#god i just want the safety and comfort of physical touch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ddollfface · 3 months

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𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗮𝗳𝗮𝗯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"You should stay up, I wanna keep flirting with ya';)))"

Trigger Warnings: reader is describe as "good girl", yandere behaviors, insinuation of abduction, some unwanted groping (not done by yandere), LoveSick!Athlete is delulu, possessiveness, a shit tone of manipulation, talking about LoveSick!Athlete's childhood (it was bad), bad writing, yandere invalidating reader's rightful anger/emotions. If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Just a yandere alphabet about my favorite boy. If you want more on him, or having any ideas, then send some requests! Or if you want to see a yandere alphabet for any other characters I've written about, then do that too!! (not proofread btw)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Okay, so I've touched on how LoveSick!Athlete shows their affection, but to expand on it, he is very, very touchy. He's always gotta hand on ya', never letting you further than a few feet away from him. It's not nessarily out of possesivness as he's pretty laid back as a yandere, but it more so comes from a place of wanting to take care of you. Not in a fatherly way! God no, that gross lol, but it's more so in the way of a husband providing for his wife. He wants to take care of you, watch over you, and just show you that he's the best option for you. He knows he's the best, but he's just gotta make sure that you know that too!

Another factor is that he comes from a very, very big family that's very physical with each other. His mother would always greet him with a hug, she still does now! He's the same. He's very touchy with both his friends and his darling. With his friends, he's patting them on the back, ruffling their hair, or wrestling with them. It's the same with his darling. LoveSick!Athlete is naturally playful, so he'll want to playfight with you. He wants to mess around with you! He wants to hold your hand, loop his arms around your shoulders, and pull you close. LoveSick!Athlete just finds the warmth of another person to be comforting, just knowing that your heart's still beating, and your brain's working puts him at ease.

Now, does it get intense? Well, it depends on the person. Say, you're not a very touchy person and you show your love through other means, then yes, it will be. Being with LoveSick!Athlete will be a constant tug-of-war as he'll have a hard time understanding your boundaries of not wanting to be touched. I mean, you're friends, right? Yeah? So then what's the big deal?

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Surprisingly, he won't get too aggressive with others. He's literally the embodiment of 'wear whatever you want, I'm tall and I can fight', no joke. He doesn't care too much what you wear. If anything, he prefers it, seeing as he gets to show you off to all the losers on campus.

If a guy gets too touchy or makes you uncomfortable, then he'll step in and teach the guy a lesson. He's an athlete, so he's strong and capable of fighting someone. Will he kill someone for you? Sure, depends on the situation. LoveSick!Athlete leans more towards mental forms of manipulation than physical violence. He gets enough of that in the rink too much to be bringing that into his relationship. For a brute, it's surprising how level-headed he is, or how he seems to be.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Hmmm, how do we define "abducted"? 'Cause LoveSick!Athlete doesn't techinically kidnap his darling, instead he slowly isolates them from their social circle, gradually becoming their only safety net. It gets to the point where you'll come over to his house and just never leave.

But let's just say we're counting this as abduction (I do lol), then nothing really changes. LoveSick!Athlete treats you the same. He's still touchy, affectionate, happy, and laid back. He's pretty confident in his ability to convince make you stay with him.

LoveSick!Athlete doesn't do mocking, especially not toward his darling that's reserved for the pigs who perv on you. He's a little more forceful with his affections, only if you aren't behaving like a good girl. If you aren't fitting into his ideal view of a relationship, then he won't be too pleased, but he's patient. He can wear you down.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He'll force you into a relationship, into giving him affection, etc. Though you don't really realize this until it's too late. The thing with LoveSick!Athlete is that he's a mass manipulator. Honestly, he should get paid for how good he is at it.

LoveSick!Athlete will trick the people around you into believing that you two are in a relationship, not denying any allegations against you two. He'll brag to his teammates that he's got the sweetest girl in the uni. You'll be confused as hell when a bunch of hockey players are sneaking glances at you from the bench, trying to creep a peek at the Captain's new girl. Though he won't tell you, just stating that people must see the chemistry between the two of us. It must be a sign, yeah? And blah, blah, blah.

He'll whisper some sweet words laced in honey, causing your cheeks to grow warm and hands to become clammy. It's the same with affection. When you're just friends, he'll wrap an arm around your shoulder, intertwine your hands with his, and place a hand on the small of your back. All these actions are too small to think anything of, but they just put you off. I mean, it's nothing to get too worked up over.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bear to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

You see, LoveSick!Athlete does love you, no, really. He does, with all his heart, but that thing is that he's used to wearing a mask. He's constantly playing up the "popular jock" stereotype. He has to be cool and get all the ladies. That's just his 'mask', if you will.

But with you, it feels like he can be real, y'know? Of course, this will take time and will likely only happen after he's abducted you and you've figured out all the shit he's been doing behind your back. Once he feels like he's gotten all the hard stuff out of the way, like the threatening, lying, and more, he'll drop the mask. The persona isn't too far different than the real him. The real him is a lot less cocky, more self-assured, and calm. LoveSick!Athlete, the real him, is far less brash and cheeky, instead, he's more sluggish. He acts more like a smitten fool, feeling secure in his relationship with you. Without the mask, he's just a normal dude who wants all your affection. He doesn't know how to handle this overwhelming sense of need he feels for you, the need to provide for you, protect you, and prove himself to you. And this primal need to feel useful is what drives his yandere tendencies.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Meh, he doesn't care too much. If anything, he finds it amusing. He might tease his darling, but not mock them. He'll try to resolve the situation with a level head, trying to calm you down. He'll use different manipulation tactics like gaslighting, guilt-tripping, playing the victim, and more. It all really depends on what you do, honestly. LoveSick!Athlete is a very patient person, surprisingly, so it'll be difficult to make him overly pissed off. You'd have to do something very, very bad.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Nope, not really. Listen, LoveSick!Athlete wants comfort, he wants you. He wouldn't be pursuing and locking you away providing for you if he didn't see you as a viable partner! That'd be a waste of time, which he doesn't have.

Though, he won't deny that he finds it somewhat amusing when his darling tries to get rid of him. He more so, just wants to know the reasoning behind it, wanting to get in your head. He wants to know how you tick, what makes you think. This way he'll know how to break you down and make you his help you understand his point of view. He also just wants to know who you are.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Hmmm, okay, so this is going to get pretty grim, but reader's worst moment with LoveSick!Athlete would be when he let his teammates rough 'em up. You both had just gotten into an argument, something about you're relationship. Let's just say that you may have claimed screamed that you didn't need him. That you were fine on your own, that maybe, just maybe, you're friendship or relationship, in his eyes, was holding you back, and you may need to see different people.

Obviously, LoveSick!Athlete wasn't pleased with this, but he'd make you stand by your word. You think you don't need him? Okay, fine then. Try it.

And that's what he does. When his teammates, around three of them, begin to crowd you, their hands getting a little grabby, and eyes layered in lust. He doesn't do anything, I mean. Afterall, you don't need him, right? You don't need his protection, yeah? You're a big girl. Act like it then.

He watched as his buddies fondled you, touching you in places only he had. Your eyes flooded with tears, blurring your vision. You called out to him, begging him, wanting him to help you. You confessed, you needed him.

He made you repeat yourself, wanting you say it again. You do. That's all you had to do. Really, it was pretty simple. You need him.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Well, LoveSick!Athlete is a college student, so he's not thinking too far ahead. But he does know that he loves you. He wants you. He wants to be with you for the rest of his life. He wants to get a good job, not in athletics. He's good, obviously, but he knows that it's stupid to grasp at straws, so he's pursuing a program that'll help him get his associate degree.

He doesn't know if he wants kids, yet, but he won't deny that the idea of a mini him and you running around is a nice thought. But you're young. You've got time. Nothin' to rush, yeah?

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

I've already written about this in another post, soooo refer to it right here.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

I'm pretty sure that I've already gone over this in the previous letters, but I can kinda expand on it ig.

LoveSick!Athlete likes to show you off. You're his girl, his ride-ordie, y'know? He's proud of you and your accomplishments. He'll rave to anyone who'll listen, going on and on about your recent successes and such. He'll tell a random cashier about you, proceeding to get yelled at by the old lady behind him. In total, he's a lovesick puppy.

He's clingy but confident at the same time. He has to be touching you at all times, seeing it as his way of showing affection. He buys you things, you sucks up to you, and more. He's the definition of a simp, but he's more laid back. He's not necessarily in your face as he has a chill vibe to him, if that makes sense lol.

Idk really what else to say on that so yeah :)

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He'll drive off any competition, scaring them off with his broad shoulders, and lean muscles. However, he doesn't really need to scare others off as most people get the hint 'cause he never stops talking about you.

Anyway, he'll force you to study with him, pretending to be stupid so that you'll take pity on him. This way he'll get you talking, wanting to listen to you just speaking. From there he'll ask you out to coffee.

Or he'll suddenly interject himself into your friend group, but no one will question it as he's too smooth. LoveSick!Athlete is very charismatic and a lot of people like him, so they wouldn't think much of it.

Overall, he'll listen to his darling, absorbing everything they say like a sponge. He'll try to see you often, this way you'll be absentmindedly thinking of him. He might even convince some of his buddies to talk about him to you, hyping him up and such. If you have any siblings, then he'll become buddy-buddy with them, especially if they're younger than you both. (He's good with kids btw).

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Literally, talked about this exact thing in letter E lol

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

LoveSick!Athlete doesn't really do punishments, y'know? It's mostly taking away privileges that you've given previously. For example, you'll have your favorite food taken out of the pantry, forcing you to eat oatmeal or something idk. Maybe, he'll take away your phone, make you do a shit tone of push-ups or something like that. The majority of the punishments he does are just inconvenient, nothing too scary.

But that's just for minor things. You try to run away or something, but there are certain things that make him "snap" if you will. Things like hurting yourself, trying to kill him, and insulting how well/well he takes care of you. Like the situation I described in letter H, if you insult it capabilities of providing and taking care of you, then he will spiral. And that won't be fun...

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Nope, out of all my OCS, I would say that LoveSick!Athlete is the most laid back. He doesn't care for too many things. Honestly, he's probably the best yandere to have if you're a brat. He'll humor you instead of squashing you, even though he could easily do so.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

I've already gone over this multiple times throughout this post. Lovesick!Athlete has the patience of an angel, which is surprising due to how aggressive he is in the rink.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No, God no, he'll shut himself out. He'd likely quit his sport and never play away. He wouldn't be able to enter a rink again, there's no way. If you were to somehow die, then he'd fall into a manic depression, all of his patience wearing away slowly. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. When you were with him, he knew what he wanted in life. He had a picture of you and him, together with a little boy. The baby would've had your eye shape and his hair, dark curls. His whole life was there, just right there in his reach.

But say you were to successfully escape, he'd immediately going to try to find you. He knows that you wouldn't be able to go to the police, he's not stupid. He knows how to cover his steps, besides, he's a master manipulator. He's probably ruined your mental fortitude and he can do the same to the cops.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, not really. He doesn't believe that he abducted you, instead, he thinks that he just convinced you. That he just led you down the right path, to him. Everything does is fueled by his love for you, all he wants to do is be happy with you. That's all.

Sometimes he'll feel a little remorseful if his darling begins to close themselves up and lock him out (metaphorically), but he doesn't process the abduction as being the reasoning for the behavior. He just thinks that you're going through something, there's no way that he could be the problem, right?

He does feel bad, as he does have feelings, but he just doesn't associate your negative reactions/emotions with his actions.

And, about letting his darling go, no he wouldn't. He doesn't think he's holding them hostage in the first place! He just believes that he's keeping the relationship thriving. He doesn't think that your relationship is toxic (despite the constant gaslighting he puts you through), so he just wants to mend your relationship. I mean, just talk to him, there's no reason to be so rash!

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Let's just say that LoveSick!Athlete didn't have a father in the home, causing him to drift away from his family and spiral (at certain times). He never grew up in the most stable home, money was tight, and his mama was exhausted, having to care for four kids and all. And seeing his mama struggle so much caused him to want to be a provider, someone his loved ones could call for help. He wants to be the breadwinner, the person keeping you safe (both physical and monetarily).

The only problem is that he...well... doesn't really know what a healthy relationship looks like, seeing as his mama was never in one. Before his pa left (when he was two), he would beat his mama and siblings. Though LoveSick!Athlete doesn't really remember, as was just a babe at the time, y'know?

After that, his mama never stayed in one relationship for very long, besides him mama also wasn't the most stable person. She had BPD (Bipolar disorder), so she'd always have high highs and low low, never staying emotionally stable. Though LoveSick!Athlete doesn't have BPD, he did inherit some of his mama's habits, from watching her maneuver in her relationships.

Her habits imprinted on him, and let's just say that they weren't the healthiest thing in the world. This is where he got his good manipulation skills. At this point in his life, LoveSick!Athlete absentmindingly will use manipulation to get what he wants. Love bombing and gaslighting seem to be his main tactics he uses on others. (if people want to know more, then I'm totally open to an in-depth of his crappy childhood)

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Refer to letter R for this)))

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere

Noun. yandere (plural yanderes) (chiefly Japanese fiction) A character, usually a girl, who has an obsessive and possessive side in regards to their crush, ready to use violent and murderous means to maintain an exclusive bond. This is what google defines as a yandere and I'm going to use this as my basis for this question. Now, LoveSick!Athlete differs from this definition in the last part. He doesn't really resort to violent or murderous tendencies, instead using his manipulation skills to keep you close.

He doesn't feel the need to get violent, seeing as he's the best (in his mind). Don't get me wrong, he will if he needs to, but usually not.

I suppose that's something makes him different. Another thing is that he's very, very lenient with his darling, never putting too many boundaries on their shoulders. In his mind, he's in a normal relationship with you, meaning he doesn't need to act super crazy. Though he won't hesitate to take this privileges away from you, so just behave like a good girl, yeah?

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

The fact that he let's you go out into put freely or, more so, how many privileges you get. It's really easy to escape, no joke. But the only problem is that he has connections. Though he's only in college, and he's young, he has a lot of connections through his athletic scholarship and such. He knows a lot of people, due to his charisma (or rizz lol) and they're all under his thumb.

So it's easy to get out, but staying out is the hard part 'cause he'll hunt you like a dog on a misson.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Maybe he'll grip you too tight or give ya' a little spanking (if you know what I mean pffttt), but he'd never lay a hand on you. He wouldn't cut you, stab you, or anything like that. Nope. He watched his mama get hurt far too many times.

He just wants to be your protector, not your abuser. Though he can get a little out of hand. If you were to ever accuse him, or just plainly call his a woman beater, abuser, etc. etc. then he'll go a little... crazy?

He wants to feel needed, loved, and cared for, so if you start going on about how you don't need him, then he may be a tiny bit mad. Situations like the ones I talked about in letter H will happen far more often if you take this sentiment.

If you don't realize that you need him, then he might need to make you realize it. Of course, he won't be touching you so violently, but that doesn't mean he won't get someone else to do it for him.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn't worship his darling, but he does respect you. He sees you as his equal. If he didn't, then he wouldn't even be pursuing you. He wouldn't be spending so much time tyring to get with, going through all the work to infiltrate your life, and make you notice him. He doesn't have time for that, but he's making time just. for. you.

Now, how far would he go for you? I don't think he'd murder someone, he'd just rough them up, make them know their place. He doesn't really do violence, preferring public humiliation and underhanded tactics. He'll threaten people, blackmail them, and just plain gaslight them. He won't go any farther than that, unless he's provoked I suppose. Like if it's a dire situation where you, or him, need defending, then he's more than capable of putting a guy six feet under.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As long as it takes, baby. He's young, you're young, you're both young. You guys have time to waste, time to life and such. You're both in college, so he thinks that he's got time to convince you, to reel you into his arms.

I've said this previously, but he's very patient. He's willing to wait if it's for you. But something that would make him snap is if you try to move away, though this won't push him to kidnap your necessarily, it'll just put him on edge. He'll begin to be more forward with his advances if this were to happen.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Accidently? Maybe. Purposefully? God, no. I'm even skeptical about the accident part, I don't think he can break you. He's far to calm and gentle of a yandere to break his darling.

You'd have to get him really, really mad for something drastic to happen. Even then, compared to other yanderes, it's not even that bad. Or that's what he tells you at least.

#𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 #𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere x reader #x reader #afab reader #lovesick #bad writing #obsessive love #yandere alphabet #yandere male #long post #tw; toxic love #manipulation #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #god this took foreverrr

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

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To Touch You

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

As someone who hates being touched (not to the extent as this fic portrays it), and also as someone who wants to hold Astarion and give him all the gentle affection he could ever wish for, I needed to write this

Warnings: touch-adverse descriptions of touch, hurt/comfort themes

Word Count: 814

Masterlist

AO3

Touch has always been difficult for you. Or maybe it started in your formative years and now you can't recall. In any case, the result is the same.

If someone brushes against your shoulder, you cringe and move to the closest open space. If someone grabs your hand, even just to pull you to safety in battle, it burns, and you have to grapple with the fact your hand feels wrong. Hugs are hell, and you've since learned how to dodge out of them or push the person away entirely.

