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shehungers · 3 days ago

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vampire x reader | 18+ | 16.1k

You're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. The ultimate package. Right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. The spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, explicit noncon, major dubcon, explicit sexual details, hypnosis, bloodplay, sadomasochism, cigarette burns, choking, injuries to mc, gun violence, graphic depictions of violence, extreme body horror + gore, murder, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, descriptions of crime scene cleanup may be inaccurate, obsessive + possessive behaviors (yandere), manipulation, gaslighting, religious imagery + symbolism, exploration of morality, dubious morality (mc), allegorical for abusive relationships, very prose + detail heavy.

reposted from my deleted blog theoxenfree.

proofread by @noctis-kingfisher / @ceruleansol-archive

please leave feedback + reblog this piece if you found it interesting!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there. Tonight was a chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands. You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm.

Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you? He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What—" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose. You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light. The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let them rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway. The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job, tied the bag, and sprung straight up. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home." Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles. Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back.

He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

Some fates are worse than death...

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witherby · 12 hours ago

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DUDEEEEE, after reading your little Wayne (who is now a grown up) goes looking for a part time job and after quitting the last job I imagem them getting into a cafe job were both villain and heros goes and there's no fighting in there

Dude what's it like having such an amazing incredible spectacular brain

That's the coolest idea I've ever heard

The Littlest Wayne: Truce Juice

Nobody believes it at first, that your signage is genuine. They think it's a gimmick or a ploy to avoid your shop being targeted by villains if they decide to terrorize the city and start doing massive amounts of property damage again.

"Is it true?" Customers will ask, as they come by to get a smoothie or request a bagel. "You're willing to serve villains?"

And every single time, you smile, hand over their order, and say "yes!" Because you are.

Your family chooses to fight crime under the cover of darkness. They fix Gotham's problems by punching them and throwing them in Blackgate or Arkham. During the day, your father does his best to fund the places that need it the most — infrastructure, homeless shelters, food banks, education — but it's not enough.

You can help the normal citizens as much as you want, but they're still going to be terrorized by the villains that escape the prison and the asylum. They're still going to feel Othered from most of society, which is what drove them to villainy in the first place. Hurting them, pushing back at them, it fixes the short-term problems but never quite nips it in the bud.

Your hope is to treat the criminals like...well, like they're not criminals. Which is why you opened Truce Juice — a little drink cafe in the heart of the city that welcomes everybody, good, bad, and in-between. It's your good-faith experiment you had to beg your father not to intervene in, using either identity, for weeks before he finally agreed.

So, deed in hand, trained employees on staff, and insurance premiums through the fucking roof, you've got a business.

It takes a month of service and consistent advertising, but you finally start to see your experiment take shape. A gentleman wearing a half-black, half-white tuxedo walks into your cafe and approaches the counter with visible trepidation, hands stuffed in his pockets and sneering at everybody who makes eye contact with him.

Antiope, the girl currently working the register, clams up a bit, so you send her to the drink station instead and smile at Two-Face's henchman.

"Good morning," you greet him, "welcome to Truce Juice. How can I help you?"

The man looks at you like you've grown a second head. You smile back and gesture to the menu over your head.

"If you need a minute to look at the options, that's fine. I also have handheld menus for better visibility." You pick one up and offer it to him.

"You're actually fuckin' serious," he says, taking his hand out of his pocket. Customers loitering in the cafe flinch back as he does so, but you don't move. He takes the menu from you and glances over it. "...gimme a banana smoothie and a dozen plain bagels. Cream cheese and jelly on the side."

"Sure!" You punch his order into your screen and ring up the total. "Will that be cash or card?"

"What if I didn't wanna pay?" The man smirks. The hand still in his pocket makes a clicking sound. Several customers rush out. You don't move, but the shadow at your feet forms a disk shape and slips underneath the henchman, waiting to suck him into your pocket dimension if he starts getting belligerent.

"Then you don't get the smoothie and bagels," you reply calmly. "I'm running a business, sir. Goods and services are exchanged for money, here."

He clearly wasn't expecting you to say that. He stares at you. You stare back. He blinks incredulously. You blink expectantly back.

"So," you say again, "cash or card?"

"....cash," he mutters, digging into a separate pocket and pulling out his wallet. He hands over a fistful of bills. You ring him up and give him his change.

"Okay! Give us about five minutes. Did you want the bagels toasted?"

The henchman shakes his head. You smile and get to work, the dark disk melting back into your regular shadow. Soon, you're sliding the smoothie and box of bagels across the pick-up counter.

"Here you are. Have a good day!"

The man continues to stare at you like you're some freakish anomaly. You just give him a small nod, then turn to help the next customer brave enough to step inside with him here.

When you check the tip jar later, you see a fistful of hundreds crammed into it.

You feel your heart warm and know you're about to make huge waves in Gotham.

#el speaks #littlest wayne au #batfam x reader

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leighsartworks216 · 11 hours ago

Text

Darlin' I'm Right Here

Sylus x gn!Reader

I wrote this at like 3am last night and because I wrote this at 3am last night and then went down a rabbit hole of rereading fanfics, I did not get enough sleep to do any work

Anyway I just think it would be neat if Sylus could carry me around please and thank you

Title from "Butterfly's Repose" by Zabawa

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, caretaking, kissing, cuddling, undressing (and redressing), casual intimacy, established relationship, crying

Word Count: 1,659

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third Love and Deepspace Masterlists

AO3

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Sylus looks over as the door opens and quietly shuts again. He watches you, a silent observer, as you drop your stuff to the floor and push it aside with your foot. Your movements are sluggish as you pull off your winter coat and the sweatshirt underneath. A low sigh passes your lips as you work at undoing the knots in your boot laces - and that's when he comes over.

You see his shadow, feel his presence, and stand up straight once more. He tilts his head, brow furrowed slightly; you look so tired, so worn out, and moisture is collecting on your lower eyelids. Your pitiful sniff only confirms his suspicions.

He doesn't say anything as he kneels down by your feet. He unties the knots you struggled with moments ago, undoes the laces enough for your feet to slip out easily. You use his shoulder as support when he lifts one foot and slips your boot off, then the other. Both are set aside in a tray where they can continue drying off without dripping melted snow on the wood floors.

You watch him as though in a daze. He stands and your eyes follow, lacking their usual vibrancy and life. They only shine now because of the tears you hold back.

He bends down, gently guiding your arms around his neck. "Hold on, kitten," he orders softly. Your hands lock together behind his head. Your face finds its place tucked in his shoulder, tightly so as to block out the rest of the world around you. His hands hold the back of your thighs as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He feels your breaths just as you feel his. Hears each shuddering inhale and shaky exhale beside his ear. He tilts his head to the side to rest upon yours, rubbing his cheek against your head affectionately. He hopes it really was just a bad day that is upsetting you so much. If he hears even a hint of a whisper that someone said or did something to his darling lover, he won't hesitate to deal with it, permanently.

Each step is a gentle sway, a soothing rocking. You feel like a child clinging to their parent, pretending to be asleep as they carry you to bed. You feel small, but not in a bad way. Small, yet protected. Secure. You cling a little tighter to him and he adjusts your hips higher against him to keep you there.

The villa you've practically claimed as a home is smaller than his usual estates, though still quite large considering only two people live here at any one time. It's much larger than your old apartment. At least here he can actually move around the kitchen comfortably and shower without needing to duck under the spray of the shower head.

He carries you through the familiar floor plan to your bedroom, and then further into the ensuite bathroom. He's immensely careful when he sets you down at last on the countertop beside the sink. Though, he doesn't pull away. Doesn't force you to, either. Instead, he holds your hip and massages at your lower back, giving you the time you need. There's no rush. There's never a rush with him.

With a small inhale to give you strength, you finally pull away. Tears make tracks down your cheeks. A wet spot stains his shirt. He brushes away the tears on one cheek, and kisses them away on the other.

"Do you want to take a shower, sweetie?" he asks. You shake your head. He kisses your cheek again warmly.

Instead of a shower, he reaches into a cabinet and pulls down a washcloth. One handed, he turns on the warm water and holds his fingers under the tap as he waits for it to get to the perfect temperature. The cloth's fabric turns dark once he holds it under the water, soaked through. He squeezes out the excess and turns off the tap, before brushing it gently over your cheeks.

You close your eyes and give in to his tender care. With no sound aside from a sniffle here and there, Sylus wipes away the sticky tear tracks. He soothes the cloth under your eyes, easing out the tension and tiredness with its warmth. You shiver involuntarily when the cloth touches your neck, lightly wetting your throat with enough pressure to avoid tickling you.

Once he's satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth on the side of the sink. His hands, warm and lightly damp, find your hips, then your thighs, wordlessly warning you just before he lifts you up once more.

He doesn't carry you far, just into the bedroom. He rests you at the end of the bed, your legs hanging off to the floor while the rest of your body is laid back against the plush bedding. He kisses your forehead as he gently coaxes your arms from around his neck. "Wait here."

You crack your eyes open to watch as he goes to your dresser. With familiarity, he pulls out a few things, chief among them two types of pants and two types of shirts. He carries them over and sets them on either side of you on the bed. He holds up the pants first.

"Which one?" In one hand is a pair of long pajama pants. In the other, a pair of shorts. You point lazily at one, and he sets them down.

Kneeling down by your feet once more, he removes your socks and your pants. Normally, on any other day, there would be a heat in his gaze. A dripping, dark lust in his eyes as they roam your legs up to your underwear. Now, there's not even a hint of such a thing. He looks at your legs in the same way he looks at his guns as he maintains them, with an undeniable presence of care and dedication, and the warmth of wanting to take care of you in the best ways he knows how. He always claims to be bad at comforting people, yet he finds the perfect ways to tend to you every time.

He slips the pants you chose on you, pulling them up along your legs. You don't even have to lift your hips up - he does so for you with a large hand under your lower back.

"Do you want your fuzzy socks?" He smiles when you nod. You're always so endearing to him. You've perfectly curled within his heart, laying claim to it as your own. Its beats change with your emotions and actions. Right now, it beats softly, but steadily, as your eyes follow him back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of your fuzzy socks and then watch as he slips them onto your feet. It will beat louder tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.

He stands and lifts up the shirts. One is a baggy t-shirt you "stole" from him a while ago. ("Stole" because Sylus is not a man who often wears t-shirts. This particular shirt is one you bought for him and commanded him to wear for a couple of days leading up to your visit, whereupon you claimed it for yourself.) The other is a tank top. You choose which one you'd rather wear tonight and he sets them aside.

He playfully pulls you into a sit, tangling his fingers with yours and tugging you up to him. He leans down to kiss your head. Warm fingers brush your skin as he removes your shirt from today. It winds up in a pile with your pants and socks.

The shirt you chose is soon pulled over your head. Your arms are guided through just the same. He leans down to make sure it settles comfortably around your body, and you use the opportunity to draw your fingers lightly under his chin. All his focus is on you immediately.

He is completely pliant under your touch. You could do anything - have him do anything. He is at your whim.

With the barest pressure, you draw him in, meeting his lips in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips are always so soft and plush. They don't seek for more than you give, only taking what you decide to offer, without a hint of a complaint. When your fingers fall from his skin, he lightly pulls away, heavy-lidded eyes peeking open to search your face for answers, to know what you want. One more kiss, and one more, before you're satisfied. He pulls away.

Your dirty clothes are dropped into the hamper. The clothes you didn't choose are left on top of your dresser to be put away later. He goes to place you in bed properly, but is stopped by your slight frown and the flicker of your eyes over his clothes. He grins. He can feel your eyes on him as he changes his own clothes, trading them in for some sweatpants that rest low on his hips and a tank top that shows off his arms. You're smiling contentedly when he approaches this time.

He lifts you up, but does not set you down again. Instead, he slips into bed with you in his arms, holding you close as he ensures you're comfortable. Not that you complain; you keep him trapped there with the way your legs hug him and with your head tucked under his chin. He rubs up and down your back with one hand. The other holds your hand over his heart.

The day that upset you feels lightyears away as your body relaxes against Sylus's. The cold and snow outside don't exist as he kisses your head and stops rubbing your back in favor of massaging the back of your neck. No concerns for tomorrow. No worries about what will come next. Just the gentle coaxing of his breaths, luring you into a much needed nap.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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paetalks · 17 hours ago

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the first time sukuna ryomen hears 212 by azealia banks it’s through the walls of his room that he shares directly with your bathroom. your voice sounds muffled over the loud bass base that is pounding a hole in his head while he’s trying to focus on his pc. he’s trying to write a paper for college and it’s almost impossible with all the noise you have been making. you weren’t a bad neighbor overall - i mean, he has never seen you in person - but the music you would blast while showering was absolutely insufferable to him. you always kept quiet, day and night, never run around or moved furniture. sukuna has been living there for well over a month and everything was going okay, apart from the fact that you loved singing in the shower. it was okay the first times, really, but lately the songs kept getting louder and louder. and it was all annoying, girly club music. the one he couldn’t really stomach.

so when he hears the first notes of yet another kim petras’ song he gets up from his chair and bolts out the apartment, ringing at your doorbell. it takes a while for the volume to be turned down, and ever more for you to reach the door. when you crack it slightly open, you see a tall, tattooed, muscular man looking down at you with pure hatred in his eyes. your brain goes blank and you let the door slip from your hands, opening fully only to reveal your towel-covered body and damp hair. his eyes widen, but never leave your frame or seem to be less angry. “hi?” you say, confused.

“hi.” his voice is deep, his sentences short and cutting “would you mind turning the damn music down?”

“oh” you frown, looking at him from head to toe. you notice how he’s wearing grey sweat pants and a black sabbath’s t-shirt that looks like it has seen better days. his hair is all over the place. a smirk makes its way to your face. “yeah, i would actually mind. i was kinda in the middle of something…” you gesture back to the direction in which the music is still coming from and your towel falls slightly lower.

the stranger’s eyes follow your hands as you pull it up again, rolling them afterwards. “i’m trying to work here.” he gestures at his front door, right next to yours.

“okay?” you purse your lips. “i don’t think that’s any of my business really. i’m just playing some good music.”

“good?” his eyebrows furrow. “you don’t even know what good music is.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, stranger. go ahead and insult me right in my house.” you chuckle at yourself, meanwhile ayesha erotica starts playing in the background. “oooh, i love this song!” you squeal, and his eyes dart quickly between the direction in which the music is coming from and your body.

before he can say anything else, you smile forcefully. “gotta go back in there. byeeee!” and you close the door right in front of his face.

he stands there for a while, eyes widened and twitching. how can you be so hot and yet so annoying? he starts asking himself while walking back to his room. he sits back in his chair and as soon as he decides to surrender for the day and give up on his work, the music finally stops. sighting in relief, he opens his laptop again, still thinking about you and how that little towel wasn’t even covering all that much. you definitely are something, he thinks, taking a deep breath finally in deep silence.

or so he thinks, because not even a second later the first notes of paranoid from black sabbath start playing at full volume on your speaker. he laughs with himself. “she’s funny” he mumbles, shaking his head, secretly hoping to bump in you again soon.

sorry guys just had a shower and thought aboyt this. also i love music bye <3

#sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you #sukuna ryomen

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asdfghjklartblog · 14 hours ago

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My Time

Trans masc reader x yandere batfam

I’ve been getting into vocaloid songs, or like songs that use Teto and Miku’s voices. Anyways since I used to be really into Miku I wanted to use that cause well… What kind of person doesn’t love Miku?

I hope you guys like it. I think there’s some spelling mistakes or typos and if there is, sorry :P but otherwise I don’t got much to say! Good reading! It’s about 5.8k words! Yay!

Your mother, m/n was a beautiful woman. Strong, charming, and stubborn, at least that’s what your daddy said. And you might not remember mommy, but you trust daddy. He says that mommy loved you, that she loved you so much, but that she couldn’t come back. You didn’t really understand, not at the time. I mean how could a two-year-old grapple with the concept of death? However, even though your mom left, you weren’t lonely, you had daddy. Daddy wasn’t your real father, no, but he’s the one that’s been loving you and taking care of you. He’s the one that told you stories when you went to bed, tucked you in and kissed you good night. He held you when you were scared, cuddled you when you wanted love. He was everything you could ever want, he promised to stay with you till you got sick of him. He promised he’d be there for you no matter what.

You woke up for your first day of preschool, and when you go to look at your little froggy clock you saw that it was already 9 in the morning. You ran over to your daddy’s room excitedly chattering about how you were going to be late because of him which makes you giggle, because usually daddy would chastise and tease you about making them late. You open the door to find him still, there’s stab wounds all over his chest and dried blood all over the bed, his eyes are dull and lifeless and there’s bruises at his neck and wrists.

You shiver as a breeze comes through the open window. You stand there for a while, confused on what to do. There’s this bad feeling in your stomach but despite that you slowly approach the bed. You poke your dad and try to wake him up, you notice that he’s cold, daddy’s never cold. He’s always warm and comforting and perfect for cuddles. You start crying, not really knowing why. You climb up on the bed and curl up beside him. The sheets are crusty with blood and it feels all gross and but that doesn’t really matter to you right now. You just want to stay here with daddy.

You don’t know how long you’re there but at some point daddy’s phone rings. You stare at it, frozen in place before you climb down from the bed and go over to it. You pick up the phone and a woman says. “Hello! This is Thierry Preschool, we were wondering if your child y/n was still coming? It’s been about two hours since it started and we were just checking.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You fidget a bit before mumbling. “H-Hello. Daddy can’t come to the phone right now. Um. I’m scared. Daddy isn’t moving and there’s blood all over? That’s bad, right? Daddy’s cold and everything and -and I don’t know what to do!”

You start sniffling, on the verge of crying again as the person on the other line stays silent. She then gently and calmly says. “Honey, it’s going to be okay. Can you tell me where you live honey? Calm down and watch some TV or read a book, okay honey? Can you do that for me? Can you be strong for me?”

You sniffle and nod trying to get out a choked up “Yeah.” From your throat. You try your best to mumble out an address as she coos about how good of a job you’re doing and how she needs you to stay calm. Before she hangs up, she tells you that some nice men will come to pick you up and that you have to be good for them. You nod and mumble an okay. You go back to curl up against your daddy, you bury your face into his chest and whisper to him.

“People are coming. It’s okay daddy. We’ll be okay. I love you. You’ll wake up soon right? Please? I’ll be a good girl daddy I promise.”

The nice men come and they look at you and daddy with… An expression you’ve never seen before. It makes you feel worse. They try to tear you away from him but you hold onto daddy with a death grip while you scream and shout as they try to convince you to let go. You’re scared. You don’t wanna let him go. They eventually pry you away from him as you wail and try your best to wriggle out of their hold. After that, it’s a bit of a blur. You were wrangled into a police car as one of them sat in the backseat with you trying to calm you down.

You look out the window, watching as the officer drives through the streets, going through traffic. You’re escorted into a building and taken into a room where a police officer try to question you gently. However the next thing you know everything gets blurry, it’s hard to breathe and it feels like your insides are spiky. When you can breathe again some man with a scruffy face and blocky glasses is holding you close to his chest saying things like. “It’s okay, you’re alright.” And “Breathe, breathe for me.” You calm down, not because of his words, but because he looks a bit like dad. His scruffy face, his gentle smile, his dark green eyes. It makes you bury your face into the man’s chest and whisper out a small broken. “Don’t leave me.”

The next thing you can remember was the man carrying you around like a baby, mostly because even after the weird “panic attack” or whatever the police officer called it, you wouldn’t let go of him. Which made the man holding you look at you sadly. He gives in and instead of forcing you to let go and go back to doing work, he starts showing you all kinds of things, giving you a tour around the police station. You learn from one of the men that the guy holding you is named Commissioner Gordon. Weird name. It sounds kinda cool though.

Once you’ve fully calmed down he carries you over to where a nurse is and he distracts you by talking about dinosaurs which you excitedly listen to while they draw some blood to see if you’re healthy and to notify any blood relatives. Commie says you’re being a very good girl and that they’ll have results in less than an hour, he also asks if you’re hungry which you nod enthusiastically to. He then leaves to get you some chips and a donut from the break room. You’re about to start chowing down before Commie asks. “Hold on there kid, isn’t there something you need to say before eating?”

You stand there staring at him and then make an ‘Oh!’ face and say. “Thanks Commie!”

You don’t notice but as you start eating the donut that a couple of the police officers laugh while Commie cracks a smile and then huffs before saying. “Kid, Commissioner isn’t my first name. It’s Jim.”

You then absentmindedly say as you take another bite of the donut. “Oh. Okay Jimmy.”

One of the guards starts laughing again and this time even Jimmy chuckles. However someone comes in and whispers to Jimmy and he then turns back to the person as they whisper to each other. Another officer takes it upon himself to distract and picks you up before throwing you up into the air and catching you. Making you giggle and ask for more. Jimmy approaches again and he subtly asks the officer distracting you to put you down. Jimmy takes a knee looking at you at eye level and hesitates before saying. “We… Found some people you’re… Related to. We called them up and asked if they’d take you in, and he said yes. Do you know Bruce Wayne? He’s your daddy-“

You immediately interrupt him saying. “But I already have a daddy. I don’t need another one-“

Jimmy interrupts you trying to gently say. “I’m sorry. But.. Your daddy… He can’t take care of you anymore-“

“What do you mean? Why? Can’t you help him? I’ve been waiting and being a good girl! Does daddy not want me anymore?”

“Honey-“

“No! I’ve been good! Daddy said he’d stay with me! He promised, h-he-“

Jimmy interrupts with a firm call of your name which makes you stop. He puts a hand on your shoulder and brings you into a hug as he gently says to you. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.” As those words tumble out of his mouth you tear up again and you raise your arms to cling on to him for dear life. You bawl and hiccup and he’s there to take all of your anger, your sadness until you’ve calmed down again. He pulls away from you and tries to talk to you, but you’re tired. You’re sad, you don’t have the energy to talk. He sighs and then holds your hand and guides you to a bench, he pats your head and says. “How about you wait here? Since your room is not exactly under investigation I could maybe swipe some things for you? Do you have a favorite toy or picture I can get for you?”

You wait trying to think about what you would want from your room. You think of your little stuffed owl that daddy named Oliver and your stuffed cat you named Oliver 2. You want the picture on your nightstand of you, mommy and daddy. You want the special night light daddy made for you. You want your dinosaur pjs daddy got for your birthday, you try your best to relay this Jimmy but all that comes out are little mumbles and whimpers.

He sighs and says with a small smile. “Tell ya what kid, when you go stay with da- Bruce. Why don’t you have him send an email or make him call us about what you want from home. And I’ll get those things for you. How does that sound kid?”

You look up at him, slowly and you hesitantly nod. He ruffles your head and with a smile and says. “‘Atta girl!”

Which makes you smile a bit before your face going blank. He sighs at that and says. “Someone’ll be here to pick you up shortly. And-“

You hear someone running and turn to look where it’s coming from. You see some guy comes running and stops in front of you. He heaves as he holds something familiar under his arm. After he catches his breath he smiles at you before handing you the thing under his arm. A stuffed owl which you immediately recognize as Oliver. He winks at you and then crouches down to your height as he says.

“Hey kid, my name’s Ethan Bennett. Man, you are like a carbon copy of Bruce. Well, except for your eyes, yours are e/c and a lot softer. Shit, where do I even start. Uh, Oh! I’m your uncle, well, not your actual uncle but like, you can consider me as one. I’m a detective under Commissioner Gordon. I’m also your dad’s best friend, I’m not the one here to pick you up, I’m actually still on the clock but uh. This guy,” He says as he holds up Oliver with a smug smile. “Said that he needed to get to you. So I did him a favor. Just… Don’t tell anyone.”

You take Oliver from his hand and while Jimmy and Uncle Bennett argue you start to tear up again. You hug Oliver tight burying your face in his soft downy chest. Then looking up at Uncle Bennett, you quietly say. “Thank you.” Which he pauses the argument for, before smiling down at you. “You’re welcome, kid. Say how about I wait with you huh? I could show you pictures of your daddy-“

You immediately interrupt. “Not my daddy.”

Ethan looks a bit confused at that, and looks to Jimmy for an explanation. Jimmy shrugs and motions for Uncle Bennett to continue. “Should I call him your dad?”

You nod, confirming that dad is an acceptable choice of words. He chuckles and then continues. “How about I show you pictures of him. So we can.. Condition you to him like a cat.”

You see Jimmy smack Uncle Bennett’s bald head which makes you giggle as Uncle tries to defend himself saying. “What? It’s true! I mean, he’s a big guy, he’s probably gonna scare her. I mean unless you know him, he looks pretty scary. And look at her.”

Uncle says as he gestures to you with both hands. “She’s barely what 4? 5? She looks like a sad wet kitten, Bruce looks like that evil grey bird that looks like it eats puppies compared to her.”

You tilt your head at that. There’s an evil bird? Your father looks like a bird? What does that mean? Your uncle is weird maybe you can get a different one. Jimmy seems like he’d be a good uncle.

They start arguing again and you go back to sit on the bench as they argued. You hold Oliver tightly in your hands and wait, you see them stop arguing with both of them leaving you to wait alone. Or at least that’s what you thought would happen. Until uncle Bennett comes back with some files in hand and some markers and pencils in the other. He sits next to you and says. “Well, I couldn’t get out of work early, but he never said I couldn’t work while I waited with you.”

You smile at him and scooch closer to him as he chuckles. And so the two of you wait. And wait. And wait some more. By 5 you then see an man that looks kinda like a butler being escorted by an officer. You tug on uncle Bennet’s dress shirt before asking. “What do you think he’s in for?”

He looks at you confused before looking up, you see his eyes widen and he starts to burst into laughter. Both the officer and fancy man look confused, and well, so are you.

Your eyes meet with the fancy man’s and his eyes widen and his pupils shrink in shock. He then schools his expression and looks at you with a smile, you shift in your seat feeling a bit uncomfortable with the look in his eyes. The fancy man walks up to you and crouches to your level, he then gently says to you.

“Hello. You must be y/n. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I’m the butler for the Wayne family. I apologize but your father is not able to pick you up since-“

“What? Alfred what do you mean-“

Then Alfred and uncle Bennett starts talking and kinda arguing. You couldn’t care less though, you have Oliver now! You smile and nuzzle into Oliver’s fluffy chest and then squeeze the little speaker in its wing which plays a recording of your daddy humming his lullaby and then saying. “I love you my little Bubo.” You hold it closer and whisper into its fur. “I love you too daddy.” You hear uncle Bennett’s and Alfred’s argument start to quiet down and you catch uncle saying.

