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eempyreall · 6 days ago

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♪ 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝑏𝑦 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑎 ♪

༺ Here, Kitties! ༻

Oneshot ~ Hybrid BajiFuyuTora x Female Reader

Summary ~ Your rich grandmother gifted you three troublesome hybrid cats. Once they become comfortable, they become a little too attached.

Featuring ~ Baji Keisuke, Hanemiya Kazutora, and Matsuno Chifuyu

Extra Notes ~ This is the fandom version of this story. If you want to read the non fandom that provides original characters, press this link.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

You were not the biggest fan of the newly made system of hybrids being sold as pets. A hybrid was basically a human—just with a little more animal instinct, claws, and a tail. They were halflings. If anything, they could be classified as superhuman or even monstrosities, but calling them pets was a reach. They were basically slaves in this society.

You saw them everywhere—well, amongst the rich who could afford them. Even if you were rich, you wouldn’t buy them. It was morally strained and just plain wrong. It was disgusting. It was also risky, as those halflings were stronger than humans. You were surprised the creatures hadn’t decided to take over humanity. According to the scientists who created them, it was a huge possibility.

When you first heard about it, you wondered why those people would even make such a thing, though their reasoning was that hybrids could do anything humans couldn’t due to their lack of instinctual roots. It was stupid.

That’s why, when you received a huge crate inside the living room of your two-bedroom apartment, you were taken aback. You snatched the note from the structure and read that your rich grandmother had gifted you hybrid cats because she pitied your lack of social interaction. Of course, she didn’t write it like that, but that was basically what the card said.

She even provided you with a credit card that she promised to pay off for the sake of buying whatever the hybrids needed. You grabbed the long document that was taped against the wood.

You were informed that there were three cat hybrids in the crate. They were three males who had an established relationship between them. There was a shorthair Burmese, a tiger, and a panther.

You sighed as you began to think of ways you could send them back to your grandmother. There was no way you wanted three grown-ass men living in your semi-small apartment.

You stepped forward, unclipping the metal lock as you swiftly opened the large crate. Your eyes widened at the display in front of you.

Sitting in the middle was a man, upright with crossed legs. He had two slanted black ears that protruded from his long black strands. A black collar was secured around his neck, with a golden bell hanging from the fabric. He had sharp features, eyes narrowing at your figure, while a frown—with two fangs poking from his lips—was plastered on his expression.

His arms were wrapped around two men who were curled on either side of him. The one on the left had short hair, black bangs covering his forehead as his greenish-blue irises lifted to you. He had a matching collar wrapped around his neck, and his blonde ears matched the middle man’s. He wore an expression of caution as he sniffed the air, his tail wrapped over his leg.

On the right side, a man with two blonde strands flowing over his face—the rest of his black hair pulled back into a loose tuft—stared at you with wide golden eyes. One of his striped ears was upright while the other was folded, a matching collar tied around his neck with his tail slowly flapping against the wood. What caught you off guard was the black ink on his neck. Although he was expressionless, there was a coldness to his features.

“Hi there,” you say hesitantly with a slight wave. You didn’t really know what to say, having never been around a hybrid in your life. You’d seen them on social media or at a distance but never in close proximity.

You sighed when they didn’t respond, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Look, I know this is probably an uncomfortable situation for you. Maybe even more than it is for me. I did not buy you, nor did I even know you were here,” you clear your throat before continuing. “You guys are free to do whatever you want. If you need anything, just let me know.”

Their skeptical silence motivated you to continue. “Unfortunately, my apartment is kind of small, so you’ll have to share the second bedroom. The bed should be big enough for all three of you, so… yeah,” you finish before walking off to your bedroom.

You skimmed through the document that came with the crate as you sat at your desk. Apparently, your first move was the correct thing to do, considering you had greeted them and walked away to allow them to observe their environment.

You were supposed to stay out of their way for the remainder of the day while they sniffed around so that there were no risks of an attack. Their claws and teeth were sharp and thick—perfect weapons when they felt threatened.

You face-palmed as you realized you’d have to go shopping for all of their needs. You barely had anything in the fridge, and these creatures were carnivores. The horror stories you’d heard of hybrids going haywire and consuming their owners broke through your thoughts, making you shiver.

Luckily, it had been a few hours since you were last in the living room. You had no idea what they were doing, so you hoped your presence wouldn’t startle them when you appeared.

You push yourself up from your desk with a sigh, rubbing your temples as you mentally prepare yourself. It’s been quiet—too quiet. Either they’re still getting used to their surroundings, or they’re plotting something. You shake off the paranoia.

Stepping out of your bedroom, you peek into the hall before making your way to the living room. The panther hybrid sits in the center of the floor, one leg propped up as an arm rests over his knee. His golden bell faintly jingles as his brown eyes flick to you the moment you appear. The Burmese hybrid is crouched near the crate, sniffing at the air, while the tiger hybrid lounges on the couch, one arm draped over the back as his golden eyes settle on you.

“Uh… so,” you start, shifting awkwardly. “I need to go out and buy you guys food. And, uh, other stuff.”

The Burmese hybrid tilts his head, ears twitching, while the tiger hybrid just blinks.

“You’re leaving?” The panther’s voice is smooth but carries an edge that makes your stomach tighten.

“Just for a bit,” you confirm. “I don’t have anything for you to eat and might need to get some other supplies.”

The black-eared man gazes at you with a calculating look. You shift under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling exposed. He leans back slightly, the golden bell around his neck giving a soft jingle.

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll go with you,” he repeats, tone flat.

“So will I,” the tiger hybrid adds, his voice softer than you expected.

The short-haired man hums, stretching his arms over his head. “Mmm… yeah. We should all go,” he muses, voice light. There’s a glint of amusement in his blue-green eyes as he looks at you. “Gotta make sure our owner doesn’t leave us stranded, right?”

“I’m not your owner,” you say, hands on your hips. “I didn’t buy you, and I don’t want to own anyone. You can do whatever you want.”

“Sure,” he grins in response.

You huff at his disbelief.

The tiger hybrid pushes himself off the couch, rolling his shoulders. “Either way, we’re coming with you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the panther hybrid tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…Fine,” you mutter. “But if you cause problems, I’m kicking all of you out.”

The panther hybrid smirks. “Understood.”

“So, what do you guys eat? Do you eat, like… cat food or something?” you question as you turn the wheel of the car.

The panther you learned was named Baji scoffed in the passenger seat, his arms crossed.

“Cat food? Do you see how big we are?” He kept his gaze toward the window as he spoke to you.

“We prefer raw humans, but fish is really good too,” Kazutora chuckled from the back seat, his claws holding onto your seat as he leaned forward.

Your eyebrows furrowed as Chifuyu flicked Kazutora’s temple, causing the tiger to shout, “Ow!”

“We like raw fish. Steak works too,” the Burmese informed you.

“Okay, cool. Is there anything else I should get? Like, do you like cat toys or scratchers or anything?”

“Goddamn, you think we’re regular cats or something?” This time, Baji’s gaze shifted to you with an eyebrow raised.

“Look, I told you guys that I didn’t buy you. I don’t know shit about hybrids, alright? Otherwise, I would’ve prepared.” You missed the glances they shared while you focused on the road.

“If you didn’t buy us, then who did?” Chifuyu questioned with curiosity, eyeing the back of your head.

“Yeah, and how’d you even afford us? Your apartment looks average compared to our last owner,” Kazutora spoke up, now leaning back in his seat while eyeing the window.

“My grandma bought you and had someone place you in my apartment. I wasn’t expecting you when I got home,” you sighed. “Honestly, this is already a lot of responsibility I didn’t ask for. I was thinking about somehow sending you back from wherever you came,” you say honestly.

“Well, I’m not going back to that shithole, so you’re gonna have to learn how to take care of us,” Baji stated.

You glanced at him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, I don’t have to do shit,” you respond. “What’s up with your attitude, huh?”

“That’s just how Baji talks, Y/n,” Chifuyu said softly. “Also, if your grandmother bought us, then she signed the contract.”

Your eyes meet the Burmese through the rearview mirror. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, that means we’re bound to you for at least five years until the contract expires. Then, you’ll have to renew or return,” Kazutora explained from behind you.

“There are no refunds,” the hybrid next to the tiger added.

“How do you guys know so much about the contract? You said you had an owner before, right? How’d that go?”

“None of your business,” Baji hissed.

You must’ve struck a nerve. You made a note to yourself to never bring up their last owner.

You watch as the hybrids snatch up packs of frozen meat and piles of junk food, tossing them into your cart without a second thought. You can already tell the receipt is going to be ridiculous, and you just hope your grandmother was serious about covering the credit card bill.

Now in the electronics section, you stand by while the guys grab a gaming console, controllers, and a bunch of different games. Your expression morphs into concern as you pull out your phone, turning away slightly while dialing your grandmother.

The moment she picks up, you start explaining everything they’ve been piling into the cart, asking—no, practically begging—for reassurance that it’s okay to charge what’s bound to be an insane total. She just laughs, telling you not to worry about it and to enjoy your new companions.

Chifuyu then asks you to stop by an electronics store to get them phones, and despite your hesitation, you end up spending hours buying three different phones under your grandmother’s name.

Even though they’re grown men, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re some overwhelmed mother letting her teenage sons run wild with her credit card. It’s stifling—but you let it slide, for now. You wonder why anyone would want this kind of responsibility.

“Hey! You assholes better help bring everything in, or I’m taking all of your electronics!” you shout at the two hybrids casually strolling into the apartment, leaving you and Chifuyu outside to do the heavy lifting.

Once all four of you finally get everything inside—and after making them help you haul the crate to the dumpster—the hybrids begin setting up their electronics while you start preparing their raw fish. You follow the recipe of some hybrid owner who’s popular on social media.

When you’re finished, you set their plates on the table and call them over from their game. You leave the leftovers on the stove for them to grab, and inform them that they need to clean everything up when they’re done. Chifuyu raises a brow at you as he picks up his plate.

“You’re not gonna eat with us?” he asks, settling onto the couch, one ear twitching while his tail lazily flaps against the cushion.

Baji and Kazutora are sitting on the floor with their backs against the bottom of the sofa. The plates are set on their laps with their controllers set aside on the carpet. They both glance up at you, ears perking with curiosity.

“Nah, I’m gonna shower, then maybe order something. I only made the raw fish anyway, and I don’t eat that,” you say, scratching the back of your head before heading out of the living room.

It has been six months since you got used to your new roommates. It has become a routine—waking up, going to work while they sleep, then coming home to these guys. The first night, you forgot to tell them you had work the next morning, so you had Chifuyu and Kazutora blowing up your phone with notifications.

Despite the annoyance, it was kind of adorable, so you let it go. It was your fault for not informing them, after all. You didn’t want to admit that you actually enjoyed their presence, but honestly, it felt like what you imagined having brothers would be like.

One night, you decided to read up on cat hybrids specifically. You never finished reading the manual, and you figured now was a good time. It seemed like a smart idea, considering some of the off-putting moments you’ve had with them.

One day, you had a day off from work and decided to stay in. You were sitting between Kazutora and Baji on the sofa, playing a game on the television. Chifuyu was in the bedroom, taking a nap. When Kazutora won, he accidentally scratched both sides of your neck while grabbing your shoulders in victory, exclaiming, “Did you see that?”

You remained calm at the stinging sensation, assuming it hadn’t left any significant mark. Unbeknownst to you, a drop of red liquid began oozing from both scratches. Both hybrids’ pupils dilated as the scent of your blood brushed past their noses.

Your eyes widened as Baji’s hand pressed against your forehead, pinning your head back against the couch while both men lowered their heads, their ears flat against their skulls. Kazutora’s hand slid over your opposite hip, pulling you closer, his claws piercing the fabric of your bottoms.

You froze as two wet muscles dragged against the skin of your neck before lips closed around your wounds. A shiver ran down your spine as your knees pressed together. Your hands clenched into fists as you stared at the ceiling.

Baji licked over his own saliva before pulling back, Kazutora mimicking the motion as they released you. When you lifted your head, you watched as they picked up their controllers and went back to the game as if nothing had happened.

“Um, what the fuck was that?” you asked, your voice a little higher than usual.

“What the fuck was what?” Baji responded flatly.

“That. What you guys just did.” You frowned.

“Oh, that? We just cleaned the blood from your neck,” Kazutora shrugged.

Another time, you were in the kitchen chopping up some raw steak when you accidentally cut the skin of your middle finger.

“Ouch!” you cried, immediately rinsing the stinging area with soap and water. Chifuyu had just walked in to see what you were up to.

When you lifted your finger from the sink, you saw that blood was still seeping through the cut.

“Damnit,” you groaned.

Your attention turned to the hybrid as he suddenly snatched your wrist, both hands holding yours as he brought your finger to his mouth. He stuck his tongue out slightly, licking the blood before circling his lips around your finger, sucking it all the way in while his gaze never left yours.

Heat rushed to your face as he continued sucking the wound for a moment before pulling your finger out of his mouth and releasing you.

“You should really use a disinfectant spray on that, Y/n.”

You understood that hybrids had different societal norms than humans, so you didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you probably should have. You just blamed it on the fact that you had different perceptions of social interactions.

You were confused when you reached a certain part of the passage.

“Heat?”

Your eyes widened as you stood in the doorway of your bathroom. It was late at night, and the door had already been cracked open, so when you saw the light on, you assumed one of the guys had forgotten to turn it off—something that had happened before.

You weren’t expecting to see Baji with his exposed back turned to you, leaning against the wall with the palm of his hand pressed flat against it. His other arm was moving at a ridiculous speed while you heard wet flapping sounds. The end of his tail twitched while his ears were upright.

Your heart thumps faster against your chest as he turns back to look at you with narrowed dark eyes. His lips were apart as he breathed heavily, his arm still moving violently. You both stared at each other before you pulled the door shut.

There was another time where you had woken up to loud thudding noises from the other bedroom. Against your better judgment, you decided to walk towards the noise. When you got to the cracked door, you pushed it open slightly as you peeked into the bedroom.

Kazutora had his head down while his body rocked against the man who was penetrating him from behind. His claws were gripping the sheets as his hair fell over his shoulders. Chifuyu had his fingers wrapped around the man’s striped tail as he thrusted into him, both men glistening with sweat as they grunt and moaned loudly.

Baji had his claws grasping Chifuyu’s face from the side as he pulled him into a wet kiss, saliva streaming down onto the bed as the burmese hybrid whimpered into his partner’s mouth.

You almost gasped when you saw Kazutora lift his head, a filthy expression on his sweaty face as a pair of your panties hung from his mouth, his fangs poking through the fabric. His bright eyes were almost fully black with the large pupils covering the irises. His right ear was flat as the other stood upright. One of his eyes was slanted as the other was wide.

You sighed as you realized how helpful this knowledge would’ve been before walking into all those awkward moments.

As you read on, the document warned you of any possessive behavior the hybrids might display. It caused you to think back on any moments you might’ve had where the list of behaviors occurred.

You had just gotten home from the bar, something you don’t normally do unless it’s the weekend. When your coworker asked if you wanted to go after work, you figured that it couldn’t hurt, as you were feeling a bit more energized that day. You had stayed longer than planned as you got tipsy and a little crossed from the blunt you shared.

When you got home, you were surprised to see the three hybrids sitting on the sofa, awake. The atmosphere of the room was suffocating as you stumbled in, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“Hey guys,” you slurred, kicking your shoes off before you started walking to your bedroom. Before you could make it, a hand snatched you back, claws piercing the skin of your arm.

“Where the fuck were you?” Baji growled as he sniffed you. “And why do you smell like that?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to yank your arm out of his tight grip, to no avail.

“The bar,” you respond with confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you’d be gone for that long?” Kazutora said as he walked up to your side, grasping your jaw as he forced you to eye his sharp gaze.

“Woah, what the hell? I already texted you guys that I was going out after work. Chill out,” you hissed, pulling your face from his claws as Chifuyu walked to the other side of you.

“You didn’t tell us where or for how long. That’s not fucking okay, Y/n. Did you even think about how that would make us feel?” Chifuyu spat angrily.

You noticed that all of their tails were thrashing behind them as their ears were flat against their heads. You could feel the tension rising as they glared at you, eyes narrowed sharply as they looked as though they wanted to attack.

“Hold up. Who the hell do you guys think you are to question me? In my apartment?” you questioned angrily as you grabbed Baji’s hand to pry his fingers off your arm.

It worked only until he replaced his hand on your neck and pulled you almost nose-to-nose, the expression on his face growing more feral by the second. You felt your heartbeat accelerate as you could see the pupils in his eyes growing.

“I don’t like your tone, Y/n. Who the fuck do you think you’re questioning?” He hissed, his voice eerily calm.

You could feel your feet slightly lift from the floor as you balanced yourself on the tip of your toes. You could feel the sweat beading against your skin as three pairs of eyes bore into you.

That was not an enjoyable moment at all. You felt your skin crawl at the memory. You remember the night ending with him releasing you before you rushed to your room. You couldn’t stop the tears as you had never been handled like that before.

You remembered Kazutora and Chifuyu sneaking into your room that night as they held you and whispered how much they cared about you and why they reacted the way they did. You remember shifting your position and eyeing Baji, who stood at the doorway with his arms crossed and a softer, but stern gaze on his face. None of them apologized, but they did purr and nuzzle into your neck.

It was a very weird moment, and you still don’t know what to make of it.

Another month has passed since you had read the manual. Their behavior has still been weird, but not as bad as before. You had a talk with them about their heats and told them to start keeping the door to their bedroom locked. You had also gotten them some supplies such as lube, condoms, and any other safety products to make it all easier.

You had even talked to them about the possessive behavior, and the conversation seemed to have gone well. So one night, you decided to invite a friend from your work over. You just wanted to hang out, but because you had lacked human interaction for a long time, both of you ended up making out.

You weren't planning to go any further, but you had just really enjoyed the way the man's lips felt against yours, as well as the caresses on your back. It was gentle, soft, and mesmerizing. He was gorgeous anyway, so it worked out.

Unfortunately, the door to your bedroom slammed open, and the hybrids stomped in as Baji headed straight for the human male. He snatched him from the shirt and dragged him off the bed before landing a punch on his face. You scream as Chifuyu pinned your arms down while Kazutora started stomping the guy’s stomach.

They continued to beat the man as crimson gushed from his skin, gurgling on his own blood and saliva as Kazutora dug his claws into the man’s ribs and ripped apart his torso. You gasp loudly, sitting up before Chifuyu climbed on top of you and pinned you down again. His hands grasped your face as you grabbed his shoulders, attempting to push him off.

“They’re killing him! They’re fucking killing him! Chi—Chifuyu, stop them!” You scream as he uses a palm to cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh. It’s going to be over soon,” he spoke softly as warm tears streamed down your face. Your screams are muffled behind his hand as you hear the slashing and squelching of the man’s guts being yanked out of him.

Kazutora and Baji are completely feral as they tear apart the human. Blood has splattered all over their face and naked torsos. They don’t stop, even when the man is completely still and any sign of light disappears from his eyes.

The man’s mouth hangs open as his eyes are rolled into the back of his head.

Although the hybrid in front of you is the calmest, you can see the pupils that have dilated as he also gives you a feral expression.

“You’re gonna be okay, Y/n. O—our last owner didn’t make it because he didn’t behave so you just have to relax and listen to us, alright? H—he used us and tricked us and—-we actually really, really love you and don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered with his forehead against yours as you continued to thrash under him.

Chifuyu is pulled back by the shoulder as Baji grasps your face and tugged you forward.

“I’ll hurt you if you scream so stop it,” he says, using an arm to rub against his mouth as the blood smears.

“Relax.”

Your hyperventilation slows into quiet pants as you attempt to calm down so as to not get killed. You feel exposed as all three pairs of eyes stare into you when Kazutora stands to the side of the bed. They’re all surrounding you and it’s suffocating.

“Good,” he begins.

“B—Baji, please. I—I,” your hands shake against the claws holding your face as you tug them. “I—can’t—,” you are breathless. You can’t breathe.

“Hey, we’re going to take care of the body, okay? But I need you to relax for me. Breathe,” he says.

“I'm going to be honest with you. When I saw his hands on you, it really made me want to kill you,” he said. Your face morphed as you sobbed. “Relax,” you complied as you focused on his dark eyes.

“I realize that you had no fucking idea what you were doing. You thought that it was okay, and it's our fault for not telling you before. Now you know that you belong to us. You can't bring anyone home, and you definitely can't touch anyone else, yeah? You know that, right?” Baji questioned you.

You don't agree with the conditions. You feel stupid for believing them when you had the talk about possessive behavior. You didn't realize how deep they were. The fact that something like this has happened before with their past owner makes you fearful for your life, especially since they killed him. You are hysterical and can't really think straight.

“I—I can’t—I don’t—,” you try so hard to catch your breath but you can’t stop panting.

A hand on your shoulder caused your body to jolt as you turned to the culprit.

“Hey,” Kazutora leaned in as he purred, his bloody face smearing the substance against your shoulder as he nuzzled against you. “Let’s go to another room while Baji and Fuyu clean the mess up.”

“Hey, why do I have to clean it up when you were one of the ones to kill him?” Chifuyu pouts.

“T’s not the time, Fuyu. Let’s hurry up so we can go to bed.”

