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cinnamonest · 8 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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senseofnewness · 1 month

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what are your own like personal headcanons about art donaldson!!! i love hearing about silly thoughts people have <333 (i love your writing btw!!)

(thank you bby <3)

random art donaldson headcanons

• at 31 years old, art donaldson still can't grow a full mustache. it's as if god took all the body hairs meant for him and gave them to patrick zweig instead.

• art wears tom ford’s azure lime, a fragrance that is fresh and crisp, with none of the heavy muskiness you might expect. some might say it smells a bit feminine, but it suits him well, at least, it always smells clean.

• he named his daughter lily after his grandmother, liliane. although she didn't raise him, they shared a special bond. it was liliane who introduced him to tennis.

• he is a secret fan of the lord of the rings and occasionally quotes gollum, much to tashi’s annoyance, who rolls her eyes at the nerdy side of her husband.

• his favorite food is lasagna, but not the kind you'd expect. he doesn't crave the gourmet freshly made lasagna his personal chef prepares. what he really loves is the store-brand frozen lasagna, the kind that comes in a box and is microwaved. tashi only allows him to eat it on his birthday.

• out of all his body parts, hands are probably his favorite. which is why he finds holding hands to be one of the most intimate gestures. he prefers sturdy hands with slender fingers and manicured nails.

• art had never blocked patrick’s number all those years, just so he could one day say "the phone works both ways" if patrick ever tried to blame him for their falling out.

• he has an irrational fear of spiders. if he spots one in a room, he cannot bring himself to sleep in there, even if tashi has killed the spider for him. in his mind, the spider’s family might be plotting revenge, and that thought is enough to keep him awake at night.

• art donaldson hates the taste of coffee, no matter how many times he had tried to like it in an effort to appear more mature. to him, it always tastes like straight-up dirt. he prefers to stick with vanilla milk.

• he has tried the curly girl method countless times, hoping to restore the curly texture his hair once had as a teenager. despite his efforts and the many products he has tried, his hair remains persistently straight.

• art chews his nails when nervous. and he will chew on anything else he can get a grip on as well. tashi tries to break this habit by painting his nails with bitter nail polish but it doesn't stop him from biting them, it just tastes like shit now.

• art rarely swears or gets angry, but when he does, tashi knows he will spend the entire day brooding. it's all about muttered complaints and scowls. the only thing that typically soothes him is a warm bath.

• when lily was born, art sobbed so loudly that the nurses had to ask him to quiet down to avoid disturbing the other babies in the hospital wing. tashi was so mortified that she pretended not to know him.

[nsfw]

• he wears those tiny underwears because he doesn't feel supported in anything else. he needs his pink fuzzy balls to be secured on the court. a lesson he learned the hard way. when he was fifteen, one of his balls slipped through the leg of his loose boxers during a match, and patrick teased him about it for months. ever since that day, he has sworn off boxers entirely.

• when patrick taught art how to jerk off, art waited for patrick to be asleep to look closely at the sock patrick had used. he studied the slimy stains, comparing the cum to his own, just to make sure everything was normal with him.

• he isn’t a fan of quickies. he prefers to take his time with tashi, believing that making love is about enjoying every moment and taking the time to bring her to the edge. to him, it’s not really making love if she doesn’t climax too. however, there are times when he becomes so horny after a particularly intense practice session, where tashi had pushed him harder than usual, that a quickie becomes necessary.

• he has incredibly sensitive nipples and gets easily aroused when they’re touched or teased. when tashi wants to make him shut up during an argument, she just pinches them and he starts whimpering.

• sometimes he can't help but think about the fact that patrick had been with tashi before him, and it turns him on. the thought of them together becomes a driving force, turning into a personal competition. he feels the need to prove to tashi that he is the best sex she will ever have.

• tashi used threats of her strap-on as a way to motivate him during his matches, but now, instead of fear, it has become a source of excitement. art knows that each victory means tashi is waiting for him at home with her silicone cock, ready to celebrate.

#art donaldson #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fiction #challengers #challengers 🎾#art donaldson smut #challengers smut #ask

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rorichuu · 11 months

Text

in shades of violet ; 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 — (part 2) .

pairing: gale x gn/fem!reader

authors note: uh HIIIII, this is proof I'm not dead, my heart is just suffering from another fandom :') posted from my ao3 account hurhur

disclaimer: gale and tav but with the line: "I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me? - I love you!"

The silence clouded your shared camp with an unforgiving hush, the wind particularly brisk, and the whisper of the trees seemingly more pronounced. Those words spoken by Mystra's Chosen, deafening in their own heavy deliverance, refused to leave your crowded mind. The unforgiving visitor sang ill-sickening horrors that twisted your mind onto your own, thankfully not driven to insanity on the part of Shadowheart's found artifact. But there was more to this; more to find on the journey ahead. Paths left untrailed, answers yet unfound... this couldn't have been our last resort. You were to make sure of it. You could tell in the way Gale’s eyebrows knitted together, the way he bit his cheek, how his chest seemed to fall faster than before Elminster’s disrupted visit. The tension was suffocating, you couldn’t stand it. Just then, you had found your chest falling rapidly all the same… but not in a sense of sadness, nor of fear. But in rage. The Goddess asked of something you had found irrational, and even if the Gods held you back with all their might, they could not obstruct your determination.

“Time seems so infinite when you’re young… a month is an age, a year is a lifetime…” Your ears prickled upon hearing the wizard speak. His voice hummed with a self-deprecating laugh; you could hear the ache in his heart. “It is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left.” It was as if all light had fallen from his eyes. Once hazel in sunlight, once sparkling with awe and curiosity. You refused to have him snuffed out as if simply candlelight; you will preserve and hold his heavy heart for as long as you’ll have him. You turned to face Gale, your eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, a scoff leaving your throat harshly.

“You can’t possibly consider what She is asking of you.” Your voice slightly raised, you advanced towards Gale, your eyes sharing his with your unrelenting hold. You noticed Adam’s apple bob, he swallowed, slightly intimidated by you. But with a clench of his jaw, he stepped backward, clearing his throat.

“Of course, he offered the clearest solution to our problem,” he began. You frowned. “All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and... well, let go.” He spoke as if it were a simple task. As if Gale had nothing to lose and everything to give. But how wrong he was, oh, how your heart cried due to Gale’s blindness. “Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… and I along with it.” His tone sauntered to a sort of grief... to a sort of realization.

“You’re an idiot. An idiot to think so,” your voice wobbled, your eyes threatened with tears. Gale’s façade had begun to falter as soon as your broken sentence left your lips, his heart ached for what he thought he could not have. “It’s a suicide mission. I can’t let you, not when there’s… undoubtedly, another way. There must be.” You looked away, shame rosing your cheeks in its warming triumph. You couldn’t let yourself go just yet.

