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earthtooz · 10 months

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x : AFTERGLOW :*+ﾟ it's all me, just don't go !

in which: rin doesn't realise what he has until it's gone. now that you're gone, he will do anything to get you back.

warnings: 5.2k wc, ANGST TO FLUFF, breakup, toxic relationship towards the beginning, rin is really mean to gn!reader, hopeful ending, rin is devastatingly in love and pathetic, reader and rin are adults + he's a soccer player, other characters make an appearance and are friends with reader, mentions of throwing up, mentions of food, both reader and rin cry, just listen to taylor swift's 'afterglow'.

a/n: FINALLY, THIS FIC THAT I STARTED ALL THE WAY BACK IN APRIL IS DONE. GOODNESS. i have mixed feelings towards this piece, but i cannot withhold it from the world any longer. i'm going to forget i ever wrote this and move on! this literally took three drafts to finish.

you don’t know when your relationship with itoshi rin began to crumble since it isn’t an event that can be pinpointed, not a date that can be marked in your calender, and most certainly not a reminder you can set in your phone.

your friends keep telling you that you need to think back on it, that although it hurts, it was a necessary step in healing and getting over him. the more you reflect on it, however, your heart would only shatter into more fragments, with each one piercing you with the memories of better times.

when did his expression turn sour? when did he begin looking at you with such disdain? when did he decide he didn’t need you anymore?

when did rin’s chips of insecurity wedge themselves between you?

the only memory that serves as an answer occurred at 7:00 pm one regular night. if you think hard enough, you can remember how the plush couch cushions sank under your weight, the clicks of the clock that had a second hand minutely too fast, and the sinking feeling of premonition in your gut.

the latest rin ever comes back is 6:00, and if not, he would have let you known why he wasn’t home.

so where was he? the takeout you bought for dinner is getting cold and your stomach is growing louder and more impatient by the second. you didn’t want to eat without him though since it’s something you did daily; eating together as a way of debriefing and letting go of the stress that the day brought.

after an onslaught of unanswered phone calls from you, at 7:15, rin merely texts a ‘won’t be home for a while. eat without me’, and although rin was naturally curt and straightforward, the text had a depravity of… him, somehow. either way, his message causes a swirl of emotions in your stomach; unpleasant ones that begin to grow a nauseous shade of green.

you put rin’s takeaway in the fridge regardless, sending him a quick text telling him to be safe and that you’ll see him soon.

he probably got caught up with something. you’re sure it’ll be fine.

you shouldn’t have ignored that sinking feeling of premonition. shouldn’t have pushed down the unease swirling in your stomach when shutting the door to the refrigerator before stalking over to the kitchen island with slow steps as you prepare to eat in silence. no one to keep you company except your own thoughts and the ghost of rin’s presence.

and when rin does come home almost two hours later, he stills calls your name as usual, you still go to him as usual, he greets you with a tired smile as usual, you hug him as usual, he doesn’t kiss the top of your forehead, though. you ignore it, pushing your thoughts aside because he was home. he finally came back. you’ll wake up tomorrow and this uneasy feeling will sort itself out.

except it doesn’t.

from that night onwards, rin changes. slowly, but surely, the cracks of change manifest in your relationship and through it all, you choose to cast a blind eye, plastering over it with sightless belief in your love.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the queasy feeling in your gut never stills. it fades at times when your mind is busy with other things, but it inevitably gets drawn back into the whirlpool of concern regarding your lover- or, rather, rin.

you think you’re still in a relationship, but you don’t really know anymore. you haven’t seen him in a while. the only indication of his existence that you get are the stray bowls he leaves on the kitchen counter whenever he’s done eating, the lessening weight of his protein powder containers, and the decrease of various food items from the fridge that you restock here and there.

it feels like you’re living with a ghost.

some nights, when it gets the most lonely, your mind betrays you, completely eliminating any and all trust you had in rin.

you wonder if there’s another person. another lover that he feels more passionately for. another lover that his heart had gravitated towards, abandoning yours in the process. perhaps that is the explanation behind his absence.

but no evidence points towards that conclusion. there has been no suspicious deduction of bills from his bank statement that would suggest infidelity, his location is constantly at the sports stadium whenever you check, and there are no traces of a lover on him- not even you.

it is not totally blasphemous to assume that itoshi rin wouldn’t be engrossed in soccer to the point that he’d spend unhealthy and obsessive hours into honing his abilities, but it feels a little traitorous that he could forget about life outside of the sport. it isn’t just you he’s neglecting. his mother and father have been constantly asking when he’ll come over to spend some time together, his teammates have been asking you about rin’s whereabouts and when he’ll be free and what’s worse is that you never know how to answer every time.

it’s embarrassing to be seen as a lover that is forgettable enough for rin to dismiss, so you lie and lie and lie, telling everyone that you’ll tell them later, that he’s fine and just busy, and you lie to yourself. you tell yourself that rin will be home soon so you two can talk about it, and then everything will return to normal.

(your reflection looks through your facade, disheartened and worried.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“why are you late?”

you jump at the voice that greets you when you step foot in the apartment and the sight before you causes you to wonder just how tired you feel, because rin is in your apartment, where he’s meant to be, for once. not only that, but he’s leaning against the couch, adorned in loungewear and slippers, and the sight is too foreignly domestic for your comprehension.

coming home to a house with someone there feels nice.

he’s lost a little bit of muscle and fat, but his frame is still as intimidating; shoulders broad and built, just the faintest indicator into the athletic body he’s developed over the years. his hair is a little longer too.

“oh, rin, hi.” you mutter, surprise evident in your tone.

“hello.”

“since i got a promotion,” you respond simply. rin makes no move to approach you, no initiative to take your bag and put it on the couch for you. instead, he stays rooted in his position leaning against the couch, arms crossed.

the air around him feels hostile, and suddenly you’re almost afraid to speak. “and does that promotion change your work hours or something?”

(he doesn’t congratulate or celebrate your achievement.)

“i work with flexible hours now but the office is further and the commute is so bothersome.”

rin uncrosses his arms with a thoughtful hum, gaze glued to the floor, mind occupied. you approach him slowly, pulling your bag off your shoulder and setting it in the entrance near the genkan with a thud, the sound sobering to him.

when he looks back up, you don’t want to acknowledge the emptiness in his icy eyes, barren of the usual determination that defined itoshi rin. but if you knew that that day would be the beginning of the end, perhaps you would have done something about it.

when you opened your arms for him, perhaps you would have hugged him a little tighter, a little longer, strained all the stress out of his shoulders.

perhaps you would have protected him a little harder from the cruelties of his own mind; shown him that the world was not out to get him, and that there was a place for people like him in the world (people who can’t see their own value and instead, berate themselves for their waning self-worth because they cannot see the light behind them).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“i’m going to shower,” rin declares once the moment both of you step in the safety of your shared home.

“no, you’re not! not before we talk,” you demand, hurriedly taking off your shoes so you can face him before he slips out of your grasp. the dark-haired turns to look at you with an unamused expression, the way tonight seemed to drag on obviously taking a toll on him.

“you’re gonna stop me from taking a shower, really?”

“yes because what the fuck was going on with you tonight?”

he narrows his eyes into slits, the pure intimidation that rin naturally emanates almost threatening you into submission. however, for the humiliation you’ve had to endure tonight, you won’t budge.

“i don’t understand,” rin says monotonously. you roll your eyes.

“you don’t understand? what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know what you’re getting mad over.”

“the fact that you didn’t even try to talk to me- let alone look at me, once this entire night?”

your partner looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “that’s an exaggeration,” he huffs.

