#put me out of my misery man I can’t stand it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnamonest · 10 months ago

Text

Uhtceare

Yandere Ayato x Reader - "Failed escape attempt" series

(I still cannot publish posts that have people tagged. I don't know why, it just gives me an error popup saying it couldn't be processed. Apologies to those in my taglist.)

Warning: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, implications of forced/coerced marriage, masturbation voyeurism that’s also kinda forced, manipulative use of mental health and problematic way of addressing it, gaslighting and psychological manipulation, implied future forced drugging, there’s just a lot of my man being awful here

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“Ah, there you are.”

Of course. He would be right there at the entrance waiting, wouldn’t he.

You were hoping to get a few more seconds to put off the inevitable, but the reality of your situation was not so kind as to grant you that. It was all far too fast — the full events of the night before, the journey of being dragged back here — flanked on all sides by doushin all the while — all went by in a blur, leading up to this very dreaded moment.

You kept your gaze turned to the ground, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact. Your fingers curled, digging into the fabric around your thighs.

Nonetheless, without even hesitating nor willing it, you found your feet moving on their own. Perhaps it was instinct, to get away from the unfamiliar men that made you so uncomfortable and uneasy, and into the arms that, despite everything, were at least familiar, and thereby a comfort at the end of your long trial of distress and misery. Maybe you knew it was expected, and feared some consequence for not acting as you knew you should. Or maybe some of both.

Regardless, your feet shuffled forward, any thoughts muted in favor of instinct as you bounded over towards your husband — as much as you hated to acknowledge it, your one source of comfort. As you grew close, he reached an arm out, hand firmly planting itself on your back and pulling you in. Perhaps out of that same sense of fear at the thought of disobeying expectations, perhaps out of pure exhaustion, you allowed it without struggle coming to stand directly by his side, grasping at his clothes, burying your head against him and squeezing your eyes shut as if it would obscure the others’ view of you.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how worried I was about her,” he spoke to the arrangement of men now standing a ways away, moving his hand on to rest atop your head. “I apologize for the inconvenience. The poor thing gets a bit irrational from time to time. You know how it is.”

The other men only gave a brief, curt sound of acknowledgement. One, the own standing closest to the two of you based on how close the voice sounded, seemed to deem it appropriate to give at least some response. “Of course, sir.”

Not that that actually made any sense, that such a bizarre thing to say could ever warrant an ‘of course’ as a reply. But they weren’t there to be sensible, to assess the situation and act according to any supposed principles. To help. They were there only to follow through with an assigned task, one that they had not even tried to conceal in their expressions and tones towards you was an unwanted inconvenience, and to turn a blind eye to any conclusions they might draw.

Maybe that too was intentional — the estate lord could have easily sent his private forces to be the ones to escort you back to the estate, yet he chose to allow the public law enforcement to return you. Perhaps he knew you’d grown to resent the family’s private forces, and thereby had no issue inconveniencing them, whereas he knew you’d feel more embarrassment and guilt having strangers be forced to bring you all the way back… yes, the more you thought about it, that certainly seemed like that was his intent.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Ah, I see, that’s good to hear.”

Your hands balled into fists.

The whole show made of it all was utterly humiliating — that too no doubt the intention — but you had no choice but to stand there. Doing something rash like running off to hide yourself from the embarrassment would only meet a worse consequence later.

The burning, bitter anger only made said embarrassment that much worse. It was consuming, maddening. Everything — this place, these people, their words and their attitudes, their dismissal of you as if you were a child or an animal — it made you so damn mad, and yet, you could do nothing but endure.

Your eyes burned. You blinked a few times in rapid succession. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you actually cried in front of these strangers. The back-and-forth between the two parties continued, but you did your best to tune out the words, knowing that listening would only hurt you further.

It wasn’t until there was movement that you returned your attention to them, pulling your head away from him to look — now they were turning, walking away.

Leaving you alone with him.

You then dared not avert your eyes from the ground, watching the men from your peripheral vision as they made their way down the path, growing smaller and smaller and they moved further away, until their footsteps were no longer audible.

All that remained was a heavy, palpable tension.

Avoidance was the easiest path — a foolish choice, of course, which you knew full well. It wasn't as if you could avoid the present reality forever, but nonetheless, you found yourself clinging to each precious second that ticked by, body growing stiffer as you braced yourself for the inevitable. Perhaps you could trick yourself into believing that if you just kept your gaze turned to the ground, nothing would happen.

But sure enough, you clenched your jaw as his hand moved upwards, and came to rest on your shoulder.

“Come on now. You're certainly tired. Let’s get you to rest for a while.”

His voice only made your stomach twist further. It was calm and gentle, not explosive or infuriated. It would have felt more assuring that way, if your fear could just be easily confirmed, rather than a calculated calm that felt far more dreadful and foreboding than any rage.

His hand moved from your shoulder, coming down to grasp your wrist. It wasn’t a sudden, harsh motion, nor was the grip itself strong enough as to be painful — but it was noticeably firm.

And then, he pulled. A soft tug, pulling you in the direction of the doors.

Your resistance was not a conscious choice, not something you thought about nor had any time to do so; it was only a reflex. Instinctively, your body stiffened, your feet dug into the ground, and thus his pull was met not with the meek obedience that was expected of you, with footsteps that followed where you were guided, but instead a firm resistance.

Your own realization of that resistance, what you’d just done, sent a sharp rush of fear through your veins.

And thus, for the first time since arriving, your gaze tilted upward, and your wide, frightened eyes met his.

His expression shifted. The amiable, pleasant smile half-faded, still present, but only barely.

“…Don't be difficult. Come on.”

Likewise, his voice dropped far lower, a dark and foreboding tone far removed from the one he’d spoken with just moments ago to the other men.

Your mouth opened, instinctively wanting to reply, but you couldn't summon a coherent thought. You were afraid, you were angry, you were so, so embittered and ashamed and wanted nothing more than to run to your room, close your eyes and burrow into the bed.

And for a moment, you considered the compliant option. If you just lowered your head and followed along, apologized and insisted you were just being petty or immature or whatever he would call it this time, and took whatever consequence was handed out, then you could do just that, confine yourself to your bed and try to forget it all.

But the shame only fueled the fury, like gasoline to a fire. It was his fault. As scared of punishment as you were, your pride could not stand for simply bowing your head, and as your mind raced, the sheer fury you’d been stewing in all throughout the night before, all the angry words you’d monologued in your head and vowed to spew at him when you saw him again, all came rushing back.

You swallowed, fingers curling even harder around the fabric around your thighs. Now that it was just the two of you, although you still fought it as best as you could, you couldn’t help that your eyes watered, burning as your vision blurred out of pure frustration and misery.

“I… I know you did all of this on purpose! I only got all the way out there because you let me, a-and…”

The words came out in a trembling, wavering voice, far weaker than intended.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in frustration. His voice was still characteristically gentle, but you could hear his patience waning. “We can discuss this inside.”

“But I—”

“Inside.”

You stiffened, freezing in place. That was not a tone you heard often in your married life, more firm than normal.

You swallowed, gaze darting to the ground again, unable to summon a reply and not wanting to make eye contact again. With another heavy exhale, he pulled at your arm with a gentle tug, and this time, you followed, feet quickly shuffling behind his.

You didn’t say a word, though, through the full minute or so of walking across the courtyard, through the front doors, down the hall, only dimly lit today due to curtains hanging over the windows lining the walls. It occurred to you with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you were headed straight for your shared bedroom, rather than one of the estate’s many drawing rooms and lounges, which meant the anticipated conversation to come would be one you’d both want kept in privacy. Your stomach felt as if it were turning in knots, your chest compressed by an unseen force, each breath feeling strenuous and weighted.

And then, finally, you both came to a halt as you reached the last room at the end of the hall. You felt helpless, unable to do anything as you watched the handle of the door turn, stumbling in as you were guided forward by the hand that came to gently press on your lower back.

Likewise, equally pitifully, you could do nothing but stand there and wait as you listened for the door to close behind you, clenching your jaw at the trepidation in your chest from the footsteps on the floor behind you, but made sure to not let your fear swallow your fury.

“Now,” he began slowly as he moved around you to the other side of the room, voice now back to its usual tone, but still firm nonetheless, “I can tell you have a great deal you want to get off your chest, but you’ll have to forgive me for a moment… your well-being is my primary concern.” He looked you up and down, and his voice took on a note of concern that admittedly sounded sincere. “You aren’t hurt in any way, are you, dear?”

You bit your lip at the affectionate term, and more importantly, at how unbothered he came across. Granted, you now knew just how much of the past twelve hours or so had been entirely within his control, so it made sense that he was never genuinely distressed, but admittedly, it was also disappointing. Part of you wanted him to have been panicked and worried, to get the satisfaction of knowing you’d successfully gotten under his skin.

Still, you shook your head, keeping your gaze to the ground as you gave a curt, frustrated reply. “No.”

“Good,” his eyes closed for a moment, taking a heavy breath of pause. “Well, in that case…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “I believe this would be the best time to give you a moment to explain yourself.”

You couldn’t miss the obvious foreboding in his voice, nor the way it made your body stiffen.

But you had already prepared for that — you knew it would be intimidating, that it would be awkward and shameful, but you had spent the previous few hours trying to preemptively harden your resolve against that. Besides, after it was interrupted earlier, you now had the chance to get back to what was essentially the pre-written script you’d memorized in your head of exactly every little thing you wanted to say to him.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the you that was standing there in front of him was significantly less brave than the ‘you’ in the scenes you’d played out in your head on the journey home.

Still, you clenched your hands into fists, thinking you had to at least force him to acknowledge the one point you’d deemed most important.

“You let me leave.”

In your mind, you’d spoken with a bold voice and looked him directly in the eye… and while the same words came out of your mouth, they were instead said with a weak, shrill attempt at an accusatory tone, pathetically looking to the wall as you found yourself unable to summon the gall to look up, once more lacking the firm accusation and self-assuredness your imaginative self had had.

He tilted his head. “That’s not a very accurate way to put it. I never granted you any such permission… I was simply aware of your intent to run off, and didn’t stop you.”

For a moment, you contemplated asking how he knew — but you had a feeling the answer would only make you more upset. His voice was laden with a faux sincerity, a sort of disingenuousness that made your blood boil, enough to embolden you further as you continued.

“And you… you had people following me the whole time, I know you did!” Your voice began to get louder as you grew bolder, bitter anger strengthening you against any trepidation. “They didn't even do a good job! I started noticing them towards the end of it!”

"Well, that would be because they were specifically told that concealment was not necessary.” He kept up the dry manner of speech, seemingly unbothered by your fury. “They deserve a break from high effort jobs every now and then, surely you understand. Besides, they didn’t directly interfere with your little outing, yes?”

He was so calm in contrast to your visible irritation, no doubt at least in part deliberate. It only served to make you even more mad.

“They told the local doushin to — no, you told them to tell them! There’s no other way that could have happened! I-I, I got," in sheer frustration, you jerked your fists in a sharp downward motion, "arrested!"

“I’m very well aware.”

“They put me in jail!”

“I do believe that is the standard process for an arrest, yes.”

“I was all by myself for hours!”

“Naturally. I couldn’t allow you to be placed with any dangerous persons, that’s why you were put in a solitary space.”

You clenched your fists so hard they trembled. “You, y-you let me get that far in the first place, and, and…” A lump formed in your throat again, which you did your best to suppress. “…Just to make me go through all that… I was there for hours before they came for me…” Your face scrunched up as you fought the urge to cry.

You hung your head, shoulders falling as you let your body relax, the fuse of anger burning out as it turned to a quiet bitterness swelling in your stomach. What was even the point? You knew better than to think your emotions would be given any weight, treated as anything beyond trivial.

A few moments of quiet passed, perhaps to see if you would say anything more, or perhaps just to force you to wait in uncomfortable uncertainty. After a moment, he shifted his posture slightly before unfolding one arm, holding out his hand in a standard gesture of speech.

“And what have we learned?”

You never would have thought one question could send such a spark of fury through your body in a single moment. Everything, from the wording to the timing to his tone, felt utterly mocking, infantilizing in a way that made you seethe.

You swallowed, practically trembling. “That you’ll go to any lengths to humiliate me?”

He returned the extended arm to its former position, exhaling heavily, straightening his stance. “It's rather unfair to assume I had such malicious intent. Stopping you early on in the past has clearly not worked in the long term, so further measures were necessary.” He tilted his head to meet your averted gaze, reflexively turning your attention back to him, eyes connecting with yours. “My only intention was that you would have some time to reflect on your series of decisions… and hopefully return with a change of heart. These episodes of yours are worrisome.” He gave a brief pause before finishing, “claiming I had cruel intent when you know in your heart that I only arranged this because I care for you… that's rather harsh, isn't it?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to acknowledge the notion that the words were genuine. Admittedly having fallen for the words die a moment, you mentally shook off the momentary feeling of guilt.

These situations always went the same way, you'd be driven to apologize and feel bad about your choices. You had never met anyone else in your life with such a mastery of speech-craft as to be able to control your emotions and actions with words as easily as if it were pushing buttons on a machine. The first few times, you'd actually fallen for it, found yourself completely malleable, psyche bending and shifting to another's whims. At least with time, you'd become more resilient, had learned to notice and recognize the attempts… so you believed.

You opted to avoid answering the quesiton. Instead of acknowledging his own words, you turned to another matter that had come to mind during your escapade.

“Aren’t you abusing your authority? How are you even allowed to do this to begin with?!”

He took another deep breath, as if it were a trivial matter, or one that shouldn’t necessitate explanation.

“It’s… complicated, but the law does fully permit estates to employ local forces to locate any missing property belonging to the estate… people employed or bound to it are a sort of grey area in that regard.” After a moment of pause, he added, “besides, I also made it very clear that you were not in your right mind at the time, so your wellbeing was of immediate concern, and they were happy to help.”

“What?” The anger in your tone only rose. “I was perfectly in my right mind, you, you… a-and I’m not…”

A few moments passed as you trailed off, having to pause to collect yourself, blink away frustrated tears.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against whatever he'd considered saying, closing his eyes and taking a breath before finally replying in a more exasperated tone.

“You're making yourself upset needlessly. I can only do so much… in the end, I only wanted to keep you safe. You have to be the one to accept the grace you're given. Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

There was still unease to his tone, but the way he said it was nonetheless indicative of a sort of tiredness, as if not wanting to carry on about the matter anymore. It almost sounded like he was saying that you “accepting” his “grace” was all that was required to bury the matter entirely.

You spoke slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not… mad?”

“…I never said that.” He shifted away from leaning against the wall, standing upright. ”Of course, I can’t allow this to go entirely unacknowledged.”

He took a few steps towards you, and you fought the urge to step back, keeping your arms rigidly straight at your side as he continued.

“Normally, a proper form of consequence would be in order… however, after consideration, I realized that this was in large part my own fault, and I owe it to you to take responsibility for that.”

The words took you by surprise. The idea that he was in any way acknowledging that he had any responsibility for what you did was baffling, all things considered. He had never once even acknowledged that refusing to let you leave the estate was essentially holding you prisoner, and usually insisted that everything he did was what was best for you, even if, as he seemed to believe was the case, you did not understand that.

You hesitated before replying. “What… what do you mean?”

He flashed you an amiable smile. “A lesser person would only act on their momentary frustrations, but I’m not the sort of person who acts without understanding the situation. Luckily, I do understand you.” He looked off to the side, holding a hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, before adding in a quieter voice, “I made the mistake of getting too caught up in my work recently. Acting out over feelings of neglect is entirely different from misbehavior out of sheer petulance.”

He turned his head back towards you again before finishing,

“It would be cruel to respond to a cry for attention as if it were ordinary disobedience.”

The words took you aback, and you hesitated in your response, but as it fully registered in your mind, the momentary surprise was replaced with shameful fury. You held your arms firmly at your side, hands balled into fists as you replied.

“What?! I didn't— I didn’t do it for attention!”

You felt foolish for thinking for even a second that he might actually empathize with you, might finally come to enough humility to realize that much of your perceived disobedience was due to the sheer degree of meticulous, total control he held over everything you did. But no, instead, your attempt to run away was being treated as attention-seeking. It felt belittling, degrading.

He took a short breath, as if about to say something, but as his gaze fell upon you again, he simply exhaled, an amused smile forming on his face, replacing the former exasperation — and only infuriating you further, realizing even your anger wouldn't be taken seriously.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He made no effort to hide the dismissive amusement in his voice, either, but cleared his throat before returning to a more neutral tone before you could give any retort. “Regardless, you've been through a lot already. If you can be mature and calm down, make some acknowledgement of the trouble you’ve caused and show some remorse, then, I'm willing to somewhat overlook this.” Making direct contact between your eyes and his, he finished, “Won’t that be easier on us both?”

The obvious dismissal of your statement and implications of what he thought made your face feel hot. The embarrassment that had already been weighing down on you now became suffocating, and the utter arrogance of the presumption of your willingness to comply made you so upset it felt nauseating.

“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” You tried to suppress the irritation in your voice.

He gave another heavy sigh. “Should you really be asking for specifics? It’s your best course of action regardless.”

You opened your mouth and inhaled as if to speak, holding your closed fists up to your chest, ready to spew every ounce of vitriol you’d been building up, and then, you fell silent as your eyes met.

His expression grew dark, eyes half-lidded and features blank — not contorted with anger nor curiosity, but merely waiting, watching, warning. Anticipating your defiance, prepared to react accordingly.

You looked down, hesitating.

Was it really worth it…? A few moments of lashing out, at what cost? ‘Consequences’ hurt, in one sense or another, they always did, no matter what form that word took.

You swallowed. He was right — one path before you was wiser.

You hung your head.

“…I’m sorry…”

Even with your gaze turned downward, you could see his eyes widen just a bit in your peripheral vision, not having expected such quick compliance — understandably so, based on your past incidents. But after a moment, his expression softened. He took another step, closing the gap between you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to lift your head back up.

“Mm. I’m glad you understand. You know, you've matured quite a bit recently.”

You almost, almost found yourself feeling happy at the praise, but then pushed that feeling away. It was part of the way he did things, part of the process, so you'd slowly come to recognize, putting the pieces together over and over until you became aware of how he managed to bring you down to submission each time. You refused to be swayed by that. You were only giving it up and apologizing because it was the was the easier, less painful choice… so you reminded yourself. Now, at least, you'd be done with this, could move on and quietly begin plotting again.

But then, as you felt his hand move down to your shoulder, then to your waist, you remembered the ‘somewhat.’

Yes, of course it couldn’t be left at that, wouldn’t be so simple as forcing you into humility just once.

You knew that full well. These checks of obedience after an act of disobedience never came solitary, and the desire for that subservience to be affirmed was not easily satiated. It would only grow deeper, an increasing hunger for your subservience. Pushing your pride further and further down, carving into your personhood and whittling away anything deemed unfitting. It would only go further, debasing you in increasingly violating ways.

You felt a gnawing in your stomach. You hadn’t thought of that part, in the moment, but the realization now made your heartrate begin to accelerate once more.

His eyes drifted downward.

“…Ah, right. The clothes you’re wearing, we need to have a servant wash them for you. Just set them by the door for now.”

You looked down. You hadn’t even bothered to think about it until now, having been so preoccupied with other thoughts, but indeed, the oh-so-nice and expensive clothing you’d been so lovingly lavished with, was now fully coated in grime and dirt.

At the same time, your immediate instinct was to protest the idea, knowing the intent. He wasn’t going to get you a replacement — which he himself would need to do, seeing as all of your clothing was, no doubt deliberately, kept outside the bedroom itself, and it had been established early on that you were to rely on him or servants to fetch whatever he would have you wear that day for you. Was the command too, then, intentional?

The very moment you even asked yourself the question, though, came the immediate answer, making you feel foolish for even questioning it. Of course it was intentional, planned — what wasn’t, anymore, in your life? You remembered looking back, on the day you were brought here, thinking over the past with borderline horror at the realization of how intricately detailed and precise every detail had been in his effort — what you now were certain was a premeditated plan — to get your family to call off the years-long betrothal you’d already been in, and marry you off to him instead. That realization of it all had kept you rightfully afraid of him, knowing he was always one step ahead of whatever you might attempt.

The corners of your mouth pulled taut with embarrassment, and you pulled your hands in towards your chest again, elbows pressed firmly to your sides. “That’s…”

He caught a glimpse of your face, and in turn smiled, an amused sort of expression. “Come on now,” he took a step towards you, reaching out and grasping at your hands, pulling them out of their defensive position, “even now, you’re still so shy over this?”

“I— no, I’m not—” you cut off, teeth clacking together as you snapped your mouth shut when his hands released yours, instead moving around to the binding ties of your outfit, pulling the knot apart.

You held your hands up to the level of your shoulders, bent at the elbow, fingers curled as if preparing to reach forward, to grasp at his hands, to do something.

But you didn’t.

The exchange was itself a means of conversation, communicating something not fully articulable by word alone. Violating your comfort and dignity, baring you to him, those things themselves were an assertion, a statement. To interrupt would be to challenge that assertion, to deny him. And perhaps it was, in part, also a test, a question of whether or not you would dare to deny the unspoken statement.

As the silk strands came undone, the first layer gave way to the second, and pulling apart that knot caused the fabric bound by it to slide apart, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

An unspoken reminder that your body was not your own, that any right to autonomy and privacy you might have beyond this room, no longer existed within it. Access to you was not a privilege granted by your permission, but an inherent right, provided by the very contract that legally bound you to him.

The casual, unhesitating manner with which you were stripped down only emphasized that that very reality itself was not something to be regarded as of any great significance, but a fact accepted as readily as any other. Exposing you, touching you, exercising that unconditional access to your body was given no greater thought than utilizing any of one’s possessions.

There was nothing he could ever say to you, nor adequate words to even exist, to fully encapsulate the degree to which you were owned — but with that gesture, you understood all the same.

And even though the humiliation of the reminder made your eyes burn, made you bite your lip, you lowered your hands to your side. An admission of defeat, surrender.

It did not go unnoticed. He smiled.

“Very good. You’re behaving much better today than I anticipated.”

Another moment of praise. He was genuinely pleased. You could see it and hear it through his face and voice.

Were it on any other matter, you might have felt proud to be praised in such a sweet, charming voice. If the praise were on something you actually wanted to achieve.

And then, his eyes trailed downward, running over your body, taking in each detail. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze settled on one particular spot.

“You really shouldn't lie to me,” he spoke in a quiet, low voice.

At first, you felt a momentary panic, not quite sure what he even meant, thinking you had somehow made a unintentional transgression. It wasn't until you looked down that you saw the scrape just below your collarbones from your, admittedly unsightly, vigorous resistance upon initial confrontation with the doushin the night prior, having essentially had to have been wrestled down to the concrete street. In hindsight, you were even surprised with yourself for putting up such a fight, but at the time it had just been the instinctive reflex, fueled by desperation.

It all felt distant now, as if further back in time than it was, the memory all blurring together. It was only a very small mark, and had now scabbed up as part of the natural healing process, but as his fingers brushed over the spot, you still tensed at the slight lingering sting.

“It doesn't really hurt,” you replied nonetheless. “It's fine…”

He only straightened back upright, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected common doushin to be able to follow instructions… just so you know, I did specifically say to ensure you weren't hurt in any way.” He turned his gaze downward, hand held to his chin as he added in a low mutter, “I'll be sure to only use private hands in the future, should I need something like this again.”

