Dz is the original character of Tiktok creator @ishness.
Content warnings for a breakup, anxiety, panic attack.
18+ NSFW. Slow burn. TW: choking, breath play, biting, marking, blood play.
I wrenched my half-asleep arm out from under my pillow, scrambling for the blaring cell phone on my nightstand. The pins-and-needles sensation obliterated my fine motor skills; my arm landed heavily, almost sending the offending piece of technology clattering to the floor.
I was still struggling to massage feeling back into the limb when a heavy, persistent knocking sounded from the living room. Cursing, I used my free hand to support my still-tingling arm as I dragged the phone in front of my eyes.
Caller ID:
Dz
Fuck. I'd forgotten. Knowing that he was likely also the source of the knocking, I cleared my throat.
"Hold on," I croaked, trying to reach the hallway with my morning voice, but it was completely inaudible.
Or it would have been, if the person standing in the hallway had been human.
The knocking was replaced by muffled, exasperated swearing.
I untangled myself from the sheets and stumbled across my dawn-lit apartment to unlock the door, not bothering to comb my hair or brush my teeth or put on a bra. It wasn't like Dz hadn't ever seen me like this before.
The door swung open on a familiar gray pea coat. Two plastic bags hung from his left hand, the right forming a raised fist about to resume its assault on my door. Drinking in my appearance, pupil-less white eyes widened in concern.
Okay, maybe he hasn't seen me quite like this. I slid my tongue across my teeth and started to finger-comb my hair.
"That's... not helping," Dz said drily. Grasping my upper arm with his free hand, he pivoted me backwards and stepped inside. Gently nudging the door closed with his foot, he peered at me more closely, then released a low whistle. "Jesus."
I felt my cheeks turn red in response to being perceived, something I'd successfully avoided the past few days. "Great, thanks," I muttered before jerking my chin down towards the bags in his other hand to deflect his attention. "What's that?"
He shrugged dismissively. "Zyggy. I mean, it's--they were his idea." Turning me around, his firm hand on my shoulder shoved me towards the bathroom. "You'll feel better. Trust me."
He was right of course, but that didn't stop me resenting him for it. I stubbornly took my time peeing, combing my hair, and brushing my teeth before reluctantly meeting my own gaze in the mirror. Yesterday's makeup was smeared under my eyes like a pair of smoky, crescent-shaped weights. The thought of the effort it would take me to clean my face made my stomach turn. I ripped off a single square of toilet paper and swept it under each eye.
By the time I emerged, the plastic bags had been deposited on the kitchen counter and Dz was helping himself to an apple. I rifled through the bags, immediately identifying Zyggy's influence on their purchases: sour gummy worms, three ice cream quarts of increasingly complicated flavors, and a family-size pack of microwave popcorn.
"Doctor Zyggy's orders, I see." Trying and failing to force a smile, I resigned myself to a quick grimace as Dz shrugged again and sank his teeth into the crisp apple. Its juice glistened on his lips. There was the familiar tug of interest in my solar plexus, thinking about those fangs and how they felt on my skin, but I allowed the sensation to pass. The energy to even entertain those thoughts was out of my reach.
Dz retrieved a spoon from my silverware drawer and was about to slide it down the counter towards me before I shook my head.
"Too early," I mumbled, which was easier to say than the truth--that the thought of eating anything made me nauseous. I stowed Zyggy's snacks quietly. For several minutes, the only sound was Dz crunching the apple down to its core.
We both tried to speak at once.
"Listen, I have no idea how to help--"
"I don't know why Demeter sent you--"
We stopped. Shaking his head, Dz stepped on the trash can's foot pedal and dropped the apple core inside.
"This isn't really my gig. You know that, I know that, Demeter knows that. But..." he trailed off.
"But here you are," I said dully.
"Here I am." Flicking the kitchen tap on, he rinsed the apple juice from his fingers before turning off the water and drying his hands on a dish towel. "So? Tell me about it."
I stifled an eye roll at the prospect of explaining my stupid dumb girl emotions to someone who hid his own so deeply that you'd need a fully certified scuba diving crew to bring them to the surface. I'd gone to Dz for a number of things in the history of our friendship, but never before had I gone to him for the weepy stuff.
Pressing my lips together, I snatched the dish towel from his hands and began wiping the counter to give myself something, anything, to do.
"Well?" he said gruffly. "Come on, just spit it out."
I knew he wasn't intentionally being an asshole, but my patience was spent; all I had left was spite and resentment and exhaustion. I knew I couldn't perform the emotional labor of kindly redirecting his efforts. So I matched his energy.