“no it’s not!” you recall the looks of pity sent your way when rin sat beside you unmoving and unresponsive to any conversation you tried to make. “would it have killed to show you some sort of interest?”

“would it kill you to not receive attention for one night?” he retaliates.

“it’s not about that-”

“really? sure feels like it. i don’t have time to shower you with all my attention, y/n, there are other things i have to do.”

there are a million things you want to say to rin, a million emotions that you have felt whilst he’s been absent, a million examples of how he’s been leaving you behind and how you’re now fed up of keeping these millions to yourself. yet, not a word leaves you, too stunned by the stranger in front of you to voice it all out.

rin, however, takes your silence as defeat and turns to leave.

“you’re being dramatic. i’m going to shower before i waste anymore time with this lukewarm conversation.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the night your relationship officially fell apart is one you still remember vividly, because it only happened a few days ago.

in your memory, the night was nearing 9pm, yet rin had still not come home.

your heart takes you to him because as much as your relationship with him has caused you nothing but pain recently, you know itoshi rin. you know him because you’re soulmates and where he goes, there’s a fragment of your heart that follows.

the drive to the practice pitch is nothing but heavy. heavy with your anticipation and stress, you feel your chest constrict and tighten, especially when you pull up into the very empty parking lot.

“rin!” you shout for the fifth time and only then, does the dark-haired look up at you from where he’s doing dribbling drills. he almost trips over the ball from your interruption.

“wha- oh,” he turns away just before you can catch the roll of his eyes, the snarl of frustration (one that lovers should never bare at each other). “what do you want?”

you pause a few feet away from him, utterly gobsmacked with the attitude your partner was showing you. after driving all this way, the least you’d want is a little concern, but alas.

“it’s time to go,” you stand your ground. “i’m here to pick you up.”

“yeah, right, i’m not going home.”

“that’s ridiculous! are you not tired?”

“no.”

“rin. c’mon, that’s enough, you need to rest.”

“what the fuck do you know about being enough?” he asks.

the silence is deafening and most hurtful.

you stammer out the only response you can, “wh-what?”

he doesn’t give you anything. unrelenting, he is. rin has always been the embodiment of stubbornness served cold. not finding much productivity in his silence, you continue speaking with a wavering voice. “let’s go home. please, you shouldn’t be working yourself like this-”

“-leave me the fuck alone!” he finally comes undone. “can’t you see that i don’t have time to deal with headaches like you?”

the thread keeps unravelling.

“fucking lukewarm. i can’t deal with this right now, i don’t need you here.”

“fine,” you murmur. rin has his back turned against you and he prepares himself to kick another ball. “i’ll leave then since you don’t need me.”

when rin arrives home that night, he reasons the unease churning in his stomach on the physical exertion of practice as nothing is out of place. the apartment is as kept and tidy as it typically is, the lights are off because you’ve gone to bed, and there is a meal on the kitchen counter sealed by plastic wrap.

he won’t eat it because he’ll want to throw up otherwise, so rin tucks it neatly into the fridge, not thinking twice about the emptiness on the shelves, right where your favourite drinks are normally kept.

the athlete washes up quickly and efficiently, a good night’s rest sounding too appealing for his battered body that felt as heavy as lead.

that night, sleep takes rin and lulls him into a temporary sanctuary, protecting him from the reality that he would wake up to. because when morning comes, he will turn and find that you are not beside him like he expects you to be. your side of the bed is untouched, devoid of any warmth or indicator that you were there.

he checks the bathroom- you’re not there. he calls your name in the hallway- you don’t respond. he scans the kitchen, the study, the living room, and finds nothing but loneliness in each room. there’s no text from you indicating that you were elsewhere.

you’ll return, though. rin’s sure of it.

except you don’t, the hours pass by with rin anticipating your return, and his confidence slowly dwindles with each minute. by the time it’s been 24 hours since he last saw you, his patience runs thin. finding your contact, rin presses the ‘call’ button and is surprised that it does not go through, stopping him after only one ring when an automated voice says ‘this caller is unavailable’.

the dark-haired stares at your contact in contempt, furrowing his eyebrows when all of his following attempts receive the same treatment, but rin continues stubbornly because you couldn’t have blocked him, right?

was it because of what he said? he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to blow up on you like that- how is he supposed to say sorry if he can’t even reach you?

checking his private accounts on various social media, he sees that you’ve blocked him there too. running in to the master bedroom and checking the closet, half of your clothes are missing, and the bag you keep on the shelf is missing too. the bathroom lacks some of your products, your laptop and various chargers are gone from your study space, and the heaviness of your absence hits itoshi rin like a train.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you never did come around to collect your stuff. rin finds a little bit of pain in that fact.

he feels like a ghost, haunted by the trinkets of you that remain littered around his apartment. he doesn't have the heart to throw them out, not when they're the closest thing to you he can get.

a few times rin sees you in his dreams. a few times he sees you in his nightmares, looking completely hurt and run-down by his recklessness and neglect, but most mornings he wakes up feeling emptier, no one to turn to on your side on the bed. not anymore. there’s no body to hold when he needs it most, there’s no one to keep him company whilst he eats dinner, there’s no love. not since the day you left.

you, on the other hand, find it odd to live life without a second person in the periphery. you thought rin was the one for you, you never had any thoughts about what life could be without him because you were certain that it would be him that you spent the rest of your years with, so learning to accommodate without him is gnawing you away, the little bug of loneliness festing on your newfound independence.

you’re seated on the floor of your best friend’s living room when reo texts one day, interrupting your apartment hunt.

reo: Are you still coming to my party?

you scrunch your eyebrows at the text, unknowing of where it was coming from.

y/n: not anymore. what’s up?

reo: Why not :( reo: Please it’d be so fun

y/n: don’t you know that rin and i broke up?

reo: Ok but he’s definitely not coming reo: It’s Rin, he doesn’t have a life so you’re fine. Pls say you’ll come

reo: Plus he’s been all mopey ever since so I don’t think he’s in a party mood

you dutifully ignore the last part of reo’s statement. after a little more coaxing, he finally manages to get you to agree to come, but not without a feeling of apprehension settling in your gut. still, it would be a shame to miss out on an invitation from a friend because of it.

besides, reo’s bargain of offering to buy your outfit was too tempting to let go.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“practice was rough,” bachira murmurs, flopping on the sides of the soccer field with a sigh. his sweat causes his hair and clothes to cling to his skin, and isagi takes a seat on the bench beside his best friend, tossing the dual-tone haired his water bottle.

wiping the sweat off his forehead, isagi agrees with a hum. “i know. i just want to go home.”

“i don’t know how rin does this, staying overtime and all of that.”

“he’s insane. it only got worse after his breakup and everything.”

bachira frowns, looking over to where the dark-haired in question is standing. “i feel bad for rin-rin, seems like he’s not taking it well at all.”

a beat of silence passes before bachira speaks again. “you know y/n’s coming to reo’s party this weekend?”

the black-haired wipes his mouth before setting the water bottle down. “really?”

“yeah. reo told me.”

“that’s nice, it’s been a while since we’ve seen y/n so it’d be nice to catch up.”

“i wonder if rin knows.”

“i doubt it,” isagi reassures, “he hardly goes to parties like the one reo’s throwing.”

“maybe that’s why y/n agreed in the first place.”

“probably.”

a cold voice suddenly cuts the two from their conversation “y/n’s going to reo’s party?”

isagi feels his blood cool over before looking up. there, stands itoshi rin, who has a frazzled, yet equally determined look in his eyes, one that isagi has not seen in a while (not since you left). “what? no! where did you hear that from?”

bachira laughs nervously, “you’re hearing things, rin-rin!

but they are soccer players, not actors or professional liars. “shut the fuck up, asshats. y/n’s going to reo’s party this weekend?”

the two exchange a look and their silence is the only answer rin needs.

