#( I had to PHYSICALLY restrain myself from making this longer ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silentglassbreak · 2 months

Note

I usually don't so this, but since you posted it not so long ago, are the requests still open? And if so, can I ask for meeting Noah after a show, talking about fantasies and maybe some vampire role-playing? But also lots of fluff after because he's a good top. My name's Maggie and my most prominent features are that I am short, I wear glasses and I have dark curly hair.

Alrighty, let's just get right into this one, because there is truly no time to waste.

After Writing Notes: Baby, I am so sorry. I have no clue how we got here...but here we are? Once again, we went a lil off prompt, so I apologize if it wasn't exactly what you were looking for? I hope you enjoy regardless! Just a heads up, this is -BY FAR- the darkest one I've written so far.

Rating: Explicit AF

Warnings: smut, kink, blood play, roleplay, blood...blood...blood, horror themes, light BDSM (choking and biting)

Die For You

February 14th, 2024.

Valentine’s Day is the bane of my existence. I was so tired of the patrons, the demanding orders, and - mostly - the couples. It was vomit-inducing. Did my recent breakup contribute to the way I was feeling?

Sure. Probably.

Did it change the fact that I was in the foulest mood imaginable?

Not in the slightest.

I leaned my head against the brick wall of the building, my break slowly waning, signaling I was due to go back in and finish the last two hours of this God forsaken shift. Being a waitress had no perks. None.

Instead, it came with cons that I had to endure in order to pay my bills.

“Hanging in there, Maggie?”

I sighed and turned to the door, hearing Alexa’s breathless voice. She was certainly struggling in there without me.

“Yeah, just getting some air. I’ll be in there in less than five.”

She nodded and stepped out into the cool evening air. She pulled a cigarette from her pack, lighting it between her lips.

“Have you seen the announcement on Insta?”

I rolled my head to the side to glance at her. “What announcement?”

She smirked, pulling her phone from her back pocket and opening the app, handing it to me.

The poster was on the Black Veil Brides page. It was blood red, with bright white font.

BLOOD BATH

October 31st, 2024

Kia Forum

BRING ME THE HORIZON

FALLING IN REVERSE

BLACK VEIL BRIDES

BAD OMENS

ICE NINE KILLS

THE FIVE BIGGEST BANDS OF METAL

ONE NIGHT ONLY

TICKETS SELLING FAST

My brain almost didn’t register what I was seeing.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” My eyes were blown out as I looked up at Alex.

“Nope. Tickets are $850 a piece, I checked.”

I groaned, tossing my head back. “I could never afford that, let alone before it sells out.”

Alexa scoffed, sucking in the smoke of her cigarette. “You’re hilarious. I just wanted to make sure you’d want to go.” She snatched her phone back from me.

“What?” I quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I have two tickets.”

My heart fell into my stomach. “E-fucking-xcuse me?”

She cackled. “Who else would I take? I’ve got a savings for a reason, right?”

My jaw was hanging open. “Alex, that’s insane. That’s $1,700!”

“$1,896, actually. Including taxes and fees.”

“That’s insane!” I repeated.

“When are we ever going to get to see all of those bands at once? It’s obviously some kind of crazy event. Can you imagine the crossovers we’re going to see? The theatrics!” I couldn’t speak, I was too stunned. “Plus,” She dropped her spent smoke and stomped on it. “I figured you needed some cheering up today. I know Bad Omens is your favorite.”

I could not physically restrain myself any longer, throwing myself at her and wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

“You’re the best fucking human being alive, you know that?!” I peppered kisses on her cheeks, making her squirm.

“Yes, yes, I’m aware.” She wiped my smeared lip gloss off her face.

She stalked back to the door, pulling the handle. “Now let’s finish this bullshit, so we can go celebrate. You’re buying.”

October 31st, 2024

The line to get in was impossibly long, so Alex and I were sat on the ground, chatting about the songs we were excited to hear, and who we were most excited to see.

“Spencer is the actual love of my life, and I cannot wait to see his fucking face.” She gushed.

I smiled. “Oh, don’t I know. But Andy? Ugh, how fucking mouthwatering.”

The doors would open shortly, so we stood, and promptly filed our way in. The venue was huge. We both agreed we would not be drinking, figuring we had a long time to stand and would end up exhausted.

We opted to grab two water bottles from the bar and head to the GA floor. We were early, luckily, and managed to grab a spot up at the rails.

Waiting nearly an hour, the lights finally came down, and the crowd erupted. Alexa was absolutely feral, listening to the opening of Rainy Day playing. When Spencer bounded onstage, full suit attire, and blade in his hand, she nearly jumped the rails.

As he passed us near the stage, I noticed something. I tapped Alex’s arm and she leaned her head down to hear me.

“He’s wearing fangs!” I shouted. She glanced up and looked, seeing the same.

Her eyes rolled as she licked her bottom lip. “Fucking bite me, Daddy.” She groaned, and I bursted with laughter.

She was so unhinged.

Ice Nine Kills finished their set with Welcome to Horrorwood, sending blood red confetti into the air, before gracefully stepping off the stage. During the set I had noticed a few things that almost seemed…off?

First of all, it wasn’t just Spencer with fangs. It was the entire band. Being as close as we were, I could see the shiny white fangs exposed every so often when they’d open their mouths to sing. These weren’t cheap, Amazon pop-ins either. They were convincing. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn that they were their actual teeth, filed down to sharp points. It was interesting.

As well, everyone in the band seemed to have a looming presence tonight. It was so difficult to explain, but it just as if they weren’t just looking at the crowd, but like they were searching it. Looking for something specific, with pointed stares and glaring smiles. It ran a chill up my spine when Spencer made direct eye contact with Alexa for a full minute while singing Hip To Be Scared. It was as if he was looking at a meal.

She ate it up, as expected.

The next set, however, was Bad Omens, and I could not have been more excited.

I had seen them twice before, and their Setlist didn’t stray much, so I was actually shocked when the usual Loading Screen didn’t show, and the opening to Artificial Suicide didn’t begin.

Instead, the opening song was Blood. That was so odd. I didn’t think they even performed this song. The crowd loved it, however.

They still started in all ski masks, and removed them for the next track - Like A Villain.

During the chorus, I was singing and swaying, giving my full attention, but stopped as soon as Noah moved close enough that I could see it.

He was also wearing fangs. My eyes darted to Jolly, who was easiest to see from where I stood. He licked his lips and, as I suspected, there they were - sharp and white.

Alexa seemed to also notice this, tapping me to lean in. “It’s called Blood Bath, so it must be a vampire themed show for Halloween.”

I nodded, because that seemed legitimate.

But still…

I expected that out of Ice Nine or Black Veil Brides. Hell, Oli Sykes actually had fangs.

But Bad Omens?

They weren’t as theatrical. I was surprised they had agreed.

However, I was pulled out of my thoughts when I felt eyes on me, and my attention was pulled back to the stage. A pair of deep, nearly black eyes were staring at me.

The song had changed, and we were on Nowhere To Go. And he was staring at me.

No, not at me. INTO me. Something in my soul felt exposed, as if I had shown up to this show nude.

I couldn’t break eye contact. I was caught between being starstruck, and immensely terrified. His lips were turned up in the slightest of smiles.

“Are you ready?”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m in the driver’s seat now.”

He finally broke his gaze, headbanging between screams.

Once I was released, I inhaled a sharp breath, turning my back to the stage. Alexa noticed as I crouched down, breathing hard.

“Babe?!” She bent down next to me. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “It’s too hot in this crowd, I’ve got to go.”

She got down to my eye level. “Maggie, you want to leave during Bad Omens?!”

I nodded feverishly, my dark curls sticking to my neck. Despite being sweaty, I had a cold chill climbing up my spine.

“I’m going to have a panic attack. I need a break.”

Maggie nodded, looking solemn. “Okay, let’s go.”

I stopped her, grabbing her arm. “No, you stay here. Save our spot. I’m going to go get some air, and I’ll be back.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

I stood up, adjusting my shirt that had bunched up at my waist, and pulled my glasses on top of my head.

“Yeah, I’ll be back after their set.”

She sighed, but hugged me and told me to be careful.

I pressed my way through the crowd, not chancing another glance at the stage, despite feeling the eyes on my back.

The evening air was cool, in the fifty-degree range. I worried my sweatshirt with my fingers, feeling the air pull in and out of my lungs.

I had slipped out of the side entrance to the smoking area. I ducked under the ropes and to the back of the building to be alone. The tour buses were back in this area, but I paid it no attention, working hard at calming my nerves.

I had been out here for at least forty-five minutes. I could hear the music inside, and knew Bad Omens’ set had been over now for about five minutes. Figuring it was now a good time to make my way back to Alex, I pushed back into the building, seeing the crowd had not moved much.

I had tried to enter at several different points, but the bodies were condensed so tight, and unwilling to give up their spots. After fifteen minutes of trying, I growled and pulled my phone out, tapping Alexa’s name.

When she answered the phone, she shouted. “Hey! Where are you?”

“I can’t get back up there! No one is letting me through!”

She groaned. “Fuck! Okay, I’ll come out.”

“No! Don’t do that! Black Veil Brides is next! You cannot miss that!”

She went quiet for a second. “Maggie, I don’t want you to be alone.”

I stepped back outside so I could hear better. “I’ll be fine. I’ll watch the crowd to see if I can make it back in later.”

“You’re sure? Cause I will leave right fucking now. You know you’re more important.”

“Babe, you spent almost all of your savings on this. I’m not ruining it for you. I can see from back here.”

“Promise?”

I smiled. “I promise.”

Electing to stay outside a while, I sat on the curb behind the building, going through the photos and video I captured of Ice Nine Kills’ set. I managed to catch Spencer staring at Alex on camera, which I promptly sent her.

She responded quickly.

Alexa: OMFG HE’S IN LOVE WITH ME

I giggled, shaking my head at her response. Going back to my photo album, I sat watching the videos when I heard Black Veil Brides start.

Bleeders was the first song. Fitting.

Alexa: Dude…Andy’s wearing fangs too. It’s definitely a theme.

Me: Love it.

The music was so loud that I hadn’t heard the footsteps behind me.

“Excuse me?” Startled, I jumped up, turning around.

An impossibly tall, hooded man stood, hands in front of him, eyebrows raised.

It took me about three seconds to register who it was, and my mouth fell open.

“Are you okay?”

Noah fucking Sebastian.

I was caught between stunned, ecstatic, and horrified. He had such a soft look on his face. He looked immensely different than he did on stage. He wore black joggers with his own logo on them, a plain black hoodie, and a black baseball cap.

“Wh-“ My voice shorted, so I cleared my throat. “What?”

He smirked slightly. “Are you okay? I remember you from the crowd, and I saw you leave. I almost stopped the set when I saw you crouch down.”

I was floored. He noticed that? I knew he saw me, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t think he saw me?!

“Yeah, I, uh…” I stammered. “I just got really hot. The pyrotechnics and all.”

He nodded, chancing a step toward me. “You sure? You look pretty pale.”

Fantastic. Not only did I leave early during his performance - which he fucking saw - but I also looked fucking peaked at the same time.

I forced a calm smile. “Yeah, I’m good, promise.”

He seemed satisfied with that, putting his hands in his pockets. “Did I freak you out? When I stared at you?”

That was on purpose?!

I didn’t get a chance to answer. “I just perform better sometimes when I have something to focus on.”