“B—but the b—body? How are you gonna—?” you ask, worried that you might get blamed for your hybrids’ actions.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve killed more people than you think and nobody ever found out that it was us,” Kazutora smiled. “Let’s go,” he says before pushing you off the bed.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been for me to control myself,” Kazutora whispered against your ear as he held your naked body against his bloody torso.

The steam of the shower is suffocating along with the lack of space between both of you as the warm water rinses you both. You feel the lump in your throat as you could feel the hard structure against your bottom.

He used a hand to wrap around his cock before rubbing the tip against your vagina lips. His tail hangs low as his ears face forward. His wet hair drapes over his shoulders as he nuzzles your neck.

“Would you let me in?” He questioned, his voice soft.

“Do I even have a choice?” You question with fear laced in your tone. He chuckled in response.

“I guess not,” he said before slowly pushing himself inside of you.

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silvercoloredskiess · 18 days ago

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In the name of love - Square Guard Lee Sang-jun x reader

Note: It's been a bit since I finished Squid Game, so I forgot exactly how the beginning went. Some of this is just to fit the story. Not exactly the most logical :-P

Hopefully this isn't terrible writing. I tried

Reader isn't implied to have a specific gender.

Have fun reading!

Word count: 1,093 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were one of the very last players alive, after all that brutality of the mingle game, which you barely survived. It was disheartening peeking out the small slit window of your door, seeing everyone in the main room get killed. If only these games had ended after the last game, which was already brutal. But of course, that damn older man leading the big group all with blue "O" pad on their jackets had managed to convince them to vote against everyone's best interest.

However, Gi-hun and Young-il had created a plan to rebel against the administrators of the game. They shared it to everyone on the X-side, and after an extremely long bloody lights-out between the X's and O's, you couldn't bear it anymore. Turns out Gi-hun's plan wasn't too solid.

The guards were soon unleashed to confront the rebellion. But with Hyun-ju's weapon experience and some people's help, almost all the guards were killed. Though admittedly you had absolutely no experience with using guns so you just had to sit and watch with some of the others.

But there was one guard who was left, and they were running for the door. Unfortunately for the guard, the doors closed on them too early. So now they were cornered. Gi-hun urged them to take their mask off or else they would die, so they did. You witnessed it with great surprise; the man under the mask was the most handsome man you had seen. It wasn't the time and place for romance, but you couldn't stop this feeling.

Were you... in love?

No, no. Not to a guard. Who helped to facilitate all of this craziness. But the fearful expression on his face and his stuttered responses to being held at gunpoint made it clear he reluctantly became a guard. You got closer to the confrontation to hear what everyone was saying.

The guard said he would lead the group to the control room, and you followed for some odd reason. Despite the warnings of the people back in the lobby of the dangerous thing you were about to do. Despite the fact you could literally hear gunshots from the way to the control room. You just had to make sure the guard man, whoever his name is, is safe.

It wasn't like you had much to lose back at home. You were willing to do this in the name of love.

You grabbed a dagger you found on the ground and went on your way, behind everyone else who had a gun in their hand. On went a shooting battle between the other guards and the rebellious players. Gi-hun and Young-il were being guided to the control room by the mysterious guard boy.

But you knew something wasn't right. From where you were hiding, you saw a new guard with a gun out, aimed at the three. As if it was out of instinct, you bolted toward them with your fastest speed, and lunged at the boy, unintentionally pinning him to the ground. But you both were safe from the gunshots since you were under their line of view

Gi-hun and Young-il's eyes widened at the sight. Weren't you supposed to be staying back waiting for this rebellion to end? You weren't supposed to be in this if you didn't have a gun and couldn't fight. And they were right. But the boy under you was even more surprised; the poor boy was flustered at how you pinned him to the ground!

You didn't realize and quickly got off of him, telling him quickly that you just wanted to protect him. He thanked you, getting a little flustered before handing Gi-hun his mask so he and Young-il could access the control room. Young-il told the two of you to flee the scene as it wasn't safe. And so you both crawled behind the wall where some other more prominent players were constantly shooting and reloading their guns. No ounce of calmness here.

Once you two got to the lobby, everyone there was surprised to see you and the guard coming back.

"TRAITOR!" one yelled at you, pointing their finger in your direction.

You composed yourself before standing in front of the boy. "He's not evil! I can tell he did the job out of reluctance. Just like how we're in here for the same reason. Let's have some empathy."

The guard boy hugged you from behind, tears rolling from his eyes. You felt sorry for him, and brought him to your bed to rest. Your face was only inches from his when you checked up on him, trying to get him to relax. You even hummed a lullaby to help him sleep.

His face was extremely red. He loved you as well, seeing how much you cared for someone you barely knew. He mumbled,

"Why did you come out and save me? I'm just a disposable guard anyways..."

You sighed, "You're the opposite of disposable. Even if we just met, I felt an attraction to you-"

You realized what you just said and stuttered. You basically just confessed to him!

The boy giggled a little. "Y'know, with how heroic you were, I'm starting to feel this unexplainable feeling too. I know we might not have long, actually I don't even know what's going on next. But I'm glad you saved me. I hope the admin doesn't realize I'm a runaway guard.." his voice turned serious.

"You can change into a player's clothing if you'd like. Just use the clothes of one of the dead players lying in this room."

And so he did, changing in the bathroom and coming out. He replaced the dead player's clothes with his guard uniform. He looked like a totally different guy. He laid in your bed and you cuddled him for a while, some of the players still giving disapproving looks.

"When do you think we'll get out of here? When will this rebellion be done so we can all be free?" the boy asked you with wide innocent eyes.

"I'm not sure. That's the question that's on everyone's mind right now. But as long as we're with each other, I'm sure it'll be alright. We might as well make most of what we have." You stated, hugging him tighter.

"T-thank you again for saving someone like me..." he said again, before falling asleep. You were meaning to ask his name, but you didn't want to disturb his rest. He needed it, just like you did after staying up all night for Gi-hun's plan.

#silver's posts #Lee sang-jun #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #squid game guard #square guard #squid game season 2 #squid game guard x reader #genderless reader

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jim-bones-spock · 9 months ago

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Challengers analysis

I just saw Challengers the other night and the movie is a perfect parallel because it's a tennis match. Literally. The whole movie is a tennis match.

The time jumps are just us moving our heads from left to right on the timeline, as if we're seeing them play tennis with the story. Going back and forth and back and forth.

This allows SO many parallels - let me write them down or I'll go insane. 1. Art spitting his chewing gum in Tashi's hand, only we see him a few scenes later doing to the same with Patrick 10 years earlier.

2. Tashi and Art's first kiss being super cute in a parking lot on a calm night outside Applebees while Tashi and Patrick's messy relationship is mirrored in their kissing (also in a parking lot) while there's a literal hurricane going on around them. 3. The knee injury being avoided by the two guys in the last shots of the game while it defined Tashi's career

4. The fucking call back to the ball at the center of the racket are you kidding me

5. The boys kissing their first prize cup vs kissing Tashi's neck

6. How Tashi says at the beginning of the movie how tennis is a relationship, so every time we talk about tennis we're actually talking about them three and how they navigate their fucked up relationship and only when Patrick asks Tashi not to talk about tennis does the relationship fails

6.5 (UHM also fellas is it gay to moan when your girlfriend brings up your guy bff in bed???? Asking for a friend)

7. The two guys bringing up something unpleasant to Tashi and prefacing it with ''You're gonna be mad'' and Tashi rolling her eyes because she already knows

8. How the end of the movie is NOT about tennis, it's about the guys being equals again and realizing they've been MISERABLE without the other and embracing at the end of the match just like their first scene together after their win playing doubles

9. Also when they play their last match with Tashi sitting in the middle they are literally making out like they were on the bed and Tashi is still in between playing (sexy evil) mastermind

10. T-shirt sharing throughout the years

11. Not really a parallel, but when they sweat so much at the end and it looks like tears ??? Cinema.

12. When Patrick literally drops his racket and catches Art while he wins for the first time against him kill me now

13. When Tashi screams at the end of the match like we see her do at the beginning of the movie when she won - feeling like they've won because they reconciled in a way AND they played some good fucking tennis like she always wanted

This movie is about yearning for the thing you can't have. Tashi can't have tennis, Patrick can't have Art and Art can't have Tashi.

Together, though? They can have everything.

#challengers #challengers movie #m: challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #zendaya #mike faist #josh o'connor #movies

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boy-pussyyy · 7 months ago

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i had an incredibly vivid dream about three mafia yanderes having the hots for the same victim. it's gonna be a looooooong one.

I'm imagining the guys as Nobunaga, Phinks, and maybe Feitan (hxh), or shigaraki, dabi, and hawks (mha/bnha).

tw: noncon, public sex(?), human trafficking (will get to that part later)

imagine you meet them in the cinema during a uni exchange programme. you're in a foreign country, you befriended like two other people who speak your language and you usually stick to those same people.

one day your group decides to go to the cinema but have to split up due to the crowd. you end up in between two attractive guys and aside from the awkward shuffling you have to make to get to your seat, you don't interact with them much.

then during the movie they start getting handsy. the guy on your left slips his hand under your skirt and the guy on your right gropes your chest, pulling a knife on you to keep quiet. abandoning all self preservation, you take a breath to scream but a hand slaps over your mouth, his burly arm almost crushing you. your heart stutters and you wish it'd stop completely, there was a third guy!

there's nothing you can do but sit there as they grope you. the man on your right sucks hickies into your neck while he fondles your breasts, while the one on your left pulls your panties aside and dips his fingers into your waistband, but whatever moans that escape you are muffled by the hand over your mouth. you can practically hear them grin as you start convulsing, the combination of the lips on your neck and fingers in your cunt tipping you over the edge, and they keep going when the pleasure bleeds into overstimulation.

you're gasping and twitching when they finally pull their hands away. the man on your left licks his fingers clean, the obscene gesture making you flush further, if possible. his mouth splits into a grin, and he taps your thigh, whispering a quick "thanks for the meal" before getting up and leaving with the man who'd covered your mouth.

the man on your right stays to help fix your clothing. or at least, he tries to while groping your curves one last time. once satisfied, he pulls back, giving you a quick peck on your forehead. the uncharacteristic action stuns you more than anything they'd done to you and you almost miss his parting words.

your friends find you after the movie, teasing you for falling alseep during the action scenes. but all you can think of are the men's fingers on you and how one had stayed to give his goodbyes...

"see you around, cutie."

(I'll write the rest later, i literally just woke up)

ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

#yandere phantom troupe #yandere feitan #yandere phinks #yandere nobunaga #yandere noncon #yandere dabi #yandere hawks #yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #yandere hxh #boypussyyy writes

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shawnxstyles · 1 year ago

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personal 2

DATE: SEPTEMBER 9, 2023

summary: you can’t stop thinking about your first orgasm, so you try to relieve yourself of the ache. when you’re left unsatisfied, you reach out to harry for some guided practice.

words: 6.6k

requested: a bunch!

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [masturbation, dry humping (?), thigh riding/rubbing], praise kink, dirty talk), language, and two horny best friends

note: this is a new series i plan on writing (but i don’t know if i want it to have a plot or just blurbs)!! i literally have so many requests (what’s new…), but i have a lot of motivation to write this right now, plus i’ve gotten a lot of requests for it as well. i hope you guys don’t mind the delay of my other writings… x PART THREE

bestfriendrry x inexperienced!reader

—

It’s been a week since you last saw Harry.

Yeah, you’ve texted here and there. Maybe if you saw some funny video that you just had to tag him in or vice versa you would, but you haven’t actually seen him. Not physically. You think if you did, you might just die.

The second that you rose up from his bathroom floor after having your first orgasm ever (and mind you, it was mind-blowing), you stiffly cuddled up with him on the couch to watch the movie he picked out. If he seemed confused by your quietness or hardened body, he didn’t say it. Your head on his chest would vibrate every time he laughed at something funny, but it was hard for you to voice some of your own giggles out. You couldn’t focus on anything other than his body pressed against yours, so similarly yet so differently to how it was merely hours before.

From your position, you were able to feel his heart beating, organ pumping blood and keeping him alive. Stable. And that’s all you felt from him; his stableness and calmness. Your heart was thrashing around anxiously in your rising chest while he was just calm. His lively beat was as calm as the ocean waves, so relaxing that you drifted off to sleep before the movie had ended.

In a deep, much-needed slumber, Harry could feel your body loosen up. He didn’t want to say anything, but he could feel your tenseness. That was the opposite of what he wanted to happen. Orgasms were supposed to make a person relaxed and stress-free, but your body felt nothing like that. He could practically hear all your anxious gears overthinking in your little head. He wanted to pry every thought out and reassure you that whatever you’re thinking is fine and that he’s there for you. But he knew he had coaxed enough out of you when you spilled out your biggest secret to him, earning yourself your first orgasm in the process.

So, Harry never brought it up. Not through the funny parts of the movie, the romantic scenes, or even the ads. He just let the air between you guys grow incredibly thick with your silence, but pretended like he could see through the fog. He remained as nonchalant as possible–it was his forte after all. After you fell asleep, Harry let the movie ride out. He tried to pay attention the whole time instead of pondering what you might be thinking, but he didn’t do too well. If someone were to quiz him on the film, he would fail horribly.

Harry shuts the television off and cradles you up into his arms. Your head lumped onto his shoulder like dead weight before you snuggled up right into his neck. Harry had carried you many times before, and even more times while you’re asleep like that, but the way his skin was getting all warm and melty was something he’d never experienced with you. Your nose was right up against his pulse and it made him feel sensitive and vulnerable, but also so warm and alive. It was really hard for him to stay calm.

When he reached his bedroom, he gently unwrapped you from his body and laid you on his bed. He watched in awe as you immediately curled into a ball like a fetus, trying to hold on to something for comfort. After a few minutes, Harry joined you in his bed and threw your hands around him. Your subconscious didn’t hesitate to scoot closer and bathe in his body heat, snuggling into your favorite pillow; his chest.

It was really hard to stay calm.

You both woke up and went on your way for that day as if nothing happened. You had an afternoon lecture that you had to catch and Harry had to go to work. It was alright. Everything was fine. Everything was normal. Right?

But you couldn’t stop thinking about Harry.

Normally, that would never have been a problem. He’s your best friend, so of course you think about him all the time! Sometimes, you’ll see a sign or a poster on the news board when walking to class that reminds you of one of your guys’ inside jokes that you just have to send to him. If he sees something too, he’ll send it your way. You both find it fun and endearing at the same time because that’s what best friends do; so alike and attuned that they’re always on the same wavelength of thinking. It was normal. But the way you’re obsessively thinking about Harry isn’t normal. You couldn’t even convince yourself that it was and that’s saying something.

Your mind kept drifting off to the way everything played out last week. Even when you were in class on Friday afternoon (one week later) you just couldn’t help thinking of the cold bathroom floor and the fiery body pressed against you. It was so contrasting–it was so wrong. The angel and the devil on your shoulders were bickering more than ever, and you didn’t have a clue whose side you were on.

Harry’s assertive voice echoed in your head, almost as if you were trying to remember it. You had never heard him talk the way he was talking to you last Thursday. It was deep, sultry, and demanding—something you never would have known you liked. You’re not even sure if you actually liked that or if you just liked when Harry did it. Well, you don’t really have anything to base your sexual likings on yet…

When his hands delicately touched and teased you, down your stomach, down your thighs, you felt it. You felt it for days after. His touch lingered like a ghost on your skin, etching a tattoo of himself on you forever. It was blinding and fogging your vision so much, you couldn’t even focus in class. The second that your Friday class was over, you shot straight home. You didn’t look at your phone as you hurriedly discarded your shoes and jacket and stumbled into your bedroom.

You plopped yourself on your mattress with a familiar goal in mind that you were never able to achieve before; you were going to masturbate. Now that you could do it, you were going to relieve yourself of this… stress.

It only took a few seconds before your clothes were completely off and your head was planted against the headboard. You widened your legs and watched your lips slowly pry themselves open with the stretch. You swallowed, small anxiety bubbling in your throat. But you knew what you were doing now. You knew how to do it right because Harry showed you.

Oh fuck. You should not be thinking about Harry right now.

A small amount of wetness coated your labia. It was inevitable–the second his name popped into your head, your mind began to not only recall but wander. You remembered his gravelly voice in your ear, guiding you, showing you, teasing you, praising you. You remembered the ghost of his touch that you attempted to replicate with your own, but it wasn’t the same. And of course, you remembered his bulge that was harshly pressing into your lower back, pleading to be helped. You remembered everything a little too vividly, but it made you so wet thinking about it, and it made it so easy to rub the little button that Harry showed you.

Your clit was puffy, swollen, and needy just like you. Your middle finger circled over it with desperation, snatching some of your wetness to make it sloppier. Your breath started to become unsteady as your eyes trained on your pussy, now soaking with your arousal.

This is when your mind begins to wander. You start imagining things that you haven’t done with Harry yet, but were so intrigued by. You imagined getting on your knees for him and taking him in your mouth, so you could finally relieve his bulky ache. He would encourage you, caress you, and call you a “good girl” in his thick, leather-like voice. The thought of satisfying him until he’s groaning above you has you spreading your legs wider and spinning your finger around your clit faster.

Just like Harry did, you snake your hand up to one of your peaked nipples. You found it was difficult to rub yourself while also tweaking your pebbled buds. It was definitely something you needed to gain muscle memory on, especially if you planned on doing this when you got stressed. Which was often.

You didn’t know how often you would get wet though. You hoped it wasn’t too frequently because like right now, you weren’t completely fulfilled. If you had to do this every other day, you would probably be even more upset if you weren’t satisfied each time. You felt that chase-like desire bubbling up inside of you, like with Harry, but it wasn’t nearly as blissful. Maybe the first one is always better than the rest and with each one you’ll just be a little more disappointed as time goes on. But as a shrieked moan leaves your mouth when you orgasm, a small voice in the back of your head is telling you the real reason you’re not satisfied.

Harry isn’t here.

—

On Saturday morning, after sleeping like shit under your shoe, you asked Harry if you could come over. Usually, you would have more self-control, but there was something about an orgasm that strangled and stole any self-preservation you had.

When you woke up, you went straight to the bathroom just to find out you were wet. Again. The word really? spilled from your lips before you could stop it. You assumed that you had some type of dirty dream, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was about Harry. But you’re glad you didn’t remember it. You were hurriedly wiping up your mess and tossing your shorts in your laundry bin. In some type of rush, you took a speedy shower like it was a competition.

Then you stared at your phone, wondering if you should do it. Should you text Harry? You’ve never thought about it this much ever, but one message could mean everything if he looked at it right. What if he thought you were obsessed with him?

No, don’t think that.

Texting your best friend is normal. Asking your best friend for sexual help was normal too. Right…?

Y/N: hey, what are you doing today?

You felt a little nervous. Not because you were texting Harry but because of what your intentions were. What if he felt like you were just using him? Your heart spiked when you saw the three small bubbles.

Harry: I just got off work

Harry: Want to come over?

He knew you too well.

—

The second he texted you he was home, you went towards his place. With every red light you hit, you bubbled with anticipation, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel. Your anxiousness turned into a ball of excitement when you were actually in front of his door.

He opened it with a charming smile, one that you recognized all too well. You welcomed yourself inside and tried to seem as normal as possible. But you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Your mind kept wandering back to that feeling in your lower stomach.

“So… how was work?” You asked, creating some small talk as you plopped yourself on his couch. The very couch where everything started.

That was not helping.

Harry gave you a look, one with squinted eyes and a half chuckle. “Fine? What’s up?”

“What’s down?” You cringed as the words came out, your nervousness shining through.

“Why are you acting so weird? Are you okay, Doll?” Your stomach simmered at the nickname, differently than ever before. You had a feeling that name was never going to be the same for you again. You sighed, squeezing your legs together as Harry dropped himself next to you. His close proximity was nearly killing you. Not only did he radiate warmth but he smelt good—like he just showered in a tropical forest.

What is wrong with him?

“I’m not fine,” You admitted as your head fell in your hands. Harry grew concerned with scrunched eyebrows, throwing an arm around the back of the couch and waited for you to continue. When you didn’t, he asked.

“Well, d’you want to tell me what’s wrong or just sit ‘ere and complain? C’mon, Doll.”

You groaned, crossing your legs. The throbbing between them was so prominent, it was like a second heartbeat. Your hands balled into fists on your side, nails digging into your palms. Harry watched all your movements that you tried to withstrain.

“You can’t call me that anymore.”

“Woah, what?” Harry’s eyebrows jumped, extremely puzzled and surprised by your attitude. You’ve never had a problem with the name for the years he’s been saying it, so what changed?

“It’s—it’s killing me, H! Everything you’re doing is… just killing me and I don’t know why. I think I might explode. Is this what dying feels like?” You admitted, throwing your hands over your eyes again as a way to hide in embarrassment. Harry feels himself relax a bit, he even chuckles in the air you thought was thick with tension. When you hear his laugh, you look at him like he’s crazy. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh but it is.” It was evident that Harry knew you weren’t actually upset with him. You were just innocently turned on so much that you were frustrated. And Harry so happened to be the only one to know your little secret. So why wouldn’t you come to him?

“No, you ruined me. Am I going to be… like this forever?”

“What, you mean horny? Probably.”

