#it would be like the pain of a constantly tightened muscle- not painful at first but like strenuous to endure ?

[caffeinatedopossum]

Suddenly realizing I've had seizures before :0 but this was just the first one where someone who knew what it was was there to witness it (my girlfriend)

That's so cool and definitely not terrifying /s

[robiinurheart33]

Haha wouldn’t it be so weird if when soap was taken and brainwashed he was constantly being compared to this soldier named “ghost” haha

Anyways explicit descriptions of psychological torture and violent intrusive thoughts under the cut

He would be beaten and berated constantly. why wasn’t he stronger than ghost, why wasn’t he faster, more skilled, better, stealthier, healthier.

Ghost could’ve done better in worse conditions.

Ghost has done better in worse conditions.

Why was soap not better even after all this?

It drove him up the wall, the way he would wonder who he was, seething and bleeding by the lip. After all that he’s gone though, all that he’s endured, everything.

Why wasn’t be better? Why can he never, ever be better?

They drove his sanity to the ground, spat and kicked at it until there was nothing but a shell of who he once was, and rebuilt it to fit their ideals. Soap couldn’t remember who he was before this, before the experiments. He couldn’t think, do, say anything without being ordered to do so by someone else.

Some days, soap would pull on the thin stripe down his scalp, eager to find some semblance of control over himself, even if it were pain. He would always get punished.

“It was the only thing he can and will recognise him by.”

“Ghost likes that on you.”

It made him hate the Mohawk even more.

He hates Ghost. He was sick of it. He was done waiting. He was done being compared to. He was done with being second to him. He wanted to pull him apart limb from limb, feel the hot blood spill over his teeth and he rips his throat apart, hear the sickening crunch of his neck being twisted, feel the smooth muscle of his skin ripple and tremble in fear of the one that he was supposedly supposed to be stronger than. Soap will never, ever get anything else in his life but the pure, white-hot rage of revenge. He maybe thinks this had lingered on since he was younger, before everything. It felt like an old friend, more so than his other emotions.

His first mission.

He will be better. He will be better. He will be the best. He will be good. This might be his only shot. This is. He will be the best. He will succeed. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail.

He runs into ghost.

At first, he didn’t know who he was. Soap was in a room with a few others, guns up and masks drawn, ready to shoot anyone who tries to come into the room. They had been infiltrated, and soap wasn’t told more than that. He didn’t really need to know more. Shoot the hostiles, keep people safe. Suddenly, bullets start to rain from outside the door, and soon enough, more and more bodies start hitting the floor. Soap does not panic. He hides behind a bookshelf, waiting.

A big ass motherfucker in a skull mask walks into the room and it looks like the shadows are warping to his presence. Soap does not panic. He reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh, flicking it up and holding it ready. He waits patiently until he stalks near the bookshelf, tightening his grip on the knife. They make eye contact, and through the skull mask stained with blood, he can see jet black eyes staring at him in shock. Death incarnate. Soap does not panic.

“Joh-”

Soap quickly slips out of his hiding spot, wrapping a forearm over his neck and attempting to jab the knife right into his socket. He feels a hand grip tightly onto his forearm, and he goes weightless. All the air escapes his lungs as his back slams against the floor, his head spinning. He screams at himself to get up, fight, be better, before he hears the familiar crackle of a radio.

“Ghost, how copy?”

Ghost.

This is Ghost.

Ghost just fucking flipped him.

Soap does not panic. He does not panic but he feels a chill go down his spine as he sees red, scrambling back up onto his feet. The adrenaline starts to kick in now, and he lunges at him, ripping the radio off his vest and slamming it on the floor. He’s not completely sure why he did that, but in all fairness soap feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind, if his captors haven’t done so already. He punches Ghost, wincing slightly as his knuckle hit the cheekbone corner of his stupid skull mask. Soap starts to reach for his gun before Ghost punches back, hitting the mask clean off his face, pushing his back to the floor, one hand on his wrists. Soap starts to get really agitated now. After everything that he’s gone through, he’s still not good enough to beat ghost. He still hasn’t improved. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He makes eye contact with Ghost and is slightly taken aback when he is reflected with an equally crazed stare.

“Johnny.”

What the fuck?

Soap doesn’t say anything. Ghost’s eyes are brown, not black. Why hasn’t be killed him yet? Why isn’t Soap struggling? Ghost has blonde eyelashes.

“Where have you been?” To soap’s absolute horror, those brown eyes start to become glossy. He flinches back as if he’s been hit, and grits his teeth. No shit, he’s been here the whole time, where else is he supposed to be?

Soap surges forward and headbutts him in hopes of him letting go. He doesn’t, and it makes soap all the more dizzier, more frustrated. Why isn’t he fucking dead already? He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his mind right.

“Johnny. Johnny.” Can he just shut the fuck up? It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate for some reason. Shit. He feels overly exposed without the mask, feeling his body temperature rising steadily.

“Stop calling me that!” he growls out, twisting out of his grip and punching his across the face. The twisted skull mask looks almost comical out of place, but he can still see those eyes. Ghost’s hand comes to cup his cheek, and soap flinches back. His eyes look like Soap just mauled his puppy right in front of him. It makes him freeze in place, head awkwardly hovering between the floor and Ghost.

Images of blood spilling and needles, dirt and coffins fill his head, the sound of a neck snapping, gagging, screams and whimpers. Hands on him, eyes on him, never letting go. Stay. Soap snaps back into place, grabbing the mask and twisting it up, covering Ghost’s eyes. He quickly gets his other hand free and pushes ghost off him, sprinting out of the room.

“Wait-!” Is all he hears before flying down the corridor, back to safety, back to where it’s familiar, where he always is, where he always will be.

Loyalty has always been Soap’s best trait.

[lilacmingi]

CHANGE OF HEART

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. Ageless blogs and blank blogs risk getting blocked

Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x human!fem reader

Word count: 2,380

Note: This one is just a little angsty and Jimin is a total jerk but he gets better. This imagine is from my Wattpad so there won’t be any extra parts or continuations

That monster has had you locked in this godforsaken room for at least three weeks. A room with no windows and a door that was constantly locked. The only time it was unlocked was when he came in.

You weren't allowed to go outside and all your meals were brought to you via your captor.

A dull, throbbing ache was still present in your neck from where he fed just the day before, the skin still tender where his razor-sharp fangs pierced your artery. Being bitten was something you never got used to; it hurt just as bad every time and the pain would persist and linger for days. He never gave you a break either and hardly gave you time to rest and recover. When he was thirsty, he would barge in and take what he wanted.

Every day was exactly the same and it was hard to tell just how much time had passed. At first you assumed three weeks, but you were beginning to think it had been closer to a month now.

You heard the sickeningly familiar click of the door being unlocked, your heart racing rapidly.

No. Not again. You thought.

It felt like he was just in the room two hours ago and with how often he fed, he very well could have been.

The door opened, revealing the deceivingly handsome, yet depraved man that was keeping you there. Park Jimin.

"Hi there, sweets." He grinned. "I'm thirsty."

You shook your head. "Please don't."

"You have no say in what happens." He strode towards your cowering form.

He chuckled at the way you scooted back towards the headboard, amused by your fear.

In the blink of an eye, he had you pinned to the mattress, hovering over you with a gleam in his eyes that slowly shifted from a warm brown to a sinister red.

The tips of his fingers caressed your neck as he brushed your hair away and leaned in.

"It still hurts." You whimpered, hoping he might postpone his feeding.

"Aw. Well then, I guess I'll bite somewhere else."

"No don't."

"Shh." He placed his finger over your lips to silence you while bringing his face closer to the side of your neck he hadn't bitten, stopping to take in your scent.

"Oh, you smell heavenly." He practically groaned.

You squirmed underneath him in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but his grip on your wrists only tightened, further reminding you that your strength was no match against his.

Jimin pressed a soft kiss to your neck before positioning his fangs on the surface of your skin. Your eyes squeezed shut in preparation for the stinging pain that followed not a second later.

An involuntary yelp was released from your mouth, which you were quick to snap shut. If you made too much noise, Jimin would often clamp his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. As he fed, you tried your best not to move, if you did, the pain would be worse.

The sound of him gulping down your blood made your stomach churn. It was a sickening sound that you never got accustomed to. He was quite literally draining the life out of you.

Just before you could start feeling faint, Jimin pulled away, licking away any blood that clung to his lips as he stared down at you.

He must enjoy this. You thought. He probably takes pleasure in seeing me helpless like this.

He released your wrists and ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had just fed from, collecting the leftover blood that seeped out of the puncture marks. You winced at the uncomfortable and painful sensation, watching as he brought his thumb up to his mouth, licking the blood off.

"You're always so good for me, Y/n." He murmured before climbing off of you, exiting the room just as quickly as he arrived.

Even after he left, you didn't move a muscle, staring at the white ceiling trying to distract yourself from the throbbing pain in your neck that now accompanied the already existing ache on the opposite side.

This is what your life had been like for roughly a month. Jimin would come in and feed, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. Not once had he offered to bandage any of the bites he created.

How unlucky you must be to have ended up in such a miserable situation.

Jimin never disclosed any information as to why he brought you there. Just that he had been watching you and that he wanted you all to himself because your blood was the best he had ever tasted.

A shiver rattled your spine at the thought.

The only emotions you had felt since being shoved into this room was fear, anxiety, and longing.

On the bright side, you had a nice bed to sleep in, he fed you, gave you clothes to wear, and he let you bathe. It could be worse, you often reminded yourself. You could be locked in some dark, damp cell with no clothes and no bathing privileges. Though being locked in this room all day every day wasn't exactly enjoyable. Not to mention how often Jimin barged in to feed off you.

You sighed, sliding your eyelids closed while leaning to rest against the headboard. The same sentence that played in your head like a broken record made it's way to the forefront of your mind once again.

I want to leave.

The sound of the door opening caused you to flinch, snapping your eyes open and jerking your head in the direction of the room's entrance. Jimin walked in holding a plate of food and a glass of water.

"You've gotta keep your strength up." He placed the food on the bedside table and turned to leave.

"Jimin?" You asked meekly, the sound of his name coming from you mouth making you feel nauseous.

"Hm?"

"Why are you keeping me here?"

"I already told you. You have the most delicious blood I've ever tasted. I need you."

"You don't need me." You shook your head. "I want to return to my life."

"You really want to leave me?" His voice lowered.

"Yes. I want my life back."

"This is your life!" He snapped. "Do you know how good you have it here? I take care of you! I put you in this nice bedroom and I bring you meals! The least you can do is be complacent."

Fed up and sick of being scared all the time, being treated like nothing but a blood bag, you stood up from the bed.

"You think you take care of me, but you keep me locked in here all the time! I can't roam around the house or even go outside! I'm miserable, Jimin!" You retorted. "Not to mention you feed off me at least once a day! My body can't handle it!"

"You ungrateful brat." He hissed. "I've given you so much and you're still not thankful."

"What's there to be thankful for?" You snapped back.

The look on his face was petrifying. He was so engraged that his eyes were turning a darker shade of red, almost black. He took a few steps towards you, but you backed away, afraid of what he might do if he got his hands on you.

"How bold of you, Y/n. Yelling at a vampire like that." He grabbed your wrist, jerking you towards him while leaning in close to your ear and speaking in a low growl, "Are you aware of what I'm capable of? I could snap your neck or drain you dry like that." He snapped his fingers. "So, if I were you, I'd be grateful for what I have and not complain about it."

With that, he released your wrist and turned on his heel, storming out of the room.

You dropped down onto the edge of the bed, afraid that your knees would buckle due to the rush of adrenaline and anxiety that coursed through your veins. A tear fell down your cheek as you nursed your wrist, which was burning from Jimin's inhuman grip.

"I'm never getting out of here." You sobbed.

So much for trying to stand up for yourself.

Part of you wished he had just killed you. Maybe if you had pushed him a little more, he would get so angry he'd snap. Then you'd be free from this nightmare.

Feeling a whole new level of despair and hopelessness, you cried, which was something you hadn't done much of since being tossed in this room. You let it all out, crying until you became tired and somehow fell asleep.

The sound of the door creaking open was what pulled you from your tear-induced slumber. Your first instinct was to try and get away, until you saw Jimin's appearance, that is. He had his head lowered, slowly walking into the room.

"What do you want?" You asked sitting up, your eyes puffy and still burning from all the crying.

"I thought about what you said." He spoke quietly. "You deserve to have some freedom. I'm treating you like an animal by keeping you locked in here all the time. I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."

You only stared at him, not sure what to think about his apology and if there was any genuine sincerity behind it.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asked when he received no responses from you.

"I guess." You slowly got out of bed, slipped on your shoes, and followed him out of the room for the first time ever.

When you were first brought here, you didn't get a chance to see the rest of the house. It was surprisingly cozy for a home that belonged to a vampire.

You kept some distance between yourself and Jimin as he led you through the living room and out the front door, seeing the outside for the first time in what felt like forever.

The house was secluded with no other structures in sight; not even a road, just a concrete driveway leading to the abode.

You followed your captor through the front yard, watching the green leaves fluttering in the breeze, gazing at them in wonder as if it was your first time ever seeing the foliage.

Not a single word was said during your stroll in the front yard. You merely kept to yourself and took in the fresh air, following behind Jimin until he led you around the house to the backyard. You let out a quiet gasp when you were met with the breathtaking sight of rose bushes planted about the spacious area.

You glanced over at Jimin, hoping he didn't catch your unintentional reaction. His expression was still somber, his hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes were cast to the ground looking absolutely pitiful.

"Hey."

You reached out to nudge him, but before you could, he grabbed your hand. You flinched instinctively, wincing at the soreness in your wrist. He glanced down at the spot where he had grabbed your wrist earlier, a noticeable mark splotching the skin.

"Did I do that to you?"

You swallowed.

He dropped your hand. "I really am a monster. I don't know why I've been treating you so terribly. I was human once. I should know better than to treat you like a blood bag."

Jimin never wanted to become a monster, but now he could see himself turning into one. Giving into his cravings and feeding on you whenever he pleased, kidnapping you, treating you as a lesser person just because you were, what, human? He was human. He knew how it felt to be bitten and drained within an inch of your life. After all, that's exactly what happened before he was turned.

He released a drawn-out sigh, trying to gather his thoughts. "I like you. At first I only followed you because you caught my eye, but you smelled so good, I thought I could bring you here and have you all to myself while keeping you away from any other vampires that might've come along. It was the wrong thing to do. I was being selfish and letting the inhuman side of me take over." He paused. "I was beginning to regret bringing you here, but I knew you couldn't leave, not after everything you've seen and experienced. So, I tried to keep you scared so you wouldn't run away."

The air went completely still as you processed his words, your face showing no emotion whatsoever.

He liked you? That's why he locked you away? And he was mean because he didn't want you to leave?

You shook your head. "That's messed up."

"I know." He lowered his head. "I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry. If you want to leave, you're free to go."

Your feet didn't move.

He was giving you the opportunity to walk out and here you are standing still when you could be running towards freedom.

Something about Jimin's apology struck you, and as much as you disliked him, you also felt sorry for him in a way.

When he saw you hadn't moved yet, he lifted his head.

"Go." He told you. "I said you could leave."

You pressed your lips together, internally kicking yourself for being so stupid and sympathetic.

"Why are you still here?" He questioned.

You released a reluctant sigh. "I can't fully accept your apology and I most certainly can't say that I return your feelings."

He nodded. "I understand."

"It's going to take time, and I mean a lot of time, for trust to be built, but I don't totally hate you."

"You don't?"

"Unfortunately no. At least not after the apology."

"So... you'll stay?" He asked almost hesitantly.

"No."

His shoulders slumped.

"I would still like to go back to my own home and return to my life. However, you can still be in it."

His eyes became brighter at that. "Thank you."

Jimin stepped towards you to embrace you in a hug, but thought better of it and retracted. "I'll do everything in my power to earn your full trust. I promise."

Jungkook ♱ Yoongi ♱ Taehyung ♱ Namjoon ♱ Hoseok ♱ Jin

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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[agirlwithdemonblood]

Through the Shadows: Chapter 24 - Struggles and Support

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Series Summary: A hunter's Journey through despair and recovery is guided by Dean Winchester's unwavering love, leading her to reclaim her strength, voice and hope for their shared future.

Chapter Summary: Two steps forward & five steps back, that's how it has been feeling for Dean & Y/N.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm. Depression, anxiety, blood, lots of blood, and panics. Please be cautious before you read this one.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

Establishing a routine in the bunker was both a challenge, and a lifeline for Y/N. Every day began with waking up, eating, taking medications-tasks she could manage somewhat independently.

However, the real struggle came with physiotherapy, a punishing session designed to help Y/N regain strength and mobility.

Dean and Sam have both been briefed on how to assist with her sessions, and they were quick to set up railings and a soft mat, creating a safe environment for her to practice walking again. The goal seemed simple: to walk from start to finish without help, but for Y/N, it constantly felt like a battle she couldn't win.

Since the coma and the medications, her strength was severely weakened. Even taking a single step was a colossal effort, and progress was torturously slow.

Dean, always encouraging and patient, never pushed Y/N beyond what he believed she could handle. He knew she had the capability, but understood the fragility of her physical and emotional state.

Sam, however, urged Dean to pursue a more assertive approach. He argued that being gentle wasn't helping her progress, it wasn't challenging her, and suggested that Dean push her harder, even if it meant causing temporary discomfort.

Despite his reservations, Dean reluctantly agreed to try and push her harder during their next session, worried that being gentle with her might actually damage her more in the long run.

And when it came to her next session, Dean could feel the anxiety rising as he spoke as gently as he could. "So today, we are going to get you to take three steps before you can rest.

Anxiety welled up inside Y/N's chest as she doubted her ability to meet his expectations. She didn't want to disappoint him, but she feared she would if she couldn't do it.

As soon as she began her first step, her legs were already shaking with effort, muscles burning from the strain. Dean watched her closely, his concern growing, but he followed Sam's advice and gently urged her to continue.

With every step, the pain became more evident on her face, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She glanced at Dean, hoping for some relief but she was met with a guilt stricken look as he nodded, "You have one more step to go, you can do it."

Determined to make him proud, she pushed herself beyond her limits. But as her foot lifted off the ground, her strength gave out and she collapsed, falling hard onto the mat.

Dean's heart shattered as he rushed to her side, cursing at himself for pushing her too far. He knelt down, pulling her onto his lap gently. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have pushed you."

Y/N struggled to catch her breath, tears streaming down her cheeks as sobs racked her body. She felt guilty and embarrassed for not completing what should have been an easy task, and the idea of letting him down shattered her to the core.

Once she regained some compsure, Dean helped her back into the chair. She wiped her tears and pulled out the whiteboard, writing two simple words that nearly broke his heart. "I'm sorry."

His chest tightened with emotion and regret as he read the words, kneeling beside her and grabbing her hand tightly in his own. "No, don't apologize." he whispered, his eyes reflecting his love and concern for her. "You're doing fantastic, and I pushed too hard, this is on me."

He sat with her in silence, holding her hand tightly, kissing the pale skin over and over, a silent promise to never push her like that again.

The next morning, Dean drove you to the doctor's for a checkup, the visit quickly becoming another blow to her fragile spirit.

They insisted that she should be gaining more progress in physiotherapy, and implied that her lack of progress was due to insufficient effort.

Dean clenched his jaw so tight, it nearly hurt. He wanted to punch the doctors in the face, to defend Y/N and bring her out of here, but he held back his anger and held her hand tightly in his own, an attempt to comfort her.

When the doctor suggested that her voice may never return, he refused to accept it. He knew she was trying her best, even if the doctors couldn't see it, her effort was enough.

Back at the bunker, Y/N's thoughts were spiraling out of control, the feeling of not being enough, of not recovering faster weighed down on her like a wet blanket. She felt useless and pathetic, unable to do much of anything for herself, or Dean.

Dean could tell her depression was bad, and he didn't blame her one bit, especially after the doctors made her feel like she wasn't putting any effort in.

He was determined to lift her spirits by preparing her favourite meal and giving her a movie night, praying it would give her some much needed comfort.

Meanwhile, Y/N laid in bed, consumed by a storm of negative thoughts and misery. Unable to bear the chaos of her mind any longer, she pulled herself into her wheelchair and went to the bathroom. In a moment of overwhelming suffering, she found her razors and began hurting herself, the physical pain distracting her from the emotional torture she was wrapped up in.

She was barely aware, lost in her pain, stuck in the deep dark tunnel and she couldn't see the light.

Dean returned moments later to check on Y/N, but when he found the bed empty, panic surged through him. His heart pounded as he searched, finally hearing the soft whimpers from inside the bathroom.

He rushed to the door, banging so hard he was surprised his fists didn't go through the wood. "Y/N? Hey, open the door, please."

Inside, her hearing was muffled-almost like she was drowning underwater. The sounds of her cries were the only thing echoing in her ears.

He continued pounding, and when there was no answer, he could feel himself becoming more desperate. With a burst of frantic strength, Dean stepped back and kicked the door in, eyes immediatly locking on Y/N. His breath caught in his throat, eyes pouring with emotions as he took in her state; covered by blood, new wounds scattered across her arms and legs, sobs wracking through her body.