“hold on, you’re not thinking of going, are you?” isagi asks, accepting defeat and now switching tactics.

“why wouldn’t i? my partne-” he pauses. “y/n is gonna be there.”

“yes but-”

“-you can’t stop me from going, so don’t even think about it.”

without another word, rin is gone, stalking away with a scary determination that was previously dormant.

“what did we just do?” bachira mumbles. “should we tell y/n?”

“nah.”

“agreed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you should have never come to this party.

how stupid and foolish of you, but how utterly cruel of the universe to let you hurt like this, to let the same pain that has walked all over you for the past few months return; this time ramming into you with the ferocity of a bull, knocking the air out of your lungs

“y/n!” comes the dreaded call of your name. you walk a little faster, breaking into an-almost sprint.

“y/n!”

“for fucks sake- y/n!” this cry of your name is broken, rasped and pathetic, and your chests clenches from how pained it sounds. like a howl from an injured wolf, it is broken enough for you to pity it, luring you into a trap that will inevitably end in chunks being torn from your heart, but you don’t have much left to spare, so you keep running, no matter how badly you want to give in.

except it’s not enough to deter rin, nothing ever be when there’s a goal in sight, especially one so close that he can taste it.

“y/n, please, i need to talk to-”

“-go away, rin!” you cut him off, hugging yourself tighter to shield yourself against the cold and rin’s pleas from piercing you.

“not until you listen to me!”

fury powers you, igniting you with the courage to turn around and finally face him. you don’t look him in the eye, keeping your gaze elsewhere, but he shuts up nevertheless, awestruck by finally being able to see you face-to-face after being so long away from you. all words die on his throat, withering away to nothing as his eyes slightly widen in shock.

you’re just as beautiful as the day you left; perhaps even more so.

rin wonders if your radiancy was birthed by his absence, and if the answer is ‘yes’, he might wither away on the spot.

“it’s always about you isn’t it?” you shout. “always about what you want and never about what others want. you said you wanted me to leave, so i did! what more could i possibly give?”

he gulps, utterly entranced as his heart makes itself known in his chest, racing wildly and vividly; the first indication that it was alive and hadn’t been replaced by a gaping hole in your absence. he hasn’t felt this human since you left.

“i didn’t mean for you to actually leave,” rin confesses shakily.

“well, it didn’t seem like you wanted me to stay either.”

“no, that’s not-” he falters. “it’s… not the same without you.”

you hug yourself tighter. “i don’t believe you, you’re just saying that now that there’s nobody to warm your bed.”

“no, it’s not like that- i don’t like living without you,” the athlete continues, admitting something so heavy with such airiness.

“you can’t just say that after so long. not when you’ve been living without me months before we broke up.”

there are a million and one things that rin wants to say to you, but none of them break through the whirlwind that is his thoughts, rattling around in his brain on overdrive and overwhelming him with the intensity of them all. one thing he knows for sure is that you are the single muse behind all of them, the only thing that is keeping him sane amongst the flurry of disturbances.

then, you shiver from the chilly breeze of the night, and the whirlwind is silenced into oblivion to awaken a dormant instinct of his instead. one that commands him to fulfil a duty that he’s not inclined to do anymore.

quickly, rin takes off his jacket and holds it out to you, as if expecting you to take it.

he drops it when you don’t, hope dwindling in his stomach.

swallowing weakly, he then asks “would you ever give me a second chance?”

“you’ll hurt me again,” you glance away, the street lamps highlighting the melancholy in your profile as rin observes you closely. his eyes outline the curves of your face, each divet and slope that he used to trace with his hands now out of his reach. “you take and you take, but you never give and i’m so tired of it.”

“don’t say that,” he pleads, voice barely louder than a whisper as the dark-haired takes a heavy step towards you. “you’ll break my heart.”

“i shouldn’t love you anymore, you’re bad for me.”

“then i’ll be good- i’ll become whatever you want me to be-”

“-we won’t work like that.”

“we’ll work as long as i’m yours again, just, let me fix us, i’ll do whatever it takes. i’m not giving up like this.”

the first tear makes herself known and paths the way for your downfall like a tsunami, washing away whatever you had built up during your time away from itoshi rin; the good and the bad. the hurt and the healing, all undone by a singular, stray tear. in your vision, he becomes nothing but a blur, a kaleidoscope of colours that you once loved.

a kaleidoscope of colours that you still love, much to the chagrin of your broken heart.

a hand wraps around your wrist, a warm shackle that grounds you to rin like he’s your lifeline. no matter how bad you want to push him away, something in you will always bend to him.

“don’t cry,” he pleads, voice airy and breathy. “i’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

please don’t cry because of me.

“i don’t want to be with you if it means i need to go through all of that again.” you whisper, slipping out of his grasp like sand and wiping away your own tears, rejecting his callous and prickly touch.

rin’s world dims as panic seizes his throat. “please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.”

“i do though. you left me first, don’t you know?”

“-i do.”

“and now i’m not yours to care about anymore-”

“i know, i know,” words are merely spilling out of his mouth without much purpose at this point, because he’ll do anything just to delay you leaving, to push back the possibility of you turning around and never seeing you again. why did he have to break who he loved so much?

still, he pleads for another chance, desperation shining in his eyes as pure longing fills him. you have always been too good to him, he knows, but like the tumultuous tides and their inability to stray too far from the shore, rin will come back to you with his undying devotion.

even if he thinks you should find someone better than him, that you should be adored by someone who could love you so much better, he can’t let go. to let you go is to let go the one good thing that came to him in life,

you exhale shakily. “we’ve loved each other for too long.”

“what do you mean?” he stutters, eyes widening helplessly.

“i have loved you too much for too long, rin,” you choke, “there has to be an end to us somewhere in sight- you need to accept that.”

“no,” his look of absolute devastation causes a physical recoil in your stomach. “no- not long enough, it’ll never be enough, fuck- even forever won’t be long enough, i can’t let you go like that.”

he crosses the distance between you in the blink of an eye. you can’t see him clearly under the dim light of the night, but you can feel him, so close and so overwhelming, but so cold as his hands come to grasp yours. his grip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his determination.

tears dance along his lashline.

“please, tell me you’re still mine,” begs the dark-haired. rin’s tears are diamonds, in which they are precious, but they also crumble into a precious waterfall that rolls down his cheeks, tempting you towards his beautiful ruination.

words continue to tumble out of him, each one sharpened to pierce your defences. “tell me that we’ll be fine, that i’m all you want, please. i’m so fucking sorry for hurting you, but please don’t leave me.

i’ll fix us, i’ll become everything you need, i’ll be good.”

the dark-haired’s hands find their way to your face, cupping each side of your jaw with a scary gentleness; one that you’d never expect from someone as ragged as itoshi rin.

