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artificialqueens · 2 years

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Masters of the Scene, Chapter 18 (Bitney Parent Trap AU) - Veronica

A/N: Thank you to the irreplaceable @tumble4rpdr for her beta help, and to grown-up video game aficionado @aqalbatross for their help with the Animal Crossing dialogue.

Click here for prequels and previous chapters, or here if you’d rather read on AO3.

Chapter Summary: You know that episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. when Ross and Rachel break up and you’re like “Um, hello, writers? This is supposed to be a sitcom. So like…please can we be funny again?” It’s kind of like that.

***

Courtney paused, just outside the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe, heart still pounding in her ears. It had been less than two hours since she’d left the twins, but she felt as if she’d aged years. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, a husk of her former self.

As she composed herself, attempting to numb her shattered heart and contort her expression into something resembling normal, she listened to her children chatting and laughing, not a care in the world. They clearly had no idea what had been going on, hadn’t heard any of the fighting. Thank fucking god. She swiped at the last of her tears with the back of her wrist and took one more deep breath, then entered.

“Danny!” she began, all business, fighting to keep the trembling out of her voice, “Go finish packing! The car will be here in less than an hour. I’ll take some of this food for the ride so you can-”

Danny grinned, his voice sing-song as he began asking, “How do you know which one of us is-”

“I said pack your fucking bags, Daniel! I am not playing around!”

Courtney didn’t generally bark at him that way, but her nerves were utterly shot. Seeing his face, though, she immediately felt guilty. He stood up from the table quickly, nearly knocking over his chair, his lower lip trembling.

“Sorry, Mum.”

“It’s fine,” Courtney sighed, trying not to let his big hazel eyes get to her. Things were already bad enough. “I’m sorry for snapping, I…please just go pack. I’ll be up to help you as soon as I can.”

He gave one quick nod and hurried from the room.

“Don’t forget to check the bathroom!” she called after him, trying to sound cheerful and lighthearted, still feeling guilty for her initial tone. He paused in the doorway, nodding again but not glancing back.

Courtney bit her lip and looked tiredly over at the counter, which was still laden with food. Why the hell had she cooked so much? She knew she should probably pack it away, maybe freeze some of it. Just because their relationship was in ruins didn’t mean she wanted to give Bianca a headache to clean up.

She opened a cabinet to look for some foil and containers, only realizing after a few moments that Adore was staring at her from the sink, one of her purple space buns unraveling, her expression forlorn.

“You’re really leaving?” Adore asked, her voice small. “What about…I thought we were supposed to have lunch all together…”

Courtney walked over to Adore and cupped her face in both hands. Adore put on such a tough girl act, most of the time, and had always spoken and behaved like a sassy teenager. It was easy to forget that she was still a little girl, not even 12 years old.

“I love you so, so much. Do you know that?” she whispered.

Adore nodded, her already misty hazel eyes filling with tears. Even seeing it was enough to choke Courtney up, but she swallowed and continued, thumbs stroking her daughter’s cheeks.

“We’re going to work on the schedule, and make sure we have a lot more visits. And no matter what, you can still come to LA for Thanksgiving. We already agreed on that. I’ll teach you how to make that cornbread you like. Okay?” she sniffled, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her own tears.

Adore nodded again, fat tears slipping down her cheeks.

“It’s not gonna be like it was. I promise. We can talk whenever you want. Day or night, anytime you call me, I’ll pick up.” By then, Courtney was fully crying as well, so she just wrapped Adore up into a hug, rocking her. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

Adore clung to her tightly, sobbing against her chest, her tears wetting Courtney’s top.

“I’m gonna text you every night, before I go to bed. You’re gonna wake up to my annoying inspirational messages…you’re gonna be so sick of me…”

Adore laughed, relaxing slightly as Courtney rubbed her back, kissing the top of her head. It wouldn’t be easy, but they would get through this, just like they always did.

***

Danny pawed through the bathroom drawers, trying to see if he was forgetting anything. He felt terrible, and not just because of Mum yelling at him. Because he saw something in her expression that looked so, so sad. There’d been a part of him that really thought, when Fame was gone that morning, that there was a better chance than ever that things would finally work out between her and Mama.

And then when they were really talking, just the two of them, it seemed like it was all coming true. They’d finally be a family.

But now, it had all fallen apart again. He was sad for Mum, sad for himself and Adore, sad for Mama, and frankly exhausted from all of it.

He sighed, gathering the bottles and containers in his arms, and pushed open the bathroom door with his foot, just as Bianca’s bedroom door opened. He froze in place, watching with wide eyes as she appeared, looking as terrible as Mum had—even worse than she had earlier, which was saying something.

She looked at him in the doorway, blinking. “Hey. What are you up to?” she asked hoarsely.

“Um.” Danny swallowed nervously. For some reason, he felt guilty, like he’d been caught going something wrong. “I…Mum told me to pack. Th-the car is coming soon.”

“Oh. Right.” Bianca nodded slowly, shoulders slumped. “Do you want some help?”

“Okay.”

“Let me get the door for you.”

She walked down the hall, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder as she passed him, opening the door to Adore’s bedroom and letting him enter first. When she stepped inside, she looked around with a puzzled expression on her face as Danny dumped the toiletries in his arms into the suitcase.

“Huh…”

“What’s wrong?” Danny asked.

“No, nothing’s wrong, I just…did you clean in here?” she asked, brow furrowed.

Danny snorted out a laugh before shaking his head and saying, “No, definitely not.”

“Right.”

They exchanged a look for a moment, both clearly understanding who must have cleaned the bedroom. Bianca sighed, closing her eyes.

“Listen…I want you to know that I’m not mad at you. I know you guys thought that I was this morning, but I wasn’t. Not at you, or your sister. I was just…I’m sorry if it seemed like I was mad at you guys. That wasn’t fair.”

“Who were you mad at?”

“Uhh…I guess, myself? And Fame, maybe…but…really, I was more sad. I guess it’s just easier to be angry than sad.” Bianca sighed again. “I’m sorry though. Not a good way to end our visit, huh?”

Danny walked forward and wrapped his arms around Bianca’s waist, giving her a tight hug.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, Mama.”

“Thanks, bunny.” She hugged him back, resting a cheek against the top of his head, nuzzling into his hair.

“So…it’s not our fault? That Fame left?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Of course not. You guys were great.” Bianca smiled, smoothing his hair down. “Thank you for that.”

“Mum told us to be nice,” Danny said, unable to help himself.

“Of course she did,” Bianca muttered, releasing him and walking to the bed, where she sat down.

“Did you and Mum have a fight? Is that why…” Danny swallowed, not sure how to finish the question he wanted to ask. Is that why we can’t be a family?

“It’s complicated, bunny,” Bianca said. “We just think…we think it’s better this way. Come here.”

Danny walked over and let her pull him into her lap, wrapping her arms around him. Her face was a reflection of his own—pure defeat, exhaustion, dejection. How is this ‘better’?

“I wasn’t in a very good mood today. So…I probably wasn’t very nice. But…” Bianca sniffled, hugging him close, “But I want you to know what a great time I had with you this summer. I’m really gonna miss you. I love you so much.”

“Me too, Mama,” Danny said.

“I guess you’re keeping these huh?” Bianca said, touching the turquoise space buns in his hair.

“Shoot, I forgot I was wearing them. I should give them back to Adore, they’re really hers.”

“Nah, you should keep them,” Bianca said. “They look good on you.”

“Really?” Danny asked, smiling shyly.

“Yeah, she’s got plenty. I can buy her more if she wants. And if you want, I can buy more for you, too, so you can have different colors. You’ve got a birthday coming up, right?”

“That would be awesome!” Danny squealed, already thinking about what colors he would get. Adore’s were mostly in dark, gothy colors, but he wondered if they came in pastels or neons. That would be super cool.

“Alright, I’ll send you the link, and when you choose what you want, I’ll have them shipped to you in Cali.”

“Thank you, Mama!” he exclaimed, hugging her again. “Only…”

“What?”

“It’s just, um…” Danny bit his lip, cheeks feeling a little hot, a teasing smile twisting his mouth into a smirk before saying, “You really shouldn’t say ‘Cali.’ No one in LA says that. It makes you sound kind of…old and lame.”

“Noted!” Bianca said, letting out a cackle, tickling him in the side. “Alright, you should probably finish packing. Do you know when the car’s coming?”

“No, Mum just said soon,” Danny answered, sliding off her lap. “But I’m almost done.”

“Okay, well, what do you still need to-oh my god, who folded these clothes? Raccoons? What the hell?!”

Danny laughed as she pulled a shirt out and re-folded it, lecturing him about space-saving techniques while he only half-listened, mostly just enjoying the sound of her voice before they had to say goodbye.

“Danny, do you need-oh-” Courtney stopped abruptly in the doorway as the two of them turned around to look at her.

“Hi, Mum,” Danny said, eyes moving from her to Bianca and back again.

“Hi, um…just wanted to give you a fifteen minute warning. For the car.”

“Okay. My suitcase is packed, I’m just doing the carry-on. Mama helped me,” Danny said.

“Great…thanks,” Courtney said tensely, and Bianca nodded.

Danny looked from Bianca to Courtney. Was it really so bad that they couldn’t even talk to each other anymore? A sick feeling began growing in his stomach.

“Um, make sure you leave enough time to say goodbye to Mama, and to Adore. She’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“Okay.”

***

Adore poked at the grass with her bare foot while Courtney and Danny helped the driver load their luggage into the car. When they were finished, Danny turned towards her, a sad smile on his face.

“Well…I guess we’re leaving now…”

Adore nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. When all was said and done, she had grown attached to her brother. Sure, he was a bit weird and awkward, but he was also smart and funny and talented, and he was the only twin she had.

She pulled him in for a tight hug, and managed to croak out, “Goodbye Roach.”

“Bye, sis.” He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, eyes a little misty, and said, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me too,” she said, and he released her, sliding into the car, pulling the door closed. “Text me when you land, okay?”

“Of course.” Danny smiled through the window, then seemed to remember something and leaned out, calling, “I made you a cheat sheet for Animal Crossing! It’s in your Notes! Try to check on the islands at least once a day!”

“Okay, Roach,” Adore said, rolling her eyes.