He wanted to fall apart, bawl his eyes out, he wanted to break down but he forced himself to stay calm and focus on what was important here-Y/N.

Kneeling beside her, he reached out with trembling hands and grabbed her wrist, successfully pulling the razor from her grip and throwing it in the trash. He could feel the tears falling down his face, but he quickly wiped them away, his hand resting on her cheek. "Y/N? You with me?" He asked gently.

She snapped out of her faze, horrified and panicked about what she had done, what he had witnessed. She stared at her wounds in shock and fear as tears poured down her face. She turned towards Dean, noticing the tears in his eyes, her heart breaking at the very sight. She mouthed I'm sorry, over and over again, praying the actual words would come out, but there was nothing but silence.

Dean shook his head and pulled her close towards his chest, hand running through her hair. "Don't apologize sweetheart." he murmured, his voice raw with pain. "I just want to help. Please, let me help you."

She nodded as the tears came down harder, lowering her face to the ground in shame. He was careful and gentle as he wiped the blood from her arms, bandaging up every reminder of the pain she was in. He was extra careful, tender and patient, his heart shattering at every whimper of pain that fell from her lips.

When she was cleaned up, he tucked her into bed and provided her some pain medication, staying closely by her side until she finally fell asleep.

He stood up from the bed and retreated to the bathroom to clean the blood. Alone in the small space, he stared at the reminder of what just happened, what he witnessed, and he allowed his emotions to crash over him. He slid down the wall, tears rushing from his eyes as he placed his head in his hands, pain filling his heart as he thought about the pain she was in, and hating himself for not being able to prevent her suffering.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 25 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[im-outofideas]

it’s not so bad here

fandom: criminal minds

w/c: 2155

pairing: platonic BAU (mostly prentiss and morgan), spencer reid

summary: perspective of spencer: on the jet ride home after a long case. The team is so tired they get a lil silly. fluff + minimum angst I mean it is spencer’s brain.

a/n: this is quite literally my first time for everything, my first time using tumblr and my first ever fanfiction. i had a lot of fun so perhaps expect more maybe?? I want to thank the amazing @nhasablogg for being the biggest inspiration and just so cool honestly. they helped a lot with this work and have just been the kindest person ever!!! anyway pls read the following with all this☝️in mind.

~~~~~~

Spencer never really got used to flying. The team was currently thirty-six-thousand-eight-hundred-sixty-four feet above what Spencer assumed (or more accurately, calculated) would be Tennessee based on flight patterns from Dallas to Quantico and the amount of time they’ve been in air for. Which was roughly three hours, forty-five minutes, six seconds. Seven. Eight. They had about three more hours to go.

The pressure was building in Spencer’s ears and he grimaced, swallowing hard in an attempt to pop them. He always felt a pang of anxiety whenever any pain came to his head, as his memory would replay his mother’s cries for relief during bad episodes.

There was one night when Spencer was eleven, experiencing his first true migraine after finishing his college applications. It was one of the few times Spencer remembered his mother taking care of him instead of the other way around, she was almost completely lucid. His fear was much stronger then, and while he was a boy-genius, his brain was still biologically too immature to handle it.

“I’m dying, mom.” The corners of his eyes wet with tears. His mother smiled at him. It wasn’t often that Spencer behaved his age like this.

“No baby, your head is just too full, and your skull is too small to contain it. The pain is just your head expanding, working to grow and stay ahead of your thoughts.”

“Actually, your brain can’t be too big for your skull. There’s just a blood vessel swelling, and that’s putting pressure on the surrounding nerves which is making the muscles around my skull tighten and causing…” he groaned in frustrated pain. His mother stroked his hair soothingly.

“Would you listen to your mother for once, Spencer? Just go to sleep, you can’t feel the world in your sleep, you know. Go somewhere other than this reality, where your head isn’t constantly working. Relieve some of that pressure... It’s too stressful here, isn’t it?” A far too familiar distant look crossed her eyes for a moment. He rushed to retrieve her.

“Mom.. would you stay with me tonight?”

She returned her son’s gaze. “Of course, I’m not going anywhere.”

His pain seeped out with every stroke, as if his mother’s fingers were magically sucking it out from his skin. As he fell asleep, he found that she was right. He didn’t feel anything. It was like traveling through time.

—————

The case in Texas was particularly rough. Over the past five days, the team got maybe a total of eight hours of rest each. And as far as successes go, they’ve gotten better wins. As a headache creeped up on Spencer, he kicked off his shoes and curled up on the jet couch for a nap. He fell asleep pretty quickly, ready to skip through the headache until he was in Virginia again.

But a funny sensation on his right foot caused his leg to jerk in. I thought I couldn’t feel the world in my sleep. He stirred to see Prentiss standing at the end of the couch.

“I like your socks, Reid.” She said, before wiggling her fingers over his left pink-and-purple striped sock.

“Hey!” He pulled his other leg in and smushed it against the cushion to smother the feeling. He checked his watch, the jet couldn’t be landing already? “What’d you wake me up for?”

“I couldn’t help myself. Purple’s my favorite color.” She grinned at his reaction, before it faded into a frown. “Hang on, now that you’re up though, how come you always get the full couch to sleep on?” Morgan leaned over from his seat, invested in the conversation.

“Thank you. I’ve been meaning to say something about that bull.” He craned his neck, exaggerating the pain of sleeping upright.

“Reid is the youngest,” Hotch said from out of nowhere, neither against him nor in his defense. Spencer hadn’t even noticed him watching. Had they all been watching him sleep? Rossi continued for Hotch, “I suppose he assumed he got first rights to the couch for being born last. And you all let him.”

Hotch went back to the paperwork in his lap, diligent even while running on no sleep. “No, what about Ashley Seaver? She was younger than Reid,” he said. Definitely against him.

“And he still took the couch. Like a gentleman,” said Rossi.

Suddenly, Spencer felt very ganged up on.

“Is that right?” Morgan squinted at Spencer as if he stole something precious from him.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Prentiss said. “We can’t let him get away with this anymore.”

At first, he was confused by the rare playfulness of his coworkers, especially from Hotch adding to the banter after the crazy, long week. Then he realized; everyone was sleep deprived and filled with a goofy, delirious energy. And while they weren’t able to catch the unsub, they were able to return a young girl back to her family - traumatized, but albeit unharmed - something they saw far too little of. The feeling left everyone more fuzzy than anything, it outweighed the disappointment of losing the unsub. Reuniting a family always strengthened his own, Spencer thought. Perhaps that fuzziness and fatigue was expunging all the professionalism they maintained while the case was ongoing.

And now Spencer - who was just sleeping soundly on the couch that everyone was hungry for - was beginning to feel that fuzziness himself. He faced his back towards his team as he pulled his cover up to his chin and closed his eyes.

“If you wanted it, you should’ve gotten to it first.”

At that, he heard Morgan rise and make his way toward the couch. The blanket was ripped off him dramatically. He kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth to snore lightly. His snore lasted half a second before the sound was abruptly cut off, immediately snapping his mouth shut in a toothy grimace and slamming his elbow down to his side.

“Get your ass up, Reid,”

“No.” He buried his face into the back of the couch, trying to hide his smile as if the way his elbow followed each of Morgan’s delivered pokes didn’t give him away. Reid stiffened a bit more, he focused on schooling his reactions and moving less. If he started laughing, there was no way they would stop, probably even after he gave up what they wanted.

“C‘mon, it’s time to wake up.” His resolve began to crumble when Morgan tasered both sides of his ribs. “Share with the rest of us.”

“Ahhh-ha! Stop!” He huffed out a laugh before holding his breath to stop himself. His face quickly flushed as he wiggled on the couch.

“You know, everyone else sits during the whole flight. As a courtesy to the rest of the team. Except for you-” He accentuated by digging into his ribs again, causing another yelp and laugh to slip. “-who’s just sleeping here like a baby. What’s up with that?”

“Derek-“

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t speak.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Reid? You’re not ticklish, are you?” Prentiss cooed as if nobody could tell he would be just by looking at him.

That’s all it took to crack him. Once the hysterical laughter began he couldn’t stop it. Like a defense mechanism, his brain started working in overdrive to apply logic to best overcome this assault. It took no time to figure out he could never physically stop Morgan; in terms of strength he was far outmatched.

Well, tickling is essentially the body’s response to unpredictable stimuli, so theoretically he could dull the sensations by predicting the attacks. He could trick his brain into believing he was tickling himself. He applied it in a fraction of a second.

All he did was swat at Morgan’s hands in an awkwardly gentle manner, unable to take hold of them. It really did absolutely nothing. Spencer wondered if he were one of the few who could tickle himself.

Before he could think of another solution, Prentiss grabbed one of his arms and hoisted it up above his head.

“No no no, wait wait doN’T-“

Being able to predict was proven a completely worthless tactic. Morgan tickled under his arm and he screamed. His ears finally popped and he could hear the sounds of his own bright laughter at its true pitch. His defense mechanism was shot, as if Morgan’s fingers were sucking out any ability to form a useful thought.

“Oh my god, how’d an eagle get so high up here?” Prentiss teased before breaking down herself.

Spencer wailed and curled his legs in protectively. When that did nothing, he kicked and pulled down at his arm. When that did nothing, he fell back in a whiny giggle in an attempt to garner their sympathy. That did nothing but encourage them.

“Hotch!”

Hotch finished his note, glanced very briefly at his team before returning to his work with the slightest of smiles. Spencer felt betrayed. Supervisory special agent my AAHHAA-

“Oh oh, what’s going on? It sounds like fun, let me see,” JJ turned the laptop over to show Garcia what was happening: Spencer flopping red in the face with Morgan practically sitting on him, Prentiss crouching - legs wobbly from her own laughter - behind Spencer’s head, still holding onto his arm.

“Oh geez, Spencer. How did I not know you were ticklish! Because of course you are. What did he do to deserve this? Did he cheat at Go Fish again?”

Upon seeing Garcia’s grin and his own disheveled form mirrored back at him, Spencer felt embarrassed. If anyone was going to make this a recurring experience, it would be her. He wasn’t totally against the idea, which made him blush furiously harder.

“Okay, okayokay! Y-you can have the couch. I don’t want it. I don’t want it!” Prentiss let go and Spencer squirmed out of Morgan’s grasp, falling to the floor of the jet. He stayed there catching his breath in high-pitched giggles, bewildered by what just happened. He wiped his eyes and looked up at Hotch and Rossi, who stared down at him with immense amusement.

“Thanks for the help guys,” he exhaled, exhausted. They both shook their heads with fond smiles.

“I trusted my agents could handle an internal conflict on their own,” Hotch said.

“You mean manhandle..”

He looked to Morgan, who was settling comfortably on the couch with Reid’s blanket, Prentiss cuddling next to him. He rubbed his sides and looked down at the ground, defeated.

“There’s plenty of room for all of us, big guy,” Prentiss offered her hand, inviting him to the couch. Spencer took it with a smile and sat down awkwardly with his hands resting on his thighs. She draped the blanket over the three of them.

“I’m sorry for being a couch hog.”

“I’m sure you are,” Prentiss snickered.

“It’s alright, Reid, you seem like you always need the sleep. We were just having fun. Did we go too far?” Morgan asked sincerely, arm around Emily and hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Nah.. I-I had fun too. I mean, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I don’t think you guys have either actually.”

“Yeah, well, you did look really funny.” Prentiss said.

Spencer nudged her with a smile, earning him a poke which he quickly followed with a soft noooo don’t.

Morgan scratched the side of his head, mostly to teasingly get his attention. But it felt nice. “Start preparing for a lot more of that.”

“Hmm.. my mom used to do this for me.”

“Tickle you?”

“Uh, no. Stroke my hair. Whenever I got a bad headache, she would tell me to sleep, and then she would pet me until I did.”

“Do you have a headache now?”

“Earlier, a little.”

Without saying any more, Morgan patted down his (now) short hair before stroking up and down soothingly.

“Like that?”

Spencer slumped over and began fake-snoring. Morgan withdrew his hand and sat up a little straighter, which immediately woke him back up “I’m kidding I’m kidding I’m kidding please just- keep doing what you were doing.” They returned to their original positions after Morgan shot him a warning look.

Prentiss rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his own head back against the couch and allowed himself to relax. The reality of Emily being there with all of them suddenly hit him. Countless nights he begged for her death to be reversed, to be a hoax. To be replaced even. Back then he wished to go to another reality, somewhere without the pressure and the stress, somewhere he couldn’t feel the world. But now, how lucky was he for her to be returned, for her to be truly safe and sound and laughing with them again? He would rather be nowhere else.

He checked his watch, there was two hours left of the flight. The three of them fell asleep very quickly, but rather than try to skip through time, Spencer savored the moment.

[passive-poet]

Trolls fic teaser from my notes app??? (post BroZone reunion, disabled floyd, multi-pov)

TW!!! extreme whump, self-harm, intrusive thoughts, body shaming, implied eating disorder/body dysmorphia

Branch was worried.

Worry was no stranger to the faded blue troll, but this wasn’t the usual anxiety present in his day-to-day life. He’d double and triple checked the village’s defence systems, went through his ration supply for expired items, and even stole a glance at Poppy’s calendar to make sure he wasn’t forgetting some ultra mega important holiday (although there are so many). Branch wasn’t worried about a what, he was worried about a who.

Three days after the BroZone Reunion concert, Floyd started acting weird. Sure, a lot has changed in 20 years; Branch has no right to assume he knows what Floyd’s ‘normal’ is. Yet, there was someone that felt wrong about the pink-haired brother’s demeanour compared to the last few days. The usual softness of his eyes was replaced by a cold exhaustion, and he would suppress a grimace every time he sat, or stretched, or  did…anything, really. 

Branch wasn’t the best with words — that Lady Glittersparkles incident was an act of God. Whenever it came down to voicing his own feelings and concerns, his vocal chords always seemed to tighten up while his brain turns to goo. So it’s no surprise that Floyd’s response to Branch’s worrying wasn’t the warmest��

~~~

Floyd was fucking pissed.

He didn’t know who or what he was mad at. Maybe his mind, for waking him (and everyone else) up from his night terrors; or his captors, for being the ones who inflicted that kind of trauma; or his body, for failing him and constantly aching.

Or he could have be mad at himself for blowing up at Branch. Sweet baby Branch, who isn’t much  of a baby anymore. Branch, who always wanted to help. Branch, who Floyd left in favour of a stupid solo career-

He slammed his head against his knees, the sharp pain welcomed. This, this was the only hurt he was able to control. The short intensity of it was so soothingly different to the constant dull ache that consumed his entire being. 

More.

Shame tugged at Floyd’s gut. This isn’t how you solve problems, logically he knew that. But the idea was persistent, worming its way throughout his mind.

More

More

More

More

MOREMOREMOREMOREMORE-

“FLOYD SNAP OUT OF IT!!”

[insert Bruce & Clay’s pov here, I don’t have enough energy right now]

Reality came rushing back. He could feel himself in a familiar warm embrace. He’s still on the floor of his room, but his arms and torso were being restrained. There’s blood on the floor. His blood.

Blue eyes stared concernedly into his own. Floyd’s eyes flickered up to see shocking green hair — Clay’s hair. 

But if Clay’s looking at him, then who?…

“Hey buddy, you back with us yet?” Asked SpBruce, his comforting baritone caused Floyd’s muscles to unclench, leaning into the feeling of safety his older brother brought.

Still a little dazed, he tried to ask what happened, but his throat felt like he swallowed a thousand tiny knives, his head pounded violently, and overall he felt like he’d been run over by a catterbus. He started to feel warm, yet all of his (admittedly weak) attempts to push off the older man were rendered useless. 

Bruce tightened his hold, “Nope, I’m not letting go until I know you’re not a danger to yourself.”

“Yeah bro, it was scary seeing you hurt yourself like that,” Clay chimed in, wringing his hands together while he stared at the crimson that stained the previously green rug. 

Shame rushed through Floyd’s body and his chest tightened. Why the hell did he do that?? Now his brothers are worried, and it’s all his fault. Stupid stupid stupid!! You just can’t have a single good thing without ruining it for yourself, huh?

“Clay, go get the first aid kit?” Bruce asked softly, breaking Floyd out of his spiral. But with Clay out of the way, all the purple haired troll’s attention was on the younger brother. “Floyd…what happened? I’m not going to be mad, I just need to know so I- so we can help you.”

Floyd refused to make look into his brother’s eyes. He assumed something like care or love were in those eyes, but he dare not look. There was still that mistrusting part of him, the one that’s controlled his life decisions for the past 20 years, that whispered in his ear that the only emotions held in Bruce’s eyes were ones of disgust and worst of all — pity. 

So, he did what he does best. He tried to push the bigger troll away. 

“Floyd I’m not gonna let go-“

“Fuck. OFF!!” Floyd snarled, struggling against his well-meaning captor. 

“Just go away back to your perfect fucking life!!”

Shove

“It’s not like you ever gave a damn about any of us before!!”

Shove

“All you ever cared about were girls and your looks!!”

Shove

“Well you fell off old man!! You fat fucking bitch!!!”

Floyd tipped over, almost falling flat on his face. He turned to look at Bruce’s face, and was met with that expression: Disgust. Pity.

Bruce’s voice wavered, “I know you’re hurting right now, and I’m trying to keep that in mind. But if you want to push me away, then wish granted. Talk to me later when you figure this shit out; I need to be alone for a while.”

As he watched his brother walk away, he knew that he went too far. He knew it as soon as those idiotic, cruel words left his lips. But somehow he couldn’t find the will to apologise. This is what he wanted, right? 

Bruce stopped at the doorway, looking back just enough to make the heartbroken expression on his face visible.

“I love you, little bro. See ya around.”

And that was when Floyd broke.

[typically-untypical]

Second In Command

AU: Mob AU

CW: Guns, Blood, Injury, non main character death

WC: 2,735

Date: 12/5/2023

"Chill out Logan," Roman laughed. "You're always so serious, it wouldn't hurt you to rest for a bit."

Logan could feel his blood pressure raising, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Are you aware of what happens when I chill out? If I am not constantly on alert who will clean up after the rest of you. It's not as if I'm the only one who seems concerned by the evidence the three of you leave behind or the people who are out to get the three of you." This is how it had been for the past hour, Roman, Virgil, and Patton were celebrating a recent victory and they had been teasing him about loosening up and partying with them, but that wasn't his job. His job was to protect them. His job was to make sure no one came near them. Sure they were in a safe house and there shouldn't be anything happening, but there was a deep seated need in Logan's heart to watch out for the three of them. 

At least there had been, but he had been pushed to his limit tonight. "I'm going for a walk." Logan walked over to the coat rack, pulling his off and looking at the other three that were piled on the floor. He didn't need to be reminded that he was the only one who cleaned up in both a literal and figurative sense. 

He tapped his hip, making sure his gun was still there and was easily hidden under his long peacoat before walking out of the door and slamming it. How many times had Roman told him to chill out just tonight? How many times had Patton told him to relax? Or Virgil told him he was being a bit up tight and needed to loosen up. Didn't they understand? He couldn't, not if he was going to continue to protect them.

Logan needed to breathe; he needed to let go of the anger that was pulling at his strings. He stood in the crisp air, taking slow deep breaths in hopes to calm himself down. He just needed time. He just needed to sort himself out. Why had it affected him tonight more than other nights? Was it because he had spent the whole night watching the three of them cuddle and tease each other?

Something snapped and Logan felt the weight shift in his body. No longer did he feel the tenseness in his shoulders and hands, but instead his throat and eyes.

He was hurt.

It seemed like none of them understood the extent of what he did. They didn't realize why he was always so serious. They didn't know he would sacrifice everything for them, even his sanity. Rubbing his face, Logan let his feet lead him. Their organization wasn't a completely legitimate, but Logan did everything he could to keep the four of them off of the feds radar. He balanced books, he forged paperwork, he did what needed to be done to keep all of them safe. He didn't want Roman, Virgil, and Patton to get hurt. He didn't want to lose them, but sometimes Logan was reminded, in the most painful of ways, that they didn't care for him as deeply as he cared for them. How strange it was to be so close to the people he loved and yet just far enough that he would never be able to reach them; to be in their shadow, always just a fraction behind. Logan's hand itched to reach out for something, anything that would help him blow off steam, anything to ebb the echoing anger, frustration and pain. Eventually, he pulled out a pack of gum and threw a stick in his mouth.

He had been a smoker at one time, easing the pain in his mind with smoke in his lungs, but Patton had looked so distraught the first time he caught Logan smoking, as if it hadn't been obvious by the smell of his clothes. His big eyes welled up with tears and he had asked... nay, demanded, Logan stop smoking immediately. Logan had picked up chewing gum instead. Going cold turkey had sucked, but the praise had been worth every second. 

How disappointed would Patton look now if he went back on his promise? Especially since it would only been a temporary relief. He shoved his hands in his pocket, looking up to the starless sky, the lights hidden by the city's pollution. Logan was going to have to go back and apologize soon. It wasn't their fault he snapped. They were under no obligation to love him back, and one of these days they were going to get fed up with his temper. He was their second, he was their shadow and it was his job to follow and obey. He was their puppet, and they could pull his strings however they wanted. He could shove his feelings down in his chest. He'd return. Everything would go back to normal. He knew this. They knew this. It was only a momentary blip, a bubbling anger they had most likely expected from him. They were far too understanding with him sometimes.