You shrugged, turning your eyes downward to the floor once more. Really, you wanted to not have to think about the incident any further, the mere memory stirring up embarrassment, which did not combine well with your already vulnerable state. “It's fine. It's not a big deal,” you grumbled. After a moment of hesitation, feeling another urge of spite, you added, “it wouldn't have happened if you didn't… do all that.”

He huffed in exasperation, but was quiet for the moment, seemingly composing his thoughts before replying.

“Don’t be disagreeable. We've discussed this. I care for you dearly, but that does not mean that you are exempt from expectations to behave.”

He always gave you that line — that a behavioral matter of yours had been previously ‘discussed,’ which merely meant he'd told you not to do something, or behave a certain way. That was the end-all-be-all — whatever you were told was set in stone the moment it left his mouth, and transgressing against the standard that was set was often treated as if you’d forgotten, as if it slipped your mind, the idea of intentional and deliberate disobedience being something unthinkable to such a degree that simply having done so by accident were more believable to him — and perhaps you ought be grateful for that.

You clamped your jaw shut, turning your head downward.

His gaze turned back to your body.

“…Your nerves are unsettled.” His hand slid it's way down your side, the feeling of touch lingering in a trail behind as his palm brushed over the curvature of your waist. “See, that's what causes these irrational episodes of yours. Stress, overexcitement. It just… builds naturally for you, over time.” After a moment, taking in your expression, he added, “it's nothing to feel bad about, dear. I don't mind helping you with it at all… I'm glad I can do so, really. I worry about how you'd manage without having me to help.”

You hesitated before giving a response. “What… what do you mean? I'm not… irrational…”

It was as if your words went in one ear and out the other, continuing on without responding to your objection. “But again, I failed to keep it in check this time, so this was ultimately my own fault… I'll have to make a note to be more thorough.”

His hand grasped at your waist, pulling you close. His other hand reached up, cupping your breast. He looked over towards your shared bed.

“Come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Huh? But—”

His grip tightened. “Don't be difficult.”

Your stomach began to churn. You were still angry. The last thing you wanted was to go through what was essentially a humiliation ritual. There was something about the act itself — at least, between the two of you — that made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. The inherent vulnerability, for one, but moreover, because you knew the intent, you knew the way he viewed it in his mind, could practically feel the sentiment. An act of claiming, an exchange of power in which your loss of dignity became his gain of pride and control. Carving into your very personhood, marking you as something belonging to him.

Your opened your mouth, but whatever you intended to say was cut off by your small noise of surprise as you were pulled forward, in a manner that was somehow so gentle in touch, yet forceful enough to move your whole body towards his. His arm wrapped around your frame, the other positioning itself underneath your thighs before lifting you up and moving down to sit.

You fidgeted, tried to pull away — but his grip tightened, as much to secure you as it was a warning, telling you to hold still.

“It's for your sake. This will help you… you may not realize that yet, but you’ll thank me, I promise.”

His hands moved to your hips and turned you so that your back rested against his chest.

“As I was saying, you simply… build stress and neurosis, naturally. It's not your fault, really. You're just sensitive to changes, stressors... Every individual has at least some… defects in their nature.”

His hands retracted, and there was a brief rustling sound before they returned to your skin, now ungloved, flesh on flesh. The contact sent sparks through your nerves.

“That's why people pair with those they are compatible with. They fill each other's needs, compliment each other’s natures… I’m obligated to take those defects and resolve them.”

He gave you a smile — you couldn't see it, but could feel it as his lips pressed softly against your neck. Warm, full of sincerity and adoration.

“I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t out of care… and you in turn provide me with something that needs care and guidance. I enjoy having that.”

For all his attempts at soothing words and the gentleness of the touch, you knew in your heart that there was no doubt that that was part of the intent — to humble you, to tame you and make you docile, to make you submit. Forcing you to such a vulnerable state and inflicting reactions of pleasure was itself an act of exerting power and control.

It was, in a way, remarkable, that the human spirit could not only be broken by both brutal cruelty, but equally — or, perhaps even more effectively — eroded away with a gentle voice and touch, humiliation so deeply intertwined with affection that they became impossible to distinguish from each other, forming a unique sentiment that was both one and the other.

You were endearing to him, but that affection for you was like a venom that ran through your veins — an affection that diminished you, reduced you to some inhuman possession, a toy to be manipulated in any way he desired.

It made you feel sick. It made you feel angry, it tormented your psyche—

Your thoughts were turned to a haze as his fingers rolled your nipple between them. You inhaled a sharp gasp, back arching forward.

Processing your own reaction, embarrassment took place of the momentary pleasure, and your face felt hot. You reached an arm up instinctively to cover your breasts, pulling away from the touch.

“…We've had this conversation before, haven't we?” He reached up, grasping your jaw with a grip just firm enough to communicate a warning.

You swallowed and, albeit not without just a moment of hesitation, lowered your arm. You looked down, breasts now exposed fully. “I'm… sorry…”

He gave you a hum of approval, returning to the former fondling, fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, breathing growing labored.

After a few minutes, his hands wandered downward, slowly, softly, down to your thighs, then back up over your hips, where they finally settled.

“Touch yourself.”

The command caught you off-guard. Your eyes widened. “…What?”

“Before I help you,” he murmured, “I want to see what you will do for me. That's only fair, don't you think?” He squeezed at your waist.

“Prove to me…” he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, “that you know your place. Do as I say.”

You swallowed.

It was in your best interest to obey.

You reached down slowly, shivering as your fingers brushed over your clit. You pressed down, beginning to rub your outstretched fingers back and forth. With your other hand, you reached up, tweaking your nipple just enough to send pleasure through your nerves.

“There you go.” He pulled you a bit closer to him, so your bodies were firmly pressed together. He craned his neck, no doubt catching your abashed, embarrassed expression.

Not that he would give you any words of comfort on that matter, tell you not to feel embarrassed. He only smiled, grasping your hair and forcing your head to turn, pressing your mouth to his. It was only a short contact, parting with the softest of sounds.

His grip on your hip tightened, and you realized why he’d pulled back when he spoke.

“Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized you had, too focused on the slight surprise to being kissed. You took a shuddering breath, and resumed the motion. Your eyes closed, heightening your senses — the sensation of each touch and the shockwaves it sent through your core to every nerve in your body.

Your breathing quickly became labored. Even if you were inducing the sensation itself, it was good. You bit your lip as a soft, weak little sound came out of your throat, unable to refrain from vocalizing at the intensity of the feeling.

“Not just like that.” One of his hands reached down to your thigh, hand wrapping around the underside of it and pulling it to the side, spreading you open further. “Go on.”

“Mm…” You couldn’t summon any particular words, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations — the heat to your face and knot in your stomach at the shameless way your body was so exposed, at the feeling of being watched as if the act were a performance, and the haze of arousal that rapidly began to cloud your judgement, obscuring the feeling of discomfiture, drowning your inhibition.

Even without the pleasure compromising your hesitation, you didn’t want to think about the alternatives if you refused to obey — this was thus far, comparatively, far from the worst consequences you’d ever received for acting out.

You reached down further, pushing two of your fingers past the slick coating your flesh and inside your body, curling them into the spot that made you tense, made your muscles spasm, over and over, each movement sparking a rush that surged throughout your body.

Each breath was a deep gasp. Your toes curled, your muscles went taut and your insides clenched around your own fingers.

But something was missing.

It was pleasurable, but there just wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. The sensations were too weak.

Your body had been conditioned something more, and this was not comparable.

Sweat began to accumulate on your skin as you kept curling your fingers, desperately chasing a high. His arm moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, pressing another kiss to your neck.

You tried. Frustration began to build. Your eyes watered as you curled your fingers as hard as you could, pressed as far in as they would go, down to the knuckle.

It wasn’t deep enough.

It wasn't what you were used to. Your fingers were too short, just short of reaching that one perfect spot that made you lose yourself in pleasure, melting to a mewling mess.

You shuddered. You couldn’t reach a climax, no matter how hard you tried to focus. Even without orgasm, though, your exertion reached a peak you couldn’t carry on further from, and your fingers stopped moving as you went limp, trying to catch your breath, frustration and desperation nearly enough to make you cry. Your head fell back, eyes closed as you panted.

You could feel the corners of his mouth upturn against the flesh of your neck.

“…Is something wrong?”

Your jaw clenched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

That was the other goal of it, besides proving yourself to him — it was also to prove something to you. Something you didn’t want to admit out loud, something that made your chest swell with bitterness just to admit to yourself, much more so to do so aloud.

“I can’t… I can't do it.”

“Mm.” He pulled you further back against him. “Then, what do you need?”

The tingling sensation, the desperate need, the remnant frustration of lost pleasure, was too much to bear. You swallowed your pride, closing your eyes as you forced the words out.

“…I need you to do it…”

You were expecting him to say something in return, but for a moment, he was only quiet. He began to drum his fingers back and forth against your waist.

“Is that so?”

You nodded again, which seemed to be to his displeasure—

“Use your words.”

“Yes…” You swallowed.

You waited, but no touch came.

“Hm. How odd.” His voice was low and quiet, but unmistakably derisive. “You seemed to think you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself, running off like you did.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You shook your head back and forth, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“No?” His hand trailed downward until it ghosted over your sex, the lightest of touches, borderline torment. “Then, you can't do this for yourself?”

“…No…”

He moved his face even closer, speaking directly into your ear.

“Then what do you say? Tell me exactly what you need. Show me.”

You swallowed. The burning of humiliation in your chest was almost too much to bear. Had your insides not still been alight with the wavering, tight feeling of need, your pride would have outweighed your desire. But in that moment, it did not.

You spread your still-quivering legs wide apart.

“…Please touch me.”

“Mm. And what do you want from that? For how long?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I want to cum.”

Finally — finally — his fingers pressed down against your clit, enough pressure to send waves of pleasure up your spine.

“There, see…” He pressed another kiss to your face. “Aren't things so much easier when you just choose to be honest?”

You nodded. “Yes. I… I’m sorry…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgement. “This stubbornness is just your nature.” His fingers slid back and forth, gracing the bundle of nerves with friction. “But that can be fixed.”

You bit your lip. “I… I’m not— ah—”

One motion of his hand was particularly firm, the sensation it sent through your nerves so intense it was almost painful. Your hands shot forward, grasping at his wrist.

It was only when the motion stopped that you realized you’d erred — it was a habit of reflexively grabbing at his hands when a sensation was too intense, trying to pry them off — something he very much did not like you doing.

Sure enough, he sighed, frustration blatantly evident. You jerked your hands away, but it was already too late to take back the first offense.

“…Now,” he started, “Can you refrain from doing that again, or do I need to bind them?”

“I…” you paused, realizing you genuinely needed to think it through. You weren’t certain if you could abstain.

You felt him shift back, leaning away from your body.

“Well, that’s enough of an answer itself.”

You heard the rustling of clothes, felt movement behind you, and you turned your head over your shoulder just in time to see as he pulled off first the top layer, then the undershirt over his head and off his body. You made a soft sound as he then pushed down on your back with a firm touch, forcing you to lean forward, grasping at your hands and pulling them behind your back — firmly, enough to be a clear message to not try to dissuade him, but your pride, weak as it was, still couldn't let it happen with no objection at all.

“Wait, wait, I can do it, I don't need—”

“This is for your sake. Hold still.”

“But I—”

“Be still.” He spoke firmly, but softened his voice as he continued, “It’s not your fault for having that reflex… but you have to train yourself against it. You want to be good, don't you?”

You shut your mouth, nodding as you sounded an answer. “Mm-hm…”

Cloth wrapped tightly around your wrists, using one sleeve to bind them together. Not enough of a bind that you couldn’t break out with some effort, but just enough to keep you from reflexively trying to interfere.

“Now where were we…”

You were pulled back once more, perhaps even closer. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

And his hand quickly moved back down, and the bliss of shockwaves of pleasures overcame you once more. You whimpered, biting your lip.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing circles into the nub, and for a moment, your wrists jerked against the bind as the reflex kicked in. It was too much at once, but now, you were prevented from doing anything about it. As he began to rub in circular motions, your body shuddered, and an involuntary moan came out of your throat — a wanton, shameful sound, laced with pleasure and lust.

“There you go.” You could feel him speak, shuddering at the vibration of his chest against your back and the warm breath against your ear. His other hand rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb. “Give into it.”

Your body trembled against his touch, and jolted as his own fingers pressed inside of you. His were longer, and the touches firmer, and the result was a degree of pleasure you were simply incapable of replicating on your own.

As much as you hated it — hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to try and not acknowledge it as the reality prodded at the back of your mind — he made you feel better than anything you had ever experienced, better than anything you could ever make yourself feel.

You whimpered, toes and fingers curling. Your hips moved, a rolling motion to meet each pressing movement.

A singular motion, and singular sound, both of which you near-immediately caught yourself doing, having been too lost in the feeling to think clearly. You cut off your voice and went still, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t.” He didn’t stop moving his fingers as he spoke, instead pressing down with harsh force, essentially pulling you back closer to him with the hand partially inside you. “Holding yourself back like that is another form of dishonesty.”

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, but unable to form a response before he continued.

“And you wouldn’t want,” the fingers that had been gently tweaking at your breast pinched down hard, a momentary spark of pain and the lowering of his voice making you go tense, “to make this unpleasant because you couldn’t be good for me, would you?”

You shook your head back and forth with vigor. There were many punishments in your domestic repertoire that were unpleasant, and the thought of any of them made your heart skip a beat. “No, no, I don’t… want that…”

“Then you’re going to be honest, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise…”

“Mm.”

He kept rubbing his thumb against your clit, even in perfectly synched timing to each motion his fingers curled inward inside of you.

It was so pleasurable, so intense, it made you angry. Mad that he was capable of it, mad that his control over your body was greater than your own, and most of all, mad that he did it with such ease, effortless, that making you come undone entirely was something he mastered without ever being taught.

That pleasure began to build and build. You squirmed and whimpered, muscles throughout your body tensing and relaxing over and over. Your hips rolled into his hand. Each movement built the pressure in your body higher and higher, rapidly reaching a peak.

The edge that climax made you quiver, body and legs trembling.

“There it is…” his voice was so soft and gentle, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

The noise that came out of your mouth was nearly animal-like, a whimpering cry as you threw your head back, quivering and spasming. The waves of sensation pulsated throughout your body, reaching a peak and then beginning to ebb away.

You went limp, bodyweight falling back against his chest, heaving with heavy breaths. Your head felt as if it were spinning, and you stared forward in a dull stupor, body trembling with aftershock.

You twitched at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you, with a wet squelching sound that made you shiver.

“Look at that…”

He spread his fingers apart, clear fluid forming a trail between them. You bit your lip, tilting your head downward in a futile attempt of avoidance of what you knew well came next — but that effort was quickly negated as he grabbed your jaw, turning your head back up and squeezing your face.

“Open.”

The force of the grip as he squeezed down more or less forced your jaw apart anyway. You didn't even get to take a breath before he pushed his fingers into your mouth, salty taste spreading over your tongue.

“Clean them off.”

Maybe it was a way of forcing you to acknowledge your own bodily reaction, even if you tried to deny it to yourself. Maybe it was much simpler than that — just another way to degrade you, or something simply arousing for him because it just was.

You complied nonetheless. Your tongue swirled around each finger, sucking and swallowing the taste of yourself. Even as he pulled his fingers back out, a string of saliva connected them to your tongue.

And then, after wiping his fingers off on the fabric around his thigh, he returned the arm to your waist, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See… so much more at ease now, aren't you?”

That was one way to put it. You couldn't even bring words to your mind. Even processing what he said felt like a significant effort. Everything felt far away, your mind like a blank slate, numb and empty. Your body was even more exhausted, totally lax aside from involuntary twitches.

You made a soft sound as he turned your body to the side, just enough to look you face-to-face. Looking down at your watery eyes as they met his, the stupor in your expression, even as your brain began to clear, as if a machine turning back on after a few moments of darkness.

And he smiled. It was soft, full of endearment. And belittling. It was not made any better by the small chuckle he gave, patting the top of your head.

It burned in your chest, down into your stomach.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lower lip quivered, an admittedly petulant pout. Shame formed a knot in your stomach. Disappointment in yourself, ending up like this again after swearing so many times over that this one would be the last, the last time you'd come apart so easily, the last time you'd find yourself spent and susceptible to the touch that seemed as if it were designed for your body.

And he laughed. An amused chuckle, patting your head.

“Mm. I had a feeling that wouldn't be quite enough.”

He leaned in, firmly grasping at your arms as you tried to squirm, bringing his mouth so close to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“But, that does admittedly work out for my sake.”

You grunted in surprise as he hooked his arm under your legs again, this time only lifting you just enough to set you down onto the padding of your bed, gently pushing on your shoulders until you were flat on your back, arched over your hands bound behind you.

“A-ah, I…” You swallowed, grasping at the sheets to the best of your ability. It was nothing you weren't anticipating, but the vulnerability made you tense.

It didn't help that he paused any motion, eyes trailing over your body, before reaching down and running his hands over your flesh, one moving to grip at your waist, the other your opposite hip. You couldn’t reach to cover yourself, forced to lay bare and vulnerable. Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, but firm hands grabbed at the undersides, pushing them apart and positioning himself between them so you couldn’t close them again.

The former act was not enough. Putting you through the ordeal of being made to wait in jail like a child in time-out was not enough, exposing your body was not enough, toying with your body and forcing an acknowledgement of his own control was not enough.

Your lip trembled.

But anger still pervaded through your negative emotions. It compelled your courage, you felt defiance surging up. You had to look him in the eye, tell him exactly what you felt, tell him you knew what he was doing and push him off, then, maybe then you'd have the satisfaction of some sense of control.

You could do it. You had to.

“You… you're just doing the same thing as before!” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You’re trying to, to—”

“Again with this?” He tilted his head. “I really wish you wouldn’t assume such ill intent. This is how people love each other… you know that.”

You bit your lip. You almost, for just a second, fell for it, almost felt guilty. You shook your head forcefully, clearing your mind of the thought.

“No, I won't let you—”

And with that, there was a rapid shift in expression. His eyes narrowed in a piercing, foreboding look. You went silent.

Your shoulders stiffened. The words came out on impulse, resolve of defiance broken as quickly as it had formed. “I'm— I'm sorry—”

Dammit.

For once, the dark expression did not shift back to pleasant as soon as you apologized — an indicator of having gone too far. His hand slowly reached up, this time not in a loving caress or gentle-but-firm grip, but outright harsh grip on your jaw.

“You…”

He tilted his head forward to more directly look you in the eye. His voice was low and cold, making your heart race further.

“Do not ‘let’ anyone do anything.”

His fingertips pressed into your flesh, squeezing your face between them.

“I know you understand your place. Don’t behave as if you don’t.” Finally, his voice softened as he finished, “I can’t help you if you keep fighting me every step of the way. So… you’ll control yourself, won’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding your head, twitching as the motion made his fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“You know I don’t like being so harsh with you, don’t you?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Only for a short, chaste moment, but a slow, sensual motion nonetheless. You closed your eyes, tuning out the rustling clothes, heavily breathing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this. This whole ordeal has been stressful for me as well.”

You didn’t get time to ask what he meant — he rammed himself into you all at once, completely stuffing your body in one rough, forceful motion.

You cried out, back arching and body stiffening. You felt your insides clamp down, pulsating against the intrusion.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, holding you still as the momentary sting ebbed away.

“There you go… calm down.”

You felt him slide out, then push back in, the latter movement sending sparks of sensation running up your spine, causing you to go tense all over again.

Your breathing became ragged, legs twitching and spasming at the sensation. You tried, without thinking, to snap them shut, but it only resulted in effectively squeezing his waist with you thighs.

The intensity of the sensation naturally induced a reflex of strain and exertion to your muscles, a need to channel the feeling through your body, causing your toes to curl, your thighs clamping down harder, quivering at the bare touch of flesh to flesh. You closed your eyes, but couldn't drown out the sound of skin making contact to yours, the sound itself increasingly accompanied by a wet squelching as skin met fluid with each passing second, leaking out of your body.

“You're so much more honest like this.” You could hear just the slightest strain in his voice, otherwise so very composed to perfection. “So meek… it's lovely. Once that resistance in you is fixed… you'll be perfect.”

You could see the corners of his mouth upturn into a look of amusement.

“You should see yourself.”

Your body stiffened, but all you could do was whimper. The words felt like a cold knife to the stomach — and you knew he knew that. Knew that that moment was you at your must vulnerable, the peak of awareness of your own helplessness, the moment you felt the most degraded, and yet, it still wasn't enough.

He leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, so close you could feel the warmth as he spoke, never ceasing to move all the while.

“Whimpering and drooling like that,” he murmured. “You're trembling… and that expression on your face is so adorable. Like you can't even think straight.” He leaned back up, enough to look you in the eye — now welling with tears.

And again, he only smiled.

“How precious.”

His hands ran down your body, grabbed at your hips, and began to pull you, jerking your body back and forth to meet his own movements.

It was too much. Even with the knot of emotion in your stomach, you felt a hot, tingling pressure build in your body. Your legs quivered, the wanton little sounds from your throat higher and higher.

You didn't want that. It was the final part of this ritual that so demeaned you, one more confirmation of his control of you. You pressed your hands into the mat, trying to push yourself back — but it was only met with a harsh pull, forcing your body back until you practically slammed against his hips.

“Don't fight.”

It was the last thing you heard. You threw your head back as the sensation became overwhelming, back arching and eyes rolling back as the feeling reached a peak. You could only faintly register the high-pitched sound that sounded as if it couldn't be you, a voice you didn't recognize.

And then it began to ebb away. A hazy stupor filled the void as the pleasure dissipated, a feeling of exhaustion. Your weight went limp.

You made a soft sound as he grasped your jaw again, turning your head just enough to place another kiss to your lips.

“There you go. Look at you now… all that stress and in you, totally gone. You can see it in your eyes, even.”

He paused before adding,

“Well, gone for now. I'll have to start monitoring for it more closely.”

You shuddered at the sensation as he slid out of you, fluid spilling out onto the sheets.

You felt him reach behind you, untying your wrists — you brought your arms to the front of your body, but the forearms only laid useless, having fallen asleep from your weight.

He came to rest beside you, upper body slightly propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, looking down at you with adoration and endearment.

And you were so, so weak. So much weaker than you wished you were, body, mind and spirit alike. So weak that, in the rush of emotions that followed, you found yourself slowly crawling forward, burying your face against his chest with a pathetic little noise.

“Poor thing. Maybe that was a bit too much for you…”

His arm reached behind your back and pulled you close, and the comfort you felt seemed to melt your mind into nothingness.

“You should rest for a while,” he continued, “then we'll get you cleaned off. We have a few hours before you'll need to be ready.”

After a moment to process the words, you tilted your head up with the softest of inquisitive noises. The cold, creeping dread began to spread through your stomach once more.

He seemed to realize, then, that you didn’t understand.

“Ah, right, you wouldn't have known.” He reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on, brushing his fingers over your scalp. “While you were gone, I sent someone to arrange a house visit with a psychiatrist… a private one that works for families such as ours.”

His words certainly didn’t help soothe your nerves. Your mouth felt dry. Your voice came out weak, hesitant, part of you not wanting to ask, lest you learn an unpleasant answer.

“…Why?”

He tilted his head in just the slightest, loose strands of hair shifting and waving with the motion. “Well, keeping your needs in check does help with your condition, but I’ve realized it would do you good to have a secondary means to treat your hysteric tendencies as well.”