"Oh, the usual," I said venomously as I dragged the towel in larger and larger circles, allowing my vision to blur with the repetitive motion. "Met them. Fell for them. Fought for their affection. Stuck around, hoping things would change. Hated myself when they didn't. Then, because I'm so nice, I gave them the honor of dumping me."
Dz's muffled snort only infuriated me further. I realized--I didn't want to hear what he had to say. Not when I knew he had no idea what I was feeling. So I let my frustration bubble up and over.
"And then there's the regularly scheduled self-hatred. I'm disappointed in myself for making the same mistakes over and over. I'm ashamed of begging people for their love until they leave me." I spat out each word like an orange pip. "Which is something I know you're not familiar with."
Suddenly, my chest felt tight. I stopped wiping the counter, digging my fingers into the towel, waiting for him to respond. But he didn't. His silence was somehow just as hurtful as his words had been.
"I'll get over it," I seethed. "So tell Zyggy thanks for the ice cream, and now you can go back to Ishness. Tell Demeter you tried your best. Tell her I was a bitch. I kicked you out, yelled at you, threw stuff. Whatever you have to say to get her off your back. She'll believe it. God knows you have a type."
The steady patter of rain on my windows worked overtime to fill the uncomfortable silence that followed.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Dz was struggling to keep his voice low. A sickly feeling of shame at oversharing made my skin crawl and my teeth chatter. When I didn't respond, he rolled his eyes. "Start over, slowly, and--"
I threw my hands in the air, releasing a hissed exhale. "Oh, slowly relive my heartbreak, what a good idea--"
"Why do you only date people who won't give you the time of day?" he snarled.
"Why do you only date people who are needy and desperate?" I shot back, trying to ignore the sickening drop in the pit of my stomach. Even though I was including myself in that category, I knew I'd gone too far and I couldn't take it back.
"What has gotten into you?" he growled. I flinched at his exasperation, and then again at the realization that he hadn't used a single pet name since he arrived. Which meant that I'd annoyed him. I was going to drive him away.
I'll lose him too, just like--
Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders. Hands cradled my head, guiding me in towards a solid, warm chest. The familiar sandalwood cologne in the threads of his t-shirt was overpowering but I buried my face even further. I wanted his scent to flood my nostrils, his voice to fill my ears, his arms to keep the real world at bay. I was crying again, although I didn't remember when the tears had started.
"Sh, sh, sh," he murmured into my hair, his arms caging me against him while mine hung limply at my sides. In the darkness of the cave we created with our bodies, I cried through my limited reserve of tears until they turned into dry, breathless sobs.
Dz was easily #1 on the list of people I was afraid to overburden with my feelings. He'd admitted on more than one occasion--including today--that this wasn't his area of expertise. But today... I couldn't find that restraint that I had clung to for so long. It had collapsed under the weight of my heartache. For the first time since the breakup, I wasn't crying alone, and that made all the difference.
So I allowed the sobs to drain my breath, imagining with each forced exhale that I could push my emotions out of my body and into the entity holding me. And interwoven with the heartbreak and shame came a creeping sense of self-reproach at using Dz as an emotional dumping ground--something I'd said I would never do. That I'd never treat him as a tool, as a means to an end. Yet here I was, shoving my hurt into him in a selfish bid for peace.
As though he could sense my guilt, Dz released a low growl. "Don't," he insisted, combing his fingers through my hair. "It's what I'm for."
I shook my head desperately. "N-n-no," I stuttered, trying to speak through panicked breaths and chattering teeth. "No, it's not what you're f-f--"
Dz took a step back. The familiar cage of his safe, strong arms disintegrated. Chilly air poured into the gap between us where his body had been just moments before. I sensed his gaze searching for mine, hands gripping my shoulders, but I was a thousand miles away. A low, deep voice murmured a name. It might have been mine, I wasn't sure, but even if it was... how was I supposed to respond without lips, a mouth, vocal chords, language...? In that moment, I ceased to exist, and it felt scarily freeing.
One bony hand pressed firmly on my sternum, thumb just barely dipping under the collar of my shirt. The other hand braced against my back so that I was held in place between his palms. The pressure he was exerting felt smothering. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe. What was he doing to me?
Alarmed, I looked up at his cold white eyes.
"Why--"
"You're going to pass out if you keep gasping like that," he said. "Steady." He increased the pressure gently. "Slow. Inhale until you're pushing back against my palm."
I tried and failed to give him the slow, steady expansion he'd asked for. Are you kidding? a voice in my head sneered. You can't even breathe right? You're failing yourself, and you're failing him.