Logan flopped onto a park bench, spreading his legs so he could rest his elbows on his knees. He hid his face in his hands, long fingers spread along his cheeks. They weren't required to love him or even to treat him well. It wasn't their job to love nor his to be loved. He wouldn't want fake platitudes anyway. He had fallen in love with their hearts and souls. He had fallen in love with the monsters underneath. He had fallen in love with their cruelty. They hadn't seen the same spark in him. They saw a friend, and that was fine. 

He was going to forgive them, he was going to go back to them, it was inevitable. Logan just needed to rearrange his brain. He needed to remind himself where he belonged.

"Oh look who it is, the dog."

Logan looked up, face falling into a grimace as he immediately set his shoulders back and sat up tall. He should have been more careful. He should have been listening to his surroundings, fuck. He shouldn't have sat out in the open, not where he was so indefensible. This is what the three of them did to him. This is what happened when he let go.

"Wonder what the heads will pay to get you back." There were five of them total but only one was talking. The others leered at Logan like he was prey. He could probably shoot the man in front of him, but not before he was shot in return. A fire fight in the middle of the park wasn't ideal and he was drastically outnumbered. 

"You're gonna ditch your gun and come with us." Logan didn't let his face change as he tried to figure out his options. The other times he had stormed away, he had always come back by morning and the three had never gone looking for him. He didn't want to be a burden to them financially or otherwise but he also knew he was more valuable to them alive. He stood up, slowly reaching for his gun and setting it on the bench.

"You realize they won't come," He bluffed, knowing very well they would. They might not love him in the way he loved them, but they needed him. They would come, and they would come with guns blazing. That was going to be so much for Logan to clean up.

"Yeah right," The other man snorted. "The three of them love you, they rely on you, rumor is your next to be entered into their hoard."

Logan responded with a snort of his own that bubbled into a full roaring laughter. "Me? Love me?" He asked, eyes suddenly wild, because something truly had broken in him. This man didn't know what the fuck he was talking about and who was he to give Logan false hope? "Your ability to gather intel is inept and the fact that you were only able to sneak up on me because I was at a low point makes you a sad excuse of a man. How long were you planning this? Did you see me alone in this park and throw together a squad." He stepped forward, looking deep into the other man's eyes. He brought his gun up toward Logan, finger tight on the trigger but the flood gates had opened. Logan was pissed that people were spreading rumors about his bosses. How dare they think Logan was worthy of their love. He wasn't even on their level. "What you don't understand is they might rely on me, but I am replicable. I am but a bishop on their chessboard, not even worthy of being turned into a queen." Logan reached out to take the man's gun. He heard the shot, felt the piercing in his arm but the pain didn't come. He must have been angrier than he thought.

"You, on the other hand, don't even belong on the board."

"Boss, what do we do?!" One of the other men called. This must have really been a slapped together excursion. Normally, a properly thought out plan, would include an escape, and also some basic instructions for unpredictable situations. Logan didn't want to give the other man time to respond though and, with his uninjured arm, he struck the man in the nose. His swear in response wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of bodies hitting the ground, and both he and Logan looked back at the other men. All four had crumpled to the ground in pools of their own blood, clean shots through their foreheads. Logan knew that style and his head immediately shot back toward the direction he had come from. There were two figures walking slowly toward them, illuminated by the street lamps. 

Patton and Roman, which meant the sniper was definitely Virgil. Why were they here? They never came looking for him when he was throwing one of his tantrums. It was an unspoken rule that he would come back as soon as he had gotten himself back in order and they would continue as if nothing had happened. Why were they here now?

Logan looked back at the other bodies, made easier by the man with the gun spinning him toward the approaching figures and pressing cold steal to his temple. The anger was fading into surprise and with it his adrenaline began to dump, making the pain in Logan's arm suddenly come alive. He took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Controlling his breathing was the best option until he could treat his wound. 

"Logie, you weren't smoking again, were you?" Patton asked, as if Logan didn't currently have a gun pressed to his head. 

Spitting out his gum as proof, Logan shook his head before being grabbed tighter. The man behind him was saying something but literally none of it registered in Logan's brain. "No, of course not." 

The smile on Patton's face was blinding, his hands clasped behind his back as he tilted his head. "I'm so proud of you." It almost made it all worth it, even the pain in his arm. was it obvious he was hurt? He did have a dark suit on, could they see the bullet wound through the dark fabric in this light? Logan was also certain he had a burn from the gun, he had been in such close proximity. 

Roman cleared his throat. "As commendable as it is that Logan didn't fall back on bad habits, I believe we might have more important matters to attend to. Logan, darling, are you alright?" Roman asked, taking a step forward and for the first time in a bit, Logan registered what the man behind him was saying.

"Take another step and I'll shoot." 

Logan was being held too close, Virgil wouldn't be able to get a clean shot, and with his arm injured he probably shouldn't try to escape. Either he was going to get hurt further, something Roman and Patton would never let him live down, or he'd get killed. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the teasing in that scenario.

"Do you really think that's a wise idea, kiddo? You aren't surviving this either way, but if you let him go, we'll make sure your death is quick. However, if you hurt even a hair on his head-" Patton's face shifted and Logan felt his knees going weak. He was like sunshine incarnate, but much like the sun, he could burn when he wanted to and Logan was happy to melt under that heat.

"You'll let me walk away. You won't risk him getting hurt further."

"Further?" Roman growled and something flashed across Patton's eyes. Roman put his finger to his ear. "No kill shots. He's already hurt L."

They had it handled. This was what they did best. Logan just needed to give them room to work. HE was going to have to risk the humiliation.

Despite the pain in his arm from where he had been shot, Logan spread his legs out in a quick motion, tossing the other man over his shoulder. The pain was blinding and at some point he also hit the ground. It must have been enough though, Patton was by his side when his vision cleared and he was tending to Logan's wound.

"Oh honey. He got you good didn't you, and with that move I'm sure you made it worse." The adrenaline was wearing off, the pain was shouting louder but he just nodded at Patton, closing his eyes. There was a tightness in his throat from not screaming and he was a feeling a bit woozy. Logan didn't want to show it. He wasn't meant to have weakness in front of them.

"I apologize for creating an inconvenience." Roman was on the phone calling in a clean up crew, good. He normally forgot that part. Virgil had to be running to meet them already. They needed to get out, but Patton was running a hand through his hair. 

"Now hush," he whispered. "We all have a lot of things to apologize for but needing our help isn't one of them." As soon as Logan seemed to be relaxing, Patton's hand left his hair and the bandages were pulled tighter on Logan's arm. He took in a sharp breath as spots filled his vision.

"I'm sorry for yelling as well."

"Didn't I tell you to hush?" Patton asked quietly, leaning forward and giving Logan a light peck on the lips. "We have a lot to discuss. We obviously haven't been showing you how much you mean to us. We'll discuss that later. For now, just know, we would do anything for you."

Logan was overwhelmed, it sounded like a love confession. He knew it wasn't there was no way this was a love confession. The pain was just making him delusional.

"Pat! Is he alright?" Virgil was here. They were together. Maybe Logan could let go, just a little bit. 

"He'll be fine but he's lost a lot of blood. We should get him home to rest."

"Alright, Ro's hands are full with the other guy. Let me carry him back."

"You didn't need-" Logan tried to push himself and immediately fell. Shit, he had lost more blood than he thought, and nothing was keeping him awake anymore. He was fading so fast. "You didn't need to-"

"Shut up, specs." Virgil's voice was a gentle whisper and Logan felt himself being pulled closer, scooped up into a bridal carry. "We will always come after you if you're in trouble. We need you after all. Everything you said was true. You keep us together. So don't leave, okay?" He asked quietly and all Logan could do was weakly nod.

This all felt like a dream. Maybe he had actually died with the shoulder roll. He was too tired to worry about it. Instead, Logan closed his eyes and let himself be whisked away. When he woke up, things would be back to normal. He would do his job like he always did. He would protect them.

Just for tonight. Only for tonight. 

He would let them protect him. 

@tsspromptmonth

[anamelessfool]

Resurrection

There is something called "music" on Earth...

The @petrifyingpapas Challenge Week 1 Prompt: Resurrection

Reader & Papa Emeritus (Any), Nameless Ghouls

Rated T for general espookiness. I used the lore from my own AU to write this. (PS It was fun!)

Shoutout to my ghesties @historian-crown and @monkberryghouldelight

Find my stuff on AO3 (18+ MDNI)

The Void held Nothing. The Void held you. You have always existed here, swaying softly in the oily blackness like weeds below the seas of Earth, tumbled by the tides. At times memories, feelings, connections dart past you and within you. Your siblings connect across the infinite space with you, swapping stories, jokes, and laughter through means that only your kind understand.

You know about Earth. Your siblings, once they returned to the swaying energies of the Void, would share their memories with you. Birds were a popular topic of interest— creatures that flew through what is called air, singing songs and fluttering on wings of every color imaginable. There is something called the Sun there, which holds a bright and healing warmth, and something called a Moon that changes her face and touches you in the darkness with a silvery light. Both are apparently wonderful. But music…music is something you have heard about constantly but are eager to experience. There is something called music on Earth, and with music comes the thrill of letting it flow within a space, leaving its inhabitants forever changed.

There is suddenly something before you within the Void, a pinprick of light. It reminds you that you have eyes. You blink them now, slightly blinded by this new sensation of seeing something. The pinprick of light dilates into a circular sign of intriguing complexity. Waves of excitement dart through the webs of connection you share with others of your kind. There is joy and anticipation, congratulations and smatterings of advice.

You recognize the symbol before you immediately. It is your symbol, and yours alone. It hovers above a square of perfectly soft golden light, a beacon for you. Someone is calling out to you, drawing you close to them.

You will yourself towards the symbol, towards the light, and you arrive as soon as you desired to move. The square of light undulates softly, like the surface of water. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you slowly push your head into the space, the energy yielding around you.

At first you see eyes before you, and you feel a jolt of fear. One eye is blue, like yours, and the other is a pale white that you recognize immediately. You know that this eye was a Gift from the Void, bestowed on this figure with great reverence and ceremony. When you look into this eye, you feel the comfort of your Home. Your fear dissipates.

The figure holds out their hand to you, and you grasp it with your fingers— when did you yourself receive hands? But before you can focus your worries on that you feel his grip tighten and he begins to pull. You have the instinctual need to push yourself further out the opening. You wrap your new arms around his solid body, holding him tight. He pulls his arms in turn around you, walking backwards, guiding you out from the portal. At last a clawed foot, your foot, touches the marble tile floor. One foot, and then the other. Still clinging to him, you take your first steps in this place called Earth. He helps you sit gently down onto the floor. Your limbs are rubbery, weak.

You feel your first unpleasant sensation. A pain that pricks your skin like a thousand little needles. Your muscles shake and wobble. You bring your new arms weakly up across your chest, feeling your new heart beat within your chest.

“Come now, tesoro, your body is cold.” His voice is kind and welcoming. You feel a soothing warmth as he wraps a robe around you, clothing you. Your siblings had mentioned that something called “clothing” was necessary in this place. He is kneeling before you and you can study him more carefully with your new sense of sight.

His face is painted in a depiction of a fierce skull that in some ways contradicts the kindliness of his eyes. He is dressed in vestments that have been described to you by the others with reverence and love. He is a figure that has been imprinted on the brains of your kind for over two thousand Earth years. He is, indeed, Papa Emeritus, and you out of all the others have been chosen by him. Now you understand their excitement and their joy for you.

“Welcome, my ghoul, you have arrived.” He smiles gently, looking deep into your eyes. You smile back behind your mask, and although he cannot see your expression, he can feel your relief and devotion radiate from all around you.

WHAT WILL I BECOME? You ask him, hanging your thoughts in his mind. You do not have the means to have a true voice that flows through the air. You know can ask him anything, and that he will understand and respond with kindness and understanding.

He reaches out a hand and rests it on the top of sculpted metal of your mask. The sensation of touch is intoxicating. You close your eyes, luxuriating in the moment like a satisfied cat. He strokes your head gently, affectionately, and your thrill deepens into a wonderful glow that expands throughout the whole space.

“A star,” Papa says to you. “A musician.” He lets out a pleasant chuckle. “And damn good one!”

Find my stuff on AO3 (18+ MDNI)

[ohsheepsu]

The Almost Kiss

Shane and Meredith (original character) sitting on the dock at the pond in Cindersap Forest. Next to each other, their bare feet dangle in the water while they talk. Shane opens up about his depression briefly. They share a brief romantic moment that confuses and terrifies both of them of their feelings.

“I do the same thing every day as if it’s going to change. Every day, I wake up, put the same clothes on, and I go to work. I work and put up with that dickhead of a boss, micromanaging every little movement I make, and I pray for it to be over. When it is over, I go to Gus’s, and I drink to dull the pain in my body, because I ache. All. Day. Every joint and muscle in my body just hurts constantly. Then, because I drink the night away, I feel like I’ve failed somehow. That I wasn’t strong enough to just… deal with it, I guess. Just get over it on my own. I go home, drunk, and can’t sleep despite that. I toss and I turn and if I do sleep? Ugh, the nightmares. Reliving every single failure of my life. I just-” He stopped. The sudden horror of realization that he had said that all out loud hit him like a punch to the gut. His face flushed red, and he turned his gaze away from her, ashamed. He couldn’t stand the pity. She must think him weak now, just as he truly was.

She didn’t know what to say. The words linger in the air between them, potent and heavy. Her heart hurts for him, and she’s overwhelmed by the first time really seeing him — and in him, she saw herself. She’s felt the same many times before. She never turned to alcohol, but working herself to death every day in an office for the profit of others was just as much of a vice that ate away at her soul as any other substance might have. She knew the dreams well, the nights that never ended, and the sleep that never came. The mental exhaustion and emotional torment of dealing with people who would just as easily stab her in the back as they would offer a fake smile.

When she could no longer handle the silence, she removed her feet from the water and stood up. She nudged his shoulder with the back of her hand for him to do the same. He just looked at her.

“Come on,” She encouraged.

“What? Why?” He remained seated.

“Just get up,” She insisted with feigned annoyance, trying to be intimidating. She stood only at five feet even, and her small laugh betrayed her in any act of seriousness. The act made him smirk, amused by the stance, but his eyes remained suspicious of her and her intentions. He stood. She held her arms out toward him, and he took a step back.

“Are you kidding me right now? Come here!” She laughed at his reluctance. He contemplated briefly and ultimately decided to move closer. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. The only thing she could offer in moments like this was the comfort of her presence. And comfort it did - the warmth of her body against his began to sink in. Without thought, he wrapped his arms around her waist and embraced her back. She smiled to herself and sighed, relieved to be accepted. Time stopped existing and only they remained there on the dock in the low light of the sunset, holding one another. He closed his eyes and, despite himself, buried his face into her neck. He took in her scent - she smelled of strawberries and hay - sweet and earthy. She rested her hand on the nape of his neck, her thumb stroking back and forth in his hair. Possessed by her, he nuzzled into her neck, and his lips brushed against her skin.

This snapped her back into conscious thought. She felt her heart begin to beat hard in her chest as he tightened his arms around her and fully kissed her neck - once, twice. Three times. He was lost in her; he was beyond himself, moving on the notion of longing for pure intimacy from her - and only her. She pulled her head back to find his eyes, searching for some answer. Was it real? Did his actions speak true to his potential feelings for her? They had only been friends. Increasingly close friends, but friends nonetheless. Their shared green gazes locked. If he wasn’t already lost in her embrace, the depth of her mossy green eyes - the color of new spring leaves - would lead him astray all on their own. He leaned down. She remained, gripping his shoulders. Their lips mere inches apart. She could feel his breath against her cheek and he felt hers.

“Shane?” She whispered, afraid of breaking the silence between them, but needing to hear him speak - to speak or to kiss her.

“I have to go.” He said abruptly, making her flinch. He retreated from her in a rush, grabbing his shoes from the dock.

“I’m sorry,” She stammered.

He held his hand up to stop her from continuing, “There’s no need.” He smiled weakly to reassure her, but he was unsure himself. His thoughts were scrambled, and he just needed to run from that feeling - the feeling of her comfort that he surely didn’t deserve, some way, somehow. He turned from her and hurried home, barefoot and flustered.

She was unaware of the tears welling in her eyes until they fell from her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously, embarrassed. She grabbed her own shoes and, once he was out of sight, ran home. She ran to hide herself, just like him. Maybe if she got far enough away from that moment, it never happened. She made it to her little home and closed the door behind her. She panted against the wood and closed her eyes. She could still feel him. The evening was still young, but she changed out of her clothing and went to bed anyway. She pulled the sheets up to her chin, laying on her back, and closed her eyes, but sleep never came. She imagined it was the same for him.

[danceylancey]

Edit: I ended up just writing it out ^^^

Werewolf Lance who needs meat in order to survive. When their first given the green goop he eats it up only because his Mama told him to never refuse food. But it taste like nothing in his mouth and feels like he’s reverse vomiting when he swallows, but he says nothing. People know werewolves exist, but that doesn’t mean their excepted. He’d rather hold off and wait to see how people react when wolves are bought up in conversation. Hunk is the only one who knows and is constantly sending him worried looks but Lance has long learnt how to give a assuring smile to his anxious friend. It’s a week into their time in space that Lance realises that there is no meat at all. The Alteans seemed to be a vegetarian species or at least not hold much value in meats. That night he sneaks out and finds a weird looking creature that walks on all fours and growls a shrilly sounds. He rips into it with teeth and nails, blue-ish blood getting on his clothes but he couldn’t care less. The meat is tangy sure, but it’s meat. He continues to go out twice a week to get his fix, being careful not to be seen by the other inhabitants of the planet so they won’t tattle on him. If Hunk figures out what he’s doing, he says nothing. It’s when they go to the market that Lance almost moans at the sight of a fresh, full and feed cow. He nearly starts eating it right then and there, which he would of if not for Pidge distracting him in time. When he gets back, Cow in hand, he’s planning a way to make her ‘disappear’ or have some kind of accident so he can have real, proper meat. He’s getting sick of the left over food he hid in his room, Jerky is only good for so long. Then Hunk, beautiful and thoughtful Hunk, reveals he bought almost a whole crate of Meat with Corans help. Lance cuddles up to Hunk the whole night, subtly scenting him and avoiding the urge to break into tears. But of course, one problem being solved only leaves room for more to show up. It’s a big misconception that Werewolves are forced to shift on a full moon, but that is really a suggestion more than anything. Wolves should shift at least once a month in order to keep a balance between their human instinct and their more supernatural one. Lance hasn’t shifted since the Castle turned into a spaceship. The four months were damn near painful for him, not just because he had to avoid growling and whimpering like a weirdo, but because it physically hurt. His whole body was begging to shift, bones aching and skin itching like crazy. He eventually shifts one night in his sleep and it’s pure damn luck that Hunk is the one to find him and to help but him a hour or two so he can shift back. It normally would only take a few minutes but he’s reluctant and wants to keep his second form for a little longer. It all comes to light when Pidge is hurt. Their on a dry planet with little glowing bugs when Pidge is shot in the arm. Even with some shifting at night in his room, Lance’s instinct is still the main thing directing him through day to day. So, when someone in his “Pack” is hurt and all can hear is their screams? Lance shifts so fast he rips apart his gear and uniform. He’s at least four feet taller when he shifts and his bones and joint all pop and stretch, muscle tightening and skin burning as a thin layer of fur sprouts all over him. Normally he’d be bothered by the itching in his face as it grows and his teeth become sharp and stab into his gums, but this time he’s too busy crunching down on a Galra Soldiers head to care. He rips through droids and flesh as he charges across half the planet to reach Pidge. He’s using his nose to find her, eyes blurring as he takes apart an entire army with one goal in mind. When he reaches Pidge, Hunk is already there and standing over them with his weapon drawn. Lance takes out the dozen or so soldiers in the room and pushes past Hunk to get to Pidge, sniffing all over them as he checks their wound. Pidge is staring in fear until Hunk says something to him, calling him by his name but Lance can’t hear him.

[skylarmoon71]

Nolan Price (Law & Order)- Oneshot

A part of you always assumed that justice would prevail.

It's why you entered the force in the first place. But after you watched countless wrong convictions, you wondered if there was any hope. If anyone would stand up for the people that were constantly being dealt a bad hand in life.

As you stood protectively in front of the Executive Assistant District Attorney, you were once again questioning that.

"Put the gun down Mr. Kain." The assailant was a broken father whose son was wrongly convicted by this very ADA you were trying to protect.

"My son was innocent and you all convicted him anyway. You have no idea what they did to him there. Then you finally take responsibility and now he's gone. W-When he got out he wasn't the same. It's all your fault."

You understood the pain of the father in front of you. But you all were still in the courtroom with the judge and a room filled with people. Every officer was fixated on this man. If he so much as breathed they would gun him down.