“That… this, isn’t a choice either one of us can make Tav,” Gale spoke, his hand lifting to rest on your shoulder. In response, you bucked away from him, shaking your head. “It is your decision! It’s your life, and you are what you make of it!” Your throat began to seize up, burning with an intention to release your tears, but you fought it. You marched towards him; he stepped back in return. “I understand she is your Goddess; I understand your devotion. But what about… oh, lords above." A hand fell over your lips, cursing… your heart racing in your ceased thoughts. It was clawing at you; your love was destined to put your heart to ruin if you had let Gale continue his newly found mission… how badly you wished to speak of your daydreams; your fantasies; your devotion for the wizard, a love you had wished to grow old with. Had it only been a few weeks on your travels, if not months, and you were completely transfixed in his pretty words and captivating conversations… for it did not take long to realize your affections. But it hurt. It hurt more than poets could write on tarnished paper; more than the absence of a lover; more than the moon’s unrequited love for the sun. It tore at every seam of your heart.

Gale frowned, eyes catching yours as his hand lifted your face by his touch. “Speak to me.” He whispered now, the Earth around you began to shift in a mystic purple, caressing your skin with its doting charm. Your lip curled, and your heart pounded against your chest, bound to be left free from its cage. And so, you spoke.

“Do you love me?” Plain and true to your question, Gale blinked, taken aback… his hand fell. The Weave flickered by Gale’s fluttered heart.

“I’m doing this to protect you. To protect you all.” His response did not align with what you had asked him.

“Do you love me?” You continued to push your question.

“It wouldn’t… Tav, we couldn’t, you know this. We can’t—”

“Do you love me?” You advanced towards him, feet hot on his trail as he looked at you, small in your gaze. Gale stuttered in response, excuses falling from his lips. A deep purple smothered the both of you. “Do you love me!”

“Tav! Please, stop! Stop this!” Gale raised his voice in return, your lips twitched in your abrupt pause. The darkened purple was hushed now to its softened twinkle.

“Is this because you think you’re protecting me or yourself? Do you truly believe that if you do this, my love for you will simply shy away? Because it can’t.” Gale's eyes searched yours desperately as if his puppy browns could find anything within you. “I love you, Gale.” The way you had pronounced his name clearly in your sweetened words; the way you spoke plainly alone of your love held his heart in your divine chamber. And he wished to never leave it. “I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me, all you have to say is you do not love me, and I will leave you to Mystra’s command.” Gale could not speak. Whatever he had wished to say to you had left his mind… it did not live up to what you were proposing, he only had your words coddled in his brain. His mouth was left agape, watching you speak.

You continued. “We will find the heart of the Absolute. I will leave you to Her command and I will go on with my days without you. All on my own, I will do that. But first, you have to say that you do not love me.” A quiet hushed over your words, his lips seemed to move; seemed to move in hopes to say something, but his voice was trapped. Gale’s mouth had gone dry, his mind enclosed with what he so desperately wished to say to you. “You must tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.” Gale’s eyelashes fluttered; his once gazing eyes that longed to be lost in yours had disappeared with the shaking of his head. His voice had soon accompanied yours.

“I am a danger; a ticking time bomb that will inevitably detonate,” his words were as though they were a broken record. You sighed, lip quivering. “The Weave is tireless and ever-so hungry. And eventually, I will become lost in it. Once I was lost to celestials above, and… I wish not to have you tangled within my own fault.” Gale had sounded as if almost desperate. You needed to hear it clearly. You needed to.

“Do you love me?” Your words continued to prevail an answer in search of his response. Slowly, he began to back away, hands raised in the hopeless comfort to retreat. But you continued to push, swirls of the Weave hugging your figure.

“You do not wish a life with me for yourself,” Gale kept his gaze on the ground, hands on either hip as he cowered. “No one wishes what I cannot give you.” Within Gale’s sorrow, a shade of violet hung heavy over his shoulders.

“Gale!” Catching his attention, his eyes met yours, fully swept within your pearled orbs. “I will stand with you between the Heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me!”

“I love you!” With a final gust, shimmers of a royal lilac decorated your face with its beautiful hue. The world seemed to stop, the Weave with it. It had felled from his lips as though it were his last words; devotion he would happily give if he could have only you… disregarding Mystra, disregarding everything he knows for you. Selfish as that may be. A sigh left your lungs, relief soothing you. “From the moment… from the moment you pulled me from that rock. I have loved you desperately—I cannot breathe when you are not near… I love you, Tav." Within your shared breath, the Weave had fallen away… the whispers of the trees were once more, the song of the birds within the twilight… embraced into each other’s arms, a kiss was shared; deep and true, your lips did not tear, if even for a breath. For Gale did not need to breathe, you were his oxygen. His means of breathing; his means of living. But alas, the kiss was broken. You two had held each other, and felt the touch and warmth of each other’s bodies. A comfort Gale was at peace with knowing.

His voice broke through the silence.

“What I carry is darkness,” he whispered. “A suffocating darkness due to my own hubris. Tav, this is my burden. But you…” Gale had brought his hands to cup either side of your face, his softened gaze welcoming yours with the purest of adoration. “You bring the light.” He rested his forehead upon yours, eyes fluttering closed in the embrace of your presence. “I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you.”

“I want you and only you,” you whispered in solace. “I want you until the celestials find their end. Until the Earth cannot carry us no longer. I want you.”

“Then you shall have me.”

rorichuu!

#baldur's gate 3 gale #baldur's gate 3 romance #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 gale romance #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 gale x reader #gale x reader bg3 #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale of waterdeep #rorichuu!

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hotdaemondtargaryen · 2 months

Text

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED BY THE INVERSE MAGAZINE.

HOW HAS AEMOND CHANGED OVER SEASON TWO?

"For the first four episodes, you see Aemond operating from the peripheries."

"You see him and Criston Cole during their Shadow Council scenes trying to manipulate the Council table to the way they want to run things."

"Aemond is waiting for his moment to strike."

"At the end of Episode 4 — at the Battle of Rook’s Rest — he seizes his opportunity to take two dragons out with one stone."

"It's only until the “Red Sowing” in Episode 7, where Rhaenyra enlists and raises new dragon riders, that Aemond’s power is threatened."

"You're going to see a more desperate side to Aemond."

"And a desperate Aemond is a dangerous one because he might overcompensate."

"He might be a little more irrational than the composed stoic face that he's had before."

"In Episode 8, he's outgunned and he's outraged."

"The Blacks have seven dragons, the Greens have three."

"We have Vhagar, we have Dreamfyre, and we have Daeron’s dragon Tessarion, who's just taken wing."

"Aemond very much wants to win the war."

DO YOU CONSIDER AEMOND THE VILLAIN OF HOUSE OF THE DRAGON?

"It's very easy to make that assumption and judgment just because of the way that he looks."

"His Targaryen blacks, the long hair, the eye patch — it screams villain, but it depends on what side you're on."

"He's the guy who is prepared to do the necessary evil."

"He wants to be seen as a war hero."

"He knows he can be loved, but he knows he can achieve more if he's willing to be feared."

"He's done a lot of bad stuff to support the theory that he is the villain of the show."

"That's one of the most satisfying things for me is decoding his DNA and discovering that he isn't just that two-dimensional villain."