“My…” You swallowed. “My what?” The words slowly pieced together in your mind, hitting you with a sense of dread and confusion. You squirmed backwards, shifting just a bit away from him. “There's… nothing wrong with me…”

“Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong, that’s…” He spoke in a reassuring sort of tone, as if to comfort you. “…A harsh choice of phrasing. You just need some help, is all.” After a moment of pause, he added, “don't worry, it's perfectly normal that you aren't self-aware of it. That's usually how these illnesses work.”

His arm reached out further, pulling you back towards him, pressing your bodies together before he continued.

“He’s just required to see you in-person for a little while before giving you anything. Regulations and all. We’re just going to get you something to make you a little more… docile.”

His arm wrapped around your body, and he pulled his head back just a bit to look you in the eye, smiling with endearment.

“Ah, I can tell by your face that you’re nervous. Don’t worry, I'll be there throughout the whole thing… I'll answer any questions, you just sit there quietly, alright?” He pulled you a bit closer, planting an affectionate, short kiss to the top of your head. “I know that sort of thing is a lot on your nerves.”

If your trembling could be felt, he didn’t say anything about it, only carrying on with his gently-spoken words.

“We won’t have to worry about you having these… irrational escapades anymore. And you’ll be so much happier, too.”

You felt his hand on your back, firmly in place — you were pressed so close together that there was no need to pull you any closer, but perhaps he wanted to be sure you couldn’t pull away.

“So… rest for now, alright?”

Mind and heart alike racing, in your stupor, you let the pause linger for too long. The hand on your back began to close in on itself, fingernails brushing against your skin just enough to send the faintest of pains up your spine.

You had no strength left in you to give anything other than the correct answer.

“Okay...”

He only gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and began to stroke your back up and down, a pattern that should have been comforting and soothing, yet was anything but. Exhaustion wore on your body, but even as you forced yourself to close your eyes, true rest was nowhere to be found.

#awful men portraying themselves as selfless/benevolent >>>>>#genshin smut #.ay

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year ago

Text

Lieutenant Steal-Your-Girl, Part I

Day 8: Cuckolding (Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst (relationship woes); open relationships; cuckolding, but not really, I think I did this one wrong but got too deep to turn back; Jake is a bad boyfriend; smut (Oral, F!receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5536

AN: This was requested for Kinktober by an anon! It is part of a larger mini-series, found here!

AN2: This might not be for everyone. People feel A Certain Way about open relationships, and this is very much a Reddit revenge version of that. Cuckolding? Maybe if you squint. I dunno. It got away from me and my original intention for this. Also, if you're a Jake fan, this won't be for you. Read at your own peril.

The sentence makes Bob Floyd short-circuit. A question, in English, uttered by Jake with his smarmy grin, but it’s so incongruous, Bob’s mind cannot grasp it.

“You wanna fuck my girl, Baby on Board?”

Bob sputters at the question. He feels his cheeks heat up as blood floods his face in a furious blush. He wonders if it’s a joke, a put-on by the other pilots. He glances around—to the piano where Rooster is perched, to the bar where Nat and Javi wait patiently for a fresh pitcher—and finds himself without backup. It’s just him and Bagman by the pool tables.

Bob can’t help but glance out the windows of the Hard Deck to see where you’re sitting.

Where you’re waiting patiently for Jake to rejoin you. Where you often sit alone while Jake flirts with the local girls. Where the other members of the Dagger Squad often sit with you, an apology of sorts, a paltry way of making up for your boyfriend’s inattention. Where Bob, more than any other Dagger, often sits with you, distracts you from your wayward boyfriend, makes you laugh with his corny jokes.

You explain to him one night how you and Jake are trying an open thing, an open relationship, a way of spicing up your long-term thing—but Bob hears the misery in your voice, and he sees the hurt look in your eyes when you see your boyfriend openly flirting with his next conquest—

Jake snapping his fingers brings Bob back to focus. He opens his mouth, manages to answer Jake (“of course not, she’s your girl, Bagman”), but it’s the flimsiest of lies. Bob knows it. Jake knows it.

Bob has wanted you from the moment he clapped his eyes on you.

-----

Another night, another moment where Bob finds himself alone with Jake.

The same question posed to him. “You wanna fuck my girl, Bob?”

This time, Jake doesn’t let Bob sputter out a lie. The man shakes his head, offers a rueful grin, then claps Bob on the back hard enough to nearly jolt him off his stool.

“It isn’t an accusation,” Jake clarifies. “It’s a question. An offer. You interested?”

Another lie when he stammers out, “no, I wouldn’t…I mean, I don’t think—”

Jake cuts him off with another hard clap on the back. “Let’s take a walk, huh? Me and you. We’ll talk.”

-----

That’s the night Bob learns that his understanding of kinks is incomplete. He always thought of kinks as things like role-playing or handcuffs or outrageous lingerie. He never knew of cuckolding beyond, perhaps, a vague memory of reading the word in high school when they read Shakespeare in English class.

That’s the night Bob learns that beyond opening up your relationship, Jake has a thing for cuckolding. It’s only theoretical; you haven’t slept with anyone but Jake, but Jake has taken full advantage of the open relationship and has had many lovers beyond you.

And Jake finds the idea of you with another man intoxicating. However, when he’s broached the subject with you, urged you to go out and find yourself a one-night stand, you’ve balked.

Hence, the need for Bob.

“She is comfortable with you,” Jake explains, and it sounds so commonplace, so everyday that he’s offering his girlfriend up as a potential one-night stand for his fellow Dagger. “And I know you like her.”

Bob ends up declining. Of course he likes you. He’s wanted you for as long as he’s known you. He lies awake at night, plagued by insomnia that has its origin in you. Evenings cheering you up at the Hard Deck haunt him—your sad eyes that always track Jake around the bar, but the way you laugh at Bob’s jokes, the way you chat with him earnestly about books and movies, about hiking trails you want to conquer, places you want to travel to. You’re Bob’s dream girl but you’re taken, whether your relationship is open or not.

Bob declines Jake’s offer. Besides, it feels too close to a business deal, edging too close to something akin to sex work, albeit without money changing hands. Jake and his smarmy grin feels too close to being a pimp. Just two men making a deal about a woman without her input.

So Bob declines, but when you make a similar offer weeks later, that’s something else entirely.

-----

It happens at the Hard Deck. You’re outside nursing a drink, separating yourself from where Jake chats up a local woman. Bob sits beside you, and he tells you a story from when he was stationed in Pensacola, but you’re not really listening.

You cut him off halfway through his story, turn to face him. Your eyes, usually so sad, have a fire in them he’s never seen before, and it pulls his up short, strikes him mute.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” you ask, and if Bob stammered his way through Jake’s offer, he doesn’t hesitate a single second when you ask.

“Yes,” he replies. “Absolutely.”

-----

Bob has no idea what the rules are. Jake made it sound like a tawdry hook-up, a late-night meeting with sex and nothing else.

You? You ask him if he wants to go out with you, and Bob interprets that as a date night. He gets your number, texts you throughout the week, and makes plans.

A proper date night. Bob can’t tell if Jake knows or not. He’s unclear if there’s a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy in place, despite how open Jake seems to be with his own dalliances. Bob keeps it hush-hush, and late Saturday afternoon, Bob finds himself at your apartment.

-----

Years later, Bob will be able to admit to himself: this isn’t just a date for him.

It’s an audition. It’s a job interview. It’s Lieutenant Robert Floyd doing his damnedest to show you that he’s a better bet than Jake.

Bob sees how unhappy you are with Jake, how miserable you are to be in an open relationship you didn’t want. It’s Bob trying to show you that Jake isn’t the only man in the world; that there are other proverbial fish in the proverbial sea, and that maybe another man (Bob, specifically) would cherish you, would love you, would never offer you up to other men. Cuckolding isn’t Bob’s kink at all, so he misinterprets Jake’s insistence as guilt. Jake must feel guilty, Bob reasons, and offering you up feels like a twisted version of atonement—a chance for you to explore other men.

It occurs to Bob that Jake chose him because he doesn’t feel threatened. Bob Floyd—quiet Bob with his terrible, Navy-issued glasses, with his quiet voice and lack of braggadocio—is no threat to the handsome, cocky pilot.

Years later, it will only demonstrate: Jake Seresin doesn’t know Bob Floyd at all, but more to the point—Jake Seresin doesn’t really know you.

*****

As far as first dates go, Bob knocks it out of the park.

Not that you have a lot of experience. You’ve only ever had one first date—all the way back in sophomore year of high school—when Jake took you out to Sonic and then felt you up in the cab of his truck.

You try not to compare Adult Bob against Adolescent Jake. It wouldn’t be fair.

It doesn’t stop you from comparing Adult Bob to Adult Jake, and the differences are stunning.

Bob greets you at your door with a bouquet of flowers, cheerful daises that nod their fat little heads as you invite him in to put them in water. Bob does his usual Bob-stammer, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as he tells you how beautiful you look.

When was the last time Jake got you flowers? When was the last time Jake complimented your looks?

You often feel invisible with your boyfriend, and it’s always been that way. Star running back Jake, hometown hero, dating the perfectly average, perfectly middle-of-the-road girl. Jake with his good looks, his perfect smile, his perfect tan, his perfect muscles…and you.

Jake’s idea of a date night is typically the Hard Deck, and since the two of you have opened up your relationship, date night has ceded to hunting for new prospects. You dread it every time; you sit outside and listen to the ceaseless roll of the waves, and you wait with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach to see if you’ll go home alone or if your boyfriend will turn up at last call, disappointed to have struck out, disappointed to go home to boring old you.

You are desperately unhappy. Your emotions veer wildly. You swing between extremes: manic periods where you work out, get your hair styled, where you scrub and polish and pluck yourself as near to perfect as you can get. Depressive periods where you can barely summon the strength to shower, ground down by the thought of your boyfriend fucking other women.

You know you should end it. When Jake sat you down all those months ago, your stomach had fluttered with butterflies. This is it, you thought. He’s going to ask me to marry him. You’d waited so long, patient and unswerving in your devotion. Through college and flight school, bouncing around in his wake as his assignments and deployments dictated.

Instead, Jake told you he was bored. That he read up on it, and he thought opening the relationship would be good for him. For you, too.

“As long as we always come home to each other, I don’t see it as a bad thing,” he had told you, and you—always invisible, always trailing behind him like a lost puppy—had hated yourself when you nodded in agreement.

-----

Bob takes you first to an independent bookstore, a tucked-away little gem, and you realize immediately that he isn’t playing fair. When you tell him so, shaking your forefinger with a mock-frown, he only gives you his soft Bob Floyd smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he claims, and he holds his palms up in surrender. “We just have a little time to kill before our reservations.”

Bad enough he’s brought you here. The two of you talk books all the time, and it’s a thoughtful date idea. But what makes it worse is when he sidles up to you as you read the book jacket of a new release and says, low near your ear, “get whatever you want. My treat.”

It’s the moment the bottom falls out for you. It’s like you’ve been wading around in the shallow end of the pool, and Bob’s sweet date paired with Bob’s surprisingly low, grumbling voice near your ear is your foot slipping into the deep end. You find yourself treading water. You find yourself fighting off the panicky urge to flail.

-----

Dinner is at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and you wonder if Bob timed it so that you’d be there during sunset.

You suspect he did. You’re starting to suspect that this isn’t just some prelude to fucking, the crude reality of this open relationship you and Jake are doing, the cuckolding fetish that Jake seems to have. Bob could have just invited you over to his place, but he’s planned such a lovely first date.

You are out of your depth, but when the panic starts to grip you, you only look across the table to see Bob: his bright blue eyes, his gentle smile, the tips of his ears pink underneath the soft wave of his hair. You look at him and it feels natural, and the panic ebbs away but it’s replaced by something else.

Doubt. This date with Bob is a crack in the foundation of your relationship with Jake. A tiny little trickle of doubt slips through.

Why does this feel so easy, you think as you pick at your meal. Why does this feel so easy but everything with Jake feels so fraught?

It feels easy because Bob talks to you, not at you. He’s endlessly curious about you: your history, your likes, your dislikes. What your job is like, what your childhood was like. Where you see yourself in five years, in ten, in twenty? Do you like the country or the city? The ocean or the mountains? Do you like dogs or cats or both? What’s your favorite book, what’s the last movie you saw?

Jakes doesn’t ask you those questions, and you half-convince yourself that it’s because you’ve been together for so long. Jake knows everything there is to know about you.

But you know that’s not true. Bob pays for dinner, then takes your hand in his. He walks you to a nearby gelato place for dessert, and it’s nearly perfect. This second first date with Bob Floyd while your boyfriend is out doing god know what (or who).

It’s nearly perfect but not entirely because you admit to yourself that Jake doesn’t know everything about you at all. He’s never asked what you’re reading, who your favorite author is, and it hits you suddenly that Bob—who you’ve known for a handful of months, if that—might know parts of you better than your boyfriend.

At Bob’s truck, he puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it yet. He turns to face you, and his face is a furious red. He’s blushing, you realize. Something is making him blush.

“Take you home?” he asks, and his voice has a strange tension in it that you’ve never heard before. You think of this date, all the effort he put into it to make it perfect. You think of all the times he’s kept you company at the Hard Deck, how sometimes he sits in front of you, makes his body block your line of sight so you can’t see Jake leaning in on some girl who is prettier than you, more adventuresome than you—

“No.” You shake your head, then smile at Bob. You don’t care about Jake and his stupid cuckolding kink; you’ve been on a low-simmer of growing desire ever since the bookshop when Bob leaned in and growled in your ear. You want Bob for Bob’s own sake.

“Take me to your place,” you say.

*****

It’s a dangerous thing, how Jake never once crosses Bob’s mind once he gets you to his apartment. Bob forgets the reality of this situation: that you’re taken, that this is a one-time thing, that it’s actually feeding into Jake’s kink, not yours or Bob’s.

Bob forgets all of that. He’s only focused on you: lovely, perfect you. The best date he’s ever been on, and Bob feels like a million bucks at how surprised you’d been with each part of it. The way your face lit up at the flowers, at his compliments. The squeal of surprise at the book store, the shy way you only chose one book for him to buy you—he would have bought you the whole store if you’d asked. The content sigh each time you looked at the sun setting over the ocean, and how natural it felt to hold your hand as he walked you back to his truck.

Bob doesn’t think of Jake until afterwards, and it’s dangerous because Bob instead thinks about second dates, third dates. He forgets that you’re spoken for, and instead he spins out an entire future where he meets your family and you meet his, where he cleans off a shelf in his bathroom for you, where the two of you move in together…

Who could blame him, though? Once he gets you inside his apartment, he turns to ask if you want a drink, but you’re right there, standing so close to him that he can see the little amber flecks in your eyes and the question is only halfway out of his mouth when you kiss him.

Of course Bob doesn’t think of Jake. He’s wanted you since he first saw you, and here you finally are: your hands on him, holding him steady as you press your lips to his, as you bump against his glasses and knock them askew, then break the kiss to gently reach up and set them right again.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and Bob doesn’t link your sudden reticence—you avoid his eyeline—to Jake. He doesn’t make the connection between your bashful expression and how you’ve only ever kissed Jake, slept with Jake, and how monumental this all must feel.

“Don’t apologize.” Bob cups his hands on your bare shoulders, pulls you in for a hug. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I’m not very good at this.” It comes out muffled, your face pressed against his shoulder.

Bob has always guessed that your rocky relationship with Jake has shaken your confidence, but he doesn’t think of that now. He only feels you sigh against him, embarrassed, so he pushes you away gently, touches his forehead to yours.

“You’re fine,” he assures you. “You’re perfect.” Then he leans in, kisses you this time, and when his glasses get knocked off-kilter again, he just takes them off, folds them into his pocket, then leads you into his bedroom.

*****

You’ve spent a lot of time on the internet researching cuckolding as a kink, and you had settled on the belief that Jake was into it because he was turned on by the idea of another man using you.

Or maybe he just feels guilty that he’s the only one taking advantage of the open relationship.

Who can say? When you try to talk about it, Jake brushes you off, tells you not to worry about it too much, so you never are quite clear on what motivates the man you thought you’d marry one day.

But as far as being used goes, nothing about your dalliance with Bob says used: the man worships you. He kneels in front of your body like a penitent, and his hands are so gentle, his voice so soft as he asks permission every step of the way.

“Can I kiss you here?”

“Can I touch you here?”

Is this okay? Does this feel good? Tell me what you like. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything. Let me make you feel good.

Is this what Jake wanted—a change from the usual? Because being with Bob feels like a revelation: you’ve never been loved like this. He kisses his way down your naked body, then reverses course until he’s between your legs, his broad shoulders holding your thighs open. His mouth on you, the shy little swipes of his tongue until he gets a taste of you—then he devours you like a starved man, completely unabashed at the groans leaving him, at the way he grinds into the bedding at how turned on he is to feast on you.

You open your mouth to tell him not to bother, that you’ve never come from oral alone, but then you feel how your body is responding, the answering arousal to Bob’s skilled tongue, and when he slides a finger inside you, you’re reminded of that too-deep feeling from earlier.

But instead of feeling panicky, you feel a sharp throb of arousal. You aren’t afraid of being in too deep now. You aren’t straining to return to shore.

You want to be swept out to sea, and you want Bob to be the one to do it. When your orgasm approaches, you reach down and tangle your fingers in Bob’s hair—it’s as soft as it looks, just as silky—and Bob looses a groan that vibrates up from your pussy to the very top of your head. He reaches up and holds your hand against his head, mumbles against you to use him, to grind against him, so you do. You lift your hips and press against his mouth, feel the bump of his nose against your clit, and you realize that you’re about to come from oral for the first time in your life and that it’s not your boyfriend who’s done it.

When you come against Bob’s mouth, every single thought of Jake is erased from your head, and you won’t think of him again afterwards.

*****

Bob takes a long beat to get control of himself. He was dangerously close to coming as he ate you out, and he waits for his own orgasm to fade into the background before he continues.

Instead, he props himself on one elbow and just watches you. If you looked beautiful before, you look even more so now: all of the tension is gone from your face, and blink up at him sleepily, dreamily. Your smile is lazy, and when you sigh, it’s nothing but content.

“Good?” he asks, grinning down at you.

You nod, just as lazy as your smile. “The best.” You purse your lips, pout up at him. “Kiss me?”

How can he resist? He leans down to kiss you, and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer to you. Eating you out has relaxed you, banished whatever doubts you had from earlier, and you kiss him now with a passion he’s never experienced before: you part your lips, you slide your tongue into his mouth, you lick against him. You must taste yourself on him because you make the cutest damned whimper, and it goes straight to his dick, hearing how undone you are.

Then you do this cute little wriggling move underneath him, and Bob’s body moves independently of his brain: he slots himself between your thighs, slick from his earlier attention, and his erection bumps against your hip, your belly before you reach down and guide him to where you want him most.

Bob breaks the kiss long enough to mumble his question about protection, and it won’t occur to him until much later—what it means when you say you’re on birth control but also that you’re clean, that there’s no risk.

It won’t occur to Bob until later, what it means for you to say you’re clean. It won’t occur to him that you’re in a committed relationship, that your boyfriend has regular hookups but you remain STD-free since your last checkup.

It’ll hit Bob in the middle of his workday at Miramar, what you are telling him now: that your bedroom with Jake is dead and has been for a while, and that this moment with Bob is the first time you’ve had sex in months.

He’ll realize that later. Now, there’s only the feeling of your pussy—warm, wet, perfect—as he pushes into you. There’s only the sound of your sharp inhale, your whine as you tell him to go slow, to be gentle, but you don’t need to tell him that. He’d never hurt you, and he can feel how tight you are, so he goes slow. He works himself into you carefully, watches your face for any sign of pain.

He sees none. He goes so slowly that he only sees your expression go from worried to stunned: the lines in your brow smooth out and your lips part as you gaze up at him, a perfect oh of surprise.

When he’s fully seated in you, buried in the silky depths of your pussy, Bob stills—and he realizes that you are trembling underneath him.

“Honey,” he breathes out, the sweet nickname falling from his mouth without thought. “You okay? You want me to—”

“No.” You cut him off, gift him with a shaky smile. “Stay with me, okay? Just stay with me a minute.”

“’Course.” He leans down, bumps his nose against yours until your smile firms up, seems steadier. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bob only moves enough to settle more of his weight on you, and then he takes the time to kiss you: he trails featherlight kisses across your face, your forehead, your flushed cheeks. He kisses the tip of your nose—it pulls a giggle from you, and the sound makes him smile. He kisses along your jaw. He dips his head near your ear, whispers how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, how he’d happily stay like this forever. He doesn’t miss the little shudder you give at his praise.

Bob doesn’t realize that he’s shifted your worldview entirely. Just this simple liaison—not even complete, and nothing extreme—has rearranged everything you thought you knew. You aren’t actively thinking of Jake at all—he’s been banished until afterwards—but you’re considering the balance of your entire erotic history against this single moment with Bob.

You’re realizing that sex can be so much more than just an act…and with Bob, a man you haven’t known that long.

You eventually stop trembling. Bob feels it when you relax; the tight clench of your cunt slackens a bit. He feels your hands on him, shy at first and then bolder as you run your warm palms over the planes of his back, along his shoulders and arms. As you thread your fingers through his hair, comb out the tangles there. As you rest your palm along the back of his head and lead his face back to yours.

“Thank you.” You whisper it, and your eyes are wide. Earnest. Bob isn’t sure what you’re thanking him for, so he just kisses you again.

“I’m ready,” you mumble against his searching lips.

“You sure?”

A nod, a purposeful roll of your hips that makes Bob see stars, makes the edges of his vision turn hazy with desire.

“Take me, Bob,” you tell him, and he’s never heard you so assured. “I’m yours.”

So he does. He takes you in small movements, focused on your pleasure. He is used to sitting in the backseat of a billion dollar plane, all those systems to keep track of, so focusing on you is an easy, wondrous thing: the expression on your face, the moans he manages to pull from you. The way your eyes flutter shut or roll back or fix on him like he’s responsible for setting the sun in the sky. The way your hands touch him or hold him, sometimes soft and stroking, sometimes clinging to him like he’s your life preserver. The way your cunt feels, slick and warm and gripping him, obscenely wet as he fucks into you harder, the sound of skin on skin, the heady scent of sex filling his room, and he hopes it lingers for days afterwards, he wants the moment to never end.

He focuses on your pleasure as it rises, crests around you: the way you tighten up, bear down harder on him until he loses some of his rhythm. He reaches a shaky hand down to touch you there, the slick, swollen place where he disappears into the confines of your body, and he rubs a tight circle against you. He begs you to come for him; he’s so close, he feels his balls tightening against his body, and he needs you to come for him first, needs to feel you before—

When you come, you say his name. You breathe it out, a hot pant against his ear, and Bob is grateful for it because it pushes him over the edge. He groans out your name too, chokes out a curse, and you come together—your pussy pulsing around him as he buries himself in you, comes inside you.

Marks you as his.

-----

Afterwards, Bob remembers Jake and feels a sting of conscience—but not enough to send you home. That had been integral to the cuckolding thing, Bob sending you home thoroughly fucked, to sleep beside Jake, for Jake to know you’d been with another man and to be turned on by it.

A mean little part of Bob wants to. He wants to send you home satisfied, his cum dripping out of you. Part of him sees the allure of it from his side; Jake doesn’t consider Bob a threat, so it’d hit the smug bastard hard to see you satisfied, happy from your dalliance with the back-seater.