I was bewildered, my eyebrows knitting together. “And that something was me?”

He smiled, a warm expression. “I guess so.”

“Why?” I couldn’t stop it from falling out of my mouth. Did it matter?

He shrugged his shoulders. “I liked your face.”

That’s a really strange answer.

“Okay?” I shifted one foot to another, not sure what to say or how to act.

“Why aren’t you watching the show?”

I sighed, moving back to the curb, deciding to sit back down. He made quick work of doing the same, sitting about a foot to my right.

“My best friend is up there. I couldn’t get back in to where she is. I tried.”

He nodded. “Ah.” His hands still in his pockets and knees bouncing rhythmically, he glanced around.

“Well, I’m going to watch from the balcony. Want to join?”

My heart rate sped up, screeching in my chest. His lip twitched at the same time, which was ironic.

“I,” My brain was misfiring, but I knew better. “I can’t.”

His eyes almost fell, his expression turning nearly…sad? “Oh?”

“I can’t leave Alex. I promised I’d make it back to her at some point.”

“You can bring her if you want.”

My mind was short circuiting. This couldn’t be fucking happening.

“I, uh, don’t know.” Something was too weird. This didn’t just happen. “I really shouldn’t.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “No worries.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “If you change your mind, I’m going up before Oli’s set. I’ll be around.”

With that, he turned around, and took a few steps. He spun back around and raised an eyebrow at me.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“Maggie.”

He smiled. “See you later, Maggie.”

Me: I NEED TO FUCKING SPEAK TO YOU IMMEDIATELY.

Alexa: What level urgency? They’re playing In The End.

Me: B L A C K.

Alexa: OH FUCK IM ON MY WAY.

Alexa and I were regular show goers, so we had code we used.

Urgent situations were assigned a color.

Green: Good to go. Nothing to worry about.

Yellow: Shit’s getting weird. We need to keep eyes open.

Red: Urgent. Get to me ASAP. Serious situation.

Black: Get here now. Highest level priority.

Alexa came barreling out of the door and ran toward me, out of breath. “Are you okay? I got a knife in my boot that they didn’t take. I can stab someone!”

I grabbed her shoulders. “I’m fine!”

She stopped abruptly, narrowing her eyes. “What? Then why the urgency? I missed the end of the set!”

“I met Noah Sebastian.”

Her face deadpanned. “I beg your finest pardon?!”

I just nodded. “Out here. He remembered me from the crowd.”

“Are you fucking with me? Cause Maggie, I love you, but I’ll punch you right here, right now if you’re lying.”

“There’s no need for violence. She isn’t lying.”

Both of us snapped our necks to our left, the hooded figure stepping out from behind one of the buses. Noah came into view, hands still in his pockets.

“Nice to meet you, Alex.”

She visibly reeled, a shrill screech leaving her mouth.

“Holy fuck! It’s actually him!”

I giggled, glancing back at Noah, whose eyes were on me again. I straightened my spine, feeling that same fear sinking in from before.

“I was telling Maggie earlier that I planned to watch the rest of the show from the balcony with the guys. Wanted to invite you to join.”

Her mouth hung open, hand reaching for my arm and pulling me close. “We’d love to.” She answered for us.

I shot her a look. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to do this. I still had the unnerved feeling that something wasn’t right.

She ignored my stare, smiling brightly at Noah.

He returned her grin with his own, which was oddly menacing. I noticed at that moment that he still had the fangs in.

“Awesome. Follow me.”

We did as we were told, following him into the back of the building, passing people who obviously were working on the show. We were far enough behind Noah that I pulled Alex in close, whispering to her.

“I feel weird about this, babe.”

She stared at me incredulously. “Why? Isn’t this your biggest fantasy?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course it is, but it feels strange. Why us?”

She shrugged. “We manifested it? I don’t know. Shit like this happens all the time.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it does.”

The balcony he lead us to was private. It was between sets, so the other members of the band were sat, relaxing, beers in hand. It was set up as a lounge, three couches lined up.

Noah graciously introduced us to the other band members, and we shook their hands feverishly, awestruck. It wasn’t lost on me that all of them still had the fangs in.

Alex had struck a conversation with Nick Folio, explaining how she played drums in high school. I sat slowly on the end couch, seeing the view of the stage that was incredible. The couch sunk next to me, and I glanced over to Noah, who was tapping a message into his phone.

“Aren’t those uncomfortable?”

He looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

I pointed to my canines, and he snorted.

“Oh, right. Yeah, you get used to them.” He locked his phone and slipped it in his pocket.

I nodded. “You guys are dedicated to the theme, huh?”

He smiled, showing off the sharp points, and ran his tongue over one. “They’re not easy to take off.”

“Mm.” Must be glued on.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, leaned back on the seat with his arm over the back.

“Do you do this all the time? Pick up random fans?”

He narrowed his eyes, grinning at me.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems abnormal. What makes us so special?”

He sat up, leaning forward on his elbows so he was inches from my face, his breath cool. “What makes you think you’re just some random fan?”

I scoffed. “Because I am?” I leaned away from him, needing air. “I’m just a girl. Short. Glasses. Mop of hair. I didn’t even wear makeup tonight.”

He leaned back as well, keeping a distance between us. “So? Why does that mean you aren’t special?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I’m not the first fan to be in a balcony with you.”

He nodded. “You’d be correct.” My heart sunk just slightly. “But you’re the first one I went looking for.”

My eyes popped open.

The fuck did that mean?

“Looking?”

He snickered, sighing loudly. “You got me. I thought you were attractive. Really attractive, okay? I figured I’d see if I could catch you.”

This caught me so far off guard, I nearly fell off of the couch.

“You think I’m attractive?”

This made him belly laugh, my disbelief.

“Maggie, can I let you in on a secret?” I just nodded. He leaned his head over, whispering. “I think you’re mouthwatering.”

A sharp tingle shot up my spine, and I wriggled next to him.

The lights went down, and the crowd cheered as Falling In Reverse began their set.

Popular Monster. This show was a trip.

We watched the show, Alex and I singing along to the lyrics of nearly every song. Every so often, Noah would lean over and tell me something about the song playing, complimenting Ronnie’s artistic ability or the instrumentals. The guys all seemed to be enjoying it as well, air-guitar and drumming.

It was just far enough away that I couldn’t tell, so I leaned into Noah. “Is Ronnie wearing fangs too?”

He nodded, lips nearly touching my ear when he spoke. “It was Oli’s idea. We all have them.”

Made sense. I smiled at him, catching his eyes wandering my face. His arm was tucked neatly behind my back now, resting on my hip. Something about the encounter changed. I didn’t feel fear anymore, rather, Noah’s presence felt safe. It felt comfortable and I felt myself craving it. The air almost lightened, my shoulders relaxing as I exhaled a breath I had been holding.

“Can I tell you something?” I nodded, leaning back in to hear him. “I’d kiss you right now, if you’d let me.”

My eyebrows shot up. He pulled his face away, running his tongue over his bottom lip. A pit opened in my stomach, causing me to swallow harshly.

“And what if I don’t?”

He smirked, his tattooed finger coming up to swipe across my bottom lip. “That, darling, would be a tragedy.”

It was involuntary, the way my body pressed closer to him, the soft skin of his lips brushing against mine. It wasn’t quite what we wanted, but it was so close.

My self control was fading, and he knew it, his hand tightening on my hip.

“If you’d let me?”

That was it. My lips were pressed against his, molding to his mouth, and breathing into his soul. I felt the sharp tooth scrape over my skin, which elicited a hard groan from me. His other hand came up to the side of my neck, and his fingers tangled in my curls.

We lasted this way for several minutes, finally pulling away with a sharp hiss from his mouth. His eyes were feral, wild. His grip on my hair was tight. He bored into my eyes, speaking something that I couldn’t read.

We were pulled from our moment when a hand tapped my shoulder. I whipped around quickly, and his hands released me.

Alex stood, eyes wide, and smiling. “I hate to interrupt, but I’m going to run to the restroom. Just wanted you to know.”

I wiped my lips with my thumb, feeling a sharp pain. I nodded at Alex, who furrowed her brows, bending down to speak directly at me.

“Watch the fangs, babe. You’re bleeding.”

I looked down at my thumb, the deep red filling the ridges of my print.

A hand came up to wrap around my wrist, staring at my finger. He swiftly and smoothly lifted it to his lips, sucking it into his mouth. When he released me, my finger was clean.

He smiled a sheepish grin at me in response to my shocked expression. “Too weird?”

I wanted to say yes, because that was the normal person thing to say. However, given the heat that had pooled in my stomach and the way my thighs clenched together, I just shook my head.

The music was loud, booming into my chest, and I leaned back onto the couch, staring at Noah.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked me.

��That there’s no way this is real.”

He smirked. “Sometimes, it’s better to believe it’s not.”

This confused me, but he was wrapping his arm around me again, pulling me into his side, and looking down at the stage. We tried to watch the performance, we really did. But within minutes, I was in his lap, straddling his hips, and our tongues were fighting for dominance while his hands roamed up and down my legs.

I sighed, closing my eyes as his lips trailed down my jaw to my neck, nipping gently at my pulse point. He licked a stripe up my windpipe, causing me to rut against him.

“Fucking hell, Maggie.” He leaned back, and I pulled back, hands on his shoulders. “You’re so fucking amazing.”

I blushed, leaning back down to nibble on his ear. In my peripheral vision, I caught my phone on the couch lighting up. I had four missed texts from Alex.

“Shit!” I grabbed my phone and sat back on his legs.

“Everything okay?”

I shrugged. “Alexa isn’t back, and I haven’t checked my messages. I got distracted.” I said, eyeing him mischievously.

He responded by scratching his nails down the front of my leggings.

Alexa: BABE Spencer is out here talking to Andy!!!!

Alexa: OMFG he’s looking at me. I’m going to talk to him.

Alexa: HE REMEMBERS ME FROM THE CROWD.

Alexa: He asked me to go to his balcony. I have to. It’s the one next to Noah’s. I’ll be there if you need me.

I smiled at my phone. “Such a weird night.”

“Is she okay?”

I nodded, setting my phone back down. “Yeah, uh,” I shook my head, trying to understand how this had happened. “She met Spencer Charnas, and she’s in his balcony.”

He nodded, looking apprehensive. “She’s a fan of his?”

“The biggest. She’d die for that man.”

His eye twitched at that, almost a wince. “Mm. Maybe she should stick with you?”

My face fell, confused. “Why?”

He bit his lip, glancing over to where Folio sat, who was staring directly at him. “I don’t know. Just seemed like the kind of thing you guys do.”

I nodded, falling off of his lap. “Usually, but this is kind of once in a lifetime.”

He sighed hard, his eyes glancing back up to Folio. “I wish it wasn’t.”

This was confusing, his entire demeanor had shifted.

“Are you okay?”

He worried his bottom lip with the fangs, and nodded. “You, uh,” He looked at his bandmates, who were all giving him a look. “want to see the bus? I need to get something, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

There was something under his tone that made me almost flinch. It was as if he wasn’t giving me a choice…

“Okay? I mean, or I could wait with Alex in the next balcony?”

“No!” Noah’s voice was harsh, causing me to wince. “I mean, let her have her time. Once in a lifetime, right?”

I nodded, unsure.

“You trust me?”

I sighed, suddenly wildly unsure. “Should I?”

He nodded fervently. “Yes. You should.”

