ashley knows who she is. But who taught her this? There’s layers to this, nothing in this game is as simple and straightforward as it appears at first sight, which is why I’ve been obsessing over it for days.

While it’s common in fiction, the truth of the matter is, most ‘bad people’ really do think they’re good people. But Ashley has never once thought of herself as a good person — or perhaps better put as a person worthy of love — as we learn across Episodes 1 & 2, with our flashbacks to Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!!

I really wish I had space in this essay to talk about this, but I’d like to touch on these being traits usually more easily forgiven in young boys than young girls at some point.

If she removes all other options, only then can she expect him to like her.

This is something that is echoed in the modern day — her seeming self-assurance is easily shaken and she reaches out to the world — usually Andrew — to affirm and validate her, soothing her insecurities, using any tool she deems necessary. Even when her life is on the line when Andrew has her by the throat at the climax of Episode 1, the only ‘compelling reason’ she can give Andrew to not kill her is her ability to soothe his nightmares. When he tells her there are sleeping pills for that…

Most people would have a bit more to argue for their existence.

While she, unlike Andrew, acknowledges having had friends before the quarantine… you know she’s got a point that they didn’t even bother to answer her calls, that was clearly not something the state was interfering with given Andrew’s calls with his mother and his girlfriend, and given her general demeanour it’s not hard to imagine that… they weren’t ever very close. When we see her and Nina talk in the infamous ‘box scene’, it’s clear that Nina doesn’t like her very much, despite Andrew’s assessment of Nina as being one of Ashley’s friends.

We see further support for her general lack of companionship in her dream sequence in the Burial route — Leyley and Leyley Alone. No matter what you do, you can’t place the pink plushy at the family table, the flowers won’t bloom if you give the Julia and Nina plushies her own as a companion instead of Andrew’s — and if you’re bold enough to go for the ‘incest route’, in the ‘Love’ room you see that no one ever looks happy to be with her in the childlike depictions of her history, nor is she happy in turn, save for when she’s with Andrew. In a bit of heavy-handed metaphor, the player then overwrites all of these tense, upset, hard moments with Andrew, having him fill in for everyone else in life — and happy with her.

Once Upon A Lousy Life…

THE END

And that’s why she needs him to affirm her, because no one else ever has and no one else ever will. It’s even included in their comic beats — when the siblings are getting along well, they’ll often play a game where Andrew dramatically overpraises Ashley while she demands more; it’s a comedic bit but I mean — it really does matter to her!

For the record, she opened a door. She gets a little heart in a speech bubble after this exchange.

We have a great example of this dynamic, that of insecurity and affirmation, in Episode 1, after Andrew has killed for her, butchered for her, his girlfriend broke up with her, he’s seemingly thrown his entire life away for her… she’s still insecure over her relationship with him, she’s uncertain of her control and she needs him to reaffirm it for her.

This is her victory, surely?

Andrew affirms her once, with his usual dead-eyed look.

But she's still not so sure.

He actively reaches out to affirm her again with cheer.

Look how happy she is!

While it’s most obvious and clear cut here, it’s hardly the only case. Let’s look back to the aftermath of Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!! (I’m not using the other name). Leyley is, after similarly extreme acts — he murdered a girl and hid her body for her — convinced Andy doesn’t like her and she needs this leverage to keep him around, to meet her basic needs for survival. Because that’s what this is — she receives no care of affection elsewhere, so she forces it out of the only source she sees available through the means she sees as necessary.

I really hope we see some of their earlier childhood in Episode 3

What exactly made her like this? Was it just neglect, or something more specific…

She needs this to be the case because otherwise she doesn’t believe he’d stay.

This pattern repeats throughout — Ashley’s insecurities are hit on and she reaches out to Andy to affirm that she is not alone, and she will use any and every tool to exploit her ostensible control over him and force him to be what she needs him to be — and as long as she has that, as long as she is everything to him and it’s not possible for him to leave, she’s happy. As long as she thinks he loves her in her very particular, very peculiar view of love, she’s content, come what may. As long as Andy and Leyley are together, they can take on the world.