Adore felt arms wrap around her from behind and she turned, burying her face in Courtney’s chest. It wasn’t fair that she was leaving. Not now, not when they were finally so close. Adore was too choked up to speak, but in that moment, she knew she didn’t need to. Courtney rested a cheek against her hair, stroking her back, whispering to her about how they’d be together again before she knew it. That she was so very loved.

When Courtney let go, she kissed Adore’s cheeks, then her forehead, and finally the palms of both of her hands.

“I love you with my whole, entire heart,” Courtney said softly.

Adore just nodded, pressing her lips together. She wanted to say something back, but her throat felt dry and scratchy.

“Well…” Courtney sniffled. “I guess…we better get on with it, hmm?”

Adore nodded, tears burning her eyes as Courtney cupped her face one more time.

“Goodbye, my love.”

“Bye,” was all Adore could manage to whisper.

Courtney pressed one more kiss to her forehead before getting into the car, then rolling down the window to blow kisses as they pulled away.

Adore watched until the car disappeared from sight, then wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned to go inside the house, which suddenly felt bigger and emptier than it ever had. She trudged up the stairs.

Mama’s door was cracked open just slightly, so she pushed on it and saw her lying on her bed with a wet washcloth over her face. She stepped inside, arms crossed.

“What?” came Bianca’s voice, muffled under the cloth.

“They’re gone,” Adore reported, as anger began to crackle under her skin, burning away the sadness, hands clenching into fists, eyes narrowing, voice rising in volume as she continued, “No thanks to you!”

“Right…”

Adore marched over to the bed and snatched the washcloth away, causing Bianca to immediately flinch away from the light, rubbing her eyes. Adore hesitated. She’d been ready to confront her, to blame her for scaring Mum off.

She couldn’t think of any other reason for Courtney and Danny rushing out the way they did. But the way Bianca looked right now, small and brokenhearted, Adore suddenly found the righteous anger melting away, fizzling as quickly as it had erupted, replaced with actual concern.

“What happened, Mama?”

“I…I don’t really know, pussycat,” she said, showing more vulnerability than usual in her brown eyes as she admitted, “It’s just been one of those fucking days, I guess.”

Adore sighed and climbed onto her bed, and Bianca wrapped an arm around her.

“Are you alright?” Bianca asked, smoothing down her hair.

“Well…I’m pretty bummed that they left.” Adore let her head rest on Bianca’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, holding Adore close.

“Can I tell you something kind of silly?” she murmured.

“Sure, baby.”

“Well…me and Danny…we kind of thought…especially after Fame left, but, I don’t know, even before that, I guess. Um, we kind of…” Adore bit her lip, wondering if it was betraying her brother’s trust to even admit this, and deciding that it was okay. After all, it was her own feelings too. “We kind of thought, or hoped, maybe, that you and Mum would…decide that you still loved each other and get back together. And then…we could all be a family again. The four of us.”

Adore felt dumb, even saying the words out loud. Worse, that she was crying again, a few silly tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled, and Bianca wiped her tears away, a sad smile on her face, her own eyes looking misty as well.

“You wanna know something, baby girl?” she asked softly. “I think part of me hoped we would too.”

“Really?” Adore’s eyes opened wide. She wasn’t sure that she believed that it was really, truly possible until that moment. But hearing her mother say it out loud suddenly made all their dumb fantasies real in a way they never had been before.

“Yeah.”

Adore could feel her heart beating wildly out of her chest, her thoughts racing. If this was true…actually true, then what had happened? Danny was so utterly positive that Courtney still loved Bianca. And Fame was out of the picture. And now, hearing Bianca admit that she wanted them to be a family? Adore didn’t know what to think, but she was overcome with emotion, first laughing, a weird laugh that sounded strange to her own ears, and then crying, harder than before, messier and angrier, nose running. It just wasn’t fair.

Bianca pulled the comforter up and over the both of them, letting Adore cuddle close and sob in her arms until she finally fell asleep.

Hours later, when Adore woke up, sweaty and disheveled, stomach rumbling, Bianca was on her back, snoring lightly. She crawled out of bed and stumbled downstairs, rubbing her eyes. It was almost 11 pm. By now, she figured that Mum and Danny would be landing soon.

She opened the fridge, grinning happily when she saw the bounty before her. She’d almost forgotten the amazing meal Courtney had cooked earlier that day—it felt like forever ago. But there it was, almost all of it stacked neatly in containers. She pulled a couple of them out, polishing off the rest of the tostada pizzas and half of the street corn fritters, both of them cold and straight from the fridge. She almost stopped there but then heard Mum’s voice in her head about balanced meals and also took a few mouthfuls of mango slaw from the container before closing it up.

She headed back upstairs with a full belly, finding her phone and shooting off a message to Danny that they had to FaceTime the second he was home, no matter how tired he was. After what Mama had told her, there was no way she could wait until morning to talk to him. While she waited, she supposed she could take a few minutes to open up his dumb baby game and check his islands.

***

“Well? What’s the emergency? ‘Cause I’m really tired,” Danny said, his eyes half closed.

He’d landed to about twenty emergency SOS text messages from Adore, and even though his eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds and his bed was just about the most comfortable place in the universe, he was doing his very best to stay awake.

“Why?” Adore countered. “Were you flying the plane? Or just eating snacks and napping?”

“Alright, alright…sorry, what’s wrong?” he asked, stifling a yawn as best he could.

“Well for starters, this whole thing fucking blows!” Adore said.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Mama hasn’t left her bed all day. If Mum hadn’t made all that food, I’d have died of starvation.”

“I don’t think you die of starvation in one afternoon,” Danny said.

“I’d. Have. Died,” Adore insisted.

“Fine, sure,” he said. Right now, he didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Was Mum like…was she upset?”

“Uh, yeah. She kept pretending that she wasn’t crying even though she was totally crying, the whole flight.” Danny didn’t like thinking about that. How he had to pretend he didn’t see her, even though all he’d wanted was to hold her hand or hug her or give her some kind of comfort, all because he knew that she didn’t want him to know. He swallowed, hoping it wasn’t a big violation of her trust to tell Adore.

“You know…when you first said that you think they still love each other…I didn’t really believe you,” Adore said.

“Really?”

“Well…I mean I believed that they did then, and maybe even that they missed like, being married, but…I don’t know. I think maybe I wanted to believe it more than I actually believed it, if that makes sense. Does that make sense?” Adore asked.

“I guess it kind of makes sense,” he said.

“But then, today I was talking to Mama. In her bed, of course, where I guess she just like…lives now. And she sort of admitted to me that she was hoping they’d get back together too. It wasn’t just us.”

“Wait…she really said that?” Danny’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. This was news to him too. He was shocked that she would actually say it out loud. Especially to Adore, who everyone knew had a big mouth.

“Yes!”

“Wow.”

“I know!”

“But then…why…” Danny’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know! I can’t figure it out!”

“Ugh!” Danny groaned.

“I know. They’re both such idiots, I swear. But what do we do now? We have to do something, right?”

“I might have an idea…” Danny said, tapping on his chin. They’d come so close, but maybe there was a way to show them that missing piece of the puzzle. The part they’d forgotten…

“Oh, because your last idea was such a smashing success.”

“Hey, listen-”

“I’m listening, I’m listening,” Adore laughed.

“Okay, so, in your closet, there’s a red shoebox. Got that?”

“Got it, Roach. Go on…”

***

Adore paced nervously up and down the hallway. She’d done exactly what Danny said, and left the box of letters on Mama’s nightstand that morning, when she entered her room to bring her some breakfast - a plate of food from the leftovers that Courtney made, which she’d actually heated up in the microwave, on a real plate, along with orange juice and a cup of instant coffee. She hoped the smell was enough to wake her up.

It was now past noon and she’d yet to emerge, and Adore was starting to get a little concerned. She knocked softly on the door, once again, and again, no answer. She pushed it open and tiptoed inside.

Bianca was curled in a ball, hugging a pillow to her chest, sleep mask over her eyes, blackout shades drawn.

The food was barely touched, but it was touched, so she’d clearly woken up at some point. The coffee cup was empty, OJ still full. A few letters were open on the bed, scattered around. When Adore crept closer, she could see the red box on the floor, a few feet from the bed, open on its side, as if it had been flung there, the letters spilling in every direction.

She took it in, getting a terrible, sinking feeling that they’d made a gross miscalculation. That they’d actually made everything worse.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself, tears burning in her eyes. She swallowed, backing away from the bed and fleeing back to her room, where she pulled Mittens, the ratty old kitty plush that Mama made for her years and years ago, from under a pile of pillows, and buried her face in it.

It was getting dark when Bianca finally emerged from her depression-induced stupor. Adore had finished the last of Courtney’s leftovers and was seriously considering ordering a pizza when she appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey…”

Adore looked up from her phone, surprised. She’s been playing Animal Crossing, trying to keep Danny’s stupid islands alive. The game was really dumb, obviously made for babies with too much time on their hands, but at least it was proving to be a good distraction from the fact that she didn’t have a conscious parent anymore.

“Hi.”

She looked like a zombie. A ghost of her former self. Dark circles under her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Lips cracked. Hair tangled and greasy, skin sallow.

“How are you doing?” Bianca asked. She sounded as terrible as she looked, voice the kind of hoarse you only get from hours and hours of crying.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Same.”

Both of them were lying, of course, and both of them knew it. They looked at each other for a few long moments, Adore racking her brain to think of something, anything, to break the tension, make things feel more normal.

“Um…do you think you’d be devastated if we went back to the city a few days early?” Bianca asked. “‘Cause…I think I probably need to get back to work sooner rather than later.”

“No, that’s fine,” Adore said, nodding, adding, “But you should probably take a shower first.”

Bianca finally cracked a smile, a hint of one dimple appearing in her cheek, which felt like the biggest victory of Adore’s life.

“You think?”

“Well…it’s just a suggestion,” she said, flashing her most charming smile. “Because I don’t think you want to lose team members from toxic fumes this close to Fashion Week.”

Bianca snorted, shaking her head, both dimples appearing now. Adore jumped up from her seat to wrap her arms around her for a tight hug, toxic BO be damned. Things might be fucked up, but at least they still had each other.

#rpdr fanfiction #veronica #masters of the scene #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #s6 #bitney #bitney parent trap #parent trap au #lesbian au #trans character #kid fic #angst #fluff

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dangermousie · 1 year

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S2 ep 8

1. Fermin is a dream but if I were Maria, I’d call it off after his job results in her being almost murdered by angry associates. This said, she’s always placed love about self-preservation, and at least Fermin is worth it.