The tour bus was enormous. It was also a total mess. It was as if it was more lived in than an actual home. I try not to judge, but there was stuff everywhere. Drink containers, beer bottles, random garbage, clothes. The shades were drawn, and you couldn’t see outside.

Noah turned around with a look of embarrassment on his face, a hard contrast to the persona he had on all night. He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Sorry, the guys said they’d clean up…I guess they forgot.”

I shook my head, giving him a warm smile. “No worries. You guys have to live here, I get it.”

He sighed. “Can I be honest?”

“I’d hope so.” I giggled, hands in my sweater pockets.

“I didn’t need to grab anything, I was just hoping for some privacy.”

My eyes widened, and I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Oh…” Suddenly uncomfortable, I began scanning the bus for all of the exits, the closest being the door behind me.

“You don’t have to stay, it was just stuffy in there and the guys are kind of really fucking nosey.”

This made me smile. “I caught that.” I pursed my lips, looking around, trying to soothe the hammering in my chest. “I could stay.”

“You sure? Oli is going to go on soon.”

I nodded. “Once in a lifetime?”

This almost made his face fall, and he leaned against the counter of the kitchenette sink. “I wish it wasn’t.”

This gave me pause, and I moved to stand next to him.

“What do you mean?”

He pulled his hat off, revealing his mop of long dark hair that was overgrown. “I just…” He trailed off. “I don’t get to have normal relationships, yaknow? Date? See people more than once? It doesn’t really happen.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why not?”

He smirked at this, looking down at his shoes. “My lifestyle doesn’t really allow it.”

I nodded. Rockstar life had to be tough.

“Well, just because you can’t date someone, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends, right?” I won’t lie, I was slightly hopeful.

“It’s kind of more complicated than that.”

I nodded, not wanting to press further, and an uneasy silence fell over us. After about three minutes, he finally spoke.

“I liked kissing you.”

I couldn’t prevent the grin that cracked on my lips. “I liked kissing you too.”

“I didn’t bring you back here for that. I just thought I’d mention it.”

This was one of the pivotal moments in life where you decide how it goes. Walk away? See what this is, and make the smart choice to end it?

Or consider this the Gods giving you a gift? A one-time chance to fulfill a fantasy you would otherwise never get again?

I decided quickly that life was too fucking short, and moved to stand in front of him.

“Can we…just do what we want? Because this will never happen for me again, and I find it painfully difficult not to jump on you right now.”

He peered up at me through his lashes, his eyes pitch black. “Yeah? You’re sure? I don’t want to be a dick, but you know I can’t continue anything after tonight.”

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a second, and opened them with no hesitation left, staring directly at him.

This gave him the answer he was looking for, as it took less than a fraction of a second for him to have me pinned against the wall behind me, hand on my throat, lips attacking my mouth feverishly. A smooth growl rumbled from his throat, and something inside of me clenched.

With the grip in my neck, he guided me to spin, lifting me up onto the countertop. My legs wrapped around him instinctively, and I breathed into him, feeling his hands smooth up my legs, and push them apart so he could press himself between them.

His mouth pulled at the skin of my jaw, surely leaving bruises I’d have to explain to Alex later. When I felt the sharp point of the fans against my skin, I placed a hand on his chest.

“Noah?” He didn’t pull back, but only hummed in response as he licked and sucked on my collarbone. “Maybe you should take the fangs out?”

He stilled, frozen. This caused me to do the same, waiting for his next move.

“I can’t.”

My brain didn’t register that. “Can’t?”

“They aren’t coming out.” He breathed again on my skin, making me shiver. “Is that a problem? If it is, tell me now.”

The idea of not going further made my body physically scream, so I just shook my head, signaling for him not to stop.

His arms, strong and solid, lifted me clean off of the counter and pulled me into the hallway, our lips reconnecting. In the back of the bus held a large bedroom area, and with one hand, he slid a door shut behind us.

He lowered me onto the mattress and became so gentle, I almost couldn’t handle it. His hands reached to unzip my sweatshirt, pulling it open to reveal my crop top. I chose to go without a bra tonight, knowing I’d be keeping my sweater on. His eyes roamed to my hardened nipples pressing against the fabric, and he bit his lip in response.

“If at any point you want to stop, tell me, okay?”

I nodded.

“Say it. Say you understand.” His voice was callous, no playfulness left.

“I understand.”

This brought a wicked smile to his face, fangs pressing out and his tongue gliding over them. “Good girl.”

He was ruthless, his hands pulling my shirt up, exposing my bare breasts, hands grasping them with force, pinching each nipple between his fingers. I yelped at the sudden painful sensation, but pressed into his touch. His knee balanced him on the bed, pressing against my core. I writhed under him, begging for friction.

“So fucking needy, darling. All in good time.”

I sucked in a breath, nearly whining at his teasing. His right hand snaked up my chest, grasping at my throat. The pressure was so much, but I couldn’t ask him to stop because it was so good, I was okay with dying right here like this.

His other hand slid down my stomach, nails scratching into my flesh, before he gripped the waistband of my leggings and tugged them down.

“Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” His fingers loosened just enough for me to speak.

“So bad. Need it. Need you.”

His eyes were roaming my body, eyes settling on the jet black panties I wore. His hand pressed flat against the fabric, making me hiss at the sensation.

“You want me to eat you? Devour you?”

I nodded frantically.

“If I do, I’m going to bite you. You alright with that?”

I froze, staring up at him, tears running down the side of my face.

“You can say no.” His voice was smooth as honey, dripping down his lips and right into my soul.

“Please.” It came out as a breath, just the ghost of a word.

A harsh snarl left his lips, and he dropped onto the floor with lightening speed, pulling my leggings off and gripping the waistband of my underwear, ripping them apart to show my already soaked pussy.

His fingers slid through my lips before coming up to his mouth, his eyes rolling back at the taste. “Fucking stunning.” He groaned.

His mouth attacked me, licking long, flat stripes up my core, causing my hips to buck. I whimpered, trying not to make too much noise.

His hands gripped my thighs and pulled me closer to the edge of the bed, bringing me right to his face.

“No one can hear us here, baby. Fucking scream for me.”

I let go, letting all of the harsh, vile sounds leave my throat with no restraint. His mouth sucked hard on my clit, making my vision go stark white behind my eyelids.

“Oh my God, Noah, I’m going to come, please don’t stop.”

He latched harder, a finger penetrating into me, pressing against my sweet spot and smoothing circles into it, bringing me crashing over the edge of bliss. My back lifted off of the mattress, my entire body tingling.

At the exact second my orgasm slammed into me, I felt a stinging, slicing pain on the inside of my thigh, causing me to scream out and look down. Noah’s face was still buried between my legs, but his eyes were staring directly at me. His fingers continued to massage me through my euphoria while his lips pulled at the sore spot on my thigh. When he lifted his face, my body finally calming, a deep crimson fluid sat on his lip before his tongue came up and swiped it away.

He rested a palm flat on my stomach as my breathing slowed. “Are you okay?”

I blinked back the tears and gasped in a breath. “More, please. I need more.”

It wasn’t even me speaking anymore. My body had transcended to another plane and I was watching from a different dimension at that point.

He smiled, his teeth tinged with blood - my blood. “What’s the magic word?”

“Jesus, fuck, Noah! Please!”

His hand snatched me by my waist, flipping me over and pulling me back up so my feet were on the floor. His arm held me up, as standing wasn’t an option with the way my legs felt like gelatin. I felt the warm fluid from the wound on my thigh dripping down my leg.

He paused, reaching for a drawer and grabbing, what I assumed to be, a condom. I heard the foil open and be discarded. He let go of me for ten seconds to put it on, and before I could think about anything else, he was pushing inside of me. The feeling was achingly delicious, the stretch and burn of it. Noah was exceptional. My body fell forward, hands reaching out balance. He thrusted mercilessly, pounding me harder into the mattress, his breathing loud and deep, guttural moans escaping him.

After a few moments, and my vision slowly blurring as I began climbing the hill once again, his hand wrapped around my neck and pulled me backward to stand straight up. I whined, leaning my head back on his chest.

It was without cause, but I still asked. “Bite me again? Please?”

I didn’t want it, I needed it. I was ravenous for the pain and the feeling of him being so connected with me.

“Don’t say that.” His words were breathless, but I was persistent.

“Please, Noah. Please.”

“God damn it.” He tightened his grip on my neck and I felt his lips touch my skin before the fangs sung in deep, piercing the thin skin just above my clavicle.

A scream pierced through me as the pain sent white hot shock waves through my body, my vision cutting out and my orgasm tearing through me. I vibrated at the stimulation of it all, and began to feel by body going slack, my skin tingling with a numbing sensation. My eyelids began to feel heavy, Noah's lips still latched to my skin. I could swear I felt a sucking feeling. That would be one hell of a hickey later.

Noah's thrusts suddenly stilled, his throat growling against me, his fingers gripping my hip violently, surely leaving bruises.

I was still riding the high of my climax when I felt everything starting to go sideways as the room began to spin. His arm wrapped around me quickly as I felt my consciousness slipping.

"Easy, baby. Easy." I hadn't even noticed him slip out of me, or unlatch from my throat.

Suddenly, his hands were gentle, laying me down on the bed on my back. Through my hooded lids, I could see him standing, tall and muscular. I could see all of him, and as badly as I wanted to savor it, I was so sleepy.

His hands pulled a soft, red blanket over me, and he put a finger up. "One second, stay here."

He disappeared out of the door, and I felt my eyes threatening to close. My brain was shutting off quickly, and it wasn't going to be optional anymore.

He came back within a minute, now wearing shorts, with a large blue Powerade, and a pack of Reese's in his hands. He set them down on the mattress next to me and slid his arms under me, lifting me up onto the pillows of the bed.

"Maggie, you still with me?"

I could only mumble in response, the pull of sleep tugging me down.

"Don't fall asleep. You need to drink this." He opened the Powerade. My hand came up to take the drink, but my fingers had very little sensation. "Here." Noah used one arm to lift me partway, and held the bottle to my lips. "Just take sips."

Once I had sufficiently drank a quarter of the bottle, suddenly feeling parched, he recapped it and began tearing open the Reese's. "Eat this, you need to increase your blood sugar and carbohydrates."

Feeling slightly more coherent, I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why? Did that orgasm almost kill me?" I snickered, taking a peanut butter cup and peeling the wrap off the bottom.

"No, the orgasm didn't." He said pointedly, but made work of getting up and heading for the door again. I laid, slowly munching the chocolate, eyes trailing after him. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, feeling strikingly cold suddenly. I felt a numbness in my toes and fingertips. Something about it bothered me, but also didn't?

He walked back in, a damp rag in his hand. What did he need that for? He used a condom, I thought?

Noah sat next to me on the bed, and ran a hand over my cheek gently, giving me a small, comforting smile. "You feel better?"

I nodded, still chewing the second peanut butter cup. "Much."

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Good, I'm glad."

Smoothing his hand over to my hair, he pulled it away from my neck, and pressed the damp rag to it. I winced, pain shooting up into my face.

"Christ!" He pulled his hand back, and I noticed the rag was a deep red. "Am I bleeding?"

He shushed me, moving my face back over. "Not much anymore, it's mostly stopped. This is just a little alcohol to sterilize it." He sighed as he pressed the rag to my skin. "Next, I'll clean up your leg."

My mind, suddenly clear as day, began running through all of the most ridiculous scenarios possible. Regardless of how stupid it sounded, I still had to ask...