Let’s talk about that view of love, because there’s always more layers to unpack here I’m only scratching the surface with this essay — Ashley consistently refers to anyone else Andrew may have befriended or spent time with as a whore, a slut, a bitch — highly gendered insults that bring to mind the idea that he’s cheating in some way. But it’s not even about sex — when Andrew mentions that their parents had friends, she accuses them of cheating on each other in the same way!

There’s a lot to unpack about Ashley’s view of femininity and the role the patriarchy plays in their relationship.

Any kind of emotional engagement, any kind of commitment, any kind of life outside of your significant other is, to Ashley, cheating. Because that’s what she needs from Andrew, a seeming complete and total commitment, secure in her place as the only thing in his life, because she cannot understand anyone picking her if they have a choice.

This insecurity she has in her relationship is what drives her to empower the trinket — he can’t leave her as long as she can protect him with prophetic dreams, after all. She needs every kind of leverage she can get because until she succeeds in being everything to him, in devouring him so completely she has him in her thrall mind, body and soul she can’t be sure of herself — hell, her dream sequence in Burial has you placing Andrew’s signature green plushy, ‘the best thing in the world’ in a cage far away from anything else.

Ultimately, it really is all about Ashley — even her seeming obsession with Andrew ultimately comes back to her own insecurities. If she is everything to ‘the best thing in the world’, some of that ‘best’ must surely reflect on her!

But that’s enough about the more normal, straightforward and understandable sibling.

That was not a joke.

Andrew’s Rank 100 Deception

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he did not exist.

Let me explain.

You might have noticed that in the previous section I often use language such as ‘ostensibly’ or ‘seemingly’ to describe Andy and Leyley’s relationship, and there’s a good reason for that. From the beginning of the game through to its end, Andrew is lying to you, the player, without ever falsely representing or misinforming you about events that occurred.

The common, or obvious ‘initial take’ on Andrew as presented in Episode 1 is fairly straightforward. The game primes you to think this way, it frames things and strings reveals just right so as to make it very easy to overlook the incongruities it introduces in Episode 2. He’s a victim. Plain and simple, Ashley is his abuser and he is her victim and would be fine, a normal albeit kinda depressed guy without her.

It really is not a difficult conclusion to draw

You can go all the way through the game, have him try to accept his mother’s olive branch and enter the Decay route as a method for him to finally actualise his desire to get out from Ashley’s thumb and it makes sense, it’s a reasonable way for the story to go, given his character.

You see him this way because the game primes you in Episode 1 to view their relationship like Andrew does — he’s lying. He’s lying to himself, he’s lying to Ashley and he’s so good at it — Deception Rank 100 — he even lies to you. Without misrepresenting a single event or otherwise misleading you directly, the game gets you to buy into his preferred self-perception. Nina? Ashley. Julia? Ashley. The murders they commit in the course of the game? Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, it’s not his fault he’s not to blame he’s just a doormat at the beck and call of his demonic sister.

But he wants to be there. From the very outset, the very first puzzle, that’s made clear. Does anyone else remember this exchange, from right at the beginning of the game?

Ashley wants to investigate the music!

Andrew disapproves…

…Or does he?!

Like. Listen. Okay. You do not frown when saying ‘Nope’ and then smile when saying that you’ll instead tag along if they do it if your heart is at all in the no. That’s not an objection, that’s using Ashley as his excuse. Especially if you immediately throw her the balcony key that she could not possibly have gotten from you by force (more on Andrew’s ability to use force later).

This is the very first time you control both characters together with Andrew following Ashley instead of off on his own, the first adventure, the first puzzle!

