[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]
Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^
In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.
WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.
it was just a cover up for lust. just something that old couples make up to make their love story seem more interesting than it really was. just something that disney made up for better marketing and sale.
you didn’t believe in love at first sight. not until now.
you were doing at the front desk of your local library, hoping to get some volunteer hours in before high school started after summer break. plus, you needed to touch some grass.
you bit the inside of your cheek; other than the frequent elderly visitors that came to read newspapers, there was practically no one here. ever. and that made sense; people had better things to do than read during the summer.
finally, you saw a shadow approach your desk. “hi, check out or return—?” you began. your jaw went slack.
his hair was dark green, with piercing teal eyes the color of sea glass. long underlashes framed them; you probably wouldn’t be able to achieve such long lashes with your favorite mascara.
he was absolutely breathtaking.
“i’m checking these out.” he dropped a pile of books, some about soccer, some about english.
“you’re gorgeous.” your sputtered. he stared at you for a few seconds; when you finally realized what just came out of your mouth, scarlet began to paint your face. “uh—ah—i mean, yeah, i got you.”
you began scanning his book, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his pretty teal eyes. finally, you slid his books and library card back to him. he didn’t say anything as he left.
your heart stopped.
you just lost a chance with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen!
you beat yourself up internally, cringing at your prior actions. you should’ve asked him for his number. maybe if he lived around here. but no, you just had to be down bad.
and now you’ve lost this beautiful stranger forever.
you were lost.
you wandered across the halls of your new high school mindlessly, trying to find class 1-1. instead, you were walking across rows of staircases and offices.
you took your phone out, trying to call your friend for help. maybe they’d come get you and bring you to class. but walking with your phone out is never a good idea, and—
thump!
your forehead accidentally collided with someone. “oh, shit! i’m so sor—“ your heart skipped a beat.
it was your beautiful stranger, standing right in front of you, a flicker of familiarity flashing in his eyes.
except this time, he was staying with you for longer than five minutes.
thank you @cursed-carmine for the lovely dividers!
i know the door isn’t locked. i didn’t even waste a single thought on it when i shoved you inside. your back is pressed to the wall, mouth open in a silent gasp when i pull your panties aside. it takes one single stroke to stretch you wide open around me.
i don’t care about foreplay. all i care about is the way your pussy grips me, soaks me, pulls me in deeper. obscene wet sounds fill the room as i slide out before driving all the way in again.
“rin,” you whine in my neck.
you clutch to my hoodie like you’d fall apart without me. its the desire in me and the need in you that makes it so intoxicating for me.
“you’re open up so good for me,” i groan. my hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm. “already dripping down my cock. so needy you couldn’t wait ‘til we got home.”
the truth is that i couldn’t wait. all i could think about is you you you. and now i chase the look on your face - lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded. i slam deeper and deeper in an attempt to become one with you.
behind us the door creaks and then opens. i hear the sharp intake of breath, the shocked silence - someone’s here. your whole body freezes, panic flashes across your face, but i react quickly. i grab your chin and force your eyes back to mine.
“don’t,” i hiss. “don’t you dare to stop on me now.”
whoever stands there is stunned. i don’t even look at them. don’t care who it is. could be a teammate, a stranger, or sae for all i care.
what matters is you and your trembling body. your cunt’s clenching even tighter around me now from the humiliation and shock.
“pathetic,” i sneer, lips brushing your ear. “you’re squeezing me harder now. you like this, don’t you? being seen like this? stuffed full of my cock.”
“n-no. rin. no,” you shake your heard with a broken little whimper spilling from your mouth.
i know the truth. i feel the fucking truth in the way you pulse around me and your juices run down my balls.
“yeah,” i mutter darkly, fucking into you sharp, punishing thrusts that echo in the small space. “you love it. can’t hide from me.”
i can hear the person shift behind me, the awkward shuffle of someone who doesn’t know whether to leave or watch. i bare my teeth, rutting into you rougher, almost like an animal.
“let ‘em see,” i groan, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “let ‘em fucking see you break on my cock.”
your moans are muffled in my hoodie, but still loud enough to carry. still enough to make my cock throb and my balls ache. my pace falters with how badly i want to cum inside you.
“shit,” i rasp, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down my temple. “gonna make me cum in front of them. gonna pump you full right here.”
you whimper my name desperately and that’s all it takes. i slam inside you one last time, going as deep as possible. a guttural groan makes my chest vibrate as i spill my hot seed inside you. still buried i keep grinding, my pubic bone massages your vulva and you cry out loudly.
“that’s it. so beautiful,” you don’t know how stunning you are.
however the door shuts. whoever it was is gone. good. or bad of them, because they don’t get to see you like this.
i pull back further and frame your face in my hands. you’re so flushed, so utterly wrecked - pure erotic. a smirk graces my features when i hear my spend dripping down on the wooden floor.
“i won’t ever stop. not for them. not for anyone.” i kiss you hard, filthy, still pressed inside you, cock twitching as if it’s ready to go again. but first i whisper against your lips,“remember that, i don’t stop. ever.”
You gripped Rin’s length, thumb rubbing on the slit, smearing the shiny bead of sticky pre all over the flushed tip and the underside of his cock.
“Hm,” his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side. Rin’s hand found your bra and tugged it to expose your breasts, your leg curled over his. His fingers danced across your sensitive nipple, rolling and pinching the delicate bud while his calloused hands worked on kneading and gripping the soft flesh of your breast.
His cock pulsated in your hand, you let go for a heartbeat and ran your fingertip up and down his shaft. Your fingers brushed over his already tightening balls and gave them a gentle squeeze, drawing out suppressed grunts from him. You wrapped your hand around his wet member, pumping up and down on him.
“Don’t stop,” Rin clenched his jaw, thudding his head back into the pillow. The sound of the friction of your hand on his cock, wet and rhythmic filled the quiet room, breaking his icy composure. His hips began to stutter, instinctively bucking up to meet your palm.
His breath hitched, thighs flexing as you increased the speed, your grip firm and unrelenting.
“K-keep going,” he huffed out, pupils blown wide and eyes dark with lust. his teal eyes were fixed on you with an animalistic, predatory hunger. He reached down, his hand clamping over your wrist to guide you, forcing you into the punishing pace he needed.
His entire body went rigid, muscles in his stomach cording as he hit the brink. A low, guttural groan that he tried so hard to hold in finally broke past his lips as his glistening cock pulsated in your grasp, seed spluttering all over your hand.
You let go of his softening member and slowly licked the white ropes off your skin, your eyes never leaving his teal ones.
Rin watched you, his breathing shallow and ragged, a faint flush still dusting his sharp cheekbones.
He didnt pull away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb catching a stray drop at the corner of your mouth.
“tch, so messy…” he rasped out, voice thick and completely spent, though he pulled you flush against his chest, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, sharp teeth clamping down on your skin suckling while his hands gripped your waist pulling you even closer.
“mine,” he mumbled against your skin, breath tickling your neck. With his damp body sticking to yours, your hand wrapped around his body.
“mhm, I am,” your fingers brushed the back of his head, twirling the dark green locks between your fingers.
The room felt heavy and domestic with the smell of him, the fresh linen and the sound of his heartbeat. With you, the soccer and the calculations on the field were gone from his head, replaced with you wrapping him in your soft and warm embrace.
You gripped Rin’s length, thumb rubbing on the slit, smearing the shiny bead of sticky pre all over the flushed tip and the underside of his cock.
“Hm,” his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side. Rin’s hand found your bra and tugged it to expose your breasts, your leg curled over his. His fingers danced across your sensitive nipple, rolling and pinching the delicate bud while his calloused hands worked on kneading and gripping the soft flesh of your breast.
His cock pulsated in your hand, you let go for a heartbeat and ran your fingertip up and down his shaft. Your fingers brushed over his already tightening balls and gave them a gentle squeeze, drawing out suppressed grunts from him. You wrapped your hand around his wet member, pumping up and down on him.
“Don’t stop,” Rin clenched his jaw, thudding his head back into the pillow. The sound of the friction of your hand on his cock, wet and rhythmic filled the quiet room, breaking his icy composure. His hips began to stutter, instinctively bucking up to meet your palm.
His breath hitched, thighs flexing as you increased the speed, your grip firm and unrelenting.
“K-keep going,” he huffed out, pupils blown wide and eyes dark with lust. his teal eyes were fixed on you with an animalistic, predatory hunger. He reached down, his hand clamping over your wrist to guide you, forcing you into the punishing pace he needed.
His entire body went rigid, muscles in his stomach cording as he hit the brink. A low, guttural groan that he tried so hard to hold in finally broke past his lips as his glistening cock pulsated in your grasp, seed spluttering all over your hand.
You let go of his softening member and slowly licked the white ropes off your skin, your eyes never leaving his teal ones.
Rin watched you, his breathing shallow and ragged, a faint flush still dusting his sharp cheekbones.
He didnt pull away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb catching a stray drop at the corner of your mouth.
“tch, so messy…” he rasped out, voice thick and completely spent, though he pulled you flush against his chest, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, sharp teeth clamping down on your skin suckling while his hands gripped your waist pulling you even closer.
“mine,” he mumbled against your skin, breath tickling your neck. With his damp body sticking to yours, your hand wrapped around his body.
“mhm, I am,” your fingers brushed the back of his head, twirling the dark green locks between your fingers.
The room felt heavy and domestic with the smell of him, the fresh linen and the sound of his heartbeat. With you, the soccer and the calculations on the field were gone from his head, replaced with you wrapping him in your soft and warm embrace.
Maybe it started when you shoved your phone into his face, giggling like a kid, showing him a dumb meme of a cat doing a somersault.
He only blinked. You laughed harder.