“i love you,” he declares, so raw, so full of passion that it makes you sick. the rin you know never lets his heart on his sleeve like this.

you cave. “how will you fix us?”

slowly. he’ll rebuild everything that you have given him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

first, rin takes you out on dates again. calls you beautiful and really means it.

second, rin leaves practice at regular times, and listens when you tell him that he needs to take care of himself. because for you, he will.

third, rin picks you up from work. his practice ends a little earlier than your job, so he always goes the extra mile to be there for you at the end of the day. even if you tell him that he doesn’t need to go out of his way to do so, he’d rather see you get home safe than only receiving a mere text of confirmation.

plus, it gives rin more time with you.

fourth, rin sends you regular gifts. from bouquets, to random items that he just knows you’d like, they all get left at your door at the best times.

fifth, rin lets you set the pace. you wanted things to go slow so that you two didn’t have to force anything back in place. no point recreating something that’s in the past, you reasoned, so might as well try again.

sixth, rin takes his time in welcoming you back into his space. it’s a few months after you two have reconciled, and majority of your items are back where they belong (you poked fun at him for not being able to throw away the stuff you did leave, and he just mumbled something indecipherable, all embarrassed, before moving on). the life has been restored in his apartment, now filled with more remnants of you loitering around his space: your various chargers and laptop, your products, your clothes, they all sit beside his things like that’s where they are meant to be.

and you are back in his arms, because it is where you are meant to be (more for his sake than yours).

rin stirs awake one morning under the gentle light of the morning sun and you’re there beside him, occupying the space that he has left devastatingly empty. mattress still curved to your frame as he never dared infiltrate it, in hopes that you would return.

now that you have, you feel too warm, too familiar, too unreal that he wonders if you’re just another dream of his.

then, you stir, and press yourself closer against his chest, face to face with the heart that only beats for you.

a stray tear rolls down rin’s face; a salvation for the utter relief he feels, as well as the overwhelming amount of adoration that he stores for you. his ‘i love you’ is sweeter than the chirping of the birds outside, and certainly more meaningful as he wraps more of himself around your sleeping figure, hoping to attach all of him to all of you.

you’re home. he won’t let you leave again.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin x gn!reader #I HATE THIS SO MUCH

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xiao-come-home · 8 months

Text

❝Uncurable disease... or so they say.❞

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

✰ Characters: Neuvillette.

✰ Words: 1k.

✰ SFW ; gn!reader, no mentions of pronouns, but neuvillette uses female pet name towards the reader, I think.

Warnings: slight hurt, but then a lot of comfort. neuvi doesnt know how confessing works and does it his own way.

A/N: NEUVILLETTE BRAINROT NEUVILLETTE BRAINROTKORFKKTGOID GRRRRRR it was supposed to short but oh well 1k words hehe shy emoji

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

“You make me ill.”

Neuvillette’s words pierce through your heart like daggers. His orchid eyes stare you down and indicate absolutely nothing; his sudden confession left you in a circle between shock and confusion.

The words spread throughout your body like poison, but in reality you’re only staring back at him. The hurt starts to become visible on your face, but your mouth seems to be unable to let out a noise; yet, the voice in your head yells and begs to know the answer as to why.

You clutch the rainbow rose he brought you close to your chest, being the first to take your eyes off him. You look at the ground, feeling the familiar clump in your throat that starts to form.

Neuvillette has been feeling sick as of late. Or at least, that’s what he thought - well, what else could explain that he feels his temperature rise, his heart beating so fast it could escape his chest, making even his voice tremble? “No, this cannot be-“ Neuvillette thought frantically, massaging his temples, “It’s time for a professional to evaluate.”

Though, as expected - the doctor was of no help. She giggled to herself, “I apologize, monsieur Neuvillette, I’m afraid I can’t help in this case. I can assure you however, you’re perfectly healthy.” The chief of justice felt the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment, but thanked the doctor and left the room.

After yet another trial where Neuvillette seemed to be somewhere else with his thoughts, Furina confronted him with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. The white haired man could only mutter a thing, that he does not feel well; at the sound of his pathetic excuse, Furina stood up from her seat furiously, throwing her hands in the air, “You aren’t sick, fool! You’re in love!”The hydro archon’s cheeks flushed a slight pink at her own statement, but she was no match for her subordinate; she pushed the sudden bashfulness away, “n-now, do something about it immediately! I will not tolerate it in the courtroom any longer!” Furina crossed her arms and sat down again, furrowing her brows and watching the empty seats below her.

Seeing you divert your eyes away, Neuvillette’s expression softened significantly, his line of sight mimicking yours and shifting to a nearby bench.

“Why?”

Neuvillette blinks quickly, his eyelashes batting at you in surprise, “Come again? What do you mean?”

“Why do you hate me?”

He could feel the boiling hot feeling spreading through his body, although not a pleasant one. His eyes widened at you and his lips parted ever so slightly - but Neuvillette could only hear his heart beating so fast, beating to the rhythm of worry and uncertainty.

Before he could react properly, he saw a small tear dripping down your cheek, onto the cold pavement.

But his body moved without thinking.

He cups your cheeks gently with his gloved hands and moves your head up, just enough so you could look at him. His thumbs wipe your tears off your face, sighing deeply and finally speaking the real deal.

“You… make my heart race. It beats ungodly fast whenever I lay my eyes on you. You’ve been occupying my thoughts for many months, and even if I try to think about anything else - I cannot bring myself to do it, because it all comes back to you. I can’t… stop thinking about you, I can’t stop myself from admiring your ravishing beauty, I want you-“

“Wait!” You yell just enough to make him stop, both of you avoiding each other’s gazes and blushing bright red, but his hands stayed firmly on your face, no longer drying off tears, but caressing the apples of your cheeks he gently, “if that’s how you feel, then why…? Why did you say it like that?” For what it feels like first time in forever, you look into his gorgeous eyes that resemble the finest amethyst.

“I… I apologize, I didn’t want you to misunderstand me,” Neuvillette gasps slightly when he feels your delicate palms on his own hands, “but I truly mean it - I…”

Your breath hitches in your throat; the butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to help, but the anticipation has you almost shaking.

“I love you.”

Neuvillette can’t describe the weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders; but the sinking sensation in his stomach of not knowing what will happen next is making him nervous more than anything. When more tears meet his hands yet again, he fears for the worst.

“It’s alright, please do not shed any more tears because of me. I’m happy enough to have said it,” except, he doesn’t. He feels his heart break in half, getting filled by nothing but a void of emptiness.

The clouds become gloomy - looks like it’s going to rain later.

Just as his hands slide down and he begins to turn away, you reach out for his arm and grab it, causing him to spare you one, last look.

“Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go… I love you too, silly.” You manage to murmur the last few words loud enough that he could hear.

Neuvillette can’t believe it’s actually happening. He appears stunned for a minute, watching you in disbelief, but then a genuine smile graces his lips; his hands play with your fingers and silently ask to be intertwined with yours. When your interlaced hands give him a small squeeze, he gives you the softest, most lovesick look with his eyes that no one could ever imagine.

He places a quick kiss on your forehead and leans against it. Neuvillette’s eyes close for a moment, absorbing the fleeting moment.

It doesn’t take long before the chief of justice pushes your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, awaiting for your answer, “Can I, ma chérie?”

It only takes seconds for him to finally lock your lips together, and he wishes to feel that tenderness forever from this day forward.

Neuvillette certainly has to learn a bit more about expressing feelings - now, with your help.

The golden sun returns to adorn the clear skies once more.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #neuvilette #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #.scenario #send help I’m bolls deep in Neuvillette brainrot

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rootbeerworshiper · 2 months

Text

under the neon lights

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

based on these reqs: @inlovewithmattstur

warnings: angst with a very fluffy ending! and not proofread lolz

love, sienna <3

you’ve been best friends with Chris since freshmen year and the two of you are quite literally attached at the hip.

ongoing jokes about the two of you being a couple were all too common, and you can’t even be suprised at these remarks because in reality you and him were incredibly close.

normal friends don’t hold hands constantly and fall sleep cuddling, normal friends don’t catch each other staring and cause the other to become flustered, normal friends don’t spend every waking moment thinking about the other—but that was your dynamic with the boy, confusing, complicated, and anything but normal.

you often slept over at his house, Chris was never one to like sleeping alone, insisting he sleeps better with another body in the bed—and you didn’t mind.

the problem with this weird dynamic is how badly you wish things were different.

you wish your highschool experience involved going to prom with him, with a corsage laying on your wrist and a boy to kiss your hand as he greets you.

every night you imagine what it would feel like to be loved publicly, for someone to not shut up about how much they love you.

it’s impossible not to imagine cute dates and tiny acts of pda that actually mean the world.

you want romance—but instead your in love with your best friend.

on this particular night the two of you spent your time watching old videos from highschool—some more embarrassing than others.