But Bob doesn’t give a shit about Jake. Not when you’re sitting in his bed with the sheets wrapped around you, uncertain all of a sudden, and Bob kisses you on the forehead and tells you to stay.

“Just stay the night,” he says. “Please. I’d love for you to stay.”

He sees the doubt on your face. He knows you’re thinking of Jake, and Bob feels a flare of something—anger, protectiveness, whatever. It gives him the courage to speak up. He takes your hand in his, settles on the bed beside you.

“Honey, is this even what you wanted? I had a fun time with you, but would you have asked me out if Jake hadn’t wanted it?”

Your expression turns from uncertain to surprise in an instant. “No! I mean, I asked you out because I like you. And because I’m in an open thing. I thought…” You trail off, stare at him as you try to assemble your words. “Did you only agree to take me about because of Jake?”

Bob shakes his head. “No. I took you out because I wanted to. I brought you here because I want you.”

Your surprise turns to a shy smile. “Really?”

He squeezes your hand. “Really.”

Your smile fades away by degrees, and your eyes shine with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this, you know. I…I wanted to get married, have kids, all that, but he…” You sigh, drop your head. “I don’t like the open relationship. It makes me feel like I’m not enough, you know?”

“Honey—”

“Like if I were better somehow, he wouldn’t have to go out and find other women—”

“Hey, no, don’t—”

“Like, what is wrong with me? Why aren’t I enough? Why—”

“Stop.” Bob places a finger over your mouth to silence you. He hates all this doubt, hates how little you think of yourself, so he stills your words. “You’re enough,” he tells you. “Hell, honey, you’re everything.”

You blink at him, surprised. The shimmering tears shake loose, start to course down your cheeks, and Bob pulls you to him, holds you as you cry. He wraps you in his arms as you sob against him, gasp out that you don’t know what to do, that you’ve felt lost for months now—

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmurs against your head. “You just need a good night’s rest. That’s all you need to do tonight.”

Your tears taper off. You push away from him gently and swipe at where your tears have made his bare chest wet.

“Stop being so wise, Lieutenant,” you grumble, but there’s a teasing quality there that makes Bob smile. You sniffle and glance up at him, and he’s struck how beautiful you are even with swollen, teary eyes.

Maybe you’ve rearranged his world too.

No, there’s no maybe to it. You’ve definitely rearranged his world.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and even, tries to keep the excitement out of it. He can sense that a sea-change is coming, and he doesn’t want to jinx it.

“Stay tonight,” he repeats. “Things are always clearer in the morning, I find.”

So you do. You nod at him, and you wave off his offers to get you clothes to sleep in. The two of you fall asleep in record time—the cure for Bob’s you-induced insomnia is you, both the cause and the cure, your warm, naked body curled up alongside him as he fades into sleep.

And you were right: Bob is wise. You’ll wake in the morning to an empty bed, a room full of sunlight, the lingering scent of sex. You’ll pad out into Bob’s kitchen and find the man putting the finishing touches on breakfast, and you’ll let him feed you before you let him fuck you again—this time on his kitchen counter, the room full of light so you can see the blatant love in his expression as he claims you again. And then a third time, together in the shower, a slow moment so full of feeling that you’ll cry when you come, and Bob will hold you, will choke back words as he comes too, and you’ll wonder later why those bitten-back words sound so much like I love you.

And then you’ll let Bob drive you home where Jake will be waiting for you. His smug smile will fall as you breeze past him, his cuckolding fantasy falling apart in front of him because he was the only one turned on by it, the only one turned on by opening your relationship. Jake will realize too late that he only opened the door for someone else to come and steal you away, and that the thief will be Robert Floyd, who taught you that love should never be such a fraught, painful thing, and that you may not be enough for Jake, but for the right man, you are everything.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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libraryofloveletters · 7 months ago

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Bound By Fate

Jenson Button x Fem!Teammate Reader

series summery: the strings of life connect two people; teammates, friends, perhaps lovers. Even when you think you’ve gotten rid of him, the strings of life pull you back in. some things are just meant to be.

author's note: this was prompted by god knows what but this is my new passion project. jenson girlies, this one is for you. shoutout to @mev33 for losing her mind over this with me <333

bound by fate taglist!

chapter one: united front

attached at the hip, jenson button and y/n l/n are the unstoppable duo. the same soul in two bodies. all but 4 points separating them. // “where you go, I go. What you see, I see. I know I’d never be me without the security of your loving arms, keeping me from harm. Put your hand in my hand and we’ll stand.” - Skyfall by Adele

chapter two: time cast a spell on you

spending nine months with someone is a long time, especially when you’re forced to be with them. feelings grow, both good and bad. - “Time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me. I know I could have I loved you but you would not let me. I’ll follow you down ‘till the sound of my voice can haunt you. Oh give it just a chance. You’ll never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you.” - Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac

chapter three: the blame is on you

two mclarens spin out, drivers at each other’s throat but only one’s to blame. what’s said on track doesn’t always stay there. - “It’s my own design, it’s my own remorse. Help me to decide, help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever. Everybody wants to rule the world.” - Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tear For Fear

chapter four: no grace

jenson can’t take it anymore; the back stabbing, the betrayal. he did what he thought was best and left. on what was supposed to be the happiest night of y/n’s life, she’s heartbroken and upset. — “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace, so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. You had to kill me, but it kills you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain. Crossing out the good years and you’re cursing my name, wishing I stayed.” - My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift

chapter five: the final tango

y/n and jenson find themselves front and centre, smiling for the cameras in their sunday bests, yet their hearts are in different places. - “it hurts to be something, it’s worse to be nothing with you. I’ve done the math, there’s no solution. We’ll never last. Why can’t I let go of this?” - Promise by Laufey

chapter six: secrets of us

when all is said and done, it’s never really over, is it? jenson spills far too much in a tell-all interview that back fires on both he and y/n. - “And you don’t seem to understand, a shame you seemed an honest man. And the fears you hold so dear will turn to whisper in your ear. And you know what they say might hurt you and you know that it means so much, and you don’t even feel a thing.” - Duvet by Bôa

chapter seven: a chapter of me

four long years have passed, both y/n and jenson are in different places of life but they find themselves at Silverstone, together once again. jenson’s a commentator and y/n’s still a racer. seems the dust has settled. - “Just wanna let this story die, and i’ll be alright. We can’t be friends, but I’d like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again.” - We Can’t Be Friends by Ariana Grande

chapter eight: a glimpse into the past

people come and go, life moves on; that has always been your view. you can’t move on when your past comes back to haunt you. - “So I ask myself, do I let you go or do I keep you in the frame of my mind? Now I’m growing wise to your sugar coated lies, nothing’s sweet about my misery. Yeah, I finally found what went wrong, i finally found the wrong in you.” - On My Mind by Jorja Smith

chapter nine: twelve steps forward, one step back

the final race of your life, mixed emotions truly. your career was one out of a movie, you’re waiting for the final shoe to drop and when it does, it hits you hard. - “Isn’t it strange? I am still me, you are still you, in the same place. Isn’t it strange how people can change from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again?” - Strange by Celeste

epilogue - chapter ten: the last bow

life post retirement is a funny thing, you thought you’d be having fun but you’re bored out of your mind. a solo trip results in seeing a ghost from your past. - “I'm sure we're taller in other dimension, you say we’re small and not worth a mention. You’re tired of movin’, your body’s achin’. We could vacay, there’s places to go. Clearly this isn’t all that there is, can’t take what’s been given. But we’re so okay here, we’re doing fine.” - White Ferrari by Frank Ocean

#bound by fate series #jenson button #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #jenson button x y/n #jenson button f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 series

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ladypoison · 3 months ago

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Kiss me.

Pairing: college!tyler x f!reader Summary: You meet Tyler at a college party he's hosting, you can't help but feel drawn to each other immediately- or maybe that's the drink talking. Warnings: Drinking, smoking, illegal substances, smut (18+ MDNI), P in V, Intoxicated consent. WC: 2.9k A/N: This is like practically my first written smut, plus I'm a rusty writer so go easy on me.

To say it was hot would be an understatement. Sweat glistened off your body, people colliding next to you in melodic movements only radiated that. You’d been in there for a total of 5 minutes and already felt like you were on the verge of a heatstroke.

The air around you smelt strongly of body odor and the alcohol that radiated on people’s breaths. So strongly you craved a drink as well, but your chatter-box of a friend wouldn’t let you leave her side as she spoke to a person you hadn’t come to know the name of. He was tall, with striking facial features you’d never see on anyone else, arms full with ink as well. Weirdly you wondered how it would feel to stick your finger in his gauged earlobe, maybe that was the current boredom speaking.

Your friend was speaking, but you had it tuned out until your name was mentioned, your head quickly turned to the conversation beside you. Your friend was now towards you “Drinks?” she asked, that one word putting you out of your misery finally. “Please” is all you said in return.

Her older friend signaled you both to follow, you awkwardly shuffled behind them both trying your hardest not to get shoved into. College parties were definitely a little rough, it wasn’t your first but you were definitely more fond of the bigger, less crowded ones. As you walked you took in the house, it wasn’t very big, enough to host this party anyway, but the rooms were still full of people, so I guess it worked out.

When you entered the kitchen, your friend was already leaping towards the mess of random bottles and drinks everywhere, and the gauged guy had already begun pouring drinks for the three of you. When the red solo cup finally was handed to your reach, you pressed it to your lips, gulping down the liquid inside. It wasn’t gross but it hurt to swallow. You squinted your eyes at the taste and he let out a slight chuckle “Good right?” he spoke, sarcastically it seemed, all you could do is give a pressed-lip smile and an awkward raise of your brows.

“So who’s house is this anyway?” your friend ended up asking the guy as she too took a swig from her cup. “A buddy of mine, he should be around here somewhere” he said, shrugging, and as if on cue another man appeared, pushing his way through the crowded kitchen entrance. He was tall, and boyishly cute with a litter of tattoos on his arms as well.

Sporting a pair of black, street-stylish kind of joggers and a gray crewneck that matched the beanie sitting atop his head. You couldn’t help but think he looked familiar, you probably shared a class with the guy. “Josh!” he called, now labeling the man you’ve been standing around for the entire time you’ve been here.

“Tyler, where’ve you been?” Josh asked him, leaning in for one of those weird manly hugs that guys do “Your own party and you can’t even show up on time huh?” He continued, smiling. Tyler looked you and your friend up and down for a short moment, making eye contact with you in the process before replying to his friend “Just a bit of pre-game before I got down here” you could tell he meant smoking beforehand, his eyes were glossy, you studied them for a moment before he spoke again “And who are these ladies?” He asked Josh, smiling at you both.

After Josh’s very quick introduction of you guys you’d gathered the two were very close, and- very cute as their personalities clashed playfully. Tyler- the man now awkwardly standing in front of you as Josh and your friend chatted, seemed sweet. “So, this is your place?” you spoke, breaking the silence between you two, his eyes caught in yours when you asked “Uhh- yeah, well my parent’s really but they’re on a long vacation right now.” He replied, you followed his lips as he spoke, already feeling a bit fuzzy with a refill now in your cup.

“Mmm that’s nice, so you host parties here when they’re away” you said, gazing over his reflective eyes, he reached up to scratch his neck slightly, he was kind-of awkward in a way that peaked your interest “Yeah I mean, it’s definitely one way to make yourself known around here, parties” He replied, shrugging “And That’s what you want? To be ‘known around here’?” you asked, smirking, using your free hand to push a fallen strand of hair out of your face. He chuckled slightly at your words “Doesn’t everyone?” he said, you slightly tilted your head, shrugging at his question.

You both stared at each other, and your surroundings for a few minutes, basking in the music, conversation, and the heated feeling coursing through your body. Your cheeks felt flushed, you even lifted a hand up to feel your skin, it was hot to the touch and he noticed that. “Do you wanna head somewhere else? It’s better upstairs probably- colder I mean” Tyler asked, you hesitated for a moment before replying with a simple “Yeah” and downing the rest of your drink, it stung you for a moment before settling.

He spoke quickly to Josh, a farewell for you both before taking your arm and leading you through the crowd of bodies, not without a few pushes. Heading up the stairs was sorta difficult but his hand kept a steady lead on you as you pushed yourself upwards, feet heavy beneath you.

The hallways were still littered with a few bodies, you even managed to see a sloppy make out session between- not two but three people at the end of the hall, you mumbled a quiet “weird” mindlessly. You weren’t really paying attention to much until he pushed open, what you assumed to be his bedroom door.

The room wasn’t much, at least nothing you could specifically notice in your fuzzy mental state besides the dark gray walls that seemed to match him, you pondered if he was as intoxicated as you were. I guess your thoughts were answered when he slowly sat himself on the ground instead of the bed, or a chair. His eyes weren’t focused on anything in specific but the red tint in them was obvious, especially when he met yours.

You smiled to yourself, settling down on the carpet crisscrossed next to him. “Do you want to uhh- smoke?” He asked, smiling, reaching in his pocket for what seemed to be a cart. “Sure..” you replied. He reached out his arm, handing it to you, and you slowly put it to your lips. You held the smoke in your cheeks for a moment, before inhaling, it scratched at your throat before being let out.

Instantly, you coughed a few times, not the prettiest site that’s for sure. It was a moment before the slight feeling had settled in your mind. His eyes lingered on you before you handed it back, he lifted it to his own lips and you stared blankly at him as he repeated the same process. Watching the smoke slide out from his lips effortlessly ignited a feeling in your chest, it was probably the alcohol making you feel more flustered.

“You come here with anyone besides your friend?” He asked, obviously wanting to ask if you came here with a partner or something, ‘smooth’ you thought sarcastically. “Nope, just us” You smiled “She seems to be very interested in your friend, that Josh guy.” You spoke mindlessly. He nodded, grinning. Paying attention, you noticed his crooked smile for the first time, and lingered on the feeling his features left in your stomach. “Yeah I’ve certainly heard a lot about her from him” you both let out small giggles in the realization both your friends definitely were into each other.

The music boomed from downstairs, reaching the bedroom walls with its volume. It was silent between you two as you relaxed. The pair of you ended up deciding it would be comfier to lay down on the carpet side-by-side as you chatted with one another, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling of his room.

The walls were painted blue after he turned on a small colored light off in the corner of his room, it was less harsh then the original big light’s grasp over the room. You felt like you were someplace else now, more free then the messy crowd of your thoughts usually left you in. You both spoke mindlessly, on random topics that didn’t get you anywhere in the knowing-each-other-very-well department and yet you still felt closer to him at the moment than anyone else in the house.

“How come we’ve never talked to each other before?” he asked, pausing for a moment before continuing “I’ve definitely seen you around” his head was turned towards you, as was yours to him as your bodies sprawled out on the floor. You simply shrugged, glossing your eyes over the position in which you both laid. He hummed slightly in recognition of your response, tracing his fingers on the pocket outline of his joggers.

You bit your lip, chewing on it slightly as your mind was blank besides the occasional thought about the boy next to you. Your head turned towards him, carefully studying the way his chest rose and fell, the slight sigh that exited his lips every few minutes made its way into your ears. You lifted yourself slightly off the floor, enough to scoot yourself slightly over him, now with only your head hovering slightly over his.

His attention was now off the soulless wall and onto you “Hmm?” He hummed, half lidded eyes with tiredness looking up to you. You spoke softly then “Can i?” It was obvious what you were asking, though you had no idea where the burst of boldness came from. It was the moment, peaceful and drunk on the silence between the two of you that caused the tension to rise. He only stared at you for a moment, slightly taken aback before he replied “Yeah”.

It was a ‘why not?’ moment, at least that's what you thought, and assumed he shared that idea. You hovered over him for a moment before leaning forward and placing your lips onto his. It was a chapped kiss, but you could hardly care, with the dryness of your throat it felt good to indulge in someone else’s. The position was awkward, with you slightly on your side and him laying flat down, so you scooted closer, lifting your leg and straddling him on the floor.

The kiss was hardly broken before you dove back into it, clashing your lips with his before the wetness of your tongues got involved. It was teethy just a bit, in a momentarily relaxed humorous way, you couldn’t help but smile into the heated kiss, and his hands snakes their way around your waist. Your shirt was slightly slid up at the moment with you on top of him, and his fingers found their way inside, heating your bare skin with his calloused fingers, you wondered if he’s ever played an instrument with the way his hands ignited your skin as they explored.

You felt it against you now as you slightly grinded on his body, he groaned and bit your lip accidentally “shit- sorry” Is all he mumbled before gliding his tongue over the wound. All you could do is moan in response to his quick actions, it was fast and yet felt so slow. He broke the kiss for a moment, panting as were you. His hands pulled your top slightly before his eyes met yours, as if asking ‘could I?’ with no words at all, you simply guided his hands further to take your top off and discard behind you.

It was clear you both weren’t in the best mind-space to do what you were doing. It was fast, random, and possibly a stupid idea, yet you couldn’t stop and neither could he. It was hot, the air around you, even after going top-less. The clothes-discarding was messy for both of you, sliding his ridiculous beanie off his head and looking up to you for assistance gliding his sweater over his head. He was slightly sitting up at this point, running his hands down your back to unclasp the one item between him and your tits.

He was eager, you could feel it underneath you, even being this close to him sent waves of pleasure down your spine, your heart tingled with that familiar feeling of warmth, lust mistaken for love. When you reached down to pull down your bottoms he paused “Are you sure- you want to?” he asked, in a breathy voice that made you even more flustered “I’m sure” you replied in a softer voice before sliding your bottoms down your legs awkwardly. In this mist of that he began doing the same.

He leaned upwards again, pressing his nose into your neck “Do you wanna move to the bed?” He spoke slowly, you gave him a quick “Mhm..” before you both stood up, dizzy with arousal and your medicated state of mind. You both stepped on your own discarded clothes before falling onto the bed, your lips entwined as you did so. He was on top of you now, both of you left in nothing but the lower part of your underwear.

He pressed sloppy kisses to your chin, leading down into your neck and you moaned “Tyler..” saying his name felt so dirty, he was after all practically a stranger you’d just met, you felt dirty, but in a way you liked how the spur of the moment made you feel. It was erotic how he pressed his lips to your chest, cupping one of your breasts with his hand while the other one made its way down to the band of your underwear slightly tugging on it before sliding it down your bare legs.

You panted underneath him, blinking slowly, batting your eyelashes at him as he tugged his own boxers down his legs, tossing them off the bed. You guided your eyes down his length before kissing him tightly again. His rough fingers found their way to your folds gliding them in place, you moaned a breathy moan, mouth gaped open. “s-shit” he said, noticing how your arousal was already wet to the touch.

He stopped his fingers for a moment, lowering himself down your body slightly. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he stroked his dick a few times before positioning it between your folds. He kissed you, hard and slid into the warmth of your cunt, losing his breath in the process. “Fuck” he groaned into your mouth, you could only whine into his, sliding your fingers up his neck to tussle his hair between them. It took him a moment to fully insert himself into you, but once he did he slowly started rocking himself against you.

Your bodies grinded into one mess, his cock pumping in and out of you, you swore if you put a hand to your stomach you might be able to feel him inside of you. The feeling of arousal not only flooded your mind but you could feel it coating his dick as he pushed in and out of you. Your eyes were shut, basking in the lustful emotions that coursed throughout your body. Your skin was sweaty to the touch, and so was his.

You followed the tattoos on his arm up to his bicep, grabbing it when he picked up the pace. The erotic noises that left your mouth would put sober you to shame but right now you could give less of a shit. The music was loud, you hoped it was loud enough to drown out the slapping of skin between you both. As he pumped himself in and out of you, you reached a hand down to rub your clit softly, only increasing the pleasure.

He leaned into your neck again, breath hot against you, you shivered. Whining and moaning as he sucked on your supple skin, leaving marks that you were sure you’d need a shit ton of color corrector and concealer for in the morning. You felt you were coming to an end, the heat in your stomach beginning to come loose. A wave of heat coursed through you before you came crashing down with a loud moan, white poured out of your cunt and onto his dick “Fuuuck me, you’re so perfect” He spoke up finally, still thrusting he rode out your high, reaching his own in the process.

His features squinted, eyebrows raised in ecstasy. He pulled out of you quickly before he gave out, giving his own dick a few strokes before spurting his seed onto your stomach. The air was heavy with panting between the both of you, and he flopped over to the other side of the bed. At this point you barely felt the drunk of alcohol anymore, just exhausted and still high, wiping beads of sweat off your forehead.

“We should do this- again sometime” he said, chuckling softly, all you could do is snort at his boldness, leaning over to kiss him again. “Mind if I stay the night?” you asked, he only smiled at you before pulling the covers over you both, which smelt strongly of you both now.

#tyler joseph #tyler joseph x reader #twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #tyler joseph x you #tyler joseph x f!reader #tøp #tøp clique #tøp fic #tyler joseph fic #josh dun #josh dunn

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typical-simplelove · 6 months ago

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How Did It End? (C. Alcaraz)

Author's Note: If you know the song, it only kind of follows the song, but this has been an idea circulating in my mind for a while. I want to say more, but then it would spoil the ending, so please read!!! Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: brief mentions/allusions to death

Taking a deep breath, you walked into the coffee shop. Despite being a mutual friend and getting good references from the in-between friend, it’s still nerve-wracking going on a blind date. Well, it was only a semi-blind date. You’ve met him before, and you stalked his Instagram after briefly setting up a time and date with him.

Carlos Alcaraz.

The man of the moment in the tennis world.

A friend of a friend, who apparently, according to the mutual friend, has been asking about you. He’d been asking about you for the past couple of months, and the mutual friend finally decided to talk to you and talk up the man in question.

Carlos was a stupidly beautiful man. From his side profile to his hair to his legs, he was an all-around beautiful man, and if your friend was telling the truth, he had a nice, funny, and great personality.

He seemed to be everything you’ve been looking for in a partner.

Once stepping inside, you moved to the side, wanting to people-watch and observe Carlos before walking up to him. He was standing near where the line for ordering and paying was ending, gesturing for people to get in line as he was waiting and not yet in line. He was nervous, pulling at the edge of his sleeves, playing with his watch.

Deciding to take him out of his misery, you walk towards Carlos. It was as if he could sense your presence because when you’re a few feet away, Carlos looks up. When his eyes meet yours, a big smile grazes his face.

“Hi, it’s nice to see you again,” Carlos says once he walks over to you.

“Likewise,” you smile. “Should we order?”

He nods. “I was super nervous and got here early, so I know what I want.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Damn, that was cute. Carlos was cute—in every measure of the word.

Maybe this date wouldn’t go so badly.

When you and Carlos get in line, neither of you says anything. The likely conclusion was that you were focusing on what to order and Carlos was respecting that, but the nerves in your body were circulating like crazy, so maybe the nerves were part of the reason why you couldn’t put any words together to say anything.

The heat reflecting off of Carlos’ body onto you is indescribable, and you can’t help but fan yourself as your body grows in warmth at his proximity.

Thankfully, the wait in line isn’t long, and you don’t have to find something to say that isn’t along the lines of, “Your body is so warm that it’s making me overheat, but in a good way.”

Carlos gestures for you to go ahead, and as you walk up to the cashier, you immediately feel iciness take over your body as you move away from him and his incredulous warmth.

“Hi, yes, can I get a . . .” you begin, picking out your desired coffee and two pastries.

“And, can I get a sweet iced lemon tea and the gluten-free, vegan chocolate-chip loaf, please,” Carlos says from behind you, and you’re suddenly very much aware of his body near yours. It’s so obvious that you can’t even begin to comprehend the insanity of Carlos’ order.