Or maybe it started when he lost a match and was sure everyone would leave him alone because no one wants to be near a loser. But then you showed up, wearing a hoodie too big for you, face soft with concern, arms full of snacks, kicking off your shoes like you owned the place.
"Let's watch The Conjuring. No talking. Just popcorn and ghosts."
He didn't say a word. He just... stared at you.
Maybe it started when you told him a secret— something painful, personal. Something you never said to anyone else. You whispered, "I don't know why I'm telling you this... maybe it's because I feel safe with you," and his heart damn near broke open.
You trust him.
But the worst part? You do this with everyone. You are just kind, warm, stupidly, beautifully generous with your love.
He knows you send reels to your other friends too. He saw the way you teased a guy from your class, laughing at his jokes. He knew you weren't flirting when you said:
"Hey Rin, can you not look so sexy all the time? You're tall, brooding, and hot— it's unfair. You're swallowing up my beauty, man."
You were joking.
But his heart wasn't.
Every time you looked at him like that— like he was safe— Rin's feelings grew claws. They curled around his ribs, around his spine, his thoughts.
He is always calm, cold, composed in front of everyone else.
But with you?
He is yours.
Even if you never ask.
Even if you only see him as a friend.
Even if you treat everyone the same— Rin can still memorize every typo in your messages, every emoji you use, every random reel you send without even waiting for his reply.
Sometimes he pretends not to see them, just to avoid looking too eager. But God, he watches them all. Again and again.
You once sent one once that said, "You deserve the entire world, idiot."
He saved that one.
You didn't mean it. Not really. You sent it to your friends when they had a bad day.
But Rin rewatched it late at night, volume down, smile aching.
Because in some twisted corner of his heart, he pretended you meant it just for him.
And tonight— after another brutal match, another win, another roar of the stadium—his phone buzzed 23 times in a row.
You.
RinRinRinRINNNNNNNNN
I'm so prpud of u????
U lit up that field likeAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
U monster!!!!
Sexy demon athlete thing!!!!!
I LOVE YOUUUU!
He nearly drops his phone.
You don't mean it. You say "I love you" to everyone.
But...
He lays back against his sheets. The glow of his phone still lighting up your name. He types, then erases, over and over.
Finally, he sends:
"You always make me feel better. Thank you."
Simple.
But in his chest, his heart is a wildfire.
He whispers to himself, barely audible, like a confession to the dark:
"I love you, too. I'm so fucking in love with you."
And he’ll never say it.
Not unless you say it first.
He would never break your trust. He wouldn't dare..... Because he's scared of losing you...
So he'd rather bury his feelings, even if it kills him inside.
nerd!zayne fucking you in full nelson in front of a full-length mirror while standing.
zayne isn’t your average nerd. he’s the final boss asian prodigy incarnate—top of every leaderboard, published papers before most people finish undergrad, the one everyone assumes is harmless behind those baggy hoodies, loose slacks, and thick glasses that slide down his nose. sure, the face is pretty enough that girls tease-flirt in the library sometimes, but no one ever pictured this—getting manhandled, folded in half, and railed stupid by the very same “nerd” they used to clown on.
the wet, obscene slap-slap-slap of skin on skin fills the room—slick, filthy, relentless. his glasses are completely fogged over, useless now, but his grip never falters— thick forearms locked under your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, holding you wide open in full nelson like you weigh nothing. he’s been pistoning up into your already swollen, oversensitive cunt for so long your legs are jelly, toes curling uselessly in the air, mind gone fuzzy and white.
his cum is leaking everywhere—thick white streaks dripping out around his fat cock every time he pulls back, running down his heavy balls, splattering onto the hardwood in fat, messy drops. it’s downright nasty. it ruins every clean, studious image anyone ever had of him. and yet here he is, still calculating, still observing, still perfectly aware of the exact angle that makes your whole body seize.
“look at yourself,” he rasps, voice rough and wrecked from hours of low groans, “taking this nerd cock so fucking well—”
he slams up especially hard and your tits jolt violently, a punched-out gasp ripping from your throat as your eyes cross and roll back. the mirror shows everything— your dripping slit stretched obscenely around him, his veiny length disappearing inside you over and over, your own wrecked expression, mouth slack, drool at the corner.
“told you it wasn’t small,” he huffs a dark, breathless laugh, thighs flexing powerfully under you with every brutal upward thrust, “you laughed. said i probably had a pencil dick under all those khakis.” another punishing snap of his hips. “who’s laughing now?”
his balls smack wetly against your ass on every stroke, cum frothing at your entrance, making the glide even slicker, even louder. he doesn’t slow down even after he cums again—hot, thick spurts painting your walls, overflowing instantly, running in rivulets down to the growing puddle beneath you. he just keeps fucking it deeper, grinding, stirring, like he’s trying to brand your insides with his shape.
“such a slut,” he growls against your ear, fogged glasses slipping further, “spread wide open on the dick you used to mock—” his voice cracks on a grunt as he bottoms out again, “now take it. hah—yes, fuck, just like that… you know how to take dick so well, don’t you? greedy little cunt sucking me in every time.”
he rocks you on his cock like you’re weightless, merciless, still going.
“go on then,” he murmurs, hoarse and mean and pleased all at once, “enlighten me more. tell me how good the nerd is ruining you.”
A/N: need him to freeze his dick and make me lick it like a popsicle.
content: uhhh idk if i want this to have a happy or angsty ending. NOT PROOFREAD sry guys 🙏 also this was so fricking difficult to write bc zayne would never let this situation get so out of hand 😭 so hopefully he doesn't come off as ooc in this !!
soundtrack: sugar talking by sabrina carpenter, siren sounds (bonus) by tate mcrae, greenlight by tate mcrae, celings by lizzy mcalpine, you broke me first by tate mcrae, m. by anıl emre daldal, kabira by pritam, tochi raina, + rekha bhardwaj, love you with all my heart by crush, barbaad by the rish + jubin nautiyal, barbaad reprise - female by the rish + shilpa rao
I wake up to the smell of eggs, the smell wafting from somewhere nearby. I blink my eyes open, still half-asleep, when I spot a dish on the nightstand right next to me.
There's a note there too. I barely register it before my fingers reach out for the crisp paper. It's instinctive now; my body is already familiar with this routine.
My love,
It takes me a few minutes to actually read past the first line. My brain doesn't seem to want to process anything else--almost like it's protecting me from what'll inevitably follow such sweet words.
My love,
I can't erase my absence from last night and I can't stop the
guilt inside of me about it either. I am incredibly sorry,
though I'm aware one small note won't change anything. To
apologize in-person is ideal, but I wished to let you sleep a
bit longer. I can only imagine how long you were up for me
yesterday. I have a few appointments to take care of this
morning, but I'll be back later tonight. I want to make up for
my negligence, and I want to make sure you don't have to
worry about it ever happening again. I love you. Stay safe.
Forever yours
Once I actually manage to read through the whole note, I do it again. Skimming through to find any signs of uncertainty, any hint of ingenuity or dishonesty. But, no. I can't find anything that could refuel the anger I felt from last night, since it had just simmered to a strange tiredness now, a fatigue I can't quite place.
Zayne may have made some mistakes, but he definitely knew how to take accountability. His apology was damn-near perfect. He acknowledged his wrongdoing and that an apology wouldn't truly mean anything. He even validated my efforts, telling me he wanted to clear everything up later.
I faintly remember the first time we ever discussed this issue, before we even married. Of how he could never give me all the time he believed I deserve. How he thought he'd never be enough and that I should never need to have such a problem. And I remember how I brushed all those worries away.
"I can do it, Zayne," I had whispered, my hands cradling his face. "It wouldn't be fair if I kept all of your attention to myself, would it? You have a job and patients to attend to."
He refused to look at me, gaze fixated on the ground to hide the hope that stubbornly glimmered in his eyes at my words. "Be as that may, you deserve my time, too. Especially as my wife."
"Except I'm not in danger, Zayne. Not like your patients. They'll need you more than I do sometimes, and that's okay." He didn't respond. His gaze only lifted when I said his name again. "I'm not in danger," I repeated. "We don't always have time to be together--I understand that. You have your life, and I have mine. And that's alright, that's just the way life is--"
"Except, my job is incredibly unpredictable. I'll have to take extra shifts some nights. One of my patients could relapse at any moment. I. . . won't be able to control when I can come back home, even during holidays or on important dates." He was rattling out a dozen situations, his tone almost robotic as he let his mind get the best of him. "There could be an emergency that forces me to stay at the hospital overnight--"
"Yes, I know, love. And if a patient happens to relapse, I suppose I'll just have to wait until you can come back. If you have to take extra shifts, you can tell me how it went the next day. If there happens to be an emergency, I promise I'll understand. And how many holidays could you possibly miss?"
His brows furrowed, as if he was in immense pain, and he shook his head at me. "You won't know until it happens. Until it keeps happening every single year, without fail. That's when you'll realize how quickly time can slip away. And I don't--I never want to be the reason that you waste your life, when you could be loved by someone better--"
"We're not even in our 30s yet, Zayne. We have decades ahead of us. Dozens of years to make up for those missed holidays. And how can you speak of another loving me, when I'm here in your arms right now?"
I remember how my thumb had brushed against his cheek. How his lashes had fluttered at the touch. The heat of his skin seeping into mine. Such comfort I'd felt from simply being in his presence, something I strangely struggled to get ahold of the longer we'd been married.
"I'm sorry," he'd mumbled immediately. Gaze averted again, as if that very instant he began to be plagued by the thought of me with another lover. I almost smiled at his reaction.
"You're Dr. Li Zayne," I whispered, cupping his face with both palms again, "whose hands can pull a man seconds from death. You have such an incredible talent. A gift that so many in this world need." His hazel eyes were heavy with emotion, and he suddenly didn't dare to look away from me. A moment that seemed to stretch out time so sweetly. "Who am I to pull you away from your patients? When they decide to trust you with their lives, who am I to demand all of your time?"