“oh my god i cannot believe i wore that to school what was i doing?” your shocked expression causes him to laugh, his arm wrapped around your shoulder while your own arm wraps around his waist. “okay okay that’s enough of that let’s move on please” you practically cry out out of embarrassment, the boy just throwing his head back in a fit of laughter you can feel on your arm.

“i don’t think it was that bad” he says in between laughs. “to be fair i rotated the same five pairs of sweats every week so i can’t talk”

“our style just took a second to develop that’s for sure” you smile, squeezing Chris’ side slightly before relaxing into the touch once more.

the two of you continue scrolling through old snapchat memories and failed vlogs, laughing practically on repeat for an hour, the only thing lighting the room was the light illuminating from his phone.

“holy shit how is it two am already?” you sit up slightly, caught off guard by how fast time went by with your favourite person.

he smiles slightly, as if a lightbulb just entered his head. “wanna do something?” he asks, looking up at you with a look that can convince you to do anything, a look that consistently fills your stomach with butterflies that you consciously ignore.

“like what? last time i checked, neither of us have our license and Matt’s sleeping” you reply, unsure where he’s going with this. you toy with his fingers, tracing along the length of each once while he begins to speak.

“we could walk to the gas station that’s right over here, like we used to do during covid” he says, eyes focused on your hands as you continue playing with his fingers—what you don’t know is how incredibly much he cherishes your touch, like electricity is running through your connected fingers.

you smile at the memory of you and Chris back in Boston, sneaking out at three am to sit at the skatepark and eat the food purchased at the local gas station. “sure, i’ve missed that”

so the two you make your way out of bed, and you throw on one of Chris’ hoodies before joining him in quietly making your way out of the house—not wanting to wake up either of his brothers.

the walk is peaceful, streets illuminated by warm coloured street lamps and a bright moonlight that showcases the many stars littered across the black sky—for a moment it feels like your back in Boston.

Chris always insists on having background music, so your shared playlist played softly from the phone in his pocket as you walk along the sidewalks.

not a lot is said on the walk to the familiar gas station, and not a ton needed to be said, comfortable silence filling the space between two bodies as the neon lights from the convenience store light up your face a fluorescent white shade.

you enter the shop—Chris holding the door open for you and following shortly behind you as you head straight to the drink section.

the boy settles on a sweet tea and you yourself decide on a white monster. “do we want any snacks?” you ask, shutting the door to the commercial fridge.

“i could fuck up a nerds rope and some cool ranch doritos” he replies, causing you to smile because once again, it felt like old times, his snack decision hitting you with a wave of nostalgia.

and so you get just that, two of each snack that’s now stored in a small plastic bag that Chris holds as he once again opens the door for you to exit.

you ultimately decide to just sit outside the gas station, bright lights illuminating the tops of your heads as you sit down and begin to pull out the snacks—Chris’ music still playing quietly in the background.

“are you getting major deja vu or is that just me?” you ask, ripping open a bag of your favourite doritos as the boy takes a sip of his iced tea.

“one hundred percent but to be very fair we’ve done this exact thing like a hundred times” he laughs softly, a laugh that never fails to bring you serenity.

it’s silent again, the only noises to be heard are the rap songs playing from the iphone that lies on the cement and the crumbing of your dorito bags.

“i’m really happy we’re still friends, i don’t know who i’d be without you” Chris speaks up, gaze fixated on the gas pumps ahead of you.

you laugh at the sudden switch in tone, looking in his direction only to be met with his side profile, that alone causes the speed of your heartbeat to pickup. “way to get sappy all of a sudden”

“i just appreciate you that’s all” he looks to you now, meeting your gaze, making an eye contact with you that feels different than normal, maybe more intentional.

his gaze now switches from your eyes to a lower portion of your face, eyes making contact with your lips while your own eyes scan his face for any telling emotions.

“Chris stop looking at me like that” you try and joke, turning your gaze away to see his eyes still just as fixated on you as before.

“why? what if i just wanna admire my best friend?” he says softly, licking his lips and coating a thin layer of glistening saliva over them—but immediately his choice of words put you off.

this is a game you’ve played with him before. his overt friendliness that comes off as incredibly flirty and your hopeless romantic tendencies conflicting and instantly making things weird between the two of you.

“i’m not doing this with you i-“ you choose to stop speaking, already felling the pit in your stomach that is fighting back the urge to let out a sob.

normal friendships aren’t this hard.

his eyebrows immediately furrow, showing off his insane amount of cluelessness as you take a deep breath, allowing the dry, night dazed air to enter your lungs. “y/n i don’t understand what’s happening right now, are you okay?” he says, his voiced laced with a sense of concern.

“no i’m not okay!” you stand up, dusting your hands off on your sweats biting your lip to suppress any sadness dwelling. he stands up too, but still containing an innocence in his eyes that drives you insane.

“i can’t keep doing this!” you cry out. at this point you’ve given up on caring about weird looks from the cashier or other cars driving by, overtaken by pure anger that’s been smoking within you, ready to explode at any moment.

“doing what y/n? speak to me” he replies, concern overtaking his delicate face as he walks ever so slightly closer to you, subconsciously hoping to make you feel better.

but you pull away immediately, keeping a safe distance between you and the brunette. “whatever the fuck this is Chris” you motion between you and the boy with your hands. “you can’t keep looking at me and expect me not to feel something for you! it’s not fair that you say the most butterfly inducing shit and follow it up with ‘my best friend’. what am i supposed to do with that?”

every thought you’ve had about this friendship pours out of your mouth as tears well up in your eyes, threatening to pour out at any moment.

“i’m sorry i gave you the wrong impression i never meant to-“

“fuck off Chris. seriously fuck off. i don’t need to hear you reject me. i don’t want to have feelings for you. this would all be easier if i didn’t, i think we just need space” you begin to turn away from him, grabbing your things off the paved entrance.

you muster up the courage to say one last thing before walking away, a shakiness overtaking your bottom lip. “i shouldn’t have expected this to be any different. i should’ve known that this is just the way you are and i shouldn’t have been so stupid.”

a wet tear trails down your cheek, guiding alongside your nose as you speak. “was any of it ever real?”

it’s clear that by ‘any of it’ you’re referring to the romance you felt spark between the two of you, even he knows that—but he stays.

he stays exactly where he is and his mouth remains shut.