And that's what makes this so hard. You want so terribly to give Astarion the soft affection he never had. You want to hold his hand and run your fingers through his hair and - gods forbid - you wanted to cuddle with him.

Since the relationship began, you kept your distance. Emotionally you could provide him the comfort and reassurance he needed, but physically, you sat apart, you were always at least an arm's length away. This distance has grown shorter over time, but you know it hurts him when you create it. A bubble around you. It makes him think you don't trust him, or that you still fear him after all this time. (Allowing him to drink from you was the one instance you granted him leniency, under the stipulation the only part of him that touches you is his mouth. It was worth the itchy feeling that covered your body as long as you got to see that smile.)

And even though it would hurt, you wanted to try. Try proving to him that you weren't afraid of him; that you do care for him in other ways that are easier for you to express than this.

So when you approach him as he sits outside his tent, looking determined as though you were heading into battle, Astarion was understandably confused and concerned. He watched you plop down next to him, only a few inches away. His eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Darling? What are you-"

You shook your head, avoiding eye contact entirely to stare over his shoulder. "Just let me do this, please." With a sigh to calm your jittery nerves, you finally met his gaze. Your face morphed into something frightened and vulnerable. "Please."

A slew of questions rushed to the tip of his tongue. Do what, exactly? Why did you look so distraught? What had you been working yourself up for? Were you hurt? Were you going to tell him something awful? Were you... stepping away from the relationship? Had he pushed too far, overstepped a boundary? His mind spun with each one. But he pursed his lips to stop them all, and he nodded.

He could hear your breaths shake as you breathed deeply. You lifted your hands and they trembled, all while your heart fluttered in your chest like a frightened bunny. Slowly, you reached forward and took his hand in yours. His eyes couldn't decide where to focus: your face was tense, and you flinched at the initial contact; your hands slid over his skin, feeling the veins and callouses. You'd never initiated like this. Any time he'd tried, even delicately, your face would scrunch up and you'd create a larger gap away from him.

As you held his hand, breathing through each phantom sensation and emotion, you found it wasn't entirely unpleasant. A tingling sensation moved through your hands, up your arms, and down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but beyond that you could feel how soft his skin was. He stayed absolutely still, but you could still feel his fingers twitching against his will.

All too quickly, the feeling became unbearable. It was too much all at once. You cringed as you pulled away, rubbing your hands against the fabric of your shirt to remove the feeling. Astarion wanted to be offended - Was he truly so disgusting to touch? - until he remembered this had nothing to do with him.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, voice wavering and anxious. "Your hands are soft, but I just can't..." You look down at your open palms, searching for words to describe it. The skin was red from your ministrations.

"Look at me, my love." Your hands clenched into fists as you met his eyes. You were still so frightened about what he thought. About how he perceived this. He smiled. "I appreciate you for trying, nonetheless. It... means a lot that you were willing to be uncomfortable for my sake.

"But," he continues, genuine smile shifting into a flirtatious smirk, "I'm perfectly content with the multitudinous forms of affection you seem to find to lavish on me. And I will do my best to share them with you, too."

You let out a long breath, relaxing for the first time since you approached him. You smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Astarion."

"Of course, my love."

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queentala · 8 months

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Fenrys bedroom headcanons

Fenrys Moonbeam x reader

Oh gods I finally wrote something!!!! 🥳 Ugh, it feels so good. You can see the variety of my emotions while writing those headcanons, going from poetic, through obsessed, to being absolutely done, and then to feeling cute. And also great shout out to @juulle987 that gave me some ideas, kept me motivated and entertained today. This post is dedicated to you, baby ❤️ Anyway, I hope you enjoy this 🥰

Words: slightly over 3k

Warnings: no spoilers wanted so just be aware of a lot of nsfw content

Even though the smart mouth, charming smile, effortless way of being, or simply the pretty face, might cause various spicy inklings and rumors about the White Wolf's abilities in bedroom, (which, pretty much always are at least partially accurate), there is a lot more than just youngish yearning and playfulness underneath his skin. After all, many might know that the beautiful warrior had his persistent spot in Queen Maeve's bed, only few, however, that he did not cherish this "privilege", as she called it.

There is just… so much darkness in Fenrys' soul, that it is impossible to save any aspect of his life from the pain it brings, especially when the said aspect is directly connected to the source of his trauma.

So no, Fenrys is not the always horny and kinky sex god we make him out to be.

Okay he is.

But at least not at the beginning, or even the halfway of the long journey of trying to overcome the demons that haunt him.

It's going to take a while for him to open up. To trust you.

Now, most of sa victims are not fond of touch, which is understandable as it triggers the bad memories. But I do think Fenrys would very much need and crave physical contact with his mate/beloved. Especially the soft and comforting type, the one that resumes him that he is loved and sets his skin on fire at the same time.

It's just that with Maeve he didn't get to experience the featherlike softness which every lover's fingers should have, nor the addicting feeling of trying to grasp as much of each other as possible. And when he finally does, it's like a painkiller for his soul.

Believe me when I say that Fenrys cannot get enough of your hands in his hair, chests pressed against each other, legs tangled under the sheets… It's not the verbal yes that he gives you when you take off his shirt, but the way he's pressing his cheek into your palm as you caress his face that keeps you going. He's not good with words. How could he when there's a lump in his throat as emotion overtake his ability to make a sound? So instead he lets his body speak.

At first the sex is soft and intense, full of small gasps, long kisses and sweet words whispered against each other's skin. It's more about just being close to each other than the actual pleasure; the beautiful feeling of getting lost in each other, feeling of security sugared with the bliss caused and boosted by every stroke against the most intimate parts belonging only to the two of you.

Holding hands also appears to be an important deal for Fenrys; a physical visualization of the trust and safety he feels while in your presence. It definitely adds intimacy, which he very much craves, to the moment and overall is a really sweet gesture that just naturally feels right.

He always finds a way to connect your palms, no matter the position he has you in, and not even once it failed to work as the motion always turns out sweet, sexy or goofy and either way it's just amazing.

And even decades into your relationship, when his trauma is just a blurry memory appearing in his nightmares from time to time, holding hands is as important as it was at the beginning of your shared journey.

Another form of intimacy that Fenrys adores, is morning, cuddly sex. Or in general just cuddly, sleepy sex as we know this guy likes to take a nap during the day.

It's slow and sloppy, with eyes still closed and face buried in each other's chest or neck, warm covers enveloping and keeping you safe in the small bubble of just you two, free from all the worries of the day.

It is such a wholesome moment that lets you be close even in the most vulnerable state, plus the atmosphere is so sweet and cozy… Oh and I just know that Fenrys gets all sensitive then, too lost in the feeling to even care and keep the veneer of having some control over his body.

He. Is. Such. A. Moaner.

Fenrys is vocal, never even trying to muffle the sounds YOU'RE pulling out of him. It feels so divine, so why would he keep it to himself?

At first it's low grunts and hisses, slipping out of his mouth mindlessly as you clutch him so tightly and good, slowly turning into moans, each louder than the previous one, more desperate, as he's nearing his release. The sweet noises falling right into your ear, broken from time to time by a curse when the pleasure gets overwhelming.

Now keep in mind that all this happens when he's the one on top, so when he's trying to keep himself together.

I don't think Fenrys would be into the dom/sub dynamics due to his trauma; neither being at someone's mercy nor having someone absolutely helpless underneath really appeals to him. However, the top/bottom thing absolutely does appear in your bedroom.

Being under Maeve's command for a century, it's rather reasonable that Fenrys would like to be a top and have control over the situation. (I even had a discussion with someone about this on my blog if you'd like to read more into it.) So while neither of you have more or less power over the other during sex, most of the time it's Fenrys that initiate, choose and control things.

However, I'm a firm believer that Fenrys is a switch.

So with the right person and after the right amount of time, he would give up the control without any worries. And that's when you meet his absolutely new side.

Like I already hinted, Fenrys gets sensitive and it doesn't take much for him to fall apart. Whether you're riding him, or working your hand or mouth along his length, his moans always somehow get louder and more desperate.

And oh boy, try to edge him a little bit, and you get two outcomes.

One: you just turned on his playful mode and now he's going to pay you back with twice as much.

Two: he's falling into total submission and gets all whiny, begging you to let him cum because your hand on him feels so good and he can't take it anymore, but you keep teasing him, telling him that only good puppies get to cum and I'm jqhwjhwj 🥴😩

But anyway, back to playful Fenrys.

Of course having so many bad memories with sex, he tries his best to make it as pleasurable and comfortable experience as possible, both for you and him.

And you know Fenrys, always with mischief in his eye and snarky comments ready for any occasion… I'm afraid his attitude in the bedroom doesn't differ too much.

He is definitely the type of person to crack the most random joke in the middle of the fun, or stop and collapse into giggles at the weird sound either of you made or when the new position doesn't work quite like it should.

Do I even have to mention all the dirty jokes he'd come up with? And you know it's not only you that hears them but the whole court. I swear everybody is so effin fed up with them yet it seems like Fenrys, the unbothered king of annoying his decayed ex comrades, comes up with a new joke every time he cums.

(which is a lot cause the boy's sensitive as fuck but about that later)

He calls you his muse at this point as you're the reason behind most of them.

And if you can imagine Fenrys being playful during sex, then imagine what happens before. Because half of the time it's the tickling sessions that get you into the bedroom, starting as harmless fun and ending up with clothes scattered on the floor and sheets that definitely need to be changed after you're done.

However I would be surprised hadn't it worked the other way around as well, as if you don't see lighthearted sex with Fenrys turning into a tickling fight then you clearly don't know him.

Since we're talking about getting started… Fenrys loves you and sex with you, and ya know, you're not just some lover but his beloved, a person truly dear to him. So most of the time he'd want to do everything properly. That's why I dare say he is the king of foreplay.

Fenrys knows perfectly how to get you into the mood, whether it be more giggly or sexy. He knows all your sensitive places, knows where to kiss and where to bite, what turns you on.

Of course he enjoys quickies as well, every moment with (in) you is priceless. But why would he narrow himself to doing the bare minimum before entering you when he could have you squirting and begging for his cock?

I already said it in my previous headcanons, and Fenrys said it himself; his tongue is his best feature. So who am I to argue with him?

This man. Is so fucking amazing at oral, that there's no enough words in the world to describe it.

He just loves eating you out; love your taste, love the way you're arching and love the sound of your moans. He can spend hours, (and I really do believe I'm not overreacting), slowly drawing his tongue up and down your entrance, eyes closed in pleasure at the way your arousal feels on his lips.

He absolutely outdoes himself in those moments, making sure no inch of yours is left without his attention. Kissing the soft flesh of your thighs, palms exploring the well known shape of your hips and waist as he fucks you little cunt; switching between your hole and clit, treating one with his lips while his fingers take care of the other.

Start pulling at his hair and it only keeps him going.

Just the sight of you falling apart under his touch is enough to leave him hard and ready. (Although, am I the only one that thinks he could cum by just eating you out…? He defo could, couldn't he?)

And just as much as he loves giving, he loves receiving. I already said that Fenrys gets whiny and sensitive when you're on your knees. He'd definitely fist your hair and watch in awe with mouth slightly open how you take his length, too hipnotised by the sight to be aware of the way his body reacts or the sounds slipping from between his lips.

He can hold himself for a pretty long time, but I do believe he wouldn't have any problems with cumming within minutes, especially when you're the one working on him.

Fenrys might not be the horniest person at the beginning. Like I already said, demons of the past do take a toll on him. But as the years pass by, and with your love that makes him stronger with each day, I think I can say this guy is very much able to find any excuse to have sex.

Whether it be a few minutes break before one meeting and another, an especially colder day, or just a very beautiful night, Fenrys can and will try to get you to bed as often as possible.

Oh and I bet he wakes up with a boner almost every morning. Don't ask me why because I don't know, it's just a feeling that he does. What I know, though, is that there's no way he'd handle it himself when you're laying by his side 😏.

There are three ways to solve this and he's not going to complain either way.

Feeling comfortable, Fenrys is the first one to experiment and try new things. As long as it doesn't harm either of you, and doesn't trigger any bad memories, he's down for whatever you propose.

After all, sex is all about fun and pleasure, so why not find as many ways to do so as possible?

Actually the only things that he is strongly against would be degrading and bondage, besides that he's willing to give everything else a try.

Those that read my previous headcanons will most likely recall the fabulous white, fluffy tail plug and wolf/dog ears to match.

And as much as I consider my previous hcs a disaster, this is something I stand my ground on. What's more, I do believe Fenrys would be absolutely and thoroughly into roleplays and dressing ups. AND I DARE YOU TO TELL ME I'M WRONG. You can't.

It's sexy and goofy at the same time, and given that these two adjectives are literally Fenrys' life motto…

He'd love to have you in doggy as you wear the plug, or even more, pressed against the kitchen counter as you decided to wear it (only it) while making him breakfast. Or when you ride him wearing a sexy cowgirl outfit, bouncing on his cock with tits falling out of the tight unbuttoned shirt, tied under your breast. Would he chase you with a lasso through the house before that? You already know the answer.

And do I even have to mention Fenrys in the play boy or maid costume?

This man is such a teaser. It goes all the way from leaving small kisses and little touches all over your body for the whole day, to purposely slowing down the peace of his thrusts.

He'd also strip for you. Painfully slowly taking off each piece of clothing as you watch him with lips watering (I'm talking about both types 👀). And had you shown any type of impatience, he would turn it against you and call you desperate for him, as if he's not taking so long for this exact purpose.

But when Fenrys finally does crawl his naked frame over you, he makes sure to make all this waiting worth it. He worships you like no one else ever could, touching and kissing every inch of skin he can find, devouring the sight below him with eyes blown with desire, words of admiration slipping out of his mouth like sparks out of bonfire.

Words might not hold such powerful meaning as actions, but it doesn't make them any less important for Fenrys. Not only does he use every chance he gets to compliment you, more than once not even realizing it, smothering you with praises and pet names whether it be in lovesick awe or overwhelmed with pleasure, but craves to hear those sweet words fall from your mouth directed to him.

He seeks your attention and admiration like a puppy, melting in your palms as you pamper him with love.

My man is not big on sharing. Even though I'd love to believe that he agrees to bring another person to your bedroom from time to time, especially a man as I whole believe that he is bisexual, I think it would be rather a rarity. Well, he's not interested in other women when you're the only one he needs and wants, and also it would take a lot of time and reassurance for him to share you with another man. But once you talk it through… Dorian would be more than willing, that's for sure.

Oh, I had some trouble deciding whether he is a boobs or ass guy, and Julle solved within seconds saying that he's both. And yeah, I do see that.

Fenrys would love sleeping with his face in your breasts, or play with them as you're laying in bed with a book, not paying attention to him so he has to entertain himself. And he loves sucking at your titties, trying to get you to orgasm just by that.

But at the same time he would waste no opportunity to slap your butt as he walks past or fucking you from behind. Nor would he complain as you sit on his face with full weight.

Ah and how could I forget? What's a better way to worship your pussy than filling it with cum? Watching his cock slide out white from how full of him you are, seeing his seed leak out and drip down your thighs?

You know he's trying to put as many puppies in you as he can.

And as a cherry on top I can offer you naked domestic Fenrys. It is a good thing that he's comfortable, of course it is, however, once he does, he doesn't differ much from a toddler. Run after him with pants all you want, he's not going to put them on, parading through the whole house in all the glory.

But honestly? Is it so bad? I mean, people pay big money for less effective views, so I wouldn't complain and feast my eyes all I can.

In this long as toilet paper essay, we came to the conclusion that sex with Fenrys can be sexy, funny, intense, loving and hundreds of other kinds. But what is one thing that they all have in common? ✨ Aftercare ✨ (you can see I'm losing my shit here? Sorry, I'm just tired, maybe I'll rewrite this part tomorrow)

After the fun is over, no matter how long or hard it was, Fenrys will always make sure you're okay before doing anything else. It is his priority to help you come down after your high, asking if you need anything whether it be water, a helpful hand in getting cleaned, a bath or simply snuggles.

And though he'd never expect from you anything you cannot give, it makes his heart flutter when you do the same thing for him. So maybe ask if he's okay, or play with his hair as he's falling asleep, whispering praises against his forehead, and it would definitely make him happier.

Fenrys is an amazing lover, thoughtful and passionate, open minded and big on boundaries. He can offer you the whole world and crawl out of his skin to bring you pleasure, and still stop without a second thought when you say no. And he does expect the same thing from you.

Because at the end of the day, consent is the sexiest thing you can give him.

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys #throne of glass #tog headcanons #tog imagines #tog smut #tog #throne of glass imagines

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anodyne-sunflower · 7 months

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One of the things I love about the Astarion hug scene is that in it, he's relearning touch. Anyone who has been through abuse physically and sexually, we know exactly what that journey looks like. You're so used to a negative reaction that even the softest, sweetest touch breaks you up inside. You hate it because you absolutely want to be able to love it. You get angry because it isn't fair you have no experience of gentle, meaningful touch (and not just sexually). The first time you do feel it from someone...fuck me, that's a wild moment. It's like alarms going off and you want to scream for help but you don't want to scare the gentle person away. Because just as bad as you crave no touch, you also are really fucking touch-starved for something.