"Shhh." Dz kissed my forehead softly. "Try again. It's okay."
His energy and tone were so authoritative, I found myself trying to satisfy his demand once again by coaxing my lungs into an even rhythm.
In...
"Good," he murmured approvingly at the inhale. "Hold it. That's a full breath, even if it doesn't feel like it. Still holding it?"
I nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
"On the count of three, exhale slowly. Ready? One... two... three."
...out.
I imagined wisps of black smoke chasing my exhale, carrying away the heartache rotting me from within.
We repeated the process until I was calm enough to curl up on the living room couch, hands clasped around my ankles and chin resting on my knees. Dz brought me a glass of water from the kitchen. I drank it eagerly.
"Better?" he asked quietly. I nodded. He set the glass down on the coffee table and draped a purple throw blanket around my shoulders before leaning against the wall across from me. I closed my eyes, allowing the patter of the rain and the warmth of the blanket to calm me.
Like a tongue poking at a loose tooth, I prodded the dark tangle of heartache in my chest. It was still there, but it too seemed worn out.
"I don't want to talk about what happened right now," I whispered. "Sorry."
Dz looked as though he were about to speak and then hesitated, instead examining his gloved hands, bare fingertips flashing against dark fabric.
"I'm not asking for details," he said slowly. "But is this... a pattern for you?"
I shrugged. "Nine times out of ten."
One corner of his mouth curled up into a cautious smile. "Well, stop it. If you have to chase someone for their affection, they don't deserve yours."
The same gruff attitude that had triggered me earlier made me grin now. "Easy for you to say. Who doesn't want you?"
"I hardly think now is the time to discuss my sex life," he said drily.
I looked at him thoughtfully. "I mean, it could be." At his look of confusion, I continued. "As a way to compare our experiences. Some people say that in every relationship, there's a chaser and a chased. That sometimes people swap roles, but others..." I trailed off. "Maybe I'm meant to play this part, over and over. Like it's my destiny or something."
"Sounds like a pretty crap destiny," Dz drawled. "I'd ask for a different one."
In a moment of crystalline clarity, I saw myself on the couch--exhausted, raw, vulnerable--and Dz leaning against the wall--uncomfortable, guarded, deflecting. This was the point where typically I'd relinquish the conversation and match his humor with my own, abandoning my emotions in order to keep him comfortable.
Instead, I met his gaze evenly. Daring him to take the risk. To enter into a conversation where it wasn't about getting the upper hand or protecting himself.
"If it is destiny," I mused. "Like, written-in-the-stars destiny... how do you feel about yours?"
He winked. "My destiny of getting laid a lot?"
"To always be the object of someone's desire," I persisted. "To appear how people want you to be, rather than how you actually are."
His resulting glare would usually have made my blood run cold, but apparently getting dumped had made me bold and reckless. I met his burning gaze with my curious one.
And in that instant, I saw fear in his eyes. Fear that I was putting two and two together: that his ability as an Ishness was to sense a person's desires and to change himself to fit them...
But that to me, he'd always appeared exactly as himself.
I lifted my head and stared at him.
"Wait--"
"Okay, okay," he interrupted me hastily. "Fine. What if it is destiny. Why?"
"Why what?" I asked slowly, buying time and trying not to stare at the unfamiliar sight of a nervous Dz. A part of me wanted to force the topic. Had he lost his powers? Or was he... changing? Becoming something--someone--else? Someone not defined by what others want from him?
"If your fundamental goal on a biological level is to survive. And everything you do is supposed to help achieve that goal," he rambled, looking everywhere but at me. "Why do you put yourself in harmful situations over and over again? In unhealthy relationships?"
I sighed. I wanted to be a part of Dz's world--to give him a safe space, like he'd given me. But I could never do that if I forced this conversation. And even I had to admit, the idea of Dz being seen for his true self might be throwing him in the emotional deep end.
"Well..." Reluctantly setting my curiosity aside, I pondered his question. "My therapist would say I'm recreating my imperfect relationships with my parents. Trying to 'do it right' this time."
He flashed a cocky smirk, masking his relief at no longer being the focus of conversation. "And how does that make you feel?"
Snickering, I imagined Therapist Dz in corduroy pants, a white button-down, and a fuzzy sweater vest, then responded.
"She's not wrong," I admitted. "All we have to learn from are examples from our past. Which means that this pattern is going to be hard to break. After, you know, a lifetime."
I was caught off guard by how processing my thoughts out loud made me come to an uncomfortable realization. Suddenly, the challenge of healing myself seemed insurmountable. And until I did figure it out--if I even could--I was wasting time. Losing potential.