"We were just following the evidence. I didn't know that he-" You sent a glare at Nolan.

"Stop talking." You hissed.

Cain's hand tightens on his gun, and you swallow, steady your own hand.

"Please, I don't want to hurt you. Just please lower your weapon. " He looked directly at you, and you aren't sure if he realized at that moment. That you recognized his pain because you'd experienced the same.

"This is on you." Those words were directed at Nolan.

Without thinking, you dropped your gun, because you knew that look as well.

"STOP!!"

Your scream echoed, and you dropped to your knees just as he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger. His body dropped like a log and you caught him. Nolan was frozen in place, and officers raced to your side as you pulled his body to check for a pulse. He was gone. Your hands shook as the blood stained your palms.

Once again, the system had failed.

The aftermath was messy.

Reporters had a field day. Spinning the story way out of proportion.

Your superior was actually praising you for protecting Nolan. Not that you didn't expect it. News channels had even contacted you for a personal statement on the events that took place. You felt sick to your stomach. A man had taken his life and they were turning it into a circus show. When it all cleared up, you showed up to work the next day.

Frank and Jalen had checked in with you, not that you expected less. You were still a newcomer. You evaded each question. Every sympathetic statement because they were all starting to sound the same.

Are you okay?

You know it's not your fault?

There was nothing you could have done.

You did a good job.

It was stupid. You kept your head low for the remainder of the day, filing reports and catching up on the other paperwork that you'd neglected due to the events of the previous trail. It was a distraction that you needed. You had only stopped for a coffee break. Heading to the kitchen, you got yourself a decent cup, pouring the contents in as you tried to get back to work. But when you turned, the last person you wanted to see showed up.

Nolan held his briefcase, offering a smile.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

You didn't return the smile.

"I have to get back to work." You moved to go pass him, but he blocked you.

"I just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. You almost took a bullet for me. I appreciate it." For some reason that agitated you.

"I didn't save you. You really think I was trying to protect you!" You aren't sure why, but at the time, it was muscle memory. Who knows why you jumped in front of him.

"It's your fault that he's dead. That they both are. You killed them both!!" Your raised voice caught the attention of others passing, and Frank broke the corner, getting between you and Nolan.

"Alright detective. Cool down." You were heated, and Nolan's eyes held regret.

"I..I'm sorry. " He apologizes.

"Sorry isn't good enough." Your voice broke, and when he saw the tears, he tried to offer comfort, but you pulled away from Frank and walked right past them, wiping at your eyes.