CAN YOU ONCE AND FOR ALL SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT ABOUT THE BATTLE OF ROOK'S REST? WERE AEMOND'S ACTIONS PURPOSEFUL? WAS THAT COLLATERAL DAMAGE OR DID HE JUST TAKE AN OPPORTUNITY TO SEIZE THE POWER?

"I think it could be all three of those things."

"It could be that Aemond did, in fact, see an opportunity to take two dragons off the board with one stone, or was Aegon just in the way?"

"Aegon was never part of the original plan for the battle."

"But with everything that Aegon did and the ringleader status he inhabited in Aemond's childhood, there's an awful lot of evidence to support that."

"What Aemond did was intentional, but whether or not it was premeditated is another thing."

SO WHEN YOU WERE ACTING ALONGSIDE AEGON IN THE LATER EPISODES WHEN THERE'S A CONFRONTATION AT HIS SICK BED, THAT WAS WITH THE KKOWLEDGE OF MALICIOUS INTENT?

"I think so."

"Their relationship is so multifaceted."

"There's a hatred for his brother, but also a certain love that he always craved from him."

"Aegon was supposed to be his big brother."

"He was supposed to look out for him."

"He just never did."

"I thought there was something really fascinating in the fact that Aemond left that marble marker on Aegon’s chest."

"Maybe he left it there for him in a way to say, “The chair's there for you when the war is finished,” or he might've just been pressing the stone marker into his chest to make him hurt that little bit more."

IN EPISODE 8, WE FIRST SEE AEMOND AFTER HE RAZES THE ENTIRETY OF SHARP POINT BECAUSE HE'S MAD ABOUT RHAENYRA'S NEW DRAGON FORCES. WHAT IS GOING THROUGH HIS MIND?

"It's a spur-of-the-moment retaliation."

"He has to overcompensate for this newfound knowledge that Rhaenyra has raised new dragonriders against him and changed the tide of the war."

"Sharp Point, from what I understand of the geography of Westeros, is actually very closely connected to The Gullet."

"Aemond feels like it's justified."

"He's destroying a bit of the Gullet and destroying the blockade that Rhaenyra set up at the beginning of Season 2."

"But ultimately, what he does is atrocious."

WE NEXT SEE HIM TALKING ABOUT THE SMALLFOLK HAVING TO SACRIFICE FOR THE WAR EFFORT. WHAT IS AEMOND SACRIFICING?

It goes back to that moment when Helaena's by the throne Aemond's just gazing up at it and Helaena says, “Was it worth the price?”

"Ultimately, what he sacrificed is his humanity."

"It's that theme that is so prevalent throughout our series: whether love trumps duty or duty trumps love."

"In Aemond's eye, love is a weakness."

WE SEE HIM CONFRONT ALICENT IN THIS EPISODE AND BASICALLY ACCUSE HER OF HAVING TOO MUCH COMPASSION. DOES AEMOND SEE HER AS AN ENEMY? IS THERE ANY AFFECTION REMAINING?

"I think there is."

"One of the main motivations I've played from the beginning of Season 2 was this idea that he wants his mum."

I think he's heartbroken when he says, “Would you not have us prevail?” and she says, “Not like this.”

"That's not part of Aemond's vision."

When he sent Alicent away in Episode 6, he said, “Look, let me deal with the war.”

"You just wait by the margins and then when I've won this war, we can pick up and work on our relationship."

"But the fact that she rebukes him at that moment in Episode 8, he's heartbroken."

"It's horrible for Aemond to comprehend that his mom isn't on his side."

SPEAKING OF WOMEN IN AEMOND'S LIFE, HELAENA GOES TO AEMOND AND ACCUSES HIM OF BURNING AEGON PURPOSEFULLY AND HINTS AT AEMOND'S DEATH. IS HE SHAKEN BY THAT?

"He's definitely shaken."

In an act of desperation, he goes to his sister and says, “Look, you and me, we need to ride out. We need to go to the Riverlands. We need to take out Daemon and destroy all of the influence that he has with the houses of the Riverlands.”

"Aemond is ultimately rebuked by both Alicent and Helaena."

"He's always had this very singular vision of how everything was going to go down."

"But when that starts to get challenged, when he recognizes that Alicent and Helaena aren't on his side, and then when Helaena comes out with this prophecy."

I think a part of him definitely thinks, “Oh no, my sister could be right.”

WHAT CAN WE EXPECT FROM AEMOND IN SEASON 3?

"I think you're going to see someone who's a lot more desperate and a lot more erratic."

"Targaryens were always considered closer to gods than men."

"And what Rhaenyra does at the end of Episode 7 very much challenges and questions the belief that you have to be a legitimate Targaryen to ride a dragon."

"And although their heritage from what we've heard sounds pretty legit, the rest of Westeros doesn’t see that."

"As Aemond says at the end of Episode 8 in that confrontation with his mother and his sister, the people of Westeros ultimately see commonfolk made into dragon lords."

"It very much paints a large target not only on Aemond's back but also on the back of all the Targaryens."

"It compromises their god-like status in a sense."

"And Aemond is definitely going to retaliate."

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ireadwithmyears · 5 months

Text

you gonna swoon on me, meshla?

Pairing: Kix/GN Reader

Word count: 3.4 K

Tags/warnings: mostly fluff/humour, injections, mentioned fear of needles, fainting, awkward/embarrassing love confessions, first kiss

Summary: when you quite literally swoon into the arms of the medic you’ve had a crush on for months, you aren’t planning on confessing your feelings for him. When the truth embarrassingly slips out anyways, you’re surprised to find that those feelings maybe don’t go as unreciprocated as you had thought.

Note: look, I did it. I finally titled something without referencing a Taylor Swift song. Are you proud of me? I didn’t know I could do that.

Please, don’t let it be him.

This is the only thought that runs through your mind as you anxiously wait in a line of troopers, officers, and Jedi generals and commanders, all neatly filed into the medbay of the Negotiator to get updated vaccinations, a precaution, you were told by your CO, in preparation for a planet you were about to be deployed to, that was currently dealing with an outbreak of some disease or other.

If it’s him, you think, you’ll simply crumple to the floor in embarrassment.

Your name is called, and at first, you don’t react, instinctively turning to find the owner of the voice, searching through a sea of very identical faces until your eyes lock on him.

“Over here,” Kix calls to you. “I’ll take you now.”

Great.

Absolutely fanfuckingtastic.

As your eyes are drawn to the prettiest face that you’ve ever seen in the GAR, instinctively, the butterflies in your stomach take flight, insistent as they flutter.

This makes for a rather poor combination with your already frayed nerves, anxious about what you’re about to do. What he is going to do to you, you correct yourself, feeling your stomach lurch. It takes all of your willpower not to wilt on the spot.

Move, you silently order yourself. Move so that he doesn’t piece together that anything is wrong.

Reluctantly, you do, feet awkwardly shuffling forward through the crowd as you try not to be sick. This is, quite possibly, the worst scenario. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. Being afraid of needles as a grown ass adult is embarrassing enough. But being afraid of needles and having the handsome, kind medic with the beautiful brown eyes and impeccable bedside manner who you, you have to admit it, have had a crush on for a long time being the one to administer your vaccination is just on a whole other level of mortification.