“Ugh, I hate you.”

“Then why are you here?” he smirks, patiently waiting for you to confess. You huffed under your breath while your eyes stared at your legs, thighs squeezing together at his cockiness. You were so annoyed at his control, but your body for some reason got off on it. You needed whatever he had because clearly only he could give it to you. “Look at me.”

You craned your neck up faster than you would have liked to admit, glaring at his darkening green eyes. A heat swirled not only in the pits of your stomach but in the air around you both, suffocating you with its tension. After gazing at your appearance for longer than necessary, his smirk deepens, which you didn’t even know was possible.

“I have a feeling…” he starts as his hand slowly creeps towards your neck from the back of the couch. “That you’re unsatisfied.”

“Yes,” You grumbled.

“Did you try to relieve your ache? Or did you just let it build up? Either way, you found yourself here.”

Your skin ran hot. Fiery hot. His hand brushed over your neck and he could definitely feel the scorching flames of your skin. Your heart was racing trying to keep up with your body’s excitement, making your eyes blown out and wide.

“I… tried to relieve it.”

“Did you do it the way I taught you?”

“…yes.”

“Did you feel satisfied?” You took a pause before responding, but Harry knew the answer.

“No,” You were honest, just like before. A part of you felt ashamed again, too. Maybe you didn’t do it right and you were just a lost cause. Instead of looking sad at your predicament like last time, Harry smirked. That fucking smirk. It meant he knew something you didn’t and that frustrated you more.

“So I was right. You just need a little help s’all,” his thick hand gently squeezed your neck, causing you to hum and close your eyes. He loved how responsive and sensitive you were, it lit a fire in him. “So how’d you do it, hm?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, walk me through it. What made you want to masturbate in the first place?”

Your eyes shot open and looked as far away from him as possible. Your body clearly stiffened and got anxious from the question. You felt your hips squirm in their tight position on the couch, begging to move. Your little button was throbbing, so much it was becoming painful.

“Don’t lie. I can’t help you then,” Harry was being taunting and condescending. A tingle sparked within you, urging you to be truthful. You hoped he would help you like before because like you said, it was getting painful and you were getting desperate.

“I-I kept thinking about last week.”

“What part?”

“Um, the whole thing,” You bit your lip, twiddling your fingers.

“Be specific.”

“Harry…” You practically whined, covering your face for the third time in embarrassment. “Can you just… make it go away please? It obviously didn’t work when I did it.”

“‘Course I will, just walk me through what happened first.”

“Fine,” You took a deep breath and put your head up. You positioned your body to face him, trying to speak with confidence. “I got distracted in class and was thinking about…you know…and then I went home. I was so stressed that I just decided to do it, but I couldn’t do it unless…”

“Unless what, Doll?”

That fucking name.

You don’t know if it was from his deep voice. Or from his demanding tone. Or his hand squeezing at the pulse point of your neck, but you whimpered. The smallest and most delicate sound that couldn’t have even been recognized by a high-definition microphone. But Harry heard it, and it made him go absolutely berserk.

“Unless I thought of you.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’ve corrupted you, huh?” he squeezes your neck again reassuringly as you mewl in his grasp, a little less ashamed than before. “Well, you came all this way…”

“Please, Harry,” You delicately begged, trying not to sound as desperate as you were. Because, fuck, were you desperate. With every simple, warm caress of his hand on your neck you thought you were going to suffocate from holding your breath.

“Take off your shorts.” It was an easy command to follow. Harry’s assertive tone sent chills down your spine and a fiery tingle in the pit of your stomach. The same type of tingle you felt whenever you thought about the bathroom incident. But you were never able to dull the flame alone.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to.

Without another word, Harry’s hand snakes down to your waist joined by his other one as he lifts you up and onto his lap. Your lungs deflate, releasing a shaky breath full of your anticipation. Your legs were on either side of his, spreading you open just enough to feel yourself leak into your panties. Resting your hands on his shoulders, you wait for him to tell you what to do.

“Show me what y’got,” his reassuring hand slips from your waist and rests on the arm of the couch. Your expression falls in disappointment.

“What? I thought you were helping me!”

“This is helping you. I have to see what y’did wrong so I can help you fix it. There’s a method to my madness, love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You rolled your eyes. He’s said that line growing up too many times to count. You used to tell him to shut up every time, but now you’re just immune to his cheekiness. The context was very different now, and that line may never be the same.

“Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. Do y’want my help or not?”

“Okay, okay!” You assured, your cunt still throbbing against the cotton of your underwear. You swallowed once the playfulness died down, silence surrounding you both. The only thing left was for you to start, which you found extremely embarrassing. “So I just…”

“Do exactly what you did. Walk me through it.”

You took a deep breath before discarding your shirt. You tried not to think about how Harry was looking directly at your body now without the reflection of a mirror. He didn’t hide the way his gaze lingered on specific parts, almost as if he was memorizing each little detail. If you weren’t so hyper focused on remembering what you did and what he told you, you would find it somewhat endearing (and embarrassing).

With trembling hands, you threw off your shirt to tweak at your peaked nipples, just like you had done yesterday. They felt raw and sore between your fingertips. With each twist came a small aftershock of pain, but you only continued to roll the bud. You kind of liked how it hurt a little…

While one hand focused on your breasts, the other began to slide down between your legs. After passing your torso, your fingers slipped underneath the band of your underwear. The pads make contact with your aching clit, just like before, but it was different. When you did it alone, it felt stressful and rushed. But right now, it feels more electrifying and dizzying than before.

Maybe it was because Harry was here and that he was watching you like a hawk. His mere presence was alluring and intensified every touch. His eyes were trained on your every movement, analyzing and critiquing you with those thorn-like pupils. You wanted to know what he was thinking, but you were starting to get too caught up in your own pleasure to care.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You sighed and rocked your hips subconsciously over Harry’s thighs. He sharply inhales, but you don’t register the sound because you’re too busy making your own. You didn’t notice Harry’s growing bulge, merely a few inches away from your dripping cunt.

Your eyelids start to tighten, screwing shut as your thighs quiver. That familiar rush was approaching you fast, and just when you thought it couldn’t come any faster, Harry finally does something. He speaks.

“Almost there already? You are desperate, aren’t you, Doll?” Harry’s tone could pass as pitiful or even taunting as his hand creeps towards your pivoting waist. But the raspy deepness of it is what sends you over the edge. Your fingers squeeze your nipple while your fingers circle your pulsating clit. All of your movements stop as your body overloads, coming down from the much-needed orgasm. Your hand slaps onto his broad shoulder for support as you quietly chant his name with a squirm of your hips. “All the way. There y’go, angel.”

With some labored breathing, you finally peel your eyes open to a smirking Harry. Your skin flushed in sudden embarrassment, realizing your position. You immediately think to move off of him, especially after just coming in your panties, but his hand on your hip keeps a firm grip.

“We’re not done yet. You haven’t even heard my thoughts.”

“…What are your thoughts?” You were a little intimated, which is something you never thought you’d be by your best friend.

You had some thoughts and feelings of your own. Yes, this orgasm was better than the one you did alone. But it was nowhere near as satisfying as the one Harry did for you. Why was that? It internally frustrated you that Harry was so good at what he did, but a small—smidge little speck—of you was proud that your best friend was good in bed. Well, you don’t know about all aspects, but you could assume.

You should not be thinking about that!

And maybe another tiny part of you was glad to be one of the people experiencing his euphoria.

“I thought it was pretty good. Pretty good for your what? Third time? Well, second by yourself. Could use some work,” Harry tried to be as nonchalant as possible. His cock was raging in his shorts, just begging to be let out for some relief. He’s not going to lie and say he hasn’t thought about his best friend in a sexual way since their sexual intercounter because he totally has.

What he hasn’t done is jerk off to you. He refuses to stoop that low because in a way, that made him feel dirty, like he was using you somehow. When he came home from work the day after everything, he had to call up one of the numbers in his phone to help settle his little problem. Okay, yes, that might seem hypocritical, but he doesn’t care about jerking off to random people or using his friendly benefits to get off quickly. That’s exactly what they were for. You, on the other hand, were not for that purpose. You are his best friend who just needs a little… guidance in the sexual field. And luckily, Harry has a lot of experience that he is (for some reason) very willing to share.

You were just about to roll your eyes when Harry’s grip tightened even more as a warning. He just knew you too well.

“I want to try something. Willin’ to try something new?” You felt the pacing of your already quick heart accelerate. Your eyes were wide and full of wonder, innocence draped over you like a bedsheet.

“Yeah. That’s the point of this, right?” Your voice sounded a little hesitant, similar to the way Harry blinked. You swallowed your anxiousness down as Harry nodded.

His hands guide your hips over onto his lap. You instantly get flashbacks from last week, his warm hands stilling your hips and rubbing gentle circles on your burning skin. But this time, he adjusts you so you’re sitting on one of his thighs. Your panties were directly on his athletic shorts and it was comfortable, but you had an urge to be closer. You needed skin to skin contact.

Was that too much? Too far?

“Actually,” As if he could read your mind, “I’m going to pull these up, okay?”

With a nod, he tugs his shorts up, revealing his large tiger tattoo. You nearly forgot he had it. As your eyes fixate on the impressive ink, you find yourself becoming a little dizzy with lust. Not only was the tattoo cool but the placement almost had you fainting. You watched his thigh muscles contract when he shifted his hips, the tiger pulsing and looking like a great seat.

Harry was going to—no did—ruin you…

Next, he pulled you forward, nearly causing you to collapse on him. Now, your covered center is directly on his bare thigh, lightly pressing against his thickness.

“Y’real warm, Doll,” Harry observes, hands subconsciously slotting their way onto that soft spot of your hips. You felt as though they belonged there now. Your skin blushed, heat bubbling inside of you at his comment. You couldn’t help but feel shy with his eyes gazing at your every move. Legs wanting to close, you force yourself to keep them open around his waist. Just like he taught you.

“What do I do now?” You didn't really know what to do with your hands and it was evident. Harry saw this, however, and threw your lonesome hands over his shoulders. His action caused you to lean closer towards him, faces merely a few inches apart. You swallowed, but your throat was dry, and your heart was running a mile in record time. You could feel every breath fall onto your face because you were in such close proximity. You wanted to kiss him badly. It was strange because you’ve never felt such a pull towards him.

“I want you to use me.”

“What?” You blinked.

“Use me. Move your hips on m’thigh until it feels really good.”

“I…I don’t know how,” You admitted, fingers trembling within each other behind his neck. A soft, reassuring smile rests upon his lips, and before he even said anything, you already felt a little better.

“Just move first and I’ll help you as you go. Do you remember what to say if you want to stop?” he asked with gentleness as his hand curled on your hip, kneading it with care. You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. He pinned you with a knowing look.

“Stop is red, yellow is slow down, and green is good.”

“You remembered. Good girl,” The two simple words made you flutter inside and out. But they also motivated you to strive and really be a good girl for him.

You released your interlocked fingers from behind his neck and bared his shoulders. You took a deep, quivering breath before beginning to move over his thigh. It was an awkward motion; circling your panties along his naked thigh while he just took it. At first, it didn’t feel all too pleasurable. The idea of it all seemed great, but you just couldn’t get into it. A small part of you was saddened because Harry had seemed excited.

Had you let him down?

But just before you stopped to complain and whine about it, Harry’s grip on your hip tightened and pulled you forward. Your heart jumped at the action, feeling immense intensity in the proximity. With the slight lean forward, your clit was pressing directly on his thigh creating a perfect friction from your cotton panties.

“O-Oh,” You breathily moaned, finally feeling that strike of pleasure you’ve been waiting for. As your eyes begin to close, Harry never seems to remove his from you, analyzing every speck of your body like you’ll perish any second. His hand remains rigid and still on your hip, forcing you forward so your clit is constantly stimulated.

“Yeah? That feel better?” he asks in that familiar, deep husk that rumbles through your body.

“Yes, H,” Your head leaned on his shoulder, thighs beginning to burn with fatigue. It’s barely been a few minutes yet you were already feeling your leg muscles giving out.

“C’mon, Doll. Don’t give up now.”

“I’m trying,” You whined, picking your head up and pouting at him with a small pant. He stares at your puckered lip and dares to kiss it. Would it be crossing a boundary? All he wants to do is suck on all your words until you have none left and leave a few marks in the process. Is that so hard to want?

“Try harder.”

Harry thrusts his thigh up into you, causing you to gasp in bliss. It was an overwhelming and shocking feeling; a single, hefty dose of pressure right into your clit and cunt. Harry could feel your prominent heat burning through your underwear and searing through his skin. He wanted to rid you of your clothes and ravage you, but you weren’t there yet. He doesn’t know if you’ll ever get there with him, but recently, he’s been dying to get there. The thought has never even wandered his mind before, but now that it is, he can’t seem to get it out. It’s as if you’re trapped in his mind and sex is the only key.

That sounds a lot worse than he thought.

“Oh my God,” Your whimpers flow straight into his ears, playing mind games with him. His cock has been puffing up in his shorts, but he’s not even trying to hide it anymore. There’s no way you’re oblivious to the things you do to him—at least physically.

Harry continues to ram his thigh up, encouraging you to move around. When he feels your body seriously about to give up, he holds you still and forces you to stop.

“Color?”

“Green, but I’m tired.”

“Do y’want to stop?”

“No, Harry, please, just—I really need you to do something. Anything. I’m close,” Your desperate pleads are impossible to reject. With your doe eyes and pouty lip, he doesn’t even hesitate to make all your pain go away.

“Need it that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, Doll. Just stay still,” You obey him with a grateful nod as his thigh begins to rock up into you again. It was so much more euphoric this way—having him move while you just feel. Maybe it was a little selfish, but wasn’t that one of the perks of him teaching you? You just got to feel and learn your body.

You hadn’t thought about that part a lot. This entire ordeal was you learning more about yourself. For years you have deprived yourself and avoided all sexual activity for no other reason than fear. Fear of judgment, fear of awkwardness, fear of trust, fear of vulnerability—sex was a huge thing for you. Now, you’re doing things you never could have imagined yourself doing, and you’re doing them with the last person you’d expect; your best friend. But in the strangest and most bizarre way, you couldn’t see your firsts being held by anyone other than Harry. Would you tell him that? Probably not. That might be taken a different way than you mean, and then drama would ensue and that’s not at all what you want.

But what did you mean by it?

“Are y’close? I can feel you clenching on me,” his voice rasps near your ear, sending a shudder throughout your body. You hum a high-pitched sound, seemingly pleasing him. “‘About to come in y’panties? Never thought you’d do that, huh?”

“Mhm,” You hummed again, this time biting your lip as your stomach churned in pleasure. “Touch me, God, please.”

“Are you saying I’m God? ‘Cause that is a great compliment—”

“You’re such an—” he places his lips on your neck, suckling on the spongy part under your ear. You shiver, shutting up immediately. Every word and thought has left you completely, fizzling into the nonexistent. You don’t know if he put his lips on your neck like this last time, but it made you putty on top of him. “Why does that f-feel so good? Please, Harry, I’m right there.”

“‘Cause I’m doing it. Little baby just needed help s’all. That’s right, huh? Say it. Say you needed my help, baby.” Why his words make you feel the way you feel will forever be an unsolved phenomenon to you. There’s a juxtaposition between pain and pleasure and degradation and praise. When he puts you down, he makes sure to pick you right up again, and it might seem toxic, but it was just Harry, and you knew deep down it was all an act. And you liked that.

“I-I needed you, Harry,” A whine fell from your lips, tearing through your throat.

You liked that none of it was deeply serious and you could be what you wanted without the fear of judgment, fear of awkwardness, fear of trust, fear of vulnerability—everything you needed for comfort was there. It was here with Harry. It might all be some type of act, but it felt real. Realer than any other relationship you’ve had.

“C’mon me, Doll.”

You felt his warm hand travel from one hip to your torso. Just the mere feeling of his presence getting lower towards your center sent you over the edge. It was quite embarrassing how his simple touch was all you needed to be folded and whipped, but you couldn’t help it. You were so sensitive as a beginner and, on top of it all, so needy and greedy for it. Harry adored that though.

Your orgasm soaked through your cotton panties, while some of the residue landed on Harry’s thigh. An ever-growing smirk was plastered on his face as your heated face finally reentered reality. You quietly gasped when your awareness finally slipped through the orgasmic fog, realizing the mess you made.

“Look at tha’, Doll. Was that better for you? More satisfying?”

“Yes. Thank you, Harry,” You answered wearily, suddenly being slapped with post-orgasm fatigue. The lingering burn in your muscles told you that you were going to be sore tomorrow, but you were too blissed-out to care.

“Don’t be so formal. S’weird,” You rolled your eyes at him. Again, he’s great at ruining a sweet moment. Sexual Harry versus friend Harry were two different people, but you appreciated both. It was just the sharp switches he makes between transitions that makes your head spin with confusion. Harry, your friend, was loud and cocky with a mixture of kindness. Harry, your sexual teacher, was demanding and precise with a mixture of softness. Both comforted you in a way that you hoped you would find in a partner one day; he was the perfect example.

Recognizing him this way really put things in perspective for you–Harry really was teaching what you wanted. And like he said before, maybe you didn’t need to worry about a husband right now. You should be focusing on what you want and that might take some experimenting. Training with Harry was preparing you for that experiment phase. That’s exactly it.

When you take a breath, you’re reminded of how compressed you are to him. You’re comfortable and cozy when you’re this close, and it just felt right. You don’t remember if you’ve always felt like this, but it would make sense if you have. He’s your best friend, of course.

But of course, the moment ends way too soon, and Harry is lifting you off of his lap. He places you beside him on the couch before standing up.

“I’ll go start you a bath and get you some clothes,” Harry leaves for the bathroom, the opposite of last time. Based on the last two times, to you it seems like he leaves too quickly. You never get to fully absorb the aftermath and internalize its meaning. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe Harry knows that if he allowed you the time, you would overthink until you self-destructed and eventually never speak to him again.

You don’t think you could ever do that.

So, like anything you’ve ever done, you’re left alone to analyze the situation. You were aided when you were desperate and Harry was able to mend that ache. But what did that do for him? What was Harry getting out of this arrangement? Was it even an arrangement or just best friends who occasionally do sexual things? Was he doing all of this for you just because he wanted to show you the ropes?

You’re still well-aware of your lack of reciprocation. Out of the two times he’s helped you out, you haven’t been returning the favor. There is this unspoken understanding that everything is about you and that Harry wouldn’t involve himself because what would that teach you? Without him saying anything, you know that Harry doesn’t want you to think that he’s using you for his own pleasure. But at this point in your friendship, you know he wouldn’t do such a thing. Besides, if he needed to have sex that critically, he could just call someone, right? It’s easy to “get some” when you’ve already had it.

Your point being, why haven’t you offered to return the favor? If you did, maybe Harry could give you some pointers and tell you what to do, just like all of the other times. Not only would you know what feels right and pleasurable, but you’d know how to make your partner feel just as positive. Plus, he would be getting pleasure out of it, too. That sounds like a win-win in your book, and probably in Harry’s. But would that be crossing the unspoken boundaries of your friendship? You’ve already traversed through enough together, but how far was too far? Was he basing the limits off of you?

If so, he won’t mind one more session, right?

—

thank you all so much for being patient with me 🩷 i hope this suffices you! part 3

taglist: @pishhhh20989 @harrysslut7 @kathb59 @chronicallybubbly @clarap23 @mrsstylesss @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #harry styles #harry styles smut #fratrry #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fan fics #harry styles fluff #bestfriend!harry #harry styles the album #harry styles fine line #harries #fine line #love on tour #harry styles gif #harry styles fic #tpwk #treat people with kindness

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kquil · 1 year ago

Note

How about the marauders meeting their match in reader from Slytherin and falling for her, but reader is oblivious?

Btw i love your writing, you're literally my favorite writer

PERFECT MATCH

I tried! it's not my best work but i hope you like it anyhow, darling

i also hope i interpreted this request correctly (┳Д┳)

length : 0.8k

You go barrelling into James’s chest with a yelp and take a moment to recover, “oops! Sorry about that!” you grin up at the Gryffindor chaser as he and his three other friends stare down at you in bewilderment. Most Slytherins would scoff or pull a disgusted face at the sight of a Gryffindor so your apparent and undisturbed rapture was bewildering.

“GET BACK HERE YOU DAFT COW!” It was then that they finally saw the merriment be wiped from your face and get replaced by slight terror.

“gottarunbye!” you push away from James’s chest and speed away as the marauders stare at you, still bewildered at what they just witnessed. Not long after you made your prompt exit did a group of Slytherins go run past them with warts all over their faces.

“Wow…” Sirius whistles lowly, impressed by your handiwork, “Rosier, Macmillan, Lestrange, Malfoy and Nott too,”

“To her own house as well,” James voices in shock.

“Somehow, I hope she gets away with it,” Remus tucks his hands into his pockets as he smirks at his friends.

“Me too,” Peter pipes in, “I was partners with her in Potions once, she was civil, friendly even but still guarded,” the boys listened to his observations closely, even leaning in to do so, “I thought she was just shy but…”

“Interesting…” Remus hums to himself, speaking what was on everyone’s minds.