2. The gang have had enough and decide to all quit school. But of course all except Marcos - he can’t go anywhere and you see him almost choke at the thought (I do love life teaching Caro self-preservation; change from her naive attitude early on.)

3. Honestly, Paula and Marcos continue to break my heart. Also, huge points to this show for the fact that theree of the four best, most emotional heft relationships in this are not romantic - it’s Marcos’ brotherly love for Paula, Ivan and Marcos being best friends, and Maria’s maternal love for Ivan.

I mean, she ends up in the dungeons of horror and his relief when he finds her...

And the thing is - they are in serial killer torture basement of hell being chased by god knows what, and he somehow manages to make it a fun game of looking for Santa for her - she is never aware of the horrors and danger.

Look at her!

And then he carries her through freezing forest (after managing to escape the basement) and he gives her his own sweater to keep her just a little warmer and plays “games” about the hottest places she can think of and - has there ever been a better, more utterly loving brother than Marcos?

Even their being saved is horrific - it’s a crashed bus with a terribly wounded driver. (Are the children who saw it gonna get counseling? Hell, no, same as after Paula saw her friend dead or the gang had their bff Caetano die or w/e.)

4. Speaking of one of my other favorite relationships - it’s Maria and Ivan. He is leaving the school and thinking of Roque’s “isn’t there going to be one person at least you’d miss” he goes to talk to Maria!!!! I loved his apologizing to her for being a little shit earlier (and no excuses, just a proper apology) and his ever present snark (describing his holiday plans as a choice between either “my father and 50 prisoners in his block or Caro and her mother just out of ICU.”)

And after he does come back (about which more below). Awwwww.

5. Ah, the coming back. I love love love so much that the gang gave up their chance to escape because Marcos and Paula are missing, so they want to find and save them. AAAAA!!!!

6. My baby’s got a gun!

Honestly, points to Ivan for actually thinking things through and prepping - going down into murder basement to rescue someone from people who already killed Cayetano and the Judge, you need to be armed. This said, giving a hot-headed, traumatized, inexperienced student a shotgun is...well. Gonna end well, as I remember.

7. AAAAAA!!! They are about to go when Marcos and Paula come in and the looks!!! I love Marcos disbelieving (someone(s) cares for him and Paula!), the girls giving him a hug, Ivan looking so utterly pleased and relieved though trying to hide it. AAAAA!

I swear, one of the reasons Ivan freaked so hard about the disappearance and was so gung ho about the rescue was because of Paula. Look at him patting her on the head quickly.

And telling Marcos “there is no getting rid of you” - that is the genuine beginning of their epic bromance. EEEEEE!

8. We get a lot of reveals - Marcos’ mother being Irene Espi (and Marcos realizing this) and her being held in torture basement with a baby by the Latin teacher (!!!) and aaaaaaa!!!!

And thus ends s2. S3 is here and the Nazi experiment school from hell is about to get even more hellish. I can’t wait to start s3 because I love s1-2 and but s3 is where my obsession truly started along with so many other things - the start of Ivan x Julia, Marcos x Ivan bromance, and Ivan’s bodycount, as well as Maria x Fermin going full tilt, unraveling of mysteries, and more.

#el internado #martino rivas #yon gonzalez #spanish tv #mousie rewatches el internado

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readymades2002 · 5 years

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actually the majority of my memory of kingdom hearts is like--you know that. meme trend of “me watching my older siblings beat video game bosses for me”, okay, i AM the oldest sibling and i was still very bad at video games so my memory of kingdom hearts and a LOT of other video games was watching my mom play them the best she could for me until we both got stuck and then id start a new file and explore the island again haha

#she's always been SO patient with me it means a lot #she's done that with other games and she's a HUGE completionist and its very charming to watch...#i love her with all my heart she cares so much and loves unravelling games and completing tasks its like #the hyperfocus hat?? its generational!! its the same hat!!#tragically we no longer have that ps2 which is terrible because years after it #when i was in a stage of fixating on guitar hero i found out gh2 (which we had) had TROGDOR as a bonus track???????#and i had always been too young to know when i was playing it and i ADORED that game and just never knew what trogdor was???????#and its STILL the greatest tragedy of our time im NOT joking im heartbroken over that every day of my life

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

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Top five MSR moments

Memento Mori hallway scene, kiss included bc even though it's technically not canon.... it's still canon. the gentleness and mutual adoration and repressed grief and hope gets to me... the fact that he waits for her... the fact that she closes that last inch of distance and KISSES HIM BACK... the incredible amounts of tender love.... I'm insane over it actually. also even just in the regular cut, the way Mulder rubs the bsck of her head and she leans into it??? like??? for this once she lets herself be vulnerable and taken care of and she accepts that closeness because she's just... so tired, and so scared, and she visibly feels safer in Mulder's arms than anywhere else.

every single scene of them in pre-abduction arc season 2, but especially the in Little Green Men ("I wanted to know that you're okay," + the hair stroke both at the beginning AND when she finds him in South America) and The Host (meeting up at the bench like that... babies). they so obviously have a tremendous mutual crush and are like... honestly kind of obsessed with each other, in a super sweet and innocent way. they're best friends and they love each other so much and they're SO fond; they take so much joy in being around each other and even though they're separated by work, there's so much hope in them. that scene where Scully suggests he try to get a transfer to Quantico, just so they can work together or near each other? UNHINGED ADORABLE SHE LIKES HIM SO MUCH

"You have to lay it all on me," "I can't do that" in Redux II. Scully is literally dying and all she wants to do is save Mulder and his mind is screaming "I LOVE YOU" but he can't say it, won't say it, is too scared to say it but when she tells him to lay the blame on her, he laughs like he's about to cry and seems absolutely shocked by her love for him. and the way he kisses her hands and face is simply Too Much

every single time Mulder kneels or sits down so Scully is above him — i even wrote about it in several fics and made a web weave about it. I think especially in Ice, when she's so perturbed by the video at the beginning and he crouches down to be right beside her, and the scene in Pusher before he says "smile, Scully" (and she DOES for him and he smiles for her too because if they can do that, if they can still smile for each other, then maybe everything can still be okay) and gives her his gun and looks at her Like That... peak romance

Young At Heart and Grotesque — I'm counting both of these, even though one is in s1 and the other is in s3, because they both deal with Scully's loyalty and care for Mulder when he's dealing with people from his past and the internal issues those situations bring about. in Grotesque, I'm OBSESSED with the way Mulder snaps at her and then just leaves and even though she's frustrated, Scully turns around in the next heartbeat to go to bat for him with Patterson, because she will not stand to see Mulder used and she sees the toll it's taking on him.

honorable mentions must go to the FTF hallway scene (of COURSE... Scully consistently unable to handle the impact of verbal affirmation and love from Mulder GETS TO ME), the entirety of Fire (Scully trying to take care of Mulder even as Pheobe quietly unravels him...), and the flirting in Small Potatoes and Chinga (imagine if Scully teased right back at him when he was like "marry me" and was like "ok :)". Mulder would have a whole breakdown). also the end of End Game, but that's a whole other ramble shdjdnsksm

ask me my top 5 anything

#HEY PIPER COME BACK ask me my top 5 johnmon scenes :)#no i don't care how many asks you send me shdjdnsj #Lu rambles #asks #txf #msr #meta finding tag #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder x scully #mulder and scully

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 3 years

Text

Hello, my dears! I wrote this little bit of tastiness for a dear friend’s birthday, and they’ve given the okay for me to share it with all of you thirsty humans 😏 Enjoy! (being over 3300 words - this goes under a cut 😅)

Alcina NSFW ABCs

Aftercare

Imagine the most exquisite aftercare wrapped in the most delicious package. That is what you have coming to you with Lady Alcina Dimitrescu. She will use every part of your size difference to hold and comfort you. Knowing how sore you must be.. The bite marks still freshly decorating your flushed skin. A smear of her lipstick across your swollen lips. How utterly wrecked you'll be as her strong arms wrap around you. Placing a soft kiss to your temple as she pours you a cup of your favorite tea.

Body Part

Being the delicious little snack that you are, it will be hard for her to choose her favorite part of you. She will caress… lick.. bite.. kiss.. breathe in as much of your gorgeous body as she can. Your skin will hum at the feeling of her. Once she gets to a certain level of intimacy, she will worship you as often as she can. Never allowing you to go a single day without feeling utterly desired by her.

I mean… YOU’VE SEEN HER! ARMS, SHOULDERS, HIPS, THIGHS, ASSSS… every single inch of her is sinful to the highest degree. Though, if you truly had to pick, you'd most likely choose her fingers. The sheer size ... the talent… the girth of them dancing up your inner thigh before sliding deep inside of you… one first, and then the other - not stopping until you were deliciously filled, stretching around her as she fucks you relentlessly.

Cum

While it's not important to her if she always finishes, she absolutely loves to get her partner's off. She lives for it. She gets immense pleasure just from the act of utterly wrecking you.. over and over again until you’re literally gasping for air. One hand holding you up as her mouth completely covers your core. The length of her tongue as deep, and full as it can be as she drinks in every last drop of you - moaning at your taste.

Dirty Talk

She usually prefers that her pet has a more obedient tongue when speaking to her, but she’s been known to like it occasionally. She’ll be much more inclined to use her masterful linguistics on you. Making you drip for her with no more than just a few words. Whether you’re being particularly well behaved, or feeling significantly bratty, the way she uses her tongue will never cease to send a shiver across your needy little body.

Experience

Advanced/Expert

The years of experience that Alcina has over you will be overwhelming at first - you may even feel a little insecure. But when it comes to her favorite little human, she will be more than happy to teach you everything that she knows. Keeping you busy late into the midnight hours as she shows you anything, and everything that you’re wanting to know. Learning all of the things that can unravel you in turn. A smug smirk across her face as she renders you speechless with her talented extremities. Each one as experienced as the last. And I mean… can you imagine.. the abilities that tongue of hers likely has? How it moves against your core. Her exquisite fingers holding just as much talent, sliding in and out of you. And well.. when it comes to her strap game… I just hope you’re prepared not to be able to walk.

Favorite Position

Her favorite place to have you will always be with your gorgeous body pressed against the cool brick of the castle wall. Hand firmly around your neck as she holds you in place.The look of desperation in your eyes as she teases the girth of her fingers over your entrance. Reveling in each delicious whimper that escapes from your eager little mouth. Her thick fingers sliding in… and out… teasingly slow… making you drip. Her teeth nipping at your flushed skin, forcing you to cry out for her. It’s a position that brings out her most primal of needs - the hunter in her breathing the sweet smell of her prey.