"Noah?"

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, pulling out a large bandage and unpeeling it from the paper.

"Are you an actual vampire?"

His hands stopped, and his neck snapped up at me. His eyes were deadly serious, but his lips twisted in a sick smile. "Now, why would you say something silly like that? Of course not."

"But-"

He chuckled, his body shaking, and continued applying the bandage to my neck, hand lingering on my cheek as he looked in my eyes.

"No, I'm just a guy with kinks, that's all."

Did I want to press this further?

I looked back up at him, and he smiled brightly. That's when I noticed.

"You took the fangs off."

He peered up at me, running his tongue over his teeth. "Yeah, something like that."

Noah began pulling the blanket from my leg when he stopped abruptly, his eyes shifting to the door of the room. His hand gripped my leg, and he spoke under his breath.

"Fuck." His eyes looked back at me, a panic now rising. "You have to go. Now."

He grabbed my arm, and began pulling me off of the bed gently. "Can you stand?" I heard the door of the bus open, and people speaking at the front.

The urgency in his voice was frightening, so I swung my legs over and attempted to stand. The room swayed slightly, but I managed to stay upright. I nodded at him.

"Good, okay," He stood off the bed, and ran to the other side, picking my clothes up and tossing them at me, sans my torn panties. "get dressed. I'm going to open the window, there's a ladder just outside. Climb down it and go. Fast. Go to your car, and leave."

I was stepping into my leggings and looked up at him. "I have to find Alex, first."

He huffed, frustrated, and helped me put my shirt over my head. "Don't. Just go."

Noah pulled the window open silently, and pulled me over to him once I had zipped up my sweatshirt and slipped my shoes on. "Noah, what-"

He pressed a hand to my mouth. "Please, just listen to me. Leave. Don't look for her. Just go. Fast, okay?"

My eyes welled up. The terror was back. Why was he hiding me? Was he embarrassed? Did he not want anyone to know I was here? Why didn't he want me to look for Alex?

He hands hoisted me up effortlessly, he didn't even groan when he lifted me to the window. I slipped a leg out, and turned my head to him. "Noah?"

He looked at me, eyes sparkling bright, brighter than I had seen. "Yes?"

"I hope to see you again."

The smallest smile turned his lips up. "If you're lucky, you won't."

Alex's phone wasn't picking up and she hadn't responded to any of my messages. Bring Me The Horizon's set was about over, and she was nowhere. Ice Nine's balcony was empty - they all were. She wasn't in the venue. She wasn't outside. She was gone.

Her last text to me had me walking behind the building, looking through the busses.

Alexa: Spencer invited me back to his bus with him and Ronnie...I can't believe this is real life!! I will text you when I'm done! ;)

I only knew which bus was Noah's, but I felt like an absolute creep looking through the others, trying to see into the windows. I was standing next to one, on my tip-toes, trying to see through the tint, when my ears picked up on something...

It sounded suspiciously like screaming...but not the kind I would expect from someone having a good time. Not the kind I just made.

I rounded the corner, finding one last bus, and noticed it appeared to be moving. This had to be it. As I approached, figuring I would just wait until she was done, it stilled, and the night went eerily silent. Something about it made my stomach drop. I considered going back and getting Noah, asking him to check it out, but I had already come to terms with the fact that whatever that was, was over.

Instead, I made a soft wrap on the door, hoping someone would answer. Nothing came, no sound or motion. I sighed. Someone was definitely in there. Maybe they fell asleep? I almost did.

I knocked harder with the same result. Eventually, I pounded, hollering. "Hello?"

My fingers reached for the handle, and I noticed the door was unlocked, the door opening easily. I looked in, and noticed it was dark, only a neon blue light emanating from the back somewhere. I stepped up the staircase, peering my head around the corner.

"Alex?"

What my eyes saw, I was nowhere near prepared for. My eyes met hers, only hers were upside down, head hanging off of the edge of the bed, tears running down the sides of her face. They were also lifeless, and so was she. She was laid on the bed, fully dressed, and blood poured from her throat and pooled on the floor. There were two men on top of her, mouths latched to her chest and throat.

I couldn't help the gasp that came out, my eyes watering at the scene. I brought my hand up over my mouth and both men looked up at me. I couldn't register what I was seeing...

Spencer Charnas and Ronnie Radke were on top of my best friend, and their faces were absolutely covered in her blood.

Their fangs shined, covered in the red viscous liquid, and harsh growling hisses came out of their mouths.

Before I could scream, a hand had grabbed the back of my sweatshirt and pulled me down the stairs, and was dragging me away from the bus. I thrashed, screaming and fighting against the person pulling me away.

"No! No! Please! Stop, please!!" A hand came up over my mouth.

"Shut up!" My eyes looked down, and through my bleary tears, I saw the tattoos. The familiar tattoos.

Noah pulled me over to another bus and pressed me against the side. He loomed over me, his eyes dark again, all of the light gone.

"I told you to fucking leave!"

I couldn't speak. I was stunned. "I...they...Alex..."

"Alex is gone." He was so matter of fact. Stern, even. A choked sob broke out of my chest.

"No, no please, you have to help me."

"I am helping you! You have to leave! Before anyone realizes you did." His hands were against the bus on either side of me. "Please Maggie, please just leave."

"Noah..." I stared at the sharp fangs. "Your teeth..."

He hung his head. "Maggie, listen to me. You were never here. You lost Alex at the concert, and she went missing. They already reported her missing to security." My eyes went wide, tears streaming. "Now, go home. Stay there. And never speak about this again. Understood?"

I didn't respond, I just glared at him. He was one of them. A monster. He drank my blood. He tried to kill me. Him and his friends...they killed Alex.

When I didn't answer, he grew impatient, slamming his hands against the bus, making me flinch.

"God damn it Maggie, do you understand?!"

I just nodded, and he let one of his arms fall. I slipped by him, but his hand caught my arm. I stopped, staring up at him.

"I'm so sorry." His eyes were soft again, but I ripped my arm from him. He looked taken back by my sudden brazenness.

"No you're not..." I took several steps forward, but I took a deep breath and stopped, turning to see him still staring at me.

"But you fucking will be."

#bad omens #noah sebastian #fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult

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wishful-seeker · 5 months

Text

I have 0% tolerance for doctors anymore, if they treat me shitty once they will again, thus I'll either drop them or file a complaint.

Before my CRPS was diagnosed i was too scared to stand up to doctors. The pain made me SO DESPERATE i was willing to deal with anything. Now that i have this new undiagnosed illness i realized my body and mind PHYSICALLY cannot do that anymore.

The second to last time i didn't stand up for myself with a doctor i punched the medical bed as soon as she left the room, the last time i couldn't even hear what he said because i was busy restraining myself from punching HIM. i was seeing red, face twitching and everything. My body literally cannot take being quiet anymore. I do not care if i make things more difficult. I don't care if it takes longer to get diagnosed because im pushing for better treatment. I would rather stand up for myself and physically suffer more than let these doctors believe they are allowed to treat me like a dog. They don't treat me like a HUMAN, they don't see us as HUMAN. They see us as pests. A burden, a problem to solve. And if they can't solve you THEY FUCKING HATE YOU. but i think i hate them more.

Doctors are in a gross position of power over their patients, they decide if you live or die, your existence is in their hands, you beg them for help because they are your God and they spit in your face. Even if you literally cry and beg them to help they will give you NOTHING and i know this because thats what i did. I literally BEGGED these people sobbing to help my pain and they did nothing. They do not care about you. They never will. We are not people to them. Nurses are often the same way. I've had nurses and doctors lie straight to my face, make faces when i tell them my story, and do other horrible things.

I can't do it. I can't deal with it anymore. I will fight tooth and nail and be the biggest Karen in existence to these doctors the SECOND they treat me wrong.

I have found two. TWO doctors out of over 50 that i actually like. 2 that treat me appropriately and not like im a bug. 2 that treat me like a human being.

#tw medical trauma #tw medical gaslighting #cripplepunk #cripple punk #physical disability #chronically ill #doctors are scum

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etherealphosphor · 1 year

Text

Shelved Emotions

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Sfw, Fluff, Dottore tries to hide/get rid of his feelings at first, Dottore’s segments like the reader

⟡ Dottore’s thoughts are in blue italics

⟡ Segment names/colors: Zeta, Delta, Theta, Epsilon

Dottore was frustrated. Despite his best efforts, he could not escape the weakness of human emotion. He devoted himself to his research, blocking out all distractions. He refused to let his feelings hinder him; they were the last thing keeping him from perfect, unbiased results.

He targeted his feelings toward you in particular. Dottore was partly angry and partly ashamed that he could even fancy someone; the mere idea was childish to him. What use was it to think about you, his errand runner, when scientific research was far more important?

However, every time you looked at him with those bright eyes or smiled sweetly at him, he was rendered speechless. How was it possible to feel this way about anyone? And how in the world could that someone possibly be more important to him than his experiments?

Dottore slowly began to lose all interest in his work, as his thoughts were starting to get in the way.

This has gone too far, and now I can no longer focus properly on my research. I must find a way to rid myself of these emotions.

And so, with that, Dottore got up from his desk and went off to look for something—anything—to aid him in his search. He began to walk towards the library, a fairly large room with shelf after shelf of informational books. While Dottore did have his own smaller personal collection of research books, there would be nothing about romance in any of them.

But before he could walk through the doorway, he began to hear familiar voices. This stopped him in his tracks, and he peeked into the room, staying quiet so as not to be seen.

There, he saw you surrounded by four of his segments. It was obvious to Dottore that all of them were competing for your attention, and there was no way you hadn’t noticed as well.

"So, [Name], which one of us do you think is the best segment?" Delta said, smiling at you.

"Oh, well, I don’t know—"

You were quickly cut off by Theta, who began to make sarcastic remarks as usual. "It’s obviously me; I mean, I'm the perfect version. Who wouldn’t pick me?"

"Hm, personally, I think that [Name] likes me the most. After all, I’m closest to the original." Zeta said, tilting your chin up with one hand.

Epsilon grabbed Zeta’s hand away, scowling at him. "Maybe [Name] would prefer somebody a little less—I don’t know—cold?"

"Woah, calm down, Shorty. You don’t have to give him the death glare." Theta chuckled, patting Epsilon’s head.

"Hey! I’m not that short!"

Epsilon was the youngest of the four, which meant he was often teased for his height. He also happened to be the feistiest, making it even more entertaining for Theta to poke fun at him.

Delta had to physically restrain Epsilon so that he wouldn’t start attacking Theta. "Epsilon, please, he’s not worth getting worked up over."

Meanwhile, Zeta took the opportunity to start playing with your hair. "[Name], do you have a significant other?"

Dottore had had enough of this, and he quickly walked into the library.

"You four. What is going on here?" Dottore’s expression was dark, and he spoke in a very harsh tone.

Instantly, Epsilon stopped struggling, Delta’s grip loosened, Theta stopped laughing, and even Zeta’s ever-present smirk faded.

"Oh, uh.. boss, we can explain—" Epsilon stammered, but was cut off by Dottore.

"I want no explanations. You all must clean my office, and if it isn’t spotless by the time I get back, you will all face great consequences. Do you understand? And especially you, Zeta. We will be having a conversation later."

The four segments turned to each other, silently exchanging looks of shock.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go, now!"

Quickly, all the segments left the library, leaving Dottore alone with you.