It hurt, more than you could deal with at the moment.

~~~~~

After your outburst you were sent home. You couldn't really fault them for that. It was childish to attack him in the middle of the precinct. You were just so angry. Two lives could have been spared had everyone done their job. Maybe you felt responsible. It wasn't even a case you worked. Yet you felt like you could have done more.

Rather than dwell on it, you spend the next week focusing your energy on things that were within your control. Your current case was pretty straight forward. Jealous wife that led to a murder. Sitting on stand, you explain the evidence found and the implications it meant for the wife. The jury saw the truth, and ultimately she was charged with murder one. A justified imprisonment. Somehow that was what you needed at the moment. Your partner smiled at you as you both exited the courtroom after the ruling.

"Good job." He patted you on the back, and you nod.

"Thanks John. I really needed the win today." He could tell.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom."

"Alright, I'll be downstairs. " He's heading out and you make your way to the elevator. As you enter, you press your head to the wall after you click the button. Someone walks in just as it's closing and you just heave out a sigh. You don't fully take in who it is.

"Detective."

You straighten at the sound of that voice.

Nolan.

Just your luck.

Your eyes stay forward, and you don't respond, or react to him at all. When the elevator dings, you brush past him.

"Excuse me."

"Detective." He walks out after you, and your face turns sour when you turn to him. He backs off, lifting his hands.

"I just want to talk."

"I'd prefer it if we just stayed on our sides of the playing field. It's better that way." You spat.

"I understand why you're angry but you have to understand that the evidence pointed to our suspect. He confessed to the crime."

"Are you trying to appeal to me, or is that what you tell yourself to sleep better at night." He looks annoyed.

"That isn't fair. I have a job to do, the same as you. Do you really think I wanted him to die? " That stops you.

Your mind runs back to that moment, and your expression changes drastically.

"I..I didn't want him to die..." This time there is no malice in your voice. You convey so much sadness. Nolan backtracks at that. You look a bit out of it, and when you catch yourself, you school your features. You looked startled at your own reaction.

"Detective.."

"I-I have to go!"

You're racing out of there, even when you hear John calling your name, you don't turn back. For the weeks that follow, you keep all interactions with the district attorney's short. When your cases collide, you keep it professional. Your approach is to pretend it never happened. Like Nolan hadn't seen you vulnerable once again.

It's only difficult when he runs into you at a bar. You're seated at the counter, sipping at your drink. The minute you see his face you groan. He pulls up a chair taking a seat.

"Can't you just..l-leave me in peace."

"From your slurred speech I'd take it you've had enough."

You just roll your eyes, downing the drink.

"How did you find me?" You grumble.

"Detective Myers. I caught him on the way out and he told me he was heading here to get you. He had a hunch that you might be drowning in alcohol right about now after your most recent case."

"Loudmouth John." You groused.

Nolan just chuckles.

"Be that as it may, I promised him I would get you home safely. So we should be on our way."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." You waved down the bartender. He comes over, about to pour another drink.

"She's had enough." Nolan instructs. The bartender nods, walking away, and your glare is fixed on Nolan.

"Now you..you're monitoring me!"

You try to come off threatening, but your staggered speech doesn't help. As you stand to what he assumes is size him up, he catches you as you lose your footing. Nolan supports your weight.

"Looks like I came just in time."

You don't expect it when he picks you up bridal style. Your face must look really comical right now. You want nothing more than to resist, but you don't have the energy to even form verbal retaliation. Much less physical ones. He takes you out of the bar and hails a cab. When one does pull up, he helps you to your feet.

"I'm going to put you down, are you good?"

"Of course!!"

The second he places you down you feel like you'll topple over. Nolan catches you, guiding you into the taxi. The ride back to your place is basically you trying to stay awake. Nolan pays the driver and helps you to your apartment. When he'd requested that you hand over your keys, you basically threw it at the ground, and Nolan just stared as you wore a triumphant look.

"I feel as though I'm dealing with a toddler." You stick out your tongue, and he smiles, picking it up and helping you inside. He closes the door behind him, helping you onto the couch. Your uncoordinated steps make you stumble, and instinctively, you reach for him as you both crash to the ground. He grunts when you fall onto his chest. You're just laughing drunkenly.

"You should have..just left..the bar.."

It's not a full sentence, and Nolan looks up to point that out. But you're already looking at him. He's confused, because you look so much more sullen now.

"I'm...sorry.."

Your lips quiver, and Nolan's gaze softens. He shakes his head, wiping away the fresh tears that begin to form as you look down at him.

"I'm the one who should apologize. You were right. I was trying to justify what happened, but I failed him. We should have done better. The system failed him. " You sniffle, dropping your head on his shoulder as you cry.

"I'm sorry.."

Nolan is a bit hesitant, but he slowly moves his hand to the back of your head, giving you comforting pats.

"It's alright."

It's a whisper he hopes you accept. A part of him knows that you may not remember this in the morning. Perhaps you would and that would only make the barrier between the both of you bigger. So for now, he takes comfort in your words

[ddarker-dreams]

game over / scarlet ribbons bad ends.

note: since i structure scarlet ribbons like an otome, it makes sense to include what the bad end for the boys routes would be, no? i decided to only do giorno, bruno, fugo and mista for now, but i plan on adding narancia/abbacchio’s bad ends eventually !  warnings: fem reader, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied depression (for giorno’s), not sfw implications, pregnancy mention, tampering with birth control (for bruno’s), violent thoughts, mentions of religion (for fugo’s), coercion and threats (for mista’s). 

>...would you like to try again from your last save? 

First Circle: Limbo. 

It isn’t your imagination, you decide. Nighttime is decidedly eerie. Your senses are dialed up to eleven, eyes constantly scanning your dilapidated surroundings for signs of danger. There’s nothing but headlights and street lamps and flickering convenience store signs. You take a deep breath, mentally going over your plan, as it was the only factor keeping you tethered to reality at this point. There’s a good chance it is. 

The taxi driver is supposed to pick you up at 11 PM sharp. He’s been bribed in advance and swore not to utter a word of it to anyone. You paid for your plane ticket in cash after checking over your shoulder nonstop to ensure you weren’t being trailed. This would work. It had to work — an opening in the chaos following Passione’s drastic shift in leadership.

Your grip on your suitcase tightens.

This isn’t how you wanted your time in Naples to draw to a close. Leaving without uttering a word of it to anyone, to save the last shreds of your heart that were left. Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bruno were gone. Fugo was too, in a different way, scuttering off to someplace out of reach in his shame. It was too raw being here, the pain near debilitating at times.

That’s why you have to go. Your friends who still draw breath might think less of you for it, but you’re past the point of caring.

Or so you thought.

An arm lazily slings itself around your shoulder and you feel a barrel press against your lower back.

“Hey there, pretty girl. Going somewhere?”

Your immediate instinct is to summon your Stand, fully prepared to pummel the interloper who encroached on your personal space. However, there’s something familiar about this person, familiar enough that you grind your reflexes to a screeching halt. Craning your neck to the side, you note the distinct pattern of Guido Mista’s hat. Your taut muscles relax at the familiar sight and he gives a lopsided grin.

“Christ, Mista, you scared the daylights out of me!”

The gunslinger hums. The lack of banter makes you gulp. It’d been days since you saw him last — not from a lack of trying on his part. He’d called almost nonstop, left more voicemails than you cared to count, and even stopped by your apartment to knock on the door. You’d turn the lights off to project the illusion that you weren’t home. Guilt weighed down on your soul like anchors, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Not when you were planning to leave everything behind.

Everything, including him.

“Mind explaining what this is about?”

You thought you’d feel better once he spoke up again, an idea that was dismissed as soon as it came. There’s no liveliness in his tone; the trademark zest that you had come to associate with him over the years is gone, replaced by a shallow husk. The night is tepid and still you shiver.

“I… was just thinking about taking a vacation,” you’re aware this in-the-moment lie is hardly convincing, and Mista probably knows it too.

“A vacation, huh,” he plays along for a second that seems to drag on forever, “A vacation that had you pack everything in your apartment up and buying a one-way plane ticket home?”

There aren’t any real arguments you can make, so you don’t bother trying. The two of you stand just like that, both trying to get a read on each other, not daring to move or utter a single syllable. Then, he sighs. You feel his warm breath fanning against the back of your neck. His grip on your relaxes, though he doesn’t move his arm, as if he thought you’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he did.

He pulls you into a one-sided embrace. “Don’t go. [First]. I can’t have you leaving me too.”

Not sure what else to do, you bring a shaky hand up to his toned arm, splaying your fingers across his skin. He’s trembling, you notice. 

“I have to. I can’t— can’t stand to be here anymore, not with them gone,” a lump in your throat forms. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, the sound weak and devoid of humor. “So that’s how it has to be, huh?”

The streetlamp overhead flickers.

“Well. I’m sorry too, girlie.”

Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the gun barrel pressed against your back. You had almost forgotten about that in the midst of everything else. A click resonates behind you as he takes the safety off. Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen  — there’s no way he would…?

“This would look real bad to Giorno if I were to report it. Running off without a word to the states with all you know about Passione,” Mista nudges you with the barrel once. “You of all people should know the type of business we’re in. People have been killed for less.”

You bite your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “Mista… are you actually... threatening me?”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, sure. I’d like to say I’m bringing you to your senses.”

Guido Mista, who would lend you his leftovers without complaint, marathon old movies so long as you were the one to suggest them, who let you use his shoulder as a pillow on long car rides back from jobs; that Guido Mista is holding a gun to you with the resolve to shoot. You want to write it off as a bluff. A nightmare, a prank in bad taste, anything but him being genuine.

Heartbreak comes in more forms than one, you suppose.

He does eventually stick his gun back into his boot, though his tight grip on you never falters.

“How ‘bout we head back now? We can put this all behind us. Things’ll go back to how they used to be.”

If only either of you believed that to be true.

Second Circle: Lust. 

Bruno noticed your ring finger had been bare as of late.

It wasn’t like you gave no explanation for the predicament. Tears that he longed to wipe away would gather in your pretty eyes, dripping down the expanse of your blotchy cheeks, as you sniffled and pleaded for him to see reason in a scenario that never called for it. He never understood that. He’s perfectly reasonable — it’s you who has been acting out. Not him, never him. But that’s okay, his love for you is unwavering.

And oh, does he love you. 

Yes, it stung, like drops of caustic acid dropped directly over his heart. Controlling, you would call him. Saying that he had no right to restrict your freedoms, that he was your fiancé now, not your Capo. It brought him no pleasure to enforce these rules on you. The world you lived in was a dangerous one, with gnashing teeth that’d sink and tear right through your flesh. A world where children were forced to join the mob to protect their fathers, where drugs flooded the streets and wreaked havoc in every life they touched, a world where mothers could choose to up and leave one day simply because they were bored.

Bruno opens the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom and scans over the contents. He finds the box he was looking for, crinkled from frequent use, then sets out to work.

He could see it now, unfolding in his subconscious like a play with acts closely knitted together. The idyllic life that he sought and deserved. It would be on an evening much like this. He’d turn off his car, place the keys in his pocket, then begin the trek up the driveway to his slice of heaven. Work had drained him that day, as it always did. That mattered little when you greeted him at the door. A smile on your face, countenance softening upon your husband’s return. You’d rush to embrace him — apologizing for any flour on your apron that may have rubbed off onto his suit — a gripe he’d easily dismiss.

You would think to ask about his day, then change your mind upon noting his fatigue. Instead, you tell him about yours, mindful to keep your voice light so as not to worsen the pounding in his head. The latest book to have caught your interest, how your flowers were due to bloom any day now. He’d soak up your every word like a sponge. His home smelled of the bay’s salt water, your floral perfume, and the brick oven margherita pizza you had finished putting together right before he pulled in.

After dinner’s conclusion, he would secure two crystal wine glasses from the cupboard. While you patted down the dishes with a rag, he’d sneak up behind you, eliciting a gasp from your perfectly kissable lips.

“Dinner was delicious,” he’d whisper, then nibble the edge of your earlobe, his hands settling on your waist journeying further south, “Might I ask what you have planned for dessert?”

His goal to fluster you would prove successful. Chuckling at your endearing reaction, he’d then redirect his attention at the nerve clearing of your throat. 

“Actually… I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy wine tonight, or for any time in the near future.”

His heart would pound and twist and leap in his chest. This is the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d know your admission before you speak it, having sensed it, as if your souls coalesced and temporarily became one. You're pregnant, you would tell him. The family life he always wanted but was robbed of is finally within reach. You were the key to unlocking this fairytale ending. In that instance, he’d become the happiest man on earth.

The mirage fades away.

He’s himself again, staring back at his reflection, having just finished his grim task. It wasn’t an easy decision. He flushes the tablets in his hand away, hoping some guilt might disappear alongside it. It’s not like he wanted to go behind your back. You were being unreasonable, presenting him with no other option then to become the bad guy. It’s for the sake of his future family, he reassured himself. Meddling with your birth control was the first step in his plan to keep you with him.

The box was returned to its regular spot, showing no signs of tampering. You’ll be none the wiser to his little parlor trick. Somewhere down the line, you had forgotten how much he’d been there for you, providing for you at every chance and asking for nothing in return. This is just the debt collector taking his due. This would be the chance for you to come and rely on him again.

Bruno noticed that your ring finger has been bare as of late, but it won’t be that way much longer.

Fourth Circle: Greed. 

Today, Giorno brought you a brand new pair of ballet slippers.

You could tell it was made from expensive material, boasting a price tag that’d likely have sent your eyes bulging from your head had you ever encountered it while browsing Naples’ many boutiques years ago. The magic slipper slides perfectly onto your feet by his prompting. Not too tight, not too loose. He compliments your handiwork as you crisscross the ribbons to hold it in place, pleased that you’re enjoying his gift. Your happiness is his happiness, he’d often tell you. 

“I have more surprises in store for you,” he informs. Giorno offers a hand to help you up, gentleman that he is, then leads you to a limousine waiting patiently for you both outside.

The chauffer never looks at you. You don’t think he has the courage to. 

On the car ride over, Giorno attempts to entertain conversation with you, to mixed success. Your mind is clearly somewhere else, so he eventually leaves you alone. The last pair of ballet slippers you wore were nowhere near as nice as these, you think. Hand-me-downs from your cousin who happened to dabble in the art then give up on it just as quickly. You treasured them though, kept up with their maintenance, while secretly envying your affluent classmates who were able to afford much prettier pointe shoes that must not have left calluses on their feet.

What would they think if they could see you now, tied down to the most powerful man in Italy? 

With the nature of his Stand taken into consideration, it might be more accurate to describe him as the most powerful man in the world itself. 

It’s sunset by the time you arrive at your apparent destination. You’re unable to gauge the exact location of just where this is, since by the time the bumpy country roads gave way to smooth, well-kept pavement, Giorno insisted on tying a blindfold around your eyes. He treats you with the utmost care. Apologizing for having to move your hair from its place to secure the ribbon, then smoothing it back out with all the tenderness Eros bestowed upon Psyche while he loved her into the night.

You hear the songs of new birds in the distance, far different from the cries you came to know at the secret Eden Giorno stashed you away in.

It’s a whirlwind after that. You’re swept away, Giorno serving as your guiding hand, assisting in navigation through the unknown territory. By the unnatural chill on your skin, you surmise you’re inside an air-conditioned building. The rest of your senses cannot assist in gauging more than that.

“And here we are,” Giorno removes your blindfold, the cloth fluttering to the ground, forgotten. “My gift for you.”

Teatro di San Carlo — the theater your younger self dreamed of one day performing in — stands before you in all its glory. Rich, velvet curtains hang from the many boxes dotting along the room, golden embellishments line the tall walls, whose ceiling boasts a fresco painting depicting men and angels floating in clouds.

Was this reality? You couldn’t be certain. 

The life you once lived felt so far away now, like you were gazing at it from underwater. What remains in your memory is little more than a shifting blur. Once, you were an aspiring ballet dancer, then a member of Passione, and after that… was Giorno. Your new past, present, and future. He took the reins to your life then never handed them back.

At some point, you register he’s left you on the stage. Not alone, oh no, never alone; the spotlight shining directly in your face does not blind you that much. Wherever you are, he never strays far.

It begins softly, as most things do. The thrum of violins. Then the wistful, yet foolishly hopeful oboe melody, its vibrato rending your heart in half. The Enchanted Lake suite from Swan Lake. Your body moves on its own accord, limbs shifting to match the rhythm, though they might not be as agile as they once were.

“You’ve always told me about your dreams, Giorno, so allow me to tell you mine.” You said those words to him once, then whispered the desires of your soul, hand-delivering them to the devil who disguised himself as a god. “I long to play Odette in the ballet Swan Lake in Italy’s most prestigious theater.”

You used to practice into the unholy hours of the night. Until your feet bled and your bones weighed down with fatigue. Even then, you continued your plight, continued to dedicate yourself to a dream whose fruition would become wholly dependent upon another.

You’re little more than a marionette whose strings are wound tightly around his finger.

If you close your eyes, pretend you’ve been transported elsewhere, to a universe that was kinder, you can imagine otherwise. To a timeline where after Giorno overtook Passione, he allowed you to pursue your career. It’s Friday night. There have been butterflies in your stomach all week leading up to the grand premiere. Your fellow castmates go through their various rituals to calm their nerves backstage. The curtains rise. You are happy, you are where you’re meant to be, you are free—  

The prerecorded song comes to its natural conclusion.

There’s no decrescendo from the orchestra winding down, nor thunderous applause that threatens to burst your eardrums. All there is, and ever will be, is Giorno. Seated in the front row, his attention settling nowhere else than upon your figure, illuminated on the stage. His legs crossed, lips forming a closed-mouth smile. Once he’s certain you’ve finished your performance, he claps, the lone sound reverberating throughout the desolate auditorium and your skull.

You performed on the stage you yearned for your entire life. However, you never could’ve imagined the audience would consisted of one man, and a litany of empty seats occupied solely by phantoms beside him.

Fifth Circle: Anger. 

The bells are especially loud today.

Fugo tugs at his collar for what must be the umpteenth time. He’s renting the suit, having not seen the point in putting out the ridiculous money necessary to own it himself, yet he’s starting to wonder if they got his order right. He didn’t cheap out enough to request polyester instead of wool. So why won’t his skin stop itching? It’s almost as if maggots had dug beneath his epidermis. Writhing, multiplying.

He bounces his foot up and down, earning dirty looks from the surrounding congregants in the process. Wooden pews are as uncomfortable as he remembered, if not more so. His parents never made him attend church often, as it’d detract from his time dedicated to studying. There were still appearances to be maintained, however. They’d attend mass at least twice a year, both times, coincidentally, ended up becoming his least favorite dates on the calendar. Pasqua and Natale meant sitting through hours of rites, dusty hymn books, organs that creaked, whined, and groaned. A priest prattling on and on about a book that hadn’t changed while the world around it did. Wine that always tasted too sour for his palate.

He hated it. He hated being here.

Why is he here again?

The miserable stillness is replaced by something infinitely worse.

Everyone rises to their feet. The organ plays a melody, the sound heavy, though the meaning behind it is light. Doors open — muted oohs and aahs following soon after — then a beautiful woman begins the trek down the aisle. She’s easily the prettiest woman in the room, Fugo thinks. It’s not even close. An angel incarnate, lovelier than anything da Vinci or Raphael could concoct. 

Still, that doesn’t answer the pressing question of why he is here. Why he is standing, either, as if his body had moved on his own accord to avoid public scrutiny. The bride gets closer and closer, gliding like a specter in the night. He’s seen her before, hasn’t he? He’s almost certain of it.

It isn’t until he makes eye contact with the bride that it hits him. Everything comes flooding back at once, a dam broke loose, water filling his lungs and choking him in the process.

That’s right — that’s you. You wearing an assembly of whites, meticulously tailored to your body, with lace finishings and a veil trailing behind you long enough to reach the door multiple meters away. It’s your wedding that he’s attending. Fugo had often entertained the thought of what your wedding might be like. The bouquet you’d pick, how you’d style your hair, those silly little ponderings that led nowhere yet were always his favorite fantasies. 

What he never thought, however, was that you’d be marrying someone else. Someone who isn’t him. Passione’s new Don, a beacon of hope, was to be your groom; whereas Fugo was smothered in unsightly darkness and discarded like a forgotten toy. 

Could this be his divine punishment for abandoning his team at San Giorgio Maggiore?

Purple Haze howls within him. A monster barely contained, its chains threatening to shatter at any second. He could, theoretically, unleash his Stand upon the blissfully ignorant congregation here to observe the Don of Passione’s big day. Leave a trail of rotting innards and vocal cords too frayed to scream in his wake. The scent of burning flesh mixed with dissolving bodily fluid would permeate the air, overtaking the sickeningly sweet incense and vases of flowers gifted by Giorno’s many allies that currently dominate his senses.

It’s possible that he’d be caught up in the diseases’ path of destruction, not that he’d mind at this point. Not when he’s living a life permanently separated from you. For a time, he was able to handle this, considering it his atonement for being a coward all those years prior. No longer can he think that way.

He’ll do it. He’ll really do it, Purple Haze could manifest right now, annihilate everyone, and then—

You smile at him.

Ah. His heart stops and so does his last-minute plan. Fingers twitch by his side, then ball together into tight fist, fingernails puncturing his skin. He might be subjugated to damnation, but that doesn’t mean you should be as well. The first love of his youth, the one he’s certain he’d adore until he was wrinkled and made immobile by time’s passage, if he were to ever live that long.

He remembers your blissful teenage years together. Your annoying habit of forgetting to take the dishes out once they were clean, how you sang songs to yourself after your radio broke and you couldn’t afford to get a new one, the way you’d barge into his room without knocking to ask the most inane questions. He’d always scoff at them, turning away so you wouldn't catch the telltale red hue on his cheeks for having earned your prized attention. 

Would today’s ceremony have been different if he’d entertained your silly whims back then? If he confessed his crush to you, took your first kiss for his own, ravished those lips he’d spend hours upon hours daydreaming about?

What a fool he was then. To be fair, he considers himself just as much as a fool now, if not more so.

A fool for thinking you’d ever walk down the aisle if someone like him stood waiting at the other end.

[draconic-ichor]

Rut

Elden Ring fic

Smut dabble

Morgott/female tarnished

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, breeding, rut cycles, penetrative sex, cream pie, grinding, biting, blood, knotting,

Summary: Morgott goes into his first run since becoming the Lady’s consort

Feedback appreciated, 18+. This is pure filth

I’m not sorry

Part 2

Morgott blinked open his good eye, sitting up into the dawn light. He felt strange, something coiling around his gut. He recognized it almost instantly, the itch of need crawling up his spine. It only got worse as days passed. He was coming upon his rut…

He’d been through this countless times, knew it would happen sooner or later. He could handle it, he kept telling himself over and over. He wasn’t a youth anymore, not so easily a slave to his hormones.

Just to be safe, he asked the Lady to avoid sharing his bed. If he kept himself busy and away from her Ladyship he should be fine. He told himself, at least.

The morning his rut fully sat in he woke feeling terribly restless. His muscles trembled under his skin and his cock strained at an annoying half mast almost constantly.

He steeled himself, wanting to district with work. His body pulsed with a deep ache, his mind constantly going back to his pretty little wife. The curves of her body and warmth of her core…

Morgott swallowed thickly, finding a thick piece of leather to chew. His robes hid his shame, even though he’d instructed most staff to just stay out of his wing of the castle.

Most of the day went well, that is until he crossed paths with the one person he was actively avoiding. He hadn’t told her the reason for his reclusion. So when she passed him in the halls she gave him the same bright smile she always did.

Her smell him like a brick wall, Morgott stiffening and used every fiber of his being to quell his boiling blood. But then the Lady touched him, a light fleeting touch of the arm as she passed.

But that was it, the damn of his resolve burst open. All of his careful planning and composure went out the window.

Morgott all but scooped up the Lady Tarnished, dragging her off to his chambers.

He sat her down, turning to lock the heavy door with shaking hands. He instantly started to shuck his robes off his shoulders.

Very unused to seeing him initiate sex, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she followed his lead and began to strip off her dress.

Her back was too him, but the second she was bare he pounced on her, pushing her down onto the bed.

He squished her flat against the bed, rooting into her as he sniffed her. She didn’t fight him, ever mailable in his hands, a giggle at his antics even.

He buried his face into the nape of her neck, breathing deep her scent. It made that dull ache a throb.

Morgott growled into her skin, body tightening. Her playfulness faltered, fully realizing the difference in his demeanor.

His cock was ridged, red and dripping, as he ground it against her ass. She glanced back at him, seeing his pupil dilated. He pushed her back down, hips bucking a bit, smearing pre over her lower back.

He licked a stripe up her spine, making her back arch and drawing a shaking gasp from her throat.

He pulled back slightly, angled his hips downwards, then snapped forward. He speared into her, the tarnished crying out. She clawed at the sheets as he rolled his hips backwards. His cock was becoming soaked with her slick, making his intrusion easier. With every inch he worked into her he growled out under his breath, “Mine.”

The pain started to give way to pleasure as he fucked her in earnest.

The tarnished felt his hips slam into her ass. Where they usually would have thoughtful love making this was different entirely. This was desperate fucking. Something deep inside of her enjoyed it, being used and dominated. Feeling her husband finally give in to his primal desires.

He drew more mewls from her, bending down to cover her shoulders and neck with sloppy kisses.

“Ah…yes.” He moaned, low and gravely, into her skin. She felt him still, body as taught as a bowstring but only for a fleeting moment.

His grip brushing he bit into her shoulder, popping skin as he flooded her womb.

The tarnished cried out a mixture of pleasure and pain, walls milking his cock.

He huffed out around clamped teeth, giving a few more deliberate thrusts, spending himself fully.

He lay down, holding her close as they caught their breath. The Lady felt his large hands caress her distended stomach, feeling up her sides softly.

She was used to this routine: they would cuddle for a bit, his cock would slowly go soft, knot would be gently pulled free then they wound be done for the night.

That little dance of aftercare was normal, expected even.

So when his knot allowed freedom but his cock was still rigid it gave the Lady pause. She looked at Morgott curiously as he pulled free of her, only to pull her flush against his chest once more.

He lifted her leg over his hip, lining himself back up with her messy opening.

“W-Wait.” She mewled, clinging to him.

“I need thee.” His voice held a hint of desperation, eye blown out almost to blackness.

Everything suddenly became clear to her, pieces fitting together in her pleasure fogged mind. “A-Are you in rut?” She asked.