Well, considering what a needy little human you are - you’ll be rather insatiable when it comes to exactly how much of her you want. Never quite feeling like you could get your fill of her. Being kinkier than most pets that she’s had, Alcina will know exactly what you need - what you most desire. With a shiny black strap adorning her waist - slightly enlarged to match the sheer size of her - you will eagerly rest on your knees in front of her. The cool tip of her stap against your ass before she very slowly slides it in, allowing proper time for your body to stretch around it. A delicious heat spilling over you. You shudder against her, moaning loudly as the width of her fingers finds the entrance of your core. A needy ‘please’ escaping from your lips, and well.. how could she deny her favorite pet? With the length of her fingers sliding deep inside of you - feeling filled in every way possible.

Goofy

Absolutely not. While she may tolerate foolishness in her castle at times (mostly from her daughters) she considers it a waste of valuable time in the bedroom. She’d much rather spend those minutes inducing other very gay feelings in you.

Hair

While she understands the appeal of being shaved, she prefers her pet to at least have some hair. As for herself, she keeps it a little more natural though neatly trimmed.

Intimacy

It will take a while for Alcina to warm up to the idea of intimacy that goes past completely wrecking you. But when she does, it will become very natural to her. Lingering touches as you pass by each other. Golden spheres looking at you fondly as you pour her favorite cup of tea. Cuddling long into the night, her strong arms holding you close against her as she stroked your hair gently. Once you have her heart, she will never leave you wondering just how much she cares for you. Your security in the companionship will be very important to her, and she will use whatever words or sweet touches she can to remind you of that.

Jack Off / Masturbation

There isn’t a single pair of hands in existence that can unravel Alcina as the same way that her own. With so many years spent, sometimes with nothing more than the company of her magnificent self - Alcina knows every spot to touch, to tease. Her strong hands roaming over her body as if it’s meeting it for the first time - hungry - yet inherently knowing exactly where to go. If you behave, she may even allow you to watch. Her hips rocking perfectly while her fingers slide deliciously in and out of her dripping core.

She will always prefer being the one who gives you pleasure. Though, if she were away on business or for some reason she couldn’t tend to it, she would allow it. Regardless, though - She absolutely loves watching you touch yourself. A slight pink tint to her cheeks as her eyes rake over you - watching every exquisite movement that your body makes. The roll of your hips - thrust of your fingers - how you moan out for her as she tells you exactly where to touch yourself.

Kinks

You could fill a dictionary with the amount of kinks that Alcina Dimitrescu has. And she’ll reveal each one to you... slowly. Always surprising you with new ones. Lucky for you, this means that this gorgeous creature will be happy to indulge you in any and all of your many kinks. As she has you tied down, one hand around your throat as her fingers on the other roughly slip inside of you - a warm sting spilling over you as she slid a third one in - a single gasp escaping from your lips as your core stretches around her. Decorating your flustered body with her mouth - teeth - nails. Claiming you in every way possible. “You’re mine, you perfect little slut, you know that?”

Location

Given her sheer size, your Lady would, on any normal day, prefer the comforts of her own bed.. or the convenience of a firm wall against your backside. Though, occasionally, on exceptionally longer trips you may find her fingers toying with the hem of your pants - just briefly - before sliding down and taking your core as if she owns it (and she does).

Motivation

Inherently, there will be many things about you that will make Alcina want to completely wreck you. A bratty smirk to your lips.. the beautiful blush that spills over you at just the mere presence of her.. how absolutely exquisite you look on your knees - eager and desperate for her touch. Sometimes, it will just be something as simple as a look - a stolen glance across the library - your body pressed up against the nearest bookshelf before you know it.

A single word… a heated glance.. a whisper. The way she bites her lower lip sometimes when she’s focused. Literally anything. She could have her foot on your throat, getting ready to feast upon your flesh, and you’d be utterly dripping for her - asking her for more.

Noise

Being the reserved creature that she is, it will take a little time before she allows herself to be vocal with you. But rest assured, there will be no sweeter sound than your Lady’s voice moaning out your name into the night. As for her partners, you would do well to make sure she can hear every last delicious moan, every last needy whimper - each breath that hitches in your throat as she devours you in every way that she can. The hungry glow that illuminates the golden spheres in her eyes, every time that her name slips past your parted lips. She will want to hear every last sweet morsel that you gift her. And don’t you dare stifle a single one, lest you’re prepared to be severely punished.

Oral

There is no sweeter taste to Lady Dimitrescu than the utterly delicious juices that she can get to drip from your needy core. The all encompassing feeling of her whole mouth enveloping it. The length of her tongue as deep inside of you as it can go - the width of it deliciously filling it. Your hips bucking against her as she literally drinks you in. One strong arm, holding you up in the most exquisite of angles, making sure that you can feel every bit of her talented mouth. One orgasm after another as her tongue proves relentless inside of you.

You’ll moan loudly at just the taste of her. Her warm musk rolling over you in waves as she leans back, spreading her legs for you. A pool of juices steadily flowing from her core, showing you exactly how much she desires her needy little pet. A hand wrapped around the back of your head, pulling you in closer. Her swollen clit practically filling your mouth with its size. Juices trickling down the front of your neck, and down the landscape of your body. If heaven was a place, it would absolutely be hidden somewhere within the space between Alcina’s perfect thighs.

Pace

This will all depend on the Countess’ mood.Though, normally, the desire to take you - wreck you - is too strong for her not to completely ravage you. She will want you in a way that no other has. She will claim you as often as she can, and even then - much like your legs - she will spread those moments out as long into the night. Rough - hard - almost bone breaking - that will always be her preferred pace. Not stopping until she’s utterly wrecked beneath her. And when you get to a more intimate companionship with her, when her heart swells at the sight of you - a slight pink hue to her cheeks as she takes you into her arms - the tenderness that will come with the way she touches you, will fluster you in a completely different way. Bite marks replaced by soft kisses - scratches by lingering touches. Whispering into your ear how absolutely perfect you are as she slides the width of two fingers deep inside of you, kissing your temple sweetly.

Quickie

Your flushed body pressed back against the wall of the kitchens.. her strong hands holding you in place as she passes you in the hallway.. the primal look in her eyes as you slip her heels onto her feet, kneeling before her. There will never be a time of the day where the chance of your Lady taking you right where you stand isn’t a possibility. While it’s true she prefers to have you for as long as she can, the immense desire she has for you will, at times, spill out from her so fiercely that she’ll have no other choice than to have you - claim you - utterly wreck you. Her lips crashing heatedly against yours after one too many stolen glances. Her hands up your shirt, exploring you hungrily before diving below your panty line. The other on your throat as she stifles any delicious sounds that may get you caught. Your hair mussed, body flushed, lipstick marks across your lips and neck as you do your best to casually get back to your daily duties.

Risk

Unfortunately, due to the sheer size of her, there aren’t many places where Alcina can indulge herself in such things. While she enjoys the rush at being caught as she fucks you against every and any surface within the castle walls that she can, she rarely gets to properly fulfill any exhibitionist type kinks that she has. With that being said, she’s been known to keep the carriage doors locked when she takes you into the village. Knowing the short amount of time that she has as she hastily shoves the thickness of her fingers into your pants. Whispering in your ear that you had better ‘be quiet’, only to do everything that she can before you arrive at your destination to get you to break.

Stamina

Hours upon hours. Days upon days. There is no limit to how long your Lady can go when she has you at her utter disposal. Why, if her schedule allowed it, she would never leave her bed. She would make sure you were sufficiently spent, only to take you again and again. When you hold the heart of the one and only Alcina Dimitresu she will become almost insatiable for you. She will push back meetings just for another taste of you. She would have you at all hours of the day if she could. Nipping at your skin. Drinking you in. Placing the softest of kisses to your body as she utterly wrecks you, over... and over again.

Toys

Absolutely YES. The amount of toys that she has collected and had made for her are enough to make even the kinkiest of pets head’s spin. With a large armoire in her bedroom dedicated to nothing else. Straps in various sizes and makes, ropes spun from only the finest of fabrics, a flogger for each occasion, whips for those who are exceptionally disobedient. Any toy that your needy little human mind can think of, she has. And she will use every last one of them to utterly destroy you.

Unfair

Oh, my dear. There is absolutely no one that exists within this world that is more unfair than Lady Alcina Dimitrescu. She knows the effect she has on you. She sees how you look at her - feels how wet she can make you just by muttering a few choice words. She will keep you flustered beyond belief throughout every second of the day. The size of her looming over you while you do your morning chores, whispering into your ear every last thing she’s going to do to you once your finished. She will take pride in rendering you completely speechless. The sharpness of her nails scraping over the shaved part of your head as she asks you how wet you are. Chuckling as your blush grows even darker. But don’t worry, dear. She’ll make good on all of her promises, and then some.

You will only have a chance in flustering this gorgeous woman when feelings have started to form. It will never be a teasing sentence, or a few words coated in innuendos that will cause her to blush - but your unwavering affections towards her. The way you cup her cheek fondly before kissing her, the soft look in your eyes as you tell her how absolutely stunning she is. There have only been few who have been able to disarm her, and oh, how deeply you’ll blush when you finally do.

Vocal

Being a woman who knows what she likes, she will have absolutely no problem telling you exactly what she likes and dislikes - and she also appreciates a companion who will do the same. ‘Use your words, pet’ is something that you will hear from your Lady often. She lives to bring you pleasure - relishes in it - the only discomfort she wishes to instill upon you being the bite marks that decorate your flushed skin… or the delicious heat that spills so deliciously across you whenever she forces you to stretch around her. There is no downfall in being open about what makes you feel good, for there is no other creature on earth who can make you feel as good as Lady Alcina Dimitrescu.

Wildcard

This larger than life Countess actually had quite the size kink of her own. And while there is little to know that could properly satiate this with just their fingers or tongue, she has had quite a few custom toys made for when the occasion for such indulgences arise. With you settled obediently between her thighs - her legs spread as far as they can go as she angles her hips up slightly (just to give you better access, of course). How exquisitely her oversized toy will part her lips as you begin to slowly slide it into her. An immediate blush across her body as her entrance stretches over it deliciously - her juices practically gushing out of her. You will lose all coherent thought watching this. The way her body writhes, taking as much from you as she possibly can. The gay-inducing sounds that slip from her mouth... her throat... her wet and throbbing core. Why, it’s almost enough to kill you right where you stand.