As the barista turns their screen around to show you the total and awaits your credit card’s tap, Carlos’ phone is quick, resting against the screen.

With a quick thank you, both you and Carlos move away from the line. “I could pay for myself, and us, by the way,” you mention, hoping you don’t sound snarky. You just wanted him to know that you were capable of it, that’s all.

He nods. “Next time. Do you want to sit at that table?” He’s gesturing towards a little corner table.

“Sure.”

When you both take a seat, an awkwardness overtakes the two of you. Now, there’s no excuse of reading a menu to use as the reason for the silence. You try not to let yourself get disappointed. After all, chemistry isn’t always instant, and quick, easy banter isn’t always natural. Sometimes, it takes getting to know someone before that conversation easily flows and ebbs. You were hoping (more like begging) that the latter would the situation with you and Carlos. He had a pull on you, and you wanted to discover that pull.

Thankfully, it’s only a few moments of silence before the barista calls out your order number, and Carlos is quick to tell you he can grab everything and bring it back to the table. You agree, but still get up, moving towards the napkins to grab a bunch.

“Your order is quite an enigma,” you tell him after taking a sip of your coffee.

“Enigma?”

“A mystery.”

He nods. “In what way?”

“No coffee?”

Carlos shakes his head, a smile gracing his face. “I think I add a lot of sugar to my coffee. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was a child on our first date.”

“So you got the tea?” you tease.

“Seemed like the safest option.”

“But the loaf? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Carlos chuckles, letting his deep laughter fill the space between the two of you.

“The drink has a lot of sugar in it, so I balanced it out,” he explains.

You shake your head, trying to hide the wide smile that’s trying to broach your face. “That’s kind of ridiculous.”

He shrugs. “It works for me.”

You’re looking down at your coffee, and when you look up at Carlos, you find him already staring at you, his dark eyes looking deeply at you. “So,” you start, clearing your throat from the intimacy and intensity of the situation. “Tell me about your family.”

. . .

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts.

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household must have been insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face.

Again, he shrugs. Does he know how cute his shrug is? “I don’t know how to measure testosterone.”

Your forehead crinkles in amusement as you shake your head. He’s so effortlessly funny and adorable that you’re not sure he’s real. How can someone this attractive also be silly, funny, and adorable at the same time? He was a paradox—a paradox that you wanted to learn more about. “Don’t worry about it; it’s more of a vibe than it is something to measure,” you explain.

“A vibe,” he repeats, looking contemplative.

“Anyway, tell me more about your brothers,” you prompt.

Thinking about his brothers, Carlos’ eyes light up. It’s clear how much he loves his family. He gives you brief introductions to his brothers, throwing in small comments and stories about the four of them.

“Do you have pictures?” you ask, curious to see pictures of him growing up, beyond what you can find from stalking his Instagram or going deep in a Google Search.

“Sí, sí,” he answers, pulling out his phone. In a few photographs, he shows you his family, taking a brief moment to watch as you take his phone for a closer look.

“You have a cute family,” you say, smiling.

Carlos wanted to comment on you one day joining his family, but he wasn’t sure if that was too forward for a first date and if it would make him look creepy. So, he opted to give you a small smile with a curt nod. “Tell me about your family. I’ve been talking a lot.”

It took you a moment to try to find the right words, and when you did, you dove in about your family and loved ones, telling small anecdotes about your childhood and the past couple of years.

From there, the conversation flowed easily, with you and Carlos exchanging questions back and forth trying to get to know each other. Before either of you know it, the cafe is getting ready to close soon.

“I guess we should get out of here,” Carlos says, eyeing the barista starting to sweep on the other side of the establishment.

“Probably,” you reply, slowly getting out of your seat and collecting your trash.

“Did you want to go do something else?” Carlos prompts, hoping you’ll say yes but also that he’s not being too forward.

Glancing down at your phone, you notice the time and how it’s close to seven. “I want to, but I’ve got to get home and get some work done. I’ve got some assignments due soon. Maybe later this week or next?”

Despite how long you and Carlos spent talking, the conversation, surprisingly never reached the topic of his tennis or your academic studies and work.

“I have to leave for a tournament,” Carlos says, “but maybe when I get back and you’re in a lighter week of work and assignments?”

You smile. “I’d like that a lot.”

“What are you studying?” Carlos prompts you after you both receive your ice cream from the vendor and begin walking along a path in the park near your apartment.

You give him a small glare because he asked you the question right when you took a bite of your ice cream. When he catches your eye as you glare, he gives you a small smirk. After swallowing, you tell him what you’re studying.

“How did you decide upon that?” he asks.

“I kind of thought about what I didn’t want to do, and then from there, I looked at my options and used my personality and skills to find a path that I felt best suited me.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

You nod enthusiastically. “A lot, yeah.”

“Tell me about some of the classes you’re taking.”

With a deep breath, you dive into the classes you’re taking—from the ones that are focused on the major and career path to the ones that fulfill your general education requirements. You also fill in Carlos about your job and the extracurriculars you participate in in addition to your heavy course load.

“So, I should be honored that I’ve been put into your schedule more than once, considering how busy you are,” he jokes, but it’s clear that he’s sincere and is putting himself out there, showing you how important you are to him, despite only seeing each other for a month.

A short laugh escapes your lips. “Don’t let that go to your head. Regardless, you’re pretty busy with tennis, so if anything the honor should be mine. You travel a lot, and I kind of just stay here.”

“If it’s important, I’ll find the time for it,” Carlos says, no hint of teasing or flirting in his voice. He’s serious. You don’t want to look at him because you know his eyes are on you, and if the way your face is heating up from being under his gaze, you know his gaze is intense, making sure you understand fully the gravity of his words.

You can’t help it, though, and look at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes searching your face. He looks worried, as if he might have overstepped the unwritten and invisible line. Finally, the words leave your mouth, and you say, “I feel the same way.”

“Good,” he murmurs under his breath, barely above a whisper. It’s a surprise that you can hear his words. However, whenever you’re around Carlos, your senses are heightened and elevated, so it’s no wonder you’re acutely attuned to his words.

As if embarrassed, you and Carlos both turn away from each other, opting to look ahead as you both continue walking and eating your ice cream.

“Why tennis?” you voice, trying to ease and thin the intensity brewing between you and Carlos.

His eyes crinkle in line with the smile. Even though you’re only seeing his side profile, you can tell that he’s got a wide smile on his face. This might be only the second time that you and Carlos are meeting in person, but you can already tell that you’re falling fast and hard for this man. The past couple of weeks since the cafe date have been filled with you and Carlos communicating constantly. Between the memes and videos sent back and forth on Instagram to the actual, silly conversations conversed via text, there was no limit to reasons you could point to for Carlos being someone who you would want to keep seeing and potentially date further down the line.

“Rafael Nadal” is his reply with little to no explanation. “He was my hero growing up, and I wanted to play just like him. And as I started playing, I started to love the sport. It’s all I want to do, now.”

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm and love for the sport. It’s hard to find people who truly feel so passionately about something, and it’s admirable to see this trait in Carlos. “I’m glad that you have that.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving you a small smile.

From there, the conversation stills, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable. It feels like if you say anything, it would be forcing a conversation that isn’t supposed to happen. Walking in silence is comfortable and unique and precious. You’re enjoying the peacefulness while walking with Carlos; it feels as if everything is right for the first time in a long time.

Now and then, while walking, Carlos (or is it you?) will accidentally (but is it?) bump his arm against yours or will accidentally (again, is it??) brush his hand against yours. At first, you thought it was because sometimes it’s difficult to perpetually walk in a straight line, and he apologized for the first couple of times, but when he kept doing it and stopped apologizing, you tried your hardest to hide a bashful smile at his small attempts at physical contact. He was trying, and it was cute. It was clear, too, that he had no idea if his attempts were working, and he didn’t know how to initiate anything—if the inability to look at you and his perpetual staring off into the distance were any indication.

You decided to take him out of his misery.

“Are you done with your ice cream? I’m going to toss mine in the trash up ahead; I can take yours,” you comment.

“Sure,” he replies, placing his empty container into yours for ease of throwing out. You try not to laugh at the way he made sure none of his fingers touched yours. When you looked up at him during the interaction, his eyes were hooded, and his cheeks were lightly dusted pink. You couldn’t tell if the pink was from the warmth of the day or from being around you; you were hoping it was the latter.

When you and Carlos approached the trash can, you broke formation, jogging slightly ahead to toss the trash. As you rejoined him, you made sure to have your arm parallel to his, with your hand close to his. Carlos has been the one to take the initiative in physical contact, so you decided to follow suit, attempting to reassure it wasn’t one-sided.

For a few minutes, now and then, you’d brush your hand against his, letting your pink finger gently graze his knuckles. The first few times you did the action, you could hear Carlos’ breath hitch. He was surprised and nervous, but it was cute.

Damn, Carlos was so cute; you couldn’t contain how cute he was, in every definition of the word beyond physicality.

You continued to tease him, trying to see how bashful he could get. Eventually, you decided to take him out of his misery when you noticed he stopped pointing out the ducks that he saw swimming in the adjacent lake or the little babies and toddlers in their strollers. In a swift motion, you linked your pinky finger with his, your thumb making soft circles on the back of his hand, across his knuckles.

You wanted to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to push Carlos beyond what he was comfortable with. So, you didn’t do anything else. You kept your pinky finger interlocked with his. He didn’t make any motion or movement indicating he was uncomfortable with the action or that he wanted you to remove your hand.

However, you did notice that his breathing got heavier. For someone as fit as Carlos, the short, brisk, and slow walk you were taking shouldn’t have been something that caused him to get out of breath. His rapid blinking was a dead giveaway. Carlos was building up the courage to do something. You didn’t want to spook him, but you also wanted to reassure him that you were okay with whatever he wanted to do, so you brushed your elbow against his.

That seemed to be everything he needed because, within seconds, Carlos was taking your entire hand in his, interlocking your fingers with his. This time, you can’t help the wide smile that erupts across your face.

Oh, this man.

“Okay?” Carlos asks, nervously, not wanting to overstep anything.

You nod. “It’s all okay.”

For the next month and a half, or so, following your and Carlos’ date at the park, you were regularly hanging out and seeing each other, with the in-between moments filled with phone calls and text messages. Even if he was traveling, Carlos made a concerted effort to work around both your and his schedules to find perfect times to text you uninterrupted or call you. That didn’t stop, though, the random thoughts that popped into his head. These random thoughts never failed to put a giant, goofy smile on your face.

There were no words to explain the way Carlos made you feel; the only way you could sum it up was that you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really liked him.

Finally, after not seeing each other in person for almost two weeks, your work and class schedule aligned with Carlos’ training, business, and tournament schedule to have a movie night.

Because he still lived with his parents and didn’t want to subject you to that (and you weren’t quite ready for that), the decision was for him to go to your apartment. It was the first time you were going to be together in one of your guys’ living places. Often, you hung out in public places together, from little cafes to restaurants to the times he joined you at the library or study locations during intense exam times.

His being in your home was a new level of intimacy you weren’t ready for, but it was exciting to show him a new piece of yourself.

When Carlos walked into your apartment (twenty minutes early!), you gave him an apartment tour, albeit a short tour. This didn’t stop Carlos, though, from asking questions about various decor choices you made or pictures you have hanging around the place. Even the smallest details weren’t lost on him, and he soaked in every moment of learning about your living environment.

“It’s not a big deal, Carlos.” You try to take him away from the shelves littered with old picture books and frames and yearbooks.

“It’s a very big deal,” he says, pulling a book with pictures from your first year of university. With wide eyes, you snatch the photo album from his hands, remembering some of the more embarrassing photos of you in it, not ready for that kind of vulnerability.

You try to ignore the teasing pout on Carlos’ face as he tries to guilt-trip you into letting him see the photo album. “You brought some really great snacks and take-out; let’s eat.”

Walking into your kitchen, you try to ignore the presence of Carlos in your living space and what it means for your relationship. Neither of you have brought up the topic of the status of your relationship. It doesn’t necessarily worry you, but you hope it naturally comes up soon.

“Hey,” Carlos says, approaching you in the kitchen. He places his hands on your waist, gently, in an attempt not to spook you. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” And it was the truth; you just didn’t want him to see embarrassing photos of you.

“Still,” he murmurs, kissing your temples, one at a time, before following the same pattern with your cheeks before moving to your neck, followed by your shoulders. “Should have asked first.”

You turn around in his embrace to look at him. “I have very embarrassing photos of me in that album. I’m hoping I go to the grave before anyone else sees those photos.”

“Embarrassing photos, you say? Now, I know what I’m doing when you go to the bathroom,” Carlos jokes.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, your face growing warm. You try to turn back to face the counter while still remaining in Carlos’ embrace, but his eyes are captivating you, and the feel of his hands on your waist paralyzes you. Without any words, you rest your hands at the back of Carlos’ neck and pull him in for a kiss. You can feel the smile/smirk on his face as his lips touch yours.

“No promises,” he murmurs against your lips as you pull away. In one swift motion, he turns you around and moves to your side to help you get the to-go containers situated.

With ease, you and Carlos set out placemats on your coffee table in front of your TV and set the various food, snacks, and drinks on the table to have for the movie.

“Preferences on a movie?” you question, settling on the couch next to Carlos. You follow up the question by listing out the various streaming services you have.

“Pick one of your favorites first,” he replies, moving forward to make a plate of food and snacks for himself.

You nod, picking one of your favorite movies to show. There’s no better test to a relationship than showing the other person one of your favorite movies. As the movie begins and continues through the plot, you’re extremely aware of Carlos’ presence on your couch. It’s different, but you like it. You like him here with you, and you want him always here with you.

Halfway through the movie, you’re moving to adjust your legs into a more comfortable position. You’re not quite sure which pose or stance is going to be the most comfortable, so you’re trying out a few different stances. Carlos notices, and when you stop moving but are clearly trying to find a different pose, he takes your legs and drapes them across his lap, resting his hands on your ankles, brushing little patterns along the skin on your lower leg.

Yeah, that was the pose.

“Okay?” he asks. That was his thing. Whenever he tried something physical that was new to your relationship, he always followed it up with this question.

You nod. “Okay.”

A brief smile overtakes his face before he returns his attention to the movie. Through the remainder of the movie, your legs are comfortable in his lap as his hands trace patterns across the exposed skin of your legs. Normally, you were very ticklish; you couldn’t get through a pedicure without giggling and flinching. However, when Carlos traces his patterns and touches your legs, you don’t notice it. You’re not ticklish one little bit. Interesting, you think to yourself.

When the movie is over, you give him the remote. “Your turn. Pick a movie.”

He nods, taking the remote in one hand, and leaving his other hand firmly on your legs in his lap. He’s scrolling through the various options when he gets a phone call.

“It’s my mother,” Carlos tells you. “Okay if I answer it?”

You nod. “Of course.”

As he answers the call, you lean forward to grab some of the snacks on the coffee table. You try not to listen to his conversation, but his mother on the other side of the phone is loud. Either, she talks very loudly or the volume is very loud, and you’re not sure which one it is.

“Where are you?” you hear his mother say. Your attention is heightened and focused on Carlos’ response. What is he going to say? You’re not looking at him, but from your periphery, you see him look at you as he figures out what to say.

“Out” is what he decides to go with. Okay, interesting.

“¿Con tu novia?” she replies (with your girlfriend?).

That makes you sit up straighter. Now, you were very interested in what he was going to say.

“Sí” is what he follows with.

You don’t hear what she replies with. Your ears are ringing with the knowledge that Carlos called you his girlfriend. Hopefully, he wasn’t just saying it to get his mother off his back and actually meant it.

Another minute passes of Carlos talking on the phone before he hangs up the phone. You’re not looking at him, and he can’t get a good read off of what you’re feeling or thinking. He knows that neither of you has brought up the topic, but he’s been telling people he has a girlfriend. Maybe he should have talked about it with you first before telling people, but it doesn’t change how he feels about you and where he wants the relationship to go. He opts to continue flipping through the movie selections, giving you the time to process and figure out what you want to say.

“Am I actually your girlfriend, or is that something you told your mom to get her off your back?” you finally say, hoping it’s the former.

“I hope you’re actually my girlfriend,” he replies, looking at you with hope and fear. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m actually your girlfriend,” you answer, smiling at the way his shoulders relax and the wide smile overcomes his face. “Is that okay?”

“Very okay.” With that, he leans over and gives you a brief kiss. He pulls you closer to his body, wanting to hold you and feel your warmth against his body.

Well, that’s that.

This year’s Indian Wells tournament happened to be at the same time as your Spring Break, so you managed to find some time off from work to fly out to California to be with him during the tournament. You tried to sleep on the plane, but the nerves were wracking through your body. When Carlos is on the road and in different time zones during various tournaments, you managed to work around your schedules well to accommodate the best times to call each other. Not being there with him during tournaments meant you didn’t truly understand how the stress and pressures impacted him as a player. He tried to hide a lot of it while on the phone so that you didn’t feel helpless by only being available over the phone. The dynamics between the two of you would be different with you there in person.

Additionally, this is the most time you’re going to spend with Carlos’ team. You’ve met them and had several conversations with the various team members, but you’ve never spent extended time with them. You hope they don’t think you’re going to be a distraction for Carlos.

To say the least, you were nervous, and that didn’t even compare to the general nervousness you had for Carlos going into a tournament, especially with some of the troubles and issues he’s been having recently.

Because of his practice schedule, Carlos couldn’t meet you at the airport, so you took a taxi from the airport to the hotel where you sat in the lobby waiting for him. He wouldn’t let you get your own room; he wanted you at his side (and bed).

You only had to wait about an hour—like he said—before you saw him walk into the hotel lobby. He was searching for you among the various individuals sitting on the couches in the lobby, and when his eyes met yours, a giant erupted across his face as he moved towards you. You met him halfway, dragging your suitcase behind you.

“Hi,” he whispers into your hair as he holds you tightly.

“Hi,” you whisper into the fabric sitting on his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks too many,” Carlos contradicts, pulling back from the hug and putting his hand in yours before he re-introduces you to his team. Some of the nerves you were feeling dissipated at the happy smiles on their faces.

“All he’s been talking about the past week has been about you arriving here,” Juanki says. “I don’t know if I could take hearing about it for another day.”

Everyone laughs at Juanki’s remarks, and Carlos kisses your forehead. “I’m very happy you’re here,” he whispers to you.

“Me too,” you reply and begin the walk towards the elevator to Carlos’ hotel room.

The week flies by fast. Your days are spent attending various practices and sitting in the Alcaraz box during matches while relaxing with him in between it all. He’s excelling through the tournament, and before you know it, he’s preparing for his appearance in the finals, vying for the opportunity to defend his title.

Throughout the match, you’re clutching at the sleeves of your sweater, trying your best to remain stoic like the rest of his team so as to support Carlos the best you can.

But then the umpire says, “Game. Set. Match. Alcaraz.” And with that, the entire box jumps up and erupts in cheers, and your heart is bursting at how happy you are for Carlos. This was everything he needed to get his momentum back, and you’re so happy for him.

The rest of the day flies by with media and congratulatory conversations and celebratory drinks and dinner. It isn’t until late that you have a quiet moment alone with Carlos. You’re sitting against the headboard of the bed in your pajamas, waiting for Carlos to change into something comfortable after taking a shower.

When he’s ready, he climbs onto the bed and rests his head in your lap. On instinct, your hands go into his hair to play with it and give his head a massage.

“I couldn’t do it without you here,” he murmurs against your thigh as he lowers his inhibitions as you massage his head.

“Yes, you could have,” you contradict, believing in his potential more than he does.

“Well, then, you were a special motivator to win,” Carlos continues, making your heart melt. You bend down and kiss the top of his head before you return to focusing your attention on his head in your lap.

He has to be exhausted, but you can tell he’s trying his hardest to stay awake—to stay awake for you. After a while, he knows that he can’t remain awake for that much longer, so he says, “Come here.” He moves his body to his side of the bed and pats the space next to him. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

Who are you to deny this adorable man anything? So, you move to switch off the lights and move to maneuver yourself into his arms. When he’s wrapped his arms around your body just so, a sigh of contentment leaves his body, and within seconds, he’s out, his breath even and quiet.

A small smile approaches your face as you kiss his cheek. Within minutes, you, too, are drifting off to sleep, both content with each other.

Quietly, Carlos walks into your apartment, using the key you gave him. You told him that you were busy studying, getting ready for a week of midterms, assignments, and papers due, so he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he’s making sure to make some noise because he doesn’t want you to be startled when he makes his presence known.

Quickly, he shrugs off his shoes and leaves the food and stuff he brought on the kitchen counter, looking around for you. You’re not at the kitchen table where you normally get work done nor are you at the couch where you tend to inhabit when times get stressful. Next, he checks the hallway leading to your bedroom and notices the light on in your room. Before he walks into your room, he returns back to the kitchen and grabs the bouquet of flowers and some of the snacks he bought before going to your room.

When he gets to your open door, he knocks on the door to alert you of his presence. When you hear his knocking, you look up with a big smile and pause the music coming from your computer.

“Hey,” you say, tidying up your bed, slightly, to make room for Carlos among the various textbooks, notebooks, and notes littering your bed.

“Happy Anniversary,” he whispers as he kisses your forehead.

“Happy Anniversary,” you repeat, pulling Carlos in for a hug. With his arms around your body, a lot of the stress that’s been holding you hostage leaves your body. “I’m sorry that I can’t go out tonight or any time this week.”

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. We’ll celebrate our anniversary and you excelling at your work and classes.”

“Thank you,” you say, patting the empty side of your bed for Carlos.

“I’m going to put these flowers in a vase for you first, okay?”

“Okay,” you answer with a small smile.

“I brought you food and stuff. Should I leave it in the kitchen or bring it in here for you?”

“Kitchen,” you reply. “It’ll give me a reason to get out of my filth, but bring some snacks?”

“Obviously,” Carlos remarks before giving you a kiss and walking to put the flowers in a vase. When he returns, he comes back with various chocolate snacks, crackers, and gummies—more than anyone could possibly need.

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing one of your favorites and immediately placing it optimally against your leg so you can grab some as you type away on your paper.

“Of course,” he whispers back, climbing onto your bed.

“I charged my tablet, so you can watch something on it while I get work done if you’re planning on staying.”

He nods. It’s remarkable that even with all these things on your mind, you still can think about him and what he might need. “Whatever you need, let me know.”

Carlos arrived at your apartment around late afternoon, and it’s been many hours since he arrived, and you’ve barely lifted your head to breathe. Despite using your tablet to watch a show (one of your favorites that he’s been trying to catch up on to watch it live with you), Carlos has been watching and observing you. He’s been watching you type away on a paper, finish it, check it off on your checklist, and move on to preparing various study guides for exams.

He knows that you said you wanted dinner in the kitchen, but he knows trying to peel you away from your computer is going to be too much to ask, especially in the middle of completing an assignment, so instead, he watches and waits for you to check off something from your to-do list. When you do, he gently takes your computer off your lap and moves it onto the bedside table on his side of the bed.

“Carlos,” you whine.

“Go to the bathroom,” he instructs. As you follow his instructions, he fluffs up your pillows and grabs another one to support your back before he goes to the kitchen to grab dinner for the both of you.

When he gets back to your bedroom, you’re just leaving the bathroom after you used the toilet, washed your face, and brushed your hair.

“I got you some food, so you can eat it while also getting work done,” Carlos says, gesturing for you to sit as he hands you a bowl. When you’re comfortably situated on your bed, Carlos places his bowl on the bedside table and gives you your computer back.