The next time they see you is during charms. The room was circular and the podium for the teacher to explain spells and communicate openly with the students was in the centre, while the students were seated all around and at different levels, much like a circular theatre. From their side of the room, James, Sirius and Remus watch as you snicker to yourself, using the ‘wingardum leviosa’ charm to sneakily move the quill of the Slytherin in front and below you from their right side to their left, then back again when they found it but didn’t have use for it at that moment.

Sirius giggles along with you when you make eye contact across the room. You wink at him and mouth a ‘watch this’. He focuses his gaze on the scene and has to hold back a devious cackle when you momentarily transfigure the quill into a spider just as the Slytherin student went to reach for his ‘quill’. This pulls a piercing, girlish scream out of your victim but when the professor swiftly turns to see what was wrong, you had already turned the spider back into a quill again. Promptly, Slytherin was deducted house points for causing a disruption in class — a small price to pay.

“She’s my new idol,” Sirius sighs with his chin propped up on his palm, a dreamy look in his eyes, “forget her being a Slytherin,”

You meet eyes with Sirius once more, who silently claps for you as you pretend to tip a hat at him. Looking down you see James with his jaw slacked and mouth open at you in awe. He couldn’t believe how brilliant you were and his mind was racing with thoughts of whether he should try to compete against you or celebrate your small but remarkable victory. So caught up in his admiration of you, James overlooked the elegant swish of your wand and almost screamed in fear when he felt something ticking his chin. Abruptly pulling away with force, he watches as his feathered quill slowly floats down to his desk, beside his parchment.

“She tickled me…” James awes, “with my quill…”

“She’s a pretty little minx, is what she is,” Sirius comments with a chuckle, unable to take his eyes off your sweet face and pouty lips. Beside his two friends, Remus stares at you with a captivated gaze and can’t seem to keep his eyes away for too long when they have to return to taking notes for class. You became a prominent distraction for Remus, leaving Peter to seek help from the student seated on his other side, who wasn’t much good either.

After some moments, Remus looks up at you only to make brief eye contact with him, which he embarrassingly, swiftly pulls away from. He looks at you several more times, still avoiding your gaze, until he catches you folding up a small piece of paper. He proceeds to stare in fascination as you create an origami bird that you gently breathe life into, sending it across the classroom to him, flapping its delicate wings for flight. The dainty bird lands gracefully on his parchment, where it falls lifelessly. Meeting your eyes again, you subtly signal him to unfold it and read the message written inside while Sirius and James lean over to have a read for themselves.

‘Who’s more ticklish between you and Sirius?’

The question makes Remus look up and stare at you with a raised brow. However, the sight of your impish smirk as you twirl your wand between your fingers makes his heart hammer in his chest frantically. The brunette turns to James who was holding in his laughter and trying to hide his grin behind a closed fist.

“Looks like you two are next,” the Gryffindor chaser chuckles under his breath as Sirius and Remus share a look before gulping apprehensively. They look at you with tense shoulders, nervous eyes and butterflies in their stomachs.

#james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #poly marauders x reader #hp marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #☀︎ : 1k milestone #☀︎ : 1k #🍪 : cookie 1k #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin

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ravensmadreads · 1 year ago

Text

Part Two + Epilogue

A/N: this is an approximation of what I envisioned reader wearing the night of the premiere. the monologues come from the works of elena jacobs and lemony snicket.

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 1 | that's all folks!

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NOVEMBER

Snow had come hesitantly to the city. Sprinkling down and melting against the black tar like salt in soup, the weather seemed unable to make up its mind. That nasty wind would flush down narrow alleyways, snagging up unsuspecting hats and everything not firmly held down, bringing with it that biting cold. This late in the season, the gorgeous bloom of golds and reds fluttering in trees was gone, torn down by that spiteful wind. The gnarled, brown bodies of leaves littered the streets, drain pipes swallowing them down when that first drift of snow melted into gray water. New York was fighting an oncoming winter, sinking its heels in and rejecting the inevitable. Everyone else just wished it would pick a side.

You know you’re not, not really, but sometimes you feel it: old. At thirty-two, things tend to crack a little louder than they used to. Hangovers lasted two days, not two hours, and how you used to live your life with only hours of sleep for weeks at a time completely baffles you. Sure, it was probably a lot of coke, but god, these hours are going to kill you.

Production for Andrew’s play is in full swing. Some days you never leave the back side of the curtain, too entrenched in building, then painting the forty-two foot moveable walls. Between you and the rest of the tech crew, you had managed to solve the weight problem: because of its light-weight nature, the walls had a tendency to fall forward or back, basically the opposite direction of where they were pushed. But late last Thursday, with a few bolts from a nail gun, a couple of thick screws, and several PVC pipes, the walls stabilized. A collective, exhausted cheer went up, some moved to tears after hours of frustration. After that the crew went home . . . and you went to open the gallery.

Marie helps as much as she can. Opening early when you can’t and closing late when you have passed out in your office chair. But as financial manager and co-owner, she has her own responsibilities. Hands to shake and meetings with potential buyers and artists. She’s taken over much of the front-facing work associated with running a gallery, as you had both agreed when you agreed you’d handle Andrew’s project, but there’s still so much to do. Opening night looms large in your mind and you are simultaneously excited and horrified. Once it's over, you plan on sleeping for two weeks straight.

There are some bright spots, though. Your crew is a bunch of college kids from NYU interning, but they teach you about the world of TikTok outside of being the marketing arm for the gallery and whatever the fuck flossing is. You overheard one of them call Dieter, “girl dinner” and you absolutely knew better than to ask what that meant. They’re funny and curious and love to learn. Gives you hope for this goddamn world.

And then, there’s the opportunities you get to see bits of the show before anyone else. When rehearsals are on, the building stops, quiets for a few minutes. Like ants, the stagehands scurry out into the seats, relieved to have nothing to do for a bit, and eager to see where all their hard work is going.

You find your place at the far back of the house, out of the lights of the stage, and you watch him. And he’s good. He’s so fucking good it makes your heart twist in your chest. The rest of the cast is great in their own right, but your eyes remain glued to him and him alone. His performance is magnetic. You feel it in your bones. You could watch him on a stage for the rest of your life. You don’t miss acting, but you do miss having him as a scene partner.

For what it’s worth, he never looks at Emily longer than he has to.

You twist your wrist, growling at the pain, the muscle in your forearm cramping like it always did when you overworked yourself painting. With the walls built, that left only the actual artwork to be done and if your team were master carpenters, master artists they were not. You set them to work painting the base layer, but it was on you to bring those designs Andrew approved to life.

You are sweaty, hungry, and every time you move, something else hurts. By your watch, it’s close to seven and Andrew usually lets the cast go home around seven thirty. You’re a more benevolent overlord; you let your team go around seven fifteen.

But at seven on the dot, the black curtain moves back and several members of the cast head towards the back door, animatedly chatting amongst themselves. Like wildfire, some gossip spreads from the cast to the crew, eyes lighting up and suddenly reinvigorated.

“What are they talking about?” You ask Liam, one of the stagehands, who shrugs.

“No idea, but –,”

“Andrew is giving us the weekend off!” Sarah in her too big overalls comes bounding over, practically vibrating. “He’s hosting a party at Shandy’s.”

Shandy’s is actually three different venues built into one like legos. In the center was an open air stage. If live music wasn’t playing, then the latest sports game played on the high definition screen. On the right was a bar, aptly in the style of an old tiki lounge. And on the left, was a low-maintenance seafood bar and grill: fish and chips, fried oysters, and hush puppies. It sounded fun but you never much had the inclination to go sniffing your nose around temptation.

“You’re coming, right, Natalie?” Sarah asks excitedly. But the idea that you have a second of free time to yourself, much less to spend it with drunk people, is laughable.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Sarah. There’s gallery stuff – Marie hasn’t had a break in weeks and –,”

“You hear the good news?” Dieter’s delighted tone splits apart your little trio and he comes loping over with a grin on his face. “We’ve got the weekend off.”

“Hell yeah!” Liam pumps his fist. “But Natalie here doesn’t wanna come to the party at Shandy’s.”

Dieter’s face falls. “Why not?”

You frown, not feeling like you need to explain yourself to a bunch of college students, or Dieter himself for that matter. You stand up, mindful of the tension in your lower back, and wipe the paint on your hands on your overalls. After working with you for several weeks, Sarah’s bright enough to pick up on your irritation simmering low.

She eyes him as she steps forward. “We’re gonna head out for the night, if that’s okay?”

You nod at the both of them, your mouth still twisted into a frown.

“I have a job outside of this,” you huff at Dieter, as the kids scurry away. “A busy full time job and I just can’t –,”

“What if I pick you up?” Dieter asks. How, after all these years, could he still make you feel like you are the only person in the room? “Andrew’s also doing a bunch of events for the out-of-towners, and the last stop before dinner is a bar. Which I’d like to avoid for obvious reasons. So lemme meet you at the gallery and take you to the dinner.” He smiles relaxed.

“I just don’t know, Dieter.”

“Bring Marie,” he says simply. “You both have earned a night off. I’ll pick you both up and take you back after dinner. I’ll help you mail invoices, if you’d like.”

Knowing exactly what his ADHD does to his brain with numbers, you shake your head, giving up the ghost and grinning. “That’s really not necessary, but, um, I’ll think about it. Lemme talk to Marie and see what she thinks.”

He nods, watching as the backstage empties out. Less people, less noise. Dieter’s mouth twitches.

“I can help you with painting too. You and I both know I’ve got a shit head for numbers, but this, I think I can do. With a little direction.”

He flashes you a smile and you inject your thumbnail into your closest finger.

“Um, maybe? I’m exhausted right now and probably shouldn’t be making any executive decisions.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

Your chest swells at his sincerity. “Just to the subway stop if you don’t mind.”

To your enormous (disparagingly, staggeringly large) surprise, Marie actually agrees.

“I’ve been staring at excel spreadsheets so long I think I’m going cross-eyed,” she says from behind the office desk you share that next morning. She massages her eyeballs with the heel of her palm. “We’re in a good place with the fundraiser announcements for the holidays and there aren’t any upcoming tours we have to schedule.”

You know this, but you let her talk through it outloud, hoping she’ll stumble across something that’ll make her change her mind. But she doesn’t.

She shrugs. “Tell him I’ll buy him dessert if he gets a car with heated seats.”

After your initial confrontation at your brownstone, Marie had seemingly changed her stance on having Dieter around. While she wasn’t about to offer to him to stop by, she most likely wasn’t still considering murdering him in his sleep. You wonder if it had anything to do with his consistent concern about your wellbeing – making sure you ate breakfast at those six AM calltimes and walking you home at night in the freezing cold, despite your protests. He even made the very risky joke that Daddy’s visitation hours were over and it was time to return you to Mommy . . . in front of Marie. And again to your enormous surprise, she laughed.

It was progress. Progress towards what, you weren’t entirely sure.

You smile at your friend, gray eye bags and all. Maybe this is the universe’s way of sending its approval; yes, this is okay to want.

“I’ll call him later today.”

It’s the last tour on a Friday before a long weekend. Meaning, none of the students are paying attention and a few appear asleep on their feet. You go on with your explanation of brushwork, of pattern recognition, that artists' use of color is almost as distinctive as their signature. You sound boring even to yourself, your quips falling flat and references feeling awkwardly outdated. Nothing could rouse these zombies and their glassy-eyed stares. The herd shuffles along as you take them to the charcoal exhibit.

This actually has you excited, charged even. You talk about the care that using this particular medium requires, that there are so rarely do-overs and mistakes are costly. The artist must be precise with their vision, focused, and above all else, determined.

Your impassioned speech for the arts wakes up no one and you fight back a frown.

Jesus Christ, gimme something to work with.

As you try and remember the next part of your tour, something beyond the crowd of students moves. You’re halfway through describing past and present famous artists who worked with charcoal, when you catch his eyes.

Dieter leans up against one of the white walls, a real one, not a hanging salon wall, his arms crossed and his converse notched against his ankle. You expect a smirk, a tease, so this is what you get up to when I’m not around, but whatever is on his face its not that.

It’s . . .

He’s smiling.

Like he’s proud of you.

You attempt to stifle the blush erupting up your face as you turn back to the artwork. If the students can catch the tremble in your voice, they don’t say anything.

Through the glass window, you see their bus pull up and stop by the curb, a beautiful glowing miracle.

“And that’s the end of our tour,” you say quickly. “Thank you for coming on this tour. Feel free to browse the gift shop, but you are free to go. ”

You don’t physically shoo them out the door, but your fingers clench just the same.

“You’re good.” Logically, you know you didn’t hear him coming, didn’t smell his cologne. But you sense him all the same. You don’t jump at his voice suddenly at your shoulder. You turn and smile back at him, throwing your hip out dramatically.

“Had some practice acting in front of crowds before. Maybe you’ve seen my work?”

He shrugs, swinging his hands into that tan coat – which he wouldn’t let you pay to get drycleaned – as he looks around the gallery.

“Maybe, I have,” he sniffs, “don’t get a big head about it.”

You laugh as he wanders back as though drawn to the art. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your contribution and curse yourself for not tearing it down when you had the chance.

You sidle up next to him, hoping that if he got that far, you could deter his attention elsewhere. But he doesn’t notice your anxiety, your worrying ball of fear. Instead, he’s quiet, mouth soft, eyes slow to move across the exhibits.

“You know, you always were braver than me.” Your heart catapults into your throat, gaze wrenching away from your dark secret to him, to his face, to search desperately for a hint of a lie.

“W-what do you mean?”

“This, all of this,” he swings his hand out either to indicate the rest of the artwork or the building itself, “it’s so fucking incredible, Natalie. I let you see one painting of mine and I wanted to die from embarrassment. But this . . . you . . .” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do this.”

“Do you still paint?”

There are flashes in your memory, more feelings than anything else, of that time in New Orleans. You’ve told your therapists as much as you can remember about it, about the drugs you took with him, how quickly it spiraled out of control. And then comes the most painful thing to admit: it was the first and only time in your life you felt truly happy. Having Dieter all to yourself was a bright spot that nothing, not even time, or anger, or heartbreak could ever extinguish.

And in those flashes of memory, you remember waking up and watching him paint gorgeous things on those green walls. Watching him paint on you.

Your heart aches, throbbing for just a minute. He’s been back in your life for months now, and you’re still convinced he’ll vanish the second you’re not looking.

Dieter nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a stress reliever than anything else.”

“I get that. I tried out ceramic work before I found out I’m complete shit at it. But it felt good to punch something gooey.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, adding, “moved on to painting giant murals after that. Pollock would have been proud.”

He follows you as you lead him back, into the long and winding guts of the gallery.

“I tried a lot of things after . . . after rehab. Not a lot stuck, but at least I wasn’t choking on my own feelings anymore.”

Your unconscious feet have brought you to the red painting your other tour group pointed out. It’s big, pulsating red, black specks invading the scarlet colors like an infection.

“Lots of love and nowhere to put it,” he murmurs to the painting.

His curls are just as lush, just as beautiful as they are on your charcoal sketch. As they are in your memories. God, his neck, his fucking neck –

He catches you staring and grins bashfully. “Sorry, what you said reminded me of that scene in Fleabag. When she confesses to the tax guy.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat, nodding your only possible action. And then he turns and you feel your knees buckle.

“Did you paint because of me?” The brown in his eyes is soft, overwhelming. Seizes you and nails you to the floor. The noise that would leave your mouth if you open it would come directly from your heart.

The gallery is quiet, empty. Silent as a church.

But then he steps back, resetting the distance between you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m crossing a line here and –,”

“Yes.” It’s gentle, quiet, your admission. Your confession. “Yes. You said you picked it up in rehab and I . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see if it helped me too.”

He worries his lip, his hands fidgeting in his pocket. “And did it help? Painting?”

You huff and cross your arms as you stare up at the art you made with so much unhinged rage and painful love pouring out of you. You had been sure your tears were going to ruin the paint.

“Yeah. It did. Unfortunately, your fucked up matched my fucked up in absolutely every way possible.” His nose flares as he stares at the ground. It hurts him still, after all these years. You inhale, the smell of the space calming your nerves, Dieter’s cologne a heady undertone. Trembling barely visible, you reach forward and take his hand. It’s warm and heavy and you try to find a memory where it was gentle against your face, but it doesn’t come. Your brain longs for new memories of him, hungry, desperate after surviving on scraps. He stops breathing regularly as you intertwine your fingers. “For what it’s worth, Dieter . . . it was nice not to feel so alone.”

The noise he makes is quiet, almost imperceptible. Could have been a deep breath, a groan, a sigh. But it is something much more vulnerable, much more punctured than that.

You hold him a bit longer before letting him go.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters quietly, staring at your wrist. “I don’t get why you aren’t fucking furious with me.”

“I was,” you confirm. “For a long time, I was. I hated you, Dieter. But I can’t be mad at you without being mad at myself and I’ve learned to forgive both.”

He closes his eyes briefly, lashes thick as they obscure that beautiful brown. “I could have said no. I could have – stopped it, before it became anything.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

It's careless, throwing around suggestions about fate and destiny and the thing that binds all living things. Your gaze lifts from his lips to his forehead when he looks back at you.

“You’re right,” he hums. “You were, we were . . . it was an addiction I wasn’t prepared to deal with at the time.”

“Did it get better? Dealing with your . . . addiction.”

You want to think he’s looking at your lips as you face the painting again.

“Nope,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Had to quit cold turkey. But this one, uh, this one doesn’t come with any nicotine patches.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Those things smell disgusting.”

Something buckles as it crosses his face. He sticks his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah. But I would have preferred it to the alternative.”

New York had made a decision by the time Marie locks up the gallery behind her. The sky is a throbbing purple and thick snowflakes flutter against your eyelashes. The sharp wind had surrendered, winter making its final claim over the city, and it started snowing with confidence, with surety.

White flecks cling to your scarf as ahead of you, Dieter opens the car door for Marie. Desperate to get out of the cold, she practically launches herself across the leather seats, her little body always cold as it is.

“Did you seriously get a driver with this car?” You shake your head at him as you follow Marie. He smirks as he climbs in after you.

“I’m only partially responsible with a credit card now. Besides, New York drivers are so mean and my fragile heart can’t take it.”

It was a simple town car, but with the seats facing inward like a limo. Marie sits with her hands over the air vent in the floor with obvious relief on her face. She cracks an eye open to Dieter as he shuts the door and the car lurches into traffic.

“What do you want?” She scowls begrudgingly.

“What do you mean?”

“You went above and beyond the request for seat warmers. I owe you dessert. What do you want?”

Dieter chuckles, glancing at you as Marie all but curls up against the vent.

“Rain check?”

She hums and closes her eyes, her head lolling against the window. Dieter sits across from you, his feet tucked in between yours, a content smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly. The cold has left a pink blush across his cheeks and it looks wonderful on him. His hands flex by his sides.

“Least I could do.”

The only sound for a while is the rush of air coming out of the vent, the faint honk of a car in the distance. Over Dieter’s shoulder, you watch the slow trickle of snow turn more consistent, flakes turning to chunks. It looks deathly cold out there.

You meet Dieter’s gaze – only because he had been watching you first.

“Do you ever miss warm and sunny California?” you tease quietly, mindful of Marie.

“Sure.” Dieter shrugs and folds up his long leg over his knee. “But I don’t think California misses me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” You cock your head to the side, watching the snowfall again. “California has a lot of good memories with you.”

“Well, if California ever wants me back, she’ll have to give me a call.”

You laugh. “She’s far too mysterious for that.”

“I’d like to think I know what a lady wants.” His voice is low, rumbling, like the heated vents. You glance at him but he’s already staring out the window.

You unbutton your coat and sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

Shandy’s is, presumably, packed. Hot bodies desperate to get out of the cold stand shoulder to shoulder in the pretend-crab shack. The irony of a beachfront-themed restaurant while outside a blizzard is brewing, is not exactly on anyone’s mind as they cram further in, away from the windows and drafts. The smell of fried fish makes your mouth water and these are the times you miss having an ice-cold glass of beer. With your arm wrapped around a sleepy Marie, Dieter stands on his toes to try and find Andrew and the other cast and crew who showed up. He drops back down, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, saying something to you, but it’s loss in the buzz of the crowd.

“What?” You yell across three feet. He shakes his head and, without warning, takes your hand, diving into the crowd. You have only a second to revel in the warmth of his palm before you have to take an active stance to avoid being elbowed or stepped on. Marie latches on to your arm tighter, one good jostle away from being lost in the sea of people. Dieter ducks and weaves with shocking precision, his wide chest cutting a path for you and Marie behind him. Someone steps back and you stumble into his shoulder.

He glances down at your intertwined hands, as if to make sure you are still there. You can’t quite read what’s in his eyes.

“Nearly there,” he murmurs before diving back into the crowd. Like the parting of the red sea, Dieter manages to pull the three of you through the knot of people and over to where a section of tables and booths had been roped off. Andrew leaps to his feet, his face red and eyes blurry, the instant he sees you.

“You made it! I thought we lost Dieter a while ago!” He embraces each of you, ending with Marie who glares up at him.

“I’m hungry.” A sleepy Marie was one thing. A hangry Marie was a whole other beast entirely.

Andrew chuckles and slings an arm over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we ordered everything on the menu twice, so dig in. All goes on the company card.” Marie’s eyes the size of silver dollars as she stumbles towards the feast, Andrew turns back to you. “What about you? Hungry?”