Yearning

The solitary moments that pass her during the day - those random times when you’re not by her side. The thought of you will never leave her. She will yearn for you in ways that you never even knew existed. Her creative mind playing out all the ways she could wreck you. She’ll think about how gorgeous you look when you’re blushing. The way your eyes light up whenever you truly smile. How utterly stunning you look when perched upon your knees. She can’t not be completely enamored by you. It’s in the way you laugh, how you think about her even when she’s not thinking of herself. There will be a certain kind of warmth that spills over when she thinks of you. Whether due to the way her heart swells, or the pool of juices collecting in her core at the mere thought of you - she won’t be inclined to give either up anytime soon.

Needless to say, you will yearn for you Lady 24hrs a day, even when her fingers are almost knuckle deep inside of you. Can’t seem to get enough of me hm? You needy little slut.

Zzz

No doubt about, considering how absolute she will be in making sure you are sufficiently wrecked, you will almost always be the one who falls asleep first, With the strength of her arms wrapped around you as you lay peacefully on her chest. Her fingers stroking through your hair affectionately as you drift off into the most blissful slumber of your life - wrapped in nothing but warmth of her embrace.

#resident evil village #resident evil #re8 village #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #lady alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #re8 headcanons #resident evil headcanons #resident evil fanfic #fuck #enjoy 😏

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

pls do part two of “you're everything you once hated” 🥺

Alright! I originally wasn’t going to do a Part 2 of this but a few people have asked so here you go! 😙

You’re Everything You Once Hated | Suguru Niragi

PART 1 | PART 2

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. OC, Ann, Tatta, Hatter, Kuina)

Summary: You attempt to escape Niragi to replenish your visa by yourself, but he catches you and makes sure you won’t do it again

Warnings: (okay here we go) blood, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, obsessive themes, suggestive themes, graphic violence/torture, needles, being held hostage, deranged behaviour, reader is traumatised, implications of a panic attack, dehumanisation (kind of?), mention of amputation, mention of suicide, guns, knives, reader sees a corpse, minor character death

Word Count: 4.6k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: this is quite heavy and messed up, so I recommend people under 15 don’t read this

The young man leant against the large building, holding a small rose in his sweaty palms as he waited for you to arrive from your after school class. He winced as the thorns slightly caught on his olive skin. He sighed and craned his neck back to rest on the wall behind him. No matter how much he attempted to distract himself, the rate his heart was beating kept bringing the nausea to his stomach.

The sky was painted a soft mix of orange and pink as the sun began to fall asleep below the horizon. Valentine’s Day couldn’t have created a more romantic atmosphere for Niragi, he couldn’t mess it up now or he would let cupid down himself.

“What the hell am I even doing?” he questioned himself, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. “She probably doesn’t even see me this way. We’ve been best friends for years, if she felt something she would’ve told me by now, right?”

He was stressing himself out, continuing the doubt whether his idea was good or not. He was considering dropping the rose and just walking away, being too afraid of the reality that he had been in love with you for years and had never been able to voice it. He felt embarrassed about himself, making his head fill with insecurities and doubts.

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. Niragi reached into his blazer and pulled out his device, noticing a text from you.

‘I’m on my way,’ it read.

He heard your footsteps around the corner and straightened himself up, letting out a sigh to relieve tension. He knew there was no going back now, so he had no choice but to go ahead with his confession.

Just as he was about to turn the corner to meet you, he noticed a male voice that echoed yours, making him freeze in his tracks. He kept himself pushed against the wall, trying to listen to what you were saying.

“I mean, movies are cheap at the moment. Do you want to go see one together?” Niragi heard the boy say. His heart sank at the males words and his hand holding the rose fell from his chest to drooping towards the ground.

Your voice, that was all too familiar to Niragi, answered him. “Sure! I’m busy this afternoon, but I’m free this weekend on Saturday.”

Saturday. Niragi frowned. You and him always went to the park together every Saturday to have a picnic together. You wouldn’t forget about that, would you?

His disappointment turned into anger suddenly. The exhilarating emotions filled his mind and heart so quickly, it took him off guard. As his hand twitched slightly, he shook his head to remove the thoughts from his head.

“Okay, I’ll send you a text later to talk about times and stuff,” the boy said. Niragi’s curiosity got the best of him and he peeked his head around the side of the building to catch a glance of who you were with. He wished he didn’t.

It was one of the young kids that picked on him in Science class, which you weren’t in. Niragi felt betrayed, but tried to reassure himself that you just didn’t know what this guy was really like.

“Bye Y/N,” the boy muttered shyly, making Niragi fume at his fake behaviour. ‘He obviously is just trying to get in her pants,’ Niragi thought to himself, jaw clenching in annoyance at your blindness.

The boy leaned close to you and left a soft kiss on your forehead making you smile and wave happily as he walked away. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs a few metres up, Niragi leant back so you couldn’t see him.

He felt tears building in his eyes, so he quickly wiped them away before you found him. He jumped as he saw you turn the corner, hiding the rose he held behind his back.

“Hey Niragi!” you exclaimed, having the same gorgeous smile that you always conveyed around him. Usually the small action would make him melt into the ground. But at that moment, he didn’t think anything you did could make him feel better.

“You okay?” you asked, leaning close to his face with your eyebrows raised. His heart beat picked up, noticing how your lips were only a few inches away from his. He turned his face to the side, hiding his blush. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” he lied through his teeth.

As he kept up his innocent façade, small droplets of blood slowly drizzled down his wrist from the tight fist enveloping the thorned rose. His confined anger flowed through the blood that spilled from the cuts in his palm, but he didn’t feel a pinch of pain through his tensed muscles.

Perhaps one day, the world would give him another chance to show his love for you.

***************

You woke with a start as someone busted through the door of the room, looking around in a panic at who would enter so suddenly. Your eyes widened as you caught sight of Niragi, stumbling into the room with his usual sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry love, did I wake you?”

You stayed silent, sitting up properly and watching his movements closely. You didn’t trust a single thing he did or said, so you still remained on high alert whenever he was in this room alone with you, despite the fact you had been sharing the room with him for three days.

“You getting hungry? I brought some food up last night for you while you were asleep,” he said, placing his rifle on a small table. You watched as it collided with the wooden surface, flinching at the loud noise.

You hadn’t been able to leave the room since your injury. You had been shot in the foot by an overly sensitive militant woman who you weren’t even sure was still alive after the beating Niragi gave her in front of you. His behaviour during that time alone was enough to you terrified, especially the fact that it is impossible to run from him now.

But the lack of movement on your foot has proven to help and you have noticed the bullet wound healing quite well. The ointment and bandages you apply regularly on it (no help from Niragi) has been working perfectly, and you were praying for the moment you could move your stuff back to your own room and escape Niragi’s unpredictable and psychotic behaviour around you.

As if he read your mind, Niragi spoke up. “How’s your foot? Is it getting better?”

The sweet tone in his voice was so contradictory to his intentions. You hated the fact that he thought you fell for his fake façade. To be honest, he probably knew you didn’t believe him, but continued with it to keep you on your toes.

You glared at him through the top of your eyelids, keeping your head low in suspicion. As Niragi sighed from your unresponsive behaviour, he strutted over towards the bed that you were laying on. You panicked and used your arms to push yourself away from him, being terrified of his presence alone. Spending only a few days with him was enough to make you realise how despicable of a human being he actually was.

“Shh, calm down. It’s just me,” he attempted to calm you.

You froze as he sat on the bed nearby your legs. A pained expression grew on your face as he slowly lifted your injured foot to place it gently on his lap, running his hand carefully over the bandage you had applied before going to sleep.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, glancing up at you. You shook your head no, watching as he smirked slightly and turned back to it.

“I’m going to have a look at it,” he demanded, beginning to unravel the bandage on your foot.

You remained still, watching as he was unusually careful. It made your adrenaline run rapid, not knowing when he was going to suddenly snap.

As he pulled the final layer off your foot, relief filled you when you saw that it was still fine. The injury had turned into a small hole in the top of your foot, no blood or redness in sight. Maybe perhaps you could walk again soon, and be able to replenish your visa that was due to end in a few days.

Unfortunately, Niragi wasn’t as happy about this knowledge, and he intended to do something about it.

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought, leaning over to the night stand and picking up a small unwashed needle that he had kept there. It was left there by Ann a few days ago, as she had to come to the room to stitch up a cut that Niragi had obtained during a game.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him holding the needle close to your bullet wound. “W-Wait, Niragi,” you stuttered, nervous about his intentions. “What are you doing?”

Niragi glanced up at you, a devilish smirk painted across his face. His expression made your stomach churn and you attempted to pull your leg from his grip. Your heart rate picked up and you began to panic when he refused to let go.

“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt much. Just... try not to scream.”

Just as you were about to protest, Niragi pinned your foot onto his lap and pushed the tip of the needle as hard as he could into your bullet wound, making you let out a silent scream and thrash in his hold.

You screamed and screamed and screamed, a horrific pain continuously shot through your foot to your leg. You swore at some point it felt like he was cutting your foot off.

“NIRAGI!” you wailed. “STOP! PLEASE!”

You begged and begged through your cries of pain. After what felt like a century, Niragi pulled the needle out of your foot slowly and placed his hand over the wound to attempt to stop the bleeding. You were now lying on your back, sobbing lightly into the sheets and given up.

You felt Niragi caress your face with the back on his hand lightly. “My little princess needs to stay here, where I can keep her safe. You can’t leave. There’s horrible monsters at The Beach and I would hate for you to fall prey to one of them.”

You felt like screaming at him. How could he be so blind, so ignorant. He was the monster, and he failed to realise it.

He placed your leg off his lap, making you let out a small cry. Niragi crawled further up the bed next to you and sat on the sheets. You were facing away from him, not even daring to turn to look at him. You could hear him unbuttoning his checkered shirt, seeing it fly over your frame and land on the floor. A shiver made its way up your spine as Niragi’s hot breath hit the nape of your neck and his warm limbs snaked around your torso. He placed his hands underneath your shirt and softly caressed the skin of your stomach whilst nipping at the skin on your neck.

“You’re so pretty. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you over these years.”