This is humiliating, you think to yourself, and not at all what you signed up for when you became an aid to one of the admirals who is stationed primarily on the bridge of the Negotiator. You work and interact with the clones often, and yet, it’s him whose set apart from the others for you, who’s gentle smiles and kind words, paired with that handsome face always sends your heart racing. So of course, of course, it had to be him who was about to see this embarrassing, completely irrational side of you.

You try not to let any of this discomfort flicker across your face as he leads you into a curtained off cubicle, gesturing for you to sit.

You hesitate and slowly, with the trepidation of a loth-cat wandering out into the rain, you lower, tentatively sitting on the edge of the seat.

“You’re shaking,” Kix murmurs, gently taking your wrist in his hand to feel your pulse. “And your heart rates a bit jumpy,” he adds after a moment.

His voice is soft, non-judgmental, slightly honeyed with a hint of what you think might be concern.

Still, you rush to answer, eyes widening in false surprise even though, his alluring proximity combined with your looming anxiety easily explains his observations.

“I is it?” You ask, voice pitching upward in a nervous squeak that makes you internally cringe.

His lips pull into a kind smile as he inclines his head, crease forming between his eyebrows as he looks at you with a flicker of curiosity.

“It’s not anything to be alarmed about. But it is usually a sign of anxiety or nerves, in this case,” he remarks, leaning forward and propping his elbows against his knees as he gazes at you. “Are you feeling nervous right now, cyar?” He queries, voice understanding and gentle.

In spite of the fact that the word is unfamiliar to your ears, something about it, and the tone of his voice, makes you blush.

Regardless of that, you’re quickly shaking your head in denial, defensive.

“No,” you respond, forcing your voice to remain even. “I’m not nervous.”

There’s a beat, a slight hesitation where he deliberates. Then, by some mercy, he nods, straightening and rising to his feet.

“Alright, then,” he acquiesces, moving to retrieve something as your eyes warily track him. “If you could just roll up your sleeve, which ever arm you prefer, we’ll have you out of here quickly.”

You nod mutely, throat going dry as you do, trembling hand slowly pushing up the sleeve of your T-shirt.

He moves around you, stepping up and beginning to wipe a disinfectant over the exposed skin of your arm, just below your shoulder. It’s cold, and you instinctively flinch, unable to hide the jolt as the unexpected sensation sends you spiralling into overdrive.

“Okay, okay, I lied,” you admit frantically, raising your hands to cover your face, cheeks burning. “I am nervous,” you confess, voice muffled against your hands.

“Hey, hey that’s okay,” his response is immediate, voice filled with warmth and reassurance. “You don’t have to hide, meshla, I understand.”

To his credit, he does sound genuine, kind, not a hint of judgement or condescension in his voice.

Hesitating for a moment, you look up at him through your eyelashes, lips pulled downward into a frown. “I didn’t want you to know,” you mumble, cheeks still flushed. “It’s embarrassing, and I know I can handle it.”

He gives you a nod of encouragement. “I know you can handle it, too,” he responds immediately. “But I don’t find your apprehension embarrassing at all. These are unpleasant, and overall not a fun experience. Even if it is finished quickly, it is understandable to dread it.”

You find that you have nothing to say to his sound logic, and you’re still floundering to come up with a response when his fingers lightly brush against your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s funny, because you’d expect, what with your nerves already running so high at this moment, that you wouldn’t have the energy to blush at the simple touch, the light, barely there brush of his gloved fingers against your bare skin.

You’d be wrong, especially when he appears to notice, and his eyes linger on your face, pausing for just a moment too long with something, warm and soft in them.

“And no offense, but you’re a shit liar,” he teases, giving you a slight grin.

“Am not,” you defend, voice indignantly jumping an octave higher which makes him chuckle.

“Right,” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m absolutely convinced.”

He sits back, face becoming serious once more as he looks at you. “Is there anything I can do to help make this easier?” He asks, voice soft.

You shake your head, biting your lip uncertainly. “I I’m not sure,” you admit, looking down at your feet.

“That’s okay,” he says, looking thoughtful as he pauses for a moment before he sits forward. “I’d like to try something, and we can see if it is helpful, if you’re game for it?” He asks, raising one eyebrow as he looks at you.

You let out a slow breath, giving him a half shrug. “Honestly? At this point I’m game for anything.”

He gives you a smile and nod, wheeling his chair up next to you. Almost absently, he reaches up a hand, carefully tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

In the back of your mind, you know that it’s probably just so that it’s not in the way of the injection site. But still, your heart flutters at the simple gesture, momentarily distracting you from your fear.

It doesn’t last.

The minute he moves to the tray of tools beside him, your breath catches in your throat and your eyes jump to stare at him, alarmed.

He looks at you, brown eyes searching, and you’re struck by the deep level of compassion you find in them.

“You might find this easier if you look away,” he says gently. “Nothing is going to happen without warning. I will tell you what I’m doing, and I won’t proceed until you tell me that you’re ready.”

You give him a slow nod, reluctantly pulling your eyes away and forcing yourself to look forward. Despite your pounding heart And your racing mind, you implicitly trust him, knowing that he’ll keep his word. Satisfied, he speaks again.

Now, this might sound counterintuitive, but I’d like you to clench your fist as tightly as you can. Keep it nice and tense, and ignore everything that’s going on up here,” he says, fingers gently trailing over your upper arm. “I’m just going to disinfect this again, just to be safe. It’ll feel a bit cold,” he warns, and you hear the sound of a plastic wrapper being torn open as he prepares a new swab.

You give him a small jerk of your head, forcing your fingers to close into a fist and holding it tightly as he moves, quickly swiping over the area a few times.

“Good, now, I’m coming in with the injection. I want you to take a nice, deep breath in for me,” he encourages, and it takes all of your strength not to look at what he’s doing beside you.

You nod again, forcing yourself to pull air through your lungs in a long, controlled breath. “Keep that fist tight,” he reminds you quietly. “You tell me when.”

You take one, two, three seconds to hold your breath, and force the muscles of your fist to contract tighter, and prepare yourself. Kix waits, his presence unobtrusive, patient and calming. Finally, you give him the go ahead.

“Do it,” you say simply, bracing yourself as you do.

It comes without delay, quick and immediate, and a sting that makes you wince. But, by the time your body is reacting to it, it’s already gone.

Your breath exits your lungs in a slow, relieved stream of air as Kix speaks, switching out the syringe for a cotton swab, holding it against the site for a moment.

“Perfect. All done,” he praises, and you don’t have to look at him to know that there’s a smile on his face, matching the warm inflection of his voice.

You feel him carefully apply a small Band-Aid to the site, smoothing it down with his fingers before he turns to you, grinning.

“You’re all set. Now, I’m just going to take you to the waiting area, and just wait there for five, ten minutes to make sure you’re good to go,” he continues, discarding the no longer needed supplies.

You not in understanding, and he moves to get the door for you as you rise to your feet when suddenly, something makes you pause as you move to step past him.

Huh, that’s weird.