"Are you okay, [Name]?" Dottore said, his tone much gentler than it was a minute ago.

"Yeah, I’m fine; can you please not punish them too harshly? I’m the one who greeted them first. Why did you even send them away at all? They didn’t have any work to do." You replied, looking at Dottore with eyes full of concern.

Dottore’s heart lurched with jealousy. Why couldn’t you worry about him like that? Why did it have to be his segments?

"I have my reasons. Please don’t be afraid; I won’t do anything bad to them. Mostly just scold them for bothering you, that’s all."

"They weren’t bothering me, not a bit. I actually quite enjoy their company; without them, my day off would be quite uneventful." You said, determined to clear the segments’ names.

"Ah, very well, then. I’ll go a little easier on them in that case." Dottore sighed. There was no way he could say no to those eyes of yours.

"Thank you; I’m glad." You smiled at him.

That small action was enough to make Dottore blush. "No problem. Anyway, what are you doing in the library? Looking for something to read?"

"Well, obviously," you chuckled, "but I can’t find anything good; it all seems a little boring to me."

"That would be because this is a research library. If fiction is what you are looking for, you won’t find it here."

"Oh, that’s a shame, then." You looked a little disappointed, your voice losing its usual bright tone. "I haven’t had anything to read for months."

No, no. I mustn’t say it. It isn’t necessary. I don’t have to. Aren't I trying to stop these pesky feelings from happening? Nothing is stopping me from bidding [Name] farewell right here. But.. they look so upset.

However, despite Dottore trying to stop himself, he ended up saying it anyway.

"Why don’t you come back to my personal chambers? I believe I have a shelf of various works of fiction in there. If you wish, you can have everything; I have no need for any of them."

Your eyes lit up. "Wait, really? You do? I’d love to go check it out and maybe borrow a few. Though, I would never take your books from you, even if you don’t see a need for them right now. You might want them in the future; you never know."

"I suppose you are correct. Well then, shall we?" Dottore extended his hand as a polite gesture. What he didn’t expect was for you to actually take it.

You wrapped your fingers around Dottore's, smiling at him. "Mhm, let’s go."

Dottore’s face went red, and his eyes widened a little. His hand tightened around yours, and he began to lead you towards his room. To get to it, one must go through his office first, and so Dottore opened the door and walked in.

There, the four segments were standing, awaiting Dottore’s return. When they saw your hand in his, all of them felt secretly disappointed, wishing it was them who got to hold your hand. Except for Epsilon—with him, it was no secret. He was glaring jealously at Dottore as you two walked by.

"Shorty, fix your face." Theta said, nudging him.

"Stop saying I’m short!"

"Epsilon, stop yelling, or you will be disciplined further. Do you want to clean the rest of the offices in the headquarters?" Dottore spoke coldly.

"No, I don’t. Sorry, boss."

With that, Dottore unlocked the door leading to his room and led you inside. His heart was still beating quicker than usual, but he was starting to get used to the feeling of having your hand in his. He decided to leave the door open, as the last thing he wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable.

"Well, this is my room. It’s nothing special, but it serves its purpose. Over there by the window should be the shelf I was speaking about." Dottore pointed to it and sat down on his bed.

You looked over the contents of the shelf until a series of teal books caught your eye. All of them were quite banged up and evidently pretty old.

"Woah, is this what I think it is? I can’t believe you have it." You said as you pulled the first one off the shelf.

"Hm? [Name], did you find something you like?"

"Oh my gosh, all eleven volumes? I didn’t even get that far." You smiled, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

In your hands, you held the first volume of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea. Dottore got up and walked behind you, staring down at the book.

"The Fox in the Dandelion Sea? Isn’t that a fairytale?" Dottore asked, wondering what interest you would have in a children’s book.

"Mhm, it’s my favorite. My parents used to read it to me before bed when I was a kid, but we never ended up finishing the whole series." You told him, smiling down at the book.

"Ah, I see. Well, feel free to take as many as you want; I know they aren’t particularly lengthy. You can come back at any time if you don’t want to take the entire series with you at once."

You grabbed five books off the shelf, holding them under one arm. "Thank you so much, Dottore."

"Anytime, seriously. It’s not as if I’m doing anything with them." Dottore said as he walked with you towards the door of his office.

"Aww, are you leaving already, [Name]? Not even going to say goodbye?" Zeta teased as Dottore opened the door for you.

"Ah, where are my manners? I’ll see you guys later." You said as you waved to the segments.

Then, smiling at Dottore, you lowered your voice a little. "I really appreciate you letting me borrow these books; it means a lot to me."

Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around Dottore, pulling him into an embrace.

Dottore’s face instantly went red. "I- Uh- [Name]? What are you doing?"

"Ah! I’m sorry. You’re my boss; that was weird. I apologize if I crossed a boundary." You let go, mortified, and you stared at your feet, a blush slowly creeping onto your face.

"Oh no, no. It’s okay; don’t worry. I was just a little surprised, that’s all; you didn’t make me uncomfortable." Dottore affectionately ruffled your hair, assuring you it was okay.

This made you blush even more, and you smiled at Dottore again before walking out. "Have a nice evening, Dottore. Don’t overwork yourself, okay? You have an awful habit of burning yourself out."

"You too, [Name]." Dottore smiled back, waving as you left.

Once he closed the door, Dottore’s expression instantly turned neutral again. His segments were all staring at him.

"Boss, what was that? You seriously didn’t make a move?" Theta said, sounding quite annoyed.

"What do you mean by that, Theta?"

"You seriously don’t know? How thick is your skull?"

"Rude."

"I might be rude, but at least I can take a hint."

"Do you really want extra chores? Because that is what you will get if you continue speaking to me like that."

"Hmmph. You really need to lighten up."

Dottore ignored Theta’s comment. "Theta, are you suggesting that there’s a possibility that [Name] could reciprocate my feelings?"

Delta joined the conversation. "Boss, to me, it’s very obvious that [Name] fancies you. Their face went a bright shade of red when they hugged you, and they also seem to care quite a bit about your health. Plus, I don’t think there’s any chance that the way they look at you is platonic."

Dottore’s eyes opened a little wider. "A-Are you sure? Is that really what you think?"

"There’s no doubt in my mind, boss."

Over the next few days, Dottore was constantly flustered by you simply doing your job. So much to the point where he couldn't even do his research; all he could think about was you.

Once, you brought Dottore some papers he needed to sign, and when handing them to him, your hands brushed for a moment. Even that small action gave Dottore butterflies, and he promptly looked away from you so you wouldn’t see him blushing.

That night, Dottore called Delta into his office.

"Delta, you’ve always been one of my most rational segments. Which is why I wanted to ask you if maybe you could help me with this problem." Dottore said, looking across his desk at Delta.

"I can always help out, boss. Is this concerning [Name]?"

Dottore nodded. "Yes, it’s about exactly what you think it is. I’ve come to find that I cannot get rid of my feelings, nor can I hide them. I have come to embrace them, and I accept that I am truly in love with [Name]. However, I still wish to find another way to stop these thoughts from interfering with my work."

"Well, I suppose you could confess to them? If [Name] admits to liking you as well—which they probably will—you might begin to feel less nervous as you get more comfortable with them. And if they tell you that they don’t feel the same, then at least you will have your peace of mind."

Dottore sighed. "I guess you’re right. However, I heavily doubt that I could muster up the courage to confess to them in person; I’d have no idea what to say."

"You could always send them a letter and a gift." Delta suggested.

"That’s a good idea, yeah. But what kind of thing would they like?" Dottore thought for a moment. "Oh! I know!"

Dottore quickly got up from his desk and walked into his room to grab the first five volumes of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea, which you had returned a couple days ago.

"Boss, what did you think of?" Delta asked as Dottore put the books down on his desk.

"I’m going to recreate these books from scratch. I’ll make the cover, write the words, and illustrate the pages. You can tell [Name] to take the whole week off, say that I’m working on something confidential and I need total concentration. It shouldn’t take me too long; I’ve done the process a couple times in the past. Especially because these are such small books, with only a couple pages each."

"Don’t overwork yourself, boss. I know how much [Name] worries about you. You have all the time in the world to get your gift ready." Delta said, watching Dottore gather papers and pens.

"They really worry for me that much?" Dottore looked up at Delta, his eyes widening a little.

"Oh, definitely. [Name] mentions it all the time."

"Well, that's very sweet of them." Dottore said, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Delta nodded. "It is. Now, boss, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Ah, yes, there is; can you possibly find me a dandelion plant?" Dottore asked him.

"Sure, I can do that, no problem. I’ll check the stores in town." Delta replied, turning around and walking towards the door.

"Before you go, I have a question for you."

"Yes, what is it?" Delta looked back at him with his hand on the doorknob.

"Why are you helping me? I know you like [Name] as well; why do you bother? Shouldn’t you be trying to woo them like the other three?"

Delta smiled. "The other three know that they have no chance, boss. Sure, they might try to flirt with [Name], but they don’t actually expect [Name] to reciprocate. The situation is a little different with me, as I don’t try to flirt with them as much. We segments pick up on things you don’t, boss; I know that [Name] would be much happier in a relationship with you. Which is why I don’t even bother trying hard; I already know the outcome."

"What? You’re really that sure that [Name] likes me?" Dottore responded, eyes wide.

"I am indeed, boss." Delta said as he walked out.

Over the next few days, Dottore was constantly cooped up in his office, working on your gift. There was even a sign on the door warning anyone other than his segments not to come in. Dottore barely slept at all, and when he did, it was at his desk.

However, after many sleepless nights, he did eventually manage to finish your gift. There in front of him sat five beautifully made fairytale books, even prettier than the original. The illustrations inside the book were painted with watercolor and outlined in ink, giving them a lovely aesthetic. Dottore flipped through all of them once more, making sure everything was of the finest quality.

Then he began to write you a letter.

"Dear [Name],

I’m aware that you must have picked up on my strange behavior as of late, and I must apologize if it has concerned you. In truth, there is something I must come clean about. I have fallen deeply in love with you, [Name]. I cannot keep this confession to myself for any longer, or else I fear it may eat me from the inside out. If you do not reciprocate my feelings, I completely understand. I will have you immediately switched to run errands for a different harbinger, and your pay will not change. You do not even have to speak to me. If you do wish to have a conversation about this, though, I will be in my private chambers. The door is unlocked.

Sincerely, Il Dottore"

Once he had sealed the letter in an envelope, he set it down on top of the books. Then, reaching over to the pot on his desk, Dottore plucked a grey dandelion and set it down on top of the stack. Once he was done, he stood up and grabbed a length of brown string, wrapping the gift nicely so that nothing would slide off.

Just then, Delta came to check in on him, as he did every once in a while. "Boss, how is everything going?"

"Oh, hello, Delta. Things have been just fine. All I need to do now is put my gift in [Name]’s room so that they’ll find it later. Since it’s late in the morning, shouldn’t [Name] be in the library? Could you possibly distract them for me, just to make sure nothing goes wrong?"

"Of course, boss. That’ll be no problem." Delta responded, walking out of the office with Dottore trailing behind him.

Once they reached the library, Delta went off to chat with you, and Dottore continued walking. He stopped in front of the door to your room and tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. Quickly walking inside, Dottore set the stack of books down on your desk and got out. The last thing he wanted was to invade your space more than he had to.

I won’t get my hopes up, even if Delta and the others are telling me that [Name] has romantic feelings for me. I don’t want to be disappointed. Even if they don’t like me, I hope they treasure my gift.