“i hope we can figure out our shit but right now i’m done. with you, with this. done.” with that you walk away, your back facing the boy as you increase the speed of your steps, eager to leave this shitty situation.

his heart drops at this. the last thing he wants is space. he adores you and he doesn’t want your friendship to be put on pause for any reason.

he wants to be able to tell you that he likes you in that way too. that every time silence fills the space between you he fights the urge to kiss you. and that he can’t help but think of you anytime someone asks if he’s single because for whatever reason when he’s with you he feels everything but alone.

he’d kill to grab your hand, to stop you from walking away and tell you how obsessed with you he is, but it’s not that simple—nothing about this relationship is.

deep down Chris knows exactly what you want.

you want a relationship. you want to go on dates and hold hands in public and put a label on how you feel for one another—that couldn’t be further from what he wants.

which is why he stands there—the neon lights reflecting in his teary eyes as your back faces him, as you leave him there all alone with his thoughts.

to him it all happened so fast, like a car spinning out of control, slipping on ice until it meets its untimely demise. this was all out of his control, and what was he supposed to do?

commitment is terrifying.

going on dates and posting each other on important anniversaries was his nightmare for so long, the idea of that being genuinely off putting.

but the idea of never having you in his life again?

the idea of not hearing you laugh at his stupid jokes, clutching your stomach with a huge grin on your face or listening to your calm, patterned breaths as he falls asleep next to you?

that was so much worse.

all of a sudden everything clicks.

he was in love with you.

he is in love with you.

all this time he knew you were different than other friends, but his feelings towards you weren’t something he was conscious of.

but it makes sense now, why he got all flustered whenever you teased him, why you had so much power over him in ways that were embarrassing.

the realization hits him like a brick, his feet planted onto the pavement below him, his mind unable to think about anything else but you.

but you’re gone. in the time that it took Chris to figure out his conflicting thoughts you had walked back to the house, fully prepared to sleep on the couch and gave Matt drive you home first thing in the morning.

it can’t be over like this, you can’t be over like this.

so he runs, like a fucking idiot he leaves behind his snacks placed against the conscience store wall and he runs.

you continue walking down the street, nothing but soft sobs escaping your shivering mouth as you think about every memory of Chris you cherished so close to your heart.

like when he wrote you letters telling you how happy he was that you were in his life, folded up and placed in an envelope. you were one of few people that were able to read his messy handwriting, but based on his proper punctuation and attention to writing his words more clearly, it was obvious he took his time. for you.

or that time when you went to the fair with him—the kid hates rides, hates them. but he also knows just how much you love them, so that night he swallowed his fear, holding your hand and going on every ride with you so that you wouldn’t be alone.

or the forehead kisses he would give you as you worked through a difficult assignment in school, his soft words of motivation that got you to graduation.

in what world is that casual?

you roll your eyes at his previous statement. he just gave you ‘the wrong impression’ as if what he did could have been interpreted in literally any other way.

you’re too caught up in your own thoughts, trying to find an answer to the never ending puzzle that is Chris Sturniolo to even notice the footsteps behind you, the pace slowing as they get closer to you.

until they stop. “y/n” Chris speaks, clearly out of breath.

before you even turn around you roll your eyes. “i just wanna sleep, can we talk about this another time please? i cant keep thinking about it”

the hand that’s softly placed on your shoulder tells you otherwise, so you turn around, now facing Chris who looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

once he catches his breath he looks at you with pleading eyes. “can i just speak?”

you nod, biting your lip to avoid any more snide comments, it’s clear he cares, that much you can give him.

he takes one more deep breath, as if he’s about to run a marathon with his voice. “i was confused. i was confused and i was so stupid and i don’t know what i was thinking”

you just stand there at look at him, wiping away your tears as he speaks. “it was all real, all of it. i just got so scared because it all felt too real. i just-“ his voice is shaky, and it’s evident that he’s holding back tears.

“you have always been more than a friend to me. this whole time i’ve been so completely obsessed with you and everything about you and i haven’t been able to think straight because every time i look at you i have to stop myself from kissing you” he runs his hand through his soft hair, struggling to look at you when he speaks.

he inhaled another breath, the air shakily filling his lungs. “but i never did, mostly because i didn’t think i was good enough for you. you deserve someone so amazing and caring and romantic and everyday i wondered if i’d ever get there. i wanted to get there so bad because i wanted you. i’m not a relationship kind of guy” he sniffles. “i mean i’ve barely even been on a real date and i’m twenty years old”

he shakes his head, trying his best to get his point across. “but none of that matters when i look at you because everytime i see you it all goes away. every fear of commitment and- and realness goes away.” tears creep out of his blue eyes, but he’s quick to wipe them away with his palms. “god y/n i’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of you walking away from me made my heart hurt”

you’ve never seen him this vulnerable before. sure, he was always honest with you, but right now he just looks so- hopeless.

he finishes speaking, shaking out his hands slightly as if to relieve tension that formed in his joints as he spoke.

you’re not entirely sure what to say, so you don’t speak, instead pulling the boy into a much needed hug, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist.

he doesn’t react at first, in shock initially at the sudden closeness, but it doesn’t take long for him to pull you in impossibly closer to him, one hand placed on your back and another on the back of your head.

he rests his face on the top of your head, practically burying his lips in your hair as his hand rubs your back.

you pull out slightly, keeping your arms on his side as you look at him, one last tear crawling down your cheek.

immediately his hands comes to your face, cupping your jawline while his thumb wipes away the tear drop. “why are you crying now?” he furrows his eyebrows, a slight playfulness to his tone.

you giggle, leaning into his touch. “i think these are happy tears now”

“well it’s a good thing you look beautiful even you cry” he smiles softly, holding eye contact with you as you look up at him.

“yeah why’s that?” you tease.

he leans in slightly closer, mumbling slightly as he speaks. “because i’d really like to kiss you now”

your heart flutters at this, and everything feels good again. you have Chris and that’s all you need. “what’s taking you so long?” you smile, the boy immediately leaning in fully and attaching his lips to yours carefully.

his hand still rests on your cheek, only deepening the kiss further before you start smiling, causing him to pull back as you widen your eyes.

“what was that for?” he laughs softly.

“i’m gonna sound like the corniest mother fucker if i say what i’m thinking so i’m just gonna kiss you again” you smile, leaving back in once more, if you weren’t already obsessed with him you definitely are now.

it’s a short lived kiss, the two of you are exhausted at this point, but it still means everything to you.

he wraps his arm around your shoulder now, pulling you into a side hug and kissing the top of your head. “i think after my whole ‘i’m in love with you’ monologue i take the prize for corniest fucker”

you laugh, beginning to walk down the poorly lit street. “never though i’d see the day, Christopher Owen Sturniolo is a cheese ball”

“okay that’s enough of that i’m going back to the gas station” he jokingly turns away before you pull him back to you again.

“i like it when your corny, it’s hot” you mumble, causing the boy to pause in his steps, his arm still around you.

“guess i’ll have to do it more often then yeah?” words that simple shouldn’t have the effect on you that they do, but you’re a smiling mess regardless.

“yeah”

a/n: had no idea how to end this LMAOO hopefully it fulfilled some of your needs for angst

i tried so hard to make chris accurate but i don’t know the man like that💔

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift @junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @sturnified @s7urnfilms @madsdogst @justlivinglive @sluttycupsworld @flowerxbunnie @mbsbaby @sturniolossmut @lustfulslxt @69isabella69 @sturnioloslurps @dracoflaco @mattslatinagf @raekensluver @worldlxvlys

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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badingsm · 8 months

Text

Warnings: really cliché, buncha fluffs, basically giving birth, cursing, and I don't know what else.

Hi bading! Some of you requested, so I delivered 🙌

Here's Mama DADDY Natasha welcoming her baby and her baby baby!

"So, who's the father?" Yelena prodded for the nth time. Being your best friend, she stated that she should be the first to know whose baby it is that you're carrying.

It's been nine months filled with cravings, mood swings, and sleepless nights. Yesterday was supposedly your due date, but all you've got are the usual cramps and pains and still no baby.

As much as you love your soon-to-be child, you cannot wait for this whole pregnancy thingy to be over because of how much discomfort it causes you.

Especially to your back and limbs.