Distantly, you register that your ears are ringing, and strangely, the world has gone out of focus around you, blurring around the edges as your head spins, suddenly dizzy.

Kix’s eyes are alert and observant, carefully watching as your movements become unsteady, taking note of how the colour has quickly drained from your face. He moves, easily intercepting your path by stepping in front of you, holding out an arm, stalling your movements with a hand on your shoulder. You don’t even have the energy to blush at the touch, and that’s when you should clue into the fact that something is wrong. But you don’t, because everything feels so out of focus and detached from reality. You remain blissfully unconcerned.

“Wo, easy. You gonna swoon on me, meshla?” He asks, carefully keeping his tone casual, as not to startle you further.

He sounds far away, disjointed, and your mind is hazy, scrambling in spite of the dozen possible retorts you have to his teasing.

What you should say is no.

What you should say is that you’re completely fine, thanks for asking.

What you should say is actually, now that you mention it I do feel a little bit funny.

What ends up coming out of your mouth in a slurred, unsteady voice is “well, I’ve actually been swooning for you since the day we met, Kix...”

Then, possibly because of the injection, or more likely because of your far away, detached mortification at what you just said, your body decides that it’s time to piece out.

Without warning, you collapse, and before you have time to worry about how much it’s going to hurt when you hit the ground, you fall, directly into his arms, outstretched and waiting to catch you.

The last thing you see is wide, amber eyes filled with concern before your vision goes dark, and the ringing in your ears crescendos to an almost painful, fever inducing pitch before everything falls silent and still.

When you come to, the complete embarrassment and stupidity of what you had said before you fainted doesn’t hit you immediately.

You’re lying on a bed, and he’s there, warm and steady, but giving no outward indication that you had just confessed your feelings for him before collapsing into his arms. So, your brain doesn’t immediately feel the need to sound the alarm and start panicking.

“You’re safe, meshla, everything‘s alright, just keep those eyes open for me and breathe. This happens all the time,” he says reassuringly, eyes only glancing away from you momentarily to study a readout as another medic tightens a blood pressure cuff around your arm.

“Wha what happened?” You ask, concerned but still dazed. At the seemingly loud sound of the cuff being undone, your head jerks to the side, flinching.

“Shh, nothing for you to worry about, cyar,” Kix soothes.

There’s that word again, you think distantly. It’s comforting, and did he just smooth his hand over your hair, or are you just hallucinating all of this?

“Your blood pressure dropped when you got up. It’s still a bit low, so I’m going to get you a juicebox. That’ll help bring it back up. You’ll feel better once you’ve got some sugar in you,” he says, voice calm and unfazed as he passes you the juice. “Just drink that up for me, and I’ll be back in a few minutes to check your blood pressure again and make sure you’re clear to go, alright?”

You can only nod slowly, allowing him to adjust your pillows and help you into a sitting position before he rushes off, the other medic trailing behind.

It’s only when you’re halfway through the Juicebox when your eyes comically widen, and you nearly choke on the juice as you suddenly remember.

You had confessed your feelings for your medic, not only that, but in the most embarrassing way possible, and then you fainted in his arms.

Fuck.

It all comes rushing back to you, and you have to set your juice down as it does, letting out a long, mortified breath as your head falls into your hands.

You need to leave.

You need to leave right now. You need to get out of here and save you both the awkwardness of having to talk about your embarrassing blunder. The door isn’t that far, you could make it. You could just slip out, and you both could go on and never talk about it again.

Now, if you were thinking clearly, you would know that trying to make a mad dash out of the medbay without being cleared to do so is impossible. It just is. Medics of the 501st are like hawks, having a bit of a reputation for troopers who try to bolt, and will swoop down on anyone who tries to sneak out before they even make it to the medbay’s double doors.

Yet somehow, in your delusional state of mind, you actually believe that you can do the impossible. You are different and you will be the one to succeed where all others have failed.

You don’t.

You manage to slip out of bed, only feeling slightly unsteady on your feet, and you make it five, ten steps before there’s warm hands settling on your shoulders from behind and a deliberate clearing of a throat as you’re turned to face Kix, jaw tight, and face stern, a look that you’re more than certain is well practiced, and very effective at instantly causing you to break out in a nervous sweat.

“What are you doing out of bed, little one?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I, uh, n nothing?” You squeak, knowing even before you speak that it’s not going to convince him in the slightest.

“Hmph,” he huffs disapprovingly, gently steering you back to your bed and nudging you to sit down on the edge. “Like I said earlier, you’re a horrible liar.”

He picks up the Juicebox, from where you had abandoned it on the nightstand, and frowns. “You didn’t even finish this,” he scolds, before setting it back down with a sigh.

There is disappointment in his voice, and it instantly makes you swallow, looking down at the ground. You feel the need to say something, anything, so that he stops looking at you like you’ve kicked a tooka right in front of him.

“I was trying to save you embarrassment,” you blurt out, not knowing how else to explain.

“Embarrassment,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which, in turn, makes you feel confused. He frowns, tilting his head to observe you for a moment before slowly giving it a bewildered shake. Carefully, he quietly goes to close the curtains around you both, offering you at least a little bit of privacy.

You’re still trying to figure out what in the galaxy you’re supposed to say to explain yourself to him when he turns back to face you, beating you to it.

“What you said, before you fainted, did, did you mean it?” He asks, straightforward and to the point, but voice losing its usual sureness.

When you fail to respond, he takes a step forward, eyes meeting yours squarely. There’s something there, something that glimmers within his warm irises that you dare to believe, for one moment, might just be hope, that your answer just, slips out, small and honest and simple.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

It’s Kix’s turn to falter, breath audibly stuttering as his eyes widen briefly, before he takes another step towards you.

“A and what if,” he says, voice a low murmur. “What if I told you I felt the same way?” He asks, eyes intent as he gazes at you.

You blink, staring up at him for a moment before speaking, voice not as confident as you’d like. “I’d say I don’t believe you,” you admit, slightly sheepish as your eyes dart away. When they come back to meet his, though, there’s a sparkle, a slight challenge in them.

“I’d say, prove it.”

Wordlessly, he nods, unable to hide the breath that audibly catches at your words, quickly closing the distance between you two and moving a hand to tilt up your chin, holding it gently as he stares down at you, expression almost reverent. Then his eyes fall to your expectant lips, and it’s your turn to tremble, watching as they seam to darken slightly.

He leans forward, breath ghosting over your lips before his, warm and soft and so, so gentle, brush against yours.

It’s a chaste, quick thing, that leaves you wanting and is over far too soon. A displeased noise leaves your throat as he steps back, suddenly tentative and unsure. You surge to feet and quickly step into his space because force, now that he’s here, now that you know he wants you just as much as you want him, you need more, and you’re determined to get it.

Luckily for you, he understands, meeting you half way as your hands scramble for perch’s on his armour plating, trying to pull him towards you. He happily obliges, hand cupping your chin and tilting your head back as his lips meet yours again.