Who am I, who am I, who am I--
The words keep circling in my head, as if to mock me. To remind me of how stupid I was, how hopelessly in-love I was. To think that our feelings for each other alone would ever be enough to keep this relationship afloat. I remember joking with my high school friends about marrying a filthy rich man, not caring about his personality or looks, so long as he was loyal and he provided. So long as I never had to worry about his fidelity and my finances, what else could I have needed?
Then when Zayne had proposed, I could suddenly see so much more for myself. I could suddenly envision a stable future and love. A man that would provide and stay loyal, yes. There were a few lovers like that that had come and gone, but with Zayne?
I could dare to hope for even more. I could dare to hope for a life I'd only ever dreamed of.
To spend my life with a man that loved me so powerfully and I him? It was a wish come true. With everything that I'd wanted right in front of me, how could I have refused just because of his job's demands?
"We have decades ahead of us. Dozens of years to make up for those missed holidays."
With that sort of determination, how could I have predicted this? The horrible irony in my words seems to stab me in the back. If only I had known better, then perhaps I could've foreseen the numbness that now plagues my marriage.
Mindlessly, I throw the note back to the nightstand. I find myself leaning to the side of the bed, reaching for the dish. He'd given me a fork and knife too. Scrambled eggs, a slice of jam, and a turkey sandwich. There's even a cup of lavender tea on the tray. It's not until I've bitten into my first bite that I realize the food is completely cold.
He had to have cooked it a while ago then. Glancing at the clock, I realize how late I've woken up and how he must have been gone for hours. There's no telling when exactly he'll return tonight, though.
I try to imagine him walking through the door, perhaps still in his scrubs. Slipping off his shoes and his gaze immediately flittering around to find me. Then once he's found me, his shoulders would relax, relieved. Walking toward me, gifts in hand and telling me he's already requested less shifts at the hospital. He'll sit me down and apologize, every word dripping with regret and pain and anything I could hope for. The perfect apology.
Just like every time.
Then I'd play my part. Holding his gaze, gently smiling like I understood completely. Forgiving him, reassuring him--not because I wanted to, but because I felt like I had to. Who was I to complain?
Who was I, who was I, who was I--
How much of a priority could I possibly expect to be for him? When his life-saving hands, carefully carrying out miraculous surgeries for so long and for many years to come, always faithfully came back home to hold mine. What more could I wish for? With a man like that, there was only so much I could ask.
I'm sure he'll have returned with a plan already set for tomorrow night too. An even more extravagant date, more romantic and thoughtful than what last night's was meant to be. It would make me forget the pain and humiliation of being stood up, of feeling so alone on such an important day.
And it did. The first time that it happened.
But now? I can't even count the number of times I've had to sit through a lonely night, holding his presents instead of his hands. Staring into his eyes behind a screen or behind a laminated picture instead of in real life. Being forced to imagine him sitting right across from me, when he's not even there.
I take another bite of my food. So many men would never go through the struggle to cook all of this for their wife, I knew, especially right before a long day at work. He really is such a caring man; so thoughtful of me.
I'm so grateful, I tell myself.
My tongue struggles to pick up the flavor of the eggs when it's stone cold. The tea already sits at room temperature, no smoke emanating from the rim of the cup. I take a sip of it anyway.
The sun is bleeding through the curtains. Today seems to be a particularly hot day, actually, despite the cool holiday season. But there's a warmth that I lack still. A warmth that no heat source could ever fulfill.
My hands feel so cold as I raise the sandwich to my lips. The turkey of the meat is even colder, like ice.
Ice.
Steady, scarred hands come to mind again, a flurry of snow floating in his palms.
I don't know why I feel my ears burn in embarrassment, at the constant reminders and at the lack of warmth, even in my food. As if to remind me that he's been gone so long today, even the breakfast he's made me this morning has lost all its appeal. Wet tears form in my eyes, as if I haven't been doing this for years.
I'm a little confused by my sudden shift in emotions. I think I should be used to this. I should know by now; that the only times I ever see my husband nowadays are in old pictures and video calls that never last long enough. That I don't even remember the last time we've hugged.
So why? Why do I now feel like giving up? This feeling of defeat. . . do I even have the right to feel it? When he told me all those years ago--warned me--about the very issues that I can no longer ignore now.
I tell myself to think again. That, perhaps, I'm exaggerating these past few years. It hasn't been all that bad--it can't have been. Why else would I have stayed for so long?
But I know the answer immediately.
Why else? Besides the fact that I was hoping things might change, miraculously. Besides the fact that I'd been in love with him for so long, and I didn't want to lose the chance I'd been given. The chance to marry the love of my life, till death did us part.
I always told my friends that if they ever started make a pros-and-cons list, they'd already made up their minds. If they could actually gather up enough negative things to make an entire list out of them, my only advice to them was to break up. They never did, though. Told me I'd only understand when I got in my own relationship.
And here I was, like I had rose-colored glasses on.
He's kind, he's well-mannered, and he's so observant, I start rattling off in my head. Sometimes, I think he knows me better than myself.
I bite my lip, deep in thought. I want to be fair and give credit where it's due, even though all I can think about is the bad. I know he's absolutely wonderful with kids, and he never raises his voice at me. He's a good communicator--
--Although he couldn't communicate to let me know he'd miss our anniversary, I cut myself off bitterly. Just like last year.
Out of all five anniversaries we've accumulated, Zayne had managed to miss the last two back-to-back. Of course, he had apologized and took a break from the hospital to make it up to me. . . but it still hurt. I knew I couldn't complain about it, though, not without sounding downright selfish. So I never brought it up again.
I drink more of the tea after I finish my cold eggs. He cooked them the way he knows I love.
I feel a pain in my chest at the thought but I don't quite know why.
He's insanely intelligent, rich, and successful, I force myself to keep listing. Of course, he's also immensely attractive. He's taller than me, could probably bench double my weight, now that I think about it, and knows more about the female anatomy than some women even do.
Given his career, he knows just how to care for me when I'm bleeding. I'm never lacking in medicine and healthy soups with a doctor as my husband. Not to mention the massages he gives me after I come home from a particularly cruel mission. And, then, he's amazing in bed--
I frown. It's also been months since we've been intimate, actually. I bite my lip a little harder at the realization, knowing that if I keep chewing on the skin it'll start bleeding. I find I don't particularly care enough, though.
Forget sex--the last time I remember cornering him for a kiss, we didn't even get very far. We'd been interrupted by his phone ringing and he pulled away immediately.
A call from work, he'd said with a furious blush. He'd almost forgotten that he was expecting a call from one of his patients, he rushed to explain, grabbing his phone and heading for his office. Something about needing to check in on them after their hospital discharge.
I don't understand how I never realized, how much distance had come up between us this past year. After he apologized for missing our anniversary last year, we had dinners and dates, I suppose. But then, the shifts he'd initially deny started to work back into his schedule. Our weekend dates became yearly affairs. Our intimate nights became quick kisses, only whenever we managed to cross paths in our home.
A pang of pain rocks through my body as I realize just how much I miss his touch. I've forgotten the way his hands felt like. He never stays long enough for me grab ahold of them. Only brief brushes of our arms, but never my fingers encased in his.
I push my unfinished breakfast tray aside and get up out of bed. I glance up at the clock in the room. I still had several hours left before he came home, if I had to guess. I make a note to myself to ask his secretary when his last appointment for today is, though, just to be sure.
Then, I force myself to go about the rest of my day. Bathroom, dishes, laundry. . . but no chance of getting assigned a mission. I'd asked Captain Jenna for a break last month, but it was unnecessary. She said that she'd already cleared me of my schedule for the week of my anniversary.
But no matter how hard I try to distract myself, I don't even get two hours through without reminiscing again.
I find myself remembering when he first confessed his love for me. Everything had been planned out perfectly, meticulously; even the weather didn't dare interfere. And how aglow I was the whole night, hearing him confess his feelings out loud for the first time. He had such a way with words. I can never deny that.
A simple "Good morning" text, a gift when I come back from a mission, a note sitting beside homemade breakfast. Even now, he never fails to remind me how much love he holds for me.
But what was the point of being told how much someone loved you, if you could never feel it?
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
I fold away the documents and seal the envelope, finally resolved on my decision.
I could've just decided to hand him the papers directly, but I'm afraid my hands will be shaking when I'm passing them over to him. I'm afraid I'll stare too hard at the words across the page and take it all back. Honestly, I still haven't processed that I'm actually doing it. I'd thought of it before, but this time it feels. . . real.
". . . Petition Form . . ."
". . . where Party A requests . . . from Party B . . . a dissolution of marriage . . ."
". . . in the case of conflict . . . Party B will agree to return any payment of dowry . . . in exchange for Party A's agreement to the divorce . . ."
Words so formal, so deprived of emotions, it doesn't feel like something that describes Zayne and I. Faintly, I think of how gut-wrenching it is that this is how it all ends. How pathetic that I go back on those promises I made years ago. And I know, even if it doesn't hurt Zayne, I know the divorce will destroy me.
I'm vaguely aware of how fast my heart is beating, that the pace is almost unhealthy.
No, I think numbly, it already has destroyed me.
The thought, as embarrassing as it is, only strengthens my resolve. I know in my heart that I have to do this. I won't hold either of us back from happiness just because I couldn't muster up the courage to do what is now clearly necessary.
This will be better for us both.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"My love, are you asleep?"
I hear his voice first, then the thud of the front door closing. The clicking of the lock, then the sound of him sliding off his shoes.
