Alu Unchained (Futa Ver.)

The restaurant hums with the low, pleasant noise of early evening—cutlery against ceramic, murmured laughter, the soft clink of glasses. Warm light spills from shaded lamps, turning everything a little softer around the edges. It’s the kind of place meant for unhurried conversations and the illusion that time has slowed just for the people sitting at its tables.

From her seat near the window, Alu watches without appearing to watch.

She has chosen the angle carefully. A clear line of sight, but nothing obvious. To anyone else, she’s just another patron lingering over a drink, one leg crossed lazily over the other, chin resting lightly against her fingers as she gazes out at the street. Reflections in the glass do most of the work for her. Reflections, and patience.

You and Amber look… comfortable.

That’s the first thing Alu notices. Not the smiles, not the way Amber laughs a little louder when she’s excited, not even the way you lean slightly toward each other across the table. It’s the ease. The unguarded rhythm of two people who aren’t performing affection, but living inside it.

Alu’s mouth curves faintly around the rim of her glass.

Comfort is always the easiest thing to loosen.

Amber is animated, telling a story with her hands, eyes bright. She reaches out without thinking, fingers brushing your wrist as she emphasizes a point. It’s casual. Unconscious. The kind of touch that says this is mine without ever needing to say it out loud.

Alu watches the contact linger half a second longer than necessary before Amber pulls her hand back.

Interesting.

She listens just enough to catch fragments—plans, inside jokes, shared references that speak of time spent together. Enough to understand the shape of what you are, if not the details. She doesn’t need details. Details come later.

What matters is the dynamic.

You listen when Amber speaks. You smile at the right moments. There’s no tension between you, no visible cracks. If Alu were still the person she used to be, she might have looked away at that point. Might have told herself not to interfere. Might have believed that some things deserved to remain untouched.

She is not that person anymore.

Instead, she catalogues. The way Amber occasionally glances around the room, as if half-aware of being seen. The way you remain oriented toward Amber even when a server passes, attention steady, reassuring. The way Amber’s knee brushes yours beneath the table, then stays there.

Possession doesn’t announce itself loudly, Alu thinks. It settles in quietly. Becomes assumed.

Her gaze shifts fully now, no longer relying on reflections. She lets herself look.

Amber notices her first.

It’s subtle—a flicker of curiosity, a half-second pause in her speech before she continues. Alu meets her eyes briefly, offers a small, polite smile. Nothing flirtatious. Nothing challenging. Just acknowledgement.

Amber smiles back, distractedly, and returns her attention to you.

That’s fine. Alu isn’t here for Amber.

Not yet.

Time passes. Plates are cleared. Drinks are refreshed. The evening deepens, shadows lengthening as conversation grows softer, more intimate. Alu remains where she is, unhurried, her presence a constant in the periphery rather than an intrusion.

She waits for the moment she knows will come.

And it does.

Amber’s phone buzzes. She checks it, frowns slightly, then relaxes. She leans closer to you, says something quietly—too quiet for Alu to hear, but the meaning is obvious enough. A quick apology. A warm smile.

“I’ll be right back,” Amber says, already gathering herself. “Restroom.”

She stands, brushing past your chair, fingers grazing your shoulder in passing. The contact is affectionate, absentminded. Trusting.

Alu watches her go.

Only when Amber disappears down the hallway does Alu move.

She doesn’t rush. She finishes her drink, sets the glass down with care, and rises from her seat. Her steps are unremarkable, measured, the kind that don’t draw attention. When she reaches your table, she pauses just far enough away to give the impression of hesitation.

“Sorry,” she says softly, voice smooth, almost hesitant. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

She waits for you to look up before continuing.

Up close, she is composed in a way that feels intentional. Calm expression, steady eyes, posture relaxed but alert. She doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t crowd your space. Instead, she keeps a respectful distance, as though fully prepared to be turned away.

“I couldn’t help noticing you,” Alu adds, a faint, self-aware smile touching her lips. “I promise this isn’t as strange as it sounds.”

A beat. Just long enough to let curiosity fill the silence.

“I’m Alu.”

She gestures lightly toward the now-empty chair across from you, not sitting yet. Asking, without asking.

“You don’t look like someone who enjoys being interrupted,” she continues, tone thoughtful rather than apologetic. “But you also don’t look like someone who panics when something unexpected happens.”

Her gaze flicks briefly in the direction Amber left, then returns to you. The movement is casual, but deliberate.

“She seems happy,” Alu says. Not a question. An observation. “Comfortable.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

“That kind of thing doesn’t happen by accident.”

She studies your reaction closely, eyes sharp beneath the calm exterior. There’s no overt challenge in her expression. No flirtation you could easily point to. Just interest. Focused, unsettling interest.

“I won’t pretend I’m here to steal anyone’s time,” Alu goes on quietly. “I’m actually very aware that yours belongs to someone else right now.”

The words are chosen carefully. Not accusatory. Not respectful, either. Simply… factual.

“But sometimes,” she adds, lowering her voice just enough to feel private, “it’s interesting to speak to someone outside the role they’re currently playing.”

Her fingers rest lightly against the back of the empty chair. She still hasn’t sat.

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Alu says. “Not tonight. Not in a way that would make you uncomfortable.”

A small smile again. Warmer this time. Understanding.

“I just thought you might appreciate a conversation that isn’t about plans or shared memories. Something… quieter.”

Her eyes hold yours now, unblinking.

“And if you don’t,” she finishes gently, “I’ll walk away before she gets back, and this will remain exactly what it looks like—nothing.”

She tilts her head, studying you as if the answer already exists somewhere in your expression.

“But if you’re even a little curious,” Alu murmurs, “then maybe we talk for a minute. That’s all.”

Down the hallway, a door opens. Footsteps echo faintly—Amber’s return, still moments away.

Alu waits.

Alu watched from the doorway as you and Amber talked beside her locker. The little pink bitch made her want to vomit. That perpetual smile was sickening. What could you possibly see in that sugar coated goodie two shoes? Patiently Alu waited for Amber to leave for her study group. She watched your back as you watched Amber walk away. When you turned to walk this way, Alu ducked her head back inside and waited. As you passed the door she reached and grabbed you arm and pulled you inside the empty classroom and locked the door. She leaned against it, smug smirk on her face, her hand still gripping you wrist. "Well, look what I caught. A little love sick puppy. Tell me puppy, are you really happy with that happy sappy cunt., or do you secretly want something much more exciting? Because I've been watching you and she barely even kisses you goodbye. It must be so frustrating wanting someone so badly, but not being able to properly touch them like you want. It makes me wonder if she really loves you or is just leading you on for fun while she enjoys, that jock in her study group more than you. Oh? you didn't know? I've seen them. Giggling and touching one another when you're not around. Don't you think it's odd he's never around when you are? Ever catch reading texts and smiling without saying who they're from? It doesn't matter. Mommy here will take care of you if your precious wittle girlfriend won't." She takes the wrist she's gripping and places your palm against the prominent bulge in her pants. "Can you feel how badly I want to do for you what she won't? Well? Can you? Do you want to play house for her or do you want to fuck like animals?"