“-how he treats his other kid? Look, even if there was an emergency-“

Alfred sighs as he replies. “No, he does not treat master Dick like this, look. I’m not going to make excuses for him. Master Bruce had his phone on silent for a meeting and so he wasn’t able to answer, then there was Penguin who tried to steal some kind of tech there and you know how they have to follow protocol and whatnot-“

You sigh and look up at Alfred while tugging at his pant leg. They both look down at you and you just ask. “I’m tired. And hungry. I wanna go home. Can you take me home?”

They both look at each other nervously and Alfred takes a breath and says. “I apologize Miss y/n. But, you cannot go home. I understand this is hard for you, and you don’t understand what’s going on. But I, your father and your brother will take care of you. You have my word.”

You want to argue, you wanna fight and yell and say the bad words that your daddy says by accident sometimes. But you’re so small, well, at least you feel small. You’ve never felt this small, well you have, but daddy was there to hug and comfort you. As you look at Alfred, you wish something, anything would just leave your math. Instead all you can say is. “Okay. But I want warm honeyed milk and a bed time story.”

Alfred chuckles at that and nods. You don’t understand why is he laughing, You are completely serious, if you do not have your drink you will throw a tantrum. It’s the least this mysterious man can do after saying that. Alfred, then follows Ethan to go get the paperwork to take you out of the police station and to claim legal rights over you. Meanwhile you tell Oliver about your day, about the scary things that happened. You look at Oliver’s beady eyes and whisper. “I hope my dad likes me. Daddy says I’m a good girl so they’ll like me, I know they will. And even if they don’t, daddy says that some people are just stupid and dumb and don’t deserve to be your friends.”

Alfred comes back with a thick folder of paperwork which you frown at, you don’t like paper. It makes the people you like busy, specifically daddy. You hate when daddy has paperwork. You then look up to Alfred and tug on his pant leg as you whisper up to him. “Do you hate paperwork too?”

He raises an eyebrow at you with a little smile on his face, he takes your hand and starts to lead you out of the police station as you two start to converse. You talk to him about anything that comes to mind. From what you think of paperwork to which Hercules beetle you love the most, to how you peed your pants at the aquarium while you were out in the play area. Alfred had to contain his laughter as you described all of the kids started crying, including you. Finally you arrive at this big building and you look up at it in awe, you then look around at the courtyard and the scary but pretty style of the building. You look up to Alfred and say. “This is like, a bajillion times bigger than my home!”

Before Alfred can stop you, you start running off to the front door giggling and squealing as Alfred tries to catch you. After a few minutes of expertly dodging and wiggling out of his hold like some slippery snake. He catches you and then throws you under his arm which you make a little ‘oof’ sound at.

Alfred then takes you through the foyer and after going through some hallways, which you don’t keep track of, you get to the kitchen. He sits you down at a stool by the kitchen island and says. “Don’t go running off miss y/n we wouldn’t want you to get lost after all.” You sigh and then nod before you stretch and yawn.

Someone comes into the kitchen and says. “Hello Alfred, who’s the kid?” You look at the person talking and see a guy that looks around Alfred’s age and a some teenager following behind him. You try to get off from the stool, now bored out of your mind as Alfred talks to the other man while the teen notices you and goes over to help. He takes you off the stool and says. “What’s your name?”

You look at him dead in the eyes and then slap his thigh and say. “Tag!” You start booking it as you giggle, your game of tag now in session. The teen looks at you with wide eyes and starts to chase after you. Realizing that it was a mistake putting you on the ground. You go into a room and find that it’s a bedroom, you giggle as you put a pillow under the covers to trick the boy and then get under the bed.

He comes rushing in saying. “Hey, this isn’t funny. Come on, if you come out I’ll… uh, get Alfred to make you cookies? I don’t know. Uh, just come out. I’d rather not have Mr. Wayne or my dad scold me about letting some kid loose in the manor.”

He then sees the trap you laid out for him and as soon as he gets close to the bed you shoot your hands out to grab at his ankles, which makes him scream like a girl and practically jump away like some spider or grasshopper. You start giggling maniacally as he falls on to his butt. You then come out from under the bed as you say. “I got you!” In a sing songy voice as you sit next to him. The teen sighs and stands up, he dusts himself off and says. “Yeah you got-“ and then ambushes you by picking you up from your armpits and says. “Hah! In your face!”

You giggle some more as you whine “No” trying to wiggle out of the teen’s hold. After you calm down you look up at him and ask. “Hi! What’s your name?”

He replies with a small smirk saying. “I’m Luke Fox. And you? What’s your name you little rascal?”

You grin widely, like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and say. “Y/n! And my last name is l/n! Nice to meet you!”

He smiles back and then holds you to his chest and starts to walk back to the kitchen as he says. “So… Bruce Wayne’s kid huh? I can tell. You look a lot like him. A lot smaller and cuter, but still.”

Your mischievous smile disappears and you instead, bury your face into his chest as you reply. “Yeah. Uncle Bennett said that too. I don’t care, I just want my daddy back.”

Luke looks at you a bit confused and then you explain to him what happened today. All the way from the moment you woke up to just right now. At some point during your retelling of the accounts of today, he stops walking leaving you two just standing in the middle of some hallway. After you finished he looks at you with the same expression those police officers that found you had, the same sad expression that Jimmy and Uncle tried to hide as well. You don’t like how it feels to be looked at like this. It makes your chest kinda heavy and your stomach weird. Luke holds you closer, staying silent for a bit before saying. “My mom makes me this really bomb ass hot cho- Shit I said a- Dammit! Fuck!”

When Luke groans at himself for cussing in front of a literal child you start to giggle. You smile and then tap his shoulder before whispering into his ear. “Daddy swears a lot too. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Pinky swear!” As she raises her hand and pinky so they can swear on it together.

He chuckles and pinky swears with you, not long after you two enter the kitchen, with you still in his arms. You see that neither the man or Alfred noticed you or Luke were gone. You couldn’t care less however. At least you made your first friend. You then see someone else some into the kitchen, he’s tall and… Wow. He really does look like you. You wriggle in Luke’s arms, telling him to let you down. Meanwhile Bruce, the person people keep talking about, your supposed father, walks past you and Luke. His focus is on Alfred and Luke’s dad, Luke finally lets you down after teasing you a bit more and you slowly walk over to Bruce. You stare at his face as he talks to the other two men, he had the same spiky eyebrows as you. You’ve never seen someone with the same eyebrows as you.

You shift nervously before patting your clothes and hair down before tugging on his pant leg. You look up at him with a small hopeful smile. Bruce looks down at you and his eyes widen impossibly before he schools his face before giving you a smile, he opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt. “Hello! I am y/n l/n. We look alike! I like your eyes. They look like how mint tastes. Why are you so big? Will I get that big? Do you think I’ll be taller than you?”

He looks at you strangely, a bit surprised and a bit… Something else? Whatever it is it makes you kinda feel bad and you don’t like that. You fidget as he turns his attention towards Luke’s dad and Alfred. Talking about something else again. You look back at Luke and he looks a bit confused and slightly agitated, he then fixes his face and smiles at you before walking over and saying. “He’s probably just tired or something. How about I make something for you? Sandwich maybe?”

You nod and follow him to the fridge as you look through everything. He shows you some some sandwich ingredients taking the time to show you each one and answering your questions about it. He then makes the sandwich for you, although he’s slightly cringing as you bite into your “abomination sandwich”. Which is what he called your delicious sandwich, and is definitely NOT an abomination. You’re eating at the little island on the stool that’s as big as you and you see another kid walk in. He has black hair and pretty blue eyes, you wave hi and he looks at you confused and a bit judgmental. The kid then asks you. “Who are you?”

You answer back. “Y/n. What’s your name?”

“None of your business.” He replies in a snarky tone.

You look at him, surprised and then glare at him, before you can snap back Luke says. “That’s Dick. He’s gonna be your brother. Kinda. Also, come on Dick. Be nicer.”

Dick huffs and and grumbles “Fine.” before he goes over to the fridge to look through it. He gasp, offended by something. He then glares at you and asks. “Did you finish all the prosciutto? I was gonna have that as a snack, I was saving it for a good day!”

Before Luke can apologize for you, you look at Dick and say. “Well maybe you should’ve had a note on it or something! This is my first day here! I don’t know you people!”

Dick looks you up and down and then marches up to where you’re sitting and nabs half of your sandwich and takes a bite, it only takes a moment before he’s sputtering and coughing because of the overly salty and spicy sandwich. You look on with both anger and slight satisfaction, angry he stole your sandwich and satisfied that he’s in pain. Luke tries to hide a smile as he turns away and hides his trembling mouth with his hand.

The adults then turn to look at you three, wondering what the commotion is. Alfred sighs and goes over to try and calm down Dick while Bruce looks at you disapprovingly. You look at Bruce, offended and stick your tongue and blow a raspberry at him before going back to your sandwich, tearing into the sandwich like you were a hyena and the sandwich was your carcass. Luke chuckles at that before saying. “Come on, don’t be mean. He’s only had Dick for what? Less than a month?”

You look at Luke with appalled face and say. “He isn’t even a real dad?!”

Bruce sighs as he looks down and asks Alfred. “So? What’s the situation with her? And have you-“

You can see Luke looks at Bruce with a weird face, something like a cross of disappointment and disgust before turning to you, and using his body to cover your view of almost everyone in the room. He then says. “Hey, how about we go to the living room? I’ll take you there. We could watch a movie or something? Oh, my dad showed me this movie called Totoro. Or something, you look like you’d live it! Let’s see if I can-“

He starts talking idly, as if to fill in space. When your finished with your sandwich he takes you off the chair and hurriedly walks you out of the kitchen and into the living room. He has you sit close to him so you two could watch it on his phone. You barely get through the first half before his dad comes over to say. “Come on, Luke. It’s time for us to go.” Luke tries to ask for a bit more time. He nudges your shoulder and whispers. “Hey, do some puppy eyes come on.”

What the hell are puppy eyes, you think to yourself before tilting your head at him like a puppy. Luke’s dad rolls his eyes with an affectionate look on his face before saying. “It’s a school night kid. Plus, your mom would kill me if I let you stay out past curfew again.”

Luke throws his head back groans dramatically before saying. “All my other friends can stay out past 8-“

“Well I’m not their parents am I? I’m yours. Now I’ll be waiting in the car for you.” Luke’s dad then turns to you and ruffles your hair before saying. “It was nice to meet you little one. Have a good night.”

You nod at him, and the man nods back before going over to the coatrack, getting his coat and leaving. Luke looks at you with a small pout on his face he sighs before ruffling your hair too, which makes you smile. He then gets up with a groan, just like daddy does. You follow as he also goes to get his coat and hat he then puts on his stuff and says. “Guess I gotta go… Have a goodnight y/n. Take care of yourself.”

He then gives you a hug before leaving. You yell after him. “Good night Luke! Sleep well!”

He smiles at that and waves at you before getting into his dad’s car, driving off and leaving you in the manor. You go back inside and go back to the living area where you see Alfred. You walk up to him and tilt your head like a curious puppy, waiting for him to announce his intentions. Alfred smiles before he says. “I came to inform you that I have gotten your room ready. On another note, it is time for you to go to bed young lady.”

You put up a hand and in a serious tone of voice you say. “No. You must have forgotten our deal. I want a hot chocolate, a fancy one with cinnamon, heavy cream.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow and asks. “Really? If I recall our agreement was that I’d make you honeyed milk. How strange. I suppose I should get rid of the honeyed milk that I put in your room then?”

You vehemently shake your head and say. “N-No! That’s fine! I’ll drink it! It’s mine! You can’t take it back!”

Alfred then lets out a hum of consideration. “If you say so. Now come along. I must tuck you in before the hour.”

This man speaks funny. You like it. You then try to imitate him using the fanciest words you know, like anemone and hypertension. He laughs but you’re not sure whether it’s because of the accent or because you probably used the words wrong. Anyways he brings you to your new room and you gasp at how big it is, you hurriedly take off your shoes and put them right next to the door before you run straight for the bed and climb on to it, it’s so soft!

You then notice the hot milk on the bedside table, you crawl over and sit on the edge of the bed so you can take a sip. You sigh in delight at the taste, the milk is nice and creamy with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon as well as some honey to make it sweet. You yawn and get off the bed so you can walk over to Alfred. “Thank you, it’s really yummy. Can I have some pajamas now? I’m sleepy and so is Oliver-“

You then realize that you don’t have Oliver in your arms, and you can’t remember where you put him. Your eyes become blurry as tears fill your vision, you look up at Alfred and whine. “Where’s Oliver? I can’t remember where he is.. Can you help me find him?”

Alfred opens his mouth to say something but a beep comes from his phone, he sighs and says. “I will bring him soon, just lie down and-“

You interrupt him saying. “No! He’s always there when I sleep! I need him, if my daddy isn’t gonna be here then I need Oliver to be here at least!” You don’t like how Alfred is trying to hurry things up. You don’t like that daddy’s not here, you don’t like how Oliver’s not here, you hate that your favorite people are leaving and you HATE everything about this day. Sure you met new and nice people, but you want Daddy. You want him to kiss your face and tickle your tummy and hug you. You start sobbing and pulling on your h/c hair and trying your best to not choke on air.

Alfred looks at you sadly and then sighs, he then gets on one knee and says. “Miss y/n. Please stop. I will get Oliver for you, I will be right back. I promise. I will return with your dear Oliver and some old pajamas.”

You look back at him and nod as you sniffle. You sit on your bed and sip on your warm milk while Alfred leaves to go get Oliver and some pajamas. You wait, and wait. and wait some more. But he never comes. You accidentally fall asleep, finished with your drink and more tired than you’ve ever felt. That’s when you realized, no one’s gonna take care of you like daddy, no one’s gonna tuck you in, kiss your tears away, or any of the other things he used to do. You curl up and cry softly in the early morning light, mourning the loss of your father. Something that you didn’t know was possible until it happened.

—————————————————

I hope you like it! I already have the next few chapters planned so it will be angst for the next 3 or 4 chapters :)))

#mine arth #yandere batfam #neglected reader #tw neglect #yandere batman x reader #not yet yandere but still #yandere dick grayson #yandere alfred pennyworth #the only normal ones will be Luke and Lucius #and maybe superman haven’t decided #yandere dc #lucius fox #luke fox #ethan bennett #jim gordon

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readingiskeepingmegoing · 2 days ago

Text

The fact that you posted this on my birthday made me squeal with glee!

My first thoughts were of the way Dieter had taken care of me in every way possible after the show. He brought me home, made an amazing dinner, and ran a hot bath as he promised. He joined me in the tub, massaging my neck, shoulders, and back as he his lips trailed behind his hands - managing to get me completely relaxed and turned on in the process. He followed that with a scalp massage as he washed the product from my hair before rinsing with the handheld sprayer. I offered to wash his in return since it still had all of the gel in it from the show, but he refused, instead drying me off and sending me to bed while he jumped in the shower.

He really is an acts of service love language kind of guy, isn't he? His desire to give the care which he himself has lacked is so adorable

He really was putting in the effort to experience all forms of intimacy, always looking out for me and taking care of me in ways that Alec had never even tried.

Asshat Alec! Such a douchebag. 😒

Even as my brain shouted at me to slow things down, my body craved him.

Kat is all of us, and we are Kat!

He smiled and nodded against the pillow, “So good. It’s so much better with you here.” I felt my heart flutter as his chocolate eyes danced around my face. I could see that strange look there again, like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

Both of them just need to say it. Acknowledge that it has happened fast and that they need to be careful, but stop dancing around the subject (pun fully intended) 😂

He continued, “I’ll get a new number, OK? I was thinking about doing it anyway because I’m pretty sure one of my dealers texted me the other day…I blocked him…just so we’re clear.”

I love that his first thought is to get a new number and not try to just explain it away. That is a lot growth from Dieteer, pre-rehab pre-Kat Dieter wouldn't have done that.

A soft curl fell down over his eyes as he glanced down to place his hands and began strumming a bluesy intro. His demeanor shifted, seeming almost melancholy as he began to sing.

🥹

That song is so perfect for Dieter, it made me really emotional.

He lifted his head, pressing it against mine as he hugged me just a little tighter.  “Thank you for coming. I needed this…needed you.” 

I love that they are so in tune with each other.

There was no question about it now, I was in love with him. It ran deeper than it ever had with Alec or anyone else. The realization caused my heart to race as the anxiety set in. Was this too fast? Too soon? We’re either of us really ready for this? 

Is it too fast? Probably.

Is it too soon? More than likely.

Are they both ready for it? Absolutely!

“I think I should maybe tell you why I had such a strong reaction to the Alec thing…it’s sort of the root of everything…why I am the way I am…”

😭

It explains so much. My heart aches for him.

I love that Evan has been there for him from the beginning though.

Things were definitely evolving between us, yet again. After the events from earlier in the day, I could tell something had changed. It was like all of the broken pieces of our being were slowly falling back into place and somehow converging into one. With every new piece that found its place, our connection steadily grew. Part of me questioned if it was real or just being overblown and intensified by the circumstances we found ourselves in. I hated to think like that, but it was something to consider. 

Dont over think it Kat. Just let it happen. You both need it, and you need each other.

He huffed as he mumbled out a gravelly, “Fine.” Then he turned, snuggling Zee instead. “Guess I’ll just cuddle my other cat then.” 

She stood with her hands on her hips as she looked me up and down, “I thought he was done bringing hussies home?”

I love Cora instantly. No nonsense is precisely what Dieter needs to keep him in line.

She sighed, “Kat, seriously?” She paused and rubbed at the crease between her brows as she continued, “So there is something to that TMZ article then? Please tell me he at least fucked some sense into you and made ya realize that Alec was a shitty lay?”

🙌🏻

I feel like Lydia and Cora would get along famously.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with it, woman. You don’t have to have freshly cooked protein with every meal.”

You've spoiled her, there's no going back now. She's a queen and will only accept queenly meals.

Omg he did the foot thing!

He reached up to brush a stray hair away from my face as he took me in, “You know…I wouldn’t be upset if every night for the rest of my life ended like this…with us together…you make me happier than I ever thought possible.”  He kissed the top of my head, seeming to sense my anxiety, then leaned his cheek against it as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that…I wanna take things at a pace you're OK with. I don’t want you to feel rushed. I mean it when I say you’re important to me and…I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Get out of your head Kat. Just let him love you the way you deserve. It will heal you both.

There was no question about my feelings for her. I knew I was in love, but did the intensity between us mean she felt the same about me?

She does, she'll get to the point where she can tell you, just keep doing what you're doing.

“What do they mean when they say SuccDee? Is that a dirty plant joke? I don’t understand the context.”

That made me cackle so hard.

This fact was sort of blowing my mind as I peeked over at Zee, the mention of her name rousing her from a deep sleep. “Damn Zee, I wish you could talk. I wanna know what they say…Maybe I should talk to them more?”

Oh, we need to have Kat sneak up on Dieter while he's talking to the plants!

Zee chose that moment to paw a glass that was still about one fourth of the way full of water off the coffee table, which broke our spell and the glass.

Zee is getting so naughty. I can't decide if she's feeling a bit put out that her parents are paying each other more attention than they are paying her or if she now feels completely comfortable and at home and this is the real Zee, Mischief Maker #1.

She snorted, “My plants are lucky to get water. They come to my house to survive, not live.” I shook my head and scoffed out a laugh, “That’s just depressing. Don’t tell me that. Imma have to start checking in on them.”

Hmmm, how long until those plants relocate to Dieter's house?

I hadn't recovered from reading the beach/kitchen scene in the teaser!

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me, “I kind of don’t care. I’m going with it. I’ll head it off and do a cryptic Instagram post. Besides, it might be fun to fuck with Stacia and Joe some. I wanna see their heads explode when they realize their fairytale showmance isn’t happening after all.”

Bahahahahahaha! Stacia will be devastated 🤣

I chuckled, “Ahh, filling up the spank bank then. I’m flattered.” I gave her a cocky grin and waggled my eyebrows, “If you want some nudes all you have to do is ask. I might even let you take them yourself.”

I posted it. There was no caption, only emojis, “👉👌🤯🤯🤯😏”

He's such a menace.

As I was finishing up with Zee’s gourmet meal, Kat came into the kitchen. Her brows furrowed as she pointed her finger to something behind me and busted out her best mom voice, “Zee, don’t you dare.”

Zee is so naughty, she gets that from her daddy.

I gave him my new number, then he sent me a text message so I could save his to my contact list. That was a development I wasn’t expecting, but I was strangely happy about it.

This made me emotional. He's growing his circle and finding friends. I love this for him 🥹

Marc seemed extremely interested in this, leaning forward with excitement in his eyes, “That’s amazing. I was actually considering doing the same. I still haven’t decided if I’m gonna do another season or not…but I did want to look at something like that when I’m finished. Maybe we can team up.”

That sounds like such an amazing idea. I think it would work well for all involved.

They definitely fucked, at least once. Nobody pay attention to that vibrating sound… This is how pornos start. I’m not mad about it. So, IT IS a throuple then? I think Dieter’s secret lady likes to watch. I don’t blame her…Kat’s ass is a work of art. I’m still calling it a conspiracy. Kat is the beach chic. I know that ass and those thighs.

The Dieterina stans are definitely not buying their little ruse.

We need more friendly get-togethers like this, while Dieter and Kat are building their little family at home, they are also building their community.

That song is so perfect for Dieter and Kat, I'm so glad you liked it 😘

Marc was still chuckling as he said, “I’m sure Stacia and Joe are gonna have a lot to say about that.”

Hahahahaha, Stacia going to be trying her damndest to figure what is going on and what she can use for ratings.

I don’t think I paid a lick of attention to anything the judges actually said. All I know is we got another perfect score, putting us in first place - again.

As if they could be anywhere else. It has to be killing Alec that they are doing so well.

I 100% blame Mr. Pascal for his holiday beach antics.

It's like he knew you needed a little something to get you going 😂

Dieter and Kat are getting pretty close. They are completely embedding each other in the other's life. All of Dieter's people know now and Kat's sister knows. Dieter is pouring his heart out and sharing about his past, yet Kat is still in her head about everything. Do we smell drama brewing there?

I feel like at some point Kat is going to have a wobbly moment and try to shut Dieter out, and he's going to have to do his damnedest to coax her out of her spiral.

They've also made some new friends. How are we feeling about Marc and crew? Good or bad?

I love that they are making friends. It's good that they have support against Alec, Stacia and Joe.

Dieter has started his Instagram live shit. More to come on that. Also...his Instagram posts, that man is stirring up all the drama with those. Good or bad idea?

I loved his Live. It could be a good outlet for him, as long as people keep their peace in the comments. He's not going to stand for any disrespect of Kat from anyone.

Closed Position: Week 7 (Paso Doble)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 28.5k (I went off the rails again.)

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not by or toward Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Dieter and Kat both being a menace, smut, fluff, angst in the form of discussions about childhood trauma (including homophobic comments)

Chapter Quote: “I actually meant what I said earlier…I’m bending you over the counter and fucking you when we get back to the house.”

Kat’s POV When I awoke on Tuesday morning, my body felt strangely satiated after the previous evening's exploits. My mind, however, was swirling with more thoughts and emotions than I could process. My first thoughts were of the way Dieter had taken care of me in every way possible after the show. He brought me home, made an amazing dinner, and ran a hot bath as he promised. He joined me in the tub, massaging my neck, shoulders, and back as he his lips trailed behind his hands - managing to get me completely relaxed and turned on in the process. He followed that with a scalp massage as he washed the product from my hair before rinsing with the handheld sprayer. I offered to wash his in return since it still had all of the gel in it from the show, but he refused, instead drying me off and sending me to bed while he jumped in the shower. I didn’t even bother to get dressed, choosing to collapse into the fluffy duvet completely naked.

I was lying stretched out on my stomach when Dieter came out of the bathroom and crawled up my body, continuing where he left off as he massaged my thighs and hips for several minutes. He eventually moved upward, peppering kisses along my spine until he reached my neck. I tilted my head to give him better access as he rubbed his patchy beard against my skin. The length of his body pressed against mine, which made it obvious he was aroused.

His teeth grazed my earlobe, causing me to moan and arch my ass upward into him. He nipped and sucked at my neck as he pressed his hard length against me. My hand found its way to the hair at the top of his head, tugging slightly as I told him I needed him again. He wasted no time, positioning himself at my entrance and slowly sinking in. He covered my body with his, pinning me to the bed as he began his steady, but slow rhythm. After propping himself up on his left elbow, his hand found mine and entwined our fingers together, squeezing it tightly. His right hand roamed my body before finding a home under my chin, tilting my head back so he could give me an upside-down kiss on the lips.

As things got more intense, I collapsed, face down into the plush bedding as he continued to lavish my neck and shoulder with attention from his mouth. My fingers tangled in his hair again as I turned my head to search for his lips. After a passionate kiss, he pulled away and rested his forehead against the side of my temple. We stayed like that for a time, inhaling each other's breath and getting lost in the sensations that our bodies were creating as we moved as one.

It was almost foreign to me, how he could make any position feel that intimate. It didn’t matter if we could stare deeply into each other's eyes or not, I could still feel the connection with him. It was there in the way he touched and held me. Our bodies communicated in ways I had never experienced - using all the senses to bond us together. I surmised that it had to be because of the way that we spent our time together, building something that I couldn’t really understand or explain.

The past week with Dieter had been strangely domesticated. It was full of homemade meals and lots of cuddling. He stuck to his word about keeping this thing between us as something more, not always turning to sex for a connection. He really was putting in the effort to experience all forms of intimacy, always looking out for me and taking care of me in ways that Alec had never even tried. I hated him doing so much, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Even when things would get heated between us, he would keep his focus on me and expect nothing in return. Always being perfectly satisfied with a good cuddle and head scratches.

However, after all of our incredibly intimate moments, I still felt like he was holding something back. I could see it in his eyes, often swimming with some sort of emotion. I didn’t want to push him because I knew he would open up eventually. I did sometimes worry that he was hiding something that he thought might upset me. For as connected as we were, it still felt like parts of him were a mystery.

Those thoughts didn’t seem to dampen my need to be near him though. The one night I went home to rest because I wasn’t feeling well was strangely lonely and unsettling. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, having thoughts of Alec sneaking in under the cover of darkness and choking me in my slumber definitely didn’t help. I hadn’t felt that anxious since the incident, now realizing it was because of Dieter. He was keeping those fears away without even trying. They were gone as soon as I reunited with him. When I went to his house the following night, I fell asleep without a worry in the world because he was there with me.