I'm going way off the rails but I just realized how badly some of us who have experienced such unfair abuses can relate to this character. Obviously it varies, but I just wanted to be able to communicate this with the fandom. Like, just to let you know you're not alone. Holy hell you're not alone. Us other survivors are here and finding absolute glee in the journey that is Astarion.

So yes, I'm screaming about the hug scene again. His face, God-- he's so stunned and hurt but this, this moment is him finally realizing that touch doesn't need to be sexual, it doesn't need to be forced or painful or unfair. It can be gentle, addictive in the best way and the first time you feel it's embrace (literally right) you worry it'll be gone just as quick.

But it isn't. And you get to experience the new meaning of touch.

Just imagine the possibilities for him and Tav.

A hug. A soft caress to the cheek. A gentle pat on the back. A light peck on the cheek or forehead. A warm body next you in bed that merely seeks your presence for comfort and offering safety. I want to see all of these moments for him. I'm so tempted to write a little thing about it lol my fanfic writer is drooling okay.

He deserves the world in a kinder way. We all do.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #tw sex assault #tw abuse #this is a blog that supports astarion finding his version of intimacy with the right person #and i do mean both affection in everyday touches and very intimately

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happy74827 · 3 months

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All I Wanted Was You

[Thor Odinson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Thor had always been there to protect you, save you, and love you… Until he couldn't.

WC: 3540

Category: Heavy Angst, Some hurt/comfort, mentions of Loki, Hela, and Heimdall {TW warning: Thanos and “evil squidward” — I know his name but I think Tony’s nickname is too iconic}

So I recently rewatched Infinity War, and of course watching Thor cry over losing literally everyone else he cares for in the first 15 minutes of the movie sparked my writer heart {finally} and after listening to Paramore we have this hot mess of angst (also why are all my Thor fics so angsty when he’s the definition of fluff?? I live for the drama I guess)

And just for the record, we don’t talk about the fact that I have thousands of requests and this isn’t even one of them 💀😭

『••✎••』

They say fear lies in the unknown. In the absence of facts and knowledge, the mind creates a world of illusions. If you believe your own fears, they become reality.

So what happens when the thing you fear the most is taken from you? When everything else falls to nothing? When the world is turned upside down?

You're left with a feeling that can only be described as the deepest pain imaginable.

You're left with nothing but your fear.

Your heart was racing so fast, and your breaths were short. You could feel every single muscle in your body tense up as the unnamed alien man dragged you further and further into the unknown.

The trip back to Earth, back to your sanctuary of a home, was nothing but a blur. After everything that had gone down within Asgard, including Asgard's destruction, all you could think about was your lover. Your other half.

Thor.

He was in pain, and not just physically. You had been separated due to his secretive, power-hungry sister, to where he’d left you alone with his kind-hearted people to find his father, only to disappear and leave you alone with the slaughtering of the Asgardians.

The people you’ve met that very day ended up slaughtered by Hela. Some took you by the hand, guiding and shielding you for protection against the God of Death and her henchmen. Others, you could tell, were more than just scared; they were terrified. The ones that were too slow or the ones that decided to fight back were killed within an instant.

You were no warrior. You were a simple, plain human who somehow caught the eye of the mighty Thor Odinson, and for some reason, he was in love with you.

So, while everyone else fought against Hela and her henchmen, you ran. Thor had left you there in assurance of your safety, thinking the search for his father with Loki, of all people, would be too risky for you, but in reality, you would have rather been with him. At least then, if you were to die, you could have been in the arms of the one you love.

Miraculously, you had survived the fall of Asgard and the escape from Surtur. You had no clue how. Maybe you were just lucky, or perhaps it was the grace of the Allfather. Even Heimdall, the man who saw everything, didn’t see you making it out alive.

But, when Thor had found you in the throne room cornered by some henchmen, it became a fact that Heimdall couldn’t see everything; after all.

The moment your eyes had met, the moment you heard the sound of metal against flesh, the moment his strong, powerful, protective arms wrapped around your fragile, vulnerable, weak form, and the moment his lips kissed the top of your head, you were safe.

Safe.

The only time you felt genuinely safe was when you were with Thor. His mere presence made you feel at ease. Like nothing could ever touch you or hurt you because he wouldn't let it.

He would protect you no matter the cost. He’d die for you, give his life for you, and go to the depths of Hell and back for you. He loved you, and that was something you could never understand.

Why would such a mighty god, a king, and a warrior want to love a simple human like yourself? A clumsy one at that.

You weren’t special in any way. You were ordinary.

But Thor, he was extraordinary.

The God of Thunder, a king and a warrior, a prince and a protector.

He was everything you were not.

It wasn't just the physical things that made him great, too, but the things that were inside.

Thor was a good man. A caring man. One who always thought about others and not himself.

Thor had his moments, yes, but no one is perfect. Not even a god. But the thing that made you love him, that made you want him, and the thing that made you feel safe was his heart.

That was the only part of him you could understand. The way he cared. The way he loved. The way he could make anyone smile. The way he could bring light to anyone's dark.

That's what makes a man a man. And that's why you loved him.

Even now, with one eye, a missing hammer, and a lost kingdom, he was still your everything.

And now you were reunited after being separated again. The only problem was the circumstances.

You and Thor had been in an intimate moment. The relief of having you back in his arms, the adrenaline pumping through your veins from surviving such a tragedy, had you both desperate.

He had pinned you against the wall, his hands brushing your hair away from your face to get a better look at you before he pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss. He was always so gentle with you. The teasing and playful nips at your bottom lip were proof of that.

But the sudden sight of a ship out the large window you’d stared out of moments before the kiss broke your concentration.

Thor had pulled apart almost immediately, the feeling of his beard no longer tickling your face, but the heat of his breath and the sweet taste of his lips was still there.

It didn't take long before Thor was following your eyes, seeing for himself what had pulled you from him.

A sense of dread washed over you when you noticed how he tensed and his grip on your waist tightened. This wasn’t another Asgardian ship; no, this was something far more dangerous. You could tell by the look in Thor's eye, his non-missing eye.

Then, within seconds, he grabbed hold of your arm and yanked you out of the room. Your heart was pounding as you started yelling questions at him, trying to understand what was going on.

But, when he hit the button that sealed the room you were once in and shielded you within his arms, the panic started to set in.

That's when everything began to blur.

You remembered the sound of explosions. The tearing of metal. The screams. The smell of burning.

It all came crashing down.

Loki had come around the corner, and seeing his expression, it didn’t take much to realize what was going on.

If Loki, the God of Mischief and Lies, was terrified, then that meant something big was going down.

Thor was yelling orders, shouting commands. You could barely make out what he was saying, but you knew he was telling you to stay behind him.

Stay behind him.

Always stay behind him.

Then it changed to get the hell off the ship.

Then, to run.

Run.

The last thing you remember was looking back as you sprinted down the halls, seeing your love, your other half, the king, the prince, the protector, your Thor, fighting some creature with his bare hands.

His face was so determined. He wasn’t going down without a fight. You ran to where he had told you to go, the escape pods where Val was helping others into. You got there and saw her eyes. They were wide and full of worry.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

The sound of an explosion brought you back to the present.

Val grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you toward a pod. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins and, your heart was racing so fast, and your breaths were short.

All you could think about was Thor. Where was he? Was he alright?

No.

He was not.

As soon as you entered the pod and Val had closed you in it, it was suddenly torn apart. The supposed sliding door had been ripped from its hinges.

The metal that you rested your back upon started to give, and the feeling of moving forward caused your heart to leap.

You were launched out and onto the floor.

It took a second to gain your bearings. You looked up and saw Val. She was fighting, and you were thankful to see her, but it was a short-lived relief.

The… thing she was fighting, the blue alien, grabbed hold of her and flung her across the ship. She landed somewhere near a pod and didn't move. You remembered screaming for her, but she didn't budge.

That's when the creature turned his attention to you.

You tried to move, but the metal that was supposed to hold the pod in place had you pinned.

You tried to pry the metal from your skin, but your weak and vulnerable body couldn’t break the bond.

The alien slowly moved towards you and, in a swift movement, had ripped the metal away.

He was so close, and you had no idea what was going on, who he was, or what his intentions were.

When you felt his large, rough, and cold hand wrap around the back of your neck, panic started to set in. You wanted to kick and scream, but all you could do was stare at the beast before you.

And thus, you were dragged away from the evacuation site and thrown into a separate area. You came to the conclusion that whoever this was, it seemed to be a metal bender or something similar due to his abilities.

All you saw was a demented blue face with squid-like features, staring down at you as he threw you around like a rag doll.

The fifth time he threw you, you landed roughly on the floor, causing your shoulder to make a loud crack noise and the pain to shoot through your body. Your hands landed on something soft, softer than the floor, and when you looked down, you realized the blue thing had thrown you into a room full of corpses.

But it wasn’t just any corpses. The one you had specifically landed upon had been the body of the man you had recently become close friends with, Thor’s friend, Heimdall.

Tears immediately pooled in your eyes, and your breathing became ragged. You tried to sit up and pull your body off of Heimdall in respect, but the pain shooting through your arm and back kept you frozen in place.

The lifeless eyes of the man who saw everything were open, and for once, he was staring at nothing. It was a haunting image.

The tears were now falling, and a sob escaped your lips. You wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. You wanted to scream and shout. You wanted to fight and claw at the alien that took until it bled. But all you could do was lay there, unable to move and weep.

Then, a voice caught your attention. It was deep, and it was coming from the alien that had brought you to this place.

His eyes were no longer focused on you, but they were somewhere else. He was talking to someone.

“Boss,” it spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. You couldn’t bear to look at the being. Not when you were face to face with the lifeless body of the gatekeeper. “There’s a human woman here. A pathetic one, no doubt, but one nonetheless. Should we end her? Or leave her to rot like the others?"

A silence filled the air, and you had no idea what was going on, who he was speaking with, or who was giving him instructions. You could’ve looked. You could have glanced up at the thing, and seen for yourself, but you too were afraid.

Your eyes remained glued to the golden ones that were once filled with light and wisdom.

There was silence, and then a loud, deep, thump. It had startled you, but it wasn't anything like the explosion of the ship, no, it sounded more like a boot or a shoe had come in contact with metal. But, it was loud enough to grab your attention.

You didn’t move. Your eyes didn't stray.

But, your body trembled in fear.

Suddenly, you heard his voice, and it sounded more terrifying than any sound that had echoed in the air prior. It was even deeper, and even more frightening than the other.

“I think not. We have use of her."

He had a deep and gravelly voice, but it was smooth. Calm. Almost friendly.

Then, a large, purple foot, appeared in your vision, and slowly, the purple being leaned down and stared at you. His gaze was strong, and piercing. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. You were too terrified to move, speak, or breathe.

Again, it wasn’t human. It was an alien. And a big one, at that.

He had no hair, only a helmet. His skin was purple and he wore strange looking clothing, including a golden glove that had both a bright purple stone and a blue one.

You’ve never seen such a creature before. You thought those dark elves were terrifying, but they were nothing compared to this man.

And for some reason, he was looking at you like you were an ant, and he was the boot that would crush you.

In fact, he was looking at you with pity, and it confused the hell out of you.

But, when his hand moved, and his fingers had touched the soft strand of your hair, you couldn't help but flinch.

The moment his fingers made contact with you, though, you heard a loud grunt. One that didn’t sound alienated or distorted. It was clear, and you could tell who it was, instantly.

Your head shot up, ignoring the pain in your arm, and the moment your eyes met his, everything stopped.

Everything.

It was Thor.

Your Thor. Your everything.

He was in front of you the entire time, and you had no clue.

The tears were falling. They were falling hard and fast, and you couldn’t stop them. And for once, it wasn’t because of relief.

Thor was encased with metal. His arms and legs were pinned by it. He was bleeding from his head, and he was covered in bruises.

He looked like hell and gave off the same energy.

He was struggling to free himself. That’s what the sounds were. The grunts, the heavy breathing, and the loud thumping. He was trying to get out of his prison to get to you. To save you.

The alien was staring down at you. His eyes were dark and intimidating, but his presence was even more so. He was the embodiment of terror.

Then, without any warning, he grabbed you by the throat.

It was an unexpected move. He had picked you up by the neck with just one hand. He had a grip so tight you couldn't breathe, and the pressure on your throat was unbearable.

You could hear Thor screaming. Yelling.

You could barely hear what he was saying. Your ears were ringing, and the pain of the hand wrapped around your throat was all you could focus on.

But, you could see him. You could see him perfectly.

You saw his blue eye and the patch that covered the missing one. You saw the stubble along his chin. The slight scar that was just below the patch. The wrinkles on his forehead.

You could see it all.

And the look of desperation and horror. It broke you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much.

Then, in the blink of an eye, you felt release.

You fell to the floor and started gasping for air. It was like the moment the alien released his grip on you, everything began again. The world, your thoughts, the chaos.

It was all there, and you couldn’t keep up.

“I see it now.” You heard the voice of the alien say. Your vision was blurry, and your eyes were still stinging from the tears, but you could make him out if only a bit.

He was now standing, towering over you, but he wasn’t looking at you. No, he was looking at Thor; his eyes were focused on the god, which sent a chill down your spine.

When dealing with Hela, you find yourself recovering with confidence. She could’ve easily killed you with a snap of her finger, but when she demanded your name, you had spat in her face and gave a smile.

Even though Thor wasn’t there at that moment, you somehow knew he’d be coming back to put an end to her, and you would be safe. It was like a sixth sense that came and made you stop panicking and running.

And, even though he technically didn’t put her down, he still was your knight in shining armor. It was the same with the dark elves and even with Loki.

They were all terrifying, yes, but somehow, you knew that Thor would save the day.

Now, though, it was different. You weren’t scared or panicked; no, you were terrified.

The fact that Thor was trapped and was physically in pain, the fact that Heimdall and more innocent Asgardians were lying on the floor, dead, and the fact that Loki was missing and Val was knocked unconscious, it had all hit you at once.

You felt like you were suffocating, and it only worsened when the alien spoke again.

“I was questioning why a mortal was amongst a group of Asgardians, how such a fragile being could survive so long among gods. I wondered, but I see it now. You have been blessed by one, and the last, of Odin's children."

The alien's attention was back on you, and the intensity of his gaze had you trembling. He was staring at you, looking through you, and reading you like a book.

"What a pitiful yet fortunate creature you are."

It was like the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs, and when he moved, you found yourself flinching and scooting backward.

He had leaned down again, and his large hand had grabbed the side of your face. The feeling of his skin on yours made your skin crawl, and the urge to vomit was growing.

Thor wasn’t having it. He was thrashing about; the metal that was encasing his body was bending and stretching with each move.

His cries of anger and the desperation in his eyes were heartbreaking. And it was only shut up by the alien who had taken you. A piece of metal flew to Thor’s mouth and held it in place, preventing him from yelling.

More grunts and muffled noises could be heard from the god, but you could no longer see him now. The purple man was blocking your view.

But, despite that, he was still talking to Thor.

"It is a shame, Thor Odinson. I take pity on the both of you, and I apologize, for it seems that fate has not been kind to either of you. But, we must make sacrifices. It is unfortunate that your beloved had to be one of them."

Then, suddenly, the alien turned his gaze back to you, and his dark eyes bore into yours. He was staring directly into your soul.

"Fear not, small child,” he said, his voice sounding almost calm. “You will not have to endure the pain and suffering as I did.”

The words that left his mouth did not give you comfort. It was quite the opposite.

Thor came back into your viewpoint as the purple man had moved, and when your eyes met his, all you saw was a mixture of panic and despair.

Thor's expression had you feeling a type of way. You could feel your stomach sink.

You weren’t dumb. You were far from it.

You knew where this was going, and your mind was screaming, screaming for you to do something, anything.

Run.

Fight.

Scream.

Just do something.

But all you did was stare. Stare at the man that you loved. The man that loved you. The man who had saved you countless times.

But he couldn’t save you now, even when you cried out his name in a soft voice, that frail, humane part of you begging him with your eyes to stop this from happening.

To stop it from hurting.

He couldn’t.

All he could do was look at you, look as you were taken. Look as you were pulled away from him.

All he could do was stare and scream.

It was the loudest, most horrific sound you had ever heard. It was worse than the explosion.

It was worse than anything.

It was the cry of a man who had just lost the last thing that gave him purpose.

It was the sound of a god being torn to pieces.

And it was all because of you.

That was the last thing you heard. That was the last image that burned itself into your brain.

The sound of Thor and his desperate screams was the last thing you remembered.

Everything after that was darkness.

No memories, no thoughts, nothing.

Just darkness.

All he wanted was you.

All he needed was you.

And now, all he had left was the memory of you: that and his broken heart.

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kuni-is-daddy · 8 months

Text

Comfort!Wanderer x Female Reader

Tw: Hints of depression. If you don't know scaras backstory ur gonna get spoiled.

Ft: Teasing,f/ngering, Riding, Scara praises u, aftercare?,he calls you a good girl

Wordcount: 1.77k

CW: Minors do not interact past the cut! This is a NSFW post

ScaraMasterlist

Before you two go on another outing, 'Hat guy' reluctantly asked nahida for help on another one of his gifts to give you...