One time, you even cried when you couldn't reach to tie your shoe because of your developed bump, but good thing Natasha was there to help you solve your crisis, even though you snapped at her for seeing her face.

Simply her face.

The one that makes you frustrated when you see it but weirdly sad when you don't.

Yeah, you're really pregnant.

Going back to Yelena.

"No one. I made this myself, so stop being nosy." You scoffed at her, already imagining her face if you ever told her that her older sister—Natasha fucking Romanoff—was the one who got you pregnant in the first place.

"Oh, come on," She whined, flashing her famous frown in hopes that it could make you give in, but she's in no luck as you just raised your brows at her. "If I ever get someone pregnant, I swear, I won't tell you!"

"I'm pretty sure it'll be Bishop anyway." You shrugged nonchalantly, laughing at her gobsmacked expression. "What? Everyone sees it, Belova."

With a huff, she left you alone, probably to hide her blushing cheeks because it made her feel embarrassed.

You were currently in the kitchen with Wanda, watching her bake some cookies, when you felt another contraction coming your way. At the same time the pain arrived, you felt hot liquid gushing down your legs, causing you to look down to see the trickling wet patch in your jeans.

Panic settled in your chest. "Wands, Wands, Wands!"

"Yes, yes, yes?" She joked while mixing the batter in the bowl, still not realizing the state that you're in.

"I think.." You breathed deeply. "I think my water just broke!"

Just like the flash of light, Wanda looked up to see you sweating while you tried to regulate your breath. "Oh, god! Wait, wait, wait—I'll call Yelena!"

You nodded, not being able to form coherent words at that moment because you tried not to panic, but that didn't help because you just realized that Natasha was away on a mission and she probably wouldn't be back for another 3 days.

That thought alone made you whine with a frustrated, pained sigh.

That bastard.

You didn't know how it happened, but the next thing you noticed was that you were in the hospital bed with oxygen attached to your nose, and the doctors and nurses were assisting you.

"Oh.." You clenched your jaw, your face turning red due to the unstoppable force of pain flooding you, "Can you fucking get Romanoff here? If I have to suffer, so does she!"

"Why would you ask for my sister when you're-"

"Just call Natasha!" You yelled impatiently. "And fucking make it fast!"

Yelena was really confused and still hadn't processed everything since her mind was still in panic mode, but she did as she was told, dialing her sister and quickly instructing her to come to the hospital because you're oddly looking for her.

When Natasha heard the news that you were about to give birth, she didn't think twice about abandoning the mission and driving fast toward the hospital that Yelena had told her you were admitted to. Along the way, she had this smile on her face that she couldn't brush off, no matter how much she tried.

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!"

After what feels like years, Natasha finally entered the delivery room where you were lying down. She wore her scrubs, not minding the way her sister had looked at her with raised brows when she signaled her to come out. "Yel, wait outside. I'll handle it from here."

"Why would you want to-"

"For fuck's sake, just go!" You screamed madly, causing the blonde to narrow her eyes before leaving but not before muttering her line.

"сука!"™

You had been suffering for fourteen hours of labor, and the baby still didn't want to go out yet, so your patience was wearing thin. It turns out that the contractions that you were feeling are not the usual ones that you get. You were already laboring and dilating without being aware of it.

"You!" You pointed at Natasha. "Come here! Faster, goddamn it!"

"Okay, okay, chill." The redhead obliged without another thought, grabbing your hand for support, and she tried her best not to wince with how hard you squeezed it when you felt another wave of pain, but she couldn't, muttering a low curse, "Shit."

"Oh, you think that hurts?" You glared at her sarcastically. "This is your fault anyway, so don't-"

"Baby's crowning." Your doctor interrupted your seemingly endless banter cautiously, "Give me five hard pushes, okay?"

If you weren't in pain, you'd be touched knowing that your baby wouldn't go out of you without the presence of her Mama Nat, but no, you're in pain since you refused to take some epidurals. Nonetheless, you obliged.

You pushed, screamed, and teared up until you finally heard the wonderful sounds of cries from your newly born child.

"It's a healthy baby girl! Congratulations, Mrs. and Mrs. Romanoff!"

"Oh, we're not really-"

Natasha cuts off your exhausted rambling as she flashed a teary smile to the doctor who's holding your gays' baby.

"Thank you, Doctor Alison." She couldn't take her eyes off of the wailing child even if she tried, murmuring a small, "Beautiful."

You tugged at her hand, making her snap back into reality. "Congratulations, nemesis. Such a sharpshooter!"

She laughed lowly at the second one before smiling genuinely at you.

"Congratulations and thank you, Y/n," Natasha sincerely mumbled before she slowly leaned down to kiss your forehead. "I love you."

You were surprised with the sudden confession, but some part of you is already aware of those weird feelings that she gives you—love. Before, using the word love beside Natasha's name was like the most impossible thing that could've ever existed, but now, as you realize all those moments and bickerings that you grew fond of as time went by, it doesn't feel impossible anymore.

You love Natasha Romanoff.

In addition to that, it's a moment of vulnerability, and it was rare for Natasha to show that. It's her defense mechanism, so she always makes sure that she has these walls to protect her, but now you could see it in her eyes—feel it.

She trusts you with all her heart.

And since it's a serious moment for you both, it made you uneasy, not being used to the softness just yet. That's why you tried to make it more normal between you two.

You gave her a tired smirk and decided to tease her a bit. "I know you do, Romanoff. I know you do."

"Okay, don't Han Solo me now!" Natasha chuckled lowly. "I know you—you love me too. That's why we keep on beakering. It's like our love language."

Our love language.

"You're so full of yourself." You scoffed sarcastically, though you couldn't help but agree. Not that she needs to know that. "Maybe I'll love you if you promise to change Willow's diaper for the first six months."

"Willow?" Natasha questioned, rubbing the pad of her thumb with your still intertwined hands, ignoring your second remark, "Is that her name?"

"Mhm." You hummed lazily, your eyes now becoming heavier. "Natalia Willow Y/l/n-Romanoff."

You obviously woke up with a painful lower body; your throat felt dry as you tried to slowly get used to the blinding light.

You saw Natasha snoring adorably beside you, her head placed above your intertwined fingers. You giggled quietly at how clingy she's suddenly become after all those banters that you two have shared before. You gently woke her up, making her stir a few times before she finally opened her forest green eyes.

"Hi," Natasha mumbled with a soft smile. "How are you?"

"Thirsty," You muttered, your voice raspy, making her quickly get up to go over the table on the corner and fill the glass with water before giving it to you, guiding you as you finished it even though you insisted that you could drink on your own. "Hi."

"Hey, detka." She chuckled at your shy side. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," You nodded honestly, "Where's the-"

"So where's my niece?"

"-baby?" You finished while eyeing Yelena, who had just barged in and was slightly restless but really excited.

Natasha mumbled, "They should be here-"

Knock knock!

"-now.." Natasha scoffed, "Yeah, we should really stop cutting ourselves off."

The nurse came in with the small crib, where a peacefully sleeping baby was placed. She was now wrapped in her pinkish blanket to keep her warm, and her tiny hands were hidden with her mittens.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Yelena clapped quietly, running towards the crib to catch a glimpse of her niece, but when she's already gazing at your child, her mouth falls open in shock. "Looks exactly like—what the fu-"

"Language." Captain America entered with a light knock; he was with the other Avengers behind him as they walked carefully inside the room.

"So, why does Y/n's baby have red hair?" Kate questioned, voicing one of the thoughts that was playing in Yelena's head. Thor then entered with a booming clap, having just arrived since he still fetched Jane along the way, causing your baby to be startled and open her eyes slightly, but enough to reveal the shade of her gems. "And green eyes?!"