The sun had long since set. The cold arrived in full-force with the night, but I'd thankfully bought a new cozy pajama set recently. It's what I was wearing now. Dark blue fabric that resembled the night sky, with ice crystals embroidered on the inside of the cuffs.
Deciding to leave the envelope with the divorce papers on my nightstand, I walk out of our bedroom empty-handed. The second I enter the living room, Zayne catches sight of me.
"Not yet," I reply, hands clasped in front of me. It was a little before midnight. I'm not usually asleep by now, but I suppose he wouldn't know.
I notice he's holding a few bags in one hand, his keys in the other, as he makes his way to me.
The next few moments are somewhat of a blur.
Zayne takes ahold of my hands, putting the gifts down somewhere nearby, as he sits us both down on a couch. He's telling me how sorry he is and I just try to smile. I ask him what stopped him from coming to the dinner last night and he explains that one of his colleagues asked for help with an emergency surgery. A matter of life and death, he's mumbling, but the guilt in his eyes is clear.
Then he tells me he didn't see any payment on his credit card. I reply that I used my own card. He watches me quietly for a bit, looking ashamed at the idea of his wife using her money instead of his.
He insists that I shouldn't bother to pay for trivial things like this. Asks me how much the dinner was, so he can take care of the charge on my credit card. I only smile sadly again, squeezing his hands softly. I tell him that it's alright, but don't mention how my credit card was the last thing on my mind right now.
I was silent for most of his apology, not offering him the quick nods and understanding hums that I usually did. I was too busy contemplating how to bring up the divorce. I was so afraid of hurting him.
But I know that by avoiding this, I'm only hurting myself more.
". . . that is, I hope if you're still in the mood for a dinner date," he's saying and I realize I've lost track of the conversation.
I blink at him. "I'm sorry, where did you say again?"
"The French restaurant that recently opened. You mentioned you wanted to try their lava cake last month, do you remember?"
I blank for a moment, but then a sense of recognition flickers. "Ah, the one near the cosmetology school?"
He nods at me and intertwines his fingers with mine. "I'll make a reservation for tomorrow night, if you still want to go."
I don't know what to say. There's a gentle, fond look in his eyes as he waits for my response that makes me feel even worse for keeping this secret from him.
His gifts on the floor nearby, still unopened and wrapped up in pretties bows, make me feel even more horrible for delaying the inevitable. For denying him my true feelings.
I savor the feeling of his hand around mine, running my thumb over a thin scar across his knuckles. I savor the warmth that I craved on so many cold nights, when all I had to hold were hundreds of useless gifts that he'd never see on me anyway. Wearing perfumes that he only got to smell when he came to our bed, late at night, after I've already been asleep for hours. Clearing dinner tables and washing dishes that I made and had to eat all by myself, yet again.
I barely manage to steady my trembling breath. "I have to tell you something."
A dreadful pause. Only a second-long, but I feel my nerves suffocating me.
Another shaky inhale as I look up at him. Then, because I can't handle the concerned confused look in his eyes for too long, I drop my gaze again. "And I want you to listen, without saying anything, until I'm finished."
Such a vague request, paired with the mixed emotions flashing through my eyes. Really, I could want to talk to him about anything.
My step-brother's on his deathbed.
I lost my wedding ring.
I think I might be pregnant.
I got hurt during one of my missions.
Various scenarios are possible. But with the way I feel his entire being still. . . I don't have to look up at his face. I have a feeling he already knows.
He doesn't move a single muscle; even his hand is frozen around mine. But despite the obvious shock, I think that maybe he's seen this coming for a while now. Maybe he's felt the shift in the house recently. Maybe he's felt me pulling away, slowly but steadily.
. . . Or maybe he has no clue, which I think might be even worse. To drop a bomb on him that he hasn't anticipated at all.
The tension in the room only fills me with more panic. I find myself suddenly hesitating. Am I doing the right thing? I've finally managed to be the focus of all his attention--something I've been chasing for years--but I've only gotten it when I've already given up.
I suddenly feel as if I can't speak.
"Actually. . ." I murmur, forcing myself to keep ahold of his hand as I stand up. He follows my lead, still trying to catch my eye, but I begin to drag him to our bedroom, because I'm hoping it'll be easier to explain once he sees the papers.
Even though I was the one that packed up most of my stuff this morning, I'm a little surprised myself to see how suddenly empty my side of the room looks now. Walls stripped of paintings and posters, my nightstand completely cleared out (except for an unassuming white envelope), and two suitcases lying on the floor.
It's jarring. I can only imagine how shocked Zayne might be, seeing it like this for the first time in 5 years.
I'm still pulling on his arm but he stiffens, stopping dead in the doorway, and I know he's seen my luggage too.
I give up on trying to tug on him and let go of his hand. Walking over to my nightstand, I grab the envelope sitting atop. I turn around and find him slowly walking further into the room, to meet me where I am.
It feels like such a long walk that he takes, from the bedroom door to my side of the bed. I tell myself to look him in the eye, but it's him that's not meeting my gaze. His eyes are fixated on the packed luggage, the bare walls, and the empty, open drawers. Trying to find a single trace of me left behind, but no.
If my suitcases and I weren't in this room right now, it would've been like I was never here at all.
I give him the envelope, once he's standing right in front of me. It's only when he's sliding out the papers into his free hand that he glances at me, but now I'm the one sweeping my gaze across the bedroom.
There has to be about 15 forms in there, but Zayne skims through each paper quicker than I could imagine. Eyes running across a page, flipping it to the back, and gaze stalling at the empty signature lines along the bottom of every form. Then, he slides each group of papers to the back, starting to read through the next.
Five cruel minutes of silence.
I'm standing in front of him, hands clasped behind my back, as he makes his way through each and every single divorce form. Three of them cover any possible financial conflict and the splitting of our shared assets. Most of them are regarding other, trivial formalities.
His eyes linger the longest on the petition form. My complaints about the marriage and my reasons for the divorce--it's all on that form.
At the speed with which he read through everything else, I'm sure he's already read the petition form multiple times. Maybe he keeps rereading it because he's not quite processing the words.
Then he lifts his gaze to meet mine, voice soft and tentative. "Do you still wish to talk about this?"
Slowly, I shake my head at him. "No, I. . . I think I've made up my mind." Then, as if I want to make sure he understands. "I've put a lot of thought into this. . . It's not something I decided on overnight."
He swallows hard, visibly hurt by my words. I notice something akin to fear rising in his eyes. "I can request annual days-off for our anniversary. I can take less shifts. I can accept less patients. I-- I can do better. I didn't realize. . ." he falters, and I think he might be panicking.
"You didn't realize. . .?" I repeat. I try to keep my voice gentle, but there's a hint of bitterness stabbing through. "You didn't realize that you were standing me up so often? You didn't realize how that could've affected me? That we--"
"No--" I almost jump at his interjection. I hope he didn't notice but he did. "No, I didn't mean--"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly combed strands. The very picture of distress.
"I'm sorry, my love--I apologize for interrupting you." His glasses are off now and he's putting them away, in one of his drawers. "Please continue. . . You were. . . in the middle of a sentence--"
My heartbeat quickens and I'm struggling to maintain my composure. "I. . . It's nothing." My words were just coming from a place of hurt, I have to remind myself. They were completely unnecessary here.
And with the way Zayne looked right now, I knew I'd just be rubbing salt in a fresh wound.
I can see his chest rising the slightest bit. Not quite heaving, but still very much noticeable. His eyes are trained on me, watching me closely to see if I'll change my mind. If I'll say what I want to say anyway, but I don't.
"My love, I want you to tell me everything that you want me to change. Just tell me, and I'll do all of it." I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts himself off, his eyes dropping back down to the papers in his hands. "No, but I should already know what it is that you want. I'm your husband, how can I not know these things?"
I don't know what to say.
He looks back up at me, holding my gaze like he'll die if he lets go. "I'd like one more chance to right my wrongs. To do better. To be better for you." Each time he ends a sentence, he starts another one. Rambling until he gets a response from me. "I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you, or any of this, but I--"
"Zayne," I hiss and he immediately falls silent. I feel tears prick my eyes at his self-degrading comments, at the way this conversation has so suddenly taken a turn. I didn't think he'd start begging me for a second chance. "What I want. . . it isn't as easy as you think it is. It's not so simple--"
My eyes are burning now, but I manage to blink the tears away. It was my voice I was struggling to keep afloat.
"And it's not fair of me to ask you to do what I really, truly want you to do. And certainly not as an ultimatum."
He looks like he wants to say something, but he stops at the look in my eye.
"You're right," I tell him, trying to steady myself, but my inhale only comes out all stuttered. I take in another shaky breath before I attempt to continue. "You don't deserve any of this--you deserve better."
He says my name but I ignore it.
"You deserve to have someone that won't become an obstacle in your career. You shouldn't be doing what you love any less because of me. I could never forgive myself if you sacrificed your entire life's hard work just for me--"
My voice breaks off and I don't trust myself to not burst into tears, so I decide to leave it at that.
There's a long pause and I try to read Zayne's expression. My eyes are flittering across his face, but his eyes are unmoving, as if in a trance.
"So you've already made up your mind?" he asks quietly.
"Zayne, I don't want to be someone that holds you back--"
"And I don't want you to leave," he says simply. Patiently, as if he has all the time in the world. "Not because of this."
And for some reason, I have the feeling he thinks I'm joking. Like he's not taking me seriously, and I'm shaking my head at him again.
"Why else would I leave, Zayne?" I bite back a sob. I feel like my soul's half-screaming, half-crying, trapped and suffocated within me. "You spoil me so often, I know, but what good are all the jewels, clothes, and shoes you buy me when you're never around to see me wear them? What good is the food that you cook for me when I'm only ever eating by myself? On our dishes, at our dining table--" My voice cracks, but I manage to finish my words. "In our house, but it's only ever me there."