I did appreciate Dieter’s need to focus on intimacy outside of sex. We managed a whole week without it, but after all the closeness of the week and the fire that blazed between us during our Argentine Tango performance, I couldn’t hold out anymore. I shocked myself when I suggested we fuck in the dressing room. That was one thing I had never done even though Alec tried to initiate it multiple times. I was always too worried about getting caught. It was different with Dieter though. He was slowly waking something up inside of me that I didn’t recognize. The way I craved him had reached a boiling point and I couldn’t fight it anymore. I wanted him in every way he would let me have him.

I had never really been a fan of rough sex in the past, but as with everything else, it was different with Dieter. There was the connection between us of course, but he was also passionate. He somehow managed to turn it into something else, full of emotion and sensuality. It was a lot to process and to be honest, the sheer aching need that I had for him was scaring the hell out of me. He was quickly becoming an addiction for me. The way he made me feel confident, desired, and cared for was all the things that I had been missing, and it was thrilling. Even as my brain shouted at me to slow things down, my body craved him. After fucking in the dressing room, I still needed more.

As his body moved against mine, his scent completely engulfed me - making me feel intoxicated by him. My skin was tingling from his affectionate touches, my lips burning from his passionate kisses, and my heart skipping beats from whatever this emotion was that was taking over my very being. His soft sighs and deep groans against my ear sent shivers down my spine and had me coming undone underneath him in no time. He followed soon after, nearly collapsing on top of me before moving to the left, still half draped across my body.

His hands ghosted over my skin as he placed the occasional kiss on my shoulder, eventually dozing off for the night after flipping the duvet over us. That was how we still found ourselves this morning, his steady exhales blowing against the base of my neck, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. I could feel the weight of Zee laying across my feet, both of them cocooning me in warmth. Everything about it felt so right, yet a little voice in the back of my head still questioned it. It was almost too good to be true.

Dieter stirred, nuzzling his face further into the crook of my neck as he inhaled deeply and hugged me tighter against him.

My sleep filled voice greeted him, “Good morning.”

He sighed as he kissed my shoulder, “Morning, beautiful.”

To Zee’s dismay, I turned over to face him. She grumbled as she got situated again. We both snickered at her before turning our attention back to each other. I could partially make out a crease down the side of his face from laying on the blanket. I smiled as I ran my finger along it. “You sleep well?” I finally asked.

He smiled and nodded against the pillow, “So good. It’s so much better with you here.”

I felt my heart flutter as his chocolate eyes danced around my face. I could see that strange look there again, like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

I cleared my throat, “You ready for another production meeting this morning?”

He rolled his eyes, inhaling deeply before answering. “I don’t see why we have to meet with them every week. Can’t they just send that shit in an email?”

I chuckled, “They could…but then they couldn’t be nosey and try to make drama for the show.”

“Ugh, such bullshit. Why can’t they just let the show be about dancing?”

I gave him a tight smile, “That’s not how they get high ratings.”

Dieter's phone rang on the nightstand, ruining our morning chat. He sighed, turning to grab the shrilling device and finding his agent’s name flashing across the screen. He pressed ‘answer’ and brought it to his ear, “You should know better than to call me this early in the morning, Lenny.”

I could hear a deep chuckle on the other end of the line, “Sorry to call you so early, D…but we have a potential issue. There are rumors circulating that there was a serious altercation with you and Kat’s ex last week. Is there any truth to that? Does that have anything to do with the schedule changes?”

Dieter puffed air out of his cheeks as he glanced over at me. He had obviously kept his agent in the dark about that.

“There was…a minor incident. He attacked Kat and I pulled him off her. They did change our schedules around so that Kat doesn’t have to be near him.”

“Damnit Dieter…can you please stay out of trouble? You’re on the upswing right now…”

I could tell Dieter was frustrated as his jaw tensed. “Sorry Len, but I’m not gonna stand by while someone close to me gets mistreated. I’m sure the public can understand that.”

Lenny sighed loudly into the phone, “Fine…you’re right. I’ll get Janine on it and see if she can put out the fire. If you get any questions about it, don’t answer them. Maybe it’ll go away. I’m told there are some pap pics of the guy though…and his face is busted up. So, I’m not sure if it will.”

Dieter’s brows furrowed, “Is he saying anything about it?”

“No, it’s mostly speculation I think…but they know for sure there have been schedule changes. It’s TMZ, you know how they draw conclusions about shit.”

Dieter nodded, “Yeah, well…my lips are sealed. I’m confident Janine can handle it as long as that douchebag isn’t running his mouth. I’m sure he doesn’t want people to know about it anyway.”

The call ended soon after that as it was time for us to get ready for our production meeting. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves sitting in front of our two favorite people, Stacia and Joe. They were unusually pleasant, making small talk and checking in with me to make sure I was doing ok, and that Alec hadn’t been out of line since they had apparently had a conversation with him after our last meeting. Stacia, of course, complemented our last performance, making a point to mention how great our chemistry was on the dance floor. She was fishing for anything she could get her hands on, but we gave her nothing. We politely thanked her and redirected our conversation to this week's performance.

I had to bite back a groan when Joe gave us our dance for the week, the Paso Doble with a traditional Spanish style song called Uccen. It was definitely going to wear me out. I had a feeling Dieter would enjoy it since the dance was more focused on the man’s performance, but I could already envision him whining about how tired he was.

They handed over the costume sketches, putting us both in all red again, which wasn’t unusual. Black and red were pretty typical looks for this dance. My costume had a Spanish feel to it with layers of fabric that bunched up in the back. It was shorter in the front and very flowy. It had a halter top with the same flowy fabric draped to cover the necessary areas, leaving the back completely open. They had Dieter in a red suit with a textured button up shirt. After approving the looks, we were pretty much done with the meeting. I was thankful this one was drama free. I did not need my day ruined by them.

After the meeting, we continued our tradition of grabbing lunch together. We settled on a small cafe nearby. The staff seated us on the outdoor patio, so we made sure to be on our best behavior because there were eyes everywhere. We were even approached by a few fans to take pictures and happily obliged. Dieter was all smiles as he interacted with them, seeming perfectly at ease while I was still trying to get used to having this much attention from strangers. He seemed to sense my anxiousness, smiling gently as he reached over to give my hand a quick squeeze after they left us.

(More after the graphic.)

We were off to the dance studio for rehearsals after that, beginning the week like we always did, by listening to our song. Dieter’s head bobbed along with the fast-paced Spanish and mediterranean style guitars mixed with folk undertones. It was obvious this would be different from anything we had done thus far.

Once the music concluded, I clapped my hands together dramatically, “Ok, Bravo. You’re probably about to love and hate this dance.”

His brows furrowed, “Why?”

I huffed out a laugh, “Because it’s dramatic and fun, but it’s also gonna wear your ass out.”

His brows arched as he gave me a wide-eyed stare, “I mean, you do that already.”

I rolled my eyes and fought a smile as I stood from where we were seated on the floor, then pulled him up to join me.

“So, the Paso Doble comes from sixteenth century Spain and France. It literally translates to ‘double step’ and it’s very high energy and very…theatrical…meant to imitate a bullfighter and his cape. You would be the matador in this instance…the star of the show. I need you to have strong posture and emote power with your body and facial expressions. I’ll be your cape, with more graceful and fluid movements at times. We’re gonna be doing sort of a marching style rhythm with staccato footwork along with that. Like I said, it’s fun…but tiring.”

Dieter gave me a tight smile, “Can we look at some videos of this before we get started? I feel like that might help get me going. I have a feeling what I’m envisioning ain’t it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at him. At least he was honest. He went into full work mode after that, studying each video I pulled up for him. After an hour of video watching and making notes on some things that stood out to us, we got started on the basics. He picked those up quickly, allowing us to begin planning our choreography.

As predicted, Dieter was gasping for air and whining about being exhausted before the rehearsal time was over. Not that I could blame him, I was too. And it was only the first day. He was doing amazing though, and I made sure to tell him as much. I knew he would enjoy the theatrics of this dance which helped make up for how much work was involved.

We basically crashed when we got back to his place. After seven and a half hours of going non-stop, we were spent. We barely had the energy to eat dinner and shower before climbing into bed early, tangling ourselves up together and zonking out for the night.

We started our Wednesday morning off with Dieter receiving a text from Janine, his publicist. It was a link to a newly posted TMZ article.

I watched as he leaned across the kitchen island and scanned the article. His eyes crossed as he let out an annoyed groan and passed the phone to me.

(More after the graphic.)

Dieterina Spotted Getting Cozy During Lunch After Alleged On-Set Drama Dancing with the Stars (DWTS) fan favorites Dieter Bravo and Katarina Stamos were spotted having lunch at a LA cafe yesterday. Witnesses say they seemed very cozy and touchy during their meal in between posing for pictures with fans. This sighting comes after rumors began to circulate about a possible altercation between Dieter and Kat’s ex, professional dancer Alec Balaska, after last week's live show. If you recall, Dieter and Kat set the ballroom ablaze with their sultry performance and intense chemistry during their Argentine Tango, which earned them a perfect score for the week. It’s easy to see how that could have caused tensions to rise backstage. We have no confirmation that Dieter and Kat are officially an item, but they definitely seem to be getting close. TMZ sources have not confirmed the altercation took place, but we can confirm there have been schedule changes that appear to have happened in an effort to keep Dieter and Kat separated from Alec as much as possible. It must also be noted that Kat did not dance with the same group as Alec during last week’s professional performances, which could help back those claims. Alec was spotted out and about in LA with his DWTS partner and new love interest, Lana Thompson, earlier this week. He appeared to have bruises on his face but gave no response as to how he got them. His reps refused to comment. We reached out to Dieter’s publicist who also refused to comment on the situation.

Included with the article were pictures of Dieter and I at the cafe. There were several with his hand resting atop mine as he smiled my way. There were also several zoomed in stills of our Argentine Tango performance along with an embedded video and pictures of Alec and Lana seated in Alec’s car.

I sighed, “They really will post anything for clicks, won’t they?”

Dieter nodded, “Yep, bullshit…as usual. For all they know, he could have fallen on his face during rehearsal. It’s plausible…I’ve done it enough to know.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement. Just as I was about to hand Dieter’s phone back, a text popped up. There was no name, only a number. I felt my stomach drop when I unintentionally read the message.

646-333-4545: It was nice bumping into you. Call me, so we can get together. I do miss having your mouth on me. 😉

I slid the phone toward him as I tried to control my breathing, “Umm…you have a text.”

He picked up his phone, brows furrowing in confusion as he read it. “I have no idea who that is…I’ve not bumped into anyone.”

I watched as he swiped, then selected ‘block’ on the screen.

I didn’t say anything, but my face must have. When he finally looked at me, I could see the worry in his eyes.

He began shaking his head as he approached me, “I swear I don’t know who that is…maybe that actress from New York? I haven’t bumped into anyone besides her…I didn’t even have the number saved. I-I’ve been getting a lot of texts like this since SNL…people trying to hit me up to party. I’ve blocked them all, you can check. Maybe I just need to get a new number…I deleted everyone I didn’t need to talk to when I got out of rehab. I swear…”

The longer he rambled, the more panicked he sounded. I took a deep centering breath, realizing I needed to give him some leniency. It was obvious he didn’t have the number saved, and that bitch had been pushy.

He continued, “I’ll get a new number, OK? I was thinking about doing it anyway because I’m pretty sure one of my dealers texted me the other day…I blocked him…just so we’re clear.”

I gave him a tight smile as I reached to cup his cheek, “Hey, it's OK. I believe you.”

He visibly relaxed into my touch, “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m doing shady shit, because I’m not. I won’t do that to you.”

The rational part of my brain finally caught up to my emotions. We've spent ninety-five percent of our time together since we got back from New York. I would have noticed something if he was talking to other people. He was rarely on his phone, and when he was, I was usually at his side looking at it with him as we watched funny videos together.

I pulled him in for a hug, “It’s OK. I have no reason to think you’re lying.”

He backed away, “Imma text Evan right now actually…and have him take care of all that. I want zero doubts.”

And he did text Evan after that. I never would have asked him to change his number, but the fact that he offered and got right on it did make me feel better. Alec never would have offered. It was another reminder of how completely different they were.

Dieter made sure to take a few minutes to apologize, cuddling on the couch before I had to leave for the professional's dance rehearsal and him for his weekly therapy session. By the time I walked out the door with promises to meet up with him at the dance studio for our evening rehearsal, the whole incident was an afterthought.

The professional’s dance rehearsal definitely had a new vibe. I could tell other cast members were looking at me differently - curiosity maybe? I tried not to pay them any attention, allowing Marc to distract me from it when we weren’t receiving instructions. He and Stefanie both had become allies in this whole mess. Given that they knew what actually happened, I had to respect that they were keeping the information quiet while not so subtly choosing a side. Marc had mentioned that people were asking him what he knew, but he refused to comment. He really was a good guy, I hadn’t given him enough credit for that in the past.

Once we wrapped up rehearsal for the day, I made my way over to grab my water bottle. As I took small sips, I picked up my phone to scroll through the missed notifications. I had a text message from my sister asking why she hadn’t heard from me and telling me to call her. Since I had been spending all of my free time with Dieter, I had pretty much gone radio silent with her. I shot her a quick response, promising to call her the following day since we had a late rehearsal.

I was silently debating if I should tell my sister about my relationship with Dieter as I moved on to the Instagram notifications. My brows furrowed when I came to the notification that said, ‘bangingbravo1 was live (45 min ago)’. Well, that’s new.

I quickly collected my things, telling Marc goodbye as I made my way to the car. After tossing my bag into the back, I sank down into the driver’s seat, pulling my phone out as I closed and locked the doors. My curiosity was making me anxious to see what Dieter was up to since this wasn’t something he normally did. I wasted no time opening Instagram and clicking the notification. He was no longer live, but the video was posted to his story.

It appeared that he was sitting in the same spot he had been in when he and I played guitars together all those weeks ago. His black acoustic sat perched on his lap as he briefly fiddled with the camera. He then proceeded to strum and tune the instrument for a short time before glancing up and smiling, welcoming his growing number of viewers. He took a few minutes, answering questions that popped up - some about Zee, some about his plants. Someone must have asked about me, causing him to smirk as he explained that I was at dance rehearsal for the professionals, noting that he and I would be rehearsing later in the day. Then he cleared his throat, getting to the reason for going live.

“So…I’ve been getting a lot of messages and comments asking me to do more playing and singing. I hear you…so, we’re gonna give this a try and see how it goes.”

A soft curl fell down over his eyes as he glanced down to place his hands and began strumming a bluesy intro. His demeanor shifted, seeming almost melancholy as he began to sing.

This song has two very different versions and I love both. Give them a listen. 🎶Version 1 🎶 Version 2

When the sins of my father / Weigh down in my soul / And the pain of my mother / Will not let me go / Well, I know there can come fire from the sky / To refine the purest of kings / And even though I know this fire brings me pain / Even so, And just the same

His voice was full of emotion and grit as his unblinking eyes fixed on something just out of frame. He sounded soulful, but there was an edge of pain to the lyrics as they appeared to have deeper meaning to him. I knew him well enough to know that he was feeling the words, seeming to dredge up old memories or feelings. It had me wondering what he had discussed with his therapist that morning, because I knew he didn’t pick that song at random. Music was an outlet for him. It meant something.

All seed needs the water / Before it grows out of the ground / But it just keeps on getting hard / And the hunger more profound / Well, I know there can come tears from the eyes / But they may as well all be in vain / Even though I know these tears come with pain / Even so, And just the same

His line of sight drifted, appearing to focus on nothing as he took on a far-away look. A deep crease formed between his brows, his eyes turning somewhat glassy as he belted out the next verse. I had never seen him like this, but I knew that look all too well from experience. He was reliving something from his past. Something painful that had potentially shaped him into the man he had become - both the old and new version of himself.

And let the clouds fill with thunderous applause / And let lightning be the veins / And fill the sky with all that they can drop / When it's time to make a change

As he finished out the song with the last few refrains of the chorus, I realized tears were streaming down my cheeks. Every hair on my body was standing on end as my flesh pebbled from the sound of his voice. I could feel it in my soul. The connection that he and I seemed to share only made me feel it that much deeper. I couldn’t recall anything ever having affected me like this before.

After the last lyric left his lips, he inhaled deeply to center himself. He sat silently for a beat, then his eyes flicked up to the camera. They were pools of emotion as he gave a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was obviously reading the flood of comments filling the stream. Then he finally spoke.

“You all are too kind…it’s more than I probably deserve.”

He paused, swallowing thickly as he continued to read the comments. He nodded, “I’ll uhh, yeah, I’ll do another live soon…thank you.”

After saying his goodbyes, the stream ended. I had to take a moment to pull myself together. We were supposed to meet at the dance studio for rehearsal in an hour and a half, but I couldn’t wait. Something told me that I needed to go to him. So, I did.

When I got to his house, I knocked and rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. Figuring he was still upstairs and maybe couldn’t hear it, I tried the doorknob. To my surprise, it was unlocked. So, I let myself in and headed toward his sanctuary.

I found him with wireless headphones on, slouched back into the chair and lazily strumming the strings on his guitar. He still had that vacant far-away look in his eyes as he stared at nothing. My movement in the doorway must have caught his attention because his eyes snapped toward me as he paused his motions.

His brows furrowed as he pulled the headphones off, giving a small smile as he asked, “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the dance studio?”

Moving toward him, I could tell something was off. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I hated it. As I stood in front of him, our gazes met. He sighed, then placed the guitar back on its stand next to the chair and set the headphones on the floor beside it. His eyes met mine as he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Are you OK?” I finally asked.

His shoulders slumped as he leaned back in his seat and scratched at his patchy beard, now avoiding my gaze.

“No. But I’m gettin’ there. One day at a time…”

My feet carried me forward as I reached to run my hands through the top of his messy curls. He sighed as his arms found their way around my waist, pulling me to him so he could rest his head against my chest. I needed to be closer, shifting so that I could raise first the right, then the left leg to straddle his lap. He hugged me tighter as he buried his face into the curve of my neck and inhaled deeply. I could feel him relaxing more and more with each breath that he took.

He lifted his head, pressing it against mine as he hugged me just a little tighter.

“Thank you for coming. I needed this…needed you.”

My nose brushed against his, “You have me. Tell me what you need from me.”

He shook his head, “I…I don’t know.”

My right hand moved to his chest. I could feel his heart thrumming away under my palm as his eyes pooled with tears and his breathing became shallow. He seemed lost. I needed to bring him back and ground him to the present.

After extracting myself from his embrace, I stood, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom. I pulled him into a deep kiss, eventually breaking away to slowly undress him and trail soft touches and kisses along his body. His hands explored every inch of newly exposed skin as I undressed myself next. Once we were bare, I led him to the bed where we both lay down facing each other. He pulled me against him, tangling limbs together as we held each other. His face found its way back to the curve of my neck as he took deep and steady breaths to calm himself. I cradled his head against me, gently running my fingers through his fluffy curls to soothe him.

We stayed like that for a time. Strangely, it didn’t feel sexual at all. Yet, it had to be one of the most intimate moments I had ever experienced with another person. He was showing me his vulnerability, sharing his pain with me as our bare skin touched from head to toe - allowing ourselves to be connected physically and emotionally without judgement. The intensity of it was scary but also mixed with a strange feeling of relief and security. It was a hard feeling to wrap my head around as I tried to stay present for him.

Once his breathing settled to normal, he pulled away to meet my gaze with a serene expression. His eyes danced around my face as his hand glided up and down the side of my body. I would give anything to know what was going on in his head at that moment. The way he was looking at me caused the air to crackle around us. It felt like there was something he wanted to say, but instead, he leaned forward and captured my lips with his. It was slow, passionate, and needy.

We melted into each other, further deepening the connection that I currently felt humming between us. As I moved against him, touching and tasting his skin, I could feel his hardness growing and rubbing against my center. He groaned into my mouth as I began to grind against it, coating his length in my arousal. He wasted no time shifting so that he was between my thighs and sinking in to the hilt as he caged me in between his arms. His hips didn’t move, but he continued to kiss me deeply as I hugged him tightly.

Several minutes passed before we broke apart. His hips finally began their painfully slow thrusts as we got lost in each other's eyes. This didn’t feel like it was about the sex for him. Maybe it was his way of staying grounded in the present. Or, perhaps it was about strengthening whatever bond was forming between us. Maybe it was even a little bit of both. There were definitely some strong emotions swirling around us as we moved together. It was almost overwhelming, causing my chest to tighten and tears to prickle at the corners of my eyes.

Dieter seemed to sense the shift in my thoughts, reaching to run his fingertips down the side of my face as he nudged his nose against mine. It helped calm me some but did nothing to dampen the sudden and intense rush of emotions I was feeling for him.

The languid pace in which he was moving drew out how long this all lasted, but it felt right. We were completely lost in each other, causing the world around us to blur and cease to exist. It was the slowest build to a release that I had ever experienced. When I finally fell over the edge, it was intense and euphoric, seeming to go on forever. I felt like I was floating and the only thing keeping me tethered to this plane was Dieter. He followed behind me soon after, unable to hold it back as my walls contracted around him. He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes clenching shut as he spilled into me with a deep groan that turned to quiet whimpers with the last few thrusts of his hips.

He sighed heavily against my lips, clearly savoring the high he was riding after his release. I peppered small kisses around his face as I brushed back his sweaty curls. His dark eyes finally opened, meeting mine before capturing my mouth with his. He broke away to catch his breath, both of us still gulping for air as we took each other in.

He eventually shifted to lay facing me as I turned toward him. His hand slid around my waist to pull me closer. We were nose to nose when he finally spoke, “I think I should maybe tell you why I had such a strong reaction to the Alec thing…it’s sort of the root of everything…why I am the way I am…”

I took a deep breath, “Ok…but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Only tell me if you want to…and if you’re ready.”

He nodded, “I want to…I think it’ll help you understand me a little better…and…my therapist thinks I should tell you too.”

I gave him a small smile as I reached to scratch at the scruff on his cheek, continuing to lazily rub in circles as he began to speak.

“I…didn’t have the best childhood growing up. My dad…he was an asshole. I can’t remember a time when he didn’t abuse my mom, but it got progressively worse over the years. I couldn’t tell you how many times I sat with her or tried to take care of her after he bloodied her up. I remember always feeling helpless when I was younger…I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t.”

He paused, sighing heavily as he reached for my hand that was still rubbing at his scruff and entwined our fingers to rest on the bed between us.

“Of course, that was when she still cared about life…about me. At some point she started drinking…which ultimately made things worse with him. It got to the point where she stayed wasted all the time and didn’t really seem to care about anything. By the time I was a teenager, I was pretty much taking care of myself. My dad left me alone for the most part, until I started interfering with their fights…trying to protect her.”

He swallowed thickly as his eyes turned glassy, “I thought…maybe if I could protect her…that I could get her back…matter to her again. You know what I mean? I just felt so alone…abandoned even…just existing. It only made things worse though. My dad no longer held back from directing his anger at me and it just seemed to push my mom further away.”

He scoffed as he squeezed my hand a little tighter, “Hell, there were times I think she was happy he was taking it out on someone besides her.”

I could see the pain that realization caused him as a deep crease formed between his brows. He stared, unblinking, at our intertwined hands as he continued.

“When I was in high school, I joined the drama club. For once, I had several close friends. That’s when I realized my sexual preferences…varied…and I started exploring my preferences within that group. Anyway, there was this one guy I spent a lot of time with. It wasn’t serious, but we had a thing. I guess someone saw us together at the mall and we were obvious about it. Word got back to my dad, and he absolutely lost his shit over it. No son of his was gonna be like that. He called me every slur you can think of while he tried to ‘beat the gayness out of me’. That was one of the times I snapped on him. I got in a few good hits, but he still beat the hell out of me.”

The tears finally spilled down his cheeks. He sniffled a little before he continued.

“It was pretty bad…and the sad part was…my mom couldn’t bother to care. She didn’t check on me once. After spending a day in bed and feeling like I was dying, I managed to drag myself over to Evan’s house. I lied and told everyone I got mugged. His mom ended up taking me to the ER…I had a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. Of course, all my parents cared about was the astronomical hospital bill.”

It was my turn for tears now. My heart was breaking for him. I squeezed his hand tighter as I gave him a sympathetic look.

He sighed and finally met my gaze, “It got pretty unbearable after that. I couldn’t stand being at home. My dad was constantly belittling me and saying things that made me feel like I was a dirty abomination. My mom even said she was disappointed in my behavior at one point...I think that’s when I really started to hate myself. I didn’t feel like I was worthy of being loved or happy…I started having some pretty dark thoughts.”

He paused briefly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered what to say next.

“Eventually…Evan’s mom took me in after she figured out what was going on. She helped me through the emancipation process so they couldn’t have control over me anymore…but the damage was done. I had already started self-medicating with alcohol…and after I got my big break in Hollywood with money to burn, the slow spiral started. Honestly, I’m not even sure how I’m still alive after some of the shit I’ve done.”

“What made you finally wanna change things?” I asked.

He shrugged, “After my third overdose, my agent gave me an ultimatum…either get sober or I was done. None of the studios wanted to work with me anymore because I was a liability…and by that point Evan had quit working for me. He was tired of my shit. I was also damn near bankrupt. Everything just sort of converged and blew up on me at once. So, I took that last stint in rehab seriously. I had sort of an epiphany about getting my life together and wanted to learn how to be happy…exercise the demons out of my life. Somehow, I found a way to do it, but it’s still a struggle some days. Sometimes I get triggered and wanna go back to that dark place…but I’m slowly learning how to cope with it. I’ve found new ways to channel that energy into something positive.”

I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety hit me, realizing that the drama with Alec had been a trigger for him. I felt like shit over it.

“I’m sorry that I involved you with the Alec stuff. I didn’t realize the sort of effect it was having on you.”

He shook his head, “No, it’s ok. I was worried about you more than anything. I didn’t want you to get hurt…or lose yourself to him. I wanted to keep you safe…and the fact that you gave me a chance…trusted me with that…it meant more to me than you realize.”

I sighed, “But when you found us in the dressing room, I could see it. It did something to you beyond being upset about what he did.”

His brows furrowed, “It was just…the fact that I wanted to inflict pain on him…it scared me a little. I was worried that I was more like my dad than I realized…that a part of me was violent enough to do the things he did…because I really wanted to. Then I was also afraid that I had scared you…that you would think I was no better than Alec. I didn’t want you to think that I could treat you the same way.”

My lips set into a tight line. I was determined to make him see himself as I do.

“You’re nothing like either of those men. I know this. You’re just fiercely protective of those you care about…If anything, you’re a nurturer. You’re selfless and enjoy caring for others. You’re an amazing person and worthy of everything good that life brings to you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that.”