His words sounded so loving, so sweet. But your reaction was the opposite of what he wanted. A slow, sorrowful tear traveled down your face and you began shaking in his embrace in fear of having him so close. You wanted to close your eyes and wake up back home, back in your own bed with your family’s hushed conversations spread throughout the house. This wasn’t home, this was absolute hell.

“Why are you shaking? Are you cold?” your tormentor asked. He removed his hands from underneath your shirt and pulled on your shoulders to make you turn over to face him. You kept your eyes shut tight, refusing to submit to his demands.

He pulled you close once again and placed his hand on the back of your head to push your face into his bare chest. Niragi’s usual smell of blood and metal filled your nostrils, making you grimace against him.

You continued to shake, not being able to control your movements. Niragi sighed, tucking his chin on the top of your head and nuzzling into your hair, taking a breath of the all too familiar scent of the shampoo you’ve always used for your hair. How you managed to find the exact one in the Borderland was beyond his understanding.

The smell made him feel at home. The comfort he found in you was too strong for him to handle, making him become deranged at the thought of you being back in his arms. It scared him, how much he actually depended on you to keep him happy.

And while he continued to hold you close and smile happily at the feeling of your soft breath against his chest, he failed to notice the continuous flow of tears that cascaded down your face and the shaking of your hands that gripped the top of your own thighs violently, trying to realise the tension of the adrenaline in your veins.

************

You had had enough.

Niragi did nothing but put you through absolute torture and trauma no matter how much you attempted to reason with his psychotic self. Bruises littered your body from his usual violence, committing to the awful promise that he was going to make sure you couldn’t leave the room.

You were imprisoned. It felt as if you were trapped in a cage that had the easiest lock in the world to pick, only you didn’t have hands to unlock it.

So two days after the needle incident, you decided you were going to escape, even if it killed you.

You had to replenish your visa, considering it ended the next night. You feared that Niragi would just leave you to die, not caring about your visa, so you had to take it upon yourself.

You may have had an infected bullet wound and a nearly crushed spirit, but you weren’t going to let this be your end. You had to at least try.

*************

“Oi, I’m leaving now,”

You shifted your eyes from your hands resting in your lap to the tall, deranged man who stood at the door of your room. He had his usual black and white buttoned shirt on, charcoal hair tied up at the top to keep it out of his face and his relaxed hand tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. You almost felt disappointed. How could such a handsome man be wasted by such a horrific mentality.

He carried his loaded sniper rifle in his arm, fiddling with the trigger as he awaited an answer from you.

You nodded your head and turned back to your hands, twiddling your thumbs nervously. You stayed frozen as you heard his footsteps make their way over to you.

Niragi lifted your chin with a harsh grip to your jaw and smashed his lips onto yours. You closed your eyes tightly in discomfort, feeling his desperate lips bite over yours hungrily. It made you feel sick to your stomach.

He pulled away, your lips connected by a string of saliva, making him chuckle. “I’ll be back kitten. Maybe I’ll bring you back a present,” he suggested, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded once again. You knew what he meant. Perhaps an amputated hand of one of your friends? Or the eye of a seeker/hunter to remind you of the “monsters” he’s hiding you from? At this point, you were desensitised to it.

The feeling on his lips on your head brought you from your thoughts. He softly stroked his hand through your hair, tucking slightly on the ends, making you wince.

“Stay here, and don’t answer the door if someone knocks.”

And with that, he left. You stayed completely still for a few minutes, waiting in case he decided to come back just to torment you further.

After you were sure he was completely gone, you shifted to the edge of the bed and swung your legs over the edge to stand up. You had practised walking around the room on your injured foot for the past few days when Niragi wasn’t there, so you had grown used to the random aches that shot up your leg from your bullet wound while walking.

You waddled to the door, slowly swinging it open and grabbing the small knife that sat on the table nearby. You had to have some kind of weapon in case something was to happen.

As you stepped outside, a few people were still making their way down the halls towards the lobby. You noticed a young man that you had somewhat befriended when you first arrived at The Beach named Tatta. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you, a smile growing on his face.

“Y/N! Where have you been?!” he exclaimed excitedly, running to you and throwing his arms around you in a playful embrace. You grimaced at his loud voice, being afraid of a certain someone potentially hearing him say your name.

“Hey Tatta,” you said back, giving him a right hug. You swore you felt like you could’ve cried in his arms from how deprived you were from normal human interaction without the fear of being assaulted.

“Are you coming to the games tonight?” he asked, pulling back from the hug and keeping a hand on your shoulder. You nodded. “Can I stick with you?” you asked with hope in your eyes. Tatta smiled and hit your arm lightly. “Of course! I’d feel better going with someone I knew.”

You agreed and began walking down the hall towards the lobby together in a comfortable. Tatta failed to notice you being more cautious, checking around corners before you turned and whipping your head around to glance behind you every now and then.

************

Just your luck, a ten of spades. You swore the world just wanted you dead. At that point, you had become used to the never-ending bullshit that was thrown your way.

You clawed your way to the table that held the card. Holding the single piece of cardboard between your fingers had never felt more satisfying. You slid down against the wall near the registration area, limbs shaking from the muscle strain you faced during the game. Tatta knelt in front of you, rubbing your knee in an attempt to comfort you, but nothing he could do would make you feel better.

Back at The Beach, you sat in the lobby on one of the leather couches, rubbing your foot to try and ease the aching pain coming from your wound. You had heard when you arrived back that the executives had called a meeting, so you weren’t too worried about running into Niragi.

You closed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your head back to rest against the couch. Moments like that were complete bliss. For a moment, you were able to forget your current situation.

A sudden hand on your shoulder ripped you from your meditation, and you turned your head to see none other than Kuina with a red face and heavily breathing from running. “Hey Y/N,” she started. You sat up and turned around fully to face you.

“The executives want you in the meeting. They heard you collected a high number card and they need you to deliver it.”

Your heart dropped at her words, realising what was coming for you. You had to walk into that meeting room, where Niragi stood. He was going to find out about your little adventure you had without him knowing. Adrenaline filled your senses from the thought of what he was going to do to you.

You slowly stood up, wiping your sweaty hands on your shorts and checking your card was still in the front pocket. You gulped heavily and nodded to Kuina. “Okay, I’ll head there now.”

Every step towards the meeting room was another towards hell. The more stairs you climbed, the more nausea filled your stomach, the more thoughts filled your head. You were seriously just considering throwing yourself off the roof of the hotel, as that seemed like a better option than facing Niragi.

You arrived in front of the double doors, freezing in your path. You don’t know how long you stood there, sighing shakily and attempting to crack your knuckles to relieve tension. But still, as you lifted your hand to push on the large wooden door, your arm shook like a leaf.

You trudged in, hearing the room fall silent at your entry. You refused to look up from the ground, keeping your widened eyes locked to the carpeted ground until you reached the end of the table.

“Ah, Y/N. Finally! Care to show your card?” you heard Hatter ask. You glanced up and caught sight of all the executives gathered around the table on chairs. One of which was of course Niragi.

You locked eyes with the psychotic man, and your stomach dropped when you saw the scowl on his face. He was staring directly into your soul, eyes hardened with anger and unforgiveness. If looks could kill, you would’ve been on the floor dead before you even made it to the table.

You focused on the task at hand and pulled the card from your pocket, placing the somewhat damaged ten of spades on the table. Hatter reached over and held it close to his face to examine it as everyone watched. Well, everyone except Niragi, who held his piercing gaze on you. You swore you could feel him burning holes through your skin.

“Hmm,” Hatter hummed in approval. “Thank you very much Y/N, that will be all,” he said, making a shooing movement towards you.

You nodded and thanked him before quickly walking out of the room. As soon as you stepped out, you broke into a sprint towards you and Niragi’s shared room.

You had to leave the room before the meeting finished. You feared the absolute worse.

When you arrived at the room, you ripped open the door and scrambled inside, groaning at the pain your foot was in. You didn’t have a choice, you had to hurry.

You made your way to the large closet, immediately reaching for the top shelf to pull down the miniature machine gun that Niragi stored up there as a spare. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to know about it, but you managed to spot him tucking it underneath the clothes at some point.

As you were shuffling around the cupboard trying to find some bullets desperately, annoyed and stressed sighs and gasps leaving your mouth, you froze when the sound of the door opening hit your ears. Immediately assuming the worst, you grabbed the door of the cupboard and closed yourself inside, attempting to enveloped yourself in the piles of clothes and resources.

The keyhole in the door of the cupboard allowed you to have a small space to look through. You closed one eye and glanced through the hole, spotting Niragi placing his sniper rifle on the bed and untying his hair, running his hands through it in stress.

You didn’t dare even breath, keeping all your limbs tucked close so you didn’t knock over anything. You were so afraid that Niragi would even hear the sound of your heart beating, as it was as loud as a drum in your own ears.

You grimaced as a sudden putrid smell filled your nose. The smell of fresh flesh that you were all too familiar with from living in the Borderland. You turned around in the cupboard and moved to the side so the light of the keyhole would at least somewhat illuminate the small space. The sight in front of you was enough to make you throw up.

There sat Tatta (or at least, Tatta’s remains), empty eyed and leaning against the back of the cupboard. Bullet holes littered his once kind face, probably counting eight at least. You covered your mouth in horror, letting out a loud cry at the sight, pushing your legs against the ground to scramble away from your dead friend.

Once again, just like the other day during the needle incident, you screamed and screamed and screamed. You fell backwards out of the closet, curling into a small ball and screeching into your palm in horror at the now clearer sight of your friend’s corpse.

Everything was crumbling around you. Your voice was being ripped to shreds at the back of your throat. Your mind was falling apart, not being able to handle the traumatising events that you’ve faced, breaking and tearing itself apart. Your body was broken. Bruises and scars scattered your frame like an artwork, each one holding a connected traumatic event.

Niragi sat on the bed, watching as you screamed on the ground over by the corner of the room, tears sliding down his tanned cheeks.

What had happened to you? Why did you change so much in these few years?

Niragi slowly stood and made his way over to your shaking frame, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and knees to lift you bridle style. He smiled sadly down at your shivering frame, not being able to control your rapid movements.

“Aw baby, you’re a mess,” he cried, a sob escaping his mouth halfway through his sentence.

He brought you back over to the bed, crawling on his knees to the centre of the mattress and crossing his legs to lay you in his lap with your head tucked into the crook of his elbow.