A low hum escapes him as his body presses against yours, lips pressing much more insistently this time as they meet with yours. It’s hot and feverish and already leaving you breathless when his hand drops from your chin, experimentally dipping down to run his fingers along your hip, before he urges you closer to him, holding your waist to pull you closer, eliciting a small, surprised gasp to escape your parted lips. You feel his lips tug into a self-satisfied smirk against you before he pulls back.

Unwilling to let you go just yet, he lets his forehead rest against yours, unable to pull his eyes away from your still parted, slightly kiss swollen lips. Maker, he thinks to himself silently. That might just be the most beautiful site he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Paired only with what he finds when his eyes trail lower, your chest, rising and falling heavily as your heartbeat doubtlessly flutters rapidly at the effect he has on you

“Do you believe me now, meshla?” He asks lowly, unable to resist grazing his thumb along your lips, causing you to shutter.

“Yes,” you manage to say breathlessly. “I I believe you.”

“Mm, good,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your temple before pulling away, with obvious reluctance.

“You’ll have more of those, then,” he promises, turning to leave before looking back at you with a wicked grin on his face.

“But you have to finish your Juicebox first,” he reminds you with a teasing glare before exiting, letting the curtain drop behind him, leaving you alone with your still racing, scattered thoughts and your wildly fluttering heart, and, of course, a half empty juice box that is now destined to be finished in record time. I

#Star Wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #fanfiction #star wars #sw the clone wars #tcw #kix x reader #kix #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #X reader #Reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #one shot #love confessions

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cottoncandyafterdark · 5 months

Text

Senku SFW Alphabet

Tags: SFW, alphabet meme, fluff, headcanons

Warnings: None

Notes: Originally posted on ao3 here

A: Affection (How affectionate are they with a s/o?)

He's not a very touchy person, so not very. Not physically, at least. He's a little more likely to express affection through his words.

B: Breath (What can their s/o do to take their breath away)

He appreciates the hell out of it if you take interest in what he does and what he's interested in, and likewise, he loves seeing you flex what you know and what you're good at.

C: Cuddle (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

Again, not really. Physical touch is a "sometimes" thing for Senku. When you're falling asleep together, he'll hold you, and when he's in the right mood, he can appreciate a good cuddle, but most of the time he'd rather not.

D: Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

Saving the world, obviously. That's all he's ever wanted to do, right? What exactly that entails might change, but he wants to do it all by your side.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

So much. You're definitely his first partner, so early on, he's straight up doing research to figure out how to make this relationship work as well as possible... And then it's a whole other deal making what he learned actually work with his personality and style of showing love. He is putting WORK into this. Please be patient with him. Later on, the basic stuff comes a bit more naturally, but he's still putting his all into making sure you feel loved and happy with him, regardless of how distant he might sometimes come off.

F: Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

If it's some kind of actual physical threat scaring you, unfortunately he's not going to be the most helpful. Like, he'll do his best to get you out of harm's way, but dude isn't exactly a knight in shining armor. Otherwise, he'd do his best to calm you down, maybe talk you through a breathing exercise or just talk to you to distract you or something. If it's a case of an irrational phobia, he'd probably try to tell you the facts about whatever it is you're scared of, i.e. telling you that a spider isn't venomous, and there's no way it could hurt you.

G: Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

Senku's gifts are usually given in the neurodivergent style of "I found a cool rock I thought you'd like while I was out today" and that's all he wants in return, really. For bigger gifts, he'd both give and want to receive something practical, something actually useful.

H: Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

He'll accept hugs from you, and might even reciprocate them. However, he'll rarely be the first to hug you, and it's not his preferred way of showing affection.

I: Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

Senku isn't romantic in the traditional sense. He might try at first, but it just isn't how he works. But if you're willing to meet him on his level, and accept how he does show his love, you'll find he's more romantic than most would give him credit for.

J: Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

He'll tell you he doesn't get jealous, but that isn't quite true. He only gets jealous if you flirt with or show attraction to someone else, not the other way around, and he just gets a little irritated and tries to redirect your attention. It's pretty subtle, he might not even realize he's acting jealous at all.

K: Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

So, Senku doesn't mind kissing, but he won't usually be the one to initiate it. At first, he's... Not the best kisser- he just doesn't have any experience, but he'll get better at it with time. As he gets used to it and to being in a relationship in general, he'll also kiss you more often.

L: Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say it or show it?)

He doesn't say it much, he prefers to show it; and he shows it every time he kisses you, every time lets you casually touch him, every time he just hangs out with you and wants you to be near him.

M: Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

He'd be happy to get married eventually. He'd prefer a low-key ceremony and reception, not a lot of pomp and circumstance, just your close friends in attendance- if even that, he'd be perfectly happy to just elope- and not letting it get too sappy.

N: Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

Does hanging out in the lab count as a date? If it were before the petrification, he'd probably take you to a museum, or maybe a library, if you wanted to go out. Otherwise, he'd be content to just hang out at home with you, and that's probably what you'll end up doing most of the time.

O: Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do for/with their s/o?)

I think I've established by now that he's not a fan of physical affection. Don't expect a lot of hugs and cuddles.

P: Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

Nothing worse than anyone else gets from him. He has a dry sense of humor, so it's not always clear when he's joking, but he does joke around a fair bit. He likes to tease you a bit as well. Just some lighthearted ribbing.

Q: Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

He asks for your opinion if it's about something that affects you or is in your area of expertise, and expects you to do the same for him. He's definitely not shy about sharing his opinion if you don't ask, though.

R: Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

He'd definitely prefer to plan things ahead. He's just not a super spontaneous person when he can help it, he likes to have things planned out. He wouldn't turn you down if you wanted to do something on the spot, though.

S: Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

While you're falling asleep together is one of the few contexts in which he's okay with a bit of cuddling. Admittedly, he'll probably wriggle out of your grasp once you fall asleep, but the warmth and pressure can be kinda nice when he's tired.

T: Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

Completely. End of sentence.

U: Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?)

His intelligence, his immense kindness (whether or not he wants to admit it's there) add a little something to your relationship that you couldn't get with pretty much anyone else. His brain goes a mile a minute and it can be hard to keep up, but his brilliance and compassion are what make him so endearing.

V: Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

After you've been together for a while, you'll start to see cracks in the facade sometimes when you're alone with him. What he does is exhausting. He believes in his cause wholeheartedly, but it's not always as easy as he makes it look, and it gets to him sometimes. When he's alone with you, he starts to feel comfortable enough to show that.

W: Wild Card (Random domestic headcanon)

Senku is a surprisingly good cook- or maybe it's not such a surprise. I mean, he managed to make some decent ramen out of foxtail millet, with the proper ingredients and a good recipe, his food will be great.

X: X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

First, of course, he'd administer first aid. He's not a medical expert, exactly, but there's a good chance he's the person present with the most medical knowledge, so he might even be the person taking care of you throughout your recovery... And even if there was a more experienced medic around, he might just insist on helping. He wants to make sure you're okay.

Y: Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

I think Senku doesn't really fuck with religion or mystical/unscientific stuff so while he probably wouldn't outright say anything derogatory or argue about it if you're a believer (unless your beliefs are really anti-science), it might still cause some conflict if that's something that's important to you.