But put a pin in that for now, let’s talk about his initial framing in Episode 2 first. Episode 1 has set us up to, generally speaking, believe the superficial framing of the siblings as portrayed in its promotional art:

The question that we then ask, right at the heart of it is… why is he a doormat? We explore this in his dream sequence in Episode 2, which does make it clear that the boy’s not okay but— it’s real easy, given the priming from Episode 1 to make you think that he’s the one with the originally functional moral compass, to think that that him being fucked up is damage done to him by Nina’s death and being bound to Ashley for his entire life. She corrupted him.

But, well, is that the case?

You're primed to ignore this as manipulation (which it is) but the best manipulation has some truth to it.

Precisely two things spur Andrew to action in the entire game, consistently — they are the fear of consequences and Ashley. And the first incident of that fear, the very first time we’re shown his seeming moral compass as a kid — the first time it’s really hammered home that it’s a fear of consequences rather than any true moral qualms is after Nina’s death. And why does he fear consequences here?

……

The ‘natural’ read that many take away from this sequence, particularly those who have only played Decay, is that Ashley browbeat him into doing this against his will, using emotional blackmail to overwhelm his objections, and then used the event itself to bind him to her forever as her personal doormat.

In a strict sense, this is true. But this doesn’t match up with the details, something the game uses shock to encourage you to overlook. That outburst is before any kind of threat has been made, and absolutely nothing either of them say anything about it being morally bad until Ashley weaponises ‘you’re a bad person’ against Andrew — morality didn’t seem to enter his mind or the equation at all until Ashley brought it up. More than that, his greatest fear and driving motivation even prior to that is, as shown above, being taken away from Ashley.

She, of course, recognises this and uses it against him. But she never needed to, it didn’t change anything about Andrew’s attachment to her, it was there to address her own insecurities.

Just like to touch on how a lot of his affirmations are preceded by him confirming her insecurities.

I adore this phrasing

There’s a second prong to this as well, to the question of ‘who really calls the shots here’ because — Andrew can, at any stage, apply an ‘ultimate veto’ of physical violence. The game is very clear to the player that that is on the table — even when they were children, when Andy swears their blood oath, he briefly considers killing her — and take note of how he ultimately got a ‘winning’ condition out of her by not specifying there wouldn’t be others and she is forced to accept that, there. Even outside of their most serious confrontations, Ashley is portrayed as having to convince, manipulate or otherwise coerce Andrew into going along with her schemes — she really can’t make him do anything, she doesn’t have the supremacy in violence and, to a lesser extent, capability that would allow her to.

Andrew, you are like ten years old.

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don’t mean in the sense that I’m saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this. He needs her.

But it’s true that he hates her, too. He has to hate her, because if he doesn’t hate her, if he isn’t forced to have done this, that means… he’s responsible. And nothing, at the start of the story, is as important to Andrew as avoiding the consequences of his own actions, not even Ashley. By the midpoint, he loves her, he hates her, he can’t live without her, he wants to kill her — by the end… well, that depends if you’re on Decay or Burial, but more on that in a bit.

A great scene to study for this dynamic is the climax of Episode 1, when Andrew grabs Ashley by the throat and considers strangling her to death. She’s pushed him too far with hurtful words and assault, and he’s seemingly had enough.

It’s still framed as a question of risk, of consequences happening to him.

Like, this is not the usual behaviour of someone who’s been pushed past their breaking point.

He tells Ashley that he wants to kill her, because she’s just going to throw another fit and that’s a risk to him. She is… not framed as being able to fight back (she does have a gun here, and more on that in a later essay, maybe). He’s so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence here, which isn’t at all what you’d expect of someone about to commit a crime of passion… but it’s very easy to overlook because of the abuser/victim narrative that the player fits his behaviour into the narrative that the game primes them to accept, brushing incongruities under the carpet.

At the start of Episode 2, we get to control Andrew for the first time, and the first obvious holes in his cover start to show. Some of this is optional — you only learn that he’s been faking having nightmares in order to share a bed with Ashley if you choose to go back into the motel room and check the bed, for example — but not all of it.

----(See reblogs for the second half)

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #andrew graves #ashley graves #spoilers #multipost

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