When you get your computer back, you quickly make sure all your documents are saved before closing your computer and putting it to the side. When Carlos gives you a quizzical look, you say, “It’s our anniversary. The least I can do is have dinner with you.”

“No, if you need to get something done, it’s okay,” Carlos contradicts.

You shake your head. “I need a break anyway.”

“But you can—”

“I want to have dinner with you, Carlos, not my computer screen.”

“Okay,” he says, a wide smile overtaking his face.

While this might not have been the anniversary night Carlos thought he would be having with his partner, it was one he wouldn’t trade for anything. You’re a great source of support and love with his tennis career and his insane schedule, so it felt right to return the deed and support and take care of you when you were busy and needed him. After all, that’s what relationships are, Carlos is starting to learn. Taking care of each other, and carrying more of that weight when necessary so your partner doesn’t sink amid everything.

Carlos made a silent vow to be your anchor for as long as you’ll have him—and he hopes it’s forever.

“It’s kind of funny that three years ago, Chris was the one who introduced us, and now we just attended her engagement party, together, as a couple,” Carlos reflects, kissing your forehead. You lean further into his touch, letting his hand fall from yours so that his arm can wrap around your shoulders. He smelled good; he always smelled good.

“Makes you think about how our lives would be different,” you continue. “We could have just been two strangers at this party.”

Carlos shudders. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Good, me neither,” you reply, looking into his deep, chocolate-brown eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Without saying anything else, Carlos takes your hand in his and begins the walk across the street. It was one of those longer avenues, with less than enough time to cross the street. You follow him, knowing you’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

“You know,” he says when you’re still a few feet away from the mid-point of the avenue-cross way. “Attending an engagement party tonight has got me thinking.”

From his words, you kind of know where he’s going with his thoughts, but you still want to tease and embarrass him as he gets all his thoughts out. “Mmm, dreaming of your white, lacy dress?”

“No,” Carlos says, slightly defensively. You look up at him and can see a faint flush under the street lights as you’re still crossing the street. “Just that maybe we’d want that for us, one day? What do you think?”

You’re still looking at him and crossing the street when you see his eyes go wide with fear. His face lights up with the white of a headlight, and for a split second you turn your head, and the bright white of the headlights blinds your vision.

At least it’s with the love of your life, you think to yourself as Carlos squeezes your hand one last time.

. . .

As the headlights blared into your eyes, you blinked, bringing you back to the little corner table where you and Carlos were sitting—back to the present, away from your imagination.

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts.

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household is insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face.

He continues talking about his brothers, giving you little tidbits about their personalities and activities. He had no idea about the spiral that was going through your head at that moment.

You’ve always known that you tend to overthink and think of the worst-case scenarios. That tended to be the one thing that prevented you from doing things, especially dating; not knowing about the in-betweens or how things ended was unnerving to you. What was going to happen after this first date freaked you out.

“Tell me a little bit about your family,” Carlos says, a soft smile on his face, the smile lines around his eyes making you swoon. Oh, this man.

“Well. . .” you begin, diving into your family and their various antics and personalities. They were a handful.

This time, you decided, that it didn’t matter if you didn’t know how things would play out. You were going to try your best not to let yourself overthink and live in the moment. That was going to be difficult, you knew, but somehow, the way Carlos made you feel helped you realize that, no matter what, it would all work out just fine.

You didn’t know how it would end, but the journey might be worth whatever the ending actually was.

After all, you know you have an overactive imagination, leading to self-sabotage at the purest and best things in the world.

This kind of connection with Carlos happened once every few lifetimes. Who were you to deny the universe the connection it wanted?

#claudia writes #carlos alcaraz #carlos alcaraz x reader #tennis fic #carlos alcaraz fic #op: 2024 #carlos alcaraz imagine

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blue-slxt · 1 year ago

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Common Ground

*Request: I seen that you were asking for a request! Imagine lo'ak and ao'nung who can hardly stand each other are forced to hunt together by their parents, and they find reader who's in heat deep in the forest. Maybe reader is a shared friend or she doesn't like either of them, but she's so needy because of her heat! Maybe a bit of tail play and marking, if that's something you're up for!*

I loved this one. I got worked up just writing this. Y’all are hitting all the right spots with these requests. I’m still getting used to writing Ao’nung so this was a nice challenge. Hope you like how this turned out! 🤗 All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“I can’t believe you got us into this mess.” Ao’nung grumbles beside Lo’ak.

His face whips to look at him, “Me? You’re the one that was talking shit about my family!” he retorts.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung didn’t really like each other at the best of times. And at the worst of times, they were at each other’s throats. Jake and Tonowari had decided that enough was enough after the two of them had gotten into another fist fight earlier today. They had come to the decision that they would send the two on a trip together into the forest and Tonowari ordered them to not come back out until they had found some kind of common ground.

Now, here they were an hour deep into the forest and still ready to tear each other to shreds.

“It is not my fault that you are freaks with your five fingers.” Ao’nung spits at him.

Lo’ak gets in his face, “Yeah? Want these five fingers to deck you in the fucking mouth again?” Ao’nung pushes him and just as Lo’ak is about to launch himself at him, they both hear a sound.

“Shit!”

Both of their ears turn in the direction of the voice recognizing it immediately. They both forget their anger for long enough to slowly move towards the sound. The closer they get, the more they hear. Mumbled curses and obscene moans reach their ears and their tails sway in curiosity.

Neither of them are quite prepared for the sight they’re met with. You’re in the middle of nowhere, skin glistening from sweat, and your chest was heaving with every breath. Your face was turned away from them and they got a full view of your bare cunt grinding helplessly against your fingers, your arousal dripping down your knuckles.

“Fuck.” Lo’ak quietly mumbles feeling himself instantly get hard. Even though he said it so quietly, all of your senses are turned up to the max right now and you still hear him.

“Who’s there?” you call out removing your fingers from your core and sitting up to look around. It wasn’t like there was much you could really do in your currently dazed state though.

Ao’nung and Lo’ak emerge from the bushes and you let out a loud groan, “Not you two.”

You didn’t particularly have a real problem with either of them, but you definitely found them annoying with their constant bickering. It was immature so you kept both of them at arm’s length.

“Geez nice to see you too” Ao’nung shoots at you sarcastically.

“Look, I am not in the mood to deal with the two of you right now, okay? I’m dealing with a lot so could you please leave?”

Lo’ak is about to say something, but gets cut off. “Suit yourself, but I’m not the one who was humping their hand like a desperate animal.” Ao’nung throws his hands up in surrender.

Your face burns in humiliation knowing that they both saw you, but your body is on fire needed something – anything to fill you and finally put an end to your misery. Your thighs squeeze together trying to sooth the ache between them. Ao’nung notices and gives you a devilish smirk.

“Of course, you know we could always help you out.”

Lo’ak’s eyes go wide listening to him talk. You feel yourself clamp down around nothing wanting to take him up on his offer.

“Hold on just a second” Lo’ak says to you before walking Ao’nung over to the side. “What the fuck man?” his voice is a hushed growl.

“Oh come one, you’re telling me you don’t wanna hit that?”

“Fine.” You pipe up finally not being able to take the wait any more.

Both of their heads snap to you and your pupils are blown all the way leaving barely any color to be seen.

“Are you sure?” Lo’ak tries to ask you, but you’re already stripping off your top. “Just hurry up and help me before I change my mind.” You were bluffing. You knew you were too far gone to change your mind even if you tried.

“You heard the lady.” Ao’nung nudged Lo’ak’s shoulder as he circled around to rest behind you. He wastes no time in letting his hands roam up and down your torso while he breathes in your scent. His lips ghost the skin on your neck and makes your hair stand on end. Your skin is hot to the touch, but it does nothing to deter Ao’nung from squeezing one of your breasts and playing with you nipple. It makes your body jolt with each new sensation. You look up at Lo’ak who can’t stop watching you.

You reach out your hand to him with pleading eyes, “Please Lo’ak”. He caves. He falls to his knees in front of you and crashes his lips to yours. You eagerly open your lips and pull his tongue into your mouth so you can taste him. His hands trail up and down your thighs and they spread wanting some kind of touch. He drags one finger between your drenched folds and you both groan at the feeling. Your body trembles in Ao’nung’s grasp and one of his hands sneaks down your back to stroke the base of your tail. Your head falls back against his shoulder while soft pants leave your lips. He smirks seeing your lustful drunken face. He pushes you forward so that you’re on all fours in front of him while he unties his loincloth. He revels in the sight of your juices steadily streaming down your thighs. In this position, you were now eye level with Lo’ak’s bulge. It’s like you can literally hear it calling your name. You can’t even wait for him to untie the knot around his waist before you’re pulling the fabric to the side and freeing his thick cock.

Your mouth immediately fills with saliva taking in his size. You had to have it. You sink him all the way into the back of your throat and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Behind you, Ao’nung coats his dick in your slick and easily plunges into your greedy cunt. You want to moan from being filled at last, but you can only manage to hum around Lo’ak’s tip still buried in your mouth. The vibration makes him throw his head back. “Shit.”

Ao’nung thrusts into you watching how your hole just swallows his cock happily. Every thrust from behind pushes you forward onto Lo’ak even more if that were possible. Drool and tears run down your face and spill over onto the forest floor.

You push his tip into your throat and swallow. Lo’ak brushes your hair out of your face, “Oh, fuck, just like that pretty girl.” His words tingle in your head and make your pussy clench without your permission.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum inside you if you keep doing that” Ao’nung breathes out while smacking his hips into you. Your eyes roll feeling your orgasm hurling towards you like a boulder. “Is that what you want sevin? You want us to cum inside of you?” Ao’nung wraps your tail around his forearm and tugs it back towards him. You try to yelp, but Lo’ak is keeping his cock buried in your mouth chasing his impending high. “Mhm” is all you can manage to hum out as a response.

This sends Lo’ak over the edge and he bucks his hips up into your throat and spills his cum straight into your throat. You are more than happy to swallow all of it down. You keep sucking on his tip while he cums hoping to get every single last drop he has to offer. You finally pop off of him when his legs start to shake. You gasp for air now that your throat is free, but it doesn’t last long as Lo’ak grabs your face and kisses you deeply again. His tongue dances with yours tasting himself in your mouth and swallowing all of your moans.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you get out between kisses.

Ao’nung drills into your cervix repeatedly inching you closer to your release. His thrusts start to get sloppy and his hips stutter as he finally shoots ropes of thick cum inside of you. The heat spreads through your body and crashes you into your own orgasm finally. Your mouth is stuck in a silent scream while your arms and legs shake.

Ao’nung finally pulls out of you and you fall forward into Lo’ak’s arms. He strokes your hair and whispers small praises into your ear.

Your mind and body start to feel like they’re returning to normal as you come out of your haze. “Thank you, guys. You know, you make a good team when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

Lo’ak and Ao’nung look at each other and offer one another a silent nod of understanding. Guess they found their common ground.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #awow #avatar smut #loak fic #loak #loak smut #loak x reader #lo'ak sully #aonung #aonung imagine #ao’nung #aonung smut #awow smut

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avengersfantasies · 1 year ago

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Anymore - Chapter 3

Summary: Steve confronts Bucky about his offer.

taglist: @kandis-mom @missvelvetsstuff @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @blackhawkfanatic @haruvalentine4321 @felicitylemon

What to expect: angst

✩ Read the series here ✩

“That wasn’t what I said,” Steve argued with you as you sat in your office.

You refused to look at the soldier – gently spinning back and forth in your chair with your arms crossed. “You’re right,” you agreed. “You didn’t say anything…It should’ve been an obvious answer.”

“How was I supposed to automatically know if I wanted to be in their life or not?”

“Because it’s your baby!” you yelled – getting out of your chair and walking up to him. “How the fuck could you not want to be there?” Steve put his hands out to stop you from coming any closer, but that didn’t stop you. You pushed his hands away and got closer. “A real man would’ve immediately stepped up,” you hissed through your clenched teeth. “Like Bucky offered.”

“H-He what?”

You chuckled incredulously. “Yeah,” you confirmed. “He offered to do what you’re scared of.” Steve was growing angrier by the second. “And of course, I, stupidly, insisted on giving you an opportunity to come around.” Without responding, Steve stormed out of the office – slamming the door behind him and causing the oak door to crack. You jumped at the action. You knew he could be a dick, but you never expected him to act out in any way towards you. “Shit,” you whispered to yourself – grabbing your phone and calling up Bucky. You paced as the line trilled, and after what felt like an eternity, Bucky picked up.

“Yes, doll?”

“Buck, he’s pissed,” you blurted out. “He’s coming to find you.”

“Let him.”

You paced in your office as you waited for some word from at least one of the two men. You knew they were both pissed at each other, that they could both beat the life out of the other, but they could also both defend themselves. You didn’t want them hurt. You didn’t want to see Bucky hurt because of you and the baby, and you didn’t want to see Steve hurt because Bucky felt like he needed to stand up for you. Things were definitely over between you and Steve, but you couldn’t deny that there was still a part of you, no matter how small, that cared about him. You loved your baby, obviously, and he was the one who made it with you – even if it wasn’t planned.

Steve burst into Bucky’s training session – immediately connecting a right hook to his jaw.

“Think you’re just gonna swoop in and take my job?” Steve yelled at his fellow soldier. “Seriously? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Bucky stood still and remained stoic as he spoke. “What’s wrong with me?” he scoffed. “Have you looked at yourself lately?” Steve stayed silent and paced back and forth. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt her? I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I fucked up, alright?” Steve admitted. “I’ll own up to that. I know I fucked up, but can’t you see that I’m trying to fix it?”

Bucky chuckled incredulously. “Would you be trying to fix it if a child wasn’t involved? You seemed pretty snuggly with whatever her name is.”

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve groaned. “This is the situation though, and I’m trying to do what I can to make it better.”

“Maybe you leaving them alone is what will make it better,” Bucky shot back.

“How could you even think I’d do that?”

Bucky scoffed. “You didn’t seem to eager to be a dad in the first place,” he reminded the Captain. “If you’re going to be miserable, then stay away…don’t bring your misery to them.”

Steve looked down and shook his head. “You know how much I want to be a dad, Buck.”

“Which is why I was surprised you didn’t start begging for forgiveness and crawling on your hands and knees back to her.”

Without another word, Bucky walked away from the other soldier – slamming his shoulder into his chest as he passed by – causing Steve to stumble to the side. When Bucky left the training room, Steve walked over to the wall and slid to the floor – leaning his head against the wall. He closed his eyes, and tears finally fell from his eyes.

“What did I do?” he quietly asked himself. “What in the hell have I do—”

“Baby?” Steve’s girlfriend called out – walking in to find him sitting on the floor. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at her – instead, he kept his focus on the ceiling. “You should go,” he suggested flatly.

“What?” she scoffed. “Not happening.”

“That wasn’t a request,” Steve said in the same tone.

“So, what?” she questioned. “We’re over?”

Steve finally looked over at her with the tears in his eyes. “You know…I’m really sick of people putting words into my mouth,” he tsked. “Go home. I’ll come over later and we’ll talk.”

She finally agreed and walked out of the room – making sure he knew her attitude was something he’d have to deal with later.

“I think he’s starting to use his brain,” Bucky announced as he came back into your office and grabbed some ice from the freezer. Bucky sat down in the chair across from your desk and iced his jaw.

“What’d he say?”

“He’s acting like he wants to be involved,” Bucky scoffed. “Says he knows he fucked up.”

You nodded. “Well, I won’t keep him from our baby,” you said – helping to make an ice pack for him. “If he wants to be there, then he can be.”

“I think he thinks he wants to be there,” Bucky argued.

You handed him the ice pack. “Maybe a part of me wants to give him that chance.”

“And if he bails?”

“Then I know how he feels,” you shrugged.

“You should know if he’s gonna stick around or not,” Bucky’s words made sense, but you couldn’t fathom how a man wouldn’t want to be in his baby’s life. “I know it’s not something you want to consider, but there’s always a chance he could decide to leave.”

You nodded – knowing that the super soldier was right. Based on Steve’s initial reaction, you knew you had every reason to be afraid of him leaving. “I’ll just make it real simple for him,” you suggested. “He’s either in the baby’s life or not…there’s no going in and out, but as far as he and I go…that relationship is dead.”

“You sure about that?” Bucky asked sympathetically.

You nodded. “Yeah,” you exhaled, “I just want to move on from him. If he wants to be in our baby’s life, then that’s fine, but I want to move on.”

Bucky put the ice pack down and came over to your side of the desk – sitting on the edge and smiling softly down at you. “Do you?”

“I’d like to try to.”

Bucky smiled. “Would you let me take you out to dinner tonight?”

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 4 months ago

Note

maybe like a

daryl x reader but he finds her really drunk in (alexrandia)

or finding reader in the woods (meeting her for the first time) and she’s really hurt and he practically saves her

Happy Monday Everyone! Sorry I am taking so long to get to these writing prompts that I ask you all to send my way. I am so appreciated of each and ever one of them, that I want to give each one time to create something special, or at least passable.

I hope @dreamtofus I did you justice in your ask, I really had a lot of fun writing a Daryl x Reader, it was my first, but hopefully not my last. I know I still need to work on getting the 'voice' of Daryl down, but for a first attempt, I don't think it's too bad.

Please let me know what you think, reblog, likes are always welcome. This story is my own, so please don't steal it. All mistakes, typo are mine, I do apologize. I do a few rounds of edits, but things just slip through, so be kind when passing judgement.

Details:

Daryl x Reader, told mainly from the reader POV, but we do get a small POV of Daryl. A flashback is had, some pop culture references, not sent in an particular timeline of the show. Seeing how the reader meets Daryl for the first time, how he saves her not once but twice, and the reader letting her guard down around Daryl.

Ment to be a one shot, but if you all like it enough, I could be persawded to write more, with these two.

Triger warnings: nothing really, its sweet, angst.

Word count: 2,000+

You knew never to go out this late in the day for anything, even a ‘simple’ supply run would never be done this late; you should have just waited until tomorrow. But No, you have to prove something to yourself? No, you knew you had survived this long, almost two years now, in this fire burning world. Your smarts, being a country/farm kid growing up, and your love of reading anything you could get your hands on help you survive this long.

So, you need to prove something to the members of this group that found you a few weeks ago and brought you into their community? Maybe, you're sure they are still assessing you, and seeing if you're worth the trouble of being another mouth to feed and another body to protect.

The leader, Rick, seems nice, standoffish, but also a protector that if you do get to stay with them, would be loyal and a big brother figure for you. Maggie, is also in that camp of big sister energy that would kick anyone’s ass for you.

No, if you were to put money on who in the group is still questioning if they should take you in or not, that would be the redneck hunter Daryl.

Daryl was the one that came across you while you were scavenging an abandoned drug store just a few miles south from where the group’s camp was. He was the one that held a crossbow aimed at your back, telling you to drop the antibiotics that there was a baby in his camp that needed it more than you.

Flashback

“Don’t make me say it again, drop the drugs.” A gruff, gravelly voice, from behind you, fills the silence of the space, and makes you freeze like a deer in headlights.

Getting up from your crouch position, you slowly turn, with the bottle of pills in your hand. Sweat from the fever you're currently trying to shake and not the Georgia heat drips down your face. If you hadn’t already heard him speak, you would have thought you were seeing things. There standing in front of you is a man, dressed all in black, his dark brown hair long and slightly covering one side of his face, while the other side is slightly covered by the crossbow that is currently aimed at you. His lean but muscular frame in a stance that screams hunter, his tone arms never wavering, so you know that he will wait you out, he has the discipline to do so.

“Fuck…I can’t…” you reply desperation, and exhaustion taking over. You know that you should be scare, you should be worried that he’s going to let go of the trigger, and put you out of your misery, but, you can’t give a fuck at this point.

“Will you at least aim for the head, if you're going to kill me.” You quip leaning on the shelving next to you, feeling yourself get weaker.

This seems to throw off the mystery man, as he hesitates for a second, “what?” he questions, not lowering his bow, but moving his finger from the trigger.

Grabbing something from your back pocket, a purple bandana, you wipe the sweat from your forehead. “Look, I can’t come back as one of the dead.” your voice ragged. “You could give me at least that courtesy. Because otherwise, I will find you, and eat you.” You joke, giving your best Lim Nelson voice at the end.

The mystery man doesn't seem to get the reference to that line, as he gives no reaction to the idea that you, as a walker, could somehow find him on purpose and eat him.

“It's a joke…it's from…never mind.” You toss the bottle of pills towards him, and slide down to the floor and wait for either the exhaustion, fever, or this mystery man to take you.

Your mind is fuzzy, and either this guy will leave you alone or not. With your eyes closed, you can hear the rustle of him putting the bottle in his bag, and then the sound of him coming over the counter and towards you. His footsteps stop and you can feel him staring down at you. “What?” Uou question, keeping your eyes closed.

“Whatcha doing?” he questions. “you bit?”

“Waiting for a bus, what does it look like? I am sick you ass, and I am exhausted.” Your frustration taking over. You open your eyes to find him crouching down and bringing a hand up to your forehead, “What the hell, dude!” You slap his hand from you and push yourself up and back from him, scattering bottles around you. “Just leave, you got what you wanted.”

“You didn’t answer me, are you bit?” He grumbles back, harsher this time, with authority. Annoyance is now apparent, and his blue eyes that are staring at you seem to bore into your soul.

“No, I am not bit, just sick. With the quick change in weather we had, my body...why am I explaining this to you….” you start and stop yourself from going into detail about how back when the world was somewhat ‘normal’ any drastic change in the weather always sent you into a quick cold for a few days.

Ringing out your bandana, you run it over your face and down your neck. What you wouldn’t give for some cold water, a nice cool lake to dive into. Your mind drifting to the fantasy of cooling waters is cut short when your bandana is taken from you and quickly replaced with a cool wet red one.

“What the…'' you're about to protest, when the feeling of the cool water hitting your skin shuts you up. You see him, pouring a bit more water on the rag and running it down your bare arms.

He doesn’t say anything, after wiping both your arms, he gets the rag wet again with cold water and hands it to you, “take it.”

You do, and wipe your face and then cover your forehead with it. You close your eyes and let the cool water seep through your pores, it's something, it won’t cure you, but it's something for now.

“Here.” His voice brings you back, and you open your eyes to see him holding out some of the pills and his water jug.

Your hestent, wondering why he’s being so nice now? He keeps his hand out for you to take the items, and after another second of thinking you finally do. Swallowing the pills and taking the smallest of drinks, no need to piss him off by downing his water, you hand back the jug. “Thanks.” You mumble.

He nods, and is about to speak when another voice from the other side of the counter breaks the slice, “Daryl, you in here?”

Present

You would soon come to find out and meet Rick Grimes, the man attached to that voice, and after seeing you in the state you were in that day, and asking himself if you were bit. Would then ask if you wanted to come with them and join their group.

Now here you were, somehow stuck back in that same drug store just a few miles from camp. Nighttime has settled in, and you can’t leave, with the horde of walkers outside, too many to kill on your own. Even if you could somehow make a path through, you know yourself, and your fighting abilities, you were good, but not that good.

Luckily the doors were still in good shape, and the horde didn’t know you were in the store, so they were just passing by. This has been going on for 20 minutes, and it didn’t look like they were going away anytime soon.

You had checked the backdoor, but it must be barcade on the outside, so here you sit, with your back against the wall, behind that same counter, waiting for the time pass, and hoping no one from the group notices that you're gone and starts to worry.