Dottore was deep in thought as he walked past the library, but snapped out of it when he heard Delta’s voice.

"Boss, did your business go according to plan?"

Dottore stopped walking and looked at him, saying, "Delta, come now; we have things to attend to."

Delta got up from the chair he was sitting in. "Ah, yes, boss. I’ll see you later, [Name]."

Delta waved goodbye to you and began to head back to the office with Dottore. Dottore seemed lost in thought, staring at his feet.

"Are you nervous, boss?"

"Yes, Delta, I am very nervous. How could I not be? I could lose [Name] if things don’t go well." Dottore said, his voice shaking with worry.

"It’ll be okay; I wouldn’t assure you of something I wasn’t completely sure about. [Name] really does like you, boss." Delta comforted Dottore, sensing that he was on the edge of a panic attack.

"I really hope you’re right, Delta." Dottore replied as they reached his office.

"Boss, I have a question: what happens next? You haven’t told me your whole plan."

"In the letter, I told them that if they want to chat with me, I will be waiting here." Dottore explained as he opened the door to his room.

Meanwhile, you had gotten up from where you had been reading and made your way back to your room. Opening the door, you walked inside and found a small stack of books on your desk with a dandelion on top.

What is this?

You untied the string binding the books together and picked up the envelope addressed to you underneath the flower. Tearing it open, you took out the letter and began to read it.

As you scanned the text, your eyes widened. Not even bothering to look at the gift Dottore had prepared for you, you started to run to his office. His amazing craftsmanship could be admired later, but you needed to tell him how you felt immediately.

Catching your breath at the door, you opened it and walked inside. Delta was sitting at Dottore’s desk, but you didn’t even notice him.

You knocked on the door that led into Dottore’s room, saying, "Hey, Dottore? You’re in there, right?"

"I am; come in."

When you opened the door, you found Dottore sitting on the end of his bed, his back turned to you, and his head in his hands. Silently, you sat down next to him.

"Dottore, look at me, please." You spoke in a soft tone.

Dottore looked up, his beautiful red eyes filled with worry. It was obvious that he was assuming the worst. You smiled at him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him.

At first, Dottore was caught off guard, but soon he pulled you into his embrace, careful not to break the kiss. He poured all his love and affection into that kiss, eager to show you just how much you meant to him.

Although neither of you wanted to, eventually you had to pull away to catch your breath.

Putting your hand on Dottore’s cheek, you stared into his eyes. "I love you, Dottore. I always have. Everything about you drives me crazy. Your eyes, your hair, your voice—everything. To the point where I can’t even think straight."

"I love you too, [Name]. Words cannot describe how lucky I am to have you in my life."

Dottore leaned back in, passionately kissing you once more as he held you close to him.

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

Note

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

for aegon, i don’t know why but that line screams aegon for me (i mean it also screams aemond) but i can imagine aegon saying that.

Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #8

pairing: dark!Aegon ii Targaryen x niece!fem!Reader

warnings: incest, swearing, mentions of SA, physical violence (altercation), female receiving (finger*ng), mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, jealous!Aegon, possessive!Aegon, breast play/kink, edging.

Your relationship with your Uncle was a unique one of that… Sharing a compellingly, special bond, one that was filled with nurture, possessiveness and love [although many would argue obsession, on Aegon’s behalf]. You were his, as he favoured to reiterate on many occasions. And tonight, he would come to attest this.

****

A lovely, Targaryen maiden you were. Many eager and hungry eyes of lords and knights in Westeros sought for your hand in marriage, as a potential wife. Not to forget, you had a strong connection to the Iron Throne, the political and societal advantage you had sowed to you, your potential husband would gain from also.

And although your relationship with your Uncle, remained a discrete one of that for now, as your mother [Aegon’s elder sister] and his own had their indifferences… You couldn’t risk being torn away from him, although at times he struggled to keep himself in line. Aegon was jealous through and through, and tonight’s ball had tested his ability to restrain himself for your sake and his…

****

“Oh Y/N, you are a young, beautiful and unmarried maiden… This hand yet belongs to no other man. Just allow me-”

“No!” You insist, Jason Lannister had been into you since the festivities had commenced. Showering you with compliments during the feast, as he approached the royal table, asking for a dance [which your mother insisted you take, as means to lure the Lannisters to her cause] and finally, having sought the chance to leave, seeking the fresh air and lonesome company of the gardens, he had somehow managed to find you. Although, things taking for a twisted turn, finding yourself backed to some stony corner and the young Lannister’s hands venturing and groping places only Aegon was granted to.

You felt frightened and fury, you attempted to retaliate, even going so far as to smack his face hard across, yet these attempts rendered useless. The man had an eager cock but even more of an eager mind.

“Do not play me the fool, Y/N. I saw how you enjoyed tonight, how desperate you are for me. Pathetic girl-”

“Let! Me! Go!” Using all your might, despite the restriction of your corset, you tried to shove him off, and you deemed your efforts a success, as Jason’s mass was no longer on you. Although, noticed a familiar figure and set of platinum hair, pulling the grotesque man far from you, shoving him against the sand stone wall, with such a ferocity.

“You ever touch her again, Lannister, and I’ll have your fucking hands. If you even go as far as to look in her direction, I’ll gouge your eyes out myself.”

Twisting his arm the way Aegon had, you were certain he’d dislocated something, Jason’s face forcefully shoved against the wall, as Aegon released him, standing his ground in front of you, you noticed small, fresh cuts across his cheekbone.

Jason’s eyes fluttered over you, looking beyond Aegon, and Aegon having noticed, took a great swing, punching Jason right across the jaw, leaving the young Lion to howl in pain, blood oozing from his mouth.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Lannister.”

Now whimpered away around the corner, his cries growing fainter until silence, Aegon turns to you, as he soothes his fist, now reddened from the impact.

“Aeg- My love, thank you,” You softly uttered, taking his hurt hand in yours, as you laid a gentle peck over the knuckles, caressing it.

“What were you thinking, Y/N? To dance with him, let alone run out here? Foolish girl, if a man is desperate enough, he’ll smell you out.”

“Is that how you found me here, needing to be rescued is it?” You bashfully provoke, a bright light glistening in his lilac orbs.

“Do not think I did not notice what was going on. Seven Hells, it was torture. I must admit, Y/N dearest, I do not know how much more longer, I can keep this facade up, my love.”

“I know, Aeg, I know. In all due time… But for now, thank you. I-I don’t want to know what would’ve happened, had you not been there.”

“You’re mine. And I take care of what belongs to me.”

A faint smile beamed across your face in exchange with his sweet words. You truly saw no other future, other than with Aegon, it was only a matter of time. Tip toed up, you lean forwards, sharing a passionate kiss as Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you, remaining there as you let go.

“Such a great feat should not go unrewarded, mayhaps my Saviour, wishes to do as he pleases-”

Undoing the front laces of your dress, loosening the bust, your cleavage exposes more, the material dropping as your breasts plunge forward.

“Mayhaps, he wishes to touch these-”

Aegon’s eyes fleeting from your breasts, to your face and back towards the entrance to the party, and back down at you, he guides your steps back into the corners. Away from any lingering eyes, nestling you between himself and the wall, as he lifts your mass up, resting you atop his leg.

“More-” He growls, as one hand reaches down below, his fingers teasingly graze the entrance of your folds, already moist from his heroic action.

“A greedy hero I have claimed, I see… Whatever pleases you.”

In cue to your words, Aegon shoves two digits in between your folds, motioning circles as his fingers explore from within. Quiet, moans helplessly fall from your lips straight into Aegon’s ear, as his head rests atop your bust, his lips suckling at the soft flesh of your cleavage. Even feeling a prompt, sharp bite, teeth plunging into your skin, leaving a trail of red, dented bite marks. Your wetness begins to stir, coating his thick fingers, as their size and motions stretch you out in preparation.

“That’s it, Aeg. My body is all yours, only yours.”

Without a warning, Aegon inserts another thick finger, feeling the ring breach your entrance, jammed tightly not moving further in, as your walls clench around the fingers inside.

“Fuck, I can feel your pulse, how tight you get for me baby, that’s a good girl.”

“O-Only for you.”

The tip of his finger, rubbing harshly at your clit, your grip on Aegon’s clothes back grew firmer, desperate for something bigger and longer to sate the tension beneath.

“A-Aeg I-I need you-”

“Just a little bit more baby, stay with me-”

His words salivating at your breasts, the warm breath and saliva coating your nipple as he suckled and spoke on. His teeth gently nibbling and pulling at your nipple, to tease, knowing how sensitive you’d get.

What felt like eternity, was most likely only a few minutes, as you continued begging Aegon for his cock.

Just as he did so to enter, he pulled his fingers out, your chest heaving as your pant in relief. You could feel your weight dropping on him, as he carried you against him, his fingers coated with your cum, inhaling your scent, as he licked it off one by one.

“Tonight baby, we will continue this tonight… Gives me a reason to get through this god forsaken evening.”

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen smut prompts #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x fem!reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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gunkbaby · 3 months

Text

Thinking about Shuu BPD headcanon again. He’s 21 in TG, and given his loneliness I think it’s fair to assume Kaneki was his first favourite person. Like I acted very similar to Shuu when I had my first favourite person - including when the ‘relationship’ (i wouldn’t call what i went through a relationship personally. It was an internet mutual lol) ended, it went on to affect me for several years, to today, mentally and physically.

I get sad when I think about it, because I don’t like thinking about Shuu going through or feeling what I have - that horrible moment where you look back on your experience with someone, and you can only feel guilt, because you can see now that all you acted so inappropriately. Being overly clingy - dependent - on someone you barely know - because Shuu doesn’t know Kaneki in TG. Not deeply. He’s still in the moment of only wanting to eat him, everything he learns is compartmentalised as knowledge to use as manipulation and such. So his breakdown when Kaneki is taken away from him is a shock to his system - because this is the point where maybe one realises that this is not just about wanting him to eat anymore. It’s indicative of Shuu feeling something more for someone, which he’s probably never had before, and one can imagine how it might feel to realise - oh. I really fucked this person I adore up, because I didn’t understand myself well enough. And that shit hurts man.

Whilst a neurotypical person might be able to look at this realisation and handle it better, for someone with BPD/neurodivergence, this can affect one’s mental and physical health for years afterwards. A known symptom of BPD is not being able to recover ‘typically’ from breakups (meeeeeeeeeeeeee), often leading to self-harm, depression, and such, as well as taking a much longer time to actually recover from the breakup (generally. Ofc not everyone has it like this).