I'm listing off all my grievances now, including the ones I thought too petty to add in the petition form. "We never stay at parties for more than an hour, because you have to come home to get ready for a night shift. Or you have some documents to look through before the next day. We're always late and we never stay long--"
Zayne only stares at me, horrible agony in his eyes. That sort of torment where you know you can't defend yourself, no matter how much you wish you could.
He tries again anyway, desperate to save everything that's crumbling before him. "My love, is there any way I can convince you to sleep on this?" His hands, still holding the papers so tightly they're crinkling at the edges, drop to his sides. "Just to give it a bit more thought--"
"I did sleep on it." I mistake his desperation for condescension. I interpret his desire to stall time to make me realize I'm not thinking clearly, and my voice comes out far more bitter than I expected. "And then I had the whole day today--all to myself while you were at work--to think on it some more."
I press my palms to my eyes, desperately trying to pull myself together. I wasn't at risk of tears anyone, but I was feeling a horrible migraine start to come on.
"You spend more time at the hospital than at home, Zayne. These last few months, you somehow manage to hit upwards of 100 hours of work, every single week. I-I can't-- Why am I missing my husband more the longer that I'm married to him!?"
I'm no longer asking him for an explanation, I'm demanding one. I want an answer, to a question that no longer matters.
There's a shine in his eyes, as if he's in immense pain. The room feels colder now, like the winter ice from outside has somehow creeped past our walls. I fist my hands at my sides, feeling helpless.
"I'm sure about this decision, Zayne. And I. . ." I heave in a breath, desperate to calm myself. "I think it'll only make it harder for me--for both of us--if we keep discussing it."
"Tomorrow, then," Zayne pleads, in a way that I've never seen him do before. In a way I couldn't even imagine him doing. There's a heaviness in his eyes that seems painful. "My love, I beg of you. Tomorrow morning. Please--I don't want either of us to go to bed like this."
A long pause.
"Tomorrow morning?" I ask.
"Yes. I want to earn your forgiveness. Let me only try," he insists. "I swear to you, I will find a way to make things right."
An even longer pause, as tension builds up in my body.
I try to smile, but my eyes are too sad. "But you have a crucial surgery tomorrow morning. . . don't you?"
He stares at me, eyes fixated and unmoving, but the lighting in the room is too exposing. I can see every inch of emotion, the subtle surprise etched in his face.
"I called earlier today about your schedule for the week." I can see the slight shift in his skin-tone, the blood leaving his face.
I take a deep breath and force out my next words; the last blow.
"You won't be here when I leave, Zayne."
His brows furrow and the muscle in his jaw keeps moving, like he can't stop moving. Like he can't believe what he's hearing. The realization, that it truly is over, finally hits him.
I can see the heaviness in his eyes make way for something else. Something deeper, far more tragic.
I turn around, walking across the bedroom to the door. I'm halfway there, planning to leave, but I pause. I had my back to him right now. Anything I couldn't say to his face, I could tell him like this. But, still, I hesitate.
Then I swallow up my nerves before I can think too much about it. I need him to undersand.
"Please don't be upset, Zayne. None of this is on you," I begin quietly. "After all, you told me yourself, all those years ago. How you wouldn't be able to give me all of your time and how demanding your work could get. I should've taken you at your word. I just. . . I don't know. I guess I thought I could deal with it. I thought I wouldn't care that much, but-- I didn't realize how much I'd miss you," I exhale the last of the sentence, "until you were never home anymore.
"And we could always find some time together back when we were dating. I just assumed it wouldn't be any different if we got married. But, of course, your career is skyrocketing and there's no shortage of patients across the world," I whisper. Despite myself, I feel a hint of pride on behalf of him, at the success he's found in his life. "I should've just known better. I should've. . . been more realistic.
"Maybe. . . maybe you think I'm throwing this all away for something so trivial." I have to stop talking for a moment, to collect myself. Blinking away the unshed tears in my eyes and taking a few slow breaths. "But it wasn't trivial to me. . . It hurt so bad, Zayne," I whisper. "I felt so humiliated, so alone, each time you stood me up. And I can't count how many times I've cleared my schedule for you, when you've never even--" I stop immediately. Backtrack. "Not. . . that you should clear your schedule for me.
"I just didn't realize how important this sort of thing is to me. It was my fault for expecting so much from you. You already have enough to deal with at the hospital. I'm sorry I'm only adding to your stress." I bring my arms up, as if to hug myself. "I. . . I wish there was an easier way to do this," I finish awkwardly, that horrible lump stuck in my throat again.
A long stretch of silence, where I can only hear my heart thud-thud-ing against my chest.
"And about me moving out--" My voice barely comes out in a rasp. I clear my throat gently and try again. "I've already made plans for my living arrangements and I'll come back throughout the rest of this week to get the rest of my stuff. I'm already looking at some permanent housing options, too, and they're all within my price range, so. . . I'll be fine. Y-You don't have to worry about anything on my end."
. . . And I love you, I want to add.
Because I do love him. and I want him to know I'm not doing this out of hate. But it's also not appropriate. Not here, not now, and probably never. This isn't some phone call that's ending, it's our relationship. And all 5 years of marriage and 20+ years of friendship will be gone once the papers are signed.
Then, when it's clear that I've done more than enough damage, I move. I force myself to walk towards the door.
"Wait--"
But I don't. Because I'm worried he'll try to convince me to stay. Convince me this "won't ever happen again" and that he's sorry. And worst of all, I'm worried I'll believe him. So I head for the door anyway, because I'm tired of waiting for him.
I hear his footsteps behind me, though, and he manages to catch my hand. His fingers circle my wrist, tugging gently.
"Could I. . . hug you?" His words sound strained, incredibly weak--like he's losing his voice.
My breath hitches.
One last time, I could almost hear him add at the end, I promise.
His voice is quiet and . . . almost hesitant. If the fireplace crackling out in the lounge was even a little bit louder, perhaps I wouldn't've even heard him. I nearly wish I didn't, but I did. I heard him and his damned request.
And truth be told, I don't want a hug from him. Part of me is vengeful, wanting to leave him hanging, the way he's been doing to me all these years. To not even give him a response and to walk away, just once. Because I don't want to give him the very comfort that I've been craving, that he's been denying me of, for so long.
But another part of me is afraid. Afraid that this really is our last goodbye. And a darker part of me is even more afraid that, when we pull away, tears will fall. And that they might only be from me.
Then I hear him again.
"Please." His whisper is so soft that when his voice breaks, the sound of the word disappears altogether. I barely catch what he says.
My mouth is full of saliva but I'm scared to swallow, to even breathe. My hand is still clutched in his, like a lifeline, though I still have my back to him.
Please, he said, as if it pained him to speak.
Slowly, I pull my hand out of his. I have to force his fingers apart to do it, because it's clear he wasn't letting go any time soon.
I tell myself to leave. I'm standing right in the bedroom doorway, I can just go. And I know he won't stop me, won't push me to fulfill his request again. It's just the kind of man he is.
Please.
I inhale shakily, my hands clasped together in front of me now.
But then I tell myself that . . . maybe, I owe him at least this much. A final, proper goodbye.
And so I turn around. I take a step forward toward him, toward my husband.
I swallow hard, pushing down all my doubts and all my nerves. And I force myself to look up at him--but then I feel my heart stop.
Tears are streaming down his face, another dropping the second I meet his gaze. His hazel eyes are red, so incredibly red and he is deadly silent. He had been crying behind me, without making a single noise.
No wonder his voice sounded the way it did--he didn't want me to realize.
And if I had not turned around, I wouldn't have noticed. And if I had not noticed, he wouldn't have told me. Because it's just the kind of man he is.
Maybe part of him knew I'd immediately turn the second I heard him cry. Maybe, even though it would only help his favor, he didn't want to guilt me into anything. Maybe he wanted to know if I'd turn around, completely by my own volition.
I'm frozen, and suddenly time is stretching out again. Pulling apart this moment into centuries--as if I've lived dozens of past lives with this man.
This man. Whose beautiful, gorgeous eyes are crying for me, his jaw set stubbornly so no sound escapes him. And his lovely, strong hands, one by his side and the other still outstretched, reaching for me.
I walk into his arms, half-shocked, half-in-a-daze. And my chest barely meets his before he crushes me in an embrace. My eyes widen slightly at the intensity, with my hands behind his neck, as he cranes his whole body down to curve into mine. As if he could meld our souls into one, unable to part, even in death.
After a long moment, I let myself close my eyes. Breathing in his scent, feeling the strength in his arms, just one last time.
Ringggggggg. Ringggggggg. Ringggggg--
"Think that's yours," I mumble. My words are muffled, caught in his shirt, but I know he hears.
Ringgggggggg. Ringgggg--
I try to pull away, but he immediately pulls me back, unable to let go just yet.
The sound of his phone ringing begins to dull, fading into the background, but Zayne makes no move to answer the call.
The fabric of my blouse is dampening from where his head rests and I get the strong urge to wipe away his tears. To kiss him and tell him it'll be alright, that we can work this out. But I don't, because I don't believe we can.
That's when I notice the slight tremble in his shoulders, and I feel my breath catch.
I realize with a start that he's crying so hard, his whole body is shaking from it. . .
And my heartbeat is unrelenting now, the sound pounding in my ears. I don't know what to do, or if I should do anything at all. "Zayne--" I try to get out, but his chest muffles my voice again.
He doesn't respond--at least not verbally. I'm not sure he even heard me. But his hand reaches up into my hair to tilt my head a little closer to him, his other arm still hooked around my waist. I don't try to move again, but his grip tightens anyway.