There’s something warm in your palm and it takes you a minute to realize it’s Dieter’s hand. You’re still holding hands – and smooth as ever, Dieter casually lets go as one of the cast members comes to give him a hug.

“You’re good, right?” He says to you, as they break apart. “You can come sit with us if you want.”

By some miracle, you spot someone who looks like Sarah from the back so you shake your head.

“Nah. I think I see my people over there.” And then you do something incredibly stupid: you clap Dieter on the shoulder, like an uncle would pat his neurotic nephew. “If Marie comes looking for me, tell her I’m in the back.”

He glances at your hand on his shoulder and then nods. “Sure. Uh, have fun?”

You are sweating beneath your woolen coat from the body heat of a hundred drunk idiots and now you can actually feel it on your hairline.

“Yeah. You too.”

You spin on your heel in the direction of your salvation, internally cringing at your own stupidity. If this girl isn’t Sarah, I am so totally and completely fucked.

The girl was, in fact, Sarah. Liam’s there too and a few of the other NYU interns. The art director sits in a booth nearby, talking to a couple of the students, so you don’t entirely feel like a lecherous weirdo hanging out with a bunch of nineteen year olds.

Many of them come up to you, offering to buy you a drink as a premature celebration for opening night, which is only just a week away. But you merely ask for water, or a coke. They obliged, curious, but respectful, staying for a while to chat until the ice in their glasses melts and they’re off for a refill.

In the early days of your partnership with her, Carla told you that addictions are formed out of habits: you turn to drugs or alcohol every time because you have no other tools with which to self-regulate. That you quite literally fill the silences by drinking because the alternative is unbearable.

So, you count it as a small personal, private win that you can lean against a railing, quiet, and watch the crowds of people without ever feeling like you need a drop to top it off.

But . . . there is a want. A missing of something no longer there. You toss back the ice to crack it between your molars before it melts.

“Hey there, stranger!” Dieter bounces up the few steps to the small alcove you’ve propped yourself up in. His cheeks are flush and his hairline is wet. That gorgeous jacket is nowhere to be seen. He shoulders up next to you and you are consumed with his radiating body heat.

A delighted scream goes up from the crowd as the opening chords of Sweet Caroline begin and the walls vibrate with a triumphant “bum bum bum.”

“Someone’s having a good time,” you practically shout over the bad and off-key singing, eying him up and he chuckles, swirling around the brown, bubbly liquid in his cup.

“Some of the kids wanted to go dancing,” he yells back, “and bet I couldn’t floss or whatever, so sue me if I’m a little sweaty.”

He drops his head and rubs his sweaty forehead against your shoulder.

“Ew! Dieter – get off!” You giggle and shove him away from you. Hekers as he stumbles against the railing. He sniffs his shirt.

“Blegh – I think I can already smell myself.”

Sobering, you watch him as he presses the cool cup against his forehead. He catches you watching.

“What?” He asks and pushes the sweaty ends of his hair out of his face.

You turn your head to his ear so you don’t have to screech over Neil Diamond’s most famous song for white people. “You look . . .” You can’t really find the right words now, opting for staring at a freckle on his neck until they come to you. “You look happy, I guess.”

The rapturous smile curled around his lips fades, his eyes caught on the melting ice in his cup. This close, your shoulders touch and he curls around you, like he’s got a secret. You’ve learned a thing or two from your therapist so you wait until he’s ready.

The crowd is insatiable, screaming and howling as the final chords play, and another plucky song starts up.

“Once upon a time, these kinda things were a struggle for me.” He nods to the crowd, the bar, the alcohol. “Either I’d get black out drunk and wake up next to my PA or a stripper named Candy. And then, when you met me, I was straddling sobriety and my failing marriage.” Another party, a hotel, a blue sparkling pool. Wanting nothing more to push him back into his room and unbuckle his pants on top of his linen bedsheets. Dieter drops his head away, his forearm tense against yours. He thumbs the edge of his cup, preparing it for his admission. “And then . . . I was going out of my mind trying not to think about you.”

You can’t admonish him. You already know this, how you had been the image in his mind he pictured when he fucked his fist, long before viewing party at the director’s house. But it feels new, fresh, like he’s confessing all over again. Like the feeling persists.

“Dieter, I . . .”

His mouth is soft, beard wet, neck sticky with sweat, but his eyes burn you. Threaten to singe the skin from your bones.

“Old habits die hard, I think.”

His thumb presses against your wrist, his big hand covering yours against the wooden bar, pinning you – you can’t move forward or pull away. The heat of his chest throbs against your stuttering ribcage, the fingertips of his other hand twitching against yours at your side, seeking out your knuckles and then jerking away. His inhale draws your chin up to his, you’re so close you can see every memory etched in the lines around his eyes, his pulsating skin above the vein in his neck – the way his lips part when you meet his gaze. He murmurs your name and the ghost of his kiss swoops down your spine, choking your lungs, robbing you of air. Heavy lashes soft against his cheeks, he breathes, gives you whatever is left inside of him and you swallow it down, inches from his mouth.

Here you come again

Just when I'm about to make it work without you

You look into my eyes and light those dreamy eyes

And pretty soon I'm wondering how I came to doubt you

In the lofty silence between you, the Dolly Parton lyrics are audible, the crowd decidedly less familiar with the words. The bubble of sound surrounding you, enclosing you and him, breaks, the casual hum of a bar returning, and the outside world suddenly exists again.

He blinks at you as neither of you can ignore the song any more.

Here you come again

Looking better than a body has a right to

And shaking me up so, that all I really know

Is here you come again, and here I go

“Smoke?” You squeak.

He nods quickly, pushing you gently on your low back. “We gotta get the fuck outta here before they play Jolene.”

It’s nearing 1AM when Marie finally stumbles out of Shandy’s, drunk and warm and full of french fries.

“‘Hn don’ even ca-are I’m over thirty n’ drunk as hell.” She mutters into your shoulder. Heavy virgin snow sits heavy on the ground, only a few imprints of shoes left behind. You hold her close, worried about her stumbling and yanking you both to the ground. Dieter has gone ahead to flag the car down.

“You say that now but wait until the hangover, sweetie,” you laugh and she squeezes you.

“Hmm, you’re maybe right.”

Bold headlights flash on the street ahead as the town car pulls up against the curb. Dieter jogs up, leaving the car door open behind him.

“Gimme Drunky Pants.” You help him hold Marie up right before he bends, scooping her up by her knees and cradling her to his chest.

“Dieter, be careful,” you frown. “It’s fresh snow. You could slip.”

Marie lifts her head, her arms looped around his neck, squinting. “Am I Drunky Pants?”

“Yeah, Drunky Pants,” Dieter chuckles as he leads you to the car. “It’s a good thing you weigh about a buck fifty soaking wet.”

“Hey, pal, ‘m at least two dollars.” She holds up three fingers. She tries to find you over his shoulder. “Natalie, call my lawy’r, they’re takin’ me to jail.”

You brush her wet hair out off her forehead just outside the door. “I’ve got bail money, don’t worry about it.”

Dieter snorts and climbs to the car, minding Marie’s head as it goes limp on her neck. He eases her onto one of the seats as her eyes flutter open and shut.

“ ‘re such a good friend, Nat-il-ee. I h’ve bail money for you too.”

You shut the door after them and Dieter raps the glass, indicating to the driver to go on. He sits back down as Marie’s hand touches his knee.

“ ‘r we friends, Die’er? We’re frien’s right?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep from ruining what could be a very sweet moment, as Dieter pats her hand.

“Yeah, Drunky, we’re friends.”

“I’m not Drunky, you’re Drunky . . . wait, no, guess y’re not.” With a sigh, Marie rolls over and faces the plush seat. “Good night.”

Dieter meets your eyes across the car, your teeth tight against your lips, and he shakes his head, grinning like a mad man. Don’t ruin it for her.

You nod, snorting down a giggle. You take out your phone and snap one picture. Just for memorabilia.

DECEMBER

The morning of Opening Night

The concrete floor is cold even through your thick socks and hard-bottom slippers. The low window is shut and has been locked for weeks now, but the icy air managed to sneak in anyway. A woolen shawl around your shivering shoulders, you shuffle towards the stack of shelves at the back corner of your basement. Your pottery wheel sits clean and unused, the prospect of either hauling it up to the kitchen or freezing your ass off down here equally unappealing.

You store things down here that are either seasonal, like decorations and bug spray, or things that are too big to fit somewhere upstairs. Or, in the case of what you’re looking for, things that weigh too much.

It’s on the bottom shelf in the back, like it always is. You realize now that you’ve unintentionally stored it in a place of shame or embarrassment, a dirty secret you can only look at when it’s cold and all the lights are off. But that’s not how you feel about it. You slide it off its shelf, the only thing here that isn’t covered in a layer of grime that accumulates over items in basements. The buckles are cold under your hands and you feel like you should apologize. So you do. Silently, you make a promise that it’ll no longer live in the basement, that under the bed, easier to reach, might be a better home for it.

After all, you think, after tonight, you might want to show it to him.

Breathing out puffs of white air, you tighten your shawl over your shoulders and make the slow climb back up to the warmth.

Opening Night - Premiere of Homeward with You directed by Andrew Young

You puff out your cheeks, air rushing out between your lips painted the color of pomegranate, deflating entirely, as you swish the emerald green folds of your dress back and forth in the mirror. At the store, you loved it immediately and Marie audibly squealed, repeating that on the point of death, you had to promise to buy this dress for the premiere.

Now, you think it fits awkwardly, the waist too tight and the loose shoulders unable to settle right. The high collar around your neck threatened to choke you out, your overheated skin uncomfortably itchy beneath the wool.

This is stupid. I look ridiculous. I’m changing immediately –

“If you try to take that off, I’m tackling you to the ground.”

Marie shakes her head as she slips silver studs into her ear, her own black dress stunningly elegant yet remarkably simple. Her short hair is coiffed, tucking around her ear in a way that would make any flapper girl sick with envy.

“But it doesn’t look right,” you whine. “I look like an asparagus!”

She rolls her eyes and picks your earrings up from your vanity, your gold necklace looped between her fingers. Her smooth brow is furrowed as she gently slips your earrings on, softly plugging the backs. She is quiet, contemplative.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be you when I grew up?” She asks quietly.

You frown at her in the mirror as she goes to put on the other earring. “That’s ridiculous. You of all people know what a complete nightmare my life has been.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here, aren’t you?” She unhooks the chain of your necklace. “You are without a doubt the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. You’re brave and funny and smart. Everything I ever wanted in a big sister.”

The sharp flush of tears in your eyes threatens to smear your mascara and you catch her arm as it rests against your shoulder to clasp your necklace together. She stills and you look her in the eye.

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” You ask her, your voice tight.

She puts her arms around you, her head on your shoulder, her heels adding that extra height, and you watch each other in the mirror.

“Of course, I know that. I just want you to be happy.” Her tone changes and you can’t find her meaning in her eyes.

“I am happy,” you say, firmly. “I’m happy with this life we built.”

She kisses your temple. “No, you’re not. But you could be.”

The falling snow flickers and sparkles in the bright lights of the theater, the sidewalks clear for now. As the car approaches, through the window you read the name of the production up on the marquee in giant bold letters, his name just below it. Your stomach tightens.

The tires squeak and you climb out of the cab, Marie just behind you. No one greets you and there are no flashing camera lights. There are a few journalists, trade reporters, critics but they stand around, relaxed, smoking or talking amongst themselves. It’s a relatively quiet affair, not uncommon for productions of this size. You feel the brief press of disappointment before boxing it away.

The lobby is warm, with bordeaux floors and wooden paneled walls. An ancient staircase spills out to greet its guests, rich, shining banisters peering down from the second floor. A smiling suit-and-bowtie bartender waits by the coat check-in desk, converted from the old ticket sales corner used during the theater’s glory days. Marie offers to take your coat as your phone starts to ring.

Fighting between your coat and getting your phone, you answer it without checking the caller.

“Hello?”

“Hey there.” Dieter.

Your mouth dries and you glance at Marie chatting with the coat check-in girl. Quietly, you make your way over behind the grand staircase, a little out of sight.

“Dieter, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I can do both. Talk to you and put on this eyeliner that makes me cry.” You fight a smile, your hand holding your elbow, shoulders hunching towards the sound of his voice. “It’s okay, you can laugh. It was funny. I’m funny.”

“Dieter, did you call for a reason?” You know he can’t physically see you roll your eyes, but he’s deserving of it anyway.

“Yeah. Um, well, actually I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“If you’re in the lobby, can you look over by the old phone booths?” Annoyingly vague occasionally, but cryptic, Dieter is not. You peer around the wall, your gaze running across the lobby. Sure enough, by one of the other theater entrances sits five old wooden phone booths. Only a few still hold the rotary boxes, but in one on the end sits a small woman with white hair. “Do you see a lady there in a silver dress in one of them?”

“Yeah, I do. Who is she, Dieter?”

With an exasperated chuckle, he says, “okay, this you can’t laugh at. She’s my therapist.”

“What?”

“Okay, ex-therapist. I met her in rehab and I stuck with her after I got out. But then about five years ago she retired and she referred me to someone else. We kept in touch and became really good friends. I flew her out here to see my play and I was wondering . . . if you could keep her company.”

Your mouth dropped further and further open. “Dieter, I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“She doesn’t bite,” he laughs. “And don’t worry, she only knows only most of the details of our sex life.”

“DIETER!”

“I’m kidding – I’m kidding!” You can picture him hunched over on the chair in the dressing room, laughing himself silly. He sighs, giggles subsiding. “Okay, look, she knows you who are, but I don’t talk about that stuff with her anymore.” His voice drops, quiet and boyish. “Besides, she’s kind of the closest thing I have to family and I don’t trust anyone else with her but you.”

You can almost feel his breath across your jaw, his hushed reverence.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m still here.” You scratch your eyebrow with your nail. “Of course, I’ll keep an eye on her. What’s her name?”

“Beatrice, but I just call her Bea.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Bea and Dee?”

“I’m just cute like that.” You laugh with him this time. There’s a part of you that wishes you could have seen him before the premiere, given him what you want, but you worry it might have messed with his head. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He sounds so sincere. “I’ve gotta go, but –,”

“Dieter, wait.” Phone clutched tight to your ear, you go deeper into the bowels of the theater, by the door that leads to the cabaret stage. “I, um, I have something to show you later. Nothing serious – and it doesn’t even have to be tonight but I’d like to steal you away for just a bit.” You smirk, trying to get some even footing underneath you, but his silence dries your mouth out. “I-i-if that’s alr–,”

“Say when and where and I’m there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“A-alright. Then, uh, break a leg.”

He chuckles, right down your neck. “Thanks, Nat. Oh and if I don’t see you until afterwards, you look really nice.”

You swallow around a dry knot of wool in the back of your throat. “Is this where I’m supposed to say, ‘you can’t see me’ and you say, ‘I just know’?”

“You’ve got me all figured out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Dieter.”

You close your eyes, thumb shaking as you tap the red button on your phone. Every breath catches on the knots of your spine, of the curve of your ribs, as it goes down, hollow, sucked down, only to emerge shredded and weak.

The memory of what had nearly happened the night of the party at Shandy’s, it’s sunk into the crevices of your brain, under the skin behind your forehead, weighing your brow down day by day. It’s there, but you don’t see it. You don’t look. Like a beast in the jungle, you don’t make eye contact, hoping it will pass you by.

Hearing his voice over the phone, teasing you, you swear you hear it growl.

Look up, look up, look up

Look at me

Slipping your phone back in your purse, you straighten your shoulders and march for the old phone booth.

Bea is probably about sixty years old, maybe closer to seventy. Silver hair tucked back in a low bun that makes her dress shine, short unpainted nails press a ratty paperback book into her lap. She adjusts a navel blue sheer shawl around her mache-thin skin when you gently tap the window, smiling. She blinks up at you with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen on a living human being.

What it says about you and Dieter that your therapists could not be more different, is a question you’ll bring up to Carla later on.

You gently push back the accordion door and wave.

“Hi. I’m –,”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she says softly, her smile coy. She bookmarks her page and closes the book – The Jungle by Upton Sinclair – before standing up. Not wanting to offend her, you don’t reach for her unless she seems unsteady, but her walk is confident, if not slow as she exits the phonebooth. “Dieter said a friend of his would come get me.”

Yes, but do you know which friend? Those thin lips swirl up to the corner of her mouth, her eyes playful. “You really are as pretty as he said you were.” Quickly, she adjusts her shawl and offers out her small hand. “Lovely to meet you, dear.”

Mischievous. Like those little elves or sprites. Instantly, you see what Dieter likes about her. You offer her your arm.

“Lovely to meet you too, but I get the feeling you know much more about me than I know about you.”

She pats your arm, that dizzy (fake) bleary old lady glaze going over her eyes. “I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

Above you, the lights flicker and a thrilled anticipation hums from the lobby, those still left eagerly moving to take their seats

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Bea squeals against you.

“You’ve never been to Dieter’s plays before?” You wait until the flow of people lessens, not risking an elbow or an errant shoe.

“He doesn’t let me!” She grouches. “Only recently has he let me see some of his movies. But he picks them out and we have to watch them together. Honestly, that man is such a goof!”

Her blue eyes watching people go by, she doesn’t see you chew your tongue. The man he lets Bea see is so wildly different from the one you knew, or the one you’ve gotten to know the past few months. The idea of just sitting down on the couch with Dieter to watch a movie was once, well, impossible. Now it didn’t seem . . . right. You try to picture this Dieter, this long-haired, relaxed, sober Dieter in a dark room, feet under your covers, laughing – laughter comes so easily to him now – and you couldn’t. Your brain shut the doors and turned off the light. No, no one’s home.

No one’s there.

“He’s a doctor in this one,” you say by way of filling the silence. “Did he tell you that?”

Bea peers up at you, her silver eyebrows arching. “No. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“He’s a small town doctor, in a town on the verge of collapse in the thirties. He’s caught between being responsible for his brother’s kid, who has been drafted just before he’s set to get married, and getting out of the town himself.”

“Ooh, his dramatic roles are so good!” Bea squeals again, squeezing your arm excitedly. You wonder if this is what she does to Dieter’s arm when they watch his movies. The crowd thins, so you lead her down the steps, to the front row that Andrew roped off for special guests. The theater is small, intimate, not space for more than fifty people, but the red velvet seats have been kept in immaculate condition, the Roman-inspired paintings on the ceiling and golden-dusted ceilings kept fresh in gloss and shine. It’s, for lack of a better word, cozy.

Marie is already there with a playbill and her smile fades when she sees you with an old woman on your arm. You shake your head, I’ll tell you later, and help her sit before taking your seat next to Marie.

“Do you miss it?” Bea asks quietly, her eyes on the stage, as the room fades to black.

“Miss what?”

“Acting.” If you were dancing, you would have just tripped. “With him?” And now you’re on your ass, wondering what the hell just happened.

You swallow, those blue eyes so bright and earnest. “Um. Sometimes.”

Bea sighs, rolls her eyes, and pats your hand. “He misses it. Even if he’ll never say anything.”

You don’t ask her to elaborate, because you don’t want to know.

He’s good. They all are.

There is a natural chemistry reflected between the cast that is often so hard to find. The subject matter, the sets, the expertly designed costumes – there is a sense of grounded realism. As Andrew hoped, the audience peers into the lives of a people strapped on a path of destruction. They fall apart as their town does around them. They get in their own way. They sabotage their own happiness again and again out of fear or frustration. Every character is fully realized to the point of anguish, of emotional damage because how could they not see it? How could they possibly continue to live their lives like this? How long do they believe they should suffer?

And beyond this swirling chaos of painfully human failure are the mobile walls you designed. They evolve, transform under expertly placed light, shadows increasing or decreasing depending on a blue or red light. The old Greek plays had The Chorus, omniscient watchers that took pity on the tragedy but were unable to stop it. Andrew’s play had your designs; silent, overbearing smears of sadness or grief or joy just out of reach. In such a grounded play, the walls added a sense of vivid delusion, waking madness, providing a razor’s edge of tension to every scene.

Dieter’s character is morally flawed. Tired and run down by this world that’s given him nothing, no hope; stealing from his patients when he conducts housecalls to pay for this “escape” that never comes. At first he has no interest in saving the skin of his nephew, not willing to risk imprisonment over a fake diagnosis, but he, like the audience, is forced to bear silent witness to the genuine, deep, honest love between his brother’s son and his sweetheart, played by Emily.

They sit at a kitchen table, the set painted a light green, the wood chipped and window glass cracked above the grimy sink. The night before he is meant to be drafted, Dieter’s doctor in the corner trying desperately to appear unaffected as his nephew goes through his will to his sweetheart and his uncle, so that in case of the inevitable, they know what his final wishes are.

The boy is choked up, nervous, reading through every word with an agonized sob. His hands that hold Emily’s are shaking, as silent tears stream down her face.

And then in a truly beautiful stroke of theater production, the boy pauses, and a recorded voiceover of him continues to read the will. But he stands, Emily and Dieter frozen in time behind him, and gently kisses Emily on the forehead, his eyes shut and face wet. He lets go, and turns to the audience.