This also explains why in :RE, Shuu is seemingly just as obsessed with Kaneki - because he can’t fucking let go of it. He goes out of his way to ‘get Kaneki back’ for his own benefit, and I wonder if maybe, Shuu wants that Kaneki back so he can right his past wrongs. His newer awareness of his past actions weighs on him, and he wants to show that version of Kaneki that he has changed, that he’s not like That anymore - but he is, in a way. He’s still ill, and this is never brought up. Shuu gets better throughout :re, but we never see how, and either man’s on Elvanse or something, or he’s actively making an effort to restrain the ‘BPD side’ of him. I compare having BPD to having a dog on a muzzle - controlling it is horrible and it’s difficult, but if you don’t, the muzzle comes off and your dog is going to maul someone. Having BPD can be really terrifying sometimes - note: people with BPD are not monsters and if I see one more person say Shuu’s feelings are ‘creepy’ istg—

In early :re, Shuu’s actions can be viewed an overcompensating - trying to fix the damage he feels he might’ve done to Kaneki. He wants Kaneki back for himself, but not to eat him, to show Kaneki that he’s not the person he was. That he’s changed - but he hasn’t. He’s become self-aware, but this isn’t enough to change someone. Shuu still doesn’t understand that. He’s like a beautiful butterfly in that stage where the chrysalis is clear and starting to shake, but the butterfly isn’t out yet, and when it is out, it still has to wait for its wings to dry. Shuu is impulsive, and fails to properly think things out especially in a social situation (another symptom of bpd is impulsivity, particularly in regards to self-destruction). So he’s bombastic in rushing in and trying to get that Kaneki back, even if he doesn’t exist, and we can argue that this brazenness, this impulsivity, goes on to foster more destruction.

Therefore, it becomes even more weird that Shuu seems to recover after Kanae’s death in particular, because I feel like Shuu was already grappling with some guilt in regards to his past self. Kaneki throwing Shuu from the rooftop is met with Shuu’s acceptance of it - it’s a passive kind of suicidality. What better repentance is there - what is the best way to say sorry - than letting the person you hurt kill you? I know I’ve attempted or hurt myself in attempt to repent and say sorry for the people I’ve hurt, (I even became Christian, briefly!) But Shuu isn’t killed. Kanae is, and directly because they save him. Shuu’s love for Kanae is evident by this point, so one has to question how someone who already seemed to be passively suicidal, who presumably held a quite a hefty amount of self-loathing - would be able to recover from someone they love dying specifically to save them. Shuu tells Kanae to save themself (in my translation), he seemed passive in the prospect of Kaneki killing him, so this turn of events should be absolutely fucking devastating to him.

His entire family, bar one person, were killed to protect him. People gave up their lives, for him - a person who was extremely mentally unwell. Shuu is egotistical, arrogant, and selfish, but too often I see people conflate this with narcissism or self-love - narcissists don’t even tend to love themselves, it seems the opposite (I am not well-versed in npd pls correct me). I don’t think Shuu likes himself, particularly in :re. I’m honestly surprised he survived through :re sometimes, because I feel like the events of the Tsukiyama extermination would eventually kill someone who was already mentally unstable.

But after the Tsukiyama arc, there is very little acknowledgement of Shuu’s mental state. It’s like, oh, he’s fine now. Kanae isn’t even mentioned again, (I think), and it’s really weird. One can argue Shuu is just pretending to be fine, maybe Kaneki being back is enough to shift his focus from those events back to his favourite person - but that’s not mentally healthy. That’s not recovery. You can argue that maybe he learnt to cope, did DBT or whatever, but I doubt he would’ve had time for that in :re? Iirc it was kind of busy, I mean…Man got fired from like 4 jobs after losing his family - self-worth must’ve been in the shitter fr

Shuu is supposedly better by :re and the end of :re, but I can’t fucking buy that. Maybe I’m projecting too much, but I still haven’t recovered from my favourite person and it’ been three fucking years, and I have a parent who is willing to literally die for me, and it feels like shit. These things don’t just go away. They condense, and they stay. It’s like the dog won’t die unless you do, and even then, the pain stays.

I’m off track - the point is. I don’t like it. I get narrative time and that - Shuu isn’t the main character, but still. TG has so much depth and nuance in its characters and I wish more work had been put into Shuu post-Tsukiyama arc. (I also wish Kanae hadn’t died but fuck my stupid Baka life i guess)

I can’t help but feel like Shuu was ill at the start of Tokyo Ghoul, got even iller. And by the end of :re, he’s still very much ill.

sorry if this doesn’t make sense I cried halfway through and im tired

#Analysis #shuu rambles #shuu tsukiyama #shuucore #Pretentious posting #tg gunk #Tokyo ghoul #fuck it main tag

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writingwhimsey · 5 months

Note

Hiya dear!

I saw your Smut is In the Air! event and I physically could not restrain myself for this.

“I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.” with Theo and a moderate spice level! Like, a 3/5 on the spice?

I might actually (not) die on the spot from happiness from this so.

🥰

Thank you so much for the request! I am happy to hear you were excited by this event and I do hope you enjoy it. Turned out a bit fluffy as well as spicy.

Smut Is In The Air Event

Suitor: ikevamp Theodorus

Prompt: "I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips."

NSFW 18+ content below (not super explicit but very spicy)

Work of Art

I sat at the vanity in my room, getting ready for the art exhibition I would be attending with Theo. I sighed as I picked up the various makeup items Comte had purchased for me. I had asked him if he could find me something that was guaranteed to cover up anything. Of course, when I had asked him this I had had a giant hickey on the side of my neck, courtesy of my lover, Theo.

Naturally, Comte assumed that the hickey was why I wanted some kind of concealer..which with how frequently he gave them to me, it wasn’t a bad assumption really. But that wasn’t the only thing. There was the occasional pimple that popped up, but what I really wanted to hide were my freckles.

I had a small smattering of them on my face from being in the sun. Many more along my shoulders and others scattered various other places of my body. Though I knew it was somewhat silly…I couldn’t help but to be a bit self conscious about them. Depending on the beauty trends of the time and region…well they could actually be considered fashionable… or other places and times they were considered a blemish, an imperfection.

I sighed as I slathered on the makeup, careful not to get any on my dress. Thankfully I wasn’t going to be exposing my shoulders so there was no need to worry about those freckles. Just the ones on my face and the few that dotted my chest.

Once I had finished, I inspected my reflection, making sure that I had them all covered. I wanted to look my best at the exhibition tonight. I was going to be by Theo’s side after all and I wanted everyone that supported him to see he had a good partner. That meant presenting myself in the best possible way.

Once I had finished getting ready, I headed down the stairs to meet Theo. “You took a long time, Hondje.” Theo said as I descended the stairs.

I smiled at him. “It just took me a second longer to figure out my new makeup.” I answered.

Theo took my hand. “We better not be late. This is a big night for Broer and the other artists.”

“I know.” I replied.

We exited the mansion and headed out to the carriage. Once we were sitting down inside, Theo looked over at me, his blue eyes taking in my appearance. “Something seems different…” He said.

I shrugged. Though I knew. “Just a higher quality makeup…”

Theo moved in closer, his expert artistic gaze appraising me up close. “Your makeup is too thick, Hondje.”

“It’s not that much.” I replied.

Theo was then reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. “I can’t see your cute little freckles.” He said, lifting the handkerchief to my face.

I grabbed his hand to stop him. “That’s the point…and they’re not cute…”

Theo’s eyes went wide. “Hondje…why would you…why do you think that?”

I shrugged. “I just…I’ve never thought…and well, growing up the other kids made fun of me…”

Theo for all his teasing nature, listened to me with the utmost sincerity. “Hondje… not everyone has the artistic eye to appreciate true art.”

I blinked at him, surprised by his words. He could be a terrible tease…but when he was kind he was unbearably so. “Art?”

“Yes.” Theodorus replied. “Now, I need to wipe off this makeup off.”

“Why though?” I asked.

“I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.” Theo answered. “I can’t do that if they are hidden beneath all of this makeup.”

I didn’t stop Theo’s hand as he brought the handkerchief to wipe the makeup from my face. His movements were so gentle as he did so. As soon as he cleaned off a section, he was leaning in to place kisses on the freckles he exposed. Starting with my cheeks and my nose…the ones across my forehead.

“Better already.” Theo murmured as he continued to pepper kisses over my face. His lis were soon trailing down to the side of my neck. “Can’t forget this one.”

I felt my heart pick up its pace as his breath tickled my skin.

I felt Theo’s fingertip trail to the neckline of my dress, sliding my sleeve wider and began to kiss along my shoulder. “Mustn’t forget these either. They are some of my favorites.”

I let out a gasp at the touch of his lips to my tender flesh. “Hmm….Theo…” I half moaned, half whined.

“Mmm…and I must get these too.” He said, kissing along my collarbone and moving to the other side to kiss the freckles on my other shoulder.

“Mmm…Theo…you’re not playing fair…”

“I never claimed to.” Theo replied. He was then taking my hand and lifting my arm, removing my gloves before kissing the freckles that dotted my arms in places. “I love every single one of these freckles.”

“I just…don’t understand why…” I found myself saying.

“Because they are part of you.” Theo answered. “And I love every part of you.”

I melted right on the spot, completely becoming putty in his capable hands as he held me close, his lips still touching my my freckles. “Theo…”

“I plan to make you love them as much as I do.” Theo said, moving so that he was kneeling down on the floor of the carriage in front of me. He reached for my leg, lifting my skirts and then pulling down my thigh high stockings, revealing my leg to him. “I can’t miss these either.” He leaned in, kissing a freckle that was on my ankle, finding another on my calf, two more on my knee, another on my thigh.

My legs began to tremble as electric thrills of pleasure began to flow through my body from every point Theo’s lips touched.

Theo was then going to my other leg, starting with a freckle that was on the top of my foot, another at my ankle, three on my calf, and four on my thigh. “Hmm, you’re starting to think naughty thoughts, Hondje.”

“H-how can I not?” I asked, looking down to where his head was currently between my thighs, kissing the freckles along the inner thigh. “I mean…look at where you are…” My face was beginning to flush.

Theo grinned at me. “I know that there is another freckle between your breasts that I adore.” He said. “And a few on your tummy.”

“Th-Theo…w-we will…be there soon.” I said.

Theo grinned. “There’s enough time to enjoy some things.” He said, before bringing his lips to my inner thigh once again and a moment later I felt him moving removing my panties before I felt his lips and tongue where I wanted them most.

I brought my hand to my mouth, biting my knuckles to keep my moans from getting too loud and alerting the carriage driver as to what we were doing. I just hoped I could be composed and put back together by the time we reached the exhibition.

Taglist (I remembered on the initial post this time!)

@zulablaise @kisara-16 @otomewonderland5 @tele86

#whimsey answers #whimsey event #smut is in the air #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikemen vampire theodorus #theodorus van gogh #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #fanfic #ikemen series #otome boys #fanfiction #cybird

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idyllic-affections · 2 years

Text

ignorance is a sin which may lead to a grave error.

summary. A noble man—a boy, more accurately; he barely looked their age—would, of course, try to court them. Wonderful. trigger & content warnings. reader gets misgendered, violent thoughts but no-one gets hurt. tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, hurt/comfort-esque. pantalone, il dottore, and la signora & pantalone's child!reader. 1.1k words. they/them pronouns for reader. reader is 16-17 in this piece & is hinted at being somewhere on the aroace spectrum. prev | next

author's thoughts. i decided to make snezhnaya a very volatile, politically complex nation in this oneshot. tension is fun <3 anyway dottolone is heavily implied here because i thought that dynamic would be SO funny with pantalone's teenage child involved, like.... can you imagine the older dottores and [name] fighting for his attention while he pretends to not know whats going on HFKDJKGHF

Politically, Snezhnaya was... quite frankly, a disaster.

The Tsaritsa's people had long since lost trust in her. She did not care for her people (at least, so it seemed from an outsider's perspective; they knew better), and so her people did not care for her.

As a result, the Fatui's power only extended so far. The Harbingers could only do so much before the people of Snezhnaya decided to revolt. Even Gods can be effectively overthrown if enough people cooperate with one another. The Fatui and The Tsaritsa were no different.