Morgott gave a shallow nod, mouth slightly open to take needed air. Before she could ask anymore his hips snapped forward, sinking most of his cock into her in one fluid motion.

Morgott pushed up into a sitting position, turning the tarnished on his lap to face him. She was completely flushed, reaching up to kiss him. He accepted eagerly, hungrily. Her fingers found his horns, blunt nails scratching about their base and rubbing circles along their ridges with her thumbs. It made a breathy moan escape him, pulsing against her walls.

He set a feral pace, churning his previous seed up inside of her and pushing it ever deeper. The lewdness of the act, coupled with the loud squelching, made her head spin. Morgott grabbed her ass, lifting her up to then let gravity spear her back down his cock. He set a fast pace, grunting every time their hips met.

The tarnished hung on, scrabbling for purchase about his broad shoulders. She’d never seen this side of him, the only mindless need. The manner he was absolutely using her in the most primal way made her cunt clench around his length.

He was relentless, chasing relief and released.

~

It took two good days for his rut to fully be sated, his mind mercifully clearing. He sobered off his lust filled high. The bedchamber was a mess: claw marks in the wooden bed frame, sheets completely ruined.

His poor little Lady tarnished was exhausted, body sore. He was flooded with a wave of guilt, worrying about her for days afterwards. She wasn’t cross with him, far from it.

The Lady went about her duties shining even brighten than normal that week, albeit with a limp.

[something-tofightfor]

Locked Down - Dieter’s POV (Parts 11-13)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Word Count: 14,551 (it’s a big one.)

Placement within the story:  Meant to be red post chapter 13 - because that’s where it leaves off.

Rating: M. Mentions of drug use and Dieter’s OD, the aftermath of that night, talk of death, language, sex, adult themes ... par for this story, but there’s nothing too graphic in here. 

Trigger Warnings: Drugs and drug use, alcohol, an overdose, needles

Summary: Dieter’s got a lot of thoughts about what happened to him the night of The Incident, but even those pale in comparison to what goes on in his head after. 

Author’s note:

So, since a lot has changed and ramped up in the last few chapters of Locked Down, I thought that it would be nice to take a peek into Dieter’s head and see exactly where he’s coming from with this new behavior - and what pushes him to be so honest and open with the people in his life that he cares about: in this case, you. 

This got very long, but I hope you enjoy it. (Side note, every single word I write about this man makes me love him even more.)

Catch up on the other parts here: Locked Down Masterlist

He felt the muscles in his back and chest tighten, and Dieter’s eyes flew open.

What the fuck? He registered himself taking in a deep, wheezing breath, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. Not at first, anyway - and then he saw you, the man blinking as your features became clear. She wasn’t here before. But now she … she is.

His eyes moved away from you before he’d had more than a few moments to think, and the next person he saw was her, the blonde from the front desk - the one that he was constantly going out of her way to do things for him - the one that didn’t like you, because… 

Dieter’s hands moved, seeking out the source of pain in the center of his chest and found a set of warm ones, small ones, fingers wrapped around the tube of something. A needle. It’s in my chest. And that means… “You saved me.” He took another breath, trying to steady himself. “You are an angel.” 

And she looked it. The woman seemed to glow above him as she nodded in agreement, her lips moving as she spoke to him, but Dieter was barely listening, still trying to process what had happened. I passed out, and she … brought me back. Raising one hand to the woman’s face, Dieter felt tears tracking down his cheeks as he watched them leak over hers, too, Anika still speaking, though the words were nothing more than a dull roar in his ears. She saved my life. 

The longer he was awake, the clearer things became for Dieter, the man realizing that even though the woman was holding one of his hands in both of hers, someone was stroking his hair, the touch familiar. He curled his fingers between Anikas and turned his head upward, once again trying to focus. You weren’t looking at him, instead staring at the other people in the room and what they were doing, eyes moving between them slowly. Look at me. 

He said your name - or at least he thought he did; Dieter didn’t know if he was actually speaking until you redirected your gaze down, locking eyes with his. He spoke again - that time he was sure of it, and at the sound of his words, Dieter saw the look in your eyes change slightly. Before, you’d been downright terrified, and even though that expression remained, he thought there was some relief present, too. Oh, fuck. Oh shit. 

You finally spoke to him as you pulled one hand away from his head to swipe at your cheeks, and he felt his heart sink at the sight of it - you, crying over him as he laid on the floor only minutes after someone else had revived him. This is fucking … fuck. Anika was saying something, explaining what she’d done, and Dieter realized that the last thing he wanted to do was be on the floor anymore. Get the fuck up, Bravo. 

He pushed himself into a sitting position, reassuring Anika - and himself, and hopefully you that he hadn’t been trying to kill himself, but the words sounded hollow in his ears. Once sitting up, Dieter realized for the first time that his mouth tasted terrible and that there was something warm dripping down his chin. Shit. Moving on autopilot, he shrugged off the coat he wore and used the soft material to dry his skin, spitting into the end of the sleeve in hopes that it would help. 

It did - marginally - and once he was done with that, he looked back at the woman in front of him, a shaking breath leaving his body. “Thank you, Anika.” He surged forward, wrapping the woman in a hug that he meant, hoping that she could feel his gratitude, and after only a second or two, she was hugging him back, Dieter’s fingers tangling in her styled hair and his forehead pressed to the side of her neck. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. 

When he pulled away, still thanking her, Dieter acted on impulse, leaning closer and kissing the woman on the cheek, his lips lingering as his eyes remained closed. “You are welcome, Dieter.” She whispered the words, her lips right against his ear. “Very welcome.” 

He backed away at the feeling of your foot against his hip, and Dieter realized with some surprise that you were leaving, the man’s already racing heart pounding behind his ribs. You looked guilty when you finally met his eyes, both of them briefly flicking away from his face and to the blonde before they moved to the other side of the room, and Dieter groaned, summoning his strength to demand that everyone leave but the three of you. They need to go. And so do I. Why the fuck did I let this happen? 

The room was absolutely silent only a few minutes later, and Dieter didn’t know what to say or do. Never been like this before. Never… You broke the silence, asking if he wanted you to call a doctor, and at that, he felt panic rising within him, the only thought in his mind of the movie he’d be making next - and not doing anything to jeopardize it. “No. No doctor. I’m fine.” It was a lie and all of you knew it, the words definitely not helped by the weak cough he let out in the middle of it. 

When Anika agreed that he needed a doctor, Dieter realized that he was outnumbered. Do something. He pushed himself to his feet unsteadily, swatting Anika’s hand away as more excuses poured from his mouth. No doctor. No hospital. No help. No one can know. He heard your disappointment as his refusal, but when you suggested that someone stay with him, Dieter felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the drugs and adrenaline and everything to do with the thought that you were abandoning him. 

“Aren’t you going to? I want you to stay with me.” He knew that he sounded pitiful, but Dieter didn’t care because he felt the same way, and it was getting worse by the minute. She can’t leave. Can’t leave me. You stared at him and Dieter forced himself to stay still and quiet, waiting as you looked briefly at Anika, your face falling, and then around the room. Please. 

“I don’t think you should sleep in here tonight.” It wasn’t quite an agreement, but Dieter sagged in relief at the sound of your words, nodding at you while you continued to talk about finding him something to wear. I don’t give a fuck about clothes. 

But it was Anika’s words that surprised him the most, the other woman offering to get him into your room while you looked for what you needed. She wants to help. 

The truth was that he didn’t care where he was as long as you were there with him - as long as you stayed with him - and with that thought on his mind, he leaned against the blonde, one arm around her shoulders as she slowly led him away from where you were standing and toward the hallway.

He didn’t speak as they moved, but Dieter was aware of everything that was going on; the dull ache in his head, the dryness of his mouth, the sharp pain in his chest from where the needle had pierced his skin. But those things paled in comparison to the fear he felt as the two of them moved toward your door, Anika’s hold on him tight even though he wasn’t sure he needed it to be. I could have died. 

Your room was mostly dark, but since he’d spent so much time there, Dieter was able to navigate them through it and to your table, reaching out with one hand to move a chair enough so that he could sit down. Once settled, he stared at his feet, both hands resting on his thighs. I should say something. He didn’t know what to say, though, and so Dieter kept quiet - aware of the woman standing behind him, though she ket her distance. The silence stretched out, and he couldn’t take it anymore, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he swore, the single word tearing out of his throat in a broken moan. “Fuck.” 

She moved but still didn’t speak, laying her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently, the woman letting him know that she was there if he needed her. He didn’t know what he needed though, except to be completely clearheaded… and that wouldn’t be happening for hours. And it’s my own goddamn fault. 

They stayed like that, in the silence and half-darkness of your room for a while, and just when he’d started to wonder where you were or if you were coming at all, Dieter heard the door open, the sound of your quiet footsteps on the carpet reaching his ears. Instead of comforting him, your arrival sent another jolt of fear through his body. He forced himself not to react, holding his body rigid instead and just waited. I might have … ruined it. Ruined it all.

He felt the terror rising, his throat constricting, and then Anika’s grip tightened before she let go, the sound of the door closing softly behind her a few moments later as loud in his ears as if she’d slammed it. “Oh, fuck.” 

He doubled over, the tips of his fingers digging into his eyelids, and Dieter finally let himself give into the emotion he was feeling, the tears streaming from his eyes again. He’d fucked up and he knew it. Indulged in one too many of his vices at the same time, and he was going to pay for it in one way or the other. He was alive, sure, but the cost of Anika saving him had yet to be determined. And I don’t know if I can pay it this time. 

He let his mind wander to the last time he’d had to explain his drug use to anyone in detail, and even though he didn’t remove his hands, Dieter opened his eyes, trying to take a deep breath. It’s not the same. They’re not the same. It worked - for a few seconds, the man able to convince himself that everything would be alright … and then the door opened and you stepped back into the room, his posture going rigid again at the sound. Here we go. 

He wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that you wouldn’t immediately go in on him, but he knew that the likelihood of that was low. Because I don’t deserve it.  “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Are you cold?” He could hear the apprehension in your voice, and it gave him hope, but instead of acting based on that, Dieter heard himself reply to you in a clipped tone, his “no” sounding harsh even to his ears. 

That didn’t deter you, though, and when you pulled the other chair in front of him, trying again - that time with more patience in your voice, he snapped, recalling the way that a somewhat calm conversation had devolved into a goddamn mess when he’d had a similar conversation with Mara. You tried again, and with some disbelief, Dieter let you speak, listening to every word you said despite the fact that he was more focused on the look in your eyes and the way your hands were shaking slightly as you held his. 

Your fear was real. Your worry was real. Your emotion was real, and it had nothing to do with you - he could tell that you were entirely focused on him and what he was feeling,  and it was a stunning turn of events. Tonight is a fucking nightmare. 

He recounted what he remembered at your request, the memories of the previous few hours fuzzy at best in a lot of places. He told you the truth nonetheless - and you did the same for him. But she isn’t … she isn’t being mean about it. And so he was totally honest with you - admitting that he knew he’d overdone it, admitting that he’d overdosed, actually saying the word out loud, and admitting that Anika had actually saved his life. Because she did. 

You were right. He needed to find and thank the girl again when he was sober, explain to her that he’d always owe her, that he knew how lucky he was that she’d given him the chance to wake up… but all he could focus on was the way you were looking at him, your relief muted by something else that he couldn’t place. I need to know… I need … “Are you mad at me?” 

He blurted it out abruptly, locking eyes with you because it was the only thing that he could think of saying - and Dieter watched as your expression changed again, the truth evident to him after only a few seconds. She’s not mad at me, she’s mad at herself. 

It should have hit him earlier, but he’d been too preoccupied to notice. As soon as the truth had settled into his head, he realized that he was mad at himself, too, the anger stronger than anything else he was feeling. We’re both pissed. But she’s not mad at the right person. The information nearly overwhelmed him, but when you cut him off, telling him that he didn’t need to apologize and that it wasn’t about your feelings, he couldn’t take it anymore. No, it should be about your feelings because I care about them. 

He couldn’t sit in the chair any longer and so he shot to his feet, pushing past you and into the privacy of the bathroom. Once the door was shut and locked, he flipped the light on and got his first glimpse of himself in the mirror. I look like shit. There was a small streak of dried blood on his chest and his skin was pale, the patchy beard on his chin looking worse than usual. And my fucking hair. Jesus. He turned the water on - as hot as he could stand it - and then gripped the edge of the sink, hanging his head. She’s not Mara. And I can’t treat it like it’s the same thing or she’s going to react the same way. 

He wasn’t ready to tell you about the other woman’s demands of him, or of her assessment of his choices. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want you to know - it was because he knew that if he told you, you’d be sympathetic to him. And I don’t need that right now. Using a washcloth, Dieter cleaned his chest off and then washed his face, eyes on his reflection in the mirror. 

He was still high, though the shot that Anika had given him - likely adrenaline - had smoothed things out enough that he was almost level, and Dieter was surprised at how clearly he was able to think. Even if I still feel like I spent a year in a goddamn dumpster.

You weren’t mad at him, and that was good. But you were upset with yourself, and that was bad, and he didn’t know how he could help - or if you’d even let him. Or if this all ends tonight. He didn’t want to think about that, and didn’t know if he really even needed to, but as he finished brushing his teeth and headed back out into the bedroom, he couldn’t shake the thought. His mood didn’t improve when you stepped past him just as abruptly to go into the bathroom, telling him that he could turn the lights off if he wanted to. 

There was no other option and so he did just that, flipping the switch and letting himself drop down onto the cool sheets while he waited for you to finish what you were doing. Instead of staying on the side of the bed that he usually slept on, he scooted toward the center of the mattress, wanting to be closer to you when you finally joined him. If she does. 

It wasn’t a new feeling - Dieter worrying that someone would see the real Dieter and find a fault within him, but that night, it was worse than usual, and he knew it was because of the way he felt about you. Those feelings weren’t something that he’d ever explicitly admitted to, and you hadn’t done so either, but that didn’t change anything. He wanted you around. He wanted you to know him, wanted you to like him - and Dieter was afraid that he’d fucked it all up in one night by allowing things to get too real and letting his behavior get out of hand. There are consequences. Always. 

Dieter heard you come back into the room and felt the bed dip as you sat down, the man unconsciously scooting closer to you and catching you off guard. He nearly recoiled at your surprise, feeling as you began to shift away from him, but Dieter forced himself to stay put - and ask you a question. Can I sleep? He didn’t know - but figured that he’d been awake long enough after being revived that the true danger had passed. Even though he was exhausted, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep right away despite your reassurance that you’d be there with him. She’s going to stay. He reached for our hand, the man stunned when you flipped yours over to thread your fingers with his, grip tight. She’s going to stay with me.

He felt a sense of relief at that, and even though both of you went quiet, words trailing off, his mind continued to race - thoughts tumbling over each other although none of them stood out any more than the others. He felt himself relaxing, the man’s breaths lengthening, and then something did pop out: his bitterness at the fact that you were taking care of him for the second time in the span of only a few weeks. 

Speaking without pause, his voice cut through the darkness. The longer he went on, the angrier he became with himself. No one should have to do this. No one. I don’t deserve this from her. Dieter didn’t want to push you away, even though part of him was screaming that it was for the best - that you’d be better off cutting ties before it got too hard, saying goodbye and letting him go. He could hear her voice in his head, and though you weren’t the same, the idea was, and he knew it. I’m bad for her. Bad for -

You shocked him again when you pulled your hand away from his, moving down on the mattress so that you could lay beside him, words that he found almost too good to be true pouring out of your mouth. She wants to be with me. Wants me even like this, when it’s hard. You didn’t mince your words, and Dieter tried to laugh, the sound weak to his ears as he moved his hand over your skin, savoring the fact that you were letting him touch you the way that he wanted to.  

He understood what you were saying - that you knew he needed to reach the bottom before he could pull himself up, that you were trying to look at it in a way that gave you - and him - hope that what happened that night wouldn’t happen again. You said they weren’t excuses, but that wasn’t something that he believed, and Dieter was well versed in excuses of all kinds. It was a form of self-sabotage, but he couldn’t stop himself from bringing up Anika and the way he’d touched and kissed her - in front of you - the man’s eyes closed as he recalled the way the blonde had nearly melted into his arms, clinging to him for as long as he’d let her. 

He’d never seriously thought about sleeping with her, even though he could see the appeal. She’s too young. Too eager. Not like… There was something else, another explanation at the tip of his tongue, but Dieter was too tired to think it through, using all of his attention on listening to you explain your reasoning for not beng upset with him. He knew that you and the blonde didn’t get along, knew why, but even before that night, he hadn’t been able to find joy or amusement in the fact that two available  women we at odds over him. Not like I used to. 

He refocused when you pressed your forehead to his, and Dieter’s breath caught in his throat when you explained why you felt that you had no say in what he did or who he kissed. You’re not my girlfriend, but you do have … if you didn’t want me to … I wouldn’t. Not my girlfriend, not yet. He kissed you then, figuring that if you were that close and saying those things with such sadness in your voice, you weren’t going to deny him a simple touch of his lips to yours, and he was right.

When Dieter pulled away, turning his head to press his cheek deeper into the pillow, you spoke again, further calming him. It’s going to be alright. I’ll figure this out tomorrow. When we get up. As the man wound down, gradually relaxing, he realized that he’d timed his breaths with the strokes of his fingers over your skin - and that it had done more to keep him grounded than anything else that he’d ever thought of trying. Oh, I’m fucked. 

— 

He woke up hours later to bright sunlight streaming in through the cracks at the edges of the curtains, and Dieter realized that he still felt like shit. It wasn’t just a hangover, wasn’t just fatigue or a headache. It was bone-deep weariness, the man’s limbs aching and heavy, his tongue thick in his mouth. Fuck. 

You were right there, on your side and facing him, one hand flat on the bed between your bodies, although he’d obviously moved while he slept to pull away from you. He couldn’t blame you for falling asleep - the night had likely been hard on you, too. I’m sure she stayed awake as long as she could. At that thought, he turned his head toward the pillow, taking a deep breath. 

After getting some sleep and sobering up, Dieter realized that he was more than angry and disappointed in himself. He was furious that he’d done what he did, putting people that he cared about through the things that you’d had to do the previous night. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish. It wasn’t just you, either - he’d also forced Anika to act in order to save his life, and despite the fact that he saw the young woman as no more than a friend, the truth hurt. She shouldn’t have needed to do that. 

Dieter reached for you with one hand, the very tips of his fingers pushing the hair away from your brow, and as he let out a shaking breath, he spoke - quietly, hoping that it wouldn’t disturb you. “I am so fucking sorry you had to see me like that.” You didn’t react, and after a few seconds more, he carefully rolled away and climbed out of the bed, noting that it was well after noon. 

He still looked awful, and as Dieter stared into the bathroom mirror, he fought the urge to break down again. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose control. He couldn’t change the fact that he’d used so much the night before that he’d almost died. But I can make sure I don’t do it again. 

He hadn’t lied to you when he said that he’d never been in the same situation previously. He’d always stopped just shy of putting himself in real danger when it came to the hard stuff, and he didn’t know what had pushed him over the edge the previous night. Part of it had likely been what you’d said - trying to keep up, overexerting himself with the dancing and movement, doubling down on the second round of drugs when they’d taken a break from what the group was doing. But part of it was also his own doing, the man knowing better but still reaching for more. 

He had his vices, drugs and sex two of the most prominent, but even as a younger man, he’d been able to push the urge to use back, instead losing himself in whatever man or woman caught his eye at the moment. He enjoyed the sex much more than being high -  usually - and despite the fact that you were the only one he’d slept with since before the pandemic, he didn’t feel lacking in that department. You were more than enough to keep him occupied, more than enough to ensure that he was satisfied - but you hadn’t been there, and as Dieter brushed his teeth, eyes focused on his reflection, he realized that that had been part of the reason he’d tipped over the edge. 

He didn’t blame you for not wanting to be around the drugs. He understood - because a lot of his friends and family were the same. He’d appreciated your honesty about wanting him to let you know when the night was over, but it was that that had thrown him - Dieter unsure of whether or not you’d like the man that showed up at your door after a night of partying. He’d hoped that you would be alright, hoped that you’d welcome him into your room and even if it hadn’t led to sex, that you’d lay down next to him and just be with him throughout the night, no matter the state he was in. 

But the more he’d used and the longer you’d been apart, the more Dieter has gotten inside of his own head, jumping to conclusions and expecting an ultimatum from you in the same way he’d gotten them from so many others. 

His brother’s had been simple enough: don’t come around while you’re high on anything that isn’t weed, because I don’t want the kids to see you like that. The director’s explanation that if Dieter didn’t agree to a month in rehab, he could kiss the paycheck from the sequel goodbye. His agent’s warning to him that the publicity and assumptions from the times Dieter was spotted out and “behaving badly” would only do more harm than good the older he got. 

But Mara’s ultimatum had hurt him the most, and even though it was two completely different situations, it was hers that he compared to you. 

No matter what her true feelings had been toward him, Dieter had cared about the woman. He’d thought things were going well, thought that they had a real shot at making something last up until it had all changed. At first, she’d been more than happy to be around him, Dieter taking her to parties and events, the man dipping off to pop a few pills or snort a line before he returned to her side. She’d smoked weed with him often, and had even done LSD occasionally, the two of them getting high and then spending hours in bed together. But it was the powder that crossed the line for her. 

“You using reflects on me, Dieter. If they know you’re high, how does that make me look? You could ruin my brand, so I need you to stop if we’re going to be together.” 

He could still hear the woman’s words in his mind as he left the bathroom, quietly making his way through the bedroom and picking up a glass to fill with something bubbly from the mini bar. That should have been his first clue - that she hadn’t wanted him to stop using because she was concerned about him or his health, that it had all been about her. He’d looked past it, trying to see things from her point of view and take her words to heart because unlike him, she was still trying to make a name for herself in the industry. And she hadn’t been wrong - it would have looked horrible if he’d ruined an event or premiere for her because he’d been out of it and made an ass of himself. It would have made her look like she was enabling him if she had to talk about his struggles or his use based on rumors and speculation. But I need to stop because I want to, not because someone else needs me to. 

He finished his drink, walking back over to the table and stealing one more look at you, your eyes still closed as you slept. She has a career. She has a reputation. What if this gets serious and I fuck up again? He’d had the thought the night before and then couldn’t shake it, the man’s drug-addled brain coming up with the idea that if he continued to use and never even went to your room that night, if you’d never seen him out of it, that it his actions couldn’t hurt you.

But when he’d woken up with a gasp and seen your face above him - cheeks tearstained and your lips pressed together in so thin a line that it must have hurt, he’d felt his heart slam into his ribs - realizing that you were there, you were with him, and you hadn’t moved away. Until she did. Until she got up. 

That had scared him, the idea that you’d walk away, and it had been why he was so quick to clear the room, so adamant that you stay with him. Because I wanted her to know that I wanted her there. That even if I was high, that I … 

He reached for the remote at the same time he set the glass down, but Dieter missed the edge of the table and the heavy container tumbled to the floor as he winced. You shot up into a sitting position immediately, eyes wild as they landed on him. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” You sounded distraught and he was quick to comfort you, moving closer and deciding that he needed to lay it all out for you as soon as possible. It’s my only chance to make her understand. 

Again, you shocked him, coming to his defense and reminding him of what he already knew - but had yet to accept. This is my choice, all of it. No one else’s. He registered the slip of his tongue - if you and I are together - but you didn’t comment on that, pointedly ignoring it and letting him save face. He appreciated that, but not as much as he appreciated the straightforward way that you always spoke to him. You were a lot like Jenna in that way, not sugarcoating things or trying to gloss over them because it was easier. You sad what was on your mind, and unlike the careful persona he’d created for the media and public consumption, you didn’t have to be that way. Especially in private. Especially with me. 

He hadn’t realized that he was anxious about your response until you reaffirmed that you cared about him and wanted to be there for him if he needed you, but Dieter felt his chest grow tight at the way you reached for him, one hand settling on his cheek. He deserved less - deserved you getting angry and being spiteful, deserved the response of you telling him that even though you cared, you couldn’t watch him destroy yourself. Instead he got something else entirely. She accepts me and all of my fucked up… He couldn’t even finish the thought, turning his head to kiss the center of your palm and wishing that he’d never put either of you in the position that you were currently in. Wish in one hand and shit in the other, right? 

The surprises kept coming when you told him that you’d cleaned his room up enough to make it passable, but Dieter was focused on the way you watched him as you spoke - the calm look in your eyes and the easy tone of voice - and he broke, reaching for you but slowly, giving you plenty of time to tell him to stop. Please don’t. “You’re too fucking good for me.” And I don’t deserve it. At all. But he couldn’t say it - didn’t have the words, and instead Dieter stared at you, hoping that you understood that he was giving you yet another out, another opportunity to walk away and not let yourself get caught up in him any more than you already had. Please stay. 

And you did - leaning in to kiss him quickly, the action filled with emotion, Dieter unwilling to let you pull back right away and instead closing his eyes before he nuzzled against your face. I want this. He wanted you - more than he’d wanted anything in a long time, and even though you’d made no promises to each other, there was a small part of Dieter that knew that he would give you anything you asked for. But she won’t ask. She won’t ask because she’s holding back, too. You agreed with his to-do list, adding in a quiet laugh at the end that soothed him, Dieter’s entire body relaxing slightly at the fact that even though the situation he’d put you in was difficult, you weren’t running. Would she have left if I’d stayed quiet last night? Would she have left me in that room? He didn’t think you would have, at least not for the entire night, but the mere thought of it happening was enough to terrify him all over again. 

You got up to take a shower and Dieter watched you, fighting with himself about whether or not he wanted to join you and what that would mean. All she can do is say no. When you extended your hand to him and gave him permission to follow you, Dieter took it immediately, the two of you heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. I want to.