Running through your interactions with everyone earlier, you don’t think anyone would have seen you slip out, and you never told anyone of your plan, so you should be good, you try and reassure yourself. Stacking up the discarded bottles again in a precarious tower, what else is there to do?

“What are you doing?” a voice, gruff, deep, deadpan startles you and the tower tumbles down.

“Shit!” you yell, looking up you see Daryl leaning over the counter looking down at you. “How did you….” you start to question. Wondering how he found you? Why was he here? and how did he get in?

He strums his fingers on the counter, as if he can read your thoughts, “I saw you slip out from the gates after dinner. Waited for a bit, but when it was getting dusk and you weren’t back, figure I go out and find you.”

“So you tracked me like what...a dear?” You question, not sure if you should be flattered or creeped out by it.

“No…a dear would have been a bit more of a challenge, you were easy to find.” He jokes, and gives you a quick smile, to your glare and giving him the finger.

“Ha,ha,” you quip. getting up, you walk over to the counter, “how did you get in? sounds like that horde of walkers are still out there?” You question, looking over his shoulder, you can just barely make out the crowd still moving.

He looks towards the doors and then back to you. “AC unit on the roof, the air return drops down in the office on the other side of the store.”

“Well aren’t you just the MacGyver of the post-apocalyptic world?” You tease. He cocks his head, giving you a questionable look at your reference. Letting a sigh, “Sersious, dude, what did you watch as a kid? or did you not have a tv?”

“Come on.” He brushes off your comments, and motions for you to follow him. “What were you thinking of doing a run this late?” He questions, waiting for you to grab your gear and walk over to him.

Shit, you were hoping not to have to tell anyone why you went on this run. There was a reason you went on your own, and Daryl, especially telling Daryl was not on your list of something you wanted to do. “Umm…it's nothing….stupid really…” you start and stop yourself, wishing he would take pity on you and drop it.

Daryl wasn’t going to let you off with that answer. After all he did come and risk his ass in saving you. Even though it wasn’t a big risk for him, he knew he could find you, and get you back to camp in one piece, but still, he wants an explanation. Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, he is not moving until you start talking. “Come on, out with it.”

You let out a sigh, “Fine” you say, and start digging in your bag, “this.” You state and pull out your purple bandana.

Daryl knew that was yours the moment he saw you pull it out of the bag. He remembered it, taking a corner of it in his hands, the fabric ruff from the dried water/sweat. “You came back for this?” He questions, wondering why risking your neck for a piece of fabric was so important.

Slightly embarrassed, taking Daryl’s tone as stupidity or bewilderment, you pull back the bandana from his fingers and stuff it back in the bag. “Look, I said it was stupid, okay, lets just drop this and go.” You quip, feeling your cheeks start to go red of embarrassment. You start to head towards the office.

The feel of Daryl’s hand on your wrist, stops you from taking any more steps from him. “Don’t walk away from me.” His voice is commanding, but not in a harsh mean way.

The feel of his callus hands in your slightly worked but not as worked as his send a shiver up your spine. You’ve only known him for a few weeks now, and most of that time you were coming down from a cold. So why was the feel of his skin next to yours, him coming to find you, and the thoughts of him judging you make your head spin and your heart slightly race. “You're going to think it's stupid” you mumble, keeping your eyes and body away from him.

“Try me.” He replies, letting you keep your eyes off him, but still holding you in place.

You let out a breath, “it was my dad’s, or at least one of them. He was a mechanic before the world fell, and he always had a bandana in his back pocket. This was my favorite color.” Your voice slightly cracks at the end. thinking about your dad, your family, life before the world was on fire, it hurts too much. You feel the tears start to slightly fall. “He was gone before…”

Pulling you back and into his arms, laying your head on his chest, Daryl says nothing. He wraps his arms around you, surrounding you in a cocoon of him. The feel of him, his strength around allows you to let go. Sobbing, cries that you have been holding in for so long let go, and pour out of you and into his chest. He’s silent, running a hand up and down your back in comfort.

You're not sure how long, but when you feel there is nothing left you pull back to see the tear stain circles on his black shirt. “I am sorry.” Your voice shakes, bringing a hand up to wipe your face.

Daryl takes his red bandana out from his back pocket, and wipes your cheeks. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He replies. Gentle wipe away the last tear from your jaw. He knows what it's like to lose your family, to be on your own. He wants to tell her he understands that she shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting to hold onto a piece of her past. He gets it, in more ways then she will ever know.

But now is not the time. Whatever he’s feeling for her, whatever he thinks could happen between them, the reality is, that it won’t. This pull that she has on him, it will pass, it has too. Stuffing the red bandana back into his pocket, and his feelings aside. He lets go of his hold on her and starts walking towards the office.

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mangooes · 28 days ago

Text

Chapter 1 - fish out of water

Chapter list!

Prolouge : A silent promise

Chapter 2 : A fish emergency

The sun shines in linkon city, greeting a warm welcome to a new day ahead. Hearing the birds chrip and the sound of crowded people walking around doing their own thing, (name) shots awake with a yawn and a strech. ‘I can’t believe I have to work again today..’ the young woman sighs as she stands up and walks towards the bathroom to get her day started.

The girl is (name) your typical normal young lady, in her early 20s, working as a corporate slave in the jail she calls office. ‘I can’t believe I have meetings with everyone today, this is going to be a long day…’ The girl sighs in defeat as she prepares her meals for breakfast and lunch. Tucking her hair in a loose strand bun, she puts on her usual employee uniform that consists of a vest and black skirt. Taking one last look in the mirror she sets up a confident smile and walks taking an exit from her apartment door, locking it before starting her journey towards the office.

Walking along towards the company building, she drops a neatly wrapped box in the post office, with the intention of sending it towards a certain miss hunter. Before continuing her walk. Upon arriving at the office, she sits at her desk and starts doing her work, preparing for a meeting with another client after this. “Miss (name) the client is here…” Jack, an acquaintance of (name) called as he leans on the door way. “Right..Let’s hope for the best then!” As she walks towards the door, opening it to reveal her client for the day.

“Um hello, are you sir Rafayel..?” The girl asked with her eyes meeting his, as time seems to stop for a second.

—————————————————————————————————

“Pfft! Looks like the fishermen caught a big fish, say… you look like you could use some help, need a hand? ..” A girl asked as her tail fins moved swaying in amusement holding her laughter.

“Can’t you see? Or are you blind?” The boy, known as the god of the sea, ruler of lemurians answered in annoyance, as the vines of seaweeds trapped him in an awkward position.

The girl blinks as she holds a laughter in a manner that would have insulted the god, if it weren’t for the position he is in right now, hands dangling over the vines of large seaweed wrapping around him.

”A,a,a! What’s the magic word??” The girl teases, as she swam towards the prey slowly.

The boy sighed, forcing his voice as he turned to look away in shame. “I- ugh fine…..please just help me get out of this mess..”

The girl laughs as she pulls the god out from the cage like seaweed, freeing him from his misery.

That was the fateful meeting between the god of the sea and the little mermaid, as a single encounter folded into thousands of memories.

Lemurian Archive - The Tale of the Little Mermaid, page 180

——————————————————————————————————

The man, dressed in his usual white fancy shirt and black pants looks up towards the source of a voice he knows all too well. A familiar sound, like the soothing waves in a bright sunny day, the scent of the salty breeze deep under the waters, and most of all the longing he holds so dearly towards her, the girl standing infront of him. He recognizes her so much, the stare, the expression, even the looks. The mark in his heart glows faintly responding to his turmoil of emotions and the presence infront of him.

‘You haven’t changed at all, (name)…even after thousands of years, it's still you..’

An awkward silence filled the room, as the girl clears her throat, “Ehm, hello sir..?” She waves his hand in front of him, as she lets out a soft gasp when the man holds her hand ruptly gripping her wrist firmly, and gently.

“Hello my bride, we meet again…” the purpled haired man says with eyes that conceals secrets, pure adoration, amusement,

“Huh, excuse me your what..?” The girl gapes looking at the man in front of her, ‘Is he delusional…?? Should I call the cops??? Last time I checked I'm still as single as ever!!’

The man seemed to realize once his gaze met his beloved’s, as he reluctantly let go.. “Ah sorry, you remind me of someone I long for so much, may I have your name Miss..?”

The girl laughs it off as she shakes her head, an expression to dismiss the awkward atmosphere earlier “It’s alright sir, i get it… I’m (Name), it’s a pleasure to meet you Sir Rafayel, let’s start the discussion shall we?”

——————————————————————————————————

Word count : 785

GUYSS KASJDNAKJ MY FIRST CHAPTER FOR THIS SERIES KADNAK, i'll continue this.... if i have inspiration.. anyways THE NEWMAIN BRANCH STORY LINE I LOVE THIS RAFAYEL (i'ma sylus girlie btw)

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds rafayel #lnds

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lorifragolina · 8 months ago

Text

Bad Luck Groom

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race!

@harringrove-relay-race

Summary: Can coming back to Hawkins to marry ruin everything for Steve Harrington? The wedding is in less than 24 hours...

Rating: G

TW: marriage

WC 2872

Ao3

“It’s me, or is it incredibly hot here?” panted Steve, widening the collar of the shirt.

The fitter grunted and adjusted the tie again.

“It’s you,” said Robin, smoothing his black and white suit with bow tie.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” continued Steve.

“Not here,” barked the fitter, adjusting the waist of the trousers.

Steve was sweating profusely, and the man wasn’t happy he was doing it in the wedding suit.

“It’s… so tight…” whined Steve.

“It fits perfectly,” replied Robin, taking off her jacket and changing herself behind the screen. Steve tried to look at himself in the mirror: he was on the stand, slouching, uncombed and pale. He tried to straighten himself out, fixing up his hair and imagining himself walking down the aisle in the suit. He couldn’t.

He dropped the jacket two times trying to take it off, and the tailor rolled his eyes. The shirt was wet from sweat and thank God it was only a sample.

“What is going on?” Asked Robin when they left the shop with the suits in their bags. “Second thoughts?”

Steve sighing loudly, passing a hand on his eyes. “I… I don’t know. I… what if it’s all wrong?”

“What is wrong, Steve? I’m your best man and I’m here to help, come on… do you want to call the thing off?”

Steve sat in the car. “No! No, of course, I’m just thinking… what if… what if everything changes from now on? What if…”

“What could change, Steve? You are together for years, now, you know each other… and as long as I know, you proposed”.

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “I know… but if it is not what we wanted? Maybe we shouldn’t do it here…”

“Oh I understand, the problem is Hawkins? I thought you decided to come back to marry here, in the garden and so on, you know, your parents, bla bla bla…”

“Yes, maybe we should have done it privately… get wed in Vegas, you know… avoiding… avoiding people here…”

“Steve, the wedding is tomorrow… it’s normal to be scared… so they say, I don’t know it…” Robin giggled but her jokes didn’t relieve Steve at the moment. “Steve, I can manage if you want to…”

“No, I don’t want to cancel… I think I don’t want it… but… what if I feel like running away tomorrow? What if… it is all a big mistake?”

“It isn’t a mistake. You two love each other. You two love each other, right?” Robin's voice trembled a little. Of course Steve was scared, but why now out of nowhere he thought it could be a mistake? He always wanted a wedding and a family, she knew. It was the natural avancement she expected in his friend’s life, but… now she wasn’t sure returning to Hawkins had been a good thing for him.

And the wedding was in twenty-three hours.

-------

“I think I’m gonna throw up, Max”.

Max hid her face behind her hands and tried to breathe. She wanted to scream.

“Just go and see him, for Christ sake!”

“I can’t!” whined Billy, walking in a circle in the room. “I can’t ruin everything for him… you know…”

“But if you feel so bad…”

“I can’t!”

Max looked at the window not far away and considered that if put an end to her misery, but the room was only on the first floor, it wouldn’t work.

She tried to breathe again, rubbing her eyes. Both she and her brother were really quick tempered, but it wasn’t the moment to start a fight, although she really, really wanted to yell at him and maybe get some steam off from each other. But in that case it could have a terrible flood effect. All she had to do was keep Billy out of trouble for a day more. Hopefully she could put him to sleep early and have some hours of relaxation.

“So what do you want to do?” she asked carefully, hoping not to unleash another nervous breakdown. It worked only partially.

“I don’t know!” whimpered Billy, squatting on the floor with his face in his hands. “I’m… I’m such a mess, Max! Look at me!”

Max didn’t see anything wrong in Billy’s aspect. He was in his sweatpants, his hair messy as usual, that studied messy that made him appear really hot, and a pink crop top he wore a lot in the Indiana summer. It was quite old, but the matching tan mark made her believe he used it in California too.

“You look fine, if only you stop agitating and try…”

“No, I’m not in the mood… I’ll ruin it. I’ll ruin everything, Max!”

God in heavens. She needed to get her hair done and go picking the dress, but she couldn’t leave Billy in the throes of anxiety. Or could she?

“Why don’t you go and see him, if it could help you to…”

Billy whined. “No… I promised to behave… I can’t ruin everything… It's just one day before the wedding!”

“But you can…”

“Why did he have to return here for the wedding!”

“But I thought…”

“And if I run in the wedding tomorrow screaming like crazy and run away with him and ruin everything? Oh God!” Billy curled on the floor, keeping whining and babbling. “Enough, Billy,” Max sighed, trying to be firm, for a change. “You know what? Now you take a shower, put some decent pants on and we’ll go together to the hairdresser, ok? We’ll do our hair, our nails and you try to relax, ok? Then we’ll come home, order chinese and watch the Disney movie you want, ok?”

Billy stood from the floor, smiling lightly. “Could it be sushi? Chinese makes me bloated”.

Max grinned and nodded. Twenty-one hours to the wedding, girl, you can make it.

She gulped a shot of tequila while Billy was in the shower.

----------

Robin managed to make Steve take a nap, while she went to the beauty parlor. In the parking lot, when she was leaving, she saw Billy and Max at the other side parking and entered the same saloon, and she sighed. Billy seemed as messy as Steve earlier, and she clenched her teeth. Twenty hours. She returned to Steve’s house, woke him up and they had a light dinner, that Steve should skip to pass directly to the shots, but Robin was trying to avoid a hangover groom the next morning.

“Ehi Robin, why don’t we have my bachelor party now?”

“We had your bachelor party three weeks ago, remember? Vegas? Dolly Parton’s show?”

She bit her lips. She shouldn’t name Vegas, Steve was babbling they should run there to get married alone, and his eyes became a little glossy.

“Ok, my bad… well I don’t think a couple drinks are a bad thing. But only a couple! Promise!”

Steve smiled lightly. “Pinky promise. I won’t get drunk and I won’t get in trouble”.

---------

“See? I said that having your hair and beard done will calm you down”, said nervously Max at home, while Billy kept turning his head right and left examining every millimeter of his face.

“It’s acceptable,” he grunted, but he was visibly satisfied. He was pretty and hot and he knew.

They had the sushi but he didn’t feel like watching The Little Mermaid once again.

“Why don’t we go for a stroll instead? To the club, maybe?”

“I don’t think you should get drunk, Billy, honestly”.

Billy joined his hands.

“I won’t drink, I promise. Just a Coke, I swear. I need something fresh”.

“We have Coke at home,” she teased, feeling she needed two days of sleep after going through Billy all day.

“I need fresh air,” insisted Billy.

“Why are you punishing me, God,” she muttered while taking her jacket.

Fortunately it was early and the club wasn’t crowded or loud. Billy grinned ordering a Diet Coke and she sighed and nodded. They sipped their drinks in silence, Billy appeared calmer than in the afternoon, and Max thought he had accepted the idea, and the worst was over. Hopefully next morning he wouldn’t have those negative thoughts anymore.

She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She spent a little time looking at her freshly styled hair, and when she returned to the bar, Billy’s stoll was empty.

---------

Steve ordered a margarita, then he wanted another one but Robin forced him to take a skinny one. Steve sighed and obeyed. He drank obediently, finally relaxed in some way, talking about the charcuterie aisle and the catering for the party. Then Robin's mobile rang.

“Shit, it’s the wedding planner. I have to take it”, she got on her feet to leave the club. “You’ll be ok for a couple of minutes?”

Steve smiled. “Of course, I’m not a baby,” he answered, grumbling a little.

Robin went out, and, after sorting a minor problem with the boutonniere that apparently couldn’t wait for the next morning, rentuned to an empty table.

------

Steve felt bored by the soft drink and shifted his gaze in the room. It was almost empty when they came, but now after more than a hour, it was more crowded. He lazily looked at the bar and jumped on his seat.

“Shit”.

“Shit,” whispered Billy, seeing out of the blue Steve seated on the table at the farest side of the club.

He didn’t imagine they could bump into each other in that way, but Hawkins was a hole, a cursed one, but still a tiny hole and they couldn’t avoid each other for long, not now that their guard dogs let their guard down.

Steve took a big breath and stood up, waving at him. Billy looked around and left the stall at the bar, joining Harrington. They were seated a little agitated in a dark corner.

“So,” started Steve with a trembling voice. “You here, too”.

“Yes… so…” Billy smiled slyly. “I heard you’re getting married tomorrow…”

Steve looked him in the eyes, directly. “Yes… and I’m alone, I don’t supposed to see the bride until the wedding, tomorrow”, he whispered.

“Too bad,” Billy got nearer, staring at Steve’s lips. “Why not?”

“Oh, it’s bad luck, you know. It’s tradition…” he was breathing heavily, following the freshly trimmed profile of Billy’s beard, feeling all the nerves of that afternoon sliding away from him.

Billy slipped a hand on his thigh. “It has to be difficult… I mean… separated from the love of your life… so hard…”

Steve grinned, but after a moment flinched a little and lowered his eyes. He felt Billy’s hand, heavy, on his leg.

“You aren't supposed to be there… You aren't supposed to do this…” he whispered.

“I know,” Billy bent over him and kissed him. Steve loosened himself up and closed his eyes, melting in the kiss.

Both their hearts were beating like drums. Billy separated and looked Steve in the eyes, and Steve nodded; they took each other's hands and ran into the gentlemen's bathroom, crashing together against the wall.

-------

“What the heck, where were you!” hissed Max when Billy emerged from the bathroom, looking furtively behind him and nodding, and returned to the bar.

He cleared his throat. She noticed that his lips were a little more swollen and red than before, but she wasn’t sure. She also noticed, just in the instant Billy took his jacket and put it on, that he had his shirt badly buttoned and he had a dark pink circle on his collarbone.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” he shrugged, turning his back to her to hide the clues. “You know, the sushi and all…”

“Gross!” she shouted, and she took her purse to go away.

Steve nodded in return when Billy left the bathroom. He waited a couple of minutes and left it too, trying to act nonchalantly.

Robin was at the table with his drink completely melted, and luckily she couldn’t see Max and Billy leaving. He raised his eyes and lightly nodded at Billy’s wink.

He tried to smile at Robin, but she immediately noticed his polo upside down and widened her eyes.

Steve blushed entirely and his upper lips trembled.

“Robin. I messed up”.

Robin sighed, covering her face with her hands. Sixteen hours to the wedding.

-------

“I’ll have to go, Billy, you sure you’ll be ok?” Max yelled to him from downstairs. She hoped she wouldn't have to go upstairs, because Billy was blasting his metal as usual.

Billy looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting a lock on his forehead. He put some of his great occasion colony on his wrists and inside his pants too, then lit a cig blowing the smoke to the mirror, winking to himself.

He smiled looking at the perfect fit of his pants, then sent a little kiss to himself again.

He turned off the stereo and went to the bedroom’s door.

“Ok!” he yelled in return, listening to Sinclair and Max voices and then their car leaving.

“Showtime,” he whispered to himself fifteen minutes later, clinking his keys and starting the Camaro.

---------

Robin was shifting her weight from foot to floor at Steve’s side, really nervous. She felt really comfortable in her smoking, and Steve was absolutely stunning in his dark gray suit with the blue tie, that matched the color of the ocean blue decorations. Max and Jane wore the same blue and they’re glowing with happiness.

Everything seemed perfect under the canopy in Steve’s back garden, his parents were perfect too, Hopper, Joyce and the party sat on the white chairs in the grass and the sky was perfectly clear.

But she was nervous. She wasn’t sure that a disaster wasn’t on its way, and she was trying to spot it as soon as possible.

“Calm down,” whispered Steve, bothered by her wiggling. “I should be nervous, not you”.

“You tortured me all day yesterday, and now I’m annoying you?” she hissed, a little drop of sweat running on her forehead.

The noise of the Camaro got louder and louder and finally the car stopped at the end of the driveway, just near the last line of seats.

All the guests rumbled, looking at each other and standing all together.

Robin breathed loudly. “About time,” feeling Steve gasping and stiffening and she drew herself up at his side. They turned, facing the car.

Billy came out of the car, in a white suit with a blue tie bow on a black shirt. He adjusted it and took a big breath walking down the path until the canopy, tilting his head and smiling at the guests on his way. He sometimes looked furtively at Steve and hoped not to blush too much.

Billy winked to Max, who had been tense until that moment; she knew he wanted to do his great entrance alone, but she offered earlier that morning to go together.

“No, go with Sinclair. I will not flee”.

Steve was breathing faster. and smiling like an idiot. “You see”, he whispered to Robin.

“I can walk you if you want”.

“No, nobody will give me away, I’ll give away myself alone,” he winked one last time.

When Billy reached them, Robin went to hug and kiss him on both cheeks.

“Finally you make it”, she rambled in a whisper.

“You got the rings?” giggled Billy.

“Of course. And what about not seeing each other the day before?”

“I don’t think it was bad luck, I had a good one”.

Robin blushed and pinched him on his arm, then pulled him gently to Steve.

“You came”, said Steve, blissed, looking at his soon-to-be-husband.

“I came last night too,” Billy answered in a sough, kissing him on the cheek.

“You are impossible,” Steve cocked his head.

They took each other's hand, their handcuffs shined at the afternoon sun; baseball bats, for Billy, orcas for Steve.

They turned to the celebrant while the guest sat down again. They thought that maybe it had been better to get married in California, where they lived, or secretly in Vegas, but it was just the nerves of the day before. They were exactly where they needed to be.

Robin blinked furiously the tears away when she passed the rings to them.

“I do”, said Steve putting on the wedding ring at Billy’s finger.

“I do,” Billy did the same.

“You can kiss your husband”.

Robin clapped and cried, Max hugged Jane and Lucas.

Billy grabbed his husband’s hand and kissed the shiny new ring on it.

“So, bad luck, husband?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking about. I’ll never pass another day far from you”.

“I hope so,” smiled Billy. “I hope so”.

Thank for having me here and thanks to @dragonflylady77 for preceding me!

I had that stupid silly idea in mind for a long time and I hope you enjoy it!

I am so proud to introduce the amazing Suo @camaro-and-smokes and I'm really looking forwards for all the works in this event!

#stranger things #writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove relay race

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acknowledgetheabsurd · 4 months ago

Text

My darling, I am very tired to be able to speak to you again with clarity. Since yesterday morning I have the impression of no longer living in time. These days are excruciating and the horror of these hours spent waiting for the funeral that will return me back to a loneliness that I will try to get rid of is indescribable. Never has the public life that my father led and my own life weighed me down so much. The telephone rings without giving me a minute's respite. The door keeps opening in front of people whose names I don't even know. The letters and telegrams pour in, and I literally have to resort to lying, to cunning and from time to time to anger, to follow my father's wishes and prevent people from coming to the funeral.