He brushed your hair with his fingers, trying to ease your breathing as you kept your eyes tightly shut in fear. “I tried to warn you. Look what happened,” he chuckled through his tears, motioning his head over towards the cupboard. “Do you like your present? I saw you walking with him on your way back to the hotel and thought it would be perfect. Why don’t you like it?”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him with fear all written all over your face. You didn’t dare move from his embrace, being too afraid.

Niragi smiled as he caught sight of your glistening eyes, reaching a hand up and stroking his thumb along your cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he breathed out, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

You brought your shaking hands up and rubbed your face before finally speaking up. “I want to go home,” you desperately whispered, turning your head and pressing your face against Niragi’s clothed chest. He watched as you brought your hand up and gripped the material of his shirt in your fist tightly, conveying anger and stress through your grip.

“You are home kitten,” he states, rubbing his cheek against your head. “I’m your home. I always have been.”

He wasn’t lying to you, and that was the pill that was hard to swallow. Niragi had been your source of comfort for so long, and for once in your life, it felt foreign to lay in his arms and to look into his night eyes.

Oh how weird it felt to look at something that conveyed such sweetness, such delicacy and such empathy, only for it to be utterly ruined by its environment.

You’d like to think that it wasn’t either of your faults. But in the end, it doesn’t depend on the environment, it depends on how you react to it.

Neither of you were perfect, but you were both incredibly different. It never would’ve worked between the two of you, and being in the Borderland did nothing but strengthen that fact. In the end, your differences would either tear you apart from each other emotionally, or you would tear each other apart limb from limb.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I’m back to finishing off the fanfic requests that have been sent to me because I finished all the prompt scenarios. I won’t be doing another part to this because I honestly struggled for so long trying to figure out a plot for this one 😭 But anyway thanks so much for your patience. I’ll be uploading these fanfics as quick as I can! ❤❤

Small addition to this fanfic talking about Niragi’s motives and intentions

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland imagines #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland one shots #alice in borderland scenarios #alice in borderland x reader #aib #aib imagines #aib imagine #aib one shots #aib scenarios #aib x reader #niragi #suguru niragi #niragi imagines #niragi imagine #niragi one shots #niragi scenarios #niragi x reader

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys. You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own.

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way.

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked.

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.”

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.”

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?”

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.”

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #oscar isaac #richard alonso muñoz x reader

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captnjacksparrow · 3 years

Note

I just got into the fandom and I love it so much. However, there are parts where I just cringe. I’m going to be completely honest when I say I can’t see SS being a thing, a healthy one at that. A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him. I just... find it utterly bullshit. Hell, even I do ship narusasu, I tried to be open minded and not fall too far off canon or the characters. I don’t understand how Sasuke had those feelings for her when all he did was shown the opposite and it felt genuine. He seem always annoyed and pushes her away. She kept forcing her feelings on him when he makes it clear that he’s not interested. I don’t hate the ship because it’s not my ship but because it’s extremely toxic. It feels one-sided (Sakura’s side) more than anything and it’s makes it hard to believe he had those feelings for her. I mean, on the second episode of season five, she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive. She’s just like every other fangirl expect she’s on his team. I’m trying my best not to hate her but Damn she’s really pushing it. Anything that annoyed me was that she made it seem like they were dating, again making it about herself and her feelings. She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.” I just can’t with this ship. I’m still wondering why the hell is it even a thing? Also find it beyond pitiful how she stayed with Sasuke in Boruto when he left for 12-13 years?! No note. No checking up. Nothing. Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP. If that’s what true love looks like (good thing it’s not), then I’d die single. I can’t be the only one who thinks this ship is just as bad as Harley Quinn x Joker.

First off, Thanks for this lovely ask @larrycherry04 ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I've always wanted to write about this and your ask is the perfect timing.

Disclaimer: SS shippers, Sakura fans!!! Don’t read this post!!

Me being an SNS shipper, I am just going to write this from a non-SNS perspective. Meaning, I am going to consider Naruto and Sasuke are just friends or rivals.

Bear with my lengthy answer.

Where do I even begin?

A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

I think this rumor is from a light novel called Akatsuki Hiden or whatever shit. But for me, it looks like a pathetic attempt to convince those horny women shippers who would pay any money to read a romance which mirrors their own love life where they desire an ‘unreachable & handsome’ man who has this ‘cool & overbearing’ aura and carries this ‘bad boy badass’ vibe. They would do anything to get the attention from this boy. Until this point is where the reality ends.

What they really wants to happen and fantasize is somehow that handsome man, one day, will look only them and recognize their love and becomes a ‘soft’ guy who would bring the heavens for them and treats her like a princess. That fantasy led them to buy these novels and believe everything while completely disregarding the canon material. And those novels are aimed at these type of women.

You must have been wondering now, ‘I have seen these type of shit somewhere’!!!!!

That’s right.

50 Shades of Grey, Twilight, Beauty and the Beast, 100′s of K-Drama, C-Drama follow this shit romance trope and it’s regrettably fucking popular.

In other words, Don’t believe anything apart from the canonic resources.

Let’s dissect the canon materials about SS.

TEAM 7

This is how it all started

Does anyone see anything positive here????

Well, I am not.

Sakura wanted to impress Sasuke. Since, Naruto always picks fight with Sasuke, she badmouthed Naruto in the hopes that Sasuke will recognize some common ground with her which may develop into a friendship. But she shot her own foot.

[Regardless, I hated her here and she never redeemed herself, for her being completely insensitive & oblivious towards Sasuke’s life, the boy she loves]

Technically, Sasuke should have said ‘You’re Annoying’ towards Naruto for kissing him before the class and tying him up later. Here, Sakura is simply badmouthing another guy. He, somehow, find this very annoying than anything Naruto did earlier.

Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

Am definitely not seeing any feelings here.

ZABUZA ARC

Alright, much later, somehow Sasuke started to integrate into team 7 and started to see them as a Family. No denial here. He started to care about everyone in his team at some point. Which was evident from the way he thought to himself, ‘That was Sakura’s voice... What is Kakashi doing?’

But does it means he hopelessly fell in love with her??? Nope.

It’s just a team camaraderie where he was worried about his teammate. If he has special feelings towards her, he should have said ‘I must go save Sakura’ or something along the line.

But, later in that episode, he went on to die for Naruto and even at his dying moments he didn’t think about Sakura or Team 7. It was all about someone else.

Even seconds before falling into Naruto’s arms, Sasuke was smiling with no regrets.

It was funny very later that after he got up from his temporary death, rather than consoling her like ‘Sakura, Don’t cry. Am alright’ or anything, he was asking ‘Where’s Naruto?’. LOL.

Even much later, when Sakura was asking him about a date, he bluntly said ‘I refuse’.

So, you’re telling me, throughout this arc, a boy blinded with hatred can able to pout, play childish games, train and die for a boy but when it comes to Sakura he can’t show his feelings???

Sorry, I don’t see romance here. Not in this arc.

Whether you agree or not, every parent has their favorite child, every child has their favorite parent. Even within your family, you always have a special person.

For Sasuke, Itachi was that person in his real family. Sakura was not that person in his Team 7 family. It was Naruto.

CHUNIN EXAMS ARC

This arc is where those SS shippers celebrates a lot and I know why. Remember earlier I talked about that shitty 50 Shades of Grey romantic trope??? The following scene vaguely falls under that pattern.

A guy loses his control because of a cursed seal and beats up the guys who hurt one of his teammates which happens to be a girl and calms down after seeing the girl.

That Infamous back hug.

I understand why SS people lose their mind with that scene. And I don’t blame them. I am going to throw their own proof at them.

So, this First databook, tells us that he finally sees both Naruto and Sakura as comrades and his heart softens from the path of revenge, a little bit.

Definitely, Sakura’s tears or love towards him stopped his rampage. But nothing says about whether Sasuke loves her back.

Much later, Sasuke also stops his cursed seal on his own after thinking about worried Sakura and a screaming Naruto (Who don’t know about this seal thingy at that time).

Well, whatever. That databook has another funny fact, that too in the same page.

LOL. Weird!!!! This accidental kiss unravels Sasuke’s heart ❤️❤️???? 🤣🤣🤣

So, influencing Sasuke’s heart can be attributed to both his teammates,according to this databook. Atleast upto this arc. There are no special feelings for Sakura alone, guys.

Proof?

If Sasuke really considers her in a romantic light (this is after that back hug), he doesn’t have to do this at all. Believe me, Love is all about subconsciously or purposefully enjoying or feeling little touches. Those touches can be through eyes, memories or physical. Sakura is delighted with his touch because she loves him but Sasuke just see her as a comrade and keeping his distance but this time very politely.

If Kishi really likes these couple, he doesn’t have to make this scene at all. It’s not just this one instance, he rejected her twice very bluntly before this saying ‘Don’t cling to me!!!’, ‘Sakura, you’re heavy!!!’.

If you say her back hug is a token of romance, then I can say ‘this’ kiss is also a token of romance. You can’t ignore one while keeping the other.

Anyways, at the end of the arc, Orochimaru is the best judge to identify who can change Sasuke’s heart. And that person is not Sakura.

DEPARTURE

she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive.

You know what, Larry??? You are 1000% right.

But, atleast, I thought she was genuine in the first part of the proposal, like saying ‘Revenge is not good’.....bla bla.. Because, Revenge will never satisfy a person completely and I agree. Then she took a 180 degree by saying ‘Take me with you, Sasuke-Kun. I’ll make you happy’. This is where I lost it entirely. ‘Alright Bitch, So you really don’t care about his revenge or health. As long as you have the chance to get inside his pants, you are okay with it. So you are okay with Sasuke going to Orochimaru as long as you are with him..... Fucking Shit!!!!’ This is not okay at all.

How did Sasuke respond?

“Why should I have to tell you anything”

“I’m telling you to keep your nose out of my business”

“Stop bothering me over everything I do”

Ummm..... where I come from, this screams ‘Irritation’ to me. Added to it, throughout the whole conversation he never saw her face. There was evidently no pain or anything from his face. On top the cake, here comes the cherry

“You really are...annoying”

This is where he saw her face throughout that painful confession before knocking her out. Umm... When you love someone or atleast feel for someone, you will look in their eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave. Or atleast show some pain??? There’s visibly nothing from Sasuke’s face.

Alright, I know what SS wankers will pull out here. That Databook 2 with some vague words. I am going to throw this at them.