"Remember hat guy! if anything happens ring the safety bell, okay? And keep in touch while im at vanarana. I want to make sure you two have an awesome time!" The small archon tippy toed, while 'hatguy' leaned down as she tied the trinket to his feathered ornament. "Tsk- Buer, im far from a child. I dont need anyone to hold my hand like one." Nahida looked up at the puppet, "Really? you never mind ms Y/N holding your hand though." He diverted his gaze and mumbled to himself. "See? I knew you'd like it. Oh right! your gift!"

Hat guy fixed his posture, "Here! Make sure you give this to ms y/n." In her hand was a book of photos she put together for him with little stickers of slimes and aranara with smiley faces, handing it to hatguy as he took his time with each page and noticing the many 'new' pictures, some being ones he didn't give to the lessor lord. "Your a stalker now too? I guess reading minds isnt enough for you." Ignoring his comment buer took out another book. One titled 'Nahida's sumeru travel guide' with a cover drawing of a purple cat barely paying attention to the light green cat. "Do you have to insist on making everything look like a coloring book..." Nahida didnt reply, mearling looking away and humming a tune similar to the aranara while he began his walk to the park.

Whenever you two would hang out together it was in the library within the akedemiya or anywhere he chose. Sometimes as you held his hand walking through the peaceful park your mind would fill the silence in the worst ways possible as he stared at your now frowning expression. "I dont know Kuni, is the akedemiya even worth it anymore? Theirs people smarter than me there anyway." Kuni stopped in his tracks. "But isnt the whole point of the akedemiya just to major in a 'hobby' you like?." he raised an eyebrow. "Well..i guess..but..Theirs obviously people better than me at it." "Id disagree. Besides their Irrelevant. Shouldn't you just do it and have fun. Huh.. I thought thats what hobby's we're. Something for idle bodies to enjoy." You sighed at his response and sat on the bench. "Its not that simple kuni, I have to get a job and- my family what if i have to provide for them too. Ontop of that there really unfair. Why am i putting my heart into this just for it to be a flop." 'A flop?' At your wording he was brought back to his association with the kaedehara clan. Every now and then he'd overhear niwa talking with others over its upending struggles due to the rise of his mothers sword art. Spreading around inazuma like wildfire and Leaving the clan to struggle in its contribution to the arts. But only in a matter of time kuni was able to 'eat' and drink his favorite tea with them in celebration of their success. We're all the struggles just the divine tricks to see who is worthy? was a god playing tricks on you? 'It couldnt be like that..' Kuni put his gift on the bench, and held your hand while sitting with you

"Maybe im overthinking kuni..I-i just dont know.." It pained him to just look at you like this. Tired. Just so tired mentally and physically, tears dreaning down your eyes as you measly sat on the bench. You began to get up, Remembering your responsibilities. "Its fine kuni, you know- maybe I just need some rest! at home!" 'she said that before' He held your hand, uncomfortably tight. His mind always thought to the worst and he never wanted to loose you because of it. Often getting angry at himself for assuming you'd do such a thing..or likewise to what he did. But this time, He just couldnt let go. Was he scared? As much as you implied, you'd never do such things It always rang in the back of his mechanical ears. If only he was still a harbinger, He would've did everything in his power more then he could now to get you the stable income or whatever humans would need in any region or place in teyvat you wanted. Just say the word and he would've done it regardless of her 'excellency' but he couldnt now, all he could do was use this 'curse' which he called emotions to help understand you. "Kuni-...Please let me go....Im alright." you sniffled. He immediately noticed your change in tone. It was soothing just how you always talked to him yet he still felt wary.

With a few more tugs it felt as if his grip only tighter the more you tugged. In defeat, you brokenly sighed and sat back next to the puppet. A part of him was irked at your own confusion. But he never once regretted trying to comfort you through it when, and when you didnt ask. Even awaiting you at your home before you messaged him. It felt as if you sat in the park for hours within cold silence as your throat and chest burned trying making out words but every attempt was cut off by insecurity.

You always knew he loved you, but even your black and white reality began looking different colors. You shuttered while looked at him again, meeting eyes and Surprised that his hat was off. Resting on the bench's crook. "How about..I join the akademiya with you?" you let go of his soft hand, beginning to wipe your eyes until he pulled a green cloth with flowers printed on it out his pants pocket, Damping away your tears as you subtly smiled and sniffled. "I never knew you we're into cute things like this kuni." 'cute?' "Well. You can always rely on this..unique archon of yours to make her presence." you didnt ask any further. "Why do you want to join the akademiya?" "Isnt it obvious? to be with you. and for buer to stop annoying me." he mumbled the last part. "But you dont even have a major or-" "The archives of inazuma can use a rework. I find it ironic how beelz- the raiden shogun is portrayed as some. Beneveloent god, that pursuits eternity." He smirked, Writing a thesis might be one of the most indirect ways he could show up his mother but that had to wait.

You we're more important, and always have been since you entered his life. Kuni noticed his gift. "Oh yeah. Here." he handed you the bag. "Whats in it. More bitter tea for me to try?" he blushed at your answer. "Just open it." you smiled at him again and looked at the pictures in the book. Trying to hold back a laugh at the picture of nahida whacking him uptop his head for god knows what. He looked at the picture, intrigued on why you we're laughing. 'buer you had one fucking job-' then back at you again. "No need to thank me- i-" cutting him off, you kissed kuni on his cheek "I love it kuni." 'his skin is so soft~' you thought. "Then I guess I should thank you too." The puppet shifted closer to you moving the book back in the bag and out of your view behind him. "W-wait kuni- not here we're in a park!" he sucked his teeth and still moved closer to you, sinking his face into your neck as you leaned back "And? thats even better, every person here can know how important you are to me. Got a problem with that?." He began tugging at the buttons on your shirt "Or..Does my baby want to continue this at home? I'll let you choose this time."

----

You fumbled with the keys as you locked the door behind you. Kuni was already tugging onto you. Biting and leaving petals of kisses along your neck. "K-kuni~ slow down.." you moaned. "Shit..Love it when you say my name too. This beautiful body is all mine." you turned around to face him, being greeted by his kimono barely hanging onto his shoulders to cover his lean form behind his turtleneck. "Your staring again…Like what you see y/n? Its all for you." He picked you up, bringing you to your bedroom littered in papers, pens and books on your desk. "huh. Do all scholars have a messy room like this?" He chuckled. "S-shut up.."

Kuni laid you onto the bed, observing your body before trailing his hands down to your pants. Letting out a groan. "God. Your fucking beautiful. How dare you treat yourself like this." He slowly tugged your clothes off. Then rubbed his hands along your thighs, spreading your legs and revealing your wet slit. "You want it gentle baby?" you nodded. Sinking his head inbetween your legs, he began licking on your bud. "Kuni~" "Shh…Relax..for me pet." your thighs twitched at the name. "Oh? you like being called that too…ill- mmm~ remember that" he sunk his tongue inside of you, moaning into you incoherent praise. "f-fuck..you- mmm taste- s' good." you rubbed your hand through his hair. Pressing him farther onto you. Usually you didnt take the lead or have him bottomed out for you like this. But it was your special night, as many we're yours to come. Kuni didnt want to stop for celestia itself to make sure you felt loved just as you made him feel. "Wahnt me to stop baby- you- ah..i know you like it." "N-no kuni~ please dont stop." you said while pressing your thighs closer against his head. "Hah..How about my fingers, want that too?" Kuni licked at his fingers after pulling away from your wet hole with a gasp for air. "Yes master~" his cock twitched in his pants. He knew you wanted it slow but god the urge to take you right then and there. He inserted two of his fingers as your walls clenched, slowly shifting in rhythm of his fingers. "Arent you eager hmm? Already want me inside dont you? Thought you wanted me to be gentle." He smiled, Thrusting his digits faster inside you. "K-kuni!! please.. I- ah..hah.." "Yes baby? what does my good girl want." kuni leaned down to you, wanting to hear your delicious moans. "Inside..Please..want you inside~" "Hah..Theres my pet." The two of you switched positions. Kuni laying his lean body on your bed as you climbed ontop of him, slowly sinking him inside you.

"K-kuni..your so big," "And hah..your so warm..oh shit~." You began moving, bouncing up and down on kuni's length. "Oh god baby..L-look at you, bouncing on master so ah-well.." His praise filled your ears, making your body heat up. You two interlocked hands as you both chased your highs. The sound of skin slapping and your wet moans echo'd around the room. "Yes..Yes y/n- fuck yes. I L- ah.. Love you so fucking much, dont stop. dont stop." He squeezed onto your hand, eyes slightly glowing from his pre sloshing up and down inside you. "Kuni~ m' close..Im gonna- i-" "Thats it- just like that- cum for me~ let me hear those beautiful moans-" From his bittersweet praise you came onto his length, squeezing his hand 'tightly' as he soon came after you, Painting your walls with his warm seed. You collapsed onto his chest, Still inside him and coming down from your high. His chest wasn't rising up and down.. which creeped you out a little but you didnt mind.

The two of you laid in the bed. Mumbling every now and then about earlier as he stroked your hair. "I dont expect you to get well instantly y/n. Thats not how things work." "Yeah..Then i guess id be like some sort of puppet right?" you chuckled while trailing your hand along his chest. "Right.." kuni laid his head back. "What im saying is that you have to try at your own pace to get better. Regardless of everyone, its your life you have to live. And i..hate seeing you dwelling here when I know there's someee things your good at. If you get discouraged, I'll be there for you." "And if your not..?" he sighed at your reply. "That'll be rare. Then Call me and we'll go for another walk if you want. Im sure that childish archon has plenty ideas too."(He thought back to the bell). Some of his advice was stuff you've already heard. Even though it is easier said then done your heart warmed at his ideals. He even wanted to get in the akedemiya just for you, he was willing to do so much. Even if you felt better for a day or made the smallest progress Kuni would be proud.

Thank you for reading and I wish you the best :)

#scaramouche smut #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x female reader #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #wanderer fluff #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x female reader #wanderer genshin #genshin wanderer

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moonrisecoeur · 2 months

Note

Hi moon! Hope you're doing well!

Just wanted to send in a little question in hopes of getting some brain-dumping from you. But, if you want, can you talk more about Leon being needy and touch-deprived? Could be in any context (fluff or smutty) or any version of Leon (because let's face it, he's a pathetic baby across the board) but just wanted to hear your thoughts about that! <3

nicyyyy omg hi :3 i love seeing u on my dash and especially in my inbox heh !! hope you're well and work is good !! i'm doing awesome actually i got a 92 on my midterm that i could have sworn i should have failed. haha anyway!!

mostly fluff but theres a little bit of smutty thoughts too <3

hmm fluffy touchy leon is always such a favorite topic of mine ahhh i love re4r leon being touchy because like c'mon you're like his romantic second partner ever and, not even in like a romantic context, he doesn't get touched a lot!! i mean who is out here giving him hugs and giving him comfort when he's a literal killing machine? he doesn't really even feel worthy of comfort and touch, so he doesn't like asking for it. you gotta disguise it as you wanting comfort or else he'll try to push you away.

"no, sweetheart, i don't need you to baby me. really, it's fine, i don't even like it that much to begin with, it's fine," he says, but then if you say that you want a hug and you want comfort then of course he'll oblige!! and he won't notice it but the way you're rubbing his back in soothing circles as you hold him is definitely a sign that you're doing this for him!!

but also even in circumstances where he doesn't 'need' comfort, he still likes touch. you putting your hand on his arm or resting your cheek on his shoulder is enough to satisfy him in little moments like this.

i can also see every single version of leon being big fan of running his fingers through his partner's hair (or like just patting n petting their head if u got curly hair haha). like!! it's so close and soft and intimate, and he likes making you feel comfy. even if it's a brief hand on the back of your neck, scratching the base of your scalp gently as he leans in to kiss you, he can't get over it.

i also see all leons but especially re2r and re4r being especially fond of his partner cupping his cheek and holding his jaw as you look for little wounds or scratches. you know what i mean? do we see the vision? you're all worried for him, looking at him with such care and gentleness and he's looking right back at you with heart eyes good BYE !!

omggg he loves brushing a piece of hair behind your ear absentmindedly as you're talking. gawd especially like id or re6 good lord, like you're rambling about something and he just sits there listening to you, smiling because he thinks you're the most beautiful thing on this planet, and he reaches out to tuck of a piece of hair away and brushing his thumb against your cheek in the process. god my brain would stop i'd lose any thoughts in my head i would be contractually obligated to suck this man's dick im SORRY OMG

omg you know those guys who say their love language is physical touch but you know its just because they want sex like leon ACTUALLY feels love with touch both giving and receiving. like when he comes home from a mission and just collapses into your arms, poor thing!! you rub his back and press kisses to his temple and he just breaks down crying cux he misses you !! he hates being away from you but for your safety and for his too (because he knows the government would hold your life over his head too) he has to keep going on these missions even though they're literally killing him.

i think he learns to be better about accepting touch and affection overall with age. especially like di leon like he's always giving you hugs and kisses but like he just cannot get enough of you!! he gets less touch deprived and needy the longer he spends in a healthy, committed relationship. he still wants to touch you but he doesn't need it so intensely like he was younger.

also like we sometimes think of di leon like the conclusion, the ending, where he's completely or mostly healed of all his trauma. just because he's not as emo doesn't mean he's full gotten past everything. he's still trapped to some extent. sure, he's not the worn down, pathetic alcoholic old man that he was in re6 or vd and he's got friends he can rely on and he's doing better, but i still think he struggles with feeling worthy of the attention and care of others. he's probably not the best communicator of that either!! so just like with re4r leon, you might have to disguise it as for you as opposed to for him. he recognizes this but doesn't say anything or stop you.

as for smuttyyy hmm i like the idea of leon being touchy and affectionate during sex. like if he's single and it's just a one night stand he met at the bar, then no. absolutely not. he probably won't kiss them on the lips, mostly because he's deprived of that affectionate stuff and will definitely get attached. (edit: actually the more i think about it... maybe he would be overly touchy with some stranger because he's desperate and needs it soooo bad.. what if that scares them away and he gets all sad.. dawg now i'm sad) but if it's his long term partner then he absolutely wants to hold your hand, let you touch him however you like.

on days where he's more needy and touch deprived, i can see him leaning a bit more dominant, just taking what he wants. of course ur not gonna fight him because it's the one time he'll actually seek physical comfort without it having to be a battle between you and his own insecurities. he holds you tightly and possessively, claiming you as his, and gawd i mean what else do you do besides go along with it?

cuz like i don't see him as a total sub (sub leaning switch men x dom leaning switch women representation) but i do also see his neediness manifesting in him poorly communicating his needs. i mean, let's be real. he's not the coolest guy. he's shy and awkward and canonically not good with women (and i'm sure men too). but if you coax him into voicing what he wants from you... he gives in and lets you take care of him.

couple extra random notes:

re2r leon after the events of raccoon city finds it hard to be touchy feely and everything. tries to keep his distance cuz he's so in his head and upset about what happened.

re4r leon struggles a lot emotionally and mentally and thus is very in the most in need of comfort yet the least likely to get it as he can't communicate it very well :( plus he doesn't have a lot of agency/free will in his life so as much as i wanna say "you just gotta give him love!! he deserves it!!" it also feels like he would push away anyone who is too affectionate and loving with him. as bad as it sounds it feels like just another burden being forced onto him.

id leon i would say gives me the least touch starved needy vibes. i also feel like they made him a little too cool in id, he's not loser-y enough to be leon kennedy you know ?? but he's keeping himself busy in order to not have to think about his traumas and problems, and trying to ignore his obvious need for attention and companionship.

re6 leon is struggglinggggg he is barely able to keep himself together and just some gentle touches and love breaks him down to an emotionally needy mess. this is the man that would accidentally be overly loving and affectionate with a stranger he met at the bar.

#nic <3 #i am also a proponent of not calling id leon old bc that man is 29. like thats old-ER but not old!! literally two years after re4 #yet people see him as this grandpa smh #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy resident evil

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bitchysouljellyfish · 1 year

Text

Alejandro Vargas/Reader|Domestic Headcanons

God this man does things to me 💋💋💋

First off, this man treats you like royalty

Before dating, during, marriage, 40 years down the line he is hook, line and sinker for you and he will spend the rest of his life making sure you make him feel just as giddy as he did when yall first met.

Hes opening doors, planning dates, getting you flowers every day just because it makes you smile, pinching your butt when he walks by, he is smitten with you.

Gomez Addams reincarnated that's how much he loves you

Loves to sleep on top of you or you on top of him, he thinks the weight is comforting

If he could he would scream his love for you from the rooftops.

But, as stated in Canon, he keeps you far away to keep you safe. I would even think he has two different houses to make it even harder for his enemies to find you.

Your safety is his priority and I can totally see him teaching you how to shoot just to have that extra level of protection on you.

Of course, when he wraps his arms behind you to help you aim things get a little...steamy.

Good thing yall live in the middle of nowhere

I definitely feel like his love languages are words of affirmation (giving) and physical touch (receiving)

He doesn't want there to be any doubt about he feels about you, and this comes in handy when he has to go away for missions.