Z: Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

A lot of things you'd associate with a "passionate" relationship just aren't going to be there with Senku- he doesn't like most forms of physical touch, he doesn't outwardly emote a lot or express his feelings very well- but when he cares about something, he puts everything he has into it. You are no exception. The question isn't if Senku is passionate in your relationship, but if you'll recognize his passion.

#dcst #dr stone #dr stone x reader #dr stone headcanons #senku x reader #ishigami senku

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trumpkinhotboy · 1 year

Text

I’ll keep an eye on you

pairing: jacob black x reader

type: not requested

genre: a bit spooky, but mostly fluffy and comforting vibes

warnings: mention of blood and being chased after (but nothing too intense)

word count: ~ 2K

requests: open! for twilight wolfpack, narnia and harry potter

a/n: honestly, i’m really excited about this fic. i think it’s very sweet and comforting :3 my brain is bubbling with so many ideas lately so expect new pieces from me in the close future hehe. also if you have any requests feel free to message me!!

i recommend listening to a Twilight Comfort playlist while reading this. Hope you enjoyy <33

part II part III

*gif is not mine!!

summary: After the reader survives an encounter with a vampire, they are still haunted by the memories of it. Luckily, they have a caring and protective friend who is always ready to ensure they feel safe and cared for, even in the middle of the night.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to erase the terrible images invading your brain. For a week now, they have been omnipresent, taking up all the space in your mind. They are the center and focal point of your thoughts for days on end. As you open them again, your vision adjusts to the darkness just enough for your gaze to fall on a strange form crouched in the corner of your bedroom. You could swear it’s alive. Swear it’s stalking you.

You jump out of your bed to turn your nightlamp on. Your heart feels like it might spring out of your chest of its own accord. Your breath is short, and for a moment, you think you’ll never be able to take one that will actually get air in your system.

The menacing form in the corner turned out to be a pile of dirty clothes, but you knew that. Since that day, you feel irrational and paranoid. Everything feels like a threat, and you are now constantly looking over your shoulder, paying close attention to any suspicious sound or absence of it. You’ve talked about it with Harry Clearwater when you unexpectedly met at the Reservation one day. You did not hear him coming, and he had set his heavy hand on your shoulder to get your attention. Which resulted in a glass shattering scream for you and a bad fright for the poor man. As he invited you in for a calming cup of tea, you unloaded the weight on your shoulder to him. It felt good to talk about it, knowing you could never do so with your dad and your friends. He assured you that it unfortunately was a very normal reaction from your nervous system. You had faced the world's most dangerous predator and had survived it without a single scratch. Of course it would take some time for your traumatized brain to go back to normal. You could never take credit for the fact that you even had a chance to go back to normal, and would never attempt to do so. Knowing very well that without Paul, Jared, and Embry’s arrival, you would not have lived to talk about this encounter.

When you focus and let your mind drift off, you can live the event again, as if you were back in time. The paralyzing fear, the blood in your veins feeling like icy water. There was nothing to be done against a creature like that. You remember the horror you felt as everything became silent around you. You were headed to Emily's cabin, a simple, straightforward walk through the woods. The birds suddenly stopped singing, even the soft wind had died down. The forest knew it was in the presence of something truly horrible and had seemed to hold its breath, along with every creature. The color of its eyes was like in every legend you had been told; crimson red, like fresh blood. Not one ounce of humanity in those orbs, just a bottomless pit of cruelty and hunger. The worst thing was the pull you remember feeling for a split second toward that monster. You knew it was its sole purpose, but felt embarrassed you had fallen for it. Shivers crawled down your spine as you recalled its ethereal and hypnotizing appearance. It’s like you can hear again the faint swooshing sound it made as it sprang towards you. You remember sending out a quick prayer to literally any entity who would be listening right now, but the blow never came. Next thing you knew, three giant beasts tackled it to the ground, gnarling and dismembering it in a matter of seconds.

You open your eyes and shake your head to try and physically get those horrible memories outside of your skull. You lay back in bed, anxiously watching every corner of your room for some sign of danger. You left the light open, you knew there was no chance you could fall asleep without it. You tucked yourself back in bed and tried to calm your breathing. You tried every technique you knew, hoping sleep would grace you with its embrace, but nothing worked.

You look back at the clock after a while. 1:15 am. It was too late for you to get out of bed, and morning was still so far away. You had school the next day and knew that if you spent one more night without sleeping, you wouldn’t be able to explain to your teachers why you dozed off again in their class without them calling your father.

In a last effort, you tried thinking about reassuring and comforting things. Curiously enough, one kept coming back to mind. A giant wolf, its fur a multitude of shades of brown and red. Its eyes were sweet and reassuring, containing a particular warmth. You looked at your phone, hesitating, but remembered his voice: “If there’s absolutely anything, call me okay?”

And so you did.

Twenty minutes later, you got a text. You quietly walked to your window, glad to see Jacob’s familiar shape outside your house. He was standing next to a tree, representing for once a friendly and reassuring shadow in the night.

He spoke quietly. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nodded, a bit ashamed to admit such an infantile fear. Although, deep inside, you knew there was nothing childish about being afraid of the monster you had been warned about as a child, once you had come face to face with it.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I'd totally understand if you'd rather not stay. I mean it's late and you need to sleep. I don't know what I was thinking…”

“Don't be ridiculous." he cut you off. "I’m already here. And once you’ve been asleep for a long time, I’ll go home and catch up on my beauty sleep, okay?”

You knew it wouldn’t take much convincing from him, there was no point in lying. You needed him. You needed the reassurance and sense of security he always brought you.

"If you're sure then… but Jake. You won't leave too soon uh?"

You heard his low chuckle in the distance.

“I promise.”

You slowly and quietly closed your window. The last thing you would want is for your father to wake up and see Jacob standing below your window. You looked back outside, only to see a giant russet wolf had replaced your tall friend. He was standing under the covers of the woods. Forks was a tranquil little city, but you could never be too careful. He gave you a quick nod, encouraging you to go back to bed. You sent him a little thumbs up before heading to your fort of blankets and pillows.

As stupid as it might have seemed, you did feel a thousand times better knowing that Jacob was right outside, watching over you like a guardian angel. To your surprise, sleep quickly came to you, and you fell into its black hole without any resistance.

You’re in a dark forest, running and running and running. You can’t breathe, your hands are bloody, everything hurts. All you can hear is an echoing, cold, cruel laugh. You trip over a root and fall. Something is rushing through the dark woods, coming at you. You get back up and run in the opposite direction, but it feels like you’re not getting any further, like you're running in place. You scream for help, calling out for Jacob, Paul, Embry, Jared, ANYONE, HELP ME. But no one answers, you’re alone, and you’re about to die a horrible death. You trip once more, your leg hurts like hell, there’s no point trying to get up again. You turn around to try and decipher who, what, is running after you. Suddenly, in the dark void of the night, all you can see is that horrifying pair of bloodthirsty eyes. You let out one last scream as it sinks its teeth into your skin. //

“Y/n, y/n, wake up! It’s okay I’m here, Y/n!”