"Just--" he whispers into my shoulder, breathing erratic like I've only seen from him once before. When he lost two patients in one night, years ago. "Just one more minute." He's gasping and hiccuping, and I wish he'd just scream at me instead of this. "Please," he begs me.
I feel my chest squeeze with pain, an uncomfortable lump in my throat. I don't trust myself to speak, but I manage to whisper out one word anyway. "Okay."
My hands are still wrapped around his neck and I brush one up his nape, tangling my fingers in his hair. He inhales in a soft, stuttering sort of way against my neck at my touch, like he's gasping for breath, and I close my eyes shut. It was already so overwhelming to feel his body racking with what seemed like grief. I can't stop the tear that finally escapes, running down my cheek.
Too soon His hold on me loosens. He intakes a sharp breath, as if to pull himself together, and lets go of me. I mirror him, bringing my hands back to my sides.
I don't meet his gaze immediately but I feel his eyes still on me. All of his attention, on me. It feels heavy, slightly disorienting, gut-wrenching.
Before I end up losing my mind, I swallow, glancing up to him for just a brief moment. "Goodnight, Zayne." I ignore the pain in his eyes, as if he's in mourning. I ignore the ice that's snaked up to his forearms, though my eyes worriedly stare a little too long at the skin.
And I turn around and leave for the guest room, bringing my luggage with me.
Maybe take me out for dinner first before your rip my heart out and stomp on it like that. How did you make this so perfect? I don’t think Zayne is too ooc. As a med student, I honestly think this is a relatively realistic scenario for Zayne to be in (even if we in our fictional game think it’s easy to take time off, it’s really not). I do think this would be one of Zayne’s biggest red flags so I really appreciate you depicting that perfectly. I also felt really really connected to the mc here, she has a lot of the same thoughts I’d be having. You worded it so perfectly.
Also Zayne is such a perfect man, I just know I’d break if I turned around and he was crying. I’m so weak for him. I would stay forever (as someone with a history of tolerating relationship neglect for worse people than Zayne).
God this is so perfectly tragic and beautiful. Ughhh, I’m actually crying.
As for the ending, whatever your brilliant brain thinks up will be perfect. Ofc I’m a sucker for a happy ending (perhaps after more angst) but if it has an unhappy ending I will still devour it.
Husband! Zayne, who is always excited to go Christmas shopping with you, whether it be for decor or presents for the children at the hospital, he's always happy to be spending time with you. Regardless of how tired he'll be at the end of the day, Zayne would never make you feel like a burden for taking long on shopping trips, he always finds a way to make time for you on those days.
Husband! Zayne, who helps you in setting up the Christmas tree once November rolls around. Decorating the tree was always a tedious task for you, but with Zayne around, he makes it feel easier. Once the tree is fully decorated, he carries you on his broad shoulders, aiding you in putting the sparkling star at the top of the tree. Once he sets you down gently, the two of you stare at the tree with proud smiles on your faces.
Husband! Zayne, who spends almost half of his paycheck purchasing Angel Tree gifts for his patients at the hospital. He has always been a thoughtful man who gives back to his community, so when he saw the Angel Tree at the hospital full of tags, he couldn't resist buying presents for multiple of his patients.
Husband! Zayne, who buys silly matching Christmas pajamas for the two of you to wear on Christmas, the tips of his ears blushing as he imagines the two of you cuddling on the couch. Zayne is always a softie when it comes to spending quality time with you.
Husband! Zayne, who constantly nuzzles you while binge-watching classic Christmas movies under the warm blanket. Your fuzzy socks rubbed against his, seeking more warmth. "Are you cold?" He asks before getting up to add more firewood to the fireplace, not even letting you reply to his question. Truth be told, you just wanted to show your affection through fuzzy socks, but you didn't mind the extra warmth from the fireplace.
Husband! Zayne, who purchases a gingerbread house kit for you two to build and create. Both of you take the construction part way too seriously, wanting the house to look just like the picture on the box. Unfortunately, the frosting was way too watery and ended up dripping everywhere. You both laugh at the sight, unaware that making a gingerbread house could get that messy. Zayne didn't mind the mess though, because this activity covered the things he loved the most in the world, sweets, and you, of course.
author's note: some short headcanons to start off December !! zayne during Christmas has been stuck on my head ever since the month began ^^ hope you guys enjoyed it!
Telling Best Friend Zayne that you've been practicing.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
“Soooo…” Your voice fills his living room, subsequently bringing his fingers to a halt as they fly across his laptop’s keyboard. “...I’ve got an update for you, Z.” The couch bounces slightly as you plop a cushion away from him, curling your legs up and laying an arm along the head rest of his sectional. Your entire being is facing him, eyes bright and smiling giddy. “An update?”
He feigns innocence, as if the conversation you two had a few days ago wasn’t haunting his every thought. His report stays open on his laptop screen, the device itself carefully placed over his groin, purposely remaining where it is so he is less inclined to throw the thing across the room and pounce on you like he’s been dreaming of.
“Yes, an update, silly!” You’re beaming, wiggling slightly as you await his response. Zayne can’t help but look you over, noting every inch of your body, your face, your proximity to one another. This answer is slightly breathless. “Alright, do share.”
“I took your advice and put it into motion after leaving your place that night.” You hadn’t wasted a damn second of time. Hell, neither had he. The thoughts had plagued him, and as much as he loved your company, he had barely been able to stop himself from yanking down his pants the second his front door clicked shut.
Luckily you hadn’t forgotten anything, sending him a quick “I made it home” text shortly after. One he saw and responded to with his fist wrapped tightly around his aching cock. He had sent a cute little snowman emoji of all things along with it, like he didn’t bust a load right across the screen seconds after.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging.” He managed to keep his voice stead, his gaze unwavering, even as his mind careened straight down into the filthiest depths of his imagination.
“It totally worked, Z! I was able to make myself cum like 4 times.”
“Only four times?” Hell, he even surprised himself with that little tease. “Yes, only four.” You rolled your eyes, and he found it incredibly hard not to bite his lip. “I got too tired after four, like the I couldn't even clean up after kinda tired. I felt so icky in the morning but god it was so worth it, Z. I couldn’t stop myself after waking up in the morning, either. I did it again.”
Your face visibly warmed after saying it, your finger making its way between your teeth as you giggled like a little child. “I’ve been a masturbating fiend since then, I blame you.” You blame him?!
“Practice and patience was all you needed.” Gods he was going to fucking implode. “What worked for you?”
Maybe it came out before he could stop himself, but you didn’t seem at all bothered by his question. Considering you had approached him in the first place, it seemed any prying questions he had for you weren’t off limits. “Well, I got completely naked beforehand.”
You bite your inner cheek, looking him up and down for any signs of this being way too much to share. But he just looks at you, no judgement, just expectation.
“Because I usually skip that step, I don't know it just feels a little too vulnerable. Turns out, it really helps.” Zayne can only muster up a nod, trying his damn hardest not to let his imagination go wild.
“Then I just kinda… took my time, y’know? Didn’t rush it, worked up the pleasure slowly. I actually did…” you suddenly cut off, laughing nervously. “What did you do?” He sounds as if he is on the edge of his seat, waiting for some major plot twist. “Oh it’s embarrassing!”
“Telling me what you did to get in the mood is where you draw the line? After all you’ve just shared with me?” He finds his lips curling, the sudden display of shyness being too cute.
“I guess you’re right.” You wring your fingers together, working up the courage to spit it out. “I watched porn to kinda… get the vibes right and for some reason it worked really well. God, Zayne I must have watched like ten different videos. I kept replaying parts and…”
“What kind of porn did you watch?” His voice had taken a huskier tone, closing the screen of his laptop but not removing it from his thighs. You caught the sudden shift, you could feel the tension lingering between the two of you. Heat crept up your face, but you found yourself falling right into his bait. “I watched some girls solo masturbate first, because I could watch what they did and kinda mimic it. Then I fell down the rabbit hole of getting ate out.”
Fuck sake, he was done for.
“Yeah, you liked watching that?” All you can manage is a nod. “Have you ever been eaten out before?” Zayne’s words were as smooth as silk, fingers tapping the cover of his laptop softly as he observed you. This time, you shake your head. You’ve never been eaten out.
Blushing harder as he hums at your answer. “I see, I see.” He glances away from you, down at his fingers, down at his lap, contemplating. Before finally uttering the words that make your heart skip.
“Do you want me to change that?”
I can barely keep my eyes open but I said I’d post this tonight so here we are! Part 3 soon, finally some good ole smut. Hopefully this is enjoyable, I get so worried posting multiple parts lol.
“Rin, have you ever thought you might be autistic?”
He pauses the current match he’s analysing, slowly turning his to face you. “…what gave you that idea?”
“Hm, it’s just that you show a lot of traits.”
“That’s absurd,” Rin scoffs, fidgeting with his hands as he awkwardly shifts in his seat.
“Not it’s not, I ain’t no professional theorist but I have my reasons. For starters–”
He stays quiet, shifting his focus back to the paused game, reaching for the remote to prevent you from spilling your Matpat theories. You quickly snatch the controller before Rin can get to it, stashing it under a pillow on the other side of you.
“Hey, don’t avoid me!”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he sighs.
“C’mon, you gotta at least hear me out,” you beg.
He narrows his eyes, looking at the tv, then to the pillow where you put the remote, and then hesitantly to you. “Tsk. Fine. But make this quick.”
“Huzzah. Where was I……oh yeah–” you pause before continuing, “one of the traits I think you have, is your routine.”
“…But that’s normal. Everyone has a schedule,” he mutters.
You shrug, “no, but like yours is super specific. You always follow it perfectly, and you never change what you do.”
“That’s the point of a routine.”
“Ehh….well…..most people don’t really stick to them after a while. But y’know, it’s a good habit that you follow it consistently.”
“I guess.”