From the way his face scrunched up, I could tell he was fighting back his emotions. I pulled him against me, allowing him to bury his face against my neck as I hugged him. His arms tightened around me as his shoulders began to shake with his quiet sobs. His sniffles became a little more frequent as he allowed himself to feel whatever it was he was feeling.

He was right, knowing about his past did help me understand him better. His past self-destructive behavior and difficulty with relationships made so much more sense. The fact that he had shared this with me so willingly showed me that he was trying to break the cycle and connect with me in ways that he never had with anyone else. He was still putting in the work to better himself and be happy.

I continued to sooth him for a time, until he finally pulled away as he wiped his face with a tentative smile, causing his eyes to crinkle around the edges. Realizing that he was obviously feeling better, I gave him an encouraging smile in return.

“You somehow always seem to know what I need before I do. Thank you for not being afraid to show me,” he finally said.

I chuckled, “I don’t really know. I just know what I would want under the circumstances.”

He hummed as he nuzzled his nose against mine, “So…naked cuddling and slow, mind-blowing sex? Noted.”

I laughed. It was nice to see his sense of humor returning.

“Sooo…were you and Evan a thing at one point?” I asked. I couldn’t help being curious about it.

Dieter snorted, “Hell no. We were in the drama club together, but he doesn't swing that way. Never has. He likes boobs too much. He was there for the chics.”

I snickered, “Good to know. I didn’t get those vibes between you two, but I had to ask. I didn’t realize he’d been around for that long.”

He smiled, “Oh yeah, we go way back. I’m not sure I could trust anyone else to handle my stuff the way he does. He actually looks out for me and has my best interest in mind…calls me on my shit when he needs to. I’ve had other assistants that just wanted to enable my bad behavior so they could party and take advantage of me in some way. I can’t be having that anymore.”

I couldn’t help wondering about his parents after that. He seemed to notice something was on my mind and asked what I was thinking about.

“Have you had any contact with your parents since you left?” I asked.

His lips set into a tight line, “Umm well…my mom pretty much drank herself to death. She died years ago…but my dad…I think he’s still around somewhere. It’s been a while, but I’ll occasionally get a call asking for money. I don’t give him shit. That goes over about like you would expect. He hasn’t changed much. He’s still an asshole.”

I sighed, “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, “It is what it is. I can’t change him. I can only change myself and how I respond to him.”

We soon noticed the time, realizing that we were going to be late for our evening rehearsal. After rushing around, we eventually made it to the studio. I think Dieter was happy for the distraction, quickly settling into our routine and focusing on the performance. He was back to his goofy and smiley self, having fun as we tried out a couple of different options for the choreography. At times we behaved a little less professionally as our bodies moved together with lingering touches and lips brushing against any skin they could get near without being completely obvious to anyone who might be passing by.

After rehearsals, I found myself back at Dieter’s house. It was late, so we settled on something quick for dinner. Dieter made sandwiches that were fancier than anything I had ever put together between two pieces of bread. He was incapable of doing things halfway it seemed.

We got ready for bed after that, going through our newly established routine. We didn’t even bother changing into sleep clothes, now opting to sleep in nothing instead. I crawled into bed, snuggling in while Dieter shut off the lights and made sure the door was cracked for Zee. He slid under the blankets, reaching to pull me against him and tangle our limbs together. After burying his face in my hair, he sighed in contentment and squeezed me just a little tighter. He was asleep within minutes, and I wasn’t too far behind him.

When I awoke the next morning, Dieter was still snoring lightly against the back of my shoulder. I could just make out Zee’s paw stretched out across the side of his head and disappearing into his mess of curls as she snoozed behind him. I moved to get up, but Dieter groaned and stiffened his arm that was thrown over my middle.

I chuckled and whined, “Diiieter, I’ve gotta peeee.”

He huffed as he mumbled out a gravelly, “Fine.” Then he turned, snuggling Zee instead. “Guess I’ll just cuddle my other cat then.”

I laughed at his ridiculousness, shaking my head as I made my way to the bathroom. Once I was finished, I took the opportunity to swipe another one of Dieter’s t-shirts that said ‘Stay Horny for Art’ in large letters across the front. It had me shaking my head all over again as I slipped it on and walked out into the bedroom. I made my way over to his side of the bed, leaning down to ruffle his hair before giving him a quick kiss.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast started.”

He grabbed my hand, kissing the top of it before groaning and hiding his face from the sunlight that was beginning to sneak through the curtains. I smiled to myself as I pulled away and made my way downstairs. He was too adorable when he was half asleep and needy.

I was obviously nowhere as good of a cook as Dieter, so I decided to keep it simple. As I was digging through the pantry for pancake ingredients I heard movement in the kitchen. Assuming it was Dieter, I called out to ask, “Do you know where the…”

My words trailed off as I walked out of the pantry to find a petite woman, most likely in her early fifties, with short dark red hair, and a scowl on her face. I stopped in my tracks, taken off guard by her sudden appearance.

She stood with her hands on her hips as she looked me up and down, “I thought he was done bringing hussies home?”

I nearly choked on my own spit as I sucked in a breath. I shook my head, “No… I’m not…”

She sighed, “Did he relapse again? I’m gonna kick his ass if he did…then quit.”

That took me by surprise. I liked her already. Spitfire indeed.

I held my hands out in surrender, “No…he’s fine. He’s still in bed, asleep. You must be Cora, I presume?”

She seemed taken aback that I knew who she was, her face shifting from frustration to confusion before she nodded.

I gave her what I hoped was a polite smile, “I’m Kat. Dieter’s dance partner…”

I could tell when the realization hit because her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly before she finally spoke, “I’m not sure what to do with this...”

I chuckled, “It’s ok…I think this is a learning experience for all of us.”

Dieter chose that moment to come shuffling into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of grey gym shorts and black crocs with Zee at his heels on a mission for breakfast. He came to stand next to me so he could wrap his arm around my waist and give me a quick kiss on the cheek, smiling lazily as he turned toward Cora, “I see you’ve finally met my lady. I hope you weren’t too hard on her…”

Cora’s eyebrows lifted up to her hairline as she studied Dieter. If I had to guess, I could only assume he had never acted this way toward anyone in front of her before. She gave a hesitant smile, “Dieter…you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

He pulled me snugly against his chest, “Well…we’re not exactly making it public yet…but Kat and I are together.”

“Together?” she asked. As if she needed confirmation.

He nodded as he fought a laugh, “Yeah…together. Like…a couple. Dating. Courting. Whatever your generation calls it.”

She gave him an admonishing look, “My generation? I’m not that much older than you, you little shit. You’ll be fifty in no time.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth to hold in the laughter that was threatening to escape. Dieter, on the other hand, cackled over her words. I could already see why he hired her. She was his kind of people.

Cora rolled her eyes at him before changing the subject back to us. “Well, this makes sense. I knew something was going on with you…you’ve been different lately. I just thought you were slipping back into your old habits and tryin’ ta hide it. I’m happy to see that’s not the case.”

She paused, giving me a mischievous smile before looking back at Dieter. “Looks like you’ve made a good decision for once. I’m not getting floozy, gold digging vibes from this one.”

Dieter chuckled as he turned to look at me with a dimpling smile, “No. She’s definitely not a floozy or a gold digger…she’s perfect.”

He had that sappy look in his eyes as they danced around my face. His smile widened as my cheeks flushed from his gaze and the words he said so freely. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest as the thoughts of what that feeling meant, bounced around in my head. I refused to acknowledge it by name, but I knew what it was. The fact that I was falling so hard, so fast, had my mind reeling. I had to quickly pivot my train of thought before a spiral started. My attention shifted back to Cora, who was watching us intently, with a toothy smile.

Dieter invited her to sit for breakfast as he shuffled things around on the top shelf of the pantry to find the pancake ingredients. After refusing to let me help, I joined Cora on a stool at the island to watch Dieter cook. We slipped into an easy conversation, getting to know each other a little better while also teasing Dieter in any way we could. She was quickly becoming one of my new favorite people. It made me happy to know this was who Dieter was choosing to surround himself with now, even if she was hired help.

Since we didn’t have to be in rehearsal until later in the day, we spent some time lazing about in the pool. Not a minute passed that we weren’t touching each other in some way - be it laying back against his chest as he whispered sweetly in my ear while we lounged in the shallows or wrapped in his arms as he held me tightly and spoke in a low voice against my lips between kisses in the deep water. It never felt sexual. We were content just being wrapped up in each other as we bonded through touch and conversation. It made me realize how serious he was in not making our relationship about sex.

He opened himself up to me in a way I didn’t think anyone ever had, holding nothing back and giving me every part of himself. There was a lightness to him now, like everything that once weighed him down had been discarded and left in the past. It made me hopeful for him, and for us. His smile and happiness were infectious and warm. He was the sun and my light, teaching me how to find my confidence and love myself again. However, in the back of my mind I still had a worry that I was allowing him to affect me too much, too soon. I knew he had the power to break me in a way that Alec couldn’t, but he had given me more than enough reasons to trust that he wouldn’t.

After spending a good amount of time in the pool, we decided to relax and read on a chaise lounger. Dieter sat down, then allowed me to sit between his thighs and recline against his chest as I read aloud from the pages of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol. This eventually shifted into a debate about US government conspiracy theories which had us in fits of giggles as we argued our points for and against each one. We were into a deep conversation about the Roswell crash when my phone rang on the table next to us with an incoming FaceTime call. Dieter reached for it and handed it to me.

Seeing my sister’s name flash on the screen elicited a sigh from me. “I probably better answer this. She’s been giving me hell because I haven’t called her in a few weeks.”

Dieter shifted to get up and give me some privacy, but I stopped him, “No. Stay. I might as well tell her what I’ve been up to in my free time…”

He gave me a nervous look as he settled back into the seat. I took a deep breath then hit the ‘answer’ button, careful to keep the camera focused on my face for now as I smiled into it.

“Lydia, hey…how are you?”

She looked annoyed, “About damn time you answered. Why haven’t you called me?”

I smiled nervously, “Oh you know…I’ve been busy with rehearsals…”

She scoffed, “You’re never this busy with rehearsals…”

I scoffed back, “Well, I typically don’t make it this far into the competition to keep me this busy with rehearsals…”

She paused for a beat, considering my response. “Fair point. I guess I’ll let it slide…How come you’re not rehearsing now?”

I pushed a stray piece of hair away that was blowing in my face, “Our schedule got moved around a bit. We have an evening rehearsal today.”

She nodded, “Well…what’s been going on? I haven’t talked to you in weeks. Has Alec been an issue?”

I grimaced and shrugged, “You know…it’s Alec. I’m just avoiding him as much as I can and trying to move on…”

Something in my demeanor must have tipped her off, causing her eyes to narrow slightly. “And how is the moving on going? I feel like you’ve been very…nonchalant about this whole thing…”

I pursed my lips, “I mean…I was kind of over his shit before the thing with Lana happened. So, it’s like a weight has been lifted, honestly.”

Her eyes narrowed further, “Where are you right now?”

I could tell Dieter was holding in laughter, causing me to fight a smile as I replied. “I’m hanging out by the pool at a friend’s house.”

Dieter was shaking now, burying his face in the back of my hair to muffle his giggles. My teeth sunk into my bottom lip in an attempt to hide my smile as I angled the phone just right to cut him out of frame.

Lydia’s eyebrow arched. She was not amused with my evasive answers. “How are things going with your dance partner? You’ve hardly said anything about him…”

I couldn’t help smirking at that question, “It’s going good…he’s a good dancer…and we get along.”

Her face told me she was on to my bullshit while her voice feigned ignorance. “Hm, well that’s good. I guess that’s why you have such good chemistry on the dance floor then…”

I chuckled, “Well, he is an Oscar winning actor. He knows how to play a role well…”

I could tell Dieter was about to lose what little composure he had over that line. I wasn’t too far behind him.

Lydia sighed, “Kat…just tell me what the hell is going on. I’m not an idiot…something is up with you. Did something happen with him?”

I scrunched up my nose, “You really wanna know?”

Dieter snorted out a laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth. I grimaced while trying to hold in my own laughter. Lydia’s brows furrowed in confusion.

I glanced up at Dieter with a questioning look. After getting a nod of approval from him, I stretched my arms out in front of us so that we both fit into the frame. Dieter smiled sheepishly and waved. Lydia gasped out a shocked, “Oh shit!” before accidentally dropping her phone.

Dieter and I burst into laughter as the blurred images on the screen bounced around before finally focusing back on her shocked face. She sat there staring with her mouth hanging open as she processed what she was seeing.

Dieter chuckled before finally speaking, “Hi, Lydia! I’m sorry I’ve been keeping your sister from you. I swear it’s not on purpose.”

Her mouth finally snapped shut, “Wow, OK. So, this is like…happening then?”

I nodded with a smile, “Yeah, it kind of is…”

She looked overwhelmed now as she sputtered out, “How?...When?…Does Alec know?…” She paused, then gasped out, “Did you cheat on Alec? Please say yes.”

Dieter buried his face in my neck as he laughed at her. I shook my head and chuckled, “No. No cheating. It was after I ended things with Alec…in New York. Dieter’s been really supportive with everything and was looking out for me. We had gotten close and…it just sort of…happened.”

I reached up behind me to cup his cheek. He wasted no time lacing his fingers through mine as he turned his head to kiss the palm of my hand and pulled it away to nuzzle his cheek against the side of my head.

Lydia looked absolutely dumbfounded as she mumbled out, “Holy shit. So, you’re like together, together? This isn’t a fling type thing?”

I scoffed, “No, you know I’m not into that.”

She laughed, “I KNEW something was going on with him! I could tell from the way you look at him when you’re dancing on the show.”

Dieter and I snickered before I continued, “Well, we’re not going public yet. The producers are trying hard to make this a thing and I refuse to let them. Alec suspects, but I don’t wanna give him any more ammunition to come at us. I just wanna make it through this season with as little drama as possible and be done with it all.”

She nodded before her expression shifted to one of worry. “So, how has it been going…with you two?”

The question seemed innocent enough, but her tone told another story. Dieter sighed quietly, then leaned in next to my ear, “I’m gonna go get us something to drink and give you two some time to chat.”

I felt my stomach drop and hoped that hadn’t upset him as I shifted so that he could get up. He gave me a quick kiss on the top of the head before he disappeared inside.

My eyes shifted back to the phone, “Did you really have to ask that right now?”

She huffed out a nervous laugh, “What do you mean?”

It was my turn to narrow my eyes, “You know what I mean…you and your disapproving tone.”

She sighed, “It’s not disapproval…it’s concern. You just got out of a very long term engagement with an asshole and immediately got with Dieter Bravo of all people? He has a reputation ya know. I just worry is all.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic. Those same thoughts had already crossed my mind on more than one occasion.

My brows furrowed, “I completely understand where you’re coming from…I’ve thought about that too. It is fast, but we were building a solid friendship beforehand. It’s not like I just met him last week. And Dieter…he’s not what you would expect…certainly not what I expected. He’s actually very caring and sweet. He’s been working really hard on himself…and he really is a good person. We’ve connected in a way that I’ve never connected with anyone before…”

She puffed air through her cheeks as she rubbed at her temple, “Oh Kat…you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

I sighed, “Yeah, I think I do…I mean, the man is learning to make Greek food for me…and he’s always worried about how I’m feeling after rehearsals. He makes a point to take care of me…cooking, hot baths, massages…Alec always acted like my body aches were such a damn burden. And Dieter…he’s so open about everything…his past, his feelings. He’s the complete opposite of Alec in every way. How could I not have it bad with that?”

Lydia let out a low whistle, “Damn, sis…he almost sounds too good to be true. What about his reputation though? The whoring around and partying? Doesn’t that worry you?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was frustrating, but I understood where she was coming from.

“He’s been sober for ten months and hasn’t been with anyone else for even longer than that. He’s been taking it seriously…We’ve talked through why he used to do those things and he’s working through it…I-I trust him. He’s not that person any more. He’s already proved that to me in a million different ways.”

She grimaced slightly, “Are you sure this isn’t another one of your ‘I can fix him’ phases?”

I scoffed, “I should be offended by that…but I kind of deserved it. I-It’s not that. Dieter doesn’t need me to fix him. He was already fixing himself before he met me. He did that part on his own.”

That seemed to alleviate some of her worries, causing her features to relax. “Well, that’s good to hear at least.”

I huffed out a laugh, “Hell, if anything he’s fixing me...”

Lydia snickered, “So he’s good in bed then…”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as I fought a smile, “That’s not what I was referring to, but yes…he is. He’s very attentive, skilled…adventurous…and he knows how to read me. No direction needed. It’s…more than just sex with him too…it’s always very intimate…during and after.”

I paused, briefly laughing to myself as I thought about mine and Dieter’s previous conversation we had in this very spot. “When we got back from New York, he invited me over to stay with him…he didn’t wanna have sex that night. He said he didn’t want it to be all about that with us. We didn’t do it again for like a week. He’s all about exploring all forms of intimacy.”

Lydia’s eyes nearly bulged out her head with that news. “Fuuuck, ok. He just won me over because that’s a major turn on.”

I laughed, “Right? You understand now? And I haven’t even told you about his cat and plants.”

Lydia looked intrigued, however, Dieter chose that moment to emerge from the house carrying two glasses of lemonade.

I murmured out a quick “I’ll fill you in on that later,” as I turned to smile up at him. I scooted forward so he could take his seat behind me after he set the glasses on the small table beside us. He wasted no time wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me tightly against his chest.

“Alright ladies, what did I miss?” he asked in a playful tone.

Lydia bit back a laugh, “Kat was just telling me that you’re awesome in the sack.”

I could feel my cheeks flush, “Fucking hell, Lyd. Shut up.”

Dieter vibrated from laughter behind me, shaking his head as he spoke. “Well, I guess there are worse things she could be saying.”

We fell into easy conversation after that, somehow dragging Lydia into our prior discussion about conspiracy theories. They were both laughing and already throwing jokes at one another. I could tell she liked him which gave me some comfort. After we hung up, a text message immediately pinged from Lydia.

Lydia: OK. I get it now. Hot. Fucking hilarious. Worships you. I approve. 👏👏👏

I smiled and showed it to Dieter, who howled with laughter. He was feeling pretty smug, having won the affections of my sister.

Soon after that, relaxation time was up. We had to get to the studio for a rather exhausting rehearsal. Given that the Paso Doble is a fast paced, Latin style dance, it didn’t take long before we were running on fumes, but the choreography was really beginning to come together by this point in the week. Dieter was having fun with the fact that most of the attention for this dance was on him and allowed him to show a little bit of sass and attitude. He was definitely playing up those attributes, and I was enjoying every second of it. Especially after he declared the room felt like an inferno and peeled his sweaty shirt off over his head.

(Click images to enlarge so you don't miss anything. More after the jump.)

The constant rehearsals were definitely having an effect on his body, toning all the right muscles and slimming him down slightly. He looked amazing and I could tell he was feeling it too. He seemed more confident in himself, which only led to more torture for me. It was obvious he was intentionally flaunting the goods to get me worked up - not that I was complaining. I didn’t mind seeing more skin or watching the muscles in his chest, arms, and back flex as he moved around the dance floor. It was quickly becoming one of my favorite sights. Especially when he added that sexy smirk of his to the mix.

After rehearsal, Dieter went to pick up takeout for us while I ran home to check on things and resupply on clothes and the essentials before I made my way over to his house. He was just setting Zee’s dinner down on her mat when I walked in. They seemed to be having some sort of standoff over the evening’s meal selection as he placed his hands on his hips and huffed down at her. She sat defiantly staring up at him as her tail flicked back and forth. I rolled my lips together to hold in my laugh as I watched Zee meow loudly, which elicited a heavy sigh from Dieter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with it, woman. You don’t have to have freshly cooked protein with every meal.”

She meowed again, then glanced at her plate before shifting her eyes back to his. He rolled his eyes and puffed air out of his cheeks before stalking over to the pantry, then emerged with a pouch of tuna. Clearly losing the battle with his furry little menace. Zee seemed more enthusiastic about her dinner as she watched him spoon a small amount out on top of her food. Finally, a compromise.

Dieter turned his attention to me with an exasperated look on his face. “I think I have unintentionally created a monster,” he said through a chuckle.

I walked over toward the island to unpack our dinner as I snickered, “It seems so…but I gotta say, watching you two battle it out has become one of my favorite pastimes. She’s got you wrapped around her little paw.”

He came to stand behind me, grazing his nose up the side of my neck as he wrapped his arms around me. “What can I say? I live to serve my two ladies. I’m your bitch and I have no shame to say it.”

I snorted out a laugh as I sank back against him, turning to give him a quick kiss. He pulled away with a smile, “Speaking of…I got you some spanakopita…and after you eat, we’re taking a hot bath. If my body hurts this bad, I know yours has to.”

I smiled up at him, “Sounds like a plan. I am feeling quite achy this evening.”

His lips set into a tight line, “I’ll make you some herbal tea. It’ll help. Now…go sit. Get off your feet. I’ll handle all this.”

The no nonsense look on his face told me there was no arguing. So, I did as he said. He had a plate full of food and a glass of water in front of me within minutes, making sure I was taken care of before he sat down beside me. When we finished, he put everything away while I spent a few minutes cuddling Zee and drinking my fresh cup of herbal tea. He soon disappeared upstairs to run the bath, and I followed several minutes later.

I found Dieter undressed down to his boxer briefs and leaning over the side of the tub, checking the water temperature and adding some Epsom salt. The sight of him caused my pulse to quicken. When he turned and gave me his sexy little smirk, I thought my heart would explode out of my chest. Without a word, he stood to grab a brush and began to meticulously brush the knots out of my hair caused by today’s rehearsal. Then he twisted it up and secured it with a flat clip. He proceeded to undress me, taking his time to allow his hands and lips to gently explore my body before helping me into the tub.

Dieter settled in on the opposite end, immediately taking one of my feet into his large hands and began massaging. I relaxed into the water, enjoying the feel of the jets spraying along my body and Dieter’s touch. We sat staring at each other in silence, the air around us electric as we simply existed together. His lips tugged upward as his fingers dipped down to rub at that spot on my foot, causing my thighs to clench. My teeth sunk into my bottom lip as I narrowed my eyes in his direction.

The smirk was back now, “What’s the matter Kitten? You need something from me?”

I further relaxed into the water, “I think you’re the one being naughty right now, Bravo.”

His brows arched, “Let me show you how naughty I can be. Just lay back and relax. Don’t fight the sensations. Imma show you how nerve endings work.”

I did as he asked, trying to loosen up and just feel as our eyes remained locked in an intense stare. His thumbs got to work, gradually increasing pressure in the spots he knew would get me worked up. I could feel the tingle begin in my foot, eventually shooting up directly to my core. My first instinct was to pull away just because it was an odd sensation. It caused his grip to tighten as he tsked at me, “Relax, Kitten. Don’t fight it. Feel it.”

He continued the same pressure with his thumb, allowing me a moment to become accustomed to the sensation. I was soon panting under his touch, my thighs tensing as my center sought out more friction. It was as if I was suspended right on the edge, close enough to feel something but never completely falling over. His hooded gaze told me that he was enjoying watching me writhe under his touch at the other end of the tub. I lost track of how long that went on. I was damn near in tears when he gave me that mischievous smirk and finally spoke, “Touch yourself for me…”

My jaw fell slack as one hand moved down to my massage breast and the other to my center. My fingers got to work rubbing at the sensitive and swollen nub, adding to the sensations I was already feeling from where Dieter continued to rub my foot, now adding even more pressure with his thumbs. Within seconds, I fell over the edge. My body tensing and arching out of the water as a loud moan escaped my lips. I saw stars as the blood rushed behind my ears. It was one of the most intense orgasms I had ever had from basic stimulation. Dieter continued rubbing my foot through it, prolonging the sensations until I finally relaxed into the water.

When my senses finally returned, my eyes fluttered open to find Dieter’s smug smile. He seemed rather proud of himself. I gave him a lazy smile in return, suggestively running my foot down his chest until it disappeared under the water - going lower to brush against his hardness that was hiding under the surface. His eyes narrowed, “Now who's being naughty?”

I gave him an innocent smile, “Oh no…I’m just returning the favor.”

I sat up, shifting to join him at the other end of the tub. With my breast pressed against him, I leaned in for a slow and sensual kiss. My left arm moved around his neck allowing my fingers to tangle in his hair as my lips trailed down his jaw to first suck on his ear lobe before moving to the sensitive spot behind it. I resituated myself, my left side leaning against him as my right hand traced a path downward. His lips captured mine until my fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and stroked upward. His jaw fell slack, breaking our kiss as his head dropped backward onto the ledge of the tub. With the arm that was wrapped around me, he reached up to gently rub soothing circles at the base of my neck as I continued to pump his length - occasionally swiping my thumb over the head and squeezing just a little tighter.

I took this opportunity to take in his expressions as his breath quickened. His head lolled back and forth as his brows pinched together. His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he turned and whimpered quietly against my shoulder. I leaned down, grazing my nose against his ear, speaking in a silky soft voice.

“You’ve been so good today…taking care of me in every way. I think it’s only fair that I take care of you too. Don’t you?”

He whimpered, his mouth falling open, allowing his hot pants to blow against the curve of my neck as my hand pumped a little faster. My fingers twisted in his hair, pulling it slightly causing his head to fall back away from me so that I could see his face again. His brows pinched together tighter as his arm tensed around me, his fingers now gripping my shoulder firmly. He was panting out soft whimpers with every exhale, eventually turning into a deep groan as I swiped my thumb over the head for the last time - causing him to cum. He trembled under me, eventually going limp against the tub, sucking in deep breaths through his pouty lips as his brows arched.

A curl fell down over his forehead as his head leaned toward me. He looked relaxed now and completely blissed out as he sat there with his eyes closed. A lazy grin slid across his lips as his dark eyes finally blinked open to meet my gaze. Without warning he pulled me down, causing me to squeal as he crashed his lips against mine. His hands ghosted up and down my back side while we continued to make out like a couple of teenagers, pulling apart only to stare into each other's eyes.

His words took me off guard, causing a mix of emotions - excitement because it meant he was thinking long term about our future, but also panic. It was another reminder of how hard and how fast I was falling for him because I now realized I wanted that, more than anything. I was also setting myself up to get hurt badly if this went wrong. I was already in so much deeper with him than I ever was with Alec. I need to get over this. Dieter isn’t Alec. He won’t do what Alec did.

My eyes searched his, I could tell he meant what he was saying. I felt like he wanted to say more but was holding back. I suddenly felt emotional, the only response I could muster was a small smile before pulling him in for a gentle kiss. I turned, settling back against his chest as his hands rubbed my shoulders.