He adores physical touch though, he loves to feel your hands on him, your lips, your body against his just to reassure himself that you're actually there.

Sundays are a must have routine for him though, and this headcanon is just for me. Morning mass, visiting with his Mama (more often than not bringing her over for the day) and then helping you reset for the week.

Cleaning, laundry, meal prepping, all while music goes through the house and his mama is laughing at her son and his love dancing through the halls.

Is waiting for the day you tell her she'll be an Abuela, she totally hasn't been dropping hints no not at all 👀

The day you do though? Oh, it's the most she's cried. Alejandro cries more than her though, he's so happy.

In conclusion: this man is whipped and he loves every minute of it

#cod x you #love #fluff #headcanons #cod x reader #cod mw22 #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas #task force 141 #ghost team

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discordsmuse · 6 months

Note

any thoughts on Oathbreaker Knight with a fem!tav, seeking true redemption and "learning" with her new, weathered mentor? 🫣

Don't kill me anon, but believe it or not I literally didn't know this man existed until like 2 weeks ago. I played a Warlock, Monk and Barbarian and just missed him completely.

BUT!!! As soon as I realized there was a giant masked man with a Scottish accent and paternal energy, he had me by the throat. I want him to do terrible things to me.

On that note:

"Learning" from the Oathbreaker Knight ;)

18+ under the cut

- The armor is like a shield from not only the physical, but emotional aspects of mortal life. Tav comes to understand he doesn't feel like she and her other companions do. Still, he hangs around and offers sage advice that she funds annoyingly paternal at first.

- Tav trains with him, as she must if she wants any hope of settling into this new life. (Oathbreaker or pledged anew) Her guide remains dutifully at her side, assisting when necessary to keep her on the path.

- The voice is too attractive, she decided early on. Astarion teases her for how quickly the brogue of his accent makes her flush, but Tav is adamant it's only the heat of the summer.

- It's a sparring session where she ends up on her back, his sword pinning her down by the fabric of her tunic. One knee rests against the ground, close enough to press up to her side. Tav knows her breathing comes too quickly, even after a workout such as this. An awkward moment of silence passes before he's helping her up and continuing the lesson.

- After that, their sparring becomes more physical. Tav finds herself pressed to a tree by a weathered gauntlet against her throat or a knee between her legs. The latter made her squeak, a sound impossible to ignore in the silence of the night.

- Tav swears he starts to do it on purpose, to mess with her. Every moment of proximity, her Knight brushes against her skin. Arm to arm, hips bumping as he passes her, things too common now to be coincidence. There is an ache in him to touch her, and she can see it.

- The Oathbreaker resists his desire for her, but he can only provide so many excuses. Too old, ancient even. He is not man, more a spirit than anything she can ever hold. Tav remains determined nonetheless.

- Self control wanes, in part at her insistence. She manages to talk her way into his lap at one point, unsure what to do after having gotten this far. The unexpected allowance of their closeness is almost startling. That is, until his hands find her hips. He rocks her there, her comfortable camp pants catching on the metal as her body grinds against his. He has no body with which to satisfy her, but gives her all that remains. All that he can.

- After weeks of dancing around this tension between them, it culminates in the woods beyond the camp. Pinned to a tree, Tav grinds her body down on the tasset of his armor. Friction on her clit makes her gasp and whine, while the hand he has at her throat brings her heart to hammer in her ears. It is desperate, dirty, and unabashed as he watches her come undone.

- This man, this old God of sorts, does not keep his guidance to the battlefield. On the nights that Tav can spare her time for him, he will sometimes find her in her tent. There, he watches as she touches herself. His clawed armor traces over her thighs, reminding her how powerful and beautiful she is in this moment.

"Radiant, even in your undoing." His voice is thick with brogue, heady with the desire to please her rather than resign himself to guiding her hand. "How I wish to be the one between your thighs. Would that I could show you how adept my hand can be."

- It's words like that, dripping with admiration, that brings her to finish. Tav whimpers his title, allowing herself to be cleaned and soothed by hands that she knows means safety. Sometimes he will remain beside her as she sleeps, content to admire while she rests.

- It is a strange relationship, stranger still when he seems more idea than man. Yet, Tav thinks she may love him all the same.

#oathbreaker knight #oathbreaker #bg3 #oathbreaker knight x reader #oathbreaker imagines #ask discordsmuse #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3

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dispatchwithlove · 8 months

Note

I'll have you know that I talked with friends ages ago about Shepard resting her cheek in his palm about how much trust you have to have bc god turians could rip you(a human) apart!

Then you put it in writing and I nearly combusted. I have to take some floor time.

I can tell that the fic is gunna destroy me in the best way

Dude, don't get me started on the topic of physical vulnerability in romance/sex! You already have though, so here goes, sorry (I'm not).

As an unashamed monster fucker/monster romancer, this is what it's all about! There is something so moving, so entrancing about a character finding safety, comfort, and pleasure from a character that possesses traits that frighten others, especially physically. Scenes where Belle softened her nerves and touched Beast tenderly shook me as a child! The bravery, vulnerability, and kindness it took is so touching. His huge mits that just swipe wolves away, the sharp claws on his thick fingers...and she just puts her tiny little hand in his, trusting him to be gentle with her! UGH! My heart.

Have you watched or read The Ancient Magus Bride? It's probably my favorite monster themed story. There's this scene where Elias (who looks scary even in his "normal" form) busts out into full scary monster mode and just SHREDS something that hurts Chise, and when it's over he's self conscious and ashamed, not wanting her to see him like that, and her reaction is so beautiful! She accepts him as is, and offers him assurance and kindness. UGH! My heart!

Monster fucking/romancing, to me at least, is all about accepting someone who's different, but it's also about finding comfort and safety in something you're supposed to fear. It's about finding beauty and attraction in features you're supposed to fear, like sharp claws/talons, sharp teeth, etc. It's about a character allowing themself to be vulnerable and trust that the other character is going to be tender. Because that's what love really is, right? Exposing your vulnerabilities to someone and trusting that they'll treat you with tenderness. That you'll open yourself up to someone, letting them see all of your imperfections and insecurities, and they'll still love you, protect you, be gentle with you. Portraying this emotional vulnerability through literal physical vulnerability just works so beautifully. It's a literal "you could hurt me right now, but I'm going to trust you and give myself to you anyway."

Ok, and there's also a lot of great play between pleasure and pain in sex scenes, if you're into that. Talons pinching into thighs, teeth raking across skin, etc.

So yes I will jump at any chance to depict this. Garrus and Shepard fit this so well because turians are apex predators, their teeth and talons are sharp, they look fast and agile, and god damn are they beautiful. And they're tall and have huge hands! They're ripe for monster fucking/romancing themes. In this fic in particular (it was titled Invisible String originally but the rewritten version will be titled and posted as Singularity) vulnerability and trust will play important roles in Shepard and Garrus's relationship, so of course I had to bust out some displays of trust juxtaposed with scary anatomy. Garrus in Archangel mode is a threatening sight (which I effing love), so having Shepard meet him and find comfort and safety in his presence gets my heart beating.

I'm so happy you enjoyed that little bit where she rests her cheek in his palm! There will be lots of Shepard seeking comfort from a dom-leaning Garrus in that fic.

I hope to post soon, but my silly brain is telling me it's not good enough yet so I keep poking at it. Crossing my fingers that the rest of the chapter makes you combust too 😊

Thanks for sending me this! I'll always get up on a podium to talk Shepard/Garrus, romance writing, and monster loving ❤️

#shakarian #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #garrus x shepard #shepard x garrus #elias ainsworth #the ancient magus bride #beauty and the beast #monster romance #monster fucking #asks and replies #monster writing

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omniwhore · 1 year

Text

Ways to trick yourself to Go Outside

@thelostones-world asked about some ways to battle the AuDHD urge to stay in cave tm nd get the delicious outdoor stimulation

I decided to do a full blown post in hopes that it might help others, so here’s a few suggestions for

when you don’t wanna go out but know it would make you feel better

- ✨splish splosh water on face✨

In effort to feel less dissociated nd foggy and more in touch with your body and needs, I recommend something that helps me come back into my body - go to the bathroom and splash your face with cold/room temperature water.

Additionally you can put on a skin cream or moisturizer to further ground yourself nd reconnect with feeling physically present in your body.

This should help you feel more ready to spring into action!

- 🌤️open window sniff the air🌤️

One way to trick myself into being excited abt leaving the apartment nd going outside is to open a window and just,,, stare outside, feel the sunshine or the wind on your skin, smell the fresh air, listen to the hum nd sounds that are suddenly that much closer....

It helps me remember the good feeling of being outside and feeling so happy and stimulated and grounded. Then I just remind myself that more of this is only a couple steps away!

- 👚prepare an outfit in advance👚

Another way to trick yourself into being more amenable to leaving the house is to take time the day prior to prepare the outfit you’ll wear.

Aim for whatever you’d like to prioritize - comfort/safety, your favorite style that you want to show off, something you've been waiting for an excuse to wear, or something that reminds you of the location you want to visit.

(ie. goblincore outfit for a walk in the park, cottagecore outfit for a farmer's market, academia outfit for a library visit or a café study/art/reading session etc.)

Having an outfit already put together that you can just slip into gives your brain less opportunities to chicken out - and can help you get hyped up for whatever you're about to go do!

- 🌸gamify your outings🌸

Give yourself a mission (instead of writing down "go for a walk" in your planner, write "go on foot to {location} and back" or "walk outside for {n} minutes" or "collect 5 fallen leaves").

Boom! Now your brain won't get overwhelmed by ohmygod there’s so many things I could be doing what about we just abandon it altogether???

You have a mission to focus on. And when you're done, it's up to you whether you wanna keep going or whether you wanna head back home. For me, even a 10 or 15 min walk can make a big difference if I haven't been out for days.

- 📒plan things ahead of time📒

I always found meticulous planning vry comforting for my autistic side. It makes it significantly easier to psych myself up for something involving leaving the house if I let myself know that it's happening at least three days in advance.

Think about sitting down with a planner or a plain notebook, or your phone calendar (so handy! can include pings, map routes, and any additional info u might need to complete the mission!) and brainstorming some activities you'd like to do outdoors!

- 💚make plans with others💚

Hanging out with your friends in person if you can is a great way to make yourself show up, and is generally super good for your brain!

Idk about you, but if I told a friend I’m gonna be there at 5, I am gonna be there at god damned 5!!!

- 🎟️purchase tickets for events🎟️

Check facebook, reddit or whatever neighborhood (online) space you can come by for free or affordable events in your area!

Whether the goal is to be around people nd feel less anxious/alienated, or to just feed your brain some delicious stimulation at the museum or a pop up market, purchasing a ticket for an event can hold you more accountable to show up!

(Again recommend sitting down and planning at least 3 days ahead as to not have a meltdown abt the stress of figuring out the logistics)

#adhd #adhd on meds #autism #autismhd #audhd #actually audhd #actually neurodivergent #actually adhd #neurodivergent #comorbidities #comorbid conditions #self care #selfcare #self care masterpost #self care hacks #self care tips #might do more of theese eventually #mental health

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xxlemon-chanxx · 3 months

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How do you think bearded Philip would act if he genuinely liked and cared about someone (romantically)? I'm not good with character characterization of him so I thought you would be a suitable person to answer this :p

Me and my discord actually had a long convo about this exact thing—

Unfortunately, I don't imagine Philip as being a *good* partner. I may love him as a character and simp for him, but I acknowledge that he is a bad man. There's just no way that that man is well-adjusted or emotionally mature enough to be able to handle a healthy relationship. That's regardless of whether the OC S/O is Human, Witch, or Demon.

Assuming the OC is human, and assuming that Philip met them around the time that Elsewhere and Elsewhen took place, so about 60~65 years old, Philip would be incredibly affectionate at first. Once he realizes he wants to care for you in that way, he's going to do anything he can to woo you. He’ll write you poetry, try his best to learn your interests so the two of you have more in common, and leave you gifts that he made himself or “found” (stole). And just being what you’d imagine the perfect boyfriend to be.

This is a trap, even if you can't see it, even if HE doesn't realize it initially, it is a trap.

In a world of Demons and Witches, his first instinct is going to be to try to get you in a position where he is the most important person in your life. He wants you to depend on him, and look to him for protection and guidance in a way that ensures you can't be corrupted by the sinfulness of the world around you. After all, if his brother can fall victim to it, you most definitely can.

He will ensure he is the most important person in your life by making sure he is the ONLY person in your life. Those first few weeks of courting will seem so magical that when he finally asks you to join him on his journey, you can't imagine ever saying no.

If you have a life built where you are, you might hesitate. It's only natural, isn't it? A stable life that promises safety and comfort versus a life with someone who was a stranger mere months ago. A life of sleeping under the stars, never resting in the same place twice. A life of danger and excitement with the man who vows to protect you and provide for you come Hell or high water.

The moment you go with him, the moment you leave that secure life behind, the trap has been sprung, but much like a fly walking across the trigger hairs of a fly trap, the error of your judgment doesn't become apparent to you until much later.

It starts small. Philip pulls away emotionally. Not by much, not enough for you to be able to identify the problem, but enough for you to feel it. He's not as attentive to you anymore. He doesn't serenade you with flowery sonnets like he used to. He doesn't seem as interested in your hobbies unless it was ones the two of you already shared, and even then he seems far more invested in what HE does rather than anything YOU do.

It's a change, but you can't put your finger on what EXACTLY has changed, just that things don't feel as magical as they did before. But you can excuse his behavior, after all, living out in the woods with an inexperienced travel companion is sure to carry its own stress.

Then, after he neglects you for long enough, the abuse begins. It's never physical, but it doesn't have to be. The same voice that made your name sound like a lyric on his tongue is now the voice that is telling you horrible things that make you cry to yourself in an isolated corner while Philip ignores you. The soft touches and pleasant whispers are replaced by aversion and scorn.

And Gods help you if your OC is able to get pregnant. He will do everything in his power to baby trap you. Anything to make sure you are tethered to him for life.

He's got you where he feels comfortable. Why should he distract from his mission? Now and again you’ll see glimpses of the man you fell in love with. The one who wraps you in his arms and tells you captivating poems about why he worships you. The one who twirls with you under a sky full of stars. Those moments are few and far between, but they make it impossible to leave him, even if a part of you knows he's not good for you.

And the worst part is that Philip DOES love you. He's loving you the only way he knows how. This twisted, demented version on what actual love is could very well be the only type of love he knows how to give. Philip adores you, and if you left, it would just destroy him.

And you know that too. Maybe that's another reason why you can't leave him.

#philip wittebane #toh philip #belosfanstakeover #toh #toh emperor belos #emperor belos #belos wittebane #the owl house belos #toh belos #ask #asks open

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justallihere · 2 months

Note

This is a play by play of my thoughts while I was reading todays chapter:

Did Xaden relish in stabbing the cadet and stopping him from calling Violet a wh0re because he couldn’t kill the Basgaith cadet for calling her that and attempting to kill her?

MY BABY BOY IS IN DENAL. HE IS LITERALLY IN LOVE. HE WANTS MORE!!!!! HE WANTS MORE!!!! IDIOTS, THEY ARE ALL IDIOTS

OMG, I love the little tidbit about Sgayel and Tairn's courtship. That was like so unexpected but it just adds to the story and the parallels in the dragons and their riders.

Is Xaden internally going feral seeing Violet wear his shirt?

" His fearless fucking wife, who held absolutely no regard for her own safety" DON’T PANIC EVERYONE, ITS STARTING!!!

I am confident that Sloane and Tessa are 100% behind Queen Violet and are ready to fight to defend her honor

Xadens love languages: Physical touch, acts of service, gift giving.

Violet is truly an unbothered queen and she has other shit to worry about!!!! I LITERALLY LOVE YOUR VERSION OF VIOLET.

“What do you need me to do?” Xaden asked. “Because you can’t live like this. We can’t live like this.”

“Do you want to get a divorce?” she muttered bitterly.

“Not particularly.” He sighed

YOUR HONOR, YOUR HONOR!!!!!! The scream I scrumpt when I read this. Violet is literally going to mentally burn out at this rate. 😭😭😭Xaden wants to comfort her SOOOO bad!!!!

I am literally sobbing, god i love them so damn much!!!!!!!

I'm so curious sd to know what Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen in particular, and Brennan's thoughts are on all of this. Are Imogen and Garrick discussing how dumb Xaden is????