“Secondly–” you bring up two fingers, “is your hyper-fixation on soccer. And before you say, ‘everyone has interests,’ you are very, very passionate about soccer. Like, insanely passionate. Again, not saying that’s a bad thing, but it shows with, uhm– how do I put this lightly…..”
He raises an eyebrow, “…Just spit it out.”
“Well, your grades other than P.E and English really show how much you love soccer.”
Rin goes awfully silent, frowning as he shifts for the nth time, letting what you said sink in.
“It’s okay Rinnie!” You console him, patting his shoulder.
You think for a few seconds, Rin nervously waiting for you to continue, realising he’s been bouncing his leg and immediately stopping himself before you notice.
“You also avoid direct eye-contact. See– you’re doing it right now,” you point out.
His wandering eyes immediately lock onto yours, although he struggles to keep his sharp glare focused on you without him subconsciously looking away.
“That’s not true….”
You deadpan. “Yes it is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Rin bites his lip, thinking carefully about his words before quietly asking, “…would you hate me if I was autistic?”
You freeze, before softly smiling at him, “of course not! Your personality is one of the many reasons I fell in love with you.” You lean onto his shoulder, giving him a light peck on the cheek before continuing, “you’re still my RinRin– autism or not.”
A faint blush dusts the tips of Rin’s ears as he breathes an internal sigh of relief.
“…I’m autistic,” Rin blurts out.
“Yeah, I know Rin, that’s what I’ve been saying.”
He thickly swallows, “no like– I’ve been diagnosed…..and stuff.”
You sit upright, leaning far too close to Rin. “WHAT?? I mean, not surpising, but HOW COME YOU KEPT DENYING IT UNTIL NOW??”
“Because I was scared you wouldn’t accept me,” his eyes soften, looking down at his lap as he picks at his nails, “I’ve…been bullied and made fun of before because I was autistic, and I was just– I didn’t want to experience that again…not saying I thought you were going to make fun of me specifically–” he adds just incase you thought otherwise.
“Oh, Rin,” you hold out your arms, in which he happily obliges and lets you embrace him tightly. “I would never make fun of you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” you quietly utter.
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter to me now I guess.”
“Those kids suck. If anyone ever makes fun of you, I’ll kick them really hard in the nuts.”
“…okay.”
You bring a kiss to the top of Rin’s head, softly brushing his overgrown bangs out of the way to kiss him once again, this time on the nose.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” you smile.
He simply nods in reply, smushing his face into the crook of your shoulder. “….love you.”
“Love you too, Rinnie.”
a/n : this one took a long time because I wasn't happy with it so it went through so many revisions....ty to @ace-scream & @asahinamafuyuu for beta-reading!
The bass rattles through your chest, the party a blur of lights and heat. You’re half in his lap, grinding against him in that microscopic dress he warned you not to wear. Sae’s hand is heavy on your thigh, voice low in your ear, “Stay here. Don’t move. I’m going to the bathroom.”
You pout dramatically, “You’re bossy.”
“Stay,” he repeats, steel in his tone, before disappearing into the crowd.
And of course, the moment he’s gone, your eyes wander. Right into Bunny Iglesias’ gaze. He’s leaned back in a chair across the room, charming with a sly grin. When he crooks a finger, you’re too tipsy to resist.
You stumble, giggling, and plop right onto his lap, straddling him. His hands settle lazily on your ass, like he’s humoring a drunk girl’s antics.
“Dangerous game you’re playing,” Bunny drawls, voice edged with amusement, his hand pulling the strap of your tiny dress just to let it snap against your skin.
“Game?” You tilt your head, smiling sweetly, “M’just saying hi.”
He chuckles, thumb brushing the hem of your dress, into the flesh of your ass, “Your boyfriend won’t like this.”
You’re about to quip back when the temperature of the room seems to drop. A shadow falls over you.
Sae.
His hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you off Bunny so fast you almost stumble. His glare is ice-cold, searing through Bunny first, then pinning you in place.
“You don’t listen,” he mutters, voice quiet enough to terrify.
You huff, crossing your arms like you’re the injured party, “Relaxxxx!! I was jus’—”
“Shut it.”
The walk to the car is tense. He’s got you slung over his shoulder, your fists barraging his back, whining and kicking, “Nn! Saeee! Y’r the worst! I was jus’ havin’ some fun!” Your pout and words only make him angrier. The second he reaches his expensive car, he throws you into the back, crawling in after you. He pulls you over his lap without ceremony, dress riding up as his palm comes down hard against your ass. The sound cracks through the silence, followed by your soft whimper.
“Y’r insane,” you giggle, wiggling against him. It stings, but it feels so good. You love getting him riled up like this. Sae’s grip tightens, voice a low growl in your ear, “You’re mine. Not some idiot’s party favor. Mine.” Another sharp smack lands, heat blooming under his palm.
You arch into it, a bratty grin curling your lips, “Then maybe you should spank harder. Prove it.” His hand stills for a beat. Then the strikes come harsher, deliberate, until your laughter dissolves into whines and moans of his name. And even then, you can’t help but taunt, breathless and gleeful, “Guess I.. win.. y'lost control first.”
Sae loses it. He flips you so he’s pinning you onto the car seat, “S’that so? You think this is lost control, brat?” He laughs derisively, smacking your poor pussy. “I’ll show you what it’s like when I lose control.”
itoshi rin
The field is empty except for him. It’s past midnight, the floodlights buzz overhead, and Rin is lost in the rhythm of drills. You, perched high in the bleachers, provide the soundtrack to his solitude: your relentless commentary.
“Wow, that shot was almost scary. Like, if you squint.”
He doesn’t look at you.
“Oops, slipped again? Rin, are you okay? Do I need to get you training wheels for your cleats?”
He growls under his breath, shoulders tightening. Ball after ball hammers against the net, harder, sharper, like each kick is meant to shut you up. You clap your hands in mock applause.
“Aw, poor baby, can’t even focus with little ol’ me talking. What a weakling.”
“Seriously, all that talent wasted on a few pretty passes. You’re all flash, no fire. A glorified ballerina.”
That’s what finally snaps him. One second you’re laughing, the next he’s climbing the bleachers, fast, eyes blazing. You don’t even have time to scramble before he’s on you, caging you against the metal seats.
“Do you ever shut up?” His voice is low and dangerous.
You grin, unrepentant, “Not when it’s this easy to get under your skin.”
Rin stares at you for a beat, jaw tight, then laughs—short, sharp, humorless, “Fine. You want my attention? You’ve got it.”
A few moments later, he’s got you spread open on the bleachers. His hand is under your skirt, fingers finding your soaked panties as he shoves them aside and pushes two digits into your dripping cunt. You let out a sharp gasp, back arching off the bench, “Ah–Rin–! Oh fuck, Rin..” you moan, hips bucking against his hand. He pumps his long, thick, calloused fingers faster, curling them to hit that special spot deep inside you. Your moans turn into desperate whimpers and garbled cries of his name.
Within minutes, you’re clenching around his fingers, cumming hard. But Rin’s not done yet, “Not so mouthy now, hm?” Your taunts have melted into whines you can’t hold back as his fingers keep working your g-spot.
By the time he pulls away, you’re a mess, slumped against the bleachers, your bratty grin cracked and breathless.
“Up,” Rin orders, dragging you to your feet. Your legs wobble traitorously.
“R-Rin, wait—”
He carries you down the bleachers and kicks a ball toward you, smirking when you almost topple trying to stop it, “Go on. Kick it. Show me how it’s done since you had so much to say earlier.”
You glare at him through the glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips, chest heaving, “You’re s-so mean...”
“And you’re not?” He shoots back, folding his arms, “Let’s see if you can still run your mouth when you can’t even stand straight.”
You huff, try to swing at the ball, and stumble so badly he has to catch you. His smirk only widens as you bury your face in his chest, whining.
“Guess this is the best way to get your mouth shut.”
Just a quick note from your friendly neighborhood bookworm/indie author
if you use kindle for the majority of your library, they will be shutting down the function that allows you to download your files and transfer them via USB on the 26th of February. Which doesn't sound like a huge deal, but this also means that if a book is taken off Amazon for any reason—like it being banned—they can scrape it off your kindle as well. So maybe backup your library?
How to Download Your Kindle Books (with screenshots)
From your Amazon homepage, click "Account & Lists" then click "Content Library"
Click "Books"
Find the book you want to download and click "More actions"
Click "Download & transfer via USB"
Click the button next to your device, then click "Download"
That's it! Your book file is now downloaded to your device. To my knowledge there isn't a way to bulk download everything, which means that your have to download books individually. (If anyone knows how to download multiple books at a time, please let me know!)
I use the free software Calibre to organize my ebook files. This video gives a good basic overview of how to download your ebooks from Amazon to Calibre, and also goes over how to use Calibre to transfer your ebooks to Kobo. I recently got a Kobo and have slowly been transferring my ebooks to it, and it is actually pretty easy!
If you're looking for ways to get ebooks without supporting Amazon, check out Smashwords, Bookshop.org, or see if your favorite author/publisher sells ebooks directly from their website.
Ok, copy-pasting the comment from this link, with my notes for a Win 10 with Calibre 7.24 (since I'm a quasi-luddite whose favorite OS is Win XP; self-described as 'I know just enough to get myself into trouble, but not enough to get myself out of it', also I'm lazy and hate uninstalling/reinstalling if I can avoid it):
---
(from @bearCatBird on Reddit)
HERE IS WHAT WORKS AS OF AUGUST 2024 (Windows 10)
Thank you to u/toobnugget for the versions and more instructions, it also worked for me. Here's additional information to help people out. Just do it all in this order.
NOTE: If any of the links are broken, try pasting the broken URL into waybackmachine.org and look for files from today's date (8/12/24) or earlier.