He kissed the top of my head, seeming to sense my anxiety, then leaned his cheek against it as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that…I wanna take things at a pace you're OK with. I don’t want you to feel rushed. I mean it when I say you’re important to me and…I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

I grabbed his hand and nuzzled it against the side of my face, “Don’t apologize. I want you to be open with me about your feelings. I do appreciate the grace…just be patient with me. I’m there with you, but I’m feeling a lot of things…I’m still working through a lot of things, most of which have nothing to do with you…just know that.”

He hugged me against him, brushing the hair back off my face as he told me to relax for a little while. We sat in silence for a time, until Zee came strutting into the bathroom meowing because we weren’t in bed yet. We took that as our cue to start our bedtime routine so as not to upset the queen of the Bravo residence.

Dieter climbed into bed first that night, raising the blanket for me to crawl in beside him. I was suddenly feeling vulnerable as I snuggled in against his chest. He pulled me snugly against himself as I tangled my leg with his. His scent and warmth surrounded me, calming me and bringing me back to my senses. “Dieter?”

He murmured out a sleepy ‘hm?’ against the top of my hair.

“I wouldn’t mind having this every night, too.”

I felt him smile as he nuzzled his face further into my hair and hugged me just a little tighter.

Dieter’s POV This week had been such an emotional roller coaster for me already. Kat and I finally caved after a week of no sex, first in the dressing room at the studio, then again after we got back to my place that same evening. It wasn’t just sex though. Like in New York, it was different - intense. She had me feeling things that I had never felt before, causing my emotions to jump all over the place. It felt like it was never enough and too much all at the same time. I wondered if this was what it felt like to make love to someone. I had always heard people say that, but never really understood it. To me, there was only sex or fucking. Those two things didn’t feel like appropriate descriptors for what Kat and I did though.

There was no question about my feelings for her. I knew I was in love, but did the intensity between us mean she felt the same about me? I couldn’t help hoping that was the case. Why else would it feel like this with her if she wasn’t reciprocating those feelings? It was something I wanted to bring up with her, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to freak her out and ruin what we were building. Deep down I knew she was more fragile than she let on. I knew this thing with Alec had affected her no matter how hard she tried to hide it. I wanted to make sure I gave her all the time she needed to heal.

The shit storm brewing around us certainly didn’t help any. I knew there would eventually be some repercussions from the Alec confrontation. The rumors had already begun to swirl and TMZ had gotten a whiff of it. They were sniffing around for any details they could get so they could post about it.

Then that suggestive text message came through when Kat had my phone. I damn near had a panic attack, worried she would think I was talking to other people behind her back. I knew I should have gotten my number changed as soon as all those random messages started to come in after SNL. It would have saved us both some grief. Thankfully, it appeared as if she believed my explanation. At least I hoped she did, because it was the truth. However, I knew it had to be worrisome to her after the whole Alec thing. I felt like a complete asshole over the incident. I never wanted to do anything to make her worry about those sort of things because I would never do that to her.

I went from that major fuck up right into my therapy session with Dr. Smith where she made me talk about my parents and how that related to my freak out on Alec. It was something that I did need to talk through. I couldn’t put it off forever because it had been bothering me. Dr. Smith helped me realize that the visceral reaction was more about protecting someone I care deeply for than anything - that I’m not that violent person. My biggest fear is that I would turn into my father or that I was already like him in some way. Deep down I knew I wasn’t, but that worry would always be there because I was so affected by it during my early life.

When I got back home after that session, I went straight to my sanctuary. I needed to get it out of my system in some way, finally settling for music. When I began to play, I didn’t have any intention to go live on Instagram, but I figured why not? That was what Lenny wanted me to do. I ended up finding it to be strangely cathartic, but I was still feeling down when Kat showed up. Given that Dr. Smith had encouraged me to tell Kat about my past, I felt like it was the last step I needed to take to absolve myself of all the things I was feeling.

I didn’t even know where to start, but Kat knew exactly what I needed - pulling me into that moment of intimacy and just letting me be while I worked through my emotions. I needed all of her and she willingly let me have as much as I could handle. It felt like something shifted between us yet again, but I didn’t know what. All I knew is that I felt closer to her afterward and completely safe to open up to tell her about my past.

Our relationship really was progressing quicker than I thought it would. After Kat met Cora, she had essentially met all the important people in my circle. She was becoming engrained in every part of my life, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. Cora loved Kat and approved once she got to spend a little time with her. Kat had even told her sister about me, which I felt like was a big fucking deal. She seemed almost proud to show me off to Lydia, not hesitating to let me join their call after she spilled the beans. It all felt very natural, and I honestly couldn’t believe it was happening. This thing between us was obviously turning into something serious. It was scary, but I welcomed it with open arms. I was ready to have someone, to have my own functional family.

After allowing my mind to run a marathon of thoughts as I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, my attention turned to Kat. She was sleeping soundly beside me. I hated to disturb her, but I really needed to take a piss and get breakfast started. Since it was a late rehearsal day, I wanted to take advantage of our free time and surprise her with an authentic Greek meal.

Kat groaned as I pulled away from her to get up, causing me to huff out a quiet laugh as I ran my fingertips down the side of her cheek. “Sorry to wake you sweetheart, go back to sleep for a bit. I’m gonna go make you some breakfast.”

She hummed out in agreement, snuggling deeper into the blankets as I tucked them around her. Zee stood from her spot at the end of the bed, moving toward Kat’s head. I narrowed my eyes at her, pointing an accusing finger as I whispered out, “You behave. Don’t be an annoying little shit.”

Kat snickered into the pillow as she lifted the blanket, allowing Zee to cuddle in against her before cocooning them both in the duvet. Seeing my two girls snuggled up in my bed together was really doing something to me, causing my heart to flutter in my chest and making me feel happy in a way I never had been. I really couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

I threw on a pair of gym shorts and grabbed my fluffy green robe, then headed downstairs to start cooking. I had asked Cora to pick up some ingredients for a traditional Greek breakfast that I wanted to try my hand at making. It seemed simple enough, so I figured I couldn’t fuck it up too badly.

I got to work, chopping the tomatoes and onions before letting them sauté in a pan - eventually adding lightly beaten eggs and several spices before topping with crumbled feta. I followed that up with fried pork, then made a small batch of what equated to Greek French toast. Kat came shuffling in just as I added the finishing touches of honey and cinnamon to the fried bread. I could hear her sniffing the air as she came up behind me to wrap her arms around my waist.

“This smells amazing. What did you make?”

After setting the container of cinnamon down, I turned to face her with a smirk, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her against me as I went over the morning menu.

“Well, we have some fried pork…and forgive me if I butcher the names…but I also made some fetoydia and strapatsada.”

Her eyes lit up, “No you didn’t?!?!”

I chuckled, “I did. I also had Cora get you some fancy imported Greek coffee and mountain tea too. I’m curious to try those. Which would you like with your breakfast?”

Her mouth hung open for a beat, clearly surprised by my efforts. “I can’t believe you did that for me…I don’t even know what to say.”

I shrugged, “It’s not a big deal. You know I love to try new things…and you’ve given me a reason to. Now, coffee or tea?”

She sighed in contentment, “Coffee, please.”

I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away to get it started, “Coming right up! Food’s done, so dig in.”

She had a ghost of a smile on her lips as she made her plate which had me feeling all warm and fuzzy. I would never tire of spoiling her every chance I got.

Kat seemed to enjoy the meal, moaning in appreciation with every bite. She and I ate way too much to the point we both felt miserable after. Thankfully we had several hours before we had to be in the dance studio, so we could relax and be a little lazy for a while. We spent some time snuggled on the couch - her tucked into my side as Zee stretched out in the crevice between Kat and the back of the sofa. Kat watched as I aimlessly scrolled through the threads of one of my online plant groups, taking the time to respond to questions and complain to her about how so many people gave terrible advice.

I chuckled as I explained to Kat how I was the dickhead that always incited arguments about plant care and then won them and how I had amassed quite the little following that always directly asked me for advice. I often wondered what they would do if they knew who they were actually talking to.

After several minutes, Kat piped up to ask, “What do they mean when they say SuccDee? Is that a dirty plant joke? I don’t understand the context.”

My body shook with laughter as I tried to hold it in. I finally got it together enough to answer her. “My username is ‘Succulent_Daddy_Dee’. They have taken to calling me ‘SuccDee’ for short.”

I could see the moment of realization on her face as her eyes widened. Then she burst into laughter as she buried her face in my chest. She had tears in her eyes as she asked, “And I’m sure you did nothing to encourage that. You’re so bad…”

I snorted out laughter, “Hey, I wasn’t the one to come up with it. However, I will admit I did nothing to discourage it. Honestly, I spent a good five minutes laughing the first time someone said it. It just stuck and it’s kind of fucking perfect.”

She wiped her eyes, “I’m not sure which version of that name is more entertaining. The multiple meanings of the word succulent take it to a whole other level.”

I feigned innocence, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. A succulent is a type of plant. I am the father to many succulent plants. Get your mind outta the gutter.”

She broke into another fit of giggles, “You’re so full of shit.”

I snickered, “Yeah, guilty…but hey, at least I keep it entertaining.”

With the arm she had thrown across my torso, she gave me a little squeeze. “That you do. I can’t complain.”

I continued to scroll, pausing on a post that caught my attention and reading it out loud to Kat.

Here’s a little fun fact for all of my plant enthusiasts. Plants can talk! They emit ultrasonic vibrations of 20–100 kHz. To make this more interesting, cats can hear up to 64 kHz and dogs up to 45 kHz. Does this mean my pets can hear the plants?

I looked down at her, “Fuuck, am I unknowingly driving Zee insane with all my plants? It must be super loud in here to her...”

My attention diverted back to Kat, finding her smiling up at me. “Well, now I know why she sometimes randomly stares at them in that freaky way she does. I wonder if there’s a way we can hear them? Imma have to research this…”

Kat’s smile widened, and to Zee’s dismay, she shifted so that she could raise up to kiss me and mumble, “You’re so fucking adorable” against my lips. My thoughts for the talking plants were soon forgotten as I discarded my iPad on the floor next to the couch and proceeded to have a heated make out session with my lady.

We were interrupted minutes later by her phone ringing on the table next to us. Kat seemed intent on ignoring it, continuing to kiss down my jaw and neck as I turned to grab her cell with a chuckle.

“It’s Marc. You need to take it?”

Her head popped up with a perplexed look on her face, “Yeah…maybe. He rarely calls me.”

She answered, going through the usual small talk and pleasantries before going quiet to listen to what I assumed was his reason for calling. Her brows pinched together slightly before she gave me a puzzled smile.

“Marc wants to know if we’re available for dinner with him, his wife, and Stefanie and her partner on Sunday?”

I was surprised by the request, but they had seemed to be more friendly toward us since the Alec incident. I figured it might do us some good to be sociable, so I shrugged. “Why not? Could be fun.”

Kat gave me a brilliant smile before telling Marc we would be there, then listened for a bit longer before asking, “Bring our guitars?”

Her eyes shifted to mine nervously. I reached up to run my fingers through her hair, causing her to relax into my touch. “Yeah…I’ll tell him to. Yep, see you then.”

After she hung up, her eyes met mine, “It seems they wanna have a jam session after dinner. They all play apparently…”

She didn’t seem excited about that idea. “We don’t have to stay for that if you don’t want to.”

Her nose scrunched up as she asked, “How do you feel about doing that?”

I shrugged, “I mean, it could be fun. I haven’t done anything like that in forever…but if you don’t want to…”

Kat sighed, “No…you know what? I’m gonna do it. I need to play again. It’ll be good for me. Besides, you’ll be there with me, so I’ll be fine.”

Her words caused a warmth to spread through me. I loved that she felt that way, that I could ease her anxieties. She was putting so much trust in me, more than anyone ever had. If only she understood how much that meant. I knew it couldn’t be easy after what she had gone through, which made it mean so much more. I gave her a soft smile before pulling her in for a tender kiss.

Zee chose that moment to paw a glass that was still about one fourth of the way full of water off the coffee table, which broke our spell and the glass.

“Zee, what the fuck?” I huffed out in frustration while Kat snorted out a laugh beside me. Zee gave me a defiant look as her tail whipped back and forth. I sighed as we moved to get up. Kat grabbed Zee to keep her safe while I moved to clean up the mess. Zee now seemed happy as a clam as she purred and snuggled against Kat.

I gave Zee the side eye as I swept up the mess, “There are other less destructive ways to get our attention, young lady. That was not cool.”

Zee seemed like she could care less as Kat scratched behind her ears and snickered at her complete disregard for my scolding. Once I got everything cleaned up, I decided to do some much needed plant care as Kat gave Zee the attention she was demanding. Zee’s need for affection didn’t last long. Once she had her fill, she simply jumped from Kats arms and made her way over to the top of her cat tree to groom herself. Kat scoffed at her dismissal as she stood, coming to stand next to me as I dusted, pruned, and misted leaves. Her arms snaked around my waist as she rested her chin on my shoulder and watched me work in silence for a few minutes. I could feel her lips brush against my skin as she asked, “Can you teach me how to do this?”

I don’t know why, but her request had my heart racing. It made me feel giddy that she wanted to learn about my hobby. I glanced down at her with a smirk, “You mean you don’t already do this for your plants?”

She snorted, “My plants are lucky to get water. They come to my house to survive, not live.”

I shook my head and scoffed out a laugh, “That’s just depressing. Don’t tell me that. Imma have to start checking in on them.”

She smiled against my neck, “I would be ok with that.”

I pulled her around to stand in front of me, now leaning over her shoulder with my arms around her. My hands shifted through the leaves of the plant I was currently working on as I explained when to prune and the process for dusting and misting. She was full of questions as she took over to do it herself. I hugged her backside against me as I supervised, placing the occasional gentle kiss against her jaw and the curve of her neck. Once she got the hang of it, we both worked through all the plants in the room as we chatted and got to know each other better. I honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend my free time, and I found it to be a wonderful and relaxing way to bond with her.

Before we knew it, it was time for us to head off to rehearsal for the rest of the day. It was another grueling day in the dance studio and also filming day. After seven weeks of this, I could tell it was slowly wearing me down. This dance in particular was taking a lot out of me with it being very high energy. After six hours of it, my tank was running empty and I was beginning to make ridiculous mistakes with my footwork and frame. Kat seemed to be struggling as well. We were both slowing down and couldn’t seem to keep up with the music. At least it made for some interesting footage for the show. We eventually sat on the floor and settled for talking through some parts of it, deciding what still needed to be tweaked or changed and coming up with a game plan for the next two days. That part would probably be less exciting to watch, but we sort of didn’t care.

Once our studio time was up, we headed home. After a quick dinner, we showered together - too tired to do anything aside from getting clean. It wasn’t long before we crashed, falling asleep almost as soon as our heads hit the pillow. When I awoke the next morning to find Zee snuggled up next to me, I couldn’t recall having felt her get in the bed. Neither did Kat. We had obviously been out of it.

We spent our Saturday morning outdoors with the intent to take it easy until our evening rehearsal time. We started with painting some planter pots on the back patio. I had somehow managed to con Kat into the activity over breakfast. She grumbled at first, citing her lack of artistic capabilities, but that grumbling soon abated when I sat down behind her. I made sure to pull her back to my front as snugly as possible before putting my arms around her waist and using my hands to guide hers, showing her different techniques for painting flowers and trees onto the plain terracotta. After she got the hang of it, I took advantage of my position to lavish her exposed neck with attention from my mouth.

Once I had her properly worked up, I scooted away with a smirk so that I could paint my own pot. She scoffed, calling me a “fucking tease” as I shot a wink in her direction. My smugness soon faded when she began removing layers of clothing to reveal a lavender bikini that looked absolutely amazing against her golden skin. She was the smug one now as she pretended not to notice my eyes on her.

I huffed out a laugh as I pulled my t-shirt off over my head, “Fine. Two can play that game, honey.”

She scrunched up her nose in annoyance, then flicked a paintbrush in my direction - causing speckles of paint to splatter all over my face and chest. It only escalated from there. Before it was over with, we were rolling around on top of the drop cloth covered in paint, laughing like a couple of idiots in between making out with each other.

Once we realized our skin was beginning to stick together from the drying paint, we finally got up and made use of the outdoor shower stall to rinse each other off. Afterward, I jumped into the pool while she sat on the side with her legs swishing in the water, laughing at my antics and taking pictures of me with my phone.

I eventually swam up to her, wrapping my arms around her legs and resting my head on her lap as she scratched at my dripping scalp. We sat like that for a time in silence, enjoying the sun and just being together. I could get used to this. It was almost addicting having her here by my side in this way, but it was also calming the storm that always swirled in my mind. The self-depreciating and negative thoughts were so far removed from my focus that I felt what I could only describe as normal? Unburdened? Content? I couldn’t really find a word to describe it. I was definitely happy, but there was something more with it. I knew it was because of her, keeping my demons locked away in the shadows where they belonged.

I raised my head, squinting from the sun as I looked up at her with a smile. “Let's go out to the beach. I haven’t gotten to properly take advantage of it yet.”

Her brows furrowed, “Is that a good idea?”

I shrugged, “It’s a private beach…”

She scrunched up her face, “I don’t like getting in the ocean though…I’m not confident in my swimming capabilities.”

I pouted, “You don’t have to go in very far. Besides, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. How about I just don’t let go of you?”

She sighed, tilting her head to the side as she slowly gave in to the idea. I gave her a cheesy smile, “I’ll even let you bury me in the sand. You can give me a mermaid tail and boobs.”

She snorted out a laugh, “Fine…fine. I will not be cleaning the sand out of your ass though. That’s on you.”

I backed away from her with a laugh and pulled myself up on the edge of the pool to get out, “Deal…Just remember you didn’t say anything about cleaning under my balls though.”

She cackled as I held out my hands to pull her up from the ground, “Come on, let’s go pack a bag with the essentials. I may even have a tiny shovel and a bucket you can use.”

That pulled another tinkling laugh out of her as she stood.

I was true to my word, letting Kat bury me to do all manner of ridiculous things - including the mermaid tail and boobs. I helped with the boobs, shaping and cupping them to make sure they were the perfect roundness and size, which had us both in a fit of giggles.

Afterwards, Kat stretched out on a towel under the oversized beach umbrella to read while I went for a dip in the ocean to try and wash the sand out of all the places it shouldn’t be. She laid on her stomach for a time, which had her voluptuous ass on display. I couldn’t help staring at it in those little bikini bottoms she had on. It was definitely begging to be spanked. After several minutes, she flipped over onto her back, propping herself up on her elbows as she not so subtly adjusted her top. She gave me a smirk and a wink while her boobs bounced around from where she tugged at the scraps of fabric. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it was working. I was already half hard from the visual. The dirty thoughts that followed finished the job and got me the rest of the way there.

I ambled to the shore, noticing Kat’s gaze on me as I made my way toward her. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched me hungrily. My eyes surveyed the area, not seeing anyone near us and realizing the umbrella blocked the view from nearby houses. I intended to take full advantage of that as I sank to my knees at her feet. I crawled up her body, dripping water and peppering kisses along her heated skin as I went. I paused half way and shook my head like a dog, which elicited a loud squeal from her and laughter from the both of us before I captured her lips with mine. Her hips bucked against my raging hardon, causing me to groan into her mouth.

She hummed against my lips, “Feels like somebody enjoyed the view.”

I smiled, dropping my right hand down between her thighs, slipping a finger underneath the fabric of her bikini bottoms to find her soaking wet for me. “I think somebody else did too.”

She sighed softly as I began to rub between her slick folds, “Not gonna lie…you looked pretty fucking hot coming outta the water like that…better than any porno I’ve ever seen.”

I chuckled, leaning down to kiss along her neck as my fingers worked her over. “Sounds like my Kitten needs a little attention. Are you aching for me, honey?”

Her hands tangled in my hair as she nodded and let out a breathy, “Always.”

She began to grind against my hand as my fingers curled inside of her and my thumb made leisurely swirls around her sensitive bud. My lips found her ear as I spoke in a hushed voice, “Always so ready for me…such a needy girl. I want you to come for me, right here…where anyone could see.”

Her thighs began to tense around my hand as her body arched upward against me. I knew she was close. “You’re being such a dirty girl right now, you know that? Letting me play with you out in the open like this…and I think you kinda like it. You like being my dirty girl?”

I pulled back slightly to look at her even though she had a death grip on my hair. She nodded in response to my question, her brows pinching together and mouth falling open as my thumb increased pressure and speed. She was trembling now, so close.

I kissed along her jaw again, mumbling as I worked my way down the curve of her neck, “I’m gonna bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you senseless as soon as we walk through the door.”

That sent her over the edge, causing her to bury her face against my shoulder to muffle the moans she was trying and failing to hold in. She collapsed against the towel, panting as a lazy smile spread across her face. Her hand slid down from my hair, cupping my cheek as she peered up at me, “The things you do to me…”

I chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m not done yet…”

She narrowed her eyes at me as I stood and pulled her up from the ground with a smirk. Once she was standing, I didn’t hesitate to lean forward and throw her over my shoulder, giving her ass a good smack before I turned to walk back toward the ocean. She squealed and squirmed, but it didn’t do any good. I had a firm grip as I walked into the water up to my waist before dropping her in. She stood, cursing me as she sputtered out water and wiped at her face. I reached toward her with a smile, snaking my hand around her waist and pulling her into my embrace. She welcomed it, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me gently.

I pulled her out a little further into the water, so that we could bob with the waves. I felt her grip tighten slightly, but she didn’t stop me. She was trusting that I wouldn’t let her go. She gave me a mischievous smile as she wrapped her legs around me, now rubbing her center against my dick and further stoking the flame that was burning inside of me.

I groaned, “Now who’s being a fucking tease?”

Her lips moved along my neck, “Want me to take care of that little problem for you?”

I huffed out a laugh, “No. I actually meant what I said earlier…I’m bending you over the counter and fucking you when we get back to the house.”

She raised her head to look at me, her lips fighting a smile. I leaned in, brushing my nose against hers as I reached down to grab the globes of her ass, pulling her center tighter against me, “I’m also gonna spank you and make you come again. Maybe twice if you’re good for me.”

I could feel her thighs clenching against me as her mouth clashed against mine. Our hands explored each other as the kiss deepened, her right one making its way down between us to rub at the bulge in my shorts.

“Can we go back to the house now? Please? I need you…” she begged.

My forehead pressed against hers as I whined, “As if I could deny you anything…”

My hand moved to cup her cheek as I leaned back to take her in. She was so fucking beautiful. The sun was glistening off her tanned skin and emphasizing the gold flecks in her amber eyes in a way I had never seen. I felt dumbstruck by it as my heart began to flutter in my chest. She was literally taking my breath away.

One side of her lips twitched upward, “You OK?”

I nodded as my thumb stroked her face, “Yeah…I’m just…I wanna remember everything about this moment. I umm…” I love you.

I was so fucking close to saying it as she smiled up at me, but I was too afraid it would scare her away. It had only been two weeks. It was too soon.

“I’ve just never umm…”

My words trailed off as I shook my head to clear it. I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling but I needed to say something.

“I’ve never experienced something like this with anyone before…felt how I feel in this moment. I can’t exactly put it into words…”

Her hand dropped to my chest, no doubt feeling my heart pounding against it as her face softened. She leaned in to kiss me sweetly. The moment was ruined a few seconds later by a large wave that nearly knocked us over. She was back to sputtering out water and laughing as I pulled her toward the shore.

We wasted no time packing up and heading toward the house. I pulled her into the outdoor shower stall, our hands and mouths now exploring each other as we washed away the sand and salt and peeled our suits off. Once we were sufficiently clean, I wrapped her in a towel which she secured around her torso as I grabbed one to put around my waist.

She was barely through the sliding doors of the house before she dropped the towel and placed her palms on the island, arching her back toward me as she smiled seductively over her shoulder. I moved to stand behind her, gently running my fingertips up the center of her spine as her head dipped forward between her shoulders from the sensation. I felt her shiver as I made several passes up and down. On the last one, my fingertips continued upward, grazing the back of her neck before sinking my fingers into her hair, grabbing hold at the roots before tugging gently. She stood up straighter, melting into me as my left hand ran down the side of her body. I tugged her hair a little harder, angling her head to the side so I could access her neck to place gentle kisses along the length of it. Then, without warning, I smacked her ass. She moaned quietly. Another smack gave me the same result. Her breaths were coming faster now as the anticipation got to her.

My lips moved against her ear, “Tell me what you want, Kitten.”

Her eyes slid shut as she exhaled, “I want you to have your way with me…any way you want.”

I groaned against the side of her neck, “You’re gonna make me come saying shit like that.”

She chuckled, pressing her ass against me just a little more, which resulted in another smack. She smiled this time.

I tutted at her, “I think you like that…lean forward.”

She did so as I dropped down to my knees, giving the other cheek a couple of smacks for good measure before landing one right to her center, causing her to flutter around nothing. My hands found her thighs, massaging deeply as they moved upward to her hips. She was dripping wet and practically begging for more when I leaned forward and licked up her folds, causing her to cry out as she gripped the edge of the island until her knuckles turned white.

I dove into her cunt like a man starved, absolutely devouring her as my hands gripped her hips tightly to keep her from squirming. I had her falling apart within minutes as I sucked and licked at her bundle of nerves, giving the occasional slap to her ass as I worked. When she finally came, I didn’t stop or slow the pace, causing her to come for a second time in quick succession.

Her legs nearly gave out on the second one. So, I held her around the middle with one arm as I stood. After dropping the towel from my waist, I used my free hand to drag myself through her slick. She moaned quietly each time the head nudged against her over sensitive clit. After notching at her entrance, I sank in slowly. Taking my time so she could feel every inch slide in and out at the perfect angle.

I pulled her against my chest, one hand sliding around to grip under her chin, angling her face toward mine so I could see her. Her face was sweaty, flushed, and completely blissed out when she met my gaze. It had me feeling the same way I had when we were in the ocean. It felt like home. It felt like peace. I felt complete.

My forehead fell against hers, “You’re so fucking beautiful…perfect for me…never letting you go.”

I was babbling like a fool and completely losing myself as my other arm held her around the waist. She laced her fingers through mine, gripping my hand tightly as I clung to her. I know I said I would fuck her, but this was so much more than that. I kept the pace slow and languid, our breathing completely synced as we drowned in each other’s gaze.

I could feel Kat’s abdomen tighten as she quickly came again out of nowhere, squeezing me to the point that I could hardly move. Her jaw went slack, one of her hands flying up to twist into my hair as she let out a loud cry. I was seconds behind her, the feeling and intensity of her orgasm pulling me over the edge with her. My hand released her chin to reach for the counter as I attempted to steady myself, but it was no use.