“Did Xaden relish stabbing the cadet?” Absolutely. Not just because it reminded him of the last time someone tried to assassinate Violet but also because he is violent and wants everyone who thinks badly about his wife to suffer

Baby boy is in less denial than he was before, but as this is a relative scale I’m not entirely sure how much that says about him

I would read 200k words about Tairn and Sgaeyl’s courtship and mating. I will not be writing it beyond little bits and pieces but I would offer a forehead kiss to anyone who wants to. And yes, I am a firm believer that Violet and Xaden’s relationship mirrors theirs in a lot a ways because dragon and rider are also so similar in this case

“Is Xaden going feral over Violet wearing his shirt?” ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY HE IS. If she would have not taken it off that would have been very cool to him but alas. Here we are

Violet is SO tired. My baby girl. Xaden wants to wrap her in every blanket he owns and hold her and let her sleep for like 3 days straight but she would not allow that

Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen are standing in a corner going “what the fuck is this idiot doing,” Liam is unsurprised as hell, and Brennan is trying desperately to not have an opinion because he knows Violet is still angry and would not appreciate him poking his nose into whatever the fuck she and Xaden are doing from, like, an interpersonal standpoint

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #storm in the quiet

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chronic-ghost · 8 months

Text

Chapter 7 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 11046

chapter summary: this is how the spiral ends.

chapter warnings/tags: physical abuse, depictions of overdose, dark themes, angst – lots and lots of angst, crying, hospitals

a/n: the song accompanying this fic is Foreigners God by Hozier. I had to physically restrain myself from using the lyrics as title because everything about that song fits so perfectly with this chapter. (title from x)

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Wondering who I copy

Mustering some tender charm

She feels no control of her body

She feels no safety in my arms

I've no language left to say it

But all I do is quake to her

Breaking if I try convey it

The broken love I make to her

- Foreigner’s God, Hozier

The desert does storms differently.

Los Angeles, while hardly considered a desert, is occasionally touched by the fringes of a powerful storm. Bloated, purple clouds. Lightning so full of heat that is almost palpable as it sparks across the sky. Rain in fat globs that splatter and spray. Grumbles of thunder so deep and loud, they’re almost animalistic. Sometimes it rains like the world is in mourning, in deep-seated grief. It’s a comfort, though, in the same way sad movies are cathartic – an expression of pain in a way that is so often hard to conceptualize. There’s a relief in it too.

Outside the hotel window, thunder growls, curling low like a jungle cat, as lightning cracks, warding off the onset darkness for just a moment. It’s been raining for hours, water flooding potholes on the streets below, gushing from drain pipes. This early in the morning, the few cars out that swim through the gloom have their lights on bright, trying hopelessly to cut back the encroaching deluge. People are nothing more than wet shadows.

The weather is throwing a fucking fit.

Thunder batters against the hotel windows again, groaning so loud he almost misses it. Almost misses that soft, quiet, little “fuck” that escapes your mouth. But he’s too close, too deep inside you, nose to nose, his elbows in the mattress by your head – he catches every movement your face makes. Every twitch of your lips, every stretch of your jaw. Every sigh. Every wail.

The pitch black room, save for the occasional flash of lightning, smells like sex. And it should. You’ve been at it for hours.

The skin on his back smarts where your nails dig into him, but that doesn’t get him to speed up or change his pace. Steady, slow, making you feel every inch that he stuffs up inside you. He kisses the curve of your sweaty neck as his hips roll as deep as the thunder outside.

“Oh, oh my god – Dieter–,”

He nuzzles your neck, nose tickling the back of your ear, sweat rolling from the back of his neck, over his shoulder, and onto your chest.

“Take it, baby, just take it. Let me have all of you,” he murmurs into your ear. Gently, he reaches under the covers at his back and pulls your leg up to his hip, maintaining that slow, tortuous pace. You breathe in on a high whine, the sound knotting his gut with pleasure. You shove your head back into the pillow, your face flushed, eyes wet as if trying to escape from feelings he inspires in you. You bite your lip and moan.

He’s been dragging it out too long. The both of you are on a fine, miniscule edge, neither wanting it to end, neither wanting to be separated from the other, but the tension is too profound, too great to hold onto much longer. He knows his knees won’t work for hours after this. His hips are going to be totally shot. He doesn’t fucking care.

You breathe in sharply and your cunt contracts around him once and he thinks he blacks out for a second, hips stuttering to a halt. That almost-painful flare of heat he felt must be visible on his face because you gasp, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t ask for it. You take it just like he wants.

“Sorry, baby, sorry–,” you whisper, your hand sliding to his cheek, then his mouth, your thumb against his lips. But he shakes his head, eyes shut against the overwhelming sense of submission, sliding back into his agonizing pace, and he presses his lips to the pad of your finger, lets your hand ease up into his hair.

“Don’t – don’t a-apologize. You just feel so fucking g-good.”

He says this but wants to say other things. He speaks to distract himself from the fact that his denied orgasm has sharp shocks sparking up his spine.

He clumsily kisses your cheek.

“Thank you, b-baby, thank you for letting me do this. For letting me fill you up. For taking me, as I a-am,” he stutters, his tongue too thick for his mouth. He really should just shut up and come, but when he opens his eyes, the look you give him – your eyes black and round from the Ecstasy – it pulls on the tendons at the back of his chest. Like the strings of a guitar – strum his heart and he’ll sing.

He had begged you to let him fuck you slow, like he did in New Orleans. They only had a few hours before the comedown hit and he wanted to spend those hours savoring you. Licking his fingers of your sweetness, carving away old memories to make room for the ones of you naked and trembling, steaming images of you to the inside of his brain with a sweating iron. With a stripped-bare willpower, he holds himself back because he thinks the longer you’re beneath him, the more of you he can take.

But this last one, this one he can feel pulsate in the cup of his skull, it’s too big. It’s too much to suppress any longer. He grits his teeth, and tries not to languish in the warmth of your thighs.

“Are you close?”

You nod, a single tear breaking loose and running from the corner of your eye to the sheets below you. “Y-yeah. I’m so close, Dee.”

He adjusts on his already shaking knees, pulling back and giving enough space between your bodies so he can reach down to touch you at the apex of your legs, but you frantically shake your head, grabbing his wrist. You shake your head harder.

“No, n-not like that.” You put his hand back by your head, then pull him towards you with your legs, forcing him onto his elbows again. You dig your heel into his low back. “L-like this. Just a bit faster, honey.”

Feeling swells so much and so fast in his chest as he watches you encourage him, tell him exactly what you want, and what you want is him – he feels like he can’t inhale.

There are things he wants to say to you, but they’re clogged up somewhere between his gut and his tongue. He nods instead, planting one hand flat against the mattress, his head tucking into the curve of your neck. He goes faster, just a bit, like you asked. Under the patter of rain, the bed squeaks, metal screws and cheap wood rocking together. The wet clutch of your cunt is making him dizzy.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna– I’m gonna –,”

He angles his hips like he knows you need, his pelvis against your clit, and you cry out, hands latching around the back of his neck, knees up by his shoulders. You wail and it breaks him wide open. He comes, deep inside you, gooey, pearly cum mixing with your release, your cunt so tight, he feels it all ooze back down his cock. He shudders at the sensation, his cock twitching almost painfully. His brain feels like the last bit of film flapping in the gears of a projector – thin, empty, overused. White noise.

Beneath him, he feels you sobbing, gasping against his throat. He uses his shaking arms to pull back, just so he can look at you, so he can kiss back your tears. That was intense and he wants you to know he’s here for you.

“Baby, you’re crying.”

Your gentle thumbs catch wet salt on his cheeks and he blinks, suddenly aware of the cold streaks his tears left behind. He shakes as he wipes his own face.

“Fuck.” The word out of his mouth is watery, thick, and you smile up at him, your own grin wet and overjoyed. “I didn’t even realize . . .” You finally laugh and he can’t resist kissing you. Your tears mix with his as you press your cheek to his.

This is the thing inside of him being quiet, being eased, coaxed down and put to rest. The want for you, it’s indescribable. He has you but he doesn’t. It’s not enough. The only time this black mass of desire inside him releases its pull is when he’s coming inside you. When his split soul in your body reunites momentarily with his. When he makes you his. Over and over and over again.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Outside, lightning flashes and you glow beneath him for just a second. This body is familiar because it’s his.

You make me happy, he thinks, so happy.

It has nothing to do with the drugs coursing through his blood, that sits in his cum drying on your thighs, on the mattress.

It’s been two weeks since the last round of press junkets and tours, one week before the Oscars. Chloe, of course, did not come on the rest of the trip, electing to go home before returning to Europe to help her father. At this point, he couldn’t care less. It became easier and easier to stop answering her texts, and ignore her calls. He was already starting his new life with you. After a party in SoCal two nights ago, when he was up to his eyeballs in booze and your tits, he got half-hard thinking about making the phone call to his lawyer to draft up divorce papers. Ecstasy is so much better when you have someone to do it with you.

He wonders if she could see the lie in his eyes when he told her he’d give her an answer when she came back. If the divorce papers will come as a surprise.

In a ring of thunder, he backs out of you, dragging the covers with him, and you shiver, exposed, skin damp in his sweat and your own. Eyes hazy, lips bitten, marks of him everywhere on your skin, you look raw, fucked out. He kisses your collarbone before easing out of the bed to take off the condom.

You’re already half asleep when he comes back to bed.

Sleep is oozing around his bones, making his muscles limp and pliable. He’s seconds away from passing out. He knows you both need to eat, but he can’t lift his eyelids long enough to find his phone. He crawls in bed behind you, the exhaustion a weight more demanding than gravity. He came inside you and all his energy left him. You hum as you curl up next to him. He doesn’t even make it under the blanket.

You say something to him, something that his body reacts to, but his brain doesn’t fully comprehend. Noise, soft, gentle, comforting noise. He wants to hear it, whatever it is you’re saying, but he can feel parts of his mind shutting off, going dark.

Instead, he turns your limp body onto your side, his own molding around you, a warmth he never before experienced expanding from his chest to the rest of his body. His fingers curve around your chest and he thinks he can feel your heartbeat beneath his fingers. It might be his instead.

He noses your hair.

“Never leave me.”

Sleep is a thing he is, not a thing he does. He drifts, untethered in blackness, for hours, maybe days, maybe years. He dreams and remembers and his heartbeat settles somewhere behind his stomach.

When Dieter wakes up, it’s still raining, but the bedside light is on, casting a warm glow over the clothes on the floor, the crushed up powder on the table, the tablets of E by the couch. His come down is making him itchy – he’d love a joint – but he’s more unsettled by his sudden loneliness. Your side of the bed is empty, still warm, and he hears the shower running, sees light from under the door. You’re close by. He settles. Easily, slowly, mindfully of his fucked up hips, he rolls onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, his thumbnail carving out a line between his eyes.

He wants it to be months from now.

He wants the divorce papers signed. He wants you in his home, all your things there. He wants to trip over your shoes, move your purse from the countertops, smell your shampoo in his shower. He wants his time to become your time, wants to carve out hours of the day just to be with you and no one else. He can feel himself finding excuses to get away from his next gig, the next tour, from the next press circuit, canceling plans for parties and dinners, from everything that doesn’t have you in it. Nothing is as important as you are because nothing makes him feel like you do.

He needs you to come back to bed – he misses you. Thunder rumbles and he follows the noise out the window, his gaze briefly catching on the bedside table where you left your things. He spots the pill bottle and his skin hums. Flexeril. He wants to be under a little bit longer. He pops the cap off, rattles two pills into his hand, and throws it back, his throat pliant and obedient.

Sleep comes for him again. He hallucinates you, either dreaming or awake. A fix – love – whatever. They’re all the same to him.

It’s still raining when he lifts his head, sleep sloughing off him like relaxing overworked muscle, but it’s brighter out, the barrage of rain lessened. He has no idea how much time has passed and looking at the clock won’t help. He hasn’t kept track of time in days. Not since Chloe went away.

He’s suddenly aware of the warmth across his back. Your dainty fingers hang over his shoulder as if you tried to hug him and collapsed in place. Grinning, he rolls over, careful not to wake you, and sneaks his arm under your pillow, his other hand pulling you back against him. You smell like lavender and smoke and, wrapped up in his green t-shirt, a bit like him. He runs his nose the length of your neck to your ear – all mine – and lays down, tries to go back to sleep . . . only to realize what woke him up in the first place.

Buzzing.

Blue light from the bedside table.

Blinking through the headache the sound is giving him, Dieter leaves you and the perfect glow the outside light gives your skin. Sitting up, he blinks several more times at the name at the top of the screen.

Chloe.

And he’s missed four other calls from her, about five minutes apart each. She’s never done that before.

Swallowing and easing his feet to the ground at the edge of the bed, he answers her call.

“Hello?”

“Dieter.” Her voice is wet, water-logged by a salty brine. She’s been crying. He glances over his shoulder at you. Fuck, does she know where he’s been? You stir in your sleep, but don’t wake up. Over the phone, Chloe inhales, hiccuping, and then an explosion of words: “Dieter, something’s happened– I wanted to tell you in person but – and I know you said you’d think about it but–but, Dieter, it’s happened and –,”

His head this fogged from his hangover, from the last vestiges of E and the muscle relaxant still crawling around in his veins, he can’t parse out her words, every vowel and consonant flowing and butting up into the next. He can’t tell if she’s happy or upset.

“–and it’s so much sooner than either of us expected but–,”

“Chloe. Chloe,” he soothes, trying to be quiet and firm at the same time. You move again behind him and he looks at you just as you open your eyes. You smile at him and his heart skips. He turns around, trying to shield you from her. “Slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s going on?”

Silence.

Rain lashes the windows behind him. Thunder rocks the foundations of the building. Cars careen through the wet streets below. Your small hand presses against the ridges of his spine.

“Dieter, I’m pregnant.”

Rain lashes the windows behind him. Thunder rocks the foundations of the building. Cars careen through the wet streets below.

Your hand pulls away from him.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” Her voice is tinny through the speaker. She sounds far away. Everything sounds far away. “You’re going to be a father. Isn’t it what you’ve always wanted?”

The phone falls from his hands to the floor with a clatter. It lands just right and the screen goes dark, the call ended.

His fingers feel spongy, rubbery, unreal. His heart beats up against his chest, but he hears it in his ears, like he’s been running for miles on end.

A baby.

His baby.

His lungs suck in air in short, sharp gasps and when he breathes in deep, he’s immediately hit by a wave of nausea. He fights to keep from hurling right onto the floor.

Go, he has to go – has to – his body is moving, shifting, but his knees give out. Weakly dropping him to the floor against the bed frame. The back of his skull tightens and retightens. With every pulse of his heart beat, he feels it in a different place on his body. His ears. His fingertips. His chest. God, there’s something in there, clawing to get out. It’s choking him.

“Dieter.”

His fingers pull at the invisible bonesaw cracking open his chest. “S-s-shut up. I can’t bre-eathe.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He can’t be a –

– can’t be his father –

Can’t can’t won’t won’t – not like this – not now –

He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want it.

This kid – they’re gonna have his fucked up brain, his fear of living, that oppressive, slimy voice that keeps him pinned to his bed for days on end with all the curtains closed – that weighs him down to the bottom of the fucking ocean –

He’s ruined them before they ever even had a chance. Because they’ll be his, a part of him. An unlucky splinter embedded deep under a caustic burn. It’s not fair.

His fingers dig into his hair and wrench.

“Dieter.”

There’s a hand on his face. It’s soft and gentle and he hates it. It strokes his tears before he turns away and snarls, clawing his way up the mattress, cornering himself against the headboard.

Don’t touch me

Your eyes, gazing up at him from where you kneel on the floor, immediately flood with tears. They crack and overflow. They drip off your face.

“So it’s true, then. What she said. It is yours. Your . . .”

Can’t can’t can’t won’t won’t won’t can’t do it

His nails scratch his scalp, hard. There’s liquid under his cuticles.

“What happens now? What are we going to do?” You beg him, your tiny hands clutching at the sheets around the edge of the mattress. “W-w-we talked about – have you sent her the p-papers – I thought –,”

Maybe that weight in his chest will finally collapse and swallow him whole. Cramping until his very existence is crushed under the gravity of a pole star as it dies. He pulls his knees to his chest, his fingers knotting deeper and deeper into his hair.

“I’m going back.” The words scald his mouth the instant they leave it. They taste like bile, bile that rots inside of him. “I-I have to . . . I have to be there for . . . B-b-but n-not now – not like this – not when I-I’m still –,”

There on the table, there’s a chance he can forget about all of this, just take it away a second longer – but he has to go back to – to her – his ba–

“But you promised.” Your serrated voice snares him and tears his gaze back to you. “Dieter, don’t do this. Please. Let me help you. We can figure out something together. You can’t go back. You don’t love her. There’s nothing –,”

“She’s the mother of my child, Natalie. Of course I have to go back to her.”

He almost misses the gasp from your lips. Almost.

That noise. The inhale, the crunch of air against an unwilling lung. The audible sound of understanding. Of clarity. Of the ground finally setting.

You on one side. And him . . . him out of your orbit.

He sees the flash of your white teeth, the sharpness of bone, before you open your mouth.

“You’d be doing both of them a fucking favor if you never showed up at all.”

He thinks he goes blind in one eye for a moment from the rage that burns up through his rib cage. All that blackness that was inside of him since the day he was born comes rushing, pouring to the surface.

“What?” he snarls, lunging down and snatching you up by the meat of your arms, his fingers digging into your flesh. His teeth snap near your ear. “What do you want me to do, huh?”

“Stop, Dieter, you’re hurting me –,”

There’s a loud, angry man living inside of him, that’s lived inside every room he’s ever been in. The things he did subdued the anger, but not the inevitability. There’s a loud, angry man inside of him, and he doesn’t have the courage to pretend anymore that the voices in his head don’t all sound the same.