— 

You’d stayed in the room with him while he called Jenna, even though you’d pointely put headphones in to give him some privacy. Despite the fact that Dieter had been nervous to speak to his friend, the story of what had happened rolled off of his tongue with ease. It felt good - confessing to the woman that he’d needed to to be revived and that he’d likely only been minutes away from death, but as Dieter listened to the woman’s response from the other end of the line, he realized that good was subjective - and that telling someone was only going to be as meaningful as the response he got. 

Jenna was pissed at him, and he understood why. But instead of berating him endlessly over the phone from a continent away, she promised that they’d talk about it when she got back, telling him that there was no way to avoid it. “We’ve gotta talk about it, Dieter. This is a hard line for me.” It was an ultimatum, but it was one that he could live with, because he needed the woman’s response, needed her anger and honesty to drive home the point that what he was doing wasn’t just impacting him, the effects were far-reaching. I have to want to change, but it doesn’t hurt to know what other people think. 

And that carried over to Anika, too. He knew that that conversation would be much more difficult than the first one with Jenna, because it would be in person - and it would require him to explain a few things that had nothing to do with the previous night’s activities. But she deserves it after what she did for me. He said goodbye to you a few minutes before he figured the woman would be getting off of work, wandering through the halls and taking the stairs down to the lobby. It gave him a little longer to think, the man biding his time and trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say, but everything went out the window when he saw the blonde woman behind the desk. 

Oh, shit. Oh shit. He froze, catching Anika’s eye, and the woman acted immediately, hanging up the phone and rounding the desk, stopping only a few feet in front of him. “Dieter.” He saw the concern in her eyes, Dieter’s jaw working as he tried to come up with a response, but Anika was faster, reaching out to touch his arm. “Come with me.” He nodded, following her without saying a word, and when the two of them were standing inside of a smaller office, Anika spoke again. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. No. I…” He swallowed hard, using one hand to mess up his hair more than it already was. “I wanted to come and talk to you, but I…” 

“You look much better today, Dieter.” I sure do. She gave him a smile and he couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes, the woman huffing out a quiet laugh. “Have you eaten?” He realized then that he actually was hungry since neither of you had left your room for food that day - the discovery confirmed by the rumble of his stomach. Well, shit. Before he answered, Dieter wondered how hungry you were, his lips twisting downward onto a deep frown. “Stay here. I will get us something to eat.” Wordlessly, he agreed and only moments later, Anika was gone, the door closing softly behind her. 

It gave him time to collect his thoughts, which Dieter was thankful for, despite the fact that he still wasn’t sure where to begin with Anika. Maybe she’ll start talking. Maybe … she’ll make it easier. He didn’t quite know what easy would entail, but he’d take whatever it was if it meant that he didn’t have to rehash everything with the blonde. 

The door opened a few minutes later, a bag handle hanging over the woman’s arm and the smell of something savory reaching Dieter’s nose. “Smells amazing.” He groaned as she slid a covered bowl of soup toward him, Dieter reaching for it before she’d finished. “Thank you for dinner, Anika.” 

“You are welcome.” The two ate in silence, Dieter finishing the soup and bread before moving on to the other container, which was chicken and rice, his attention focused on the food in front of him. He waited for her to start asking questions, expressing everything that was on her mind, but Anika seemed content to eat her meal, careful bites taken and chewed while she stayed otherwise quiet. Maybe she isn’t… going to ask me anything. 

He remembered what you said - about the woman being scared, that he needed to talk to her, and so Dieter took a deep breath, laying down his fork. “How are you doing?” It caught her by surprise, the woman’s eyes going wide and her lips parting. “Last night scared the hell out of me, and I can’t remember a lot of it, so I can’t imagine how you feel today.” 

“I…” She paused, surprise turning into sadness. “It was very scary, Dieter. Seeing you like that is not something I liked.” He could tell she was trying to make light of the situation, and he hated it - but  he’d done the same thing with you. Fuck. “I don’t know what I would have done if -” “Thank you, Anika.” He swallowed, bringing his gaze up to lock with hers. “I thanked you last night, but I wanted to do it again when I was… sober.” Dieter wet his lips. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t come into that room.” 

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything. I thought …” She frowned, her eyes narrowing briefly. “I thought we could spend time together with your friends, and…” Ah shit. “But now I am just glad that I was there. Something sent me there on purpose, and it is like I was supposed to help you. 

“Maybe you were.” He didn’t know if he believed in fate, but Dieter did know that without Anika’s intervention, he wouldn’t have made it through the night. “I don’t… that’s never happened before. To me, I mean? I’ve never … gotten that bad.” 

“You should not do it again.” The woman reached out with one hand, cautiously laying it atop his. “It makes me worry about you. And I’m sure it makes her worry about you, too.” She didn’t flinch as she brought you up, and Dieter was shocked to see that she didn’t look away, either. “Are you …with her?” No. I want to be. Yes. I… no. 

“Not like you’re thinking.” He sniffed, lowering his head. “I’m not really… my relationships don’t last.” I wish this one would. The woman scoffed, squeezing his hand before she pulled it away. 

“It seems like you are. I saw … the way she was looking at you when I got there. And I saw the way you looked at her, Dieter. You should stop lying to yourselves.” Lying to myself? Is that what I’m doing? He took a deep breath, holding it and raising his eyes to the ceiling. I don’t know. “Dieter?” Her quiet voice drew his attention and Dieter focused back on Anika, blinking. “You are welcome. And I will be alright because I know you are going to be OK” She smiled then, and Dieter couldn’t look away from her face, the woman’s expression honest and open - and warm, completely at ease. She really is alright. And seeing me today probably helped. 

That was something he’d need to think about moving forward, but for Dieter, it was as good a start as any. 

— 

Throughout the next week and a half, Dieter threw himself into the script for the new project. He spent hours in either his or your room, reciting lines into the mirror and watching old westerns - trying to get into the mood to bring the character to life convincingly. Part of it was research for the role, and part of it was sheer boredom. 

You were gone for hours every day, leaving Dieter alone, and being alone gave him time to think. Not only about his own life and what was to come, but about your place in it - and what he wanted. 

He wanted to see you all the time. He wanted you to share his bed. He wanted to get to know you in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with you as a person. But Dieter didn’t know how to tell you any of that, because he was afraid. He wasn’t afraid of you, he was afraid of everything that could go wrong - and everything that could change. 

That was why he stuck to mostly hookups - and if he did date, it was from within the Hollywood circle. Those men and women knew the drill - knew about being discreet, knew what the stakes were if someone managed to get a photo of them together, or started a rumor based on simply seeing that they were in the same place. You were in the industry - technically - but in a much more limited manner, and Dieter wasn’t sure he wanted to risk your privacy - and had no idea how you’d react to him wanting to potentially be seen with you in public. 

He thought that you were interested, too - knew that you were interested in him physically, and that you had a genuine connection. He knew that you were friendly, that you were compassionate and warm, that you seemed to understand where he was coming from, but what Dieter didn’t know was where you’d draw the line when it came to your personal life, or if he was ready to find out.

His hesitation - along with coming to terms with the fact that you’d nearly watched him die - made him hesitant to be physical with you, too. You slept in bed together, but it was fully clothed. You’d showered together, but the touches within the glass confines didn’t lead anywhere, except to your lips pressed together, hands and fingers moving gently over warm, damp skin and through sopping wet hair. 

It was different for him, because Dieter was used to using sex as a cop-out, a way to avoid getting too personal and just letting the fact that he was into someone physically speak for him. It had worked for years, but with you, it had never been what he’d wanted to do, except maybe for a day or so in the beginning before he’d really known you. 

He knew people would talk. Not about the relationship being a scandal, but about you, and how the two of you knew each other, especially with the way that things with Mara had ended. The public reveal of the text messages and subsequent breakup had caused the press to look much deeper into his history - and his other relationships - which meant that moving forward, it would probably be no different. She doesn’t need that. 

But with time in London winding down, Dieter needed to do something to start figuring his shit out, and if it meant testing the waters when you were still somewhat secluded, he could handle that. 

Your reaction to his appearance on set for the first time since he’d soft-wrapped encouraged him. The way you immediately leaned back in your seat, welcoming him into your space without worry that the other cast and crew in the room would talk told him that you weren’t trying to downplay your friendship anymore. Makes sense. They all saw her with me in my room that night. 

And you were logical, too, something that Dieter wasn’t used to. Not because he surrounded himself with idiots, but because in his experience, with the exception of agents, everyone in Hollywood sugarcoated things, spinning them to suit their needs. You hadn’t done that when talking about the behavior of the other cast, hasn’t shied away from assuming things about Dieter’s behavior under normal circumstances … and you’d been right. 

Dustin and Sean had apologized profusely via text for their part in his overdose. But when he spoke to them in person for the first time, it was only brought up in passing, both men asking if he was still doing alright and giving him slightly concerned smiles before changing topics. Typical. He couldn’t blame them - he didn’t want to keep talking about it over and over either, but it told him more about them than it did about himself - and Dieter knew that in the future, that would be important. I probably won’t work with any of them again, so it doesn’t really matter anyway. 

His request to run lines with you had been a spur of the moment thing - Dieter simply wanting to find another way to include you in his life in the same way you’d brought him into yours by talking about your experiences and showing him pictures and videos from your location shoots. You’d seen his work before, had watched him on the set, but you’d never been directly involved with his actual role… and he wanted to change that, even in a small way.

Your honesty meant that he knew he’d get the truth about his accents. Your focus meant that he would have your full attention, and despite the fact that you weren’t an actress, he knew you’d want to do your best to help him do his best. Even though he still had months before he had to nail down his final choices, the more time he had, the better. 

He was going to approach Valley of Shadow in a much different way than Cliff Beasts - much the same way he’d approached Hunger Strike, because he agreed with you. The script was good. The character was not only compelling and heroic, he seemed real. Dieter knew that people would identify with him no matter what, but he wanted to be more than good, wanted people to talk about the movie and his performance for years to come, and that meant focus was essential from the beginning. 

And without her there, all I’ll have to focus on is the role itself. He realized that about halfway through the second scene you were reading, his breath catching in his throat. That was something that he hadn’t told you about yet - the clause in his contract that prevented him from having anyone out to set - and he wasn’t looking forward to admitting that he’d agreed to it. But we’ve never talked about her coming to visit, so … maybe it’ll be fine. His realization, though, wasn’t just that you wouldn’t be there. It was that he was already thinking ahead to the fact that because you wouldn’t be there, it meant that he wouldn’t have a distraction on set. And … I don’t know that I’d look for a different one, either. 

He figured that Jennifer Pearson was a lock for the role. He’d given the studio her name as his personal preference, and while he didn’t know what weight that carried, Dieter figured it was worth something. But the woman was married, even if her husband’s job kept him away from joining her on set a lot of the time. And she was friends with his ex, which meant that even under normal circumstances, he would have stayed away from her outside of working together and being friendly. But he knew that people would talk - knew that the relationship with Mara would come back up during the filming, and that one of the best ways to discourage that - or any rumors about him and Jennifer would be to be seen with someone else - cast, crew, a local … anyone would help to discourage rumors. But I don’t want that.  

You’d shrugged off his mention of Jennifer’s marriage like you hadn’t even assumed that was an important piece of information. And you’d joked with him about Carol, about the fake romances that were so common in Hollywood, about the fact that if things had been even a little different, there would have been one during the Cliff Beasts filming. One of those things would have been enough for him, but you doing both within the same conversation? It was unreal to Dieter, and he couldn’t sit down fast enough, closing your laptop and stashing it along with his tablet, leaning in toward you. 

I need her. I need this woman in my life. The admission didn’t scare him the way he’d thought it would, and as Dieter slipped back into the accent you both liked, he tried to lighten the mood, calming his racing heart while increasing the rhythm of yours. 

It didn’t work, especially as he sealed his lips over yours, pulling you onto his lap as he kissed you. It worked even less when he slid his hand beneath the bottom of your shirt, his palm gliding over the surface of your skin. And it stopped working completely when he shifted his hips, your groan traveling straight down his spine as he swallowed it the moment it left your lips 

He’d never called a woman by a non-generic nickname before, and he hadn’t meant to choose one for you based on the script you’d just been reading, especially since the scene hadn’t called for him to use anything but the female character’s name. But it fits. Cactus flower fits. And it’s definitely not a line. 

He laid awake long after you that night, one arm around your bare back as he stared up at the ceiling. It was a new feeling for him - the contentment with closeness, the desire to keep you next to him even when you were just being, anticipating the look in your eyes each time they met his. I don’t know how this happened. He squeezed your bicep, pulling you a little closer, and while you didn’t wake up completely, he felt you press your lips against the top of his chest, a soft sigh audible in the darkness. But I’m glad it did. 

— 

Dieter didn’t need you to record his scenes a few days later, but he wanted you to. And as the two of you watched them back, he was glad that he had, because the way you’d framed him with the camera had been perfect, the audio crystal clear, too. She knows what she’s doing. He’d known that from the quality of your show’s camerawork, as well as what he’d seen of the footage from the current shoot, but Dieter had to admit that he was impressed. She’s fucking impressive and I’m gonna tell her I think so. 

You took the compliment, even though you tried to turn it around on him, and as he attached the files to an email to send to himself, Dieter prepared for the second reason he’d wanted you to help him out. And this one’s not going to be as easy to get through. 

He’d thought about what he wanted to know for days, spending the time that you were working wandering the halls of the hotel or using the pool. You were never far from his mind, and Dieter knew that not only did he need to ask you a question, depending on how you answered, he needed to tell you about Montana, too. Sooner she knows, the better. Because it might mean… things change for the last weeks here. 

The man had disappointed himself countless times, and it wouldn’t have shocked him to learn that in at least a few ways, he’d done the same to you, especially with what you’d seen. But your answer - straightforward and simple - that you weren’t disappointed in him wasn’t cruel, and he believed every word you said. She has no reason to lie, because she doesn’t think she has anything to lose. He knew that you doubted what the two of you had at times, and he couldn’t blame you, because you’d never talked about anything that came next. Except her coming to LA to visit. 

Your initial opinion of him was valid; what else were you supposed to think without having any firsthand experience? But to his surprise, he heard himself trying to lead you, to get you to admit that the choices he made - staying in his bathrobe, keeping things mostly behind closed doors, not giving you any promises - were actually disappointing and unappealing. Why? Why am I trying to… 

He realized the answer quickly. He was doing what he always did: trying to stop himself from getting too far ahead of himself, from letting himself truly enjoy something that made him happy. 

His career was one thing, and he didn’t second guess much there. Because I have people to help me make good decisions. But when it came to his personal life? Self-sabotage was something he was well versed in, and it went far beyond relationships and friendships, bleeding into the way he saw himself and his potential off camera. Maybe I don’t have to do that here. Maybe that’s not how it has to be with her. 

“Do you want it to be?”  

He asked the question about what you wanted from him before he could convince himself not to, and then Dieter held his breath, waiting for your answer. You didn’t keep him in the dark, filling the man’s chest with hope as you stared into his eyes. He saw fear in yours but it wasn’t terror, and Dieter hoped that what you saw in his helped to calm you further. I want it to be this way, too. 

And he told you as much - kissing the corner of your mouth because he didn’t trust himself to say anything more, didn’t trust himself not to blurt out the truth about Montana, didn’t know how to tell you that when Cliff Beasts wrapped, it would be months before you could see each other in person, and there was nothing that he could do about that that didn’t involve changing the terms of his contract. 

But knowing that you felt the same as him - that he wasn’t a disappointment, that you wanted to get closer, that you wished you could remain around each other - changed a lot for Dieter, and rather than speaking, he tried to convey the emotion through his kiss and the way he held you. The relief didn’t last long because Dieter felt you stiffen in his arms, your body pulling back enough so that you could watch his face as you asked the question he’d foolishly hoped to avoid. “What aren’t you saying right now?” 

He ripped the band-aid off, words and an explanation pouring out of him without giving you a chance to respond. He was afraid of hearing your answer, afraid of seeing the hurt expression on your face, terrified that he’d ruined everything the two of you had built over the previous months in only a few sentences. Even though it’s work. Even though I’d rather be - 

When you told him that the separation was going to be a good thing, he felt an icy chill in his veins, his entire body freezing in place. It’s hard for her to believe this is real, and that’s my fault. That’s… on me. 

The longer he listened, the more he understood where you were coming from. 

You were again approaching things logically, which meant you’d thought about what a future for the two of you could look like. You weren’t taking a minute with him for granted, and you weren’t just assuming things one way or the other, the same way so many others seemed to when it came to being in his life. It’s all different, she’s right. You’d formed a friendship - a relationship, because he was done not calling it what it was - during a pandemic, with only a few walls and some space between you, and no matter how good things were while you were both in London, there was no guarantee that that would translate to the real world, especially with all of the challenges and changes you’d face. 

Distance. Contracts. Your jobs. The press. His fans. They were all very real potential problems, and while Dieter didn’t want to admit it, you were right. We need time to figure out if it could work. To find out how we feel. He hated the idea of leaving London with nothing settled - parting ways as friends and making plans to see each other a few months down the road after some time to think, but it made sense. It’s what has to happen, but I hate it. There was no guarantee that either of you would feel the same after being reintroduced to everyday life and regular responsibilities, and he hated that, too. But your need to protect yourself and your emotions was understandable, and he was once again floored at the fact that you were the one suggesting that both of you take a step back and truly assess the situation before making any huge decisions. Because it never happens that way. Not with me. Not with the people that I… 

He wasn’t just trying to keep your around for sex or companionship. Dieter didn’t only want physicality with you. He wanted to be your friend, wanted to remain in your life, and as that realization hit him, he made a split second decision, thinking back to the many impulsive ones he’d already made when it came to you. 

An Instagram follow wasn’t the grand gesture that he would have liked it to be, but it was still significant because he didn’t follow a ton of people on his account. I always follow people I work with. He’d followed some of the other cast as soon as he’d gotten the part, but Dieter knew that by expanding it to include members of the crew - and you - people would likely do some digging, especially since you hadn’t officially been announced as working on the project. It’ll be fine. And… she doesn’t seem to be against it. 

He navigated to your account the next time he had his phone in his hand, the man pressing the button to follow you without pause. Here we go. 

— 

The knock on his door was so loud that he knew it could only be one person, and Dieter hesitated before answering it. Fuck. 

He’d known it was coming - knew that she was due back sometime that day, but the man still wasn’t prepared for what he knew was coming from Jenna, and so he moved slowly toward the door, replacing his bathrobe with a sweater in an attempt to look a little more put together. Fucking hell. He scrubbed a hand over his face and hoped that you wouldn’t come back to your room until long after Jenna had gone back to hers - and he’d had a few minutes to settle down. Because this is going to be fucking bad. 

He put his hand on the knob, startled by another series of knocks, and then Dieter pulled the door open, taking a step back with it. “Jenna, w-” She didn’t let him speak, striding into the room and then pushing the door shut behind her as he backed away. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Dieter?” She raised one hand, waving it around. “I leave you for a few fucking weeks, and I’m getting a phone call at eleven in the fucking morning that you overdosed? That the fucking concierge had to revive you with adrenaline because Narcan didn’t work? I’m five thousand miles away from you and I hear this over the phone?” Her eyes were blazing, but the woman was keeping her distance, though she’d curled her fingers back and was using one of them to point directly at him. “I get doing a line at a party. I get smoking a joint to wind down. I get dropping some acid when you want to go nuts and paint or when you want to have a good time or a good fuck. But all of it at fucking once?” She moved closer, head shaking back and forth. “You are a fucking adult Dieter. You know better.” I do. I know I do. 

“I know. I was just -” He winced as she jabbed her finger into his chest, telling him to shut up. 

“Do you have any idea how scared I was when I heard your voice? Do you understand what it would have felt like to have to fly back here and know that it was to bring your fucking body home? Do you even understand what that would have done to me? To your fucking parents? Do they know what happened? Does Aaron?” No. They don’t. And they won’t find out. She was still angry, but Dieter saw the tears in her eyes, the woman blinking furiously to keep them at bay. “You have so much to live for, Dieter. There are so many people that care about you and what happens to you.” Jenna pointed in the direction of your room, wetting her lips. “But no matter how much it would have hurt all of us that love you to lose you, Dieter? That woman watching you die? It would have ruined her life. It would have destroyed her.” 

He felt himself deflate at that, because even though he knew it to be the truth, hearing Jenna speak about you in the same conversation as herself and his family was huge. I fucked up. I know I fucked up. “I know, Jenna.” He spoke quietly. “Believe me, I -” 

“What are you going to do about it?” She huffed out a breath and he hard the waver in it, saw the way her shoulders shook. “Because now I’m afraid to leave you again, Dieter. I’m afraid that something’s going to happen, and I’m going to knock on your door and you aren’t going to answer. Michael is afraid. And I might not have been here to know for sure, but I would be willing to bet every single dollar that you’ve ever paid me on you being more afraid than all of us put together about what could have happened to you.” 

“Yeah.” Curling his fingers into loose fists, Dieter nodded. “Yeah, I was.”  He watched as she took a deep breath, lowering her arm for the first time since she’d entered the room. It was different coming from the woman’s mouth somehow, the whole ordeal coming back into the forefront of his mind, and even though he appreciated the woman’s blunt method of communication, it made him angry. 

She shouldn’t have to say this shit to me. “What did you do with everything? Is it -”

“Got rid of it. Everything’s gone except the weed.” Swallowing hard, he shrugged his shoulders. “You can search the room if you want to. The weed and a couple joints are in the -” “I don’t need to.” She stepped closer, raising a hand and settling it against his cheek. “I’m not your mother, Dieter. I’m your friend. And I’m also your assistant, which is…” The woman closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “If this happens again, Dieter, I’m gone. I will quit. You won’t ever lose me as a friend, because I’m not going to abandon you, but I can’t work for you knowing that this is what you’re choosing to do. I can’t make you stop if you don’t want to, but for myself, I have to… I have to set a boundary. I can support you as a friend, but I can’t… I won’t let you pay me if I know I can’t help you.” 

“Ok.” It was the only thing that he could say, the man nodding. “Ok, Jenna.” She moved before he could, the woman wrapping both arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Dieter returned the hug, lowering his head so that he could rest his cheek against her temple, arms around her shoulders. “I’m gonna be alright, Jenna. I promise you.” 

In that moment, he meant it - and he hoped she believed him. Because I don’t want to lose her. “You better, Bravo.” The woman mumbled the words and he realized that she was crying, her tears soaking the side of his neck and the material of his shirt collar. “You fucking better.” 

— 

Everything changed the day that Lauren was injured on set, and it meant that Dieter’s schedule changed, too. Instead of lounging around the hotel like he’d been doing since before the holidays, it was back to hair and makeup and scheduled call times - and spending time with the other cast members. 

What they’d pivoted to shooting wasn’t difficult, but it was tedious. And while he understood why they were getting a lot of the press and promotional content filmed early, it was a lot more work for the entire cast and crew - and Jenna. The woman was working on multiple things at once - trying to coordinate their trip back to the States when the filming concluded, working with the new studio to nail down logistics for the travel to Montana, making arrangements for his place in LA for an additional time away - along with approving individual questions for use during the interviews and fielding his normal email and phone traffic. 

He knew that she thrived on being busy, but that workload was a lot, and so Dieter did what he could to make her life easier whenever possible. In part, it was because he spent so much time with you, which he didn’t mind at all. Nothing had changed there - you still kept each other company in your free time, spent nights together, and went over the new script together, freeing the other woman up to get more things done in normal working hours. 

The closeness that you and Dieter shared grew after your conversation about what came next, and he was surprised that the changes were almost universally accepted by the people you both came into contact with. The rest of the cast didn’t seem too shocked, but some of the crew - specifically one of the wardrobe guys and his makeup girl - seemed disappointed when they caught the looks the two of you gave each other, or saw him putting his arms around you in the brief moments when you had time between interviews or outfit changes. It happens. And I’m not gonna stop when we only have a little while left. 

He knew that getting closer to you at the end would only make his eventual leaving harder, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be around you as much as possible, and didn’t want to compromise on the way you interacted just to appease others. It didn’t impede the filming, didn’t prevent either of you from doing your jobs, and so you both just went with it, Dieter thrilled that as time passed, you became more comfortable with him in the open. It’s small scale. Just on set, but … it’s still … a taste of what it could be like. For us.

That realization made Dieter pause, the man fresh out of a shower and with an hour to kill while you Zoomed with your actual boss about the end of your time in London, and so he did something that he hadn’t planned on doing: he called his brother, hoping to catch him during his lunch break. 

Aaron answered on the second ring, and after a few minutes of basic conversation - doing great, holidays were incredible, how are the kids and Lina - Dieter took a deep breath and went for it. “I really need your advice, man. I think… I met someone.” 

The silence on the other end of the line stretched on, and while Dieter waited for the younger man to speak, he chewed on this thumb nail. I have to tell someone. I need to… someone that doesn’t know her, that… “Is it…. Tell me about them, Dieter.” He heard the surprise in Aaron’s voice along with genuine curiosity, and so Dieter started pacing around his room, one hand running through his hair. “Guy? Girl? Who -”

“She’s working on the movie.” He told Aaron your name, and then kept going. “She’s shooting all the behind the scenes footage, but she’s also on the Food Network, so -”