"It's a fucking baby Romanoff, y'all!" Tony smirked to himself, "Knew you two were kinky shits!"

The others were still pretty stunned at the revelation. Some were staring deeply at the resemblance while either having their eyes wide or their mouth hanging open. Pretty much both. So, when they finally recovered-

"Natasha?!" All of them turned to the redhead who was drinking some water, nonchalantly, on the corner.

"Yeah, it's a long story, but let's just all welcome my daughter—Willow, yeah?"

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #soft natasha romanoff

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rooshoom · 10 months

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I did it. I have Spots verbal quirks in the previous post and now you get to have Spots physical quirks and movements with some quotes from when I noticed he does them.

Poses

Terrible casual ‘guy’ poses

The arm lean, the hand on the hip, the tilted head. He is totally faking the confidence.

“I love how many of your there are!”

“It’s the place with the big collider.”

Shoulders / Arms

When he first walks into the store to rob the ATM, he has super tense shoulders. We see a lot of his stress and tension carried more in his upper body than lower body.

Lots of shrugging

Shrinks in on himself by squeezing his arms to his sides

During the flashback when he brought the spider from 42 to 1610 you can really see how much he tries to squeeze in on himself.

Slings his arms, when he throws his portals his arms fly forward very fluidly. Example when he throws the portal at Pav, Gwen and Hobie, he throws it hard enough that his upper body drops once it’s out of his hand.

Hand movements

Fingers first, if you watch the way he reaches into the ATM he doesn’t just casually reach in, he grabs things with his fingers instead of his whole hand or with his palm

Floppy hand / t-rex arm

Conveys tons of emotions through his hands, like when he is shocked he flexes his fingers open. Maybe picked up on this since he can no longer express emotion through his face.

Balled fists but likely out of nerves. Once again seen in the flashback of the spider.

Points with all of his fingers instead of just one. “You made me into this!”

Standing / walking

It seems like he only stands at full height when he’s trying to convince himself to be confident. “I am the Spot.”

Even when he’s actually confident he doesn’t stand at full height. Right before he disappears inside Pav’s collider, which you can tell by his verbal cues that he’s very confident with what he's about to do, he’s still leaned over.

Knees together, once against this man just wants to appear small.

Clumsy. “I need more spots!” Running into walls, dropping things, and twisting around corners.

Would rather stand, crouch, or stand on his knees than sit down. Look at Gwen watch him ramble to himself while building, he doesn’t sit once.

Crouches with his neck more than his back. “You’ll have a villain worth fighting for.”

Head / Face

Head tilts

Leans forward to see with face first, so lucky he has a hole right there to deflect fists because if he didn’t he would be punched in the face so fast.

When he says “wow four on there.” You can see him lean in with his face. Totally why that old lady beat him with a purse.

Literal nose tilted up attitude later in the movie. When he’s in Pav’s universe dropping scientists into portals, he has face tilted up and nodding along with how many holes he creates.

Other

I see him stim with his legs a lot, such as hopping foot to foot. “This is real.”

Just generally very fluid, watch how he falls into the portal when he yells, “I am your nemesis!” He flops into it instead of bracing for impact. He has no sense of self preservation.

He. Cannot. Fight. Watch all of his scenes and look at how loose he is. A slinky of a man.

Look at how he flails. This man would flinch if you threw a pillow at him.

Y’all, I’m absolutely encouraging you to write Spot X Reader with my lists. I’m trying to make this easy as possible, don’t think babygirl just write a bedtime story for the masses we can all peacefully drift off to. Let me spoil you with the time I spent doing this so you don’t have to.

#jonathan ohnn #the spot #across the spiderverse #the spot x reader #jonathon ohnn #what else should I write about

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babyleostuff · 9 months

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SEUNGCHEOL AS YOUR BOYFRIEND

genre | a lot of fluff

author’s note | if you’d like me to do this with any other member, let me know <3

𓆩♡𓆪 SO PROTECTIVE of you (it’s such a cliche, but I love it anyways)

𓆩♡𓆪 99% of the time has an arm wrapped around you when you’re out in public or at least holds your hand

𓆩♡𓆪 the 1% that he doesn’t is because you try to mess with him and push his hand away (he gets SO sulky)

𓆩♡𓆪 if you’re attending any big gatherings, he always checks up on you to see if you’re alright and having fun

𓆩♡𓆪 and if someone is mean to you or dares to make you feel uncomfortable, your adorable boyfriend changes form Cheol to S.coups really fast

𓆩♡𓆪 generally, he’s even MORE sulkier and MORE poutier when he’s with you

𓆩♡𓆪 he just knows that you cannot resist him and that you’ll kiss the pout away

𓆩♡𓆪 so more often that not, he uses it just for you to kiss him (which he gets so cocky about)

𓆩♡𓆪 we know that Cheol is a big gift giver, so be ready to get spoiled to death

𓆩♡𓆪 no matter how many times you tell him that you don’t actually need all those things, he doesn’t want to hear any of it

𓆩♡𓆪 how can he not spoil the love of his life? it’s basically his duty

𓆩♡𓆪 you’re his nr.1 spot when he’s in need of comfort

𓆩♡𓆪 your presence alone gives him a great sense of comfort

𓆩♡𓆪 often when he’s stressed about work and his schedules, you put on a movie just to have an excuse to cuddle for the next two and a half hour

𓆩♡𓆪 and when you give him surprise visits at the company, he falls in love with you even more (if that's even possible, he already loves you to death)

𓆩♡𓆪 adores when you wear his clothes

𓆩♡𓆪 the type to “accidentally” leave his hoodie at your place, just to act “surprised” when he sees you wearing it the next day

𓆩♡𓆪 he tries to act unbothered whenever he sees you in his clothes, but on the inside he’s all rainbows and unicorns

𓆩♡𓆪 also, it’s his silent way of showing everyone around that you’re his baby 🥰

𓆩♡𓆪 gets so mushy when you call him by pet names

𓆩♡𓆪 especially if you shorten his name to Cheol or Cheollie

𓆩♡𓆪 he’d also call you by a pet name (he strikes me as the “honey” type)

𓆩♡𓆪 sometimes people wonder whether you ever use your actual names

𓆩♡𓆪 but it’s your little way of showing how much you love each other

𓆩♡𓆪 then again, if you ever call him by his full name, he knows he’s in trouble

𓆩♡𓆪 his favorite places to kiss you are your lips and cheeks

𓆩♡𓆪 he just can’t resist you, so sometimes you randomly get smothered with kisses all over your face

𓆩♡𓆪 HAS to kiss you before he or you leave for work

𓆩♡𓆪 also not afraid of showing PDA in front of the rest of the boys (we know how affectionate he’s with them, so it’s going to be the same when he’s with you)

𓆩♡𓆪 he gets “annoyed” when you baby him in front of them (or in front of anyone for that matter)

𓆩♡𓆪 but when you stop, he’s all 🥺 why did you stop?

𓆩♡𓆪 secretly loves when you’re the big spoon

𓆩♡𓆪 there’s just nothing better for him when you wrap your arms around him and he can put his head on your chest and forget about all his worries

𓆩♡𓆪 makes you feel so loved and appreciated

𓆩♡𓆪 not a day goes by that he doesn't tell you how pretty you are, with the most lovestruck expression

𓆩♡𓆪 he’s your nr.1 supporter and cheerleader, no matter what you do

𓆩♡𓆪 he just wants you to feel like the most beautiful and accomplished person on earth

𓆩♡𓆪 he will spend the rest of his life proving it to you

<3 your messages

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cinnamonest · 3 months

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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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