When I finally looked up to meet Dz's gaze, he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken offering. I nodded, face crumpling into tears once more.
Crossing the room in two strides and placing one hand on either side of my face, he pressed his lips to mine.
It was far from the sexiest kiss we'd ever shared. For one, I was pretty sure I got snot on his cheek. But I was beyond caring and he didn't seem to mind, periodically wiping away my tears with his thumb as the kiss deepened. It was a safety, a comfort, an acknowledgement of my hurt. An encouragement to keep going even when the healing got hard.
But it didn't take long for us both to sense when a simple kiss began to teeter on the edge of something else.
"Love..." Dz pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, running his tongue across his lips. "I can't fix this for you. Wouldn't even know where to start, if I'm honest. But if we keep going--"
"I don't expect you to fix it," I whispered. "And I know that this--" I nodded down to our bodies, suddenly so close. "--won't fix it either. But I'd like to continue, if you--"
He silenced me with another kiss that remained unbroken even as I reclined back on the couch and unceremoniously dumped the blanket to the floor. Even as he pressed toes against heels, clumsily kicking off his boots one at a time before clambering on top of me. Even as my teeth clicked against his with our sudden urgency, even as we exchanged gasps between one another's mouths, even as we chuckled at the sudden urgency of it all. Neither of us suggested moving to my bedroom, even though it would have been more comfortable. No; this was what it was going to be. An imperfect, real moment. We wanted nothing else. With this cramped, earnest dance, I felt the dark tangle of pain in my chest unravel a teensy bit more.
His thigh between my legs delivered just the right amount of pressure to pull a moan from my mouth and into his. Shifting his weight, he wrapped a firm hand around my throat. I smiled. I knew he was doing it not to escalate things, or to chase his own primal pleasure, but for the simple reason that he knew it comforted me. It was like slipping into a hot bath; I embraced the familiar feeling of my consciousness floating away into the ether, while my body remained helplessly pinned in place. Distantly, as the edges of my world darkened, I heard his whispered praise.
"Such a sweet girl."
His lips pressed against the hollow at the base of my throat before planting slow, soft kisses along my shirt collar; they were the equivalent of an electric shock when combined with the numbing sensation of reduced blood flow, each one making me twitch involuntarily--something I knew he'd like. This was confirmed when he moved his leg so that the pressure from his thigh was replaced with his own growing arousal.
"Feel what you do to me," he murmured approvingly as I looked up at him through a growing haze of subspace. Knowing he could see the pleading in my eyes, even if I couldn't vocalize it.
I was rewarded by him lifting my leg up to wrap it around his waist. I eagerly brought the other to the same position, then used them to pull his pelvis down towards mine. It was a needy motion that I knew would amuse him, but that wasn't why I did it. I did it because I wanted to. Because I wanted the comfort of him on top of me and inside me. He would either give it to me or not, but today of all days I wasn't going to stop myself from asking for what I wanted.
Usually Dz would respond to such desperation with teasing denial, but this time he surprised me by reciprocating my neediness with his own, rhythmically grinding against me. It was clear that neither of us wanted to change course or slow our pace, hands colliding as we fumbled at our clothing, pulling waistbands down just enough to chase the connection we craved.
Before I knew it, I felt his length straining and throbbing between my legs, threatening in the most delicious way.
"Fuck," he growled. Panting heavily, Dz rested his forehead on my shoulder, looking down at the thin gap between us.
"What?" I whispered hoarsely through the ongoing pressure on my windpipe. "Do you want to stop?"
"No." He tightened his grip on my throat, encouraging the shadows that devoured the edges of my vision, setting off fireworks in the darkness of my periphery.
"Then what--" I gagged quietly, enjoying the perversely delicious sensation of fighting to speak. Every fiber of my being was hyper-focused on Dz rubbing and throbbing between my legs. "--do you want?"
He smirked down at me, a familiar, dangerous glint in his eyes, affirming that all sides of Dz were engaged in the moment. I closed my eyes and turned my head, exposing my neck in an effort to tempt the primal Dom into action.
"I want..." he whispered in my ear before planting a kiss on my jaw. "...to quiet that pretty little head of yours." His lips trailed down my throat and nudged their way past the collar of my shirt. "I want to mark you." He clamped down, eliciting a gasp of pain from me that devolved into a moan when I realized he was going to bite until I bled. "To empty you," he murmured, swirling his tongue around the developing bruises and broken blood vessels until he found the pinpricks of red. "To leave you weak and mewling." Looking down, I saw a thin line of crimson escape his lips and trickle down my chest for only a moment before his tongue lapped up the errant drop.