My legs gave out, causing me to sink down to my knees - pulling Kat with me. I was somehow still pulsing and leaking inside of her as she melted against me.

I panted out a breathy, “Fuck…sorry. I-I…couldn’t stand…anymore. That was…intense.”

She sat on my thighs, both of us slumped against the side of the island as we tried to catch our breath. My arm around her tightened as I leaned in to kiss the side of her cheek. She turned, her lips seeking mine for a heated kiss that had me seeing stars.

When she finally pulled away, my attention was drawn to movement at my left. Kat’s eyes followed my line of sight and found Zee, who was sitting on the floor with her head tilted, her tail twitching from side to side as she looked up at us with concern? Confusion? Curiosity? I wasn’t really sure. Kat and I both burst into laughter, her leaning back into my chest as I hugged her snugly and laughed into her shoulder.

“Is this what it feels like when moms and dads get caught doing the dirty by the kids? Because I feel like that’s what just happened,” I said between chuckles.

Kat snorted out another laugh, “I dunno, but I think she’s kind of into it. She was totally watching.”

I gasped for air, “If that’s the case, she gets that shit from you. You’re the one who likes to watch.”

Kat leaned her head back against me, still laughing as I reached for a towel. I motioned for her to open her legs a bit to put it in place before I pulled out of her with a groan. Between the two of us, we had made an absolute mess of each other. We both shifted, stretching out on the tile because our legs still felt weak.

I sighed, glancing at the clock on the microwave, “I think we’re gonna be late for rehearsal.”

She waved a dismissive hand, “I don’t care…whatever that was…was totally worth it.”

We were late for rehearsal. Forty-five minutes late to be specific, but I really didn’t mind. There was more between us after that, somehow feeling more connected than we already were. Maybe it was just because of the intensity of everything. I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was definitely carried over to our dancing. We were so on top of it, barely making the tiniest of mistakes. I felt newly energized and ready to win that fucking Mirrorball trophy as we went through the routine one last time.

Since we had a long day planned for Sunday and felt pretty on top of the choreography, we headed home early. There was no way to improve perfection after all.

Kat and I had just gotten home, and I was making some quick sandwiches for dinner when my cell rang. Lenny’s name flashed on the screen. I looked at the time, it was near 9:30 PM, which was sort of late for him. He tended to go to bed early since he got up before the sun rose most days. Worried something was up, I sucked some mayo off my fingers as I hurried to answer it.

“Hey Len…”

“What the hell have you been doing?” he barked out before I could even finish my greeting.

I winced, “What do you mean? I haven’t been doing anything.”

Kat’s wide eyes met mine in concern. I shrugged.

He sighed, “Who were you with today?”

I was so fucking confused, “I was at dance rehearsal with Kat. That’s the only place I’ve gone. Why?”

I could hear him shuffling papers around on his end of the line, “TMZ just called. They have pictures of you at the beach kissing a woman.”

I grimaced as my eyes shifted back to Kat. Fuck.

“How the hell did they get those? I was literally in my backyard on a private beach. There was no one else out there today.”

Lenny huffed, “Then you obviously have an asshole neighbor who wanted a quick buck.”

I sighed, “Fuck.” I switched the phone to speaker so Kat could hear, then I asked “Can you tell who it is in the pictures?”

“They’re asking if it’s Kat. Is it?”

Kat shrugged, waving her hand to go ahead and tell him the truth. “Can you tell who’s in the pictures?” I asked again.

He was quiet for a minute, obviously looking at them, “I mean…I can’t. Most of them are blurry. It’s pretty far away. I can definitely tell it’s you, but most of the pictures of the woman are from the back...Is it her?”

I scrunched my eyes shut as I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, “Tell them it’s not her…but yes, it’s her.”

He scoffed, “Fucking hell, Dieter. I thought we were done with this shit? What do you think you’re doing? Are you using again?”

My fists clenched together. I took a deep breath to calm myself as Kat came to stand next to me, placing a comforting hand on top of mine.

“No…I’m not fucking using again. It’s not like that Lenny, OK? This is different. We’re like…together. It’s not…not a fuck buddy situation or anything. I care about her.” I puffed air out of my cheeks in frustration, now pacing around the kitchen nervously as Kat watched me in silence.

“Look, we don’t want anyone to know yet. The producers can’t find out and the less that’s confirmed for Alec, the better. I need you and the team to keep this under wraps.”

Lenny was unusually quiet now. I didn’t know how to take that. “Len, you still with me?”

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m just…processing. Does your therapist know about this? Is it really a good idea? I thought you weren’t getting involved with your co-stars anymore?”

I rolled my eyes, “Look, I’m tryin’ not to be pissed about this because I know where you’re coming from. It’s my fault, I earned that…but trust me when I say this is different. And yes, my therapist knows. She’s been supportive of it. She likes Kat.”

He sighed, “Ok, so how the hell are we supposed to handle this?”

I was still pacing as I talked through it, “Well…nothing we can do about the pictures. Maybe…”

I paused to think through my words before I continued, giving Kat a wide-eyed look as the idea sparked. “Maybe we take advantage of this. We say it’s not Kat…lie…say I’m seeing someone else but wish to protect her privacy. Use it as a misdirection…It might help settle the rumors about us and get the producers, Alec, and the paparazzi off her back some.”

Lenny chuckled, “You really think your publicist is gonna go for that?”

Kat snorted out a laugh over that one. She obviously thought it was funny, but I did want her input before I did anything.

“Kat, are you good with that? I don’t wanna do anything without your consent.”

She nodded, “It is a funny thought to be honest. I’m cool with it. They’ve been fucking with us this whole time. It’s time to beat them at their own game.”

I turned back to my phone, “You hear that, Len? This is probably gonna cause a little mayhem, but we’re here for it.”

He grumbled, “Your publicist is gonna murder both of us.”

I chuckled, “Not my problem…better start making some calls because I’m posting something as soon as we hang up.”

“Ugh, fine. Ok. This is all on you though.”

I smiled, “Thanks Len, you’re the best. We’ll talk soon.”

He grumbled some more then hung up without even saying goodbye.

I turned to Kat and smiled nervously, “Well, looks like we have a project to do tonight. We need to look through my camera roll…just…don’t judge me for what you find.”

Her brows furrowed, “Do I even wanna know what that means?”

I shrugged, “I mean…it’s just full of pictures of Zee and plants…and you.”

Her brows arched, “Oh, really?”

I grimaced as my face heated, “Yeah, I may have saved a few I found online…and I sneak pictures of you frequently.”

She shook her head and laughed, “I can’t wait to see this…”

As we sat eating our sandwiches, I handed my phone over. Kat scrolled in silence, an occasional smirk on her face before glancing up at me and shaking her head. After several minutes, her phone pinged a few times before she finally slid mine back over to me with a smile.

“What did you just do?” I asked.

Her smile widened, “I sent myself some pictures of you and Zee.”

I leaned toward her, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Maybe I need to check your camera roll…”

Her eyes widened, “Umm…mine is far more scandalous. I’ve saved some pictures of my own. You’ve done a lot of salacious photoshoots, you know that?”

She shot a mischievous look over her glass as she took a sip, “Don’t give me any ideas…”

I grabbed my phone, snickering as I unlocked it. “So, I think the backlit picture of you and Zee, you painting, lying in bed from behind, and then the one you took of me in the pool kissing your leg will do. I don’t feel like it's obvious that’s you in those pictures. I’ll just do a whole photo dump and keep it vague. Let them speculate away.”

She huffed out a laugh, “You’re about to cause all kinds of chaos with this.”

I nodded, “Probably. I’ve never posted cutesy pictures of a woman before. It’s definitely making a statement…”

(More after the graphic.)

The post did indeed cause chaos. Likes and comments began to flood in - most of them asking if it was Kat in the pictures. I responded to exactly one person with, “Did I tag Kat? No.”

That set off a whole new onslaught of chatter and speculation. Kat egged it on by liking the original post and my comment. I could only imagine how my publicist was handling this. I was sure her head was probably about to explode.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, Kat was lying against my chest with her leg thrown across mine. She was still asleep, so I reached over to the nightstand to grab my phone without waking her. I was almost afraid to see what awaited me when I opened Instagram. I found more of the same stuff from the previous night. It was officially my most liked and most commented post ever.

I took a moment, taking in the sight before me. Ehh, we can do better than that.

As if I wasn’t already causing enough trouble, I took a short video clip of my hand rubbing along Kat’s bare leg. It was obvious we were tangled up in bed, wrapped in nothing but sheets with a nice view of the ocean outside the French doors. I posted it. There was no caption, only emojis, “👉👌🤯🤯🤯😏”

I threw in a few hashtags too, #PerfectMorning #MindBlown #WouldntChangeAThing

(More after the graphic.)

I was patiently awaiting a call from my publicist after that. She really might murder me over this one.

I sat with a smug smile as I watched the comments roll in. One in particular caught my attention.

Beasty45: I really hope you’re not screwing Kat over too. She deserves better.

I had to appreciate the sentiment behind it and really hated people thinking that way. So, I hit reply.

BangingBravo1: Wow. Never. She’s my bestie. All is well. 👍👍

It wasn’t a lie. She was my best friend as far as I was concerned.

I felt Kat stir against me. She groaned, hiding her face against my chest, “What time is it?”

I looked at the time, “You’ve got ten minutes before the alarm goes off.”

She let out another groan as her eyes blinked open, “What are you doing?”

I snickered and handed her my phone, “Causing more chaos.”

She squinted at the screen, then rolled her eyes as she handed it back to me with a laugh. “Now everyone knows you had a night of mind-blowing sex. Wonderful.”

“I know. I’m in trouble.”

As if on cue, a text message popped up from my publicist.

Janine: What the fuck are you doing?!?! Stop it. Now.

I cackled, tilting the phone toward Kat so she could see it, “That’s tame for her. I usually get a call with lots of yelling. Trust me. She’s dealt with worse.”

Kat shook her head, sighing heavily, “Today is gonna be interesting…”

We crawled out of bed soon after that to get ready for the day. We had a morning rehearsal slot, so that was first on our agenda. We had the routine down by this point, so we just focused on cleaning things up and tried not to wear ourselves out too much.

After rehearsal, we had our weekly spray tan. As we were walking into Television City Studios, I realized that I had a missed text from Janine from earlier in the day saying that TMZ had posted the article and pictures, so that was now out there for the world to see. They had to add an addendum once they realized I had made the social media posts, completely spoiling their 'breaking story'.

(More after the graphic.)

Kat and I were thankful the staff got us in and out quickly for the spray tan because we were definitely getting some looks and whispers. I imagine the confusion was spreading because we were fairly certain the majority of the cast thought we were together. We couldn’t help laughing about it as we left, wondering if Joe and Stacia had heard the news yet.

Kat ran to her house to check on things and pick up her guitar while I went home to feed Zee her dinner. Zee was in full menace mode as she tried to smack things off the counter while I prepared her food. It seemed to be her new favorite pastime, apparently enjoying getting me in a tizzy. She knew what she was doing, freezing mid shove when I would lock eyes with her. I concluded that she must think it’s some sort of game. A game that was fun for her and a nightmare for me. I ended up shooing her out of the kitchen so I could work in peace.

I turned to see what the hell she was up to now, my eyes landing on her as she shoved a small potted succulent off the window sill. Luckily the pot did not break, but dirt spilled everywhere.

I sighed, “Why is this a thing all of a sudden?”

Zee meowed as she jumped down to rub against Kat’s legs and shot me some nasty side eye. Kat snickered as she shooed Zee away so she could clean up the mess.

“Maybe you’re not preparing her food fast enough. Best get to it, cat daddy.”

I huffed, “She messes with me, and I’ll go get some of that cheap nasty pellet garbage and she can have that. Little punk…”

Kat laughed at me as I continued to grumble about Zee’s impatience while Zee rubbed up against my legs and yelled at me until I finally set her plate down on the food mat. Zee rushed to her plate and ate with enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes at her as I turned to Kat, “All right, now that the diva is taken care of…you ready to go?”

Kat nodded, “Yep. Let’s get this sideshow on the road.”

My hand found its way to her hip and squeezed gently as I leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips, “I should probably be offended by that, but it might actually be an accurate description…of me anyway.”

She playfully pushed my shoulder and laughed, “At least you’re aware. Let’s go.”

On the drive to Marc’s house, I could feel a twinge of anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach since I didn’t really know what to expect. From what I knew about Marc, he was a family man and seemed pretty drama free as far as his public persona was concerned. That helped some, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be alcohol or other things floating around. I knew it was something I would have to face eventually, but I wasn’t sure how ready for it I actually was. However, one glance in Kat’s direction suppressed those feelings. I knew she had my back, and I knew I would never do anything to let her down.

A short time later we pulled into Marc’s driveway and made our way to the front door. He greeted us, making small talk as he led us out to the back patio where he introduced us to his wife Valarie, and Stefanie’s partner, Kira. He was cooking hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill while everyone else sat around and chatted. So, as these things go, I joined him at the grill while Kat joined the ladies. We went into more small talk about the show, rehearsals, how I was feeling about ballroom dancing in general. It was all pretty surface level. Then, he asked me if I wanted a drink as he moved toward a cooler. I was taken off guard and sort of froze up.

He seemed to sense my hesitation as he opened the lid, giving me a gentle smile, “I’ve got water, a couple different kinds of soda, and if you’re feeling really adventurous…some juice boxes.”

I visibly relaxed as a smile tugged at my lips, “Water…please.”

His smile widened as he pulled a bottle out of the ice and handed it to me. He grabbed a juice box for himself, unwrapping the straw and stabbing it into the top with pursed lips. “Sorry, I probably should have worded that differently. I know you're sober.”

I shook my head and waved it off, “No big deal. Don’t even worry about it.”

His brows furrowed, eyes shifting up to meet mine as he took a quick pull from the straw before setting the drink down beside the grill. “No, I get it. I’m eight years sober myself. I remember how hard and awkward it was in those early days. People can be weird when you say you don’t drink…or do anything else for that matter.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve been lucky enough to not run into that yet. I’ve been keeping to myself a lot…”

He picked up the tongs to flip the patties on the grill, “So how long has it been for you?”

I screwed the cap off the water and took a swig, “Ten months. Longest I’ve ever been sober since all that shit started.”

He smiled, “That’s good. When you hit a year, we’ll have to do something to celebrate. That’s a big deal.”

I nodded, feeling warmth creeping up my cheeks from the praise. “Yeah, I mean…I think I owe Kat for a lot of it. She’s been so supportive when others haven’t…It makes a lot of difference when you have people in your corner.”

Marc nodded, “That’s so true. I never would have made it without Val. She held me to it, and I’m so thankful for that.” He paused, turning toward me with raised brows. “You know, if you ever need to talk about it or anything…I don’t mind. Sometimes it helps to talk through things with someone that’s been there. Especially if you’re having a moment…”

He pulled out his phone, “No pressure, but we can exchange digits that way you have it.”

I reached to pull my phone out of my pocket, “Yeah…sure. That’s really nice of you actually.”

I gave him my new number, then he sent me a text message so I could save his to my contact list. That was a development I wasn’t expecting, but I was strangely happy about it. I suddenly felt much better about how the evening was going to go. Kat caught my eye, giving me a questioning look. Something must have shifted about my body language, and she could sense it. I smirked, giving her a quick wink before taking another drink of water.

My attention shifted back to Marc as he handed me a large platter to hold while he piled the different meats on top of it, announcing the food was ready. We settled into easy conversation as we ate, getting to know one another a little better. Everyone seemed at ease. There was no pressure or awkwardness. It was nice to have normal conversation without all the posturing and cockiness that often came with Hollywood type gatherings. It was exactly what I needed.

As we all became more comfortable with each other, they got a little braver with their questions. Which led to Stefanie giving Kat and I a deadpan stare before asking, “So what’s really going on with you two? I’m not buying whatever shit TMZ put out today.”

Kat and I gave each other a nervous glance, I shrugged and held my hand up in surrender toward her indicating I was good with whatever she wanted to say.

She took a deep breath, smiling nervously as her eyes roamed around the table, “Well…we’re…”

She paused, her brows arching as her eyes found mine again. “I mean yeah…we’re together, but we’re trying to keep it under wraps…for several reasons.”

They were all smiling at us now. Stefanie threw her arms in the air like she had just won something, “I fucking knew it! I knew it. How long?”

Kat and I laughed at her enthusiasm. “Not long. Just since New York,” I answered.

Stefanie playfully shoved Marc, “I fucking told you. You owe me $100.”

Marc rolled his eyes, “Fine, I’ll Venmo you.”

Kat and I both scoffed, laughing over the fact they were making bets.

Marc pulled out his phone and began tapping away, “Don’t worry guys, we won’t say anything. I know Alec is an issue.”

Kat gave him a tight smile, “Yeah, we figured it best not to provoke him as much as possible. He’s looking for any excuse he can find to make what happened be my fault. There’s also Stacia and Joe with their meddling…I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking they had anything to do with this.”

Valarie’s brows furrowed, “So what’s with the beach pictures and social media posts then?”

I chuckled, “Well, I apparently have an asshole neighbor that took pictures of us in what is essentially my back yard and sold them to TMZ. They reached out to my team asking if it was Kat, so I told them to deny it. I’m just gonna play it off like I’m seeing someone else…a total misdirection. At minimum, it’ll cause a little chaos and make Stacia and Joe lose their shit. We’ll see how long it lasts.”

Everyone laughed. Stefanie clapped her hands several times before announcing, “If anyone asks, we’ve all met Dieter’s new woman and she’s amazing. I’m totally backing this chaos.”

Agreements sounded out around the table which had Kat and I leaning into each other and laughing. We relaxed some after that. Now that our secret was out, I felt more comfortable showing affection toward her and her toward me. It was nice not to have to hold back, to be able to reach out and touch her when I wanted to, to put my arm around her or rest my hand on her thigh. At least we now felt like we had a safe space among friends.

Marc eventually steered the conversation to Kat’s plans after this season ended, which was something she and I hadn’t really discussed. We had been very much in the present up to this point and I was suddenly feeling like an asshole for not asking about it myself.

Kat’s excitement was clear as she answered, “Well, I’m really hoping to open up my own dance studio…and I would love to offer some classes for things that are a little harder to find around here. I still need to do more market research to see how that would look, but we can always have the normal stuff to fall back on too. I haven’t got to put as much work into yet as I would like, but once the show is over, I’m gonna jump in head first and see what happens.”

Everyone began to throw ideas around at that point. It seemed like there was a real possibility something was brewing. I made a mental note to bring it up with Kat again later. I wanted to make sure I was supportive and help in any way I could. I also liked the thought of helping her plan for the future, because I really hoped that I would be welcomed as part of it.

After we finished up with dinner, we moved to the garage. Marc had converted the space to his “Jam Room”. It was full of various instruments - a piano in one corner while a drum set sat in the other. Several different types of guitars hung on the wall along with some small handheld percussion instruments. Microphones and small speakers sat around the room. It seemed to be a proper setup for making music, which surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to walk into this.

Kat looked almost giddy as she took in the space, which surprised me. She seemed to be coming out of her shell, which was understandable. They did well to make us feel welcome and relaxed.

Marc pulled an electric guitar down from the wall while Kira took her place at the drums, making it obvious they had done this before. Marc began to strum a slow sexy tune as Kira joined in with a beat. Stefanie started dancing around the room to the music as Valarie sat down at the piano. My gaze turned to Kat, she looked amused as her eyes met mine.

I smiled, arching my brows as my head began to sway with the music. She laughed, her cheeks flushing as she watched me move. I took it up a few notches, rolling my torso and hips as I shuffled toward her. I raised my arms, moving them to the beat, biting my bottom lip as I enticed her to join me. I was dancing for her, showing her what else these loose hips can do outside of the ballroom.

“What’s the matter, honey? Too hot for you?” I asked.

I could hear everyone else chuckling behind me as I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the center of the room to do a little old fashioned dirty dancing. When the song concluded, I pulled her in for a quick kiss and everyone whooped and whistled, which had her blushing even more. Once everyone settled down, I leaned in next to her ear, “Want me to go get your guitar?”

She gave me a toothy grin and nodded. After another quick kiss, I made my way outside to the car. I was back with both of our cases within minutes as Marc found a couple more chairs and microphones for us to join the circle. A couple of hours passed by in no time as we took turns choosing songs to play. Those who knew them joined in while the others just vibed. It was honestly the most fun I had in a long time.

Stefanie asked if she could take some videos to post on social media. We all agreed, figuring it would be good content to promote the show since we were supposed to be doing that anyway. I felt less weird about it since it was a whole group of people from the cast, rather than just Kat and me. I still felt pretty strongly about not taking advantage of our relationship to boost my own career. Deep down I knew that any content of us together would do that, but I did want to have some limits on it. She wasn’t a plaything for me to use as I saw fit. It needed to be on her terms.

After several minutes passed, Marc suggested that we go live and maybe take some song requests from the chat and answer some fan questions. After some coaxing, we all agreed. As Marc worked to set up the tripod, Stefanie turned to me with a mischievous smile, “Dieter, please try and behave yourself around Kat. I don’t wanna be on TMZ tomorrow for encouraging an affair that will destroy your imaginary girlfriend’s heart.”

That drew a round of laughter from everyone as I scrunched up my face, “I guess I already have a reputation…I’ll try my best.”

Once Marc had his phone set up, he mirrored his screen to one of the TV’s hanging on the wall so we could all see the chat, then we went live. Within minutes there were over two thousand viewers. The numbers only climbed from there, with people posting in all caps about Kat and I being there.

Kat snickered and pointed at the screen, “I guess the Dieterina Stans found us already.”

We waved and said ‘hi’ to everyone. Since it was Marc’s Instagram account, we motioned for him to take over and share what was going on. The song recommendations began to roll in, with Marc and Stefanie taking the lead on the first two. After that, the chat flooded with requests for me and Kat to sing. I deferred to her on that, asking if she wanted to do one. She shrugged, then asked the viewers for some song recs. We laughed over some of the options thrown out as she joked about them not being her style. Suddenly her brows arched as if something caught her attention. A smirk formed on her lips, “Hmm, that one is certainly a mood.”

We all gave her a questioning look. “Which one?” I asked.

She pulled the lyrics and chords up on her phone and propped it on the stand in front of us. I couldn’t help cackling. It would definitely send a message.

She turned to everyone else, “You guys know Eyes on Fire by Blue Foundation?"

Stefanie bounced up and down, laughing maniacally and clapping her hands. Probably having the same thought that I did. “I do! I’ll do the backup vocals.”

I swapped out my acoustic for one of Marc’s electric guitars for this one, playing the intro as Kat and Stefanie started in on the ethereal vocables that the song opens with. Kat’s voice took on an almost haunting melancholic tone as she dove into the first verse. The smirk still graced her lips as a knowing look passed between us. This was totally a major ‘fuck you’ to Alec, and I knew I was going to love every second of it.

🎶Listen to Eyes on Fire Here.

I'll seek you out / Flay you alive / One more word and you won't survive / And I'm not scared / Of your stolen power / I see right through you any hour I won't soothe your pain / I won't ease your strain / You've been waiting in vain / I've got nothing for you to gain

It was hard not to be absolutely mesmerized by her as she worked her way through the lyrics. It was obvious to me that something had finally shifted for her. She had taken back her life and was owning it - putting it out there for the world to see. She had escaped hell and was now controlling the narrative. It was her game to play. I loved seeing her like this, free to be herself and not holding back. It was a beautiful sight. My infatuation with her was probably written all over my face as I strummed the chords to the song, but I didn’t care. She was stunning like this.

Stefanie continued to sing the background vocals as Kat moved on to the next verse. Her eyes focused on me hungrily, our connection causing the air around us to vibrate. There was just something about us and music. It didn’t matter if we were dancing, playing, or singing. It caused an electricity to buzz around us, linking us together in a metaphysical way.

I'm taking it slow / Feeding my flame / Shuffling the cards of your game / And just in time / In the right place / Suddenly I will play my ace I won't soothe your pain / I won't ease your strain / You've been waiting in vain / I've got nothing for you to gain

At this point, the song was reaching the crescendo. Kira joined in with the drums and Marc with the bass guitar. I layered my vocals along with Kat’s, the sound even more haunting now as we finished out the final verse.

Eyes on fire / Your spine is ablaze / Felling any foe with my gaze / And just in time / In the right place / Steadily emerging with grace / Felling any foe with my gaze / Steadily emerging with grace

The chat was going absolutely insane when we finished. I thought I even saw a few “fuck Alec” comments fly by in the chaos of it.

Stefanie began to clap again, “I think we should start a band. We’re kicking ass here.”

We all laughed as she turned to me, “Alright Bravo, you’re up. Whatta ya got?”

I pursed my lips, “I dunno, I’m open to suggestions…”

We watched the chat flood with comments, there were a few song recommendations but there were even more questions.

Where’s Bravo’s new lady? Funny how everyone else has their romantic partner there except for Dieter. Dieter is so full of shit. We all know it’s Kat. Yo Bravo, where’s your beach babe? We wanna meet her! Has Kat met Dieter’s new girl?

I let out a nervous laugh as I glanced at Kat. She winked then gave me a mischievous smile before turning to the camera, “Guys chill. Yes, I’ve met Dieter’s significant other. I know her very well. We’re all friends.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, don’t worry. She’s not being left out…she’s here with me.”

This is the biggest conspiracy since the moon landing. I’m too high for this shit. What’s even happening? I thought he was gay? This hurts my soul. You two are made for each other! #Dieterina #NotJustFriends Maybe it's a throuple situation. No way they haven’t boned. Poor Kat, she's like the 7th wheel now.

I couldn’t help laughing at the comments, “Guys, come on, be nice…back to the song recs please.”

A song title finally caught my attention. I took a minute to check in with Kira and Marc to see if they were familiar with it before adjusting the mic so that I could stand for this one. I needed to be able to move around a bit. Once I was situated, Marc got us started with the opening guitar riff for The Devil Wears Lace. It was a nice little blues song about desire, temptation, attraction, and obsession.

Kat, Stefanie, and Val provided entertainment by dancing around us. It was all good fun until Kat’s eyes locked with mine. Her moves became more provocative as she approached me. By the time I hit the chorus she was the only thing I could focus on.

🎶Listen to The Devil Wears Lace Here.