He crushes you against chest, your nails clawing at his skin, as he hauls you across the room. Dieter shoves you onto the couch, pulsating with fury. You’re crying again as your fingers curl around the ashtray on the table. Your arm winds back and he jerks away the second before you fling it at him with a scream. The ashtray shatters the lamp, electrical sparks flying, clay shattering, and then —

“I hate you!”

“And I hate myself around you!” He snarls.

He watches the words collide with your very being, your eyes fluttering as though he had slapped you.

“We bring out the fucking worst in each other,” he goes on, like toxic drool spilling out of his mouth. “And you fucking know it.” He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Your mouth drops, lips trembling, skin going white, as though you drank poison from the cup of his hands. “You want me to abandon this kid for the mistake of just being born? You want it to turn out like you?”

Tears again and this time he cannot miss the gasp. The hiccup where air goes down wrong.

It’s all wrong.

“Fuck you, Dieter, GET OUT!”

“This is my hotel room–,”

“Get the fuck out or I’ll call the fucking cops!” You shriek.

Your shoulder knocks into his chest as you shove past him, snatching up his clothes and pitching them into his face. The bed behind you looks like a war zone, covered in shards of glass and clay and wires. A great machine disemboweled.

“Goddamn it –,”

His belt buckle grazes his cheek. You’re trying to draw blood. Your hair wild and mussed from sex and his abuse, cheeks enflamed, you breathe as though you gasp around a collapsed lung.

This was always how it was going to end. He’s come to the end of the spiral.

He thinks you and hurricanes share the same sort of powerful, thunderous beauty. The very sight of you glaring at him with such disgust and violence on your face makes his eyes grow hot.

“You are a fucking coward, Dieter Bravo.” You sniff, wiping something from your chin with the back of your hand. “You’re a coward and a fucking liar . . .” You swallow, vitriol wet in your mouth, in the curve of your shoulders, in the unsteady shake of your hands, “and you’re gonna be a fucking shit dad. You have no idea how to love anyone but yourself.”

You’ve done it. Stripped him down to his bare essentials and this is what you’ve found: a copy of a loud, angry man. A copy, blurred and blackened and smudged beyond recognition. And despite his best efforts, the copies would go on until there was nothing left but hot darkness.

Turning away, you take the sweating champagne bottle from the bucket and, stumbling towards the bathroom, you fall forward and lock the door behind you.

That blank, empty door will haunt his dreams for years to come — he just doesn’t know it yet.

He’s still shaking when he picks up his phone.

“Are you in Los Angeles? No. No – I’m not . . . remember the old laundromat off 1st? You have to meet me there. Now. Hurry . . . please . . . please.”

In the blue darkness curling in the back of the room, metallic drums in their square boxes churn, their heating coils humming as excess heat warms the tile, the cracking plaster on the walls. Not a soul insight, but the machines go on, diligent and indifferent. There are the eternal mountains, the infinite sea, and there are these machines, washing out dirt from clothes and towels and bedsheets, and warming the cold and wet and the damp, forever and ever and ever.

He lets out a shaky exhale. Tapping the gray ash into the empty soda cup between his legs, he takes another sip from the cigarette, his left knee bouncing fixed and tight, as he waits in the half-darkness, his back pressed up against the cool window. In front of him, the washing machines grumble, the only light giving them individual edges coming from the glow in the street behind them. He didn’t even bother turning on the overhead fluorescents when he came in.

The cigarette butt between his fingers joins the other three at the bottom of the cup before he picks up the packet and shakes out another one. The metal zipper of his hoodie feels cold against his bare stomach. His knee won’t stop shaking.

To his left, the double glass doors suddenly open, the cool brush of rain overwhelming the heat of the machines for a moment, and a frantic shadow spills through, its head swiveling in a panicked search.

“Dieter?”

Disbelief. Horror. His chest swells so sharply he thinks he might split open.

Heels clacking on the linoleum, she comes into the light of the window. Her mouth smeared bright red, blonde hair down and smoothed around her ears, she wears a black raincoat over silk red pants and black heels. She looks beautiful.

Except for the way her mouth twists in terrible anguish.

“Oh, shit.” Heidi says, softly. “Dieter, what happened?”

He works his jaw, his eyes hot and tight, he doesn’t even look up at her when he says, “you look nice. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

Heidi’s mouth drops open as further bewilderment sinks in. She slowly lowers herself into the seat next to him. The plastic squeaks from the force.

“Honey, do you know what day it is?”

He shrugs, shakes his head.

“Everyone’s been trying to find you for days. The studio’s furious but . . .” she inhales and he knows the sound. It’s the sound doctors make when they tell parents their child has a terminal illness, when parents tell their children they had to put down the family dog, when his father told him he wasn’t welcome in the house any more. “I was on my way to the Oscars. It’s Oscars night, Dieter, and Recovery Road was nominated for best picture.”

The smoke in his mouth sucks out every droplet of moisture. He sees the room spin for a second. “Congratulations. I mean that. You deserve it.”

She inhales again, but it comes through perforated and broken. “Honey, you were nominated. Best Actor. That’s why we were trying to find you.”

He sniffs and drops the still burning cigarette into the cup, his palms rubbing frantically on his thighs, over his jeans, the smoke yanking his guts up into his mouth. He feels the acid burn his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone. I’m sorry you didn’t know where to find me. But . . . fuck, Heidi,” his voice cracks, “it’s gotten so out of control and I don’t know if I can fix it . . . or if I should.”

It’s her soft hand on his back that does it. Like she touched a pressure point that released the festering knot he had become and every sensation within him is pushed to an eleven, everything pushed to the brink, to the very line of sanity, and he breaks.

He leans forward and cries.

The single hand becomes two, then an entire body of warmth as she pulls him into her chest, not worried if he smudges her makeup or wrinkles her blouse. It streams from him, a dam unsealed and imploding under its own weight, and he cries, the wails high and loud and he could scream like this. He sinks to his knees and she goes with him until they’re on the floor, the seat of the chair digging into her back and his arms wrapped around her waist.

“I fucked up, Heidi. I fucked up so bad.” His fingers twist into her coat. “I’m so sorry, s-so, so so-rry . . .”

I fucked up

I am fucked up

I fucked up

I’m so tired of fucking up

She lets him cry out this thing that’s been choking him, grips him tight, holds him down, in the murky darkness of that laundromat, the machines churning and churning and churning in the quiet. He cries longer than he has in recent memory. Maybe in his whole life. Nothing has ever hurt like this because this is the culmination of every other hurt, every other wound. A grief compounded he never had time to mourn.

He cries until it’s all out, until there’s static in his head and his eyes ache and his limbs are heavy. Until, despite the pain, his mouth wet and gummy, he can breathe around the weight.

She waits for the flood to slow, for his breathing to ease, his skin still fire hot. She rubs the back of his neck and he shudders against her chest.

“Dieter.” His own name sounds alien to him. “Honey. Talk to me.”

She hasn’t called him that in half a decade. She uses her own sleeve to dry his cheeks and he turns away, mortified he’d ruin her pretty shirt. Heidi eases him back, resting against the chair. Her hand still holding the back of his neck, he finally looks her in the eyes. He can feel his breastbone bend under the weight of his failure.

But he tells her.

Mouth sticky and eyes dripping, he tells her everything – from the moment he knew you were taking drugs on set, to you showing up dripping and half-naked at his door, to the house in Albuquerque, the unsteady acceptance and balance you somehow agreed to – despite how you both felt, what you both wanted to explore – how heartbroken he was when you slept with someone else, how heartbroken he was when it became clear that Chloe couldn’t wouldn’t understand him because the love she felt for him was never enough to fill in the ache inside of him.

The few moments of unparalleled joy he experienced with you in that cottage in the crescent city.

Joy, fueled and fed and stimulated by drugs.

That was the hardest to admit. That hurt the most.

His hands shook, either from the comedown or the nerves or both. Not a single detail was omitted, a memory misplaced. If he didn’t discuss certain blocks of time, then they were never in his memory to begin with. He wanted it purged from his system, like flushing an infection with saline water. If he didn’t bare his soul now, he never would, would never have another chance to be this honest with her or himself about his many vices, his many addictions. How he thought he loved you so much his heart might burst. How he can’t tell if that love comes from inside him or the strings he uses to stitch himself back together.

What he had done to you in that hotel room. How he treated someone he loves with his whole heart.

“And Chloe, she’s – fuck–,” he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve against his palm, “she called me this morning and told me she’s pregnant.”

Heidi audibly swallows. Swallows down her disgust and horror. She knows what this means to him. Her silence reminds him exactly how fucked he is, how irrevocably changed his life is, and ice-cold, black-dread terror rockets up his spine, squeezing his heart. His stomach claws at itself, empty of anything to destroy. He wants to peel the skin off his fingers.

She wraps her hand around his forearm, pulling his hand into her lap.

“Was that something . . . had you talked about . . .” she stops and starts, plucking at the threads of what she is trying to ask. “Were you trying?”

He shakes his head, eyes itchy from the tears. He paws at his face with his sleeve, huffing. When he speaks, he sounds like he has a cold. “Last time I saw her was at the start of the press tour. She came back, asking if we could fix things, and at that point, Natalie and I had already . . .” he wraps his arms over his chest, willing it all back inside of him. “Chloe asked if I wanted to have a baby with her and that was it. I think any desire to remain her husband just evaporated that day, whether I knew it at the time or not.”

“Wait, I thought you said you were going back? Back to Chloe? If that’s not what you want, then why . . .”

He picks up a piece of that famous Dieter indignance and holds it in his fist.

“I’m not divorcing the woman while she’s pregnant with my child. Besides, if she thinks I can help, or if she needs me . . .” he inhales, unsteady and weak, “if she thinks me being around the kid will make things better and not worse, then . . .” The laundromat goes blurry, the truth of it cracking, splitting, chunks carving up his throat. He exhales and the tears roll down his cheeks. “Then I’m going to do it. I-I-I just don’t want the baby . . . to-to e-end up . . . like . . . me.”

“Oh, Dieter.”

Heidi slides around his back, her head against his shoulder, arms tugging his inward, as if she could take away his sadness, his pain, his shame. They both tremble as sobs wrack his body.

“You wouldn’t make things worse,” she murmurs to his shoulder blades, to the thin sweatshirt damp with sweat. “You wouldn’t, Dee, I promise.”

“But it’s there, it’s in me, Heidi. This capacity to hurt everyone I love.”

“Honey, they wouldn’t love you if you couldn’t hurt them.”

“A baby isn’t going to love me,” he says, softly, to her knuckles around his stomach. “It needs care, support, someone who’s around all the time. And I don’t even know what fucking day it is.”

“But you won’t always be like this.” Hedi squeezes him gently. “I saw the healthy Dieter, the focused one. The one who loves the movies, who loves being an actor. You can be that person.”

“Yeah and all the while wanting to fuck someone who wasn’t my wife.” He tugs on his hair and feels a few strands come loose. Gray, by the light behind him. Great.

“You’re never going to be perfect, Dieter. No one is. Therapy and rehab is not meant to make you perfect, it’s meant to make you healthy.”

She’s not seeing it — why can’t she understand that he’s permanently fucked?

He slides out of her arms, irritated, and curls up by the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“I was in rehab for two years and in an instant it crumbled. Everything they tried to teach me.” He rubs his palm in the divet of his nose between his eyes. “It doesn’t work. Not on me.”

“Then why’d you do it, Dieter?” Heidi asks as she stands, her hands on her hip. “Why do you keep going back if you think it’s pointless?”

“Because I want it to work!” He snaps up at her. “I don’t want to be like this forever. I went for Chloe, for you, for Mark, for everyone who–,”

“But not yourself.” She cuts him off and he feels the impact in his chest. With a sigh, she sits down next to him and drops her head against the wall. Heidi is quiet, observing the hunched washing machines, the spinning of the dryers, and a faint smile breaks across her face. “Do you remember that time we met that really cute guy here, what, fifteen years ago? Dark hair, blue eyes, hands the size of plates.” He nods. “And he was really into cycling, remember? So you and I would go down to that tiny gym twenty minutes from our apartment and join that fucking spin class at 6AM because you were determined to get his number . . . and then once you had it, after months of that goddamn class, you–,”

“I never called him.”

“You never called him, that’s right.” Heidi says as she laughs, Dieter chuckling with her. She watches as his fingers curl into his own hair.

“So, what, you’re saying I have problems with follow through?”

“I’m saying you are committed to whatever you want to do, if you want to do it.” She wraps her hand around his bicep and leans into his shoulder. They’re quiet, contemplating. “I remember thinking I’d die young, when I was in high school. And because of that, I was as reckless as I wanted to be. But then I met Lucy and as clichéd it is to say this, everything changed. Being with her, I was the most clear-headed I’d ever been in my life and I knew exactly what I wanted.” She glances up at him as the rain picks up again. Flat droplets splatter against the window near his head. “How do you want your life to make you feel? Do you know what you want from life, Dieter?”

Fame. Acclaim. Adoration. These things go off in his head as if they were a Pavlovian response to this kind of question, but then they fade, grow weak without sentiment.

Honestly?

At his core, his dark, deep secret is this: he wants to feel the way the drugs make him feel. Like he’s the happiest he’s ever been, or at peace with the universe, or the star of every room.

Like he’s loved. The drugs make him feel like he is loved and whole and that’s what he wants.

And there’s only one person on earth he’s ever felt that way with.

“Do you love her, Dieter?” The question is delayed, muffled against his shoulder.

He sighs. “Between you and me and these four fucking walls, no, I don’t. Maybe I did once, but what I feel for Chloe isn’t going to change or improve. I feel something for her, but it’s not the right kind of something to–,”

“I mean, Natalie, Dieter. Natalie.” Heidi lifts her head, her gaze serious, rimmed with worry. “Do you love Natalie?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t question it, doesn’t add addendums to it, conditions around whether or not he loves her only when he’s high, or not high. There is something there, something deep. Something that scared him at first, but he’s seen you now. He knows that if he reached out his hand, you’d take it. Because whatever is in your soul, it recognizes itself in his. A split soul, into two bodies.

Racing to the edge of calamity.

But then Heidi sits up, takes him by the shoulders and asks a question he’d never once considered, about anyone.

“Do you see a future with her?”

“I . . .”

No.

He tries to swallow around the knot in his throat.

No, because one of you is going to burn out too fast. One of you isn’t going to survive, not the way it’s going. Did Heidi mean marriage, kids, a fucking lawn with a picket fence? He’s not made for that kind of future either but that is okay because he was never going to make it there anyway.

I always thought I’d die young.

Something fundamentally shifts in his brain, as though an old reality suddenly winked from existence.

He thinks about that blank door you locked yourself behind. He thinks of your tears and how he broke you. He loves you, he knows it, but now he sees outside himself. He thinks of the carousel and his mother and the promises she made to him.

“I want her in my life,” he tells Chloe with certainty. “I can’t picture my life without her, even if I don’t know what that’s going to look like. Whatever we are, whatever happens with the baby or Chloe, I know now I can’t live without her. Without Natalie.”

The dusting of worry fades from her face and a crease appears between her eyes. The one that comes out when a scene won’t quite come together, or there’s a line of dialogue that needs reworking. When something is just a bit outside her understanding and she hasn’t quite settled on an answer.

“I’ve never seen you make that face before.”

“What face?”

“I . . . I don’t know. You just look different, when you talk about her.”

“I love her. I mean it.”

She turns away, some personal revelation coming too late. Her eyes are like flints, flecks of hard green stone, when she looks back at him.

“Enough to leave her?” Heidi implores of him. “Because what you’re asking, it’s cruel, to do that to someone. You get that, right?”

He bites the skin under his lip. “Yeah. I see that now. Or maybe I always have and I just didn’t want to admit it.” He’s cried enough for a lifetime, but his throat pinches and the backs of his eyes grow hot. “I just can’t stand the thought of us never speaking again. If something ever happened to her . . .”

“If you really want to stay with Chloe and raise this baby, then you might have to make that choice. Or she might make it for you, to keep you out of her life. Either way, you have to accept that.” He nods, a few drops sprinkling off his eyelashes. Heidi squeezes his shoulder and goes on, “but for right now, we’re going to start with rehab. Get you clean. You’re going to have to tell Chloe about the drugs, but as for the affair . . .”

“Do you think I should?”

Heidi’s lively green eyes dull, the stem of a flower as it wilts. “Honestly, Dieter, I have no idea.”

Before he can read what else may be written on her face, she stands, pulling him up with her. She eyes him with a teasing contempt as he zips up his hoodie.

“You really do look like fucking shit.”

“Yeah, thanks, I feel it.”

She takes his hand and holds it to her chest. “One step at a time, Dieter. Step one, we’re going to get you some food so you sober up. Then we go get your stuff.”

His stomach twists at the thought of seeing you when he has no idea what to say — apologies aren’t enough. “But–,”

“One thing at a time.” She takes out her umbrella as they stand at the precipice between the laundromat and the wet street. Her look is one of hope, a small thing, of uncertainty and promise. “One thing at a time.”