“Wait. Do you mean the woman from Informal Eats?” Dieter confirmed, Aaron cutting him off. “Holy shit, D, that -” “Yeah, I know.” Dieter grinned, pausing in front of the balcony door. “It’s a long story, but…” He spoke for nearly ten minutes straight, Aaron only interrupting a few times to clarify details, and by the time that he’d gotten to the end - both of you admitting that there was more there than just physical attraction, but you didn’t want to jump into anything, Dieter had made up his mind. No matter what Aaron said or thought, he was going to make it work with you. Hearing himself explain the previous months to someone else had clarified a lot for the man, and even just letting himself feel the way he did about you while he talked about you confirmed just how deeply he cared. “She’s different, Aaron. Different than Mara and Andie and even Kenny. I haven’t even thought about anyone else in months, and -” “Then don’t let her get away. It’s pretty simple, right? Make the movie, let both of you figure this shit out, but don’t fuck it up, D. She’s already seen you at your worst, and she’s still willing to stick around. You’d be a fucking idiot to let someone like that go just because -” “I know.” He’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed, phone held in one hand.  “I just don’t know what to think, y’know? She’s not what I expected. None of this is, and -”

“That’s a good thing, Dieter.” Aaron cleared his throat. “Can’t do the same thing every time and expect a different result, can you?” No, I can’t. “Let me know what happens, alright? I need to get back to work.” 

They sad goodbye a few seconds later, and Dieter tossed his phone onto the mattress, laying back and folding one arm behind his head. In a normal situation, Dieter would have simply let what was going to happen happen. He would have flown home from London and then gone to Montana, keeping in contact with you occasionally and asking if you wanted to meet up whenever it was convenient. He would have made some effort, but not enough. And I’d definitely still be looking elsewhere while we were apart, too. 

That wasn’t what he wanted to do with you. He wanted you to know that he meant what he said, and that in turn meant that he needed to do something to show you that he was serious by backing up his words with proof. But what? There was very little he could do without publicly saying anything, and it limited his options significantly. Tapping the fingers of his left hand against his belly, Dieter frowned, looking down. There has to be something. Something that I - His eyes widened, the movement of his fingers stopping. 

Dieter was up and out of the bed moments later, grabbing his phone and room key before stuffing his feet into shoes. I’ve gotta talk to Anika. Right now. 

— 

He’d been having a great night with you, and Jenna ruined it with only six words. We’re out of here Monday morning. It meant less than a week left with you, and the realization settled into Dieter’s stomach like a cinderblock. Shit. He saw the way your posture changed, the light leaving your eyes as you tried to keep it together while Jenna was there and in front of everyone else in the room. That’s how I feel too,  but … He hadn’t mentioned the window of possibility for leaving yet because he’d wanted to know the date for sure before filling you in. Because you didn’t know that, he sat, motionless in his seat as you excused yourself from the table, hurrying toward the door. 

“Dieter, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I’ll go after her, if -”

“No.” He stood, reaching for his wallet and pulling out the spare room key. “Charge the meal to my room, I’ll go.” There was an edge to his voice and he closed his eyes at the sound, swearing under his breath. “You didn’t know. You have nothing to apologize for.” And then he was following you, hoping that he chose the right path from the restaurant to the lobby to intercept you before you made it back to your room. 

You weren’t fine when he found you, and even though he’d never been as bold with you in public, he couldn’t help pulling you close and kissing you, no concern about anyone that might have walked by. It doesn’t matter because we have less than a week, and - “I’ll stay. I’ll stay a couple extra weeks, and then just go straight to -”

He knew you’d turn down the offer, but he had to tell you that it was what he was feeling, what he was willing to do, Dieter pushing you back against the wall and pressing his body against yours, eliminating the space between you. Like I want to all the time. 

He needed to be alone with you, needed to show you that what he was saying and doing was what he meant, and as the two of you moved through the lobby and toward the elevator, he caught Anika’s eye, giving the woman a small smile as he raised your linked hands in a greeting. You paused at that, Dieter’s gaze moving down to watch as you glanced over at the woman, too. You’re gonna come through for me, right Anika? He couldn’t do anything but hope, and since the timeframe had shifted slightly, that hope was going into overdrive. Tomorrow. I’ll ask tomorrow. 

His only concern that night was getting you back into his room and making both of you forget that there was a definite expiration date on your time together. 

You let him do just that, your body melting beneath his touch, and by the time you and Dieter had dozed off, he was sure that he was just as drained as you - both physically and emotionally. But that’s not going to stop me from doing the same thing when we wake up. 

That happened in the middle of the night, you returning to the bed after using the bathroom with water to share, and Dieter wasted no time in pulling you onto his lap, his fingers rhythmically stroking over your skin. “Want all of you. All the goddamn time.” He rasped the words into your ear, throat gravely with sleep and from the sounds he’d made earlier, and while your reply was just as strained, it was music to his ears. 

The sound of someone’s pleasure hadn’t ever made him feel the way yours did, and that private admission did him in, the man spilling inside of you as he crushed you against his chest, face buried against your throat. When you came around him that time, Dieter focused on the feeling of it - your muscles tightening to pull him deeper, the way your heartbeat skipped, the dig of your nails into the skin of his back - and the sound you made, a satisfied sigh that he was sure was accompanied with a smile. He wanted to be the only one to make you react like that, the only one that was able to pull those sounds from you, and that meant being honest with you - starting with going deeper and being more honest than he ever had before when it came to the way he viewed your relationship. 

Because to him, it was a relationship, even if there was no label. It had stopped being just a friendship months earlier, if he was being honest - the holidays before his OD had been the turning point, Dieter caring less and less about keeping up the appearance that there was nothing going on between you. And I didn’t say anything until now. We didn’t talk about it until after I fucked up. He was going to miss you - and he knew you’d miss him, too, but the clearer he was with you about it, the better. Because then she’ll think about that, and … 

He wasn’t worried that his feelings would change for you after the two of you went your separate ways, and despite the fact that he was excited about Valley of Shadow, he knew that he’d be counting down the days until filming was over, because that meant getting back to you. He’d invited you to Los Angeles, but had no problem going to Atlanta if necessary, even though he also knew that you wouldn’t ask, because you didn’t want to inconvenience him. Maybe if I tell her about Aaron, it… 

So he did, admitting to telling someone about the two of you without hesitation. It surprised him that you were so shocked by that, but when you immediately turned it around, teasing him about Aaron, Dieter relaxed. She’s just surprised because I was the one that did it first. And maybe I should have waited, but … 

But he couldn’t wait, couldn’t keep the truth to himself about any of it. Who the fuck am I? If he’d been less certain of the way he felt, Dieter would have been embarrassed that he was putting himself out there, but your hesitation and admission that you would understand if he did find someone else on another set reaffirmed everything.  When he tilted your chin up so that he could look into your eyes, Dieter was more sure than he’d ever been in his life about where he stood with a woman - and it terrified him.

“I’m not even thinking about anyone else because all I fucking think about is you, and that isn’t going to change no matter how goddamn far apart we are.” 

He didn’t know how you’d take that, the man was stunned when you climbed into his lap, clinging to him in a way that you hadn’t ever before. It wasn’t quite desperation or fear, but it was something he recognized nonetheless; the feeling of being right there, on the same page but choosing not to say something. It’s alright. We can wait. 

The minutes passed, both of you unwilling to stop touching each other or separate, and even though neither of you spoke out loud, your bodies did, the touching growing more purposeful, hands turning into lips and teeth, Dieter only letting go of you long enough to lean over and reach into the side table drawer before laying down next to you. 

That time, he didn’t take you from behind, and you weren’t on top. Instead, you faced each other on your sides, one of your legs bent and resting on top of his, the man’s lower body moving in slow, controlled thrusts to meet yours.  

He couldn’t look away… and neither could you. 

— 

Friday - his second to last day of press clips - dragged on for Dieter, and it wasn’t only because of the amount of questions he’d had to answer. The man was also beginning to believe that the item he was waiting for wasn’t going to arrive in time. 

That wasn’t why he’d suggested that you interview the cast, though; that had been sheer intrigue on his part about the way you worked, and luckily his castmates had agreed. He knew that things hadn’t started out perfectly with all of them for you, but he was happy to see that that had changed enough to where they’d make concessions for you, sticking around for an extra hour just to make sure you had the content you needed. 

But after you set up, he stayed in the hallway while you went to get a drink, figuring that he’d use the time to see if there was any update on what he’d ordered. Nothing. No email, no phone call, no - “Dieter?” He heard her before he saw her, the blonde woman peeking around the corner. “Are you on the phone?”

“No, I’m just checking -” She stepped closer, her face breaking into a smile. She looks happy. That must mean - “Did it come?” The woman nodded, closing the distance between the two of them. “I was starting to get worried. I’m leaving Monday before the mail runs, so -” “Oliver said to tell you that he is very sorry that it took so long. But he wanted it to be perfect because he is such a big fan.” Yeah, I want it to be perfect too.

“There’s a lot of that going on around here, isn’t there?” She looked confused, and he continued. “Being a fan, I mean.” At that, she laughed, her eyes closing as she tilted her head back, and Dieter was surprised to see that she was at ease, despite what she knew to be in the package. “Thank you for getting this done for me, Anika. It’s harder since I can’t just leave, and I wanted to be sure I ordered from someone I can trust.”

“He does beautiful work. Every time I pass by the store, I stop and look.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out the box. “I removed it from the larger container, but that is at the desk, and you can have it after you give -” She stopped as she held the box out to him, Dieter reaching for it in return. “What? You look -” The box is so small. 

“I thought these boxes were bigger, and in a different shape.” He met her eyes again, catching movement behind the woman - you coming back down the hall. Fuck. “She’s back, Anika. Nevermind. You’re the best.” The blonde hastily snatched her hand back, turning to look at you at the same time Dieter’s focus shifted entirely. You didn’t look suspicious, just confused, but before Dieter could speak, you did, inviting Anika to stay and watch the interview. Good. That’s good. He encouraged the woman, too, and by the time everyone was reseated, focused on you as you sat next to the camera you’d set up, Dieter was only slightly distracted by the shape of the thing he’d stashed in his pocket. Is this a good idea? Is it the right call? 

He didn’t know - and wouldn’t until it was in your hands and he could see your reaction. Can’t worry about it now. Gotta… focus. It was a good interview - you were able to get everyone completely engaged and to relax, the answers coming out smoothly one after the other. He was surprised that even Carol and Howie were less snarky than usual, but it wasn’t until the last question that everyone really let go, treating it as an opportunity to show you their real personalities. 

And then it was Dieter’s turn, the man saving his response for last and speaking directly to you instead of the camera. He meant every word - he was glad that he’d taken the movie even if it was going to be awful. Had learned a ton about himself over the months he’d been locked in the hotel. Appreciated the time he’d gotten to spend thinking and analyzing his behavior. But he was happiest that it had given him an opportunity to get to know you, and for that reason alone, he was thrilled with his agent for not just laughing the script off and moving email straight into the trash. 

When the interview ended, he didn’t stick around, saying goodbye to Dustin and Sean quickly and then slipping away while you broke down your equipment. I need some time before … the gift in his pocket wasn’t one that he was going to save for the minutes before he left, because he needed to explain. I need her to understand why. What it … what it means. 

He showered and changed, the man giving himself one final pep talk in the steam-covered mirror before heading back into his room and opening the box, his eyes landing on the contents for the first time. It’s perfect. Lifting it out with two fingers, Dieter ran one thumb over the surface, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

Giving you such a significant gift was a risk, but it was the only thing that he could think of that would back up his words with a tangible action that wouldn’t be forgotten as soon as it was complete. Because this stays with her, even after I’m out of the country. Setting the box - and the contents - back down onto his table, Dieter chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath.  

After a few seconds, he nodded to himself, the worried expression on his face changing over into a smile. She’s going to love it. 

—

[enchantestuff]

rekindle - rbr sebastian vettel

in which after a long time apart, you and Sebastian rekindle your love for one another in the least romantic place you could think of - a sweaty, packed nightclub

NOT MY GIF!!

warnings: public sex (ofc), fingering, teasing, lowkey angst at the start, nicknames, uncomfy ex, sebastain Vettel deserves a warning himself, happy sinning

taglist: @theringers​ @forestviper201 @icemanhoneybadger​ @formulamei @findthelightinyourlife

3.1k words

You smirked as your eyes met from across the club for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You hadn't seen him in over a year, the last time you were even in the same country as him had ended up with you climbing into a taxi, speeding away to the airport and him standing half naked in his driveway, wishing for the car to turn around and end his worst nightmare.

The relationship between you and Sebastsian was a complicated one to say the least. You had grown up with each other, your families vacationed together every second summer and you spent many christmases together. It was only when you got older that you started to really appreciate Sebastian.

Daydreams of what it would be like to spend a night in bed with him began to fill your free moments. Images of the two of you tangled in bed was once something that you could only dream about, but that dream certainly became a reality one unforgettable night in Italy.

It was during a celebratory dinner after yet another win that he had leaned over to talk to you. His lips brushed against the side of your neck and goosebumps had risen all over your skin, you cursed yourself for your reaction but soon began praising your childish antics once Sebastian finally caught onto how you felt about him.

The few words of “do i make you nervous, liebe?” led to the two of you making out in the corridor. That celebratory dinner escalated to a friends with benefits situation which set off a more than complicated relationship between the two of you where feelings were of course present, but stubbornness from both sides refused to let them be out in the open.

Your feelings for one another eventually escaped when he got into a nasty crash in the middle of a race. You ran up to him the minute he stormed into the garage, tears welling in your eyes as you crushed into a hug. He held you with just as much force and whispered into your ear what you had been waiting for months to hear.

He told you that you had been the only thing on his mind when he crashed into the wall and he didn't want to go a minute longer without telling you how he really felt about you

As much as you wanted things to be great with Sebastain, your relationship was unfortunately not plain sailing from there and the media had a bring role to play in your downfall. They wouldn't leave him or you alone, constantly following the two of you wherever you went and even going as far as sending mail to your shared home. It was the media that drove you to leave the man you adored and move to another country in search for a new career and a new life away from the public eye.

You stared at him now, unable to tear your eyes away from his beautiful frame. He looked as good as ever and you knew deep down that you would probably never see him again. So against your brain telling you not to, you engraved every detail of his face into your memory, not wanting to let him go just yet.

You felt horrible for leaving him and strongly believed that he hated you for abandoning him. You wouldn't have blamed him if he did, you sometimes hated yourself for that decision. So you kept your distance from him all night, repeatedly telling yourself that if he did not harbor any bad emotions towards you, then he would approach you himself.

To tell the truth, you were too embarrassed to go up to him yourself, too full of guilt to face him after what you had done. But when he made eye contact with you as he pulled a girl into his body, something inside you snapped and you found yourself being dragged into an all too familiar game of cat and mouse with him.

Your night of teasing had officially begun the minute he kissed the brunette's neck, refusing to break your stare as his hands ran up and down her hips. You decided it was your turn to reciprocate the teasing and pulled a random, but still handsome, man towards you to dance. Holding your gaze with him, you allowed the man to grip onto your hips and sway from side to side. Your ass pressing against him with every beat of the music.

You maintained eye contact with him as he chatted with multiple women, his hands resting dangerously low on their backs as he smirked in your direction, you hated how much you loved his little games.

You decided to take a dance break and stepped away from the claustrophobic dance floor. Moving towards the less packed bar, you leaned against the contour top as you ordered yet another drink. The feeling of hands wrapping around your hips didn’t surprise you, nor did the hot breath fanning across the back of your neck. You were used to the warmth of Seb’s body by now and after so much time apart, you still recognized his touch.

“Quite a show you put on back there,” he muttered, gesturing to the bartender for another drink before turning his attention back towards you. You kept your face forward, staring at the variety of liquor stacked on the shelves as Sebastian flirted with you in your ear. He was still positioned behind you, which you saw as the perfect opportunity to press your ass against his crotch.

The tightening of his grip only fueled you to press yourself further into him in hopes that you would emit an even stronger reaction from him, and boy did you get what you wanted. One of his hands rested underneath your breast and as he emitting a small amount of pressure against you, he forced you into him.

No longer leaning against the counter, you could now feel the entirety of his body pressed against you. Every vein and muscle. Every curve and dent of his body, Still, that didn't stop you from wiggling your bum against him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now, love, or are you really that fucking oblivous?”

You twisted your head to finally look at him, momentarily taken aback by his pure beauty before regaining your confidence again. “That depends,” you hummed, purposely brushing your lips against his neck as you spoke, “Is it working?”

His hold on you tightened and somehow he pulled you even closer to him, allowing you to feel every inch and vein of his hardened cock. “Someones excited,” you smiled, immediately freezing up when you caught sight of your ex boyfriend standing next to you.

He was the man you had been with before Seb and it was safe to say he had completely broken your heart.

Confusion immediately filled Sebs body at your reaction, fearful he had done something wrong he moved to stand beside you, holding onto your bicep as he looked you in your eyes. “Are you alright, darling?” he questioned, his eyes bouncing back and forth as he searched your face for any indication of pain.

“Yeah its - “

“Y/N! Great to see you.” Dread immediately filled your body at the infamous voice, you felt yourself go rigid in Sebastian's grip and desperately wished for your ex to leave the two of you alone.

“Who's this douche?” Seb whispered in your ear, trying to relive some of your tension and comfort you in what seemed to be a terribly uncomfortable situation.

“Brad, hey,” you muttered, you grabbed hold of Sebastian's hand that was previously sprawled on the bar countertop, using the warmth of his touch as a confidence booster to finally turn around and face the brutal ex.

“How have you been?” he asked, refusing to even glance at the Redbull driver next to you, focusing his hungry gaze on you and you only.

You sighed deeply at his attempt of small talk. Could he not just say hello and move on? Did he really need to interrupt your night.

Sebastian kept a close eye on you throughout your short conversation. A sense of protectiveness filled him at your rigid stance, he knew you could handle the situation yourself but he couldn't help but want to aid you. He felt the need to get involved. So he did.

He didn’t let you answer the man's next question of what you had recently been up to, instead he grabbed hold of the side of your face, his fingers dipping into the nape of your neck as he pulled you into him. He grinned smugly at the worried glance you threw his way before connecting your lips together.

The kiss was hesitant at first.

Taking into account this was your first shared kiss together since the breakup, it felt both natural and unusual to be kissing him again, but as the seconds passed you found yourself relaxing in his hold and began kissing him back with much more force.

You lost yourself in the moment, the idea of your ex boyfriend watching you make out with your other ex boyfriend didn't even cross your mind. You solely focused on the way Sebastian’s lips felt against yours after such a long time apart. He was addicting.

Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, blushing slightly at the sheepish look he threw your exes way. “What were you saying, mate?” he confidently asked.

The feeling of his palm burned against your cheek and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at Brad, but you didn't need to as he just stumbled away, clearly intimidated by Sebastian.

There was no need for you to say anything to Seb - if the way you were teasing him earlier on in the evening was of no indication to how you felt about him - then the lustful look you were giving him now certainly was.

He immediately pulled you back into him, your lips reconnecting in a lustful kiss. With no more awkwardness surrounding the two of you, you found yourself enjoying it even more.

Moving one of his hands down your body, Sebastian forcefully squeezed your bum which emitted a gasp from you, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, further deepening the kiss. He pressed his body against yours and your hands raked across it, feeling his muscles flex against your hands.

You moaned into his mouth the minute he dug his hips into you, the feeling of his body so close to you bringing you back to when the two of you dated. Confusion filled you when he pulled away, ending your lovely make out session and disappointing you tremendously. “Don't start what you can't finish, love” he warned, leaning down to scatter kisses across your chest, nipping and licking at every exposed area.

“Who says I can't finish this?” you remarked, grinning at the way his eyebrows rose at your statement.

“Look around us, darling” he stood up straighter, craning his neck to glance from side to side, taking into account the multiple people surrounding the two of you. Hundreds of people filled the room, hundreds of eyes that could possibly witness something. Hundreds of reasons why the two of you shouldn't get ahead of yourselves. But then again, when he looked back at you and the playful pout that crossed your features - he found himself making up a hundred different reasons as to why it was such a brilliant idea.

“But then again,” he continued, leaning closer to you in order to whisper in your ear, “that's never stopped us before.”

A shiver ran up your spine at his words, images flashing through your mind of previous encounters the two of you had in the most inappropriate areas. Cutting your daydream short, Sebastian grabbed hold of your hand and guided you up the stairs to the more secluded vip area.

The bouncer merily glanced at Sebastian before lifting the red velvet rope and letting the two of you in. Nodding a small thanks to the man, he continued his journey into the dimly lit area, a content hum leaving his lips at the sight of a small booth in the corner.

He sat down on the plush seats and you fell down to sit on top of him, the lower half of your body covered by the wooden table in front of you. Sebastian wasted no time in kissing your neck, unable to detach himself from your skin for more than a few moments.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, watching the small group of people ahead of you dancing and laughing at each other caused a blush to quickly creep up your cheeks. The thought if anyone witnessing your antics both embarrassing and exciting you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, liebe?” Seb questioned, he placed his finger on your cheek and forced you to look at him as he spoke. “Because once we start, I won't be able to stop.”

“And why would I ever want you to stop?” you shot back, pressing your bum further into him to prove your point. Sebs eyes scanned the area, having seemingly decided the risk of getting caught was worth it, he ran his fingers up your thigh, under your skirt and into your underwear.

His other hand trailed the opposite direction, moving up your body to gently squeeze your breast. You arched your back at the sensation, your ass moving further into him and a harsh squeeze being delivered as a result.

Slipping a finger into you, his hand flew away from your breast to clamp over your mouth, muffling the sudden moan that escaped you. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. There's people around us,” he reminded.

He littered gentle kisses up your neck and you could feel his smirk against your skin at the shaky breath you let out the minute he slipped a second finger into you. “I don't think anyone else deserves to hear your moans, darling.”

You hummed against his hand, wetness pooling at his words and your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb began to circle your clit. “Move up for a second, liebe,” he demanded once he removed his fingers from you. Having no other option but to comply, you braced your hands against the table and stood up on shaky legs. You patiently waited as Sebastain undid his belt, the sound of the metal coming undone bringing a newfound wetness to your core.

“Ready?” he questioned, moving his hand up and down your thigh to comfort you. You nodded your head, biting harshly on your lip, you quickly glanced behind you and yet another shaky breath tumbled from your lips at the sight you beheld.

Sebastain was sprawled across the couch with his dick barely covered by your body. The sight of him shamelessly sitting there did something to you and before you lost your confidence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto him.

“Keep quiet now,” he reminded once you took all of him in. Your hands gripped onto the table in front of you, your knuckles quickie turning white as you used it as leverage to start moving.

The sound of your skin hitting against sebastians was muffled by the laughter of the crowd and the loudness of the msic booming across the grand club. “I'm trying,” you grunted.

You slowly bounced on him, trying to keep your movements small and inconspicuous to the people around you. But Sebastian could only last so long without needing to take over. A moan accidentally escaped you once he began thrusting his own hips upwards to meet yours. In response to your foolishness, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking not so gently on it as a warning and forcing you to look at the dim lights hanging above you instead of the people ahead of you.

Holding onto your body he quickly steadied you, forcing you to halt your movements as a random man walked up to the two of you. You shifted in his hold and attempted to reposition yourself to look more natural towards the stranger. You just wanted it to seem like you were cuddling the driver, not bouncing on his dick.

One of your arms wrapped around his neck while the other laid on his chest. You spared a quick glance downwards, making sure your skirt covered everything before looking back up at the man. Sebastian greeted him, admittedly not poilelty, but he greeted him nevertheless. It only took a few seconds for the two of you to realise he was a fan and by the looks of it, would do anything to hold a conversation with the Sebastian Vettel.

You couldn't help but move on his lap, the need for friction overwhelming you after staying put for several minutes. You slowly began rolling your hips, your heart racing at the sudden release of pressure and also at the fact you were grinding on him with a fan of his only a few feet away.

Sebastian cleared his throat, trying desperately to pay attention to the man in front of him and not on how good you felt clenching around him. His hips unintentionally runted up into you, muttering a quick curse under his breath he grimaced at the man, cutting his sentence short as he gestured towards you. “If you wouldn't mind,” he sympathetically commented.

“Right, right sorry,” he mumbled, “Enjoy your night.”

He soon scrambled away from view and Sebastian began carelessly thrusting into you again. You returned to your original position, now resting your head against the table, thankful for the pleasure filling your whole body. You could feel a bead of sweat forming on the nape of your neck and were almost certain you looked a mess but you couldn't have cared as you got nearer and nearer to your peak.

This new angle allowed Sebastian to take control of your activities. He guided your hips back and forth, not paying attention to the movement of the table nor the attention that the two of you could possibly bring your way. All he wanted was to bring you to your release. “Are you going to cum for me, darling?” he whispered. You nodded against the table, the coolness of the wood reliving your flushed cheeks as you felt the knot begin to release in your stomach.

You moved your hand to grip onto his thigh, “I'm gonna-” you mumbled, unable to finish your sentence as he gripped onto the back of your neck and forced you to sit up straight. His fingers immediately fell down your throat in a poor attempt to muffle your moans. You whimpered loudly at his show of dominance, your attempts to keep quiet failing profusely as he hurried his movements.

His fingers moved further down your throat as your walls clenched around him. Before you knew it you were spilling yourself against Sebastain. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head and heat filling your body as he followed in your actions.

[rcksmith]

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.