The voice over fades to a low hum as he stands at the center of the stage. The boy is mere feet from you. He watches Emily over his shoulder.

“There are things I want to say to you, but I can’t. I think you already know them, but saying it out loud would only make things worse, not better. I would be saying them to be selfish, to unburden my own soul, by weighing down yours. But you know, right? You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.” He goes to her, still frozen, still curled up on the table, her eyes seeing nothing. He strokes her cheek, getting on his knees to look into her visionless eyes. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close. I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

He drops his head onto her hands. The reading of the will ends and the lights hold, just a bit longer on the doomed couple.

“Are you okay?” Bea whispers, touching your arm and dropping back into your own body, you stare forcefully at your lap, begging the tears to stay back.

A cold sweat breaks out across your forehead, down the skin on your back, sucking your dress’s zipper to your spine. The blood in your ears roars, thunderous and loud, and you know you’re breathing unevenly, but you can’t help it.

You nod, wishing she would look away.

You feel green, feel pale, like something is molding inside of you, sickly blue sprouting around your spine and into your stomach. A sickness, an illness, lying dormant for years.

It’s still there, you understand that now.

The beast in the jungle, you meet it straight on, knowing the truth of it from the very beginning. But to what end – where would the self-inflicted circle of missed opportunities and failure finally end?

To unburden my soul, by weighing down yours.

The lobby is loud, dozens of voices overlapping each other in an excited chatter, the crowd . You bring Bea to one of the long, low benches near the twin sets of double doors at the entrance, careful to take her out of the rush of the crowd.

She groans as she sits down and eases her feet out of her silver flats.

“I do not miss the days of heels,” she says with a sigh, rolling her ankles around. “But is it too much to ask that they make nice shoes that don’t chew up your feet?”

“My mother used to say that was the price you pay for being a woman.” You sit down next to her, watching Marie chat with the art director across the room. “It’s not supposed to feel good, she said.”

Bea shrugs. “I suppose that’s true, but seems like a terrible way to look at life. A cycle of reward and punishment.”

You grin wryly at her. “My mother was a pessimist.”

“And you?” She leans back, her thin hands on her lap. “Are you a pessimist or an optimist?”

“I’m trying to break the cycle of reward and punishment.” Your eyes unconsciously fall to the door to the theater. “But old habits die hard, I guess.”

An excited roar sparks from across the room, the crowd surging towards the double doors. You see Emily’s shining blonde hair between shoulders, her bright smile. You can’t see him, but he’s there, you know it. So you sit back with Bea, matching her easy position.

“I know my old bones couldn’t fight off that crowd,” she nudges you with her elbow. “But you should go.”

A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes.

One way or another, it will be over soon. There is a sense of peace with that, whatever the outcome.

You shrug. “I’m just fine right here.”

So you sit, with your ex’s former therapist and closest thing he has to family because his are all gone, or they hate him. You ask her about Upton Sinclair, and she asks you about what you do, and you tell her about the gallery. The two of you could have been sitting on a bench in Central Park, for all the hurry you take, exchanging questions and answers.

Reporters ask for his picture, vloggers using their livestream to ask him about the role. You and Bea watch him, never talking about him, but never looking away either.

He’s handsome. He always is. Hair slicked back, eyes still ringing with black. He smiles and performs and you wonder if he’s a good enough actor to pretend to want to almost kiss you. His suit jacket is a deep red, almost purple, a perfect color for a December premiere. He turns, leaning into a photo with a few of his castmates and you see it – a flicker of dark green on his lapel. A glass leaf, the same color as your dress.

You fight to hide your blush, your assumptions really and truly getting out of hand, and you ask Bea about where she’s from. Eventually, Marie comes and joins you two, and her eyebrows jump only slightly when you tell her Bea’s connection to Dieter.

The congregated crowd of media and fans alike eventually subsides, leaving just friends and family. Andrew finally comes out and an applause goes up. He’s pink and his eyes are a little bleary and you think he might have started celebrating a bit early. Toby holds his hand and he leans into it, smiling like a fool.

You hear a buzz about an afterparty through excited grins and one-armed hugs, the news met with nods or groans. The last stragglers linger, wandering out into the cold or into waiting cars. The lobby is flushed with cold air every time the double doors swing open. Marie has gone to pick up your coats, including Bea’s, her wrap doing nothing for warmth, and you lean your head back against the wall.

You’ve been rehearsing something in your head since this morning, a final script, the end to the scene. Nothing fits quite right and you wish you’d written it down, but that risked someone finding your batherings. Maybe you’ll journal later, to get down everything in your head, everything you can’t say or don’t know how.

The crowd thins, and a few more flashes go off, and then he’s coming towards you, arms outstretched.

“Bea!”

The old woman wrestles to her feet with a speed you hadn’t witnessed all night and Dieter envelopes her in his arms. Without context, the image is sweet, domestic: a boy and his mother.

Then she steps back and messes up his perfectly combed hair. “There – that’s the Dieter I know.”

You swear he blushes.

“I have had a lovely evening with your friends!” Bea says, holding his hand and giving you and Marie warm smiles.

Marie out of the blue rushes forward and nearly tackles him to the ground. “You were so good, Dieter!”

His eyes widen before his arms come around her waist, squeezing her so tight he lifts her off the ground.

“Mhmm! Thank you! Thank you for coming. And now I promise to return your business partner to you. No more painting backdrops until midnight.”

She slips off him, as his eyes drop to you, the warmth there softer than the velvet chairs. He reaches for you and all of existence narrows to his palm. You take it and he pulls you into his chest.

He smells like your old Dieter. That layered musk of charcoal and vanilla, of sweet tobacco and sweat. Of course, he wears cologne, expensive and rich, but you turn your nose to his neck and inhale – it’s still there. Somewhere. His hands fall to your hips, your low back, then they’re sliding up your dress, cupping your ribcage against his. You pull him tighter to you, the scruff of his beard rough against your cheek as you breathe each other in. It happened accidentally, but this is the hug you should have given him all those months ago – one that allows for joy, for remembrance, for an ease that only comes after two people have learned the other intimately, where so much of one exists within the other, their own hearts cannot decide where one ends and the other begins.

He presses his warm hand against your shoulder, tucking you farther and farther in, as the other hand spans across your entire back, his face burrowed in your neck. You feel him sigh, at ease, his ribs expanding into yours and you fight back the sharp swell of the sob caught in your throat. You had no idea what it meant to be held until this moment.

You don’t want to let him go. You don’t think you can.

But the double doors sweep open, drafting in the cool air and stronger, prevailing thoughts. Your chin trembles at the strength it takes to keep from pressing your lips against his cheek as you set your weight back on your heels, his hands resisting your release until the very last moment. He doesn’t let you fall or drop you; he eases you back down, away. But his hands are shaking and he steadies them around your elbows and you take his because you think your knees will buckle if you don’t keep touching him. His mouth makes a wet noise, his eyes on the ground, feet shuffling back. He holds you as though the room is spinning.

“Um, Dieter,” Marie’s voice comes in from far away as you fight the urge to bury your body up under his chest, to lift him up with every ounce of strength you possess. “There’s an afterparty . . .”

“But I’d rather like to go home first, darling. If that’s alright,” Bea says. “Dieter?”

You watch his throat convulse and he stands up right. He lets go of you entirely.

“Sorry,” he swallows, resolutely not looking at you, “just got a little lightheaded. Haven’t eaten much today. Bea, can I call you a cab?”

“Do you want to go to the party?” Marie asks you as Dieter guides Bea over to the front desk. “Andrew’s invited us.”

You shake your head, watching them go. It has to end tonight. It has to.

“I . . . can’t. There’s something I need to talk to Dieter about.” You tear your eyes away to her concerned face. “Shouldn’t be long, but after that I’m gonna go to bed. I’m exhausted after four months of this.”

She nods like she knows it's been much longer than that. She hugs you, pulls you in tight, her mouth tucked in by your ear and says, “don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you were never going to be just friends.”

You don’t make eye contact with her when she pulls away.

Ten minutes later, Bea and Marie have decided to share a cab, Bea’s hotel on the way to Marie’s apartment. You and Dieter stand on the curb, waving to them as they go. The snow is coming on thick now. A few catch on his lashes as he turns to look at you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “There’ll be others. What did you want to show me?”

Age has done nothing to rob him of his beauty. You think you hope it hasn’t robbed him of anything else.

The creaky door of your brownstone greets you as you lead him inside, cheeks blushed pink from the cold, fingertips slightly numb, the metal keys in your hand bitterly chilled. You fumble for a few lights, cursing yourself that you left your home in total darkness hours earlier. The warm overhead lights awaken your living room, then the dining room across the hall. You’re grumbling to yourself and completely oblivious to Dieter’s open-mouthed stare. You’re leaning against the wall, fighting with your heel as he walks into your aubergine-colored living room with the plush gray couches and wall-to-wall bookshelves.

“I want to look at every single one of these,” he says softly, fingers curled around your chenille throw blanket on the back of the sofa. “Have I read any of them?”

“If your reading tastes are anything like Bea’s, then probably,” you grin at him as you finally slip out of your heels. You fight the urge to groan, your feet flat against the hardwood, sensation finally returning to your toes, but you do sigh. The noise brings his attention to you and he smiles.

“You do look beautiful.”

Your toes visibly curl and you feel the smile slide off your face. You nod over your shoulder.

“C’mon. It’s in here.”

He follows you through the other open-archway rooms to the kitchen, where the box from your basement sits on the counter. It’s gray, unassuming, with little buckles as adornments on the corners. Something about it feels weathered, hard won, as if it had been shipped across the ancient sea by long-dead ancestors.

The lights are low here, hovering low on the dimmer switch. You always thought kitchens should be relaxing, comforting, so you rarely brighten the room unless you have to. Behind you, Dieter unbuttons his jacket as you grip the lid.

“Now, you can’t laugh,” you say, a playful curl to your lips. He mimes an ‘x’ over his heart.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ve had these for a while, collecting them as I came across them. At first, it seemed almost morbid, but – I don’t know – I took comfort in them. As time went on, it helped me remember that everything that happened back then, actually happened and wasn’t just some insane LSD trip.” You thumb a corner. “At least it wasn’t for me.”

His brow deepens as you take off the lid.

He blinks a few times, trying to understand what he’s looking at. You wait, sit down on a black stool, watching.

Newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. Online articles printed and cut out.

He takes a few out, his fingers running over the corners where yours have gone a dozen times.

“Are these . . .”

“They’re all about Recovery Road. Speculation pieces on why it should win an Oscar, or several, even before it premiered. First reviews and public, consumer reviews. Trades on Heidi’s directing career, the cinematographers, the music for the film.” Your bare toes could brush his shoes if you swung your leg forward just an inch. “Opinion pieces on my career . . . and yours.” The knot in his throat moves as he flips through, going back ten years to the first articles. You watch his masculine hand, thick veins and weighty palm. “I know we didn’t make Oscar night, Dieter, and I don’t know if you ever stopped to celebrate. I know I didn’t, even years later. So this became my little celebration and in light of your success tonight, I thought you might like to celebrate with me.”

He spreads a few out on the counter, the strange shapes of cut-out articles like lost puzzle pieces. His mouth is a straight line, those thick eyebrows drawn down, jaw set tight.

“That night was the worst night of my life, Natalie. I don’t know why you want to remember it.”

His voice is rough, cutting, comes from a place at the back of his chest. Your heart sinks.

You’ve gotten it all wrong.

“Oh. Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I thought . . . well, actually I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, dispelling any lingering illusions you may have, and brush together the articles he laid out, jumping to your feet. “This was a stupid idea. I can’t believe I thought this would be fun. I took you away from your afterparty to show you this ridiculous –,”

His big hand loops around your wrist and you freeze, the warmth of his palm exploding up your arm and into your cheeks. Dieter looks at you with a weight so profound you feel as though you could plunge through the floorboards.

“I lied to you.” He says gruffly. “Ten fucking minutes into seeing you again and I lied.” He works his jaw as his hand slides up to your forearm, then your elbow where it notches over the bend in your arm. “I know I said I thought we’d be better off if we never saw each other again, but that’s not true. Every day until you were released from that hospital, I begged Heidi for any news. On your health. On your withdrawals. On if you got out of the fucking bed that day. And then after you got out and into rehab, I asked Heidi to check in on you. But I knew it had to fucking stop. I had to fucking stop wanting things to be different because I didn’t think they could be. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Your bottom lip trembles. “And now? Now, do you think things could be different?”

The lines around his eyes tighten as he straightens up. But he still holds your arm like it's the last life raft in a cold black ocean. He turns his head, an imperceptible tilt.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you want it to be?”

“Dieter,” you cry out, out of breath before you open your mouth, air held captive in your chest. You’re crying and you don’t mean to be. You sway as you violently shake your head and he grabs your other elbow. You reach forward and steady yourself with both hands on his biceps. There’s no way you can say this with your eyes open. “Dieter . . . for months now, everyone’s been asking me if I need space from you, or if it’s alright with me to be alone with you. If everything is still too painful to be around you, like I need protecting from you or something. But I – I don’t know how to tell them . . . that’s all I want. I want you. Even after everything, after how fucked up it was, how fucked up we both were, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

It comes out in a rush, words and tears tumbling out of your mouth. You open your wet eyes to his lips parted in surprise, his face soft beneath the weight of your revelation. You inhale, more tears and more courage to say the things you’ve always wanted to say. No paper, no pen, no going back.

“Dieter, I think about that house in Albuquerque all the time. I wake up and I think I can smell you in the kitchen. Or you’ll be out on the patio, painting. I know you and I went our separate ways – and I think that’s what was best for us then – but God, you never went away. You never, ever left.”

You tighten your grip, nails digging into his lovely jacket. Staring at his throat, locked in by memories, you want to drag him to the floor and cry in his arms, the way you should have on that hospital bed.

In the silence, your gaze drifts, down his chest and over to his lapel.

That green leaf pendant. The color of your dress. You thumb it and it’s warm, like his heart sits just behind it.

Unexpectedly, his wide palm rests against your jaw, tilting your head up. Eyes warm and dark like the dying coal in a wood-stove, he brushes your cheek with his thumb. You don’t realize how cold you are until your face is held in his hand.

“I’m gonna fuck it up if I say anything,” he says quietly, to you and you alone, “so I’m just going to do this.”

In an instant, years and years and years of buried fear come screaming into your chest. That single most profound worry you carried with you since he first kissed you the night of the rainstorm – dug it deep, covered with ignorance and a blind eye – it emerges like a seed sprouting into the light when his lips touch yours.

You fold up into him, this fear, this concern pulling you up as he does.

You feared, in all this time and all these years, that the great love of your life, the end-all-be all to romance and adoration, had been nothing more than a misguided, lonely girl giving away parts of her to unworthy holders – drugs, alcohol, addiction, and Dieter fucking Bravo, the first man who taught her there was something special about sex and feelings and not being alone in the darkness.

You break apart from him, trembling in his arms. You’re crying again and you think he might be too, but it’s too blurry and it’s too much.

“Dieter, w-wait–,” you grip his lapels, unwilling to separate his chest from yours, the press of his hips against yours. “W-what if we are wrong? What if I was wrong – what I felt for you, what I feel for you, everything we had – it’s just – a-a mistake. What if what you feel for me, is just more psychosis, more pills we have to swallow to fix it, fix us? F-f-fix me? What if you never really loved me?”

With a groan, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your cheek, the ghost of teeth against the fine hairs on your skin.

“If what I feel for you isn’t love, then I don’t know what it is.” His arms sink across your low back, as if pulling you in as tight as he could make you understand with touch alone, send you his thoughts unfiltered and honest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, wet and frantic, and then your cheek and then again on your mouth. It’s wet and messy and he pulls away, just inches, to say: “I’ve loved you every day of the past ten years. I never stopped loving you. You were the only thing I ever got right.”

A soft cry escapes your mouth, hand on his cheek, as you tug him back into your mouth. Your lips barely part at the touch of his teeth, before he slips into your mouth, tongue massaging yours.Your nails scrape the back of his neck, the curve of his skull, fingers delightedly yanking on his longer, wilder hair. Everywhere he touches you, it’s insistent, determined to make you feel his love. He breathes harshly out of his nose when he palms your ass in his wide hands and you allow yourself to rub up against him, as if you didn’t own every inch of him already.

Even through your dress and his slacks, the heat of your cunt up against his half-hard length is enough to have you both gasping for air. Breathing doesn’t really work right, lungs stuttering, half-aborted gasps through hiccups.

His hand curls around your jaw and he kisses you again. You no longer need to breathe air that hasn’t been recycled by him first.

“I’m so fucking scared,” he murmurs against your lips, half-open eyes searching for hesitation, for rejection.

“Me too.”

You claw at him, and still sucking on your mouth, he rolls your dress up over your knees, up to your hips. His hands on your bare skin for the first time in a decade, he cups the back of your knees, tugging you up onto his chest.

“Where?” He mutters.

“Upstairs. Second door on your right.”

You spend the time it takes to get there familiarizing yourself with every curve of his mouth, the softness on the inside of his cheeks, where along his neck elicits the deepest groan when you use your teeth.

Memories whisper like ghosts – he likes it there, lick here and listen to him, bite, yes, bite – you slip his earlobe between your teeth, nipping just north of gently, and he falters.

“You got this?” You tease, nosing under his jaw, as he makes the landing.

“If this place was blown to bits,” he grumbles as he knees open your bedroom door, “I’d still find a way to fuck you on this mattress.”

Kneeling one leg at a time, he unfolds you on the covers, hands free to roam against your hips, your ass, the backs of your thighs. Your nails scratch through his hair one last time before he sits up.

Your bedroom is dark, blue in the winter, and the only light to see him by comes from down the hallway and over the banister. In the half-light, Dieter glows, a faint bright edge to his hair, his right arm as he slips it out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. It lands somewhere and you don’t hear it, don’t look, instead watch his fingers unbutton his collar, tugging the starched shirt out of his pants.

Mesmerized, you want to tell him to stop, that you want to do it, but you can’t. You have and always be spell-bound by Dieter Bravo. He gets off his outer shirt and that’s when you realize how hard he’s breathing, the shadows blurring the pink tinge on his skin.

“Dieter, baby,” you worry, reaching for him and he comes, collapsing on his trembling elbows. He kisses you with a wet mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this. You’re so fucking beautiful. You look like a fucking angel, on this bed, in this dress and I never thought I’d ever be here with you again.” His chest shakes and you pull him between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of his head. He buries his head in the curve of your neck, grasping at your back with his arms.

You together lie there for a minute, in the silence and comfort that is afforded those nestled in intimacy. He fits, so well, like no one else ever has. Bones touch bones, his space is filled by your joints, his blood warms where you are cold. Disjointed and broken, you slot together in holes made by the other. You stroke his hair and he pulls back. The grin that grows across his face causes tears to spill down the apples of his cheeks.

“You’re a fucking hurricane, baby, and I love you.” He holds your cheek in his palm, softly pressing a kiss to your lips. “Can I take off your tights?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, the anticipation of having his hands on your skin making you twitch.

He kneels away from you and one hand slides up the material of your dress while the other reverently plucks at the tight waistband of your nylons. He tugs gently, then using both hands, knuckles scraping your hips, your thighs. He touches the back of your knee and that fear resurfaces just for a moment.

“Be careful, Dieter,” you gasp. He slows, catching your eyes. “P-please be careful.”

The rest of your nylons come off easily while he nods, his thumbs briefly rubbing the material before they’re tossed to the ground. The night air is suddenly cold, colder than it had been seconds ago and you shiver, your dress around your hips and your cunt nearly exposed.

Dieter crawls forward, settling around between your knees. It’s like he can smell how wet you are. His big palm cups your inner thigh, thumb directing his attention.

“Do you still like to be licked here?”

You nod fervently, almost bashful.

“Has anyone eaten you out in a while?”

Again, your head jerks back and forth in the opposite direction, your hand clutching his knee and the other fisting the sheets.

“Can I?” His stare flickers from your barely visible pussy up to your eyes. He’s all but begging you.

His gaze reawakes your voice. “Yes, Dieter, please – p-please, I need it.”

His tongue wets his lips, eyes half-open, focused, as he pushes your dress up the rest of the way. You part your legs for him and he groans with appreciation.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He shuffles back, easing onto his knees on the floor, big palms around the hinge of your legs. He tugs you as he goes, until your hips have settled on the edge of the mattress.

His mouth drops open at the shine on your inner thighs and as though too overwhelmed to go straight for the center, he licks as close to your cunt as he can, eager for your taste. His hands on your hips tighten as he groans, inhaling deeply.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

You have half a second to breathe yourself before he licks, flat-tongued, up your cunt and the edges of your vision grow dark.

He picks you apart, slowly, methodically, explorative. He licks like he’s trying to get an ice cream cone to come all over his face.

Dieter tongues one lip, then the other and he has your hips shaking. He digs in, suctioning his mouth to your cunt, and flicks his tongue as far as he can and you twitch. He slurps in spit and slick between his teeth before presenting it back to you on the head of his tongue.

“Oh, fucking god, Dieter –,” you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I can’t believe how good –,”

He licks as deep as he can, all the way up, air muffled by your folds, and flat-tongues your clit. Your vision whites out and you scream. But you didn’t come. That wasn’t you coming. Your legs are trembling and Dieter presses his forearm against your lower tummy, eyes scorching and scolding. Stop moving and let me work.