If, at any point, the people—namely the nobles—decided that they've had enough...

Even the top three Harbingers would only be able to do so much to stop the rebellion.

To keep public relations in some semblance of stability, biannual events were held, hosted in the Winter Palace itself. Sometimes, nobles from other nations would even attend in the interest of "international diplomacy."

They loathed such events with every fiber of their being.

Every important Fatui official was required to be in attendance, which, unfortunately, included them. Sometimes they wished they weren't one of the Fatui's senior debt collectors, if for no other reason than to avoid having to elegantly navigate noble etiquette with people they couldn't possibly care less about, with people who couldn't possibly care less about them. They hated being surrounded by fools who only wanted to please them in a pathetic attempt to earn Pantalone's favor, to get him to alleviate their never-ending debts.

'If only Mother Rosalyne hadn't been swept away by the masses...'

A deep sigh left their nose as they internally lamented La Signora's absence from their side. While tenderly styling their hair prior to the event, she did say that she couldn't promise to keep them company throughout the entire night, but still... Being left alone without one of their favorite Harbingers was terribly boring. The woman somehow always kept them entertained.

"What could possibly have such a fair maiden so troubled?"

A noble man—a boy, more accurately; he barely looked their age—would, of course, try to court them.

Wonderful.

"I am no maiden," they mused with graceful, calm poise, fingers briefly brushing against the pistol tucked between the layers of their clothing as if to reassure themselves that it was really there, "though... I suppose I can forgive your mistake. I do have the elegance of one, as it was one who taught me to carry myself in such a manner."

"My sincerest apologies." He smiled a bit too wide for their liking. They had to physically restrain themselves from gagging and grimacing when he took their gloved hand, pressing a kiss to their knuckles. He held their hand a moment longer, admiring the silver adorning their fingers. Pantalone, earlier on in their life, had bought them a particularly pretty set of rings when he realize how enamored they were with his. Something deeply sentimental kept them from ever replacing the jewelry on their right hand. To have a stranger touching that hand, those rings, so casually... it made their blood boil. "You do indeed carry yourself with the beauty of a lady. Your rings are quite beautiful. Pray tell, are you engaged?"

'Archons above,' they swore mentally, gaze quickly scanning the crowd for the closest Harbinger. It was Dottore. It was debatable whether they were relieved or annoyed at that fact. "...Thank you. No, I'm not."

"Ah, then, might I have the honor of knowing your name?"

He didn't know who they were.

Sudden relief washed over their body, and their tense shoulders seemed to loosen slightly. He was not from Snezhnaya. In fact, he was most likely from quite far away. Due to thia, they could theoretically defend themselves however they deemed necessary without causing any serious issues for the Fatui or Her Majesty...

"I will have to decline, unfortunately, but perhaps if you humor me some, I may be inclined to enlighten you."

"Oho? Ask away, angel."

Their stomach churned uncomfortably.

"Where are you from?"

"Fontaine. My family are some of Lady Focalors' most loyal retainers."

A smile adorned their features.

"I see," they hummed as they adjusted their glasses. "As a Snezhnayan of high social standing, I shall give you some advice."

"Now, now, do not presume yourself wiser than I—"

"Do not attempt to court someone whose name you genuinely do not know, especially not in a nation like this, at an event such as this one." Their hand clasped his jaw with threatening tightness, promising a fate worse than death if he did not back off. "I am [Name], otherwise known as the rightful blood heir to the Regrator's fortune and one of the Fatui's senior debt collectors. The honor is all yours. If you plead nicely, I may be kind and gracious enough to let this incident slip by unpunished. Ignorance is a sin, but I do have some forgiveness to spare tonight..."

The color seemed to drain from his face as he squimed in their gradually weakening hold; they lacked the strength to maintain such a crushing grip for too long. "I— I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you—"

"Is something the matter, mon petit monstre?"

They scoffed, letting the trembling boy go with an aggressive shove before turning towards Dottore. This was not Dottore in the prime of his life; he hardly ever attended publicity events on account of his... volatile nature. This was one of the few segments that did bend slightly in their favor. "Some stupid Fontainian noble trying to court me. I knew he was foreign the second he spoke to me. Snezhnayan nobles don't act like desperate fools, especially not towards me."

"Oh, you poor thing, suffering from success."

"It's not funny! Stop making fun of me!" they complained; they had half a mind to shoot him with their pistol, really. Even if he was teasing them just a little, there was something oddly protective in the way his hands came to rest on their shoulders, brushing off invisible dirt and adjusting their collar.

The noble had long since scurried off, frightened by both them and the Second Harbinger.

Admittedly, Dottore's presence probably scared him off the most. They'd rather die than admit they appreciated him somehow appearing at just the right moment.

"Care to join me and your Father?"

"What, so I can watch you hit on him in front of my face? No, thank you. All of you older segments are the same in that respect. I'm alright on my own." Dottore only stared at them with a smile that was a little too amused. They relented. "...Fine, whatever. Just do me the favor of flirting with him when I'm not nearby. After the event, preferably. Mother Rosalyne is taking me out after this, so flirt with him then."

"I make no such commitments."

"You—!"

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion writes 🌸#il dottore x reader #la signora x reader #pantalone x reader #platonic genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic la signora x reader

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vesuvianhermitcrabs · 4 months

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Vesuvia Weekly: Getting Caught Watching Them Sleep

(Starring Muriel and my very own MC, Bea!!)

Sleep rarely ever came easy. The fire had been put out hours ago, and any warmth left from it's flames had since seeped out of the hut.

The air is cold on my bare face and hands, so I pull them under the furs and writhe around until I deem them warm enough. I know that if I shuffled just a little to the right, I could cling to Muriel and sponge off his body heat.

How does he stay so warm all the time? I wonder wistfully.

I manage to restrain myself, at least for a little longer. Last time I threw myself against him (with all the grace of a drunken wrestler) he ended up in a pile on the floor, hands covering his flushed face. I've decided that sudden physical contact in the night probably isn't the best idea, especially considering his past. Initiating it when he's awake is a completely different story, though. I squish myself into the mattress a little more to cope.

I feel around for Inanna. When I can't find her I cast a very faint light spell to seek her out. Ah. I realize she's curled up over top of the spilled contents of my yarn bucket.

Wonderful. Another sleepless night with minimal warmth and worse, no Inanna.

I turn the dim light that is hovering over my hands to Muriel. I watch the shadows move over his face, which is exceptionally content-looking in the darkness; his resting bitch face gone with the struggles of the day.

I yawn, placing my head back on the pillow. I tentatively reach out to push the hair away from his face, before stopping to run my fingers through it.

Oh.

Damn, bro is one pretty fuckin' princess.

I feel my face heat as I realize what I'm doing and immediately repress that random cheesy train of thought. Though I don't know why. We have been living together in the hut for a few months now.

The next few minutes are spent gazing into his face, thinking of what he would say if he knew this is how I spend most of my sleepless nights. I feel the light falter. I pull my hand away from his hair, before I decide to try my hand at sleeping yet again.

I hear an almost silent grunt as soon as my head hits the pillow.

"...Bea."

I'm silent for a moment, contemplating pretending to be asleep before I realize the endeavor would be pointless.

"Muriel." My voice is dry and unpleasant. I resummon the light so I can just barely make out the features of his face, which is a tiny bit scrunched up from my rude awakening.

He reaches out to cup half of my face in his hand, which is so warm I'm forced to melt a little.

Muriel looks at me for a moment before mumbling something about me being too cold and pulling me in by the waist. His arms wrap around my shoulder blades and back, and his face tentatively buries into my collarbone.

He'll definitely find a way to be embarrassed about this in the morning, I think.

...and then he's back asleep so fast it almost feels as if he was never awake at all.

I tuck my knees into my chest, shins brushing Muriel's navel.

A tiny sigh escapes me as I finally, finally feel like I can fall asleep; even if I need to wake up in a few hours anyways.

---

a/n: holy moly that was insane. i hope it's not overly out of character or anything i tried my best :'))

#vesuvia weekly

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chronic-ghost · 1 year

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Chapter 7 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 11046

chapter summary: this is how the spiral ends.

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

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

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Wondering who I copy

Mustering some tender charm

She feels no control of her body

She feels no safety in my arms

I've no language left to say it

But all I do is quake to her

Breaking if I try convey it

The broken love I make to her

- Foreigner’s God, Hozier

The desert does storms differently.

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

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

The weather is throwing a fucking fit.

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

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

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

“Oh, oh my god – Dieter–,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clumsily kisses your cheek.

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

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

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

“Are you close?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna– I’m gonna –,”

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

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

“Baby, you’re crying.”

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

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

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

Mine. Mine. Mine.

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

You make me happy, he thinks, so happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He noses your hair.

“Never leave me.”

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

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

He wants it to be months from now.

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

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

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

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

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

Buzzing.

Blue light from the bedside table.

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

Chloe.

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

“Dieter, I’m pregnant.”

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

Your hand pulls away from him.

“What?”

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

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

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

A baby.

His baby.

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

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

“Dieter.”

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

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

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

– can’t be his father –

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

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

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

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

His fingers dig into his hair and wrench.

“Dieter.”

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

Don’t touch me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He almost misses the gasp from your lips. Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop, Dieter, you’re hurting me –,”

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

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

“I hate you!”

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

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

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

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

It’s all wrong.

“Fuck you, Dieter, GET OUT!”

“This is my hotel room–,”

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

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

“Goddamn it –,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dieter?”

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

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

Except for the way her mouth twists in terrible anguish.

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

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

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

“Honey, do you know what day it is?”

He shrugs, shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans forward and cries.

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

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

I fucked up

I am fucked up

I fucked up

I’m so tired of fucking up

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

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

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

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

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

But he tells her.

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

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

Joy, fueled and fed and stimulated by drugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Dieter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never called him.”

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

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

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

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

Honestly?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

Racing to the edge of calamity.

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

“Do you see a future with her?”

“I . . .”

No.

He tries to swallow around the knot in his throat.

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

I always thought I’d die young.

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

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

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

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

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

“What face?”

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

“I love her. I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I should?”

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

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

“You really do look like fucking shit.”

“Yeah, thanks, I feel it.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” He murmurs to her wrist.

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

“Thank you, Heidi, for everything.”

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

We.

When he thought he was all alone.

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

And then he freezes.

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

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

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

“Oliver?”

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

“Ah, fuck, Dieter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dieter’s stomach clenches.

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

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

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

Dieter thinks he hears the shower running.

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

The rest comes to him in flashes.

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

Shoving Oliver out of the way.

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

The white bathroom door.

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

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

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

You look small, broken and folded like a doll.

He had discarded you so easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

please please please please

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

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

It was an accident, Oliver assured the police.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it is right.

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

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

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

“You’re the family, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your one and only chance to do the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

His hand shakes against the frame.

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

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

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

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

You look so, so sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ruined your life, Dieter.”

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

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

And that’s the whole fucking point.

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

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

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

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

“For how long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sets you free.

You lived and he still had to say goodbye.

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

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

“Go to sleep, baby.”

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

His last image of you is deathly pale and alone.

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

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

The rain has finally stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you even watch any of these –,”

“Shush, they’re announcing Best Picture.”

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

“And the Oscar goes to . . .”

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

“Recovery Road!”

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

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

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

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

“You really like movies, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, ever since I was a kid.”

“Maybe I could take you to one sometime.”

She smiles at him. “I’d like that.”

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