You try to run out of bed but feel a strong pair of arms holding you back. The embrace is warm and smells familiar, but you’re not controlling your limbs anymore. Your whole body is in flight mode. Luckily, the thing (person?) holding you back is strong enough to withstand it, and even though you try as hard as you can to run away, your feet aren't even touching the ground anymore.

“Y/nn, Y/n, shhh. It’s okay, I’m here, it’s me. It’s Jacob.”

You focus on the reassuring tone of the voice and try to convince yourself you're not in the woods anymore. You can see your surroundings poorly illuminated by your little mushroom night light. You're in your room, you’re safe, you’re okay.

Your breathing is still fast and shallow. You blink a few times. Sometimes, the vision surrounding you is one of the cold woods. On other, it's the familiar vision of your room. You slowly turn to face your friend’s face. His brows are furrowed, and his traits have worry written on them in bold letters. He scans you, not quite letting go of your body. Too scared you might start screaming and running again.

“Jake?” “Yes, hi. Welcome back. You really scared me there Y/n.” “What- what are you doing in here? What happened?” Your tone is feeble, and you feel exhausted. You look around once more, afraid this might be some other kind of twisted and terrifying nightmare.

“Am I still dreaming?” You dare to ask. “No, you are awake. We’re in your room. You asked me to come to keep an eye on you, remember?”

You nod, still unsure. What if this was a dream inside a dream? What if the warm limbs of your friend suddenly turned ice cold? What if you looked at him and his eyes turned red, fangs slightly poking his lips?

He can see doubt dancing in your eyes. You don't trust him, or yourself. He holds up his palms towards you, trusting you won't bolt and run.

“See for yourself. I’m real, you can touch me.”

You reach a hesitating finger, carefully poking his own. Seems real enough, feels real. It's warm, the skin is wonderfully tanned, familiar. You’ve seen those hands at work a thousand times. You know them by heart. You poke his cheek, and he gives you a tender smile.

“Convinced?”

You nod once more, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, as your legs start to shake. That's the thing about dreams, isn’t it? Even if it’s only happening inside your head, your body reacts to it as if it were actually living it. You look at your hands, feeling reminiscent of the pain as if you did scorch them in the woods.

He interrupts your thoughts with a low and soft voice. “Come back in bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

He wraps your hands with his huge ones. They’re warm and feel incredibly good. You let him guide you back to your toasty blankets, but instead of leaving, he takes a spot next to you, shielding you from the window.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a timid voice. “I’m keeping an eye on you, dummy.” Your feet are poking from under the covers. You move to offer him a bit of coverage, but he declines. He is already hot enough as he is, although he can’t deny that his heart seemed to grow a size or two at the kind gesture.

You wait a minute before asking how he ended up in your room. You're not sure you want to know, but curiosity wins over embarrassment.

His expression darkens for a second before he starts talking. “I was just keeping guard outside when I heard a noise. You were calling for me… I didn’t even think, I just got in. You were twitching in your bed. I tried to calm you down, I didn't want it to wake up Charlie, but nothing would do. I was about to forcefully wake you, but you ran out of bed and woke up by yourself.”

“Oh.” You finally let after a few seconds of silence.

“Yup.”

Unconsciously, you're not sure, he took ahold of your hand and lightly played with your fingers. He finally lifted his gaze from your joined hands to look at you, all caring and reassuring. You slide in closer to him. All you want is to feel his comforting warmth and maybe offer him as much as you can too. You feel so bad for worrying him so much. He opens up his arms and cradles you in a bear hug. He won't say it out loud, but he's also in dire need of comfort.

You match your breathing to him, and for the first time in a little while, you’re not scared, not even a little bit. If only you could stay like this forever.

After a few minutes of silence, in which you almost fell asleep, you hear him whisper.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I should have been there. I should have protected you. I’m so sorry, you don't even know.”

“It’s not your fault Jake.” You mumble, and realize you're telling the truth. These are more than empty words. Never has it crossed your mind that this might have been his fault.

“It partially is, if I didn’t drag you into all this you might have been far away. Safe, away from monsters most people don't even know exist."

“I chose to follow you into this Jake. I would be lying if I said this wasn't one of the most horrifying experiences of my life, but it was not your fault. Please get that idea out of your head, okay? I’ll get over it. I guess I just need some time, as Harry said.”

You feel almost fully awake again. He nods, but you know you haven't convinced him. The look on his face is one of guilt, one you've come to know more and more since you learned about his secret. He mindlessly played with a feather poking out of your duvet, avoiding your gaze. Once again, you realized how mature he looked, while still being so young. Too young to carry such heavy burdens. You wanted to hammer the idea out of his thick skull, but you knew there was nothing to do about it tonight. Jacob felt responsible for what happened to you, and convincing him of the opposite would take some time.

Your eyes focused on his tanned skin, and you suddenly became hyper-aware that he was in your bed while only wearing his jeans short.

You inched away of him. “Uhm, want a shirt? I’m sorry, I didn't even think that, since you were in your wolf form, you uh… wouldn’t have one?” You let out an awkward laugh. You were used to seeing him like this, but it was different when you were both lying in bed together in a space that felt so intimate.

“That's nice of you Y/n, but I don't think I'd actually fit into one of your shirts.” He snickers as you get up. You're still wrapped in a blanket as you forage in the pile of clothes next to your bed. You get out of it with a dark cotton t-shirt in hand. It's humongous for you, but you know it will fit Jake like a glove. Probably because it is one of his own.

“There, dummy.” You hand him the t-shirt before jumping back in bed to wrap yourself properly, like a human burrito.

He looks at the piece of clothing and then at you for a good 10 seconds. “You still have this?”

He genuinely looks surprised, but his expression seems mixed with a hint of… satisfaction?

You nod, your nose and eyes being the only part of your anatomy still out of the blankets. You still remember the day he lent you that shirt when you had been caught in the rain at La Push. You never returned it to him, loving the way the gigantic piece of clothing felt on you.

He didn't add anything else before putting the shirt on. “It smells a lot like you.” He adds, a slight tremor in his voice.

“That might be because I wear it a lot to sleep.” You shamefully admit. Your words are nothing more than a whisper, but you know he didn’t have any trouble hearing them. You pull the covers even higher, trying to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

“Is that so?” He's smugly smirking. No doubt anymore that he is satisfied with that new piece of information, which makes you want to crawl even further under the covers.

You mutter a quick 'dumbass' before turning away from him. He chuckled before grabbing and pulling you on his broad chest like you weighted nothing more than a feather. You and Jake have always been comfortable with physical touch, but you feel like this is special. You have never done this before. Fine the circumstances were a bit peculiar, but that did not keep you from relishing in the warmth he diffused in waves. You didn't even bother to fake protest. This, is all you need, and you will not be foolish enough to ruin the moment. He wiggles even closer, and you can feel his chest come flush with your back through the layers of blankets. He rests his chin on the crown of your head before lightly stroking the side of his full cheek on your hair.

“Little human burrito.” He mutters. His voice is barely a whisper. Its husky tone makes you shiver. “I’ll watch over you, now go back to sleep.”

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