"So I can fill you the way you should be filled."
Hissing the last sentence, Dz lowered himself, crushing me, until his pelvic bones dug into my waist. I whimpered in response to how achingly close he was. How every move could be the one that would lead to him being inside me at last.
I hadn't realized how close I was to passing out until he released my throat. Consciousness chased away the creeping darkness. Even as I gasped for air, I found myself clutching at his shirt, fingers scrambling for purchase against his loosened jeans. Dz reached back and grabbed my wrists, yanking them over my head and pinning them there with one hand.
Panting, I looked up at him innocently. He grinned, slowly lowering himself once more until his body was aligned with mine, invading different parts of me simultaneously. His tongue entered my mouth while his head nudged against my core, parting the slickness there easily. He growled, the vibration rumbling through my mouth as he finally entered me.
I gasped in relief, but then was immediately left desperate and wanting as he pulled away after one deep thrust and returned to the steady, pressure of his length along my opening.
"How do you want to feel right now, love? No," he murmured, turning away as my mouth chased his in a desperate attempt to continue the kiss. "Focus. What do you want, in this exact moment?"
Resigned, I dropped my head back to the couch and tried to ignore the sensation between my legs long enough to focus on his question. "Connection. With someone I trust and care about." I paused, searching his face for a sign that he was only doing this out of obligation. Seeing none, I continued. "Some peace for my heart," I shrugged, the position of my arms over my head making it awkward. "A quiet mind."
With his free hand, Dz smoothed my hair and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. "You deserve that," he whispered. "And--" he stopped suddenly, breaking eye contact to stare at my wrists in his hand, the bleeding bruise on my collarbone, and my eager hips, pressing up against him hungrily.
I took a slow, deep breath, forcing myself to breathe into the discomfort of being perceived by Dz. Of being vulnerable.
Dz leaned down and locked his mouth on mine, forcing himself inside with one smooth thrust. Any remaining shreds of control that I had managed to hold on to were swept away in the sensation of, in his words, being filled the way I was meant to be filled.
"I want you." His words sent shivers through my body just as his full length sheathed itself inside. "Here and now, I want you. So I'm taking you. You're mine."
I tightened around him, watching with delight as his eyes rolled back and his jaw clenched.
He had taken me, claimed me, and made me his. But there was something else, I realized. Something else in this rushed, desperate coupling.
This was Dz being vulnerable, in his own way. Mine expressed itself primarily through words, but his...
His vulnerability was in the flicker of his eyelids when my body welcomed him in so easily. It was in the breath caught in his throat when he saw me dig my nails into the cushion behind me. It was in the sudden rush of urgency that swept over us both, in the grasping and clutching and biting and nuzzling and scratching that occurred as his thrusts built in intensity and violence. This was what it felt like to be neither the chaser nor the chased--but just to be wanted. To be appreciated, in that exact moment.
As we both crested the wave of arousal, as he released inside me, warm and filling, I closed my eyes and smiled. The dark tangle of hurt in my chest wasn't--couldn't be--erased so quickly. But its pain was muted. Its tangle was looser. It was a little easier to carry.
---
"What if--"
Dz's low voice brought me back from the brink of sleep. I jolted awake, jostling his head from its resting place on my chest. We still hadn't moved from the couch (it was a matter of pride at this point). I readjusted underneath him just enough to keep my limbs from falling asleep.
"Mmmm?" I prompted him, bringing myself back to awareness by stroking the back of his neck with one hand, letting the other flop down over the edge of the couch.
"What if you're both? The chaser and the chased?"
"I don't follow," I muttered, stifling my bemusement. Watching Dz approach a difficult emotional topic was like watching a baby deer scrambling to its feet for the first time, and it took everything in me not to express my eagerness and scare him off the subject entirely.
"Maybe instead of chasing others, you could... chase yourself. Find out what makes you tick. Learn how to..." I felt him shrug. "I don't know. Forget it."
I was caught off guard. He'd been thinking about this, seriously. "Please keep going," I whispered, watching goosebumps appear in the wake of his fingers tracing idle spiral patterns on my arm. I tried to tame the flame of hope in my chest that for once, my openness wouldn't push someone away.
"Learn how to adore yourself," he concluded quietly. "Like I do. Put yourself at the center of your universe. Easier said than done, but..." He trailed off.
"You're right." Stretching forward, I kissed the top of his head and held him close. "Thank you."
We spent the rest of the day on that cramped couch. Comfortable, safe, silent. Watching the shadows on the wall of raindrops racing each other down the window pane.