So light me in flames / Just as hot as you need / Let me see the good girl you wanted to be / All of my praise, only from me / I can be the one who could set you free / Fall from your grace / Turn up the heat / I feel I'm going down, hands gripping the sheets / Settin' the pace / Number the beast / Got me by the belt, heart skippin' a beat / The devil and me

She moved around me, against me, up and down my body. I played into it of course, wiggling against her as I belted out the lyrics - both of us giving each other mischievous smiles. This was definitely going to get the conspiracy theories going. I couldn’t bother to care because she looked so fucking hot dancing like this. The slow sensual roll of her body was a sight to behold, and it was all mine. I loved to see her let loose and have fun like this.

When the song ended, she strutted away before bursting into laughter. It was a little infectious, causing me to do the same. The chuckles of everyone else drew my attention to the monitor. The comments had gone completely unhinged by this point.

I huffed out a laugh and shook my head, “Can we not talk about Kat like that please? She’s not a piece of meat.”

Kat snorted out a laugh as she squeezed my arm in thanks. Marc jumped in to try and redirect the conversation, “Alright guys…I think one more and we’re gonna call it a night since we do have a rather long day tomorrow.”

He paused, obviously reading the comments about the show before chuckling, “Oh obviously Stefanie and I are gonna win the trophy.”

I laughed, “Hey now! We’ve gone all night without trash talking. Don’t you start…besides, obviously Kat and I are gonna win. I’m gonna call it though, we’ll be the top two groups. Nobody is beating us.”

Marc rolled his eyes, “Yeah, don’t try to sweet talk me after insulting me.”

Stefanie cut in, placing her hands on her hips as she spoke, “Now boys. Let’s play nice or Kat and I will drop you both and claim the win for ourselves.”

Marc and I both rolled our eyes in response as Val cut in, “Hey, how about we stop bickering and end with that song we did earlier. That was a good one…”

Marc and I both furrowed our brows, waiting for her to continue. She chuckled at our similar expressions before answering, “All on My Mind.”

We nodded as I shouted, “Ok…Kat we’re up.”

Kat and I took our place, sharing a freestanding mic as everyone jumped in with their instruments. I took lead, singing the main verses while Kat joined in on the chorus, alternating the lines.

🎶 Listen to All on My Mind Here.

I said, "Oh, honey, just like that" / I give you my loving and you give it right back / I said, "Oh, honey, just like this" / Hanging on white knuckle grip

Kat and I sang together for the remainder of the chorus while the rest of the group jumped in on the repeated lines.

It's all on my mind / Feel something when I kiss you good night / It's all on my mind / Feel something when I open my eyes / It's all on my mind / Feel that I could be your sweetest compromise / It's all on my mind / It's all on my mind

Our eyes stayed on each other, big smiles on our lips as we belted out the words in unison. I couldn’t deny that we sounded amazing together. Our voices complemented each other perfectly, especially when we leaned into the bluesy sounds of the music. Hell, truth be told, we all sounded pretty amazing as a group. Nothing could compare to how it felt singing with Kat though. We finished out the last verse together, completely at ease and having fun.

Well, me and my baby are the bass in the beat / A lo-fi rhythm, the sweat and the heat / Come on now lover, won't you follow my lead / And we'll move on into the night

The energy in the room was high as we finished it out after everyone gave it their all on the chorus refrain. It was probably the best one of the night. The chat was going wild with praise for everyone, but Kat and I were getting most of the attention.

Can we just get this crew their own show? So much more entertaining. 🙌 Dieter and Kat are amazing together. 😍😍😍 I had no idea Dieter Bravo had this much talent. Kat, marry me. I’m NOT an asshole. 🙏🙏 Both? Both. Yes. 😏

We all said our goodbyes after that, promising to do another live soon since we had so much fun together. Once Marc disconnected, we all broke into a fit of laughter.

Marc was still chuckling as he said, “I’m sure Stacia and Joe are gonna have a lot to say about that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure my publicist will too. I’ve done nothing but cause chaos all day,” I replied.

Kat came over, snaking her arm around my waist. She fought a smile as she leaned into me, “And, the plot thickens. Apparently, we’re in a throuple with your mystery lady now.”

I shook my head, “Yeah…I’m not even upset about that. I’ve been accused of worse things. I’m not sharing my Kit Kat though…” I paused, reaching down to swat her butt cheek, “This is Bravo’s ass.”

Her eyes darkened as she attempted to give me an admonishing look, but she failed. She was totally turned on by that.

My brow arched as she fought a smile. We were completely oblivious to everyone’s amused eyes on us. When we finally turned to look at them, a blush crept up Kat’s cheeks.

I cleared my throat, “Well, everyone…this was fun. We should do it again.”

They all nodded with knowing smiles. “We should probably…uhh…head out. We all have a ridiculously early start in the morning and I wanna be well rested so I can kick your ass on the dance floor.”

Marc and Stefanie both gave me a deadpan stare before flipping the bird, causing me to let out a boisterous laugh. “Ahh, I think I’ve finally found my people.”

Kat and I said our goodbyes, grabbing our guitar cases then heading out the door. The air around us was thick on the drive home. Kat definitely didn’t help the situation with her hand wandering dangerously close to a very much at attention little Bravo. Her eyes cut toward me with a smirk on her lips every time she did it.

We started pulling each other’s clothes off as soon as we walked through the door. We may not have gone to bed at a decent hour, but we definitely fell asleep happy and satiated.

Monday mornings meant performance day. We followed our usual routine, arriving at Television City studios extremely early so we could get our camera blocking out of the way first. That went smoothly and we nailed the routine on each run through. We were feeling pretty confident about it as we headed toward wardrobe for our final fitting.

Kat’s costume for the week really had my attention. There was just something about her in red. It looked amazing against her dark features and golden skin, giving her a sultry edge. This dress was no exception, the way it draped around her body and gathered in the back accentuated her curves in the best way. Her back and shoulders were completely exposed, emphasizing the muscular contours. This was an area that I had never given much attention to on woman, but hers were so fucking sexy. I couldn't help staring as she raised her arms and turned this way and that for Amy to pin bits of fabric for some minor alterations. The image was seared into my brain, I knew it would be the subject of one of my paintings later.

I ended up ditching the jacket and tie that went with my costume. It felt too constricting for the choreography of this dance. Before it was all said and done, I only wore the red pants and red velvety button up shirt - leaving several buttons open and rolling up the sleeves, at Kat’s request, of course.

(More after the graphics.)

Hair and makeup were pretty uneventful. We managed to snag our usual ladies, filling our time with banter and jokes as they worked. They gave Kat a sleek up-do this time. I swear she rolled her eyes every time they added a new bobby pin. I sort of didn’t mind it though, because I knew I would be the one to help her take them all out later. She suggested they leave my hair in loose curls this week. To my surprise, they actually did. However, they still put a shit ton of gel and hairspray in it to my dismay.

We had managed to avoid Alec and Lana the entire morning. We assumed he was hiding out in his dressing room as much as he could. Word seemed to be spreading about what an absolute asshole he was to Kat, and many didn’t take too kindly to it. He was no longer the popular one of the cast and Kat loved every second of it. His ego was definitely taking a hit, which was the one thing that would hurt him the most.

We could only be lucky for so long. Alec and Lana were already in the staging area when we got there. He didn’t even bother to try and hide the disdain on his still slightly bruised face. Lana kept shooting glances our way with an odd expression. It was almost smug, maybe? I couldn’t quite figure it out. Kat and I made sure to watch ourselves since the backstage cameras were circling like sharks, being sure to keep our interactions friendly between each other. We also made a point to not look Alec and Lana’s way after the initial sizing up. We didn’t want to give the producers anything to work with.

Kat did the opening performance with Marc and the rest of their group, then rushed to change. I stayed with her the entire time, not chancing leaving her alone while the asshole was in the same building. There would not be another repeat of what happened after New York.

Alec and Lana were two performances ahead of us, still doing very well and obtaining a high score. They scored 2 points under Marc and Stefanie, which put them in second place for the night. If Kat and I had it our way, they would soon be in third.

We went through our usual routine of picking a hype song. I took the lead again this week, pulling up one of my favorite rock songs, You Shook Me All Night Long. Kat gave me that little smirk that I loved so damn much as she shook her head and laughed at me. I shrugged before transitioning into some of my goofy dance moves - pursing my lips as I wiggled my hips. She joined in of course, laughing at my ridiculousness through the entirety of it.

Before we knew it, it was our turn. Kat took her place in the center of the dance floor. As the music began to play, I walked toward her seductively, caressing her cheek as I circled her before grazing her nose with mine. After fanning her outward, our fast paced choreography synced with the quick beat of the Spanish style guitars. We commanded the attention of the room with our strong staccato footwork and vivacious presence. It was every bit as dramatic as we had intended it to be.

I’ll admit, I was nervous about my solo part. Up until this point, I hadn’t really had choreography this challenging without Kat by my side. The quick and precise body movements along with the flamenco style footwork while trying to exude assertive energy really was a lot of work. However, we only had to do it once. I didn’t have to pace myself for hours of rehearsal time, which meant I put everything I had into it. By the time I reunited with Kat to finish out the last part of the routine, I was feeling pretty damn cocky about the whole thing. The cockiness only added to the overall effect and took the performance over the top.

Kat’s movements were fluid and graceful as she danced around me, waving her flowy skirt. We continued with the stomping footwork, shaping our arms and hands into dramatic poses as we sidestepped each other. The electricity between us was buzzing at max levels as it always did when we performed together. The intensity of her gaze nearly took my breath away the handful of times our eyes connected. We were both in the zone and fucking killing it. We ended with a dramatic lift. I caught her by the hand before she fell back onto the floor for a dip to end it.

I pulled her upward and wrapped my arms around her as the crowd’s near deafening screams and applause sounded around us. I had to fight the urge to crash my lips against hers at that moment. There was so much adrenaline and passion between us that I could have burst into flames from it. I wanted nothing more than to get her home and work some of it off.

We went through the whole routine of doing the interview and waiting for our scores. With massive effort, we managed to keep our hands off each other in any inappropriate way. The whole thing was a blur. I don’t think I paid a lick of attention to anything the judges actually said. All I know is we got another perfect score, putting us in first place - again. To our surprise, we were met with more cheers than usual from the cast. Marc and Stefanie were the loudest among them of course.

Marc and Stefanie invited us out for a celebratory dinner afterwards. I left it up to Kat. She declined, citing how this week had worn her out and she wanted to go home and get some rest before we woke up to do it all over again. They were bummed but understanding. I was a little bummed too, until we walked through the door at my place.

Kat was definitely not as worn out as she let on, dragging me upstairs to the bedroom, peeling clothes off as we went. After a rather passionate round of sex, I made sure to give her a lot of aftercare that included a massage and hot bath while I made her some dinner. She might not have been feeling it right then with the rush of endorphins we both had surging through our veins, but I knew she would be soon. This week had been rough, and I wanted to see to it that she was properly taken care of so that we were ready to take on whatever week 8 had in store for us.

✨Fun Fact: The song that Dieter and Kat are dancing to is this chapter is called Uccen, which translate to "The Wolf". Given that Dieter wears that little wolf ring, I found it fitting.

✨Your Paso Doble video for this chapter can be found HERE. Seriously, one of the best performances ever. It won and Emmy! This couple is married in real life and always burn up the dance floor when they perform.

Next: Week 8

A/N: So, this got posted a couple days later than I had planned. It was a doozy to edit and I'm sure I probably missed a lot. I do apologize but work did indeed kick my ass last week. Hopefully it was worth the wait.

We got lots of smutty goodness in this chapter. I 100% blame Mr. Pascal for his holiday beach antics. There was just too much inspiration. Some of it was planned and some of it wasn't. I'm not sorry.

They've also made some new friends. How are we feeling about Marc and crew? Good or bad?

Dieter has started his Instagram live shit. More to come on that. Also...his Instagram posts, that man is stirring up all the drama with those. Good or bad idea?

Zee got some love in this chapter. I love me some good Dee and Zee drama. They are both shit heads and we love them for that.

There was so much that went down in this chapter that I can't think of what all to highlight. So, please do show some love with a reblog and sound off about it. I wanna hear all the unhinged thoughts!

Week 8 will bring us the Viennese Waltz, and with that comes LOTS of drama. Y'all might want to have a tissue handy, because the shit is going to hit the fan.

Until next time,

💜Mysty

Chapter Credits: - Giving @avastrasposts credit for the SuccDee name. She saw it when I didn't, even though it was right there. -Major credit to @bitchwitch1981 for song inspo. She turned me onto The Devil Wears Lace and All on My Mind.

Taglist: @titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza

@girlofchaos @trulybetty @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter

@burntheedges @stevie75 @bunniboo0015 @quicax3 @jackie923

@sherala007 @pastelnap @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites @senorabond @annalovesflorida @sandaltoesocks @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo #dancing dieter #sober dieter #soft dieter #cat dad dieter #plant dad dieter #slow burn #closed position series

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wholemeallbread · 9 hours ago

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... TOXIC BOYFRIENDS AND EXES / ꩜

with ... nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi x gn!reader

warnings ... cheating (rin), fem love interest (rin), lying (rin, isagi), parental issues-ish (isagi), nagi is just a bum (nagi), tiny emotional manipulation (isagi)

part one reo, sae, oliver

"SHE'S JUST A FRIEND" ꩜ ITOSHI RIN

you've known for quite a while that rin has had a... worrying childhood, to say the least. you're also aware that someone else has been his guiding light through his early teens, but is now long gone in the past. or that's what you thought. rin has been silent after hearing the news that his childhood "friend" recently moved back into town, but it's obvious that something else is going on.

especially when he's been visiting a certain house multiple times per week without telling you.

you've been aware of it for longer than he thinks. the moment you texted him "where are you?" instead of asking him to come home, he switched off sharing his location for good. he'll tell you he's just on a jog, but he's said it himself that he doesn't like bringing his phone because its too heavy. it becomes obvious when she starts coming to his games, waving and catching all of his attention while wearing one of his jerseys. you would know, because you accidentally stained one of them when you wore it.

even worse when his own brother that was miles away texted you, asking if you and rin were together. how did he even get your number? and why did rin not tell him you were already years deep into a relationship? oh, rin said he's stuck between the person he loves and the person he trusts? well, that shouldn't really be a question, should it? he should love and trust you, why is there somebody else that he could "pick"?

the break up was mutual. you could tell he was upset about it, but not as much as you, and you wonder why... maybe it's because he ended up in a relationship with said childhood friend only days later. you don't mean to pry in their business, but it's hard not to when you realise everywhere they go together, you've been with him before. this time, he's holding her hand, he's not hiding from the camera, he's smiling. rin has never smiled for you before. it hurts, it really hurts, but you're glad he didn't let things drag on. at least there's something left for you in his heart.

if he didn't love you in the first place, he should've just let you know from the beginning. it seems like you were some sort of test subject for his future.

BABY SYNDROME ꩜ NAGI SEISHIRO

nagi always puts in the bare minimum. you figured "maybe he puts in more effort for things he's passionate about?". well, one certainly is football; all of a sudden he has enough stamina to run a marathon and actually use his strength. since you're dating, he's passionate about you too, right?

keep lying to yourself. it's always you reaching out first, it's always you having to go to his house, it's always you waiting outside of his classrooms. on more than one occasion have you called him, been ignored under the thesis of "i'm too tired to talk, maybe tomorrow." and then being left on delivered for the next twenty four hours. and the cycle repeats over, and over, and over again. the last thing you wanted to end up being was a second reo (sorry to him, he's a lost cause) but when you're having to put his socks on for him like a toddler, unwillingly after he begs for help, that's where you draw the line. he's not a grandpa, and he's not sore. why would he need help?

it was unsurprisingly easy to break up with him. he let you go with ease, and it's not like he was going to argue to make him stay. one less person makes one less hassle, right? afterwards, it's inconvenience after inconvenience for him. now nobody wakes him up in the morning, or helps him with his missing homework, or does all of the work on group assignments so he can go "train". who's going to cook for him now? because it's not you or reo, and ordering takeaway is too much work.

nagi texted you to ask to get back together. you asked why. he said "it makes both of our lives easier". hell no.

MAMA'S BOY ꩜ ISAGI YOICHI

isagi is such a good boyfriend. honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he was the one you ended up marrying. he's sweet, his parents are sweet, everything was perfect. was perfect.

you don't know where or when you messed up, but isagi's mom doesn't seem to like you that much anymore. was it how you got awkward and didn't know how to respond? no, usually his dad helps you through conversations. were you a bad influence? no, surely not. isagi knows his own standards, and sometimes his attitude is worse than yours.

nowadays, isagi looks a bit nervous when you ask to come over. your usual routine together was completely disrupted. you can tell he's subtly avoiding you or keeping conversations brief. he doesn't even hold your hand when you're walking around school anymore. this man willingly used to sprint from your period to the other side of the school just to make sure you got to your class safely, and now, nothing. and why is he wiping his hands with disgust when he's the one sweating buckets? he would've apologised if it was his fault, so it's something to do with you.

"hey, so... my mom doesn't want us together..." well, excuse you? he's stuttering, trying to come up with excuses, but you don't even want to hear them. having your healthy relationship broken up by his mom? and what if you married him hypothetically? would he willingly divorce if his mom said to do it? you know he still loves you, judging from his longing glances and half smiles in your direction. you know it wasn't completely his decision. but if he really loved you, then creating a barrier between the two of you when she wasn't even around didn't make sense at all. he would risk his life for you, but not disobey her loose commands.

on some random important day, valentines or whatever, he tries to ask you out. he wants to "start over". can you even be angry when he looks so remorseful? coupled with flowers, your favourite sweet treats and everything... oh, you swear you can see tears in his eyes. maybe you'll think about it.

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

Note

Abby w reader with ocd?

✞⛧ Abby with a girlfriend that has OCD ✞⛧

Warnings: I don’t have ocd, so if I got smth wrong or it’s offensive please tell me-

✞⛧ Abby notices before you ever say anything. The way you check the door multiple times before leaving, how your fingers hover over objects like you’re making sure they’re just right, the way your breathing changes when something feels off. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches, takes note.

✞⛧ She doesn’t think it’s inconvenient, just… something to understand. Abby’s all about problem-solving, so when she realizes this isn’t something she can just fix for you, it frustrates her—not at you, but at how powerless she feels when she sees you struggling.

✞⛧ At first, she’s not sure what to do. She’s used to tangible problems—wounds she can stitch, enemies she can fight. This? This is different. But she’s patient. She listens. She learns.

✞⛧ Abby never gets annoyed at you. She gets annoyed at the way the world isn’t built for the way your mind works. When people rush you, when they make careless comments—that’s when you see her jaw clench, her grip tighten.

✞⛧ She figures out pretty quickly what makes things easier for you. If you have to check the door before leaving, she stands next to you, silent, never rushing. If things need to be in a certain order, she respects it. If she moves something by accident, she fixes it before you even notice.

✞⛧ If you have compulsions that hurt—scratching, picking, repeating actions until your skin is raw—Abby’s hands are right there to stop you, firm but gentle. She never shames you for it, just takes your hands in hers, rubs slow circles into your palms, reminds you to breathe.

✞⛧ She gets really good at grounding you. If you’re stuck in a spiral, she doesn’t say stop—she gives you something else to focus on. “Come here,” she’ll say, pulling you against her. “Tell me three things you can hear. Two things you can feel.” She keeps her voice steady, calm.

✞⛧ When you apologize—because you always do—she shakes her head. “Don’t. You don’t have to be sorry for this.” And she means it.

✞⛧ She hates when people treat you like you’re difficult because of it. If someone makes a snide comment about how long something takes, Abby’s right there with a glare that could shut down an entire conversation.

✞⛧ If routines help you, Abby builds them into her life like it’s second nature. You eat the same breakfast every morning? Guess who’s making sure it’s stocked. You need to wash your hands a certain way? She learns the pattern, does it with you sometimes.

✞⛧ When she catches you trying to hide it—masking, forcing yourself to act normal—it kills her. “You don’t have to do that with me,” she tells you one night, voice softer than usual. “You don’t have to pretend.”

✞⛧ If a compulsion is making you late, she doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t sigh, doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t make you feel guilty. She just waits. If you’re gonna be late, she figures, then you’ll be late together.

✞⛧ The first time she sees you have a breakdown over it—when the frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of it all crashes down on you—she just holds you. Doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t try to rationalize. Just lets you be.

✞⛧ She picks up on the things that trigger you before you even have to say them. Clutter? Uncertainty? The wrongness of something being out of place? She notices, and she does something about it.

✞⛧ If intrusive thoughts hit you hard, she’s the one grounding you back to reality. “It’s just a thought,” she reminds you, voice steady. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

✞⛧ When she learns that reassurance-seeking is part of it, she doesn’t mind repeating herself. “Yes, I locked the door.” “Yes, you turned the oven off.” “Yes, I love you.” She’ll say it a hundred times if it helps

✞⛧ She understands that it’s not just about being “neat” or “particular.” It’s not a quirk. She gets that. She takes it seriously.

✞⛧ If something feels wrong to you, she doesn’t dismiss it. She doesn’t say “it’s fine” or “just let it go.” If it matters to you, it matters to her.

✞⛧ She lets you explain things in your own time. She never pushes. Just listens. Always listens.

✞⛧ If you ever start spiraling in public, she subtly shifts into protector mode. Keeps you close, blocks out the noise, finds a quiet place if you need it.

✞⛧ She makes an effort to understand the science behind it. Reads about it. Asks questions. Not because she thinks she can fix you, but because she wants to know you.

✞⛧ When you feel like your mind is your worst enemy, she’s the one reminding you that you’re so much more than this.

✞⛧ She knows when you need space and when you need her. She never takes it personally if you need to be alone for a while.

✞⛧ She has this way of making you feel safe in your own head, even when it’s the last place you want to be.

✞⛧ If you get stuck in a loop, she finds little ways to break it—changing the subject, cracking a joke, touching you. A hand on your back, a thumb brushing over your knuckles, something to pull you out of it.

✞⛧ She never lets you think you’re a burden. Not once. Not ever. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she tells you, and she means it.

✞⛧ Abby doesn’t love you despite your OCD. She just loves you. All of you. The way you think, the way you are. And if the world makes things harder for you? Then she’ll stand between you and the world, teeth bared, always.

#abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x you #abby x reader #abby imagines #abby headcanons #abby anderson x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us

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lu-is-not-ok · 2 days ago

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Hi! I was wondering what your thoughts were on the relationship between Hong Lu and Xichun. Namely (if I'm interpreting this correctly), how much he seems to care for her well-being. This has been nagging me since Canto 7 but he was so insistent on her being careful or joining up with him. Like you can tell how bothered he was. And HL, while often repeating some form of "my family sucks" doesn't usually let it linger? He makes a joke and moves on. I haven't heard anyone talking about it but this is the first time HL has shown care towards any of his family, even if later he is all "yeah if she dies, she dies, oh well". You're not fooling anyone, you.

You're right on the money with that one! When Hong Lu calls Xichun his 'most amicable sibling', I believe he's very much being truthful about that. Because while yes, she's rude and tends to do everything in her power to push him away, there are small moments that show that their care for each other is in fact mutual.

After all, she herself even points out that if it was any other sibling he ran into, he would have already been taken out. But Xichun doesn't do that. She doesn't kill him, or try to capture him, even though she's clearly aware that their Family is actively looking for him.

In a way, she's similar to Hong Lu in that she's never entirely straightforward with how she feels about things. She often puts on some sort of facade to hide the true meaning of her words, just in her case it's a mask of hostility, likely to defend herself in her position.

There's two moments in particular I feel that exemplify this by alluding to how Xichun actually feels towards Hong Lu, beneath her anxieties and prey animal rage.

The first one is this.

I've already gone at length about this scene from Hong Lu's perspective, how the thought of being an embarrassment to someone else in his Family causes him to shut down and default to trying to nod along and speed through the conversation as fast as possible. However, I think Xichun's response here is likewise notable.

Because she almost immediately backs up. It feels almost as if she's lamenting that he's still dealing with such situations as badly as he did back at home, and after giving one more 'jab' (one that you could even read as a backhanded form of assurance that she is in fact safe for him to be around), she takes the hint and ends the conversation.

The second one is the exchange that leads to them parting ways.

This is perhaps the most obvious Xichun has ever been about her own worries for Hong Lu. She's very visibly showing concern and outright anxiety over the thought that Hong Lu isn't taking things seriously and putting himself in danger. And then I believe she realized why that is.

If you've seen any of my analyses and theories, you know that I'm a firm believer that Hong Lu lied about the reason why he left the Jia household, and that in reality he's a runaway. This moment here is I believe the moment Xichun realizes that he ran away as well, and as such his goal is completely different from hers. As Hong Lu himself later states, "The path diverges, and we must each take the other trail."

After that exchange she continues to show concern for him, if somewhat indirectly.

I don't think she's saying this just to give advice on what Donqui/Sancho might be feeling at the moment. I believe she's implying that she's recognising that Hong Lu himself might be or at some point have been in a similar situation, and is thus attempting to empathize with him. Hong Lu's response here feels like he's taken the hint and is confirming it, clearly speaking from a much more personal place and experience.

And then, of course, is the moment they split up.

Another one of Xichun's backhanded assurances. She might sound rude here, but the essence of what she's saying is clear here. She will come back for him and maybe even support him.

So, yeah! Hong Lu not only cares about Xichun, but has every reason to! She's clearly one of the few Family members he has that actually seems to care about him in return! Even if it is buried underneath her harsh demeanor.

And regarding the one scene you bring up, well, I might as well repeat my own full interpretation of it now that we've gained more insight into Hong Lu after the check-up intervallo.

Note how Hong Lu directly interrupts Gregor here. I believe Hong Lu here is reacting very emotionally, effectively snapping at Gregor for what he implied. Part of it I believe is the implication that the death of a loved one would hold any substantial meaning to Hong Lu, something he is extremely philosophically opposed to due to viewing all kinds of death as meaningless.

But the other part of it is, well, that the thought of someone he loved dying in front of his eyes brings up memories he doesn't want to acknowledge. So he snaps back with as straightforward an answer as he can come up with so as to not give himself the time to dwell on the idea. Because it sure is suspicious he has yet to mention the one other person in his household that is ought to be very amicable towards him, no?