As you relearn him, he rediscovers you. He knows there’s a spot, just around your clit that when sucked, it makes you arch off the bed, but he searches in no hurry, divining every inch of you again. He gets close and you tremble, so he pushes your knee back, opening you up further to slide in two fingers. So much more than anything you could put inside yourself, you roll your hips as much as you can, chasing that touch as his tongue sweeps over you again and again. He taps up against your pelvic bone through your pussy and you moan, loudly, pleasure soaking his fingers, then his palm. His dark eyes watch you from where his mouth works to suck ten years of missed orgasms right out of you.

You want him to fuck you faster, to get you there in a way only he can, brushing places only he can find, only he dares reach. He licks you faster and faster, fingers plunging deeper and twisting, spreading you apart – he adds a third just before entering you again and again and again and then he finds it – that spot on your clit that breaks you apart, that warm gooey center exploding across his tongue.

You come in silence, sparks flickering at the edge of your vision, mouth open, pussy clenching down on him, and only when you feel the vibrations of his moan between your legs, do you remember to breathe, gasping sharply to the high-pitched edge of a whine.

“Dieter,” you pant, voice strained, knees weak as you push against his shoulders. Your clit stings a bit from overstimulation and he relents. He wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, inching up the bed, with your knee over his shoulder, still three fingers deep in you.

“C’mon, honey, you can give me one more like this. I know you can.”

You whimper, never having a single orgasm like that in the last ten years, let alone two. “I don’t – I don’t think I can –,”

“Of course you can.” The wet squelch of his fingers scissoring inside of you proves him right. “I’ve got you, darling, I’ve got you and I’m never letting you fucking go again.”

He licks under your knee, beard still damp with your release, and Dieter does what he does best: he talks.

He promises you filthy, beautiful things.

I wanna be soaked in you. I want you to come so hard, it drips down my arm, wets my chest.

I wanna put my tongue on every inch of your sweat-drenched skin. I wanna taste you. All of you. In you. I wanna make you so full, that when I fuck you, I taste myself.

I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, your cunt squeezing his fingers so hard they can’t move, and you gush, all the way to his elbow.

You can’t see for a second, the sound of your pounding heart in your ears the only proof you’re still alive. It’s like your body has been storing it all for him, never doing this for anyone else, so you keep coming and coming. Dieter groans, drops his head, and licks up as much as he can, but you feel your own slick slip down your ass and stain your dress. You whine as he slips his fingers out of you.

“Ohmy– oh – oh – oh fuck, Dieter,” you garble. Your entire lower half is numb. You don’t realize you’re shaking until he’s stretched out both of your legs, hand gently massaging your thighs. He licks his palm, his forearm, trying to clean himself up, but never once taking his eyes off you.

“Good, baby?”

You nod, blinking back the sparks of light whirling across your vision. “So good. So, so good.”

“I have a lot to make up for. Where’s the clasp to your dress?”

“In – In the back,” you swallow, hand flopping around to indicate some direction.

“I’m going to turn you around, okay, baby?”

He takes you by the hip, the shoulder, and curls you onto your side. His thumb pressed up against the cup of your skull, warm and grounding, he unzips your dress, the sound loud in the silence. Easing you as he goes, he rolls you until you’re face down on the mattress and he can peel the dress off your shoulders. Somewhere behind you, he makes a noise at the sight of your bare back.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Heat drapes across your back as he leans down and kisses from the back of your neck, down your spine and lingers at the place just above the curve of your ass. He harshly palms your thighs, the meat of your butt, groaning, promising and marking places for his teeth. Your breathing hitches as you slide your dress off your arms. He meets your hands and helps you pull it down the rest of the way, over your knees and off the bed.

You should be cold, shivering, but you aren’t. Not when his hands start over your calves, gripping them soft enough that he can move unhindered, but tight enough it's almost a massage. He goes up the backs of your knees, curves around your thighs, fingers dip into the bones of your hip. The mattress dips as he lays out behind you, over you, fingers tugging you back until there’s enough space for him to slip his hand between you and the mattress, his knee prying your legs apart. He cups you, biting the curve of your ear, and you gasp for him. He plugs you up with two fingers, still so wet he meets no resistance and he growls in your neck.

“There’s this image of you that I swear to god is painted on the backs of my eyelids,” he murmurs, fucking you lazily with his fingers. You fist the sheets, arm shaking to keep yourself tilted enough to give him room. You can feel his hot, thick, solid cock against the back of your thigh, his own body heat enough to make you sweat. He touches a place that makes you gasp and his hips twitch forward. You want more, more heat, more of him, his white undershirt sticking to your back. You want to feel him. You push your hips back and he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “I see it when I wake up and when I go to sleep at night and it used to fucking kill me because that was all I had left of you.” He speeds up, his wrist snapping against your pelvis. “But then – then, it – it gave me comfort, because I got to see you all the time. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t enough but god, it got me through the worst of it.”

You can feel your core tighten, pleasure spiral down and in on itself, a single spark away from exploding, as he goes faster and faster.

“I fucking need you–,” he whines in your ear, chest smothering your back, knuckle rubbing up against your clit.

“Dieter, take off your fucking shirt –,”

You lunge forward, out of his grasp, his fingers dragging wet slick over your hip as you roll away from him. His hands frantically yank his shirt up and over his head as you work the button on his pants, unzipping him in a rush. You’ve barely gotten his pants down over his knees when he grabs you by the elbow, yanking you into his mouth, his lap. Your shared moans coat the inside of your mouths, lips pressed swollen and hot, teeth nipping and pulling. Separating only to breathe, he hauls your knee over his hip, pulling you as close as he can, his cock red and leaking into your stomach.

You roll your hips forward, your soaked cunt clutching around his cock and he sways, breaking apart, to open mouth-groan.

“C-condom?”

“Don’t want one. There hasn’t been anyone but you.”

“Me neither.”

You snake a hand between your heated bodies and pump him once. Again and he whines. A third time and you push him back, flat against the mattress, his body thumping into the pillows. His thumbs press into the curve of your hips, up your waist, fingers slotting between your ribs.

But his eyes are latched onto your nipples.

“And these tits, baby,” he cups the weight of one while thumbing across the raised nipple of the other. You arch your spine, letting him do whatever he wants, while you pump him slowly, and swirl your clit with your other fingers. “Been obsessed with them. Fucking dream about them. Wanna spend a whole day with my mouth on them.”

“Well, I wanna spend a whole day on this cock. Dieter, fuck, your cock is fantastic.” It’s thick and long and you lick a mix of precum and spit into your hand to coat all of him.

“Yeah, you missed my big cock?” Hips bucking inches off the mattress, his eyes fall half-shut, almost black with hunger. “Show me, baby, show me how much you missed me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Despite his filthy mouth, his breathing hitches when you go onto your knees, hand holding him beneath you as you adjust to find your entrance. He breaths so sharply, you glance at him, the head of his cock just inches from your cunt. His chest is flushed and sweaty. The roundness of his stomach trembles, the hair there pressed flat and wet. The hair at his temples and across his hairline is damp, beautiful curls tossed back from his face. Eyes warm, his lips are wet with anticipation.

“I missed you, Nat,” he says quietly, suddenly. His fingers squeeze your thighs and his words catch as you notch just the head inside you, the fat head splitting you apart. “I m-m-missed you so-oh much.”

Wanting nothing but to feel every inch, you take your hand away and find his forearm to steady yourself. The deeper you take him, the higher your whine goes.

“Fuck, Natalie, fuck –,” his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw tight, as you gasp towards the ceiling, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fuck, you feel – you are –,”

“Dieter –,”

Your hips drop, his twitching below you, and you take in every ridge, every throbbing vein. You don’t mean to tease, but he’s so big and it’s been so long since you’d taken him, you have to sink as slow as possible. His grip almost bruising, he wants nothing more than to yank you down on his cock, but he holds, waits, lets you adjust, even though his chest is red and he hasn’t taken a full breath in a minute.

You inhale as you finally take all of him inside you, flush to his hips, his lap already wet, that low simmering heat swirling out from every place his cock rubs up inside of you.

“Natalie–,” he chokes.

It’s been too long.

You thrust forward, riding him hard and setting a pace that startles even you. A loud groan roars through him and his hands around your hips yank you back and forth with just as much force, as much want. Arousal climbs higher and higher, your shared pants and moans a catalyst for fire.

“Natalie,” he tries and you open your eyes. His face is flushed now too, eyes wet. “Natalie, I can’t stop thinking – the last time we were like this – I did – I said –,”

He whimpers as you slow and lean over him. You cup his cheeks with both hands, thumb tugging down his bottom lip. You kiss him, mouth slotting over his. “Don’t think about that, baby. Stay here with me. Be with me.”

He nods frantically, gasping as you jerk your hips just right, and you nuzzle his nose before building back your speed, that heart-stopping pace. He intertwines his fingers with yours, offering himself to hold onto as you both race towards release, his hips rhythmically bouncing against yours.

But you can’t help it either. Flashing across your memory like fireworks, you’re overwhelmed with images of you and him either in this exact position or a dozen others. On top of a desk, in a car, against a wall, behind, under, in front – every way he would make you take him again and again. You dip forward, just a bit, remembering that angle that made his knees quake – and apparently still does.

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

Bits and pieces of old fantasies slide in between the gaps in your memory – the time you tried to picture his face when you sat on your new vibrator you gifted yourself on your twenty-sixth birthday – the time you finger-fucked yourself in the bathtub, hopelessly trying to find that spongy spot he used to stroke – it was not agonizingly enough.

It was nothing like him begging you to never, ever leave. You ride him hard and fast because tomorrow isn’t promised and it might never come.

His thumb on your bottom lip and his voice pry your eyes open. Your thighs quake from the strain, ratcheting that thunderous pleasure up every knot of your spine. You’re sweating so much you think you might melt off his cock.

The bed squeaks, as you grind yourself against him, his hand still on your face.

“I fucking love you.” He breathes through, open-mouthed, a spike of pleasure, his hair plastered against his forehead. You think you might come from the look of pure adoration in his eyes alone, but you white-knuckle your approaching orgasm, just as you know he is. “You’re made for me. This cunt is made for me.”

Every inch of you is fire hot. You gaze down at him and take your thumb between your teeth, nipping gently, your hands balanced against his stomach.

“I am yours, Dieter. I’ve never wanted anything else. Never.”

He swallows, eyes impossibly dark and deep, staring up at you like you hang the moon and stars, like you are solely responsible for the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

Dieter jerks up to kiss you, his hand cupping the back of your head, nails lightly scratching into your hair. The force of him stills your hips and you kiss him back, arms around his neck, but does nothing to quench that roaring blaze in your cunt.

His arm drops from your head, goes around your back, the other catching your hips against his and he flips you both, nestling you against the covers. He pins your arms above your head and thrusts into you, setting a pace that has your eyes rolling back your head. You whimper.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever loved,” he grunts into your neck, his voice low as it kisses your skin. His pace is punishing, chasing whatever haunted him at night those years he was apart from you. You pin your knees to his ribs, welcoming him deeper and deeper. “I want to be yours. I want to be yours until the day I fucking die.”

“You are, Dieter, you are.”

The sound that comes from his chest, echoing in your ear, and seeps into your bones finally pushes you over the edge. White-hot lightning strikes you between your legs, a warm, milky wave rocking you flat on your back as your cunt clenches down on him. He shouts, loudly, his back tense as he spills inside of you a second later. You can feel him soak the inside of you, his cock twitching under the pressure of your still-tight cunt.

His hips pump once, twice more, his body eager to empty him out entirely, and then he stills.

The sound of your shared heavy breathing, between the sweaty, throbbing mass of your bodies, is the only sound in the bedroom, stretching on for minutes at a time.

You have never felt so close to a person as you do right now. You can feel his heart pounding against his chest as it sits above yours. Your skin, damp with sweat, clings to his. This is where you want to be, for the rest of your life.

Slowly, as fast as his shaking arms will allow, Dieter lifts up to look you in the eyes, breath still heavy in his lungs. He’s red, pushed to the limit of exertion and then beyond that. His hair is a damp mess and his skin is so warm it almost burns.

But he’s smiling.

As your breathing returns to normal, even if it might take hours to wash yourselves clean, he smiles at you and you smile back because all it took was time.

Time, some therapy, and some space apart to find out what truly matters. What only matters. If nothing we do matters, this is the only thing that does.

You don’t have to speak because he knows what you’re thinking. Grinning through a half-chuckle, he kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. With a sigh, you wrap your arms around him as he gingerly tucks his head under your chin, and rests his cheek against your chest. You play with his hair.

The night stretches on, the snow falls harder outside. Eventually, you end up under the covers, Dieter Bravo is in love with you and you love him back.

He taps his fingers against your hip, absent-mindedly, to a beat you don’t recognize. And then his chest vibrates over yours, the sound sinking into yours, as he hums the chorus to Here You Come Again.

When you wake up, hours later, sleep overtaking you at some point during the night, you open your eyes to gold sunlight streaming in through the curtains and his back to you. His arm tucked under his head, curls askew on the pillow, and you feel him breath against the mattress.

Hesitantly, slowly, you reach forward, hand trembling, across the small space between your bodies –

And you touch his shoulder. He’s solid. He’s real. He’s here.

He shudders awake, groaning sleepily, as he turns over, his brown eyes greeting yours with all the joy of the sun.

He touches your cheek and you smile.

Epilogue

The wooden tracks of the rollercoaster vibrate violently as the cars lurch over the railings and down the slope. Screams of delight are lost beneath the gentle melody of the merry-go-round, its lights bright against the late evening sky. People wander between the tents and the booths, stopping to play a round of hunt-the-duck or to throw a ball at empty milk bottles. The smell of popcorn and candy hangs thick in the warm summer air.

Dieter adjusts the giant stuffed bear on his back, eyes surveying their next target on the Coney Island pier.

“Ice cream me, babe.”

Your arm juts out and smears vanilla-chocolate swirl across his mouth and he sputters.

Your eyes jump up from your phone, embarrassed to have been so distracted, and you immediately go to wipe his lips, his own hands busy keeping the bear up right.

“Sorry, sorry!”

He grins as you blot his mouth and chin. His tongue swipes out and licks your palm.

“It’s okay, only if you use your mouth next time.”

You roll your eyes as you toss away the used napkins. This time you hold the cone properly so he can lick his fill.

“What’s so important on your phone that you nearly drown me in ice cream?”

A summer breeze, hot off the waves of the ocean, strokes your hair, tugging it over your eyes. You push it back, frowning.

“Netflix emailed us, wanting to know if we wanted to be a part of the documentary about the making of Recovery Road.”

“And you think that’s a bad idea?” He asks, catching an errant dribble before it smears across your fingers.

“I don’t know. It just feels like dredging up things that are better left in the past.”

“Netflix’s specialty.”

You frown at him and he grins. “No one’s ever officially gone on record about what happened and now maybe we should. Set the record straight.”

“I don’t think we’ll come out of it looking very good,” you worry your lip. “Besides, if we’re being interviewed, shouldn’t Chloe get a chance to tell her side too?”

Dieter shrugs. “She can if she wants. But the story is ultimately about you and me. Besides, they just want the juicy gossip about all of our wild and crazy infidelity sex.”

“Dieter!”

With a chuckle, he drops the bear between the two of you, so he can look you properly in the eyes without a paw over his face.

“Baby, I’ll do whatever you want to do. If you want to do it, great. If not, fuck ‘em. I don’t care how it makes us seem, because no matter what, they’ll never know the true story.” He takes your hand that is not holding an ice cream cone, sticky fingers and all, and kisses your knuckles. “You and I are so beyond Netflix documentaries, or tell-all exposés – or whatever constitutes a love story in Hollywood. What I feel for you, no one could ever do it justice.”

He sees your chest stutter for breath, your eyes soft as he kisses your palm.

“They’d never understand the man you’ve become,” you say quietly. “What it took to get here.”

He nods, hand sliding to your cheek, your neck, and pulls you in. “This is it for me.”

“Me too.”

The jingle of the carnival around you, the roar of the rollercoaster in the distance, fills the silence as your lips move against his, hand curled up against his collar.

“Okay, new question,” he breaks apart before he loses all of his senses and pulls you into a bathroom stall.

You chuckle against his lips. “Yeah?”

“What would you think about getting a dog?”

“A dog?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be very big – there’s no room in our brownstone for the three of us anyway.”

You frown playfully, contemplative, as you loop your arm through his, the bear stretched across both your backs, as you instinctively wander towards the water.

“I’ve always liked pitbulls. Found them to be really misunderstood.”

He nods. “I like that. Kind of flies in the face of the ‘small dog’ idea but I like it.”

“When have we ever not bucked tradition?”

“You’re exactly right, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your cheek as you list off other potential breeds.

Honestly, he doesn’t care. Whatever dog breed you want is fine with him.

As long as it has a collar and a name tag, somewhere he can hang a ring.

T H E E N D

#dieter bravo x reader #recovery road #what do you mean im supposed to say something???#im dead #you killed me #there are no words left #.....#......anyway #THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL #I CRIED THREE TIMES OUTRIGHT SOBBED AT THE SCENE IN THE BROWNSTONE DEFINITELY SHED 6 TEARS WHEN BEA WAS INTRODUCED #LOST ALL OF MY SHIT FOR MARIE #AND HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN AND BREATHE SO I WOULDNT SOB HYSTERICALLY AFTER THAT SPEECH #HOW DARE YOU PUT THAT SPEECH #you know what im not even gonna TRY to explain in words what you did to my heart with this series like????#just?????#i have no words honestly #it was beautiful heart wrenching and absolutely fucking terrifying because i FELT the what if love is not enough part just before the end #and when i tell you IT BROKE ME im not even exaggerating a little #this literally changed me as a person and i simultaneously wanna tackle you into a gigantic hug and also never speak to you again #yes they have a dog and a plethora of stuffed animals and netflix can go fck itself and im gonne be sobbing about this for the next 10 years #you ever read a series so good you put off reading the last part so long cause YOU DONT WANT IT TO END???#no???#WELL READ THIS THEN #jehshdgdgs #taylor i love you but also dont talk to me im fragile #and also never stop writing because i will personally BREAK DOWN YOUR DOOR and shake your bones #forever screaming #SOMEBODY HOLD ME IM FALLING APART #and talk to me about that speech because SHIT #hevsvsgwgsgegs ok bye now im dead

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crimsoncandy04 · 2 months ago

Text

(cutely nudges my new fic towards you as I play with my hair shyly)

I wanted to try writing some angst Tumblr Kun... I-I hope you like it!

(It's with Wanderer again. Because I'm literally just a fan girl 🥺)

(also reader gets pregnant again because I didn't have any ideas at the time of starting this)

Your hands shake as you fight the urge to sob. Both of your friends from the akademiya, Layla and Faruzan, are sitting across from you at the cafe with their eyes wide. You continue on with what you were trying to explain.

"so yeah. It's Hat Guy's baby...I don't know how I could tell him. Or if I even should. You know how he's... well...?" You look at Faruzan for support who just shakes her head as she crosses her arms.

"Kids these days!" *She grumbles*

"Never thinking logically and just acting carelessly!"

Layla tries to speak up.

"Madam Faruzan, don't you think you're being a little...?"

"A little WHAT? I'm not insulting her. I'm just trying to get her to understand the gravity of the situation!"

Faruzan gets up and takes your wrist. Pulling you along behind her as Layla tries to keep up. Faru sets off at a furious pace, yet she keeps going on.

"It's not just you who's affected by your decision! Now I'm not saying a woman in this era couldn't handle something like this on her own, but as long as you're one of MY students you'll do the right thing and at least TRY to get the help of the father so you can keep working towards your own future goals too! I don't want to see you leave the akademiya for something as ordinary as parenting when you've proven time and time again that you have extraordinary potential!"

She lets go of your wrist once you three reach the akademiya and pushes you lightly in the direction of one of the side doors.

"I know you're worried about how he'll react but you need someone to help you with this kid otherwise your scores will plummet and I'll lose my best student! Now go." Faruzan and Layla watched as you took a deep breath then left to go up towards the sanctuary of suristhana. Wanderer had briefly mentioned that he would be seeing Nahida today for personal issues he needed help resolving and so you were planning on catching him as he left. He might have been able to move faster than humans could blink but he still had to use the doors and as long as you timed it right, you could catch your favorite antisocial fling before he fled the scene. Lest he be subjected to possible social interactions with anyone aside from his usual preferred 4 or 5 individuals.

It took a few hours but sure enough you heard the doors open. Quickly leaping down from the place above them where you had been lurking, you land in front of Wanderer who immediately scoffs at you and crosses his arms.

"Above the door? I've seen better. If you're trying to scare me don't bother. I know when someone is an actual threat and you won't get the reaction you're seeking from me."

You feel yourself getting nauseous suddenly. Archons why were you so painfully nervous about this.

How should you tell him about your...baby?

Wanderer rolls his eyes and pushes past you.

"look I don't know why you're here. But if it doesn't concern me then I'll be on my way."

You don't think as you panic and blurt out the truth.

"WandererImpregnantwithyourbabyandididntknowhowelsetotellyousoicameheretotryandtellyoubeforeyouleftthecityagain!" You're left panting a little as you spew everything out at once. Your heart racing in your chest as you hope he believes you.