The rising of the hotel elevator syncs with the steady climb of his anxiety. His head hurts, even in the low lighting, and there’s some small part of him that’s looking forward to that white bed in any empty room. Folded up into the corner of the opulent elevator, eyes dark-rimmed, hair long and unkempt, looking every bit the addict he is, he swallows as the numbers in gold across the top of the double doors ding with every floor. His eyes fall to the watch at Heidi’s wrist. She stands in the middle of the elevator, her head held high, a slight frown on the crease of her forehead. He wonders what she’s thinking about but he isn’t sure he wants to know with certainty. It’s six thirty. They’ll all be seated now.

“Thank you.” He murmurs to her wrist.

Heidi glances at him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, his waxy skin. He had been so hurt by her apparent disinterest after she left the film’s production that when he called, part of him was sure that she wasn’t even going to answer. One by one his support network had been cut away, trimmed down until he was dangling by a thread. And yet, she came, without hesitation, on possibly the most important night of her life. If there is anything to be ashamed about, he figures, it’s that he ever doubted her. He should have called sooner.

“Thank you, Heidi, for everything.”

Her expression softens and she breathes slowly. She actually graces him with a smile. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

We.

When he thought he was all alone.

His eyes sting as the elevator stops on the twenty-second floor, dinging cheerily when the doors open to the top, most secluded floor. It’s quiet, all five black doors in the hallway shut and locked. Heidi steps out with purpose and he drags himself after her, hands digging into his wet pockets to try and find his key, if he even managed to bring it.

And then he freezes.

Something’s not right. A sense. A chill in the air. An uneasy twinge in the stomach just before freefall.

Heidi stops, looks over her shoulder. “Dieter, what’s–,”

Behind the door to his room comes a loud thump. A scrambling. And then –

“Oliver?”

Those ice blue eyes snap up as the drug dealer stumbles through the doorway. Eyes bloodshot, skin gray, his immaculate suit is gone, replaced by black jeans and a loose shirt. His hands are trembling.

“Ah, fuck, Dieter.”

The blackness of his irises take up the entirety of his pupils. He’s high, out of his mind . . . and he’s terrified. Trembling like a child, his gaze bounds back and forth between Dieter and Heidi.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Oliver?”

“I-I-I . . . uh . . . look, she called me, and I, uh –,”

“Natalie called you?” Heidi’s eyebrows arch up her forehead. She frowns at Dieter. “What for?”

At that, Oliver’s cheeks flush red. “Look, it can’t be traced back to me. I’ve got a green card and I can’t lose that. I need it – I have to –,”

“What can’t be traced back to you?” Dieter steps forward, his pulse quickening.

Oliver actually whines when he looks back to his old friend.

“Look, I guess I didn’t realize how much she was t-taking. I was already high when I got here and just sort of let her h–have her pick –,”

Dieter’s stomach clenches.

Heidi frowns, still not getting it. “What are you talking about? Have her pick of what?”

“Oliver.” Those pale eyes jump back to Dieter, his entire body shaking. “Where’s Natalie?”

“I c-can’t be here, right now, ok-kay? They’re going to deport me if they f-find out that I–,”

Dieter thinks he hears the shower running.

The air in the hallway thins, a ringing settling between his ears.

The rest comes to him in flashes.

Tattered pieces flung into the air, raining down images. He snatches at them but they crumble in his grip.

Shoving Oliver out of the way.

Pills, liquor bottles, powders on the table. Ones he knows he didn’t leave there.

The white bathroom door.

This is the moment he realizes that blank door will haunt his nightmares for years to come. What he could have found on the other side. What he nearly does.

Your pale hand dangles over the side of the tub. That’s the first thing he sees. It brings him to his knees on the tiled floor.

Shower water pelts your gray face, black lines of makeup streaking your white cheeks. Oliver had dumped you in there still clothed in black underwear and his green shirt, possibly in hopes that the water would rouse you. But you don’t react to the water, or the sounds he’s making. You don’t react to him sliding down over the lip of the tub to you, his hand cupping your face.

You look small, broken and folded like a doll.

He had discarded you so easily.

But there, beneath the flood of water across your skin, he sees that you’re –

“Breathing,” he murmurs to himself, to you. “She’s breathing –,”

The ice cold water drenches his back as he pulls you out of the tub and into his lap. It’s not graceful, your knees and elbows knocking against the porcelain, but still you don’t move. You still don’t wake up.

He drags you into his lap like a lion drags its prey, selfishly, hungrily, snarling.

In his ears, the rushing of blood muffles all sound, everything happening in the room outside. He’s vaguely aware of movement, of running, of someone yelling.

But you still haven’t opened your eyes. He touches your face, fingers dragging back the damp hair across your forehead, and he thinks he feels your pulse slow.

No no no no no no no stop no not like this stop please i’m so sorry please don’t I’m begging you please please please please you can’t go you can’t leave me i’m so sorry please don’t leave me i’m so sorry please wake up wake up i’m begging you

please please please please

He doesn’t know what he keeps to himself or what he whispers out loud to you, arms wrapped around your back, limp head pressed tightly into his throat.

He holds you until the ambulance comes, as if his constant vigil will keep you from slipping away.

It was an accident, Oliver assured the police.

It was just a little fun that got out of hand. His stuff was more potent because it was made in a lab, not off the street. He didn’t remember to tell her and she didn’t know, Oliver said over and over and over again.

But that information came through Heidi’s contact at the police station, a contact that had been in the interview room when Oliver confessed everything in hopes of easing his sentence. But this was third hand gossip. A game of telephone that made Dieter nauseous to think about.

Maybe it didn’t matter why, only that it did. Only that you were hurt, that you were unconscious. That what he had done to you made you do this to yourself.

He watched the double doors from the hospital waiting room constantly.

Curled up in the back corner, his eyes remained glued to the swinging, open-and-shut, entrance to the admission rooms. Where they took you after the ambulance arrived. They didn’t let him go back with you. He was prepared to lie and push and use every ounce of his considerable influence to let him see you, but in the end, Heidi brought him down. Told him to let them do their jobs and all he could do was wait.

He paced the length of the waiting room, in the beginning. Shoulder curled, hands clenched across his body, nails bitten to the quick, he never took his eyes off that doorway.

The nurse at the station initially glowered at his frantic energy, but then something lightened her gaze. She recognized him from somewhere but couldn’t place it. Heidi tried to get him to sit, drink water, but he refused.

Her police contact called her, told her Oliver had been arrested and was selling out his suppliers left and right. For his sake, Dieter hoped they’d deny bail and keep him in jail, away from the public. Away from anyone who might come after him.

Heidi sits down next to him, now that he has settled, with a sigh, her second cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup from the machine smelling like burnt tar. She blows on it in a way that can only be described as calculating.

His sweatshirt dried cold against his skin. Why are hospitals always so fucking freezing?

“Dieter,” she begins but he grinds his teeth so hard, it’s audible.

“If you tell me to calm down, Heidi, I swear –,”

“No.” The word is heavy, cutting. It shuts him up immediately, even draws his dry gaze away from the doors. He looks at her, one of his oldest and only friends, with the coffee in her lap, thin pale fingers delicately holding the sides. Her eyes are unreadable as she watches him. “I want you to think about what you are going to say to her when she wakes up. And she will – that girl is tougher than you give her credit for,” she adds sternly. “But when she wakes up, that will be your one and only chance to do the right thing. The right thing for her. Not you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He chews on his tongue, which has suddenly grown three sizes and gone dry. The finality in her voice, it sinks into him. An ax falling into wood but isn’t removed. Left there, splitting the wood apart and letting the wet molasses ooze out of the crack.

It’s not fair, his heart aches. It’s not fair.

But it is right.

Dieter wipes his eyes as a doctor walks out of the double doors, the first in what feels like hours, and he approaches them in the corner.

He wants to ask, wants to open his mouth, but words have left him. What if it's bad news? What if –

Heidi stands to meet the doctor with an outstretched hand, Dieter shakily rising to his feet behind her. The doctor, a serious man with no facial hair and brown eyes, takes Heidi’s hand and returns the greeting. Dieter makes a fist in his pocket to keep his hand from trembling.

“You’re the family, then?”

Dieter wants to shake his head, no, this isn’t how families are supposed to be, but Heidi nods before he can confess his heart to an indifferent cause.

“We are. How is she? Is she–,” Heidi’s voice cracks despite her stern tone and Dieter’s skin at the back of his head pulsates.

“She’s alive,” the doctor says quickly. He wonders if that’s the information they have to give immediately. Some reassurance that all this time spent waiting wasn’t for nothing. That maybe something out there is kind and listened to his frantic begging. “But she will need to remain in our care for a few days. She’s going to be alright, but she very, very nearly wasn’t.”

The doctor goes on, describing what they had to do to save Natalie’s life. What poisons they found inside of her. What they took from her to piece her back together.

Wasn’t. There’s an alternative in that.

In a parallel universe, you died. You were gone.

But in this one, you lived. You were still here. There was still time.

“Can I see her?” He blurts out, cutting the doctor off from his long explanation. Those brown eyes harden like bird shells when they fall on him.

“She’s unconscious, heavily sedated, but stable. The nurse will show you back, but she might not be able to hear you.”

He nods. You might not hear him now, but you would, one day. You would know how sorry he is if it was the last thing he did.

The doctor waves at a nurse and Heidi turns and takes him into a hug.

“Tell her we’re all rooting for her,” she whispers in his ear. “Tell her I’ll be here waiting for her when she gets up.”

He pulls back, something about her phrasing squeezing his heart, he doesn’t like that he doesn’t like that at all —

But the nurse is opening the double doors for him, expectant.

She’s smiling but her eyes are empty as he lets go and steps back towards the long white hallway.

Your one and only chance to do the right thing.

He follows the nurse down room after room. He can’t bear to look into the rooms through the small windows, to flood his imagination with images of your possible fate, so he stares resolutely at the back of the nurse’s head.

She stops outside of room twenty two and opens the door for him.

“You’ve got ten minutes. You can come back in the morning during visiting hours.”

He nods, her indifferent gaze almost a relief. Pity, mourning, he couldn’t stand to see it. One more crack and he’d break. Shatter and spill like marbles across the floor.

He wants to thank the nurse, but the words get stuck and she walks off, handing him the responsibility of the door as she returns to the waiting room.

His hand shakes against the frame.

You were right. You always have been. He’s such a fucking coward.

Shaking, knees wobbling, Dieter falters as he goes into your room. It smells sweet, the air pungent and cloying. As if dead flowers had been sprinkled over filth.

There’s one light behind you, the curtains drawn shut, shadows heavy.

Where you had been a limp, lifeless doll in the bathroom tub, stretched thin in the small bed now you more resembled a weak, helpless child. Small, pale, ragged to the bone. As if someone had stripped back years of your life, revealing a vulnerability lost long into adulthood. A brush with death and you become humbled, glancing towards the light erodes your false pretenses until you lay bare at the end of time and at the beginning.

You look so, so sick.

His knees give out when he spots the skin beneath the arms of your hospital gown. The plastic seat beneath him all but holding him up right, he lifts the sleeve closest to him.

The skin is purple, green, in the shape of fingers. His fingers. He had done this to you. Of all the things he thought he was, thought he had become, this sort of monster seemed unfathomable. But he was wrong. He had become a special kind of monster.

His thumb trembles as he rubs the bruise, so sickened with himself his stomach churns.

As though pinched, you suddenly gasp awake, the machines monitoring you spiking and chirping. Twisting in the bed, eyes blurry, it’s clear you don’t know where you are, what has happened. You struggle until he puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Baby – baby, calm down. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”

Your hair still hasn’t dried completely and it curls around your shoulders like tentacles. Easing back down, you look up at him, eyes fluttering as you try and focus your gaze. You blink and recognition suddenly sparks across your face.

“Dieter?” You cry out and suddenly your cheeks are flushed with tears. Your pale skin sparks pink as you sob wretchedly. “Dieter – I-I t-thought you l-left me–,”

A solid block of stone where his heart used to be, he pulls you into his lap, arms clutched tightly around you. You’re shaking and shaking and shaking as you mutter,

“Thought you were g-gone. Thought you left m-me fore-eve-r-r. L-left m-me.”

Dieter swallows, his chin on your head, aware of his own tears but doing nothing to wipe them away.

He lets you cry. Holds you tight and strong in his arms and, as he always has been, unable to offer any real comfort. Real support. He offered nothing real, nothing tangible, no promises kept, because he had nothing to give. He sees that now.

You slow in your cries, your wailing, but you’re muttering something else now. He can’t hear it with your face against his heart, so he eases you away, hand soothing your neck, thumb by your ear. Your eyes are closed and you immediately try to nestle into him again, like a kitten searching for warmth.

“I did it . . . it’s my fault . . . I did it . . .” You claw at his forearms.

“Did what, baby?” He tilts your head up, up to him, to the light. Your face is puffy and pink and your lips are covered in tears. They spill again, your skin slippery, as you answer:

“I ruined your life, Dieter.”

In his shock and horror, his grip loosens and that’s all you need to launch yourself forward into him again. Your arms hold him by the waist so tightly it’s like you fear he’s going to fade away, crying again, crying anew. His eyes flutter shut, against the building wave of nausea in his gut, against the soothing hum of your skin against his – this is where we’re supposed to be – against the acceptance of what’s to come.

He lets you cry, perhaps longer than he should but he’s determined to sear the memory of your skin, your shoulders, your hips, your head into every crevice inside of him, stuff himself full of you when he has nothing else to sustain him on. He’s still greedy, selfish, corruptible, when it comes to you.

And that’s the whole fucking point.

“Natalie–,” he tries and it comes out soft. “Natalie, I have to tell you something.”

You pull away from him, eyes puffy and red, your beautiful mouth twisted and gnarled in grief. But there’s something wrong with your eyes, your gaze blurry.

His stomach knots with the realization that you might not remember any of this, the sedatives too strong. Fighting against his trembling chin, he takes you by the jaw, gently, carefully, how you’re meant to be handled and he has done it wrong so many times before.

“Natalie, I’m going to go away for a while,” he says. Your eyes fill with tears, but they don’t spill over. Your mouth twists petulantly.

“For how long?”

“For a while. You’re sick and you have to get better.”

You turn your head, considering his words. “When I get better, can I come see you?”

His jaw twists, dropping your gaze, chin trembling and teeth clattering. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’”

“Why?” You’re crying again and, finally, so does he.

“We’re not good for each other. And I can’t keep doing this to you.”

“Do what, Dieter?” You aren’t sobbing like before, but you pale. Like a ghost. Like he’s killing you.

Inhaling through a wet mouth, he kisses you on the forehead, tears flushing out of the corner of his eyes. Your little fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.

“Dieter, I love you.” You mutter to his collarbone and that makes him let go. Releases you.

Sets you free.

You lived and he still had to say goodbye.

He wants to tell you in kind, try and capture this roaring, expansive feeling in his chest and give it to you. Offer himself on the funeral pyre if it keeps you warm.

You suddenly can’t quite focus on him, the rock of your shoulders is unsteady. Either the medicine is kicking in or the brief bout of consciousness is fading.

“Go to sleep, baby.”

You nod, eyelids heavy, and he gently eases you back, into the pillows, your weight growing as sleep overwhelms you. By the time, he has you against the white sheets, you’re already gone. He recedes from you, grateful and furious and happy and screaming all at once. He gives you one final kiss on the curve of your eyebrow, lingering long after he should, before tucking your hair back and moving away.

His last image of you is deathly pale and alone.

Nurses and staff stride through the hallways, around gurneys and into supply closets. Disembodied voices call out doctors through the intercoms and machines make noise. No one stops him as he walks down the long hallway and through the exit.

The metal handle clenches loudly as he pushes through, out into the dawning morning. It’s purple and quiet and not a soul in the entire city moves.

The rain has finally stopped.

“You’re still watching that?” Dan probes her, his patrol of the hospital slow given how late it is. “It’s just some dumb award show.”

April makes a face at him, glancing down briefly to finish her notes before her shift is over. Her feet ache and she’s looking forward to the pasta in her fridge.

“I worked a double today. If I want to indulge in a dumb show, I can.” She caps her pen and takes off her nurse’s badge. “Besides, it’s not a dumb awards show, it’s the dumb awards show. The Oscars are kind of important, idiot.”

Dan smirks, their banter the thing he looks forward to the most in his days as a security guard.

Neither one of them notice the single man walking past the nurses station towards the exit.

“Did you even watch any of these –,”

“Shush, they’re announcing Best Picture.”

A woman on the stage in a golden floor-length gown, her smile as bright as the lights around her, opens the envelope in her hands.

“And the Oscar goes to . . .”

She lifts the card, extending the suspension in her inhale.

“Recovery Road!”

The crowd on the TV bursts into applause and April squeals, clapping excitedly.

“Oh, please, like you even saw that in theaters.”

April shoots him a dirty look. “Yes, I did! I loved it. It’s my favorite movie of the year – maybe ever! I cried, like, four times. ”

Dan’s expression softens as he looks at her. She can’t soothe the blush in her cheeks quick enough.

“You really like movies, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, ever since I was a kid.”

“Maybe I could take you to one sometime.”

She smiles at him. “I’d like that.”

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