Again, like I acknowledged before, he considers her as a comrade and part of a family. So, her existence also eased his loneliness. But you have to look at the word choice here. “The one that filled his lonely existence was Sakura”. It’s not the ‘Only’ person. Before he left he said ‘Thanks’. Meaning, Thanks for all these days. That’s all between us.

This piece was about the Team 7 picture. So he acknowledges, he was not alone during his genin days because of his companions and Kakashi (so it’s not just Sakura to ease his loneliness). Whatever he said to Sakura was real.

So can we safely confirm “You’re annoying” is real????

But what’s really interesting is the way Sasuke projects himself before Naruto. I am going to refrain myself from attaching all those rollercoaster of emotions flowed throughout the fight in VoTE 1. Otherwise, it will become an SNS post.

However, this particular scene caught my attention.

Ummm.... Initially Sasuke walks without looking at Naruto. Then he looks back and answers him.

Naruto was pretty much asking the same question as Sakura. “Why does it come to this?”

But Sasuke pauses and surprised for a moment and asks him pretty much “Why do you care about me?”

Why couldn’t Sasuke do the same with Sakura???? Kishi can pretty much make a panel or two rather than making some insulting panels.

Anyways, If they throw the databook, then I can also throw the same.

Alright, can someone explain the highlighted sentence for me???? Because I want to confirm whether I have a blurry vision.

Here, Sasuke is trying to punctuate Naruto as a different person from the rest of his companions. ‘his companions as well as that with Naruto’, I mean, Come on!!!! Naruto is also one of your companions along with Sakura. Why differentiate????

‘The village, companions, Naruto,....’ . Again....He is differentiating his home (village), companions (his friends), and Naruto. So who is Naruto for him? What is the need to make exception for Naruto? It’s very clear he is placing Naruto at a high pedestal for some unknown reasons.

Before this Databook dissection, remember I said something about saying Goodbye, ‘ When you love someone or at least feel for someone, you will look into that person’s eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave‘

Sasuke is doing exactly that here in this scene without saying anything.

Am sorry SS shippers, you can scream all you want about Sasuke knocked her out and left her on the bench. But there was no emotional distraught when he left her. Sasuke seemingly spent a longer time staring at Naruto than looking at Sakura when she confessed.

OROCHIMARU HIDEOUT

Well, there is nothing I can say about here for SS. He pretty much saw her and said, “Sakura, huh?”.. And that’s all. He didn’t give two shits about her.

His attention was completely on someone else.

UNDER THE BRIDGE

She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.”

Naruto pretty much said the same thing in this arc, Larry. Naruto, in part 1, was happy for Sakura feeling the same about Sasuke as him, that is ‘To bring him back’. And also sad that his crush really loves someone else. But after Sakura gave up on Sasuke and faking her confession, Naruto decided, ‘Alright, I want to save him personally. I don’t care about our promise anymore”.

This is where, SS ship goes into a crazy ride and it’s not a positive one.

Sasuke was on a rampage. He lost the ability to differentiate between his friends and foes. He stabbed Karin. And when he find her alive, he was about to Chidori her.

And then comes the pink princess, full of lies and deceit. And Sasuke being impatient and disgusted with her lies, he does this

Well, in part 1, she had a degree of power to change his heart. But not here. He, instead, got riled up more and even tried to kill her without a warning and that too by not looking at her face. Pathetic!!!!

This scene screams ‘Trust issues’ from both sides.

Did it stop here???

Fucking Shit!!!!!! Is there any people who still ship this nonsense?. If you are a Sakura fan, you should hate her for the lack of trust and backstabbing the person she loves,

If you are a Sasuke fan, errrrmmm.....I have nothing to say. You know what to do.

There is nothing positive here, that can make me ship them. He is killing her like a Mosquito.

If you truly loved someone in the past, even in your darkest moments, you will be honest and you cannot fake before that person.

Proof??

Here, Sasuke had a clear resolve to kill his brother, Itachi. He lived for this moment for about 8 years and immersed himself in Darkness for 3 years with Orochimaru. He could have run away, dodge or look away from Itachi. But Sasuke simply couldn’t!!! You know why?? Sasuke loved Itachi once more than anything in this world. At this moment, he is letting all those defense loose and embracing the moment and see what Itachi was about to do. Because somewhere in his heart he trusts Itachi.

But killing Sakura doesn’t make Sasuke feel anything. She is just another victim like Danzo or Karin or all those Samurais or a fucking mosquito!!!!

So you are telling me that Sasuke had feelings for her but kept it hidden all along and still tried to kill her like a pest???

Give me a fucking break!!!!

And you all know, who changed Sasuke’s heart here in this scene. It was not Sakura. There’s absolutely no reason for Sasuke to listen to that person and what’s more, Sasuke even made a promise (despite being in darkness, he had it in his heart to listen to that person) to destroy Konoha only after killing that person ..

WAR ARC

Well, this is the arc where Sakura behaves like a rabid dog on heat waiting for Sasuke and shamelessly trying to wag her tails. But Sasuke didn’t give two shits about her, not once or twice but multiple times.

MOMENT 1

An explosion was about to kill the whole shinobi alliance and this dude wants to save Jugo, his companion and Naruto, the person who will challenge his Revolution, his rival and the one whom he wants to kill. Why only Naruto??? Why not Naruto and Sakura???

Pink cherry Queen doesn’t even crossed Sasuke’s mind. Because he already threw her away in part 1.

MOMENT 2

Alright Bitch!!! The entire shinobi alliance was dying on the other side of the battlefield. And this asshole is doing a clownshow before Madara just to get inside Sasuke’s pants????

I mean, Come On!!!!

Well, if Sasuke truly likes her, he should be the one to have catched her or atleast should have asked her, ‘are you alright??’

I am sorry, where are the romantic feelings???

MOMENT 3

ROFLLLL🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

For the first time, Kishimoto is trolling those Sakutards through Sasuke’s words, what we, readers were right about all along. He is calling her useless here. And still these fake feminazis trying to ship her with him???

Don’t you guys have any self respect??? If so, this should be the moment to jump out of this trash ship.

MOMENT 4

Geez!!! You are still on this ship?????

He clearly doesn’t want to save her at all. The hawk can clearly lift 3 people. Sasuke is not even making an effort here.

And you are still yapping that he is blinded by darkness???

MOMENT 5

This is the moment SS calls it as ‘eyesmex’... While in reality, he was just looking at her and silently thanking her for helping him out. Do you know what is a real ‘eyesmex’??? I will attach it at the end.

If you guys pull this as true love, then he should have stayed in the same love till the end. But Sasuke has other ideas.

This is the one of the funniest thing in this arc. LOLLLLL

Instead of being relieved that Sakura was saved, Sasuke was wondering about Kakashi’s Susanoo.....and Sharingan.

Do people still think he cares about her????

MOMENT 6

Am cackling here, while dissecting the sorry state of this ship guys 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣!!!! If something good happens to me because of SS , it’s just the way you guys are making me laugh by making a clown out of yourself!!!!

Do you guys know something? There was a man named Itachi. Before massacring his clan, the very first person he killed was his ‘supposed’ Girlfriend, named Izumi. I wouldn’t say Itachi loved her like a lover boy. It was just one sided on her part. He just talks to her when he finds a spare time and considers her a good friend.

Do you know how he killed her?

By putting her in a ‘Tsukuyomi’. And what kind of Tsukuyomi, you ask?

Can you see how he fulfilled her dreams gracefully before he was going to kill her???

Why didn’t Sasuke do this???? Why particularly select a murdering genjutsu????

MOMENT 7

He said it, finally.

He don’t love her at all. There was no hidden feelings. He admitted from his own mouth.

One day later, after the final VoTE battle ends.... After exchanging some intense feelings and even crying tears of happiness with Naruto....

Sasuke tells Sakura, ‘Sorry’....

Ummm.... That’s all???

All those negative shits happened before cannot be solved by just simply saying ‘Sorry’ and ‘Thank you’. If someone has an ounce of self-respect, they should know this is not OKAY at all...🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️

Am Sorry, but Sasuke was just being politely blunt, kind of insincere towards Sakura and turned his attention somewhere else in a matter of minutes. He was not even bothered by Sakura’s tears here. Instead staring at someone on his left. Remember I talked about touching the person physically and visually?

Sasuke is subconsciously or purposefully touching someone on his left through his eyes. Definitely it’s not Sakura. You know who it is. Remember SStards’ infamous ‘eyesmex’... I seriously believe this is a perfect example of ‘eyesmex’.

All these intense looks and feeling pain still doesn’t serve Sakura, even after pulled out of darkness. If there is a moment, where SS wants to shine, then this is where it should be. He should have told her, how he missed her all along, how he felt about hurting her, should have wiped her tears and some corny shit. But instead, Sasuke went for a long ass monologue for his friend and talking about sharing his pain.

What about your kween’s pain????

You don’t have to ship SNS. But you should know where Sasuke’s priorities are.

It’s not Sakura.

Sasuke said ‘Sorry’ to Karin too. ‘Thank you’ to Kakashi as well.

And what’s even more pathetic is, still Sakura wants to get inside Sasuke’s pants by accompanying him. Bitch, you can help your village, console your best friend Ino who lost her father, try to surpass Tsunade, improve your skills or whatever... Why bother him???

So, if you really think ‘Thank you’ as a token of love, then I can’t help it but term Sakura as a rabid dog who waits for her master to come home and throw some bones whenever he finds time. Your standards for a romantic love is piss poor and you will suffer just like Sakura in Boruto with just emptiness. All Sasuke did was poke her forehead just like Itachi which symbolizes keeping someone at a distance. He also said the same words to her just like Itachi said to him many times ‘Mata kondo da’ meaning ‘Maybe next time’. And we all knew that next time never came for Sasuke.

Now all we see is a Sasuke as an absentee father in Boruto for which I don’t blame him. He was never a marriage material in the first place. Sakura and the Manga Editors forced him and she is paying for it.

Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP.

All I want to say to SS shippers is, Your Ship Has Sailed Already. You cannot expect Sasuke to go lovey dovey towards Sakura with a 12 year old daughter around and for fuck’s sake, this is not a romance manga, it’s a battle manga. So stop dreaming about this kind of non-existential romance and pull yourself altogether.

#naruto analysis #ask #sasunaru #sasunarusasu #anti sakura #anti sasusaku

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