"Umm is this some kind of joke? Pregnant? Impossible. I'm not human. Is this you trying to get attention or something?"

Wanderer had whirled around to glare daggers at you now as his voice turned almost venomous.

"Don't lie to me. If you want something, just say it. I don't appreciate games like these."

You suddenly felt your throat tighten a little.

Oh please don't start crying now.

"No please listen to me! I'm not lying! I know two months isn't that long but recently I started feeling unwell so I went to the doctor and after some tests they told me I was pregnant. It's real. I even brought the results here jus-" I pull out the small folded paper from my dress pocket and Wanderer snatches it from me rudely. Quickly unfolding it and scanning it with his eyes. An irritated expression on his face.

"All this says is that you're pregnant. It doesn't say it's mine. How do I know this isn't just a way for you to try and pawn someone else's brat on me?"

His words felt like blades. Brutally wounding your very character.

Was he seriously suggesting that you were some kind of deadbeat slut who manipulated men for their finances? Who...baby trapped people!?

You could feel your sorrow turn burning hot as you silently seethed over the insinuated accusation.

"I know it's yours because I haven't slept with anyone else in several years."

"yeah right. How in the world am I supposed to believe that me, an artificial being, is suddenly somehow capable of creating life? It's absolutely preposterous and I refuse to be a part of whatever sick prank this is!" Wanderer turned and proceeded to try and leave but you desperately chased after him. You grabbed his arm and pleaded with him to trust you.

He immediately shook you off and kept going. His final words to you being

"I'll believe you if you somehow manage to find solid proof of your story. Otherwise I think it's best that you keep your distance from me for now."

"But Wanderer pl-"

"Save it. Don't humiliate yourself any further by continuing this nonsense."

You wanted to say more as you watched him quickly use his vision then to take to the skies and leave you behind in your tears and frustration.

How could he?

You quickly hurried away from the sanctuary then and back into the akademiya where Faruzan and Layla immediately rushed over and began to ask what happened when they saw your pained expression and watery eyes.

"He didn't believe me. In fact he kept insisting that I was trying to be deceptive and even insinuated that my child isn't his...I don't know what to do. Right now I just want to go home."

Layla was looking increasingly distressed as she watched you hug Faruzan and sob bitterly into her arms.

"Perhaps there's some way we could convince him? Y/N did you remember to show him the letter the doctor gave you?" Layla wondered anxiously. Her eyes showing just how tired this was all making her yet despite it all, she remained supportive of you as your friend.

You nodded.

"yeah he even read it. He said it didn't say it was HIS baby and he won't believe me unless I have concrete proof that it is. I don't know what to do now. I don't want to be a single mother but it appears that I have no choice. I don't... have enough mora for the other option right now..."

Faruzan suddenly took your hand at those words and began to yank you back towards the sanctuary.

"hey where are we going? He's not there anymore and even if he was, I really don't want to see him like this. The last thing I want right now is for him to know he got to me."

"We're not looking for that good for nothing! I've seen him come and go many times from the archon's home up here. If she knows him then perhaps she could talk some sense into him and make him at least listen to us before insulting you again!"

Your eyes widen.

"Wait Faru no! I don't want to get Lord Kusunali involved in such a petty squabble like this! It's almost inappropriate! I'm sure if I just give Wanderer a little time-"

"There is no time! You're almost done with your first trimester now and soon you'll be too tired for a confrontation and then he'll-"

You're all three stopped suddenly as a small voice cuts Faruzan off. You all freeze as you notice the tiny archoness standing before you all in front of the sanctuary.

She crosses her arms.

"it seems many of my people are experiencing conflicts suddenly. This is the second disagreement I've heard today, mind telling me what's going on? I hate seeing you all bicker like this. I may not understand everything that's upsetting you, but i will try my best to!"

The dendro archoness smiled sweetly at you all as she walked over and singled you out in particular.

"Like an abundant river overflowing onto a grassy bank, tears are often a way for people to express the bigger emotions that otherwise would go unsaid. It appears that much has overwhelmed you in particular today. Would you feel comfortable telling me what has upset you like this?" The little pale goddess stands before you and takes your hand as you struggle to even open your mouth. You kneel down in front of her.

She closes her eyes and for a few seconds is utterly silent. Then she suddenly looks at you with the most genuine expression of concern and also understanding.

"It seems you caught my helper on a bad day. This outburst is almost unlike him. At least regarding a topic like this. While I can't undo the harshness of his words and what bitter feelings they may have planted in your mind, I can promise you that I will try to speak to him about how he handled the news of your situation and encourage him to try and see things from your perspective."

You nodded your head and continued to stay silent as you felt a little relief in knowing that you had in fact nothing to be ashamed of regarding your angry tears towards Wanderer and his reaction.

You slowly rose to your feet after that and waited for Faruzan to finish talking with the archon next.

"I'm grateful for your help archon but please understand that that BULLY learning to acknowledge that others have feelings too isn't exactly going to help my student here when she's tired and struggling to balance two lives at once! He needs to take some responsibility here and help Y/N with their child so she doesn't have to sacrifice her ENTIRE life just to keep HIS offspring fed! That's hardly fair when he also is the reason this kid exists just as much as my friend here!"

Faruzan looked beyond pissed but was clearly trying to stay as respectful as she could. Layla could sense the tension now and was looking quite uncomfortable as she fidgeted nervously beside you.

Lord Kusunali seemed to be unbothered by Faruzan's anger and just responded normally.

"I understand your concerns. But I know the type of individual my helper is. Forcing him to be a part of Y/N's life when he isn't sure what he wants from this situation will only cause him to respond with more hostility and aggression. And in her condition, Y/N is in no place to endure such a person regardless of their connection with her and her baby." She explained.

Faruzan looked like she was going to burst a vessel as she immediately spat back.

"What about Y/N? When does SHE get a fair chance to decide what she wants from any of this? Time won't stop while that deadbeat struggles to comprehend the fact that he was a descendant! And if my friend has to endure this while being unprepared then so should he!"

Faruzan and Lord Kusunali went back and forth meanwhile Layla began to panic and even hyperventilated a little as she appeared to be on the verge of some kind of breakdown. Finally she seemed to snap but instead of spiraling out of control in some way, she grew oddly calm and collected as she went over and placed a gentle hand on Faruzan's shoulder.

"This stress isn't good for you Madam Faruzan. Let alone Y/N. Let's take a few minutes and think about what we can do here. Firstly, it seems that regardless if our archon agrees with you or not, that man is not going to be easily found. He often disappears for long periods of time from what I've heard from others in the past. This is very like him. Secondly, Y/N just needs help until her baby is old enough to attend their own classes at the akademiya and she can finally have some free time at the beginning of the day. I think as her friends, that helping her ourselves during this time will mean the world to her and even show her that she isn't alone in this." Layla spoke in a very soothing tone. Her demeanor is almost like another woman entirely. It bothers you only for a few seconds though as you realize she's trying to help you.

Faruzan goes quiet as if contemplating something then sighs as she apologizes to the archon and gives Layla a small nod.

"You're right. I suppose I did overreact a little there. But I'm just concerned about Y/N! I'll gladly help you and her as much as I can but I still can't allow that jerk to just wander free while our friend is forced to take full responsibility for a child she certainly didn't make herself!"

Faruzan waved goodbye to the archon as she motioned for me to follow her and Layla back down to the akademiya again for now.

"What if I told you I have an idea of how we could prove that Hat Guy is the father?" Layla mentioned as you three went to congregate in the library for more privacy.

You sat at a large table between your friends pretending to read so no one bothered you all as you listened to Layla's plan.

"It's going to take a bit of time to save up enough mora. But if we can pay for it, a paternity test is very much needed here to show Hat Guy that Y/N is being truthful here."

"And just how are we going to be able to get his DNA for that?"

"Easy, tomorrow we inform the archon of our idea. Then we ask her to tell him what we need. It's not like we're doing anything bad, once we explain to the archon that this test will show us if he's the genetic father or not, I'm sure Hat Guy won't mind doing it. He doesn't want this to be happening about as much as any of us do. He won't say no." Layla assured.

Faruzan didn't look convinced but seemed just as exhausted by then as you felt and agreed for the sake of agreeing.

After that you all made plans for how this new arrangement was going to work.

It would be a few years before any child of yours was old enough to attend school and until then both Layla and Faruzan had promised to support you and help you where Wanderer couldn't.

You really didn't want to see him any time soon after he insulted you and called you a liar so in short you took up the offer to stay with Faruzan and Layla at her house until you could find more time to learn to balance work, school, and being a mother.

After that you went back to your small and crappy home to say one last goodbye as you and Faruzan went to gather your things and move you in with her.

You never really liked your place. It was all that was left by the time you arrived in Sumeru for school and so you couldn't afford to be picky and bought it. Maybe in the future, when you were able to hire someone and your child was older, you could move back here and perhaps renovate it and make it better. But for now you were happy to be living in the rather nice home of your friend.

The next day arrived faster than you expected and despite wanting to go with Faruzan and Layla to see the archon again and tell her about what you planned to do to resolve this situation, you felt more tired than usual today and opted to stay back instead and rest. Layla offered to stay with you and at first you refused but Faruzan said it would be better since she wanted to personally apologize in a more heartfelt way for getting upset with Lord Kusunali yesterday. And so she went alone while you and Layla remained at home both taking well deserved naps.

***TIME SKIP***

It took a few days for Wanderer to finally make an appearance and a few more days before he finally gave word to Lord Kusunali that whenever you all needed him, he'd allow you to collect a DNA sample from him.

By the time you were able to get everything together and mailed off, you were finally into the beginning stages of your second trimester and were starting to show a little at last.

Most of your clothes were getting uncomfortable at that point so you went out and bought some comfy sundresses and flowy clothes instead. After all, you would be outdoors in the future chasing after a small child, you would need the leg room to hurry after them. And stuff like this just looked cute regardless so you could wear them in public too!

Everything seemed to be going okay until you ran into the last person you wanted to see while out shopping, Wanderer.

He stared at you with a dismissive look in his eyes as he stood across the street helping Traveler of all people with what appeared to be some kind of errand.

You quickly tried to hurry away but Aether spotted you and immediately rushed over to say hi.

"Y/N! I haven't seen you in so long! Are you doing okay?" He wondered as he pulled you into a big hug and then smiled kindly at you as he set you back down and took notice of your appearance.

"oh wow you look so pretty in this gown! You should consider bright colors more often in the future. They compliment you so well!" You couldn't help but notice a small hint of color on your friend's face as he quickly looked you over and tried to hide it.

How cute. He still had a crush didn't he? As awkward as it felt you did feel a little flattered by the attention since you hadn't been feeling as hot lately due to gaining more weight and sleeping more.

"Yeah it's new. I bought a few more in other colors too but I liked this one the most and wanted to wear it out today. So you really like it?" You asked. Trying to ignore the withering look Wanderer was shooting at you from behind Aether.

The hell was his problem suddenly?

Aether quickly nodded.

"yes a lot actually. You just look really good in it. Any reason for the sudden wardrobe change though? It's unlike you to wear stuff like this." He suddenly asked as he seemed to finally set his large golden eyes on the small swell of your belly.

"oh my...Y/N are you?" Aether's expression suddenly became stunned but he reached out to touch your belly anyway.

You allowed this as you desperately try to explain but keep things vague.

"yes. I'm pregnant. Not extremely far along yet but I'm about 4 months now. I'm kinda fat so that's why I'm clothes shopping today."

"Who's the father?"

The forbidden question at long last. You could practically feel Wanderer mentally daring you to say his name.

You didn't want to see him today nor give him the satisfaction of seeing you be so negatively affected by his presence like this. But you also didn't wanna make Aether feel like his friend was in the wrong here. And so you just lied.

"He left Sumeru. I actually don't like talking about it. It's a wound that will probably never truly heal but I'm managing alright on my own thanks to Faruzan and Layla's help."

"You're staying with friends? Well that's good. I'd hate to hear that you're all alone like this. So at least you have them right?" Aether asked cheerfully. Clearly noticing that the vibe was weird between the two people around him but choosing to ignore it for now.

"definitely. In fact I'll be living in the same house as them for convenience. Probably until my child is at least 5 or 6 and they can go to school during the day and give me time to pick up my life again after that."

"So you have a plan already? Wow you're so good at this Y/N. Who knew you'd turn out to be such a great mom?" Aether complimented as you saw Wanderer let out a frustrated huff and cross his arms impatiently.

Aether took the hint.

"Well sorry Y/N, we should get going now. We have to deliver some stuff to this old man outside the city. I'll try to see you later though. Get back safe please!" He called out as he hurried away. Wanderer gave you a strange look you've never seen on him before but ultimately he just brushed you off again as he followed after Aether.

You just went back home after that.

Faruzan was extremely upset over the fact that Wanderer was apparently giving you dirty looks in public and trying to run your friend off like you were some terrible woman. She said it was cruel to be acting this way toward you when you hadn't been proven guilty of doing anything deserving of it.

You just told her to forget about it. Because at this point you didn't even really see him the same and even after you were proven to be an honest woman when the results came in.

You really didn't want him around.

***Time Skip***

It took almost 6 weeks before the results of the paternity test arrived in the mail. By then you were just about six months pregnant and unable to stand for long most days. So naturally you just told Faruzan to wait until she met up with Wanderer and Lord Kusunali before opening the letter lest Wanderer claim they were forged or something else awful.

You would be staying with Layla again until Faruzan got back later with the news.

Honestly you just wanted to sleep. This entire thing with Wanderer had kept you worried for so long. Mostly because you didn't want him to really be around you much afterwards.

He wasn't the same person you had had spontaneous and passionate flings with anymore. This Wanderer was really cruel to you and often unfair.

It was a side of him that you really didn't want to have to live with or even be around. In fact you almost dreaded him knowing the truth now.

Would he want to be close to you again?

You didn't really want someone who thought so lowly of you to touch you if you were honest with yourself.

You didn't want to have to be in the same room with him constantly complaining or snapping at you while you were meant to be bonding with your baby.

You were a little excited about being a mother these days too. You had picked out a name and even sang to your unborn now and then before you fell asleep so they would sleep too.

They liked your voice it seemed.

And the idea of growing a tiny person inside of your tummy had finally seemed a little less scary to you as you reminded yourself that you, in the end, were just as much a part of the tiny infant inside as the other person you slept with was.

You went to lay down in your bed and relax for a bit like usual. Expecting sleep to hit eventually like it usually did when you were too worried to do much else.

However this time

Peace never came

Instead after a few minutes of trying to steady your breathing and find a comfortable position to lie down in, suddenly out of nowhere

A sharp stabbing pain was felt in your lower back. It felt like a jolt of fire. One that quickly dulled yet came back again within the hour slightly worse.

You tried to get up to go get some pain medicine yet as you stood up the pain seemed to surge through you and radiate throughout your entire lower abdomen like period cramps that had come straight from the fucking abyss and were attempting to kill you.

Oh no

No no no

Please no

You barely had time to collapse to your knees on the ground before more pain came.

"LAYLA!!!" You shriek at the top of your lungs as you swear you feel something wet between your legs.

You hear footsteps racing towards your bedroom before a terrified looking Layla hurries in and freezes up as she sees you kneeling on the floor in a puddle of your own fluids. Your water had broken WAY earlier and faster than expected.

And Layla didn't know what to do.

"What happened!? Oh my! Should I get a doctor? No! A towel? I don't know what I shou-" Layla seemed to suddenly stumble in front of you. She caught the doorframe halfway through her near collapse and within seconds you seemed to be looking into the eyes of that other version of Layla that you had glimpsed a few months ago.

She immediately went over and grabbed the blanket from your bed and wrapped it around your shoulders as she helped you to your feet and told you to try and walk for as long as you could.

You were going to a hospital.

***Time Skip***

You disassociated as Layla hurried you along the back streets of Sumeru City to the closest medical clinic. Immediately upon seeing you in your state, several nurses rushed over and helped you into one of the beds before setting to work.

It took many hours.

But eventually after being given some medicine and a midwife who seemed to have experience in premature deliveries, you were able to give birth to a tiny baby boy. You weren't given an opportunity to hold him as he was immediately taken somewhere else to be given support as he was barely able to cry on his own and seemed so terribly small and fragile.

Too fragile.

That was what the issue was.

You were cleaned up and given time to rest as you heard a doctor explaining to Layla close by that you would survive and premature deliveries induced by stress were not uncommon but terribly unfortunate. Comforting words for everyone else.

But not for you.

You had terrible nightmares about your son not making it. His poor little heart just not being strong enough to withstand the horrible world around him and giving up before it even truly started.

It was unfair.

Everything about this pregnancy was unfair.

But eventually as you would awaken later, you would be greeted with news that you had expected.

But still tore you apart inside nonetheless.

The doctor from before would greet you upon awakening from your painful slumber. His face grim as the words left his lips.

Your son couldn't make it.

You couldn't hear anything after that.

A loud ringing filled your ears and didn't stop no matter what you did or said.

Only one thought remained in your mind.

You didn't even get to hold him.

***Time Skip***

Two weeks went by after that.

You learned a lot of things then.

Faruzan had informed Wanderer of the positive test results.

He had said nothing at first upon realizing his mistake and just kinda left the sanctuary to be by himself for a while presumably.

Faruzan and Lord Kusunali had learned of your premature delivery when the dendro archoness had been summoned in a hurry to try and help a newborn who had apparently been birthed under stressful/sudden circumstances and was suffering from a weakened and underdeveloped heart.

Lord Kusunali had been present as your son was regrettably pronounced dead within the hour.

No one had heard from Wanderer since it was revealed without a doubt that he had been the father.

Faruzan doubted he even cared that it had passed.

Or that you were clearly mentally unwell after the incident.

Everyone who entered your room said the same thing.

You would just stare at the ceiling and say nothing.

All day.

Everyday.

It took someone else interfering to keep you bathed and fed. Because as far as anyone else could tell, you had just given up on everything and resigned to your bed for the foreseeable future.

In fact you hardly even remember ever moving from your hospital bed to your own bed back at the house. It just seemed to happen and one day you noticed.

You remember Wanderer visiting you at some point too. But you couldn't find the energy to say anything to him. Your mouth wouldn't move to form the words no matter how many times he seemed to return and try to coax you into some food or a conversation with him.

He would end up just sitting there in the room with you. Saying nothing for hours until Faruzan usually kicked him out finally.

You felt trapped in your own body. Unable to move or speak. You simply... couldn't find a reason why.

So you didn't.

Eventually it started feeling like you had forgotten how entirely.

Life seemed repetitive and pointless.

And it didn't help that sometimes when you were completely alone, you could hear what sounded like a baby's laughter coming from somewhere around you where you couldn't see.

You often wondered if it was your baby.

Was he happy now?

Did he miss his momma's voice?

You would sing to him again if you could. But you didn't know where he was.

Maybe he was with your grandmother and grandfather somewhere.

Was that why he sounded so happy?

Were they watching over him for you?

Keeping him safe and telling him how much you still loved him?

You didn't even realize you were walking on your own feet again at first. You just felt the floor beneath them as you got up from your bed and wandered away from the window.

***Time Break***

(Wanderer's POV)

He hated himself.

He knew without a doubt as he had watched the life vanish from your eyes that day that it had been entirely all HIS fault all of this happened.

He just couldn't believe it at first.

And he reacted in a way that he would live to regret every day afterwards.

But there was nothing he could do.

What was done could never be undone now.

And Wanderer had experience when accepting truths like this.

Because in a way he had killed you that day too.

Months came and went.

He tried every damn day to visit you once you were home.

He would spend the rest of your lives trying to atone for what he had done. Yet he knew nothing would fix it.

Nothing would fix...you.

Wanderer would try to make small meals he remembered that you enjoyed and bring them to you.

He'd keep your space clean for you and even try to talk to you daily.

But you never answered him.

No.

The woman who sat before him was truly just a ghost of the girl he once fell for. The same girl who he had done wrong by again and again and again.

All because HE was an unworthy and vile being who never deserved such affection. Because HE had failed to handle such a gift from possibly fate itself with care.

And of course.

It had all been taken from him.

It was all he could do to stay by your side at that point and mourn the idea of what he could have had.

A family of his own.

A sweet and caring partner who trusted him.

A son.

His son.

Who he had denied every chance he got.

He truly was such a foolish being.

He deserved this fate.

And much more.

He'd never deny this.

In fact the day Wanderer came over one day to find you upon the floor. Laying colder than the wood beneath your discarded body, he was deeply hurt by this discovery.

But he knew this was the punishment he deserved.

You had taken your life because he had made this one unworth living for you.

He deserved to hold your icy corpse in his arms as a reminder of his transgressions.

At least now you were somewhere smiling again.

Because surely a gentle spirit like you, had a beautiful afterlife awaiting her.

He wouldn't ruin that for you too.

Which is why despite what he truly wanted the day he watched you be put into the earth from afar, he vowed to stay alive for as long as possible.

He would willingly carry this sin on his shoulders along with the many others before it as a permanent reminder

That he would never be human.

And he DIDN'T deserve to be.

#genshin impact #wanderer #wanderer x female reader #wanderer x reader #genshin wanderer #wanderer angst #angst #character death

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