CONFIRM ALL SOFTWARE IS UNINSTALLED
If you had previous versions of the software installed, uninstall them.
Then confirm there are no lingering data files with user settings. For example, with kindle, remove these lingering directories if they exist. C:\Users\AppData*\Amazon; C:\Program Files\Amazon; C:\Program Files (x86)\Amazon; C:\ProgramData\Amazon) HA Note: Yes, check/delete all of these places. You might have to go to the View tab in Windows Explorer and check the Hidden Items in the Show/hide subsection. The other posts you'll come across will seem to imply that newer versions are ok to use for this process with the way stuff is worded, but no, you need to actually go delete the program and reinstall the older version. F***ing obnoxious, but here we are. Just save yourself my headache and do it right off that bat.
You can also clear your registry (as described here) but I would save this as a last resort and only do this if you're unable to get the full instructions from this post to work. HA Note: I didn't need to do this
CALIBRE INSTALLATION
NOTE: if you want to use a kindle e-ink device, see step 2 of u/OccasionallyPrincess's comments here and also u/SeniorSiesta's comment here.
Download and install Calibre 7.13 (download here) (Some people tested with newer versions (7.2.1) and said it works, but I haven't verified.) HA Note: I have 7.24, this worked fine
In Calibre install the KFX input plugin (see OP's instructions up top), restart Calibre HA Note: Easy enough to do, as written, should come right up with "KFX" in the search bar
Download the DeDRM v10.0.9 (download here, the zip file at the bottom called DeDRM_tools_10.0.9.zip, then extract the zip to a folder.) HA Note: Follow as written, yes you're only going to extract the single umbrella zip, leave the deDRM and Obok plugin zips alone. I extracted the umbrella zip file to a new folder next to my Calibre library so that it goes with me if I ever have to manually move files to a new computer. It will feel weird to extract one zip and leave the others, but just trust the process.
NOTE: Some people had better luck using the alpha version of DeDRM. See this post here for more information if v10.0.9 isn't working for you.
4) In Calibre install the DeDRM files (see OP's instructions up top), restart Calibre HA Note: Follow as written, you just select the deDRM zip (single left click, not double click), it should install just fine and be happy
KINDLE INSTALLATION
NOTE: Some people had to turn off WiFi and unplug ethernet so they were 100% offline when installing Kindle to avoid automatic updates before disabling it in settings. HA Note: Yes, you have to do this step. Obnoxious, but necessary, so have these instructions in a tab for reference that won't get refreshed until you're back online
NOTE: Mac Users, you can probably download newer versions of the kindle app, as confirmed by this post.
5) Download and install Kindle 2.4.0(70904)
See u/Tilduke 's response here for more information.
(Other sites: download here or here or here) HA Note: Somewhere amongst all the link hopping, what was supposed to give me 70682 or something like that gave me 2.3.70840. If 70904 doesn't work, 70840 definitely worked for me first try
6a) Disable your internet
Many people needed to disable their internet/wifi temporarily for step 6b HA Note: Yes, do this
6b) Launch Kindle (don't login if possible), then go to
Tools > Options > General > disable "Automatically install updates..."
Tools > Options > Content > define a new path to save the kindle books you download
Finally, re-enable internet and Login (For more information about this step, see this comment)
Select a book, right click, download HA Note: Yes, do all of these. I downloaded a single book to start with as a check
CONFIRM THE DRM IS REMOVED
8) Find the book you just downloaded from Kindle in the new path (it will be the files that are newest, since they won't have book titles), select the .azw file, and drag it into Calibre. (Do not use the "Add Books" function.) HA Note: I tried this a couple different times the wrong way. The trick here is when the book/file is being added to Calibre (either through drag-n-drop or the Add Book button on the menu bar, the progress bar will display the names of the files that are being imported as it's working on them. When you download the first book to see if it is working as intended, remember the name of the book. Then go to where your Kindle library is on your computer (location C:/***/My Kindle Content, or whatever else you name it), you'll see a folder with a jumble of letters/numbers ending with _EBOK. Click into that and you'll see a bunch of files that are also letter/number/special character vomit. There should be a file that ends with _EBOK.azw (<- this is the one you want). I tiled my Windows Explorer side by side with Calibre and drag-n-dropped the .azw into Calibre, and it did the rest by itself (no additional conversion steps needed). Back to the trick about checking if it's working properly: in Calibre itself, if you're getting the janky letter/character vomit of the encrypted file while importing after the drag-n-drop, it's not working. If you drag-n-drop the encrypted file, but it displays the actual book name in this progress bar, it's working.
NOTE: Some people had better luck NOT dragging in the file and instead loaded it from the menu. See this comment for more information.
9) Once loaded in Calibre, right-click the book > view > view with calibre e-book viewer (if the book opens successfully, then the DRM has been removed. Use pgup and pgdn to see the pages). Close the viewer.
HA Note: After I confirmed that the first one imported and was able to be displayed properly by Calibre, I went back to the Windows Explorer window and clicked back so that I was viewing the subfolders within My Kindle Content. Then, in the search bar at the top right, I typed "*azw" (sans quotes) to pull up everything with that in the file name. Then, sort by file type to get all the .azw files grouped together. Highlight all .azw files and drag-n-drop everything into Calibre in one fell swoop. My ~130 files took...idk 2? 3? minutes? Depending on the size of your library, it may take a while. My experience in the past with large processes like that is just go find something else to do off the computer and leave it to do its thing. Once everything's imported, you might get a duplicates warning if you're like me and it took a couple go-arounds to figure out, but all the new stuff should populate new lines at the top of your library.
And voile, your stuff is in Calibre. I didn't bother with the rest of this, since I'm using my Calibre as an archive and not transferring stuff onto a different e-reader, etc.
CONVERTING THE BOOK
NOTE: This example shows conversion to EPUB, but you can convert to any format you want.
10) In Calibre, right click the book > Convert books > convert individually
11) Choose EPUB on the upper right, then click OK to export
12) If you want to change the location where Calibre exports the book, go to preference (CTRL + P) > click "Run Welcome wizard" at the bottom > then define a new folder for your calibre books to be saved. This folder will be where the book saves when you drag in the .azw file and also where the .epub exports.
For more context, see: https://www.reddit.com/r/Calibre/comments/1c2ryfz/2024_guide_to_dedrm_kindle_books/lhtah7p/
So, a) THANK GOD I reblogged this with notes instead of having to reinvent the wheel, and
b) so long as you keep the older Kindle app version on your computer, this all still works (I did indeed convert to EPUB this time around via the instructions above) (I also basically don't use the Kindle app except to occasionally view ebooks I've bought, so having an older version isn't an issue for me)
In case anyone is still wondering or late to the game as of Sept 2025
hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god
cw. size kink. unedited horny rambling. kind of possessive sex ( in the way that Sylus wants to be possessed by you lol ). afab reader but no prns used.
The weight of Sylus’ cock being so heavy that, when he pushes into you from behind, you gasp, whole body trembling from his size, from the stretch, that your arms give and you land on your front, moaning and whimpering and sniffling into the sheets as he continues to sink inch after devastating inch into you. So slow that the way he fills you up feels final— like there’s no one else in the whole universe who can fill you the way he can.
And Sylus, who gasps when you fall to your front, jaw clenching and fighting to not let his hands tighten too terribly on your hips ( gentle— he has to be gentle. He's so much bigger than you, his hand is so big when it rests on your skin ) but it’s a losing battle because this new angle has him sinking even deeper into you, somehow fitting each and every inch that he has to give into your tight wet cunt. The sounds that come from where he sinks into you are filthy. Wet. Obscene in every meaning of the word, especially when paired with your mewls and moans, but to Sylus it is a symphony that no music can ever hope to compare to.
And when he manages to finally hilt into you —each inch fitting, somehow, with his hips snug against yours and his weight braced against your hips and thighs and his heavy balls pressing against your pussy— a deep, ragged groan is pulled from his throat. His hand drifts to your lower belly, just a few inches under your belly button, not even sure what he’s looking for at first—
Not until he finds it. The bump that’s there, that makes you gasp and shiver and gush around him when he prods at it.
That’s him— that’s the proof that you had taken every inch he had to give. That he is undoubtedly yours.
⋆˚ ✿ ˖ ࣪ sylus making you squirt for the first time
all you can hear is the squelching sounds of your pussy being stretched out by sylus’ long digits, curling upwards to reach that sweet, spongy spot of yours in all the right places, with sylus chuckling at the way you writhe and moan against his lap, your bare back pressed against his broad chest, “you look like you’re struggling..”
your eyes gloss over from the overwhelming pleasure that’s building up in your core, whining out his name mixed with your high pitched moans and shallow breaths. you can barely form a sentence when you babble out, “i- it’s too much, please..”
“i know, i know.” sylus mumbles against your ear in that soft tone that doesn’t align with the way his fingers continue to abuse your g-spot and slap against your swollen clit. he can feel how close you are with the way your walls tighten around his digits, “just let go for me, sweetheart.”
and when you do, feeling a heavy release of your pleasure that you’ve been so eager to feel with your body writhing and shaking against his with ecstasy you’ve never felt before, you choke out a moan when a long squirt of clear liquid shoots from your overstimulated cunt, causing a gentle gasp to fall from your lips in both surprise and pleasure.
sylus groans at the sight with his large hands caressing your shaking thighs, “that’s my girl.”
you breathe out, still coming down from your high and how you unexpectedly squirted for the first time ever, “i’ve never done that before..”, you mumble, looking up while gently biting on the bottom of your lip to meet with his intense, red eyes.
he hums at your response, a small smirk now making it’s way onto his face when he hears your words, “yeah? well, i’m not stopping until i make you do that again.”