Fortunately Pitou is there to deal with all the blows and to face everyone. Dom Juan has been a wonderful big brother to me and for me to say that, you really have to have earned it. As for Feli, I will never forget the time she spent with me. Apart from them and Andión* who never left my side for a second - which, by the way, exhausted me, more than anything else - I only saw two of my father's friends for a moment, Pierre Reynal and Pommier who came to embrace me. Angeles and Juan, always extraordinarily faithful. As you can see, I have nothing to complain about. I am surrounded by true strength and warm friendship. I need it, because, alone, I don't know if I would have the strength to stay calm and not scream my disgust at those who, after helping to kill my father into oblivion, the exile of the heart and the misery of the worst moral and physical suffering now want to set him up as a hero.

The telegrams, the phone calls, the cards, the visits accumulate, and little by little, as revolt and grief give way to fatigue, I am left with a terrible nausea that does not leave me. My day is full of struggles and disgust of this order for the moment. In efforts to remain standing. In joys of gratitude too. As for the irretrievable loss of Dad, I confess that I have not yet fully realized it, except in very fleeting moments. Then the dizziness is such that I refuse to stop myself there. From time to time, I even get a giggle out of it. I am not the only one. Those who knew my father well, react like me. Feli and Pitou, for example. Perhaps it will seem abominable to you, but he had accustomed us to laugh at certain things, to find certain customs grotesque and ridiculous, and this in such a way that now when they unfold around him, they take on the look that he had wanted to give them.

I do not want to write down details. I will tell you about it one day. But I'm telling you here, because it seems to me that this is the greatest tribute that can be paid to him. It seems to me that it is an extraordinary triumph for him to accompany me after his death in such a lively way. Me and the others, because for every detail he had planned a comment that we can't help but recall, smiling, even laughing, loving him especially, and almost yelling at him for putting it in our heads. Since yesterday morning, there has not been a minute of silence in this house and almost all the words are his words. That, without search, without effort, involuntarily. What other living memory can you ask of a man who is gone?

He struggled to the end, desperately lucid. Towards the end, only the spirit lived. And he continues to live beyond the end. These are not meaningless words that I am saying to you. It is the expression of an astonishing and deep feeling which does not leave me, and which stuns me with beauty. But I don't know how to explain it. I have always had an unrestrained admiration for my father, although in the family, it is not customary to praise one another. Now it is a worship, and not born of myth, but of what there is in the world, except more real, hotter, and more alive. To have known him, to have loved him, to have watched him live and die, this is a beautiful treasure to keep jealously. To have been his daughter, it is and will be one of my greatest prides and marks for me an existence that must always remain worthy of him.

Today, I don't want to stop to wonder how I will get through this existence. Just thinking about it makes me miss my heart. But my world is not deserted, you are there; but, do you know, my darling, without knowing it my love for you, it helps me a lot to love you very much. My mother. My father. The only two people in the world who belonged to me and who have possessed me entirely apart from you. Now all I have left is you, you alone. Here I am all yours. A little diminished, amputated, sore, but also gathering in me all that they have brought me, taught me, all the riches they have left me. All of this, in a jumble, a little messy, and I give it to you without reservations. I only ask you one thing: to keep you, take care of yourself, your health, your happiness, your strength, so that you can draw from it the strength to live.

Oh my darling, watch over you, watch over us. My courage is at an end. I can't take it anymore. Look after yourself, heal yourself to join me as soon as possible and bring me new energies! Do not worry about me. What counts for the moment is your health. From near or far, you are always with me. Don't feel sorry to be away from me. It doesn't matter. You are here, under this sky, you are alive, my dear love, and I know better than ever the price of the life of someone you love. I'm crying. You see? This is the first time since yesterday morning. These are the first tears. You see? From near or far you put in me the same sweetness. I love you.

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 18, 1950 [#200]

* Sergio Andión, Spanish exile, friend of Maria Casarès' father.

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igglemouse · 6 months ago

Text

Simón had spent most of his time in Oasis Springs agonizing over Frida, after all, he was only here for her and although his mental had improved now that he was more away from the world of his past there was still the issue of her and what an issue it was.

He wanted to go to her, profess his love of her, make her understand that in the end, he couldn't be without her and show her that despite it all she, more than anyone else, had made him vulnerable.

But part of him knew it would be best to let her go. To stay away from her. After all, his life was misery and ill fortune, tying himself to her was sure to bring her down and after seeing how well she was doing for herself perhaps the only step forward was one without her.

So, Tuesday morning he talked with her father and asked what he should do. It was no surprise that the old man wanted him nowhere near his daughter. "You know how this ends for you, Simón, it ends tragically," her dad said. "And both of us have bought enough of that into her life."

Simón begrudgingly agreed but where did that leave him?

I think I've pretty much settled into Pascal's place I mean here I am once again making him breakfast but it really isn't official official, you know? I believe both of us wonder if this is all going too fast but who decides that really? Maybe, it's going at just the right pace?

Either way, I'm here cooking Oatmeal buttermilk pancakes, hoping this fits into his very strict diet.

I don't get too far into the preparation before he joins in and offers encouragement.

"You must be the perfect woman," he tells me and I can't help but to wink and smile his way. There's always a risk with him that it can turn into more. Eh, not a risk, a hope...but he does say he has a game today and so he needs to be very very focused for that.

That leaves me with plenty to do and before I could make a plan on what to do with my free time it is Irene who calls me and asks to come over. I met her at the food stand a day or so ago if you recall and I'm more than happy to get to know her better. I feel like out of all the people I've met I have the most in common with her and so I hope this is the start to a beautiful friendship.

Before she comes over I have time to make some ice cream and also mix some lemonade. Summer is coming up hard and fast here in Oasis Springs and you'd have to be stupid to find yourself outside without a cool drink or a handful of ice cream or something!

She strolls right up to the house after she hears me outside humming and making lemonade. I invite her to sit, thankful for the shade, and she's eager to jump right into a conversation about our shared hobby. Being chefs!

"I work at the Selva place, you know the one?"

I nod my head, once again thinking of Simón and the date we shared there and ummm, what happened after. Best not to think about that. "The food was really good! I plan on going back some day-"

"The boss is an ass but a loveable one," she says, joking. "Won't even hire anyone unless they have 'heritage' or whatever, which is silly but-"

"Oh? Is he hiring?" I say, pushing right past the red flag she had put before me and focusing on the opportunity. "Maybe he might be easier to deal with if you have a friend there to help you out?"

"Well, yes? Maybe? I think he might be. I could ask him for you but...like I mentioned, he's a bit of an ass! Be careful with him!"

I tell her I will and to go ahead and give him a good word for me. Who knows if I'll take the offer, who knows if I'll be offered, but I always consider an opportunity.

After that she talks a bit about my stand and how she is just a little jealous of it. "It's pretty bold," she says. "You're all on your own so if anything goes wrong, you are to blame. Takes a lot of courage."

"I guess...I felt like I had nothing to lose," I say, thinking about how she was right but when I started my stand I never thought of failure because I've lived through failure and tragedy and I've come out stronger. "You know it is fun, thinking about the recipes and all that and-"

"That's my dream you know? Having my own place..."

That is definitely a noble and respectable dream, one I think I share...

Irene has to go which of course leaves me home alone or...well, that's not technically my home but you know what I mean!

I could have sat there and watched television or something but instead decided to head to the gym. If Pascal is out playing a game with the team or whatever he's doing then I need to stay fit myself and what better way than yoga?

It was the perfect time for it too since there was no one else around.

And being at the gym meant it is likely that I run into Sara who I think was coming from her own light work out herself. She was super excited to see me and asked why I wasn't at home earlier. "Came to ask if you wanted to work out but you just arrived? What have you been up to?"

"I've been at Pascal's place," I come right out with it, watching her eyes grow big with excitement and demand.

"Oh! Wow! You HAVE to tell me about it!"

She drags me to one of the seats, sits across from me, and gives me a signal to go on. Looks like I have little option here but to indulge her need to know just a little bit although there isn't much for me to tell her. So, I just focus on the general feeling I have when it comes to him.

"He's simple, in a good way I mean. Keeps to himself, works out a lot, very focused on his career."

"See, see!" She says, referencing my conversation with her and Marjorie days ago. "Is it true? Is he trying to get transferred to Real Del Sol!?"

"Huh?" I have no idea what she's talking about.

"O-oh, just a rumor, Oasis FC you know, small team, respectable, but he's bound to outgrow them at this rate," she says nonchalantly. "Off to a bigger club to hopefully win championships and stuff. I just wondered if you'd have like the inside scoop-"

"Nooo," I'm shaking my head, regretting that I really know nothing at all about his career but I do know what that might mean for me, for us. "We don't talk much about fútbol honestly, it's not something he's mentioned."

"Hmm, I hope he doesn't go. As an OFC fan it'd suck to lose him."

"Yeah..." well, as his girlfriend it would suck too. I hope he doesn't go either but maybe it's just a rumor with nothing behind it? I'm just now getting to know him and if he were to go to another city would he ask me to come with?

Either way, right now I'll think nothing of it and enjoy the rest of my time at the gym.

Tomorrow is Summer Solstice and hopefully that means a pretty fun and eventful day. Let's hope at least!

Episode List - Next

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #ts4 #Sims #Sims 4 #sims legacy #my sims #generation 1 #soot #sims of our time #frida varela #simon barrera #pascal alcocer #irene tasis #sara chavez

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thebusytypewriter · 1 year ago

Note

May I request from your Followers event. If it's no trouble, I request izuru kamakura and reader insert, and the length will be long. And can it be fluff with a tint of angst, That's all and thank you!

Oh absolutely, anon. I went ham with this one (the brainrot was BAD) so enjoy the extra long fic!~

As always, this will be cross-posted onto AO3 shortly.

As the world falls to pieces, no one is immune to injury, fatal or not.

You learn that the hard way when rioters become extra violent in Tokyo, which ends in several explosions, wrecks, fires… everything. Whether it’s a homemade blast, something stolen from the government, or a freak earthquake, you have no idea. All that you know was that you’re just trying to evacuate when something goes off, throwing you a dozen feet back, feet-over-head. You crash into something hard and simply black out from the impact.

How you’re still alive is a mystery to be sure. When you come to, you’re sprawled across the pavement, lightheaded and confused. To get your bearings, you attempt to stand.

Keyword being attempt.

Your legs aren’t cooperating, simply staying inert even when you pull up on a nearby car. All of your arm strength isn’t enough to pull yourself up, and your lower back hurts like a bitch. It’s enough to make you cry out in pain and frustration as you simply flop back onto the road, defeated.

For the first time, you realize that you’re alone and completely helpless.

Until you hear footsteps nearby—heeled shoes, clicking across the debris-covered pavement, heading in your direction with careful steps.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. You’re not sure how much time has passed since the explosion, so you can’t completely rule out the idea that it’s a rioter. They were bloodthirsty people, and you would rather not get got immediately after waking up.

…Then again, who knows how long you could stay alive like this? Would you even be able to pull yourself to a store to get food? Or water?

The footsteps continue to approach, growing louder with every moment. You debate pleading for your life, wondering amidst the panic what you would even have to offer in exchange when—

“What an inconvenient place to rest,” they say, monotone and male. “The tension in your face suggests that you’re in pain.”

“Just get it over with,” you groan instead. “Put me out of my misery, yada yada.”

“Why would I kill you? You’re no threat to me.”

That’s… odd. You hesitantly open your eyes to see a vibrant red gaze looking back at you. This man stands over you without any sign of wary, only a blank expression on his face with the slightest hint of curiosity. Your eye is drawn multiple places, from the red eyes, to the long dark hair, to the rough scar across his crown. This is someone with a story, and you’d be enthralled if it wasn’t for the lingering confusion as to why he’s just… staring at you.

Weirdest looking angel I’ve ever seen.

“I assure you,” he says without prompt, “I am no angel.” When you gawk and open your mouth to question him, he simply talks over you. “Are you so faint as to not be aware that you said that out loud?”

It forces a startled laugh out of you. “I, uh, think I might have a concussion. Also my legs don’t work. So please, feel free to move on with your day.”

The stranger blinks at you. Once. Twice. “Odd,” he finally says, small and distant. “I shouldn’t be feeling pity.”

“Odd thing to say.”

“I should be incapable of having emotion. I was made that way.”

The scar across his crown suddenly makes sense, and now you’re feeling pity.

“Are your arms functional?” he asks.

“Yeah, looks like it. I can always just pull myself along until I find shelter, so—”

His hands are on you, then, guiding you up into a sitting position while you startle. The stranger is rather cold to the touch, but he’s quite gentle. After you’ve sat up, he fully squats in front of you, his gaze tracing everywhere available to it. One hand finds its way to the side of your head, and you yelp at the sharp pain. His brow furrows in response.

You think he’s checking your injuries, but for someone as hypothetically-emotionless as him, it feels odd.

He turns, back facing you now, and reaches out behind him a bit. “Arms around my neck.”

“Wh—The hell are you—?”

“That was not a request.” There’s no audible bite to his words, but you decide that you don’t want to test it.

Still hesitantly, you lean forward as much as you can and lock your arms around his neck, careful to not pull any of his hair in the process. Just as you’re about to question his intentions, the stranger’s hands slide under your knees and hoist you up into a piggyback position. You half expect him to show some kind of effort in standing, but he does so without problem.

You hold just a little bit tighter. “H-Hey, uh, whatcha doing?”

“I will be your transportation and protection until you are well enough to take care of yourself,” he responds simply, the duh implied. “Is this to your satisfaction?”

“…Do you have a name?”

Red eyes find you over his shoulder, no longer cold and menacing, but soft. “I have been named Izuru Kamukura. Call me whatever you wish, within reason.”

You introduce yourself to your savior, and he begins walking to god-knows-where.

– – –

Kamukura is, in fact, someone with a story. A batshit one, even.

Somehow, you manage to coerce him into spilling some things about himself. While he doesn’t remember much more than the past year or so, he does know that he was created as artificial talent by Hope’s Peak Academy by giving some poor Reserve Course student a lobotomy. (You’re upset on his behalf. What a dick move, Hope’s Peak.)

In return, you tell him a bit about yourself. Though, truthfully, there’s far less to tell than him. You’re a new university student, having barely made it past your second semester when everything went to shit. It’s unfortunate, really, but you do feel some semblance of peace without schoolwork constantly weighing down your shoulders.

Kamukura carries you everywhere, which really is everywhere, since you don’t have a destination, and he’s the wandering type. When not on the move, he provides you physical and occupational therapy by utilizing his many talents. Slowly, you gain more mobility in your lower half, but your legs still don’t cooperate enough to walk properly. When you suggest scouting out or making a wheelchair, he closes off.

You’ve gotten used to it, being looked after by a walking mystery. And if you didn’t know any better, you would say that you’ve both grown fond of each other.

(You contemplate kissing him by the fire one night.)

(You don’t. Your anxiety overtakes you.)

Judging by the day/night cycle, your time with Kamukura lasts for about three months before something changes. He’s particularly restless one morning from the moment you wake up, and he doesn’t elaborate when you ask him about it. You decide not to press.

It takes all day, but he ends up bringing you to the old Hope’s Peak Academy building, in all of its crumbling glory.

On the second floor, you arrive at a door that stands slightly ajar. It’s evidently a classroom, based on the remainder of desks scattering the place. From your minimal knowledge of Hope’s Peak, you know that this building was used for the Main Course students—the “Ultimates.” What would Kamukura have to do with classroom—You find the splintered remnant of a sign hanging from the wall—77-B?

Inside, he sets you down on the most intact chair. “Do you still have those flowers you found?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you nod and pull out the carefully-wrapped bundle: a daisy and a carnation. His luck had graced you with encountering the two in the remains of a flower shop the day before, so you’d taken special care to preserve them until you could find a good spot to replant them. It seems that he has another idea.

Kamukura grabs a vase from a shelf—again, has to be his luck for it to not be any worse than cracked—and gingerly places your flowers inside. He then sets it on a desk at the back of the room and slightly turns it, leaving a pretty array.

The pain that reaches his eyes alerts you to the truth—this is a memorial.

“…A friend of yours?” you ask as gently as you can.

“Chiaki Nanami. I believe she used to be a friend, before the Project.” Kamukura reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small hair clip, one with a pixelated spaceship. He rubs it between his fingers. “I watched her die at the hands of Junko Enoshima. I should have saved her. I was more than capable of doing so.”

“They took your emotions from you,” you counter. “Or at least they tried to. It’s not your fault you didn’t have the will to do it.”

“No, I am at fault. But at least Enoshima is dead now. She can no longer hurt the few people that I care about.” His meaningful gaze finds yours, and it shoots warmth through your body. “Would you mind giving a few moments of quiet? I have not been able to properly reflect on her like this until now.”

“Of course. Take as long as you need.”

And so he does.

Many minutes pass as Kamukura stares out the window into the setting sun, silent and somber. You watch him for a while, hurting by association, before you quietly pull out some paper and a pencil from your bag. Even if you can’t make this girl a headstone or something similar, you can make do and lay out a sign by the vase.

Chiaki Nanami, beloved friend and hero. Never forgotten.

While you fancy the lettering up a bit, something catches your eye from the doorway, forcing you to drop the pencil as you gasp. “K–Kamukura…!”

There stands a new face, a boy that can’t be much younger than you or your companion. His wide amber eyes are primarily locked on Kamukura, but they flicker to you with your outburst. With a suit and styled brown hair, you would have pegged him as a government agent or something, but he seems more nervous than anything.

You realize that you recognize him.

Kamukura turns sharply at your call, red eyes more murderous than they’d been in the past months, but they dull when they meet the newcomer’s. “Makoto Naegi. I understand that you’re here to apprehend me on behalf of the Future Foundation, along with the three dozen soldiers rapidly approaching our location.”

Naegi smiles in return, apologetic. “It’s, uh, good to meet you, Kamukura. But… yeah. Are you…?”

“I will not be running this time,” Kamukura assures him. “I will come quietly.”

You gape at the admission. “Wh—You’re—”

“On one condition.”

“O-Oh? Well, um, sure!” Naegi nods. “Sure. What is it?”

The walking mystery meets your gaze finally, and you hate the hesitancy in them. “My companion here is paralyzed in their lower half and requires medical attention. Physical therapy. Proper meals. I will only surrender if you take care of them as I have. They are not associated with my actions, and they are very important to me.”

Heat flies to your cheeks, but it does nothing to stop the pit from forming in your stomach.

The other seems surprised at Kamukura’s words, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, his own apprehension melts away in favor of warm understanding. “I swear, we’ll take care of them as our own.”

“Then I surrender.”

“No,” you snap, pushing yourself up from the chair. Your weak legs wobble and threaten to give, but you hold yourself upright. “No, you can’t just leave me. Not after everything.” The desk is released in an attempt to step toward him, and your knees buckle beneath you.

He crosses the room in an instant, catching you under the arms before you fall completely and holding you to his chest. Your name comes out softly as he holds a hand to the side of your head like he did when you met. “I’ve known from the start that my path leads to the Future Foundation. It was a stroke of luck to come across a kind soul like yours along the way. Now I know that the Project could not strip me of all emotion; how else would I feel such fondness as this?”

“But I’m not gonna see you again, am I?”

“It is… unlikely, but not impossible. I won’t die, that much I am certain of. Stay with Naegi and his team until you’re better.”

“Kamukura—”

“That was not a request.”

You’re only faintly aware of the soldiers filing into the room as you hold his suit lapels tightly, stubbornly. They have to pull you from him like lovers separated in a war, and you’re handed off to Naegi as he apologizes to you.

Kamukura is escorted out of the building in restraints, and that’s the last you see of him.

Somewhere in the mess, a flower vase had been knocked over, its contents spilling onto the scorched classroom floor.

– – –

Given your questionable status within the Future Foundation, you’re kept in the dark about the Remnants as soon as they’re shipped off. Not that you expect much different, to be fair. No one trusts you from the moment you enter the facility, despite your lack of hostility and current physical handicap.

Speaking of, you’re quickly gifted a wheelchair for mobility purposes, but therapy is put on hold for the time being. It leaves your legs stiff and sore, even when you try to repeat the stretches Kamukura did with you.

You miss him, and you vocalize it often.

Asahina, a friend of Naegi’s, is in charge of monitoring you while her compatriots oversee the Remnants elsewhere. She does her best to keep you positive, and it only works sometimes.

You’re holding the pixel hair clip close one evening when your room’s monitor flickers on.

It shows the classroom Kamukura took you to, but it’s completely unscathed. Whole. Like the Tragedy never happened at all. You recognize the faces there from what little information you were given about the Remnants—Komaeda… Kuzuryu… Koizumi… all of them.

One girl introduces herself as Chiaki Nanami, and you gasp. Could it be…?

The final student enters the room, and your shock is completely overshadowed as you do a double-take. You know that face. It’s pinched with anxiety, not neutral, but you know it. You know those eyes. They’re olive green, not red, but you know them.

He calls himself Hajime Hinata, and you’re confused as hell.

Hina bursts into your room then, frantic and also confused as hell. She then spills their plan involving the Neo World Program, explaining the idea of blocking out Despair memories to heal their inner selves—or something like that—and clarifying that they did not expect Kamukura to revert to his pre-Project self.

You find that you like Hinata, but you wish he were Kamukura.

Then the killing game starts.

During your time with Kamukura, you’d witnessed the School Life of Mutual Killing, live on television, from start to finish. It was a horrific experience, and you weren’t even there. With the same bear in charge this time, the Remnants end up pressured to begin killing each other.

For the next three weeks, their numbers steadily decrease. You’re relieved that Hinata’s managed to make it this far.

As the program finally winds down, you catch wind of the Board’s displeasure of Naegi’s unauthorized actions. Hina manages to convince Togami to take you with him when he absconds, avoiding the fray, only for you to panic when one final killing game occurs among the Board and trial participants. Togami and his squadron rush to find their location, and you tag along on the helicopter ride to help with damage control.

To your surprise, Naegi insists that he and the others are fine and taken care of, and he points you in the direction of the seafront. You catch a glimpse of Class 77-B, and you take off in your wheelchair to meet them.

They’re piling onto a commandeered Future Foundation battleship, every one of them alive. It should be impossible for that to be the case, but you have a hunch.

You call out for Hinata, who startles, as you approach. Finally, sparing some room between you, your wheelchair comes to a stop. “So, um, you probably don’t know me, but I just…”

All words fail as you notice a distinct change about him—while one eye remains green, the other has taken on that sharp red you used to know. It’s the only thing truly Kamukura-like about him in appearance, but somehow it soothes you. There’s confusion in them, but only for a moment.

Hinata smiles, the warmth filling both eyes, and he says your name without prompt. “He told you he wouldn’t die, right?”

“Is he—”

“He’s in here. I think we have a lot to talk about. Do you think they’d mind if I borrowed you for a bit…?”

“Who the fuck cares?” You roll forward and past him to the ship’s ramp. “My transportation and protection is on this ship. If I’m a traitor, I’m a traitor. Munakata can fuck off.”

A laugh bubbles from him, and your heart flutters at the sound.

Even if he isn’t completely Kamukura, he’s still someone to lean on, both literally and figuratively.

He’s home.

I think there's been a glitch

Five seconds later, I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch

And I'm not even sorry

Nights are so starry, blood moonlit

It must be counterfeit

I think there's been a glitch

#Follower Event :D #salem's works #danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #izuru kamukura #izuru kamakura x reader #kamukura x reader #i hope this was okay anon <3 #writers on tumblr

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