#ask #chickenflo #lu speaketh #limbus company #hong lu #hong lu lcb #jia xichun lcb #lcb analysis #no i will never stop making everything about daiyu

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mooniema · 2 days ago

Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Se-mi x reader hcs

pairing ; Se-mi x f!reader

summary ; just some hcs of mine of what a relationship with Se-mi would be in a world, where she never participated in the games

warnings ; shitty writing i guess and she might be a little ooc idk

a/n ; why do they always kill the wuh luh wuhs

Men dni

Before your relationship:

When you first saw her, your breath was taken away by how cool she was

Not only her appearance with her pretty face, effortlessly styled hair, cool outfits, piercings on her face and rings on her fingers, but also her whole demeanor and vibe

It's no surprise, it was hard for you to approach her

When you finally managed to talk to her, you quickly found out, that she isn't as intimidating as her looks make it seems. Atleast not to you

You quickly developed a fat crush on her, after you started spending a lot of time with her (typical wlw behaviour)

You didn't think she would like you back, especially cause she still seems distant and never really opens up to you, although you noticed that she seems to have some problems with how troubled and stressed she often is

She, on the other hand, didn't confess, because she doesn't want you to get involved with her debt

But one night, when you both were in a bar and drunk, she saw someone else trying to make a move on you, she couldn't resist interfering

Especially cause you looked uncomfortable

That night, you two talked a lot and it ended with drunken confessions and you sleeping at her place, where she woke you up with breakfast

One week after that, she took you out on a date and you two got together

In your relationship:

Your first date would be a rather calm one

She´d come to your home to pick you up with your favorite flowers and then she´d go shopping with you and take you somewhere nice to eat afterwards

She is a very affectionate and caring lover

Doesn´t matter if its in public or in private, dhe always finds a way to be close to you and touch you

She doesn´t mind pda at all if it´s not straight up making out in front of other people

If you do pda or not all depends on you and your boundaries

In private she is even more touchy and clings onto you often

She just really likes being near you and feeling your skin under her touch

She is also a very protective person, when it comes to your loved ones

If someone makes you uncomfortable, she will be by your side in a matter of seconds, her arm around your shoulders and shamelessly flirting with you

If they don´t get the hint then she´ll get more blunt about it and if they don´t stop by then, she starts threatening them

While she knows you can handle yourself, she´d rather handle creeps herself

She is also someone, who doesn´t get really jealous

After all she is a very confident person and she trusts you

But she does prefer it, if your attention is on her

If you don´t pay enough attention to you, she´ll be a lot more flirty and touchy towards you to get your attention

Arguments with her are rather rare

And even if you both do have a disagreement, she tends to stay calm and collected, rarely snapping on you

If she does notice that you are getting more heated, then she´ll convinve you, that you should both talk again once you have calmed down

Once you are calm again, she´ll sit down with you to talk calmly about the situation

If she is in the wrong, she´ll quickly apologize to you and makes it up to you

Her main love languages are physical touch and quality time

Acts of service:

She really enjoys doing little things for you like tying your shoe laces, going out at night to get you your favorite snacks, bringing your favorite drink everywhere so you stay hydrated or holding your bags, when you want to go shopping, she got you covered

If she notices, that you are stressed, she´ll surprise you with a nice bath and wash your hair and will also try to help you with the task, thats stressing you out

Will also definitely nurse you back to health when you are sick

Quality time:

She really loves this one

Spending time with you is one of the things, that keeps her grounded

When spending time with you and going on dates, she really likes to do the more fun ones like going to an amusement park, but she also likes stuff like movie nights with you, where you can both relax together in your home

She also just enjoys being around you, while you two do different things

Physical touch:

Girl is soooo touchy

Always finds a way to touch you somehow

Her touch is so gentle like you are glass, which is easy to break

Her kisses are soft, but also passionate, although they tend to get a little fast paced if things get heated

Making out with her, she is not afraid to mark you

Leaving hickeys, that are hard to cover

She also likes to bury her hands in your soft hair, while making out

Gift giving:

She loves giving you little gifts and often comes home with flowers in her arms or a nice little bracelet for you

One time she gifted you a CD, which contains songs, that she played for you (i feel like she would play guitar)

Words of affirmation;

She is really good with words, knowing just how to cheer you up and motivate you

Your number 1 biggest supporter

She always makes sure you know, how loved you are and that she is always by your side and here to help you with your dreams

#wlw #squid game x reader #lesbian #wuh luh wuh #squid game #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #player 380 #headcanons #writers on tumblr

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harmony867 · 3 days ago

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Not many people discuss Harry character development when it comes to his and Hermione relationship. What I mean is how he treats her when Ron and Hermione are arguing.

In the third book, there is the infamous firebolt incident. This is where people claim that ‘Harry ignored Hermione for months.’ The scene in question.

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “Honestly, Professor —”

“You can’t know that, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, “not until you’ve flown it, at any rate, and I’m afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.

“What did you go running to McGonagall for?”

Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly.

Ron's reaction was a lot stronger than Harry's and obviously colored the whole thing. Harry would probably be angry without Ron there but there’s a contrast between their reactions.

(PoA12): Harry knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn’t know whether he would ever see it again. [...] Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage.

This reaction is literally the first thing we’re told about Harry’s feelings regarding the incident. Harry is obviously disappointed and annoyed by Hermione’s “interference,” but also immediately acknowledges Hermione “meant well.” (I think we have to pause and realize that this is a rather measured reaction from a 13-year-old boy who had just received the most amazing gift and had it taken away from him.) In contrast, Ron was "furious" and viewed Hermione’s intervention as tantamount to encouraging a criminal act.

And at least at the beginning, it is Hermione who places distance between her and the boys:

‘Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn’t try to persuade her to come back.’

This is what they “supposed.” They didn’t even know where she went. So, initially, we can at best fault Harry for not deliberately seeking out a girl who was actively avoiding them. (Though, the phrasing "taken refuge" suggests that had she stayed, something bad would have occurred. As the only person we see attacking her during this entire time is Ron—never Harry—we have to assume that's what she's avoiding.)

Meanwhile, we see Ron and Hermione get into arguments when they do encounter each other (e.g., over Lupin). And we see Hermione clearly feeling uncomfortable and “rushing past with her face averted” when Harry tries to bring up the broom with McGonagall. Again, we never see Harry show anger or annoyance toward Hermione. We never have Harry actively feeling like he should avoid her or ignore her or show her the silent treatment or ANYTHING. It's never stated, unlike many other times in the books when it's explicitly stated that Harry avoids someone.

And Harry becomes exceptionally busy at this time. Quidditch practice now happens five days per week, and he has anti-dementor classes with Lupin, so Harry notes that during this period he had ‘only one night per week’ to do his homework. It's not like it seems he had a lot of time to even casually encounter Hermione, who was also so wrapped up in her own schedule of taking a ridiculous number of classes.

(Note that the only scene where we see Harry having a reaction about Hermione during this time is when he's distracted writing an essay on his one night he has to do homework and can't really focus on why Hermione's schedule might be weird when Ron mentions it. He doesn't express anger or annoyance at talking about her or tell Ron, he doesn't care; he just is distracted by other things and is unable to think further about her schedule at that moment.)

After the Firebolt was returned on February 3rd, Harry immediately tells Ron that they should go make up with Hermione. It's almost like he had been feeling bad about it, but wasn't going to go against Ron (who, as we saw, was much less understanding about it). Look at literally the first thing out of Harry’s mouth:

[Ron said,] “She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah... anything... ,” said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. “You know what—we should make up with Hermione… She was only trying to help...”

Harry just got his prized possession back, and Ron's reaction is about whether he can ride it. But Harry doesn't seem to care about that now: note the ellipses, as if he's distracted and not really thinking about what Ron's saying. Instead, we know his "heart" has become "lighter than it had been in a month." Why his heart? Because he's been estranged from Hermione, and the very first thing he wants to do is make up with her.

He appears to miss her, and there's no hint that he's still angry with her. That contrasts with other places in the books where we know Harry holds a grudge for some time and will have little bursts of anger periodically well up inside him, as when he's estranged from Ron in GoF (he literally wanted Ron to throw a punch so he could fight him) and again in DH; none of that is described here toward Hermione after the initial reaction when McGonagall confiscates the Firebolt.

And Harry's immediately noticing how tired she looks, suggesting that she might ease up on her workload a bit. Overall, his attitude is far from someone who wants to “ignore” her—he seems legitimately concerned about her:

“How are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asked her.

“Oh, well — you know — working hard,” said Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.

“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?” Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.

“I couldn’t do that!” said Hermione, looking scandalized.

During the period of their estrangement, on that one night when Ron brings up Hermione's schedule, we also see noted in the passage that Hermione's been stressed out and isolating herself surrounded by books. Although the text doesn't explicitly say that Harry noticed this, it's explicitly framed around him: he's struggling to complete his homework in one night per week, but "Even so, he wasn't showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione." The circumstantial evidence thus suggests he was noticing and at least somewhat worrying about her (or at least thinking about her), which gets confirmed in the way he approaches her here and offers some advice.

Unfortunately, as Harry and Hermione are just beginning to have a nice conversation about Hermione’s interest in Arithmancy, Ron bursts in and claims Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. Ron then goes into full-blown ostracization mode with Hermione again, but Harry keeps trying to keep the communication going with her (PoA13):

Personally, Harry was sure that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when he tried to point out to Hermione that the evidence all pointed that way, she lost her temper with Harry too.

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!” she said shrilly. “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just leave me alone, Harry, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Harry’s clearly trying. He repeatedly approaches her and keeps attempting to bring her back into his circle. After the next Quidditch match, he breaks away in the middle of his own celebration party to check in with her:

“Did you even come to the match?” he asked her.

“Of course I did,” said Hermione in a strangely high-pitched voice, not looking up. “And I’m very glad we won, and I think you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday.”

“Come on, Hermione, come and have some food,” Harry said, looking over at Ron and wondering whether he was in a good enough mood to bury the hatchet.

“I can’t, Harry. I’ve still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!” said Hermione, now sounding slightly hysterical. “Anyway...” She glanced over at Ron too. “He doesn’t want me to join in.”

Hermione would never miss one of Harry’s Quidditch matches, of course. But she’s feeling uncomfortable and continuing to distance herself, even though she knows this is about Ron now, not Harry. But Harry takes the initiative and tries to break down the barriers, yet again.

And when Ron repeatedly upsets her, Harry clearly wants to do something to help her, but isn't quite sure what—and also doesn't want to cross Ron. But Ron can't stand to see Harry and Hermione be friendly: he chooses this moment to speak up about Scabbers again, resulting in Hermione fleeing.

Hermione burst into tears. Before Harry could say or do anything, she tucked the enormous book under her arm, and, still sobbing, ran toward the staircase to the girls’ dormitories and out of sight.

“Can’t you give her a break?” Harry asked Ron quietly.

Ron keeps this up apparently for a couple months after the Firebolt is returned. We see Harry repeatedly approaching her with olive branches, but she's upset with Ron, and Harry seems kind of stuck. At this sort of age, it's natural to continue to segregate friendships by sex, so even though he wants to make up with Hermione, while Ron is ostracizing her, Harry doesn't do more. They both finally realize how poorly they’ve acted when Hagrid has a conversation with him, and ultimately they make up around Easter (which fell on April 3rd, so after about two months).

And when Hagrid does bring it up—well, let’s look at the contrasting reactions between the two boys (PoA14):

“She’s in a righ’ state, that’s what. She’s bin comin’ down ter visit me a lot since Chris’mas. Bin feelin’ lonely. Firs’ yeh weren’ talking to her because o’ the Firebolt, now yer not talkin’ to her because her cat —”

“— ate Scabbers!” Ron interjected angrily.

“Because her cat acted like all cats do,” Hagrid continued doggedly. “She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin’ through a rough time at the moment. Bitten off more’n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all the work she’s tryin’ ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case, mind. . . . She’s found some really good stuff fer me . . . reckon he’ll stand a good chance now. . . .”

“Hagrid, we should’ve helped as well — sorry —” Harry began awkwardly.

“I’m not blamin’ yeh!” said Hagrid, waving Harry’s apology aside. “Gawd knows yeh’ve had enough ter be gettin’ on with. I’ve seen yeh practicin’ Quidditch ev’ry hour o’ the day an’ night — but I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all.”

Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“Really upset, she was, when Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She’s got her heart in the right place, Hermione has, an’ you two not talkin’ to her —”

“If she’d just get rid of that cat, I’d speak to her again!” Ron said angrily. “But she’s still sticking up for it! It’s a maniac, and she won’t hear a word against it!”

Look closely at what’s going on here. Hagrid’s framing this as how both boys supposedly aren’t talking to her, but it’s clear that only one of them (Ron) is angry, while the other (Harry) is apologetic. And when Harry does try to apologize, Hagrid waves it away, excusing Harry with his Quidditch practices. I think Hagrid’s probably also sensitive to what’s really going on here: it’s not Harry who is ostracizing Hermione—it’s Ron, specifically. Hagrid may even have seen Harry trying to be conciliatory with Hermione, or perhaps she even told him. Regardless, Hagrid’s focus here is clear, and it’s not about Harry. While Harry could have done more, Hagrid’s trying to mend stuff with Ron and Hermione, as he likely sees that both of them are distancing from each other (and Hermione’s driving Harry out in the middle).

Note that the real cause of this all is established yet again when they do make up. Ron offers to help with Buckbeak’s appeal, Hermione apologizes about Scabbers, and then all is well again. If any of this were about Harry’s anger anymore, there would need to be a reconciliation with Hermione too, but this was clearly never much about Harry. They had made up months before, even if Hermione kept pushing him away (out of her anger with Ron and her anger at Harry for “siding” with him).

The distance appears mostly created by her and Ron. So we might (and should) fault Harry for not being more proactive in making up with her earlier, but there’s not really any evidence Harry is “ignoring” or actively shunning her, even in PoA. He and Hermione are both incredibly busy during this time too, and the moment the Firebolt is returned, he immediately queries Ron about making up with her.

Given gender dynamics in friendships at this age, it’s very understandable for a temporary break like this to happen, particularly given Hermione and Ron’s strong personalities.

We can compare this to Harry reacts when he’s older after the events of GoF and OOTP and has clearly matured more. When Ron and Hermione start fighting against in HBP. To jog your memory, Ron finds out that two years ago that Hermione allegedly kissed viktor krum from Ginny and starts giving Hermione the silent treatment. He starts dating lavender in retaliation for Hermione kissing a boy that asked her out two years ago while she was single.

HBP14: Harry catches a glimpse of Hermione (as Ron is snogging Lavender for the first time) and immediately goes after her to check on her abandoning quidditch celebrations.

Harry turned away from Ron, who did not look like surfacing soon, just in time to see the portrait hole closing. With a sinking feeling he thought he saw a mane of bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.

He darted forwards, sidestepped Romilda Vane again, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside seemed to be deserted.

‘Hermione?’

He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher’s desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry could not help admiring her spellwork at a time like this.

HBP15: Unlike in PoA when Ron and Hermione are fighting, in HBP Harry gets away from Ron while Ron is “busy” to regularly spend time with Hermione. (Also it shows that the people who say that Harry doesn’t like spending time with Hermione is false, he chooses to spend time with her as he does multiple times across the books)

Hermione’s timetable was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was in any case so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

HBP15: Harry runs after Hermione and tries to help when she’s crying after Ron does a cruel impression of her in class

Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar moustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than Ron’s , scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.

We see here that Harry prioritises Hermione, deciding that ‘her needs were greater than Ron.’ He spends time with her and comforts her.

Harry, again more assertively than in PoA, actively calls out Ron for being unkind to Hermione and immediately goes to comfort her.

A long way along the table, Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.

‘You could say sorry,’ suggested Harry bluntly.

‘What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?’ muttered Ron.

‘What did you have to imitate her for?’

‘She laughed at my moustache!’

‘So did I, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.’

We see that now Harry is way more defensive in defiending Hermione, providing way more support while in PoA he was more passive, being apologetic and reprimanding Ron but not as aggressively while now he defends Hermione for laughing ‘unkindly’ at Ron’s stupid moustache. This shows his character development, from passively defending Hermione to actively defending her, growing past the maturity he had as a thirteen year old boy.

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #harmione #harry x hermione #harmony #harry james potter #harry potter books #harry potter canon

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sailorsoons · 5 hours ago

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Hello, Darling (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x afab reader

Summary: Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. Ater a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you.

Word Count: 21,558

Genre: Supernatural, Friends to Lovers, Thriller

Type: Smut, Angst

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Explicit language, recreational drinking and smoking, crude humor, some of the members of SVT are a bit of an asshole in this - it is not a reflection of how I think of them, mentions of occult practices, a NOT ACCURATE spirit summoning/ritual, mentions of a murder suicide case/event, mentions of murders, light mentions of blood, mentions of infidelity, catching someone in a sexual act (not the main couple), Vernon is a bit of an asshole at times, mentions of insecurities/confused feelings, I owe Chan and Mingyu an apology for how I wrote them, sexual tension, some angst, sexually explicit content including thigh riding, oral (f. receiving), nipple play, a lot of biting and scratching, choking/breath play, vaginal fingering, a lot of spit and cum mentioned, unprotected sex, references to sub space, Vernon takes a dom role but it is not explicitly established, Vernon gets a little bit possessive, calls reader a slut a total of one time, some light finger sucking, reader is at several points annoyed with the women in this fic which can come off a lil bitchy, general creepy scenes in woods and in some dark spooky places.

Additional Content Warning: It is implied by the end of this fic that Vernon is possessed to some degree by a spirit in this. I make zero distinction as to whether it’s Vernon or the spirit calling the shots or if there is even a difference/distinction between the two, which poses the fair question of consent in parts of this that I do not address or provide nuance to. The lack of clarification is due to the POV of this fic being entirely from reader’s perspective and she doesn’t have a clue what’s going on until the very end, and thus we are unable to unpack to what degree this character is or is not himself. If that lack of nuance bothers you, that is valid but this is not the fic for you.

❀ A/N: This was an original request fill for my Haliween event on my first blog for @eoieopda. Thank you for letting me write you 20k+ of this Vernon :)

A/N 2: Alternative summary for this fic is Hali repeatedly drags Chan because she loves him so much

Reader Notes: This reader is never explicitly gendered as girl/she/her etc. so I have listed them as an afab reader.

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Cool wind lifts the pages of your book, threatening to flip them over. You press your fingers flat to the page, fighting to keep them from flitting over and losing your place in the story. There’s not much daylight left in the sky as the afternoon dies to make way for the evening, but you’re eager to finish the chapter, craving to unravel the mystery you’ve been working your way through the past week.

Atmospheric sounds play in your headphones as you read. Your legs are crossed, book in your lap as you sit on the concrete wall separating the quad from one of the sidewalks on campus. Now that there’s a chill in the air, you crave being outside, finding the opportunity to sit wherever you can on campus to crack open a book before the sunlight finally fades.

Flipping the page, you only get a split second warning of the shout you hear through your headphones before something hits you in the back of the head. You yelp, dropping the book to the ground as your headphones clatter from your head to the grass from the impact.

Scowling, you swivel around to see Mingyu jogging over, his hand over his mouth as apologies start pouring out of him. A flush creeps up your neck as he approaches, his friends and fellow fraternity brothers watching from afar. Some of them are bent over cackling, the others have their hands on their head, visibly stressed from hitting you with their football.

Again.

“I am so sorry,” he pleads, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Seungcheol threw wide.”

“Maybe play on a rec field, then?” You snap, sliding from the wall, picking up your headphones and book. You kick the football toward him, irritated. “There’s literally so many other places you can play. Don’t you have a yard at your little frat house?”

“It’s being used for float building for the Halloween parade.”

“Convenient.”

For the most part, Mingyu isn’t so bad. He’s a little loud and obnoxious, but he’s always nice and he does seem to mean it when he picks up the football and apologizes again. It’s more than a lot of his fraternity brothers would do, though it’s not much now that they’ve managed to hit you twice with the same ball.

Someone like Mingyu wouldn’t even pay attention to you if it weren’t for Vernon, though. As Mingyu retreats, the reason you’re even friends with Mingyu appears on the sidewalk, coming toward you with his hands in his pockets, hood pulled up on his head and headphones on. He lifts his chin in greeting to Mingyu, but Vernon’s brown eyes focus on you, his true destination.

Vernon pulls his hood and headphones down when he’s within a few feet, jerking his thumb at Mingyu. “What did he want?”

“He was apologizing for hitting me with the football. Again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. They hit me earlier.”

Vernon hums, displeased. He doesn’t say much, instead turning to lean against the wall, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets again.

The last embers of sunlight hit his side profile, stunning you to momentarily silence. In a halo of fiery light, Vernon looks like a god. His light brown eyes turn burnished gold, reflecting the dying sun. His hair is spun copper, strands dancing in the breeze as he watches the world around him.

Not for the first time, you think that you understand why Helen of Troy inspired a thousand ships to come after her. Vernon’s face is the kind of thing you’ve read about in all of your mythologies and folktales for your Occult Studies major, so beautiful that it can’t be real.

If Vernon notices you staring, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes watch the other members of his fraternity play football, one of them crashing into someone on a lawn chair. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, wearing his second-hand embarrassment silently as he watches them apologize for the millionth time.

Vernon is nothing like the rest of his fraternity. You’re still unsure why he even joined. It was something he had done his freshman year going into school, wanting to put himself out there and make friends.

He certainly looks the part - he’s handsome and in shape from playing soccer in highschool, and he’s got good fashion sense for a college student. But he’s quiet and a little awkward, unsure how to navigate conversations with most people who aren’t in his immediate circle of friends and shy to an almost crippling point.

It had taken Vernon seven weeks of being your lab partner before he finally spoke more than three sentences to you. For the longest time, you’d assumed it was because he thought you were beneath him. It wouldn’t have surprised you. Greek life on campus tended to stick with their own.

Now, you know it was because he didn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation. You’d only managed to get him to talk to you when he noticed a song by Frank Ocean bleeding from your headphones, piquing his interest.

Four years later, talking to Vernon is easy. Well, maybe not easy. You’ve got years of friendship between you now and you know what makes Vernon tick, but the butterflies you get when you’re around him and the way your heart swells when he does something so simple makes it a little harder.

Like now, as day fades to evening and the world is awash in purple and gold, and he’s looking at the watercolor sky like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, completely unaware that while he’s in awe of the sky, you’re in awe of him.

Vernon jerks forward, making you flinch. You have no idea what he’s doing until his hand is in front of you, smacking down the football that has been sent your direction again. You huff in frustration, watching as this time it’s Chan who jogs over to get it.

“Are you all fucking serious?” You demand. He slows his approach, eyes darting to Vernon as though looking for help from his friend. Vernon says nothing, bending over to pick up the football and toss it to Chan. “I should shove that football up your ass.”

“Maybe not the football,” Chan quips, catching it. He looks you up and down, head cocking to the side a little. His mouth lifts at the corner and there’s a glint in his dark eyes that makes you even angrier. “I’m open to other things, though?”

“You’re so gross.”

“What? You’re hot when you’re mad.”

“Go away, Chan!” You shriek, flustered and angry as you spin around to grab your things and storm off. You only get a few feet before realizing Vernon is still leaning on the wall. “Are you coming or not?”

He scrambles after you, nearly tripping over his own feet to catch up. Chan is snickering as he runs back toward where the others wait for him, yelling a trilling bye toward you and Vernon as you charge north toward the main campus parking lot.

“He’s so annoying,” you gripe, shoving your book in your bag. Vernon hums, noncommittal. You glance at him. “Nothing more to add?”

He lifts a shoulder. “It’s cause they think you’re hot, Lovecraft.”

You smile at the nickname, fondness sweeping through you. He’d started calling you Lovecraft your freshman year after learning about your major, deciding that it just fit. You like it - at least coming from Vernon, who understood Occult Studies was more than just spooky and magic and the metaphysical.

“They think anything with a set of tits and a hole to stick their dick in is hot. I’m sure a blowup doll would blow their fucking mind.”

Vernon’s mouth twitches at that. “You’d hate Chan’s room.”

“Don’t give me that visual!”

His laugh is warm. He bumps shoulders with yours, grinning at you as the two of you walk. You feel the telltale sign of your traitorous heart beating extra hard at his closeness, your gaze shooting to the floor as you try to hide any evidence of your feelings that might lurk on the surface of your expression.

Thankfully, Vernon never seems to notice. You’re glad that he doesn’t. You don’t think you’re very good at hiding how you feel, but he is equally bad at picking up on it, totally oblivious to the long stares and the way you fumble over your words when he gets too close.

Vernon has that effect on a lot of people. His proximity to being attractive has always outweighed his inability to make small talk among the female population on campus. The amount of times you’ve watched girls openly flirt with him and whisper about what it would take to get him to crack was insurmountable.

Autumn wind kicks up leaves at your feet. Neither one of you says anything as you walk, simply content to be together. It’s one of your favorite things about him, never feeling pressure to perform or to have conversation. Being with Vernon is just… easy. Natural, even.

The parking lot is slowly emptying as the rest of the late afternoon classes end. A few unlucky evening class students pull in, slamming their car doors and rushing off to their auditoriums. Vernon’s car is easy to find and you let yourself in, sliding into the passenger seat like it’s yours - it kind of is.

“Pizza?” he asks, engine humming to life.

“Please.” His lips twitch in a soft smile as he nods, flipping on the radio. You hum, leaning forward and turning up the volume. “I love this song.”

Vernon’s smile increases as you lean back, the sounds of Emotional Oranges filling the car. He rolls the windows down once he’s on the road proper, cool wind kissing your skin. You pull your feet up onto the seat, leaning toward the window as the fading twilight brushes past you.

Outside the car, the world smells like pine. You take a deep breath in, loving the way the October air feels just right. Fall is always your favorite time of year, and with the music playing in the background, wind in your hair and Vernon drumming on the wheel, you don’t think there could be anything better in the world.

Sal’s Pizzeria glows against the dark, a beacon of hunger and hope against the night. The giant pizza slice on the roof blinks rapidly, the neon a little bit broken. Gold light glows through the windows as you climb out the car, gravel crunching beneath your feet.

A bell chimes as the door opens and a group of students pour out, laughing and carrying boxes. Vernon catches the lip of the door and holds it open for you, gesturing you to enter first. The smell of bread and warm air hits you in the face, your lips curving as you tell the girl at the host stand two.

College students and local residents fill the restaurant. The hostess leads you to a booth in the corner, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you hop-slide your way in. She hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Vernon as she does, lips twitching when she asks if there’s anything else you need. When he doesn’t answer, you shake your head, shooting her a thin-lipped smile.

She’s hesitant to leave but she does, casting one last look over her shoulder as she heads back to the stand. You look at Vernon too, studying him. He’s none the wiser, brown eyes scanning the menu even though you know he’s going to order the same thing.

When the server comes, Vernon does as expected: orders a diablo pizza with a side of fries. You shake your head a little, asking for the white feta pizza, handing over the sticky menus. When the server is gone, Vernon leans back in the seat, sipping his coke as he drinks you in, wordless.

You kick your feet up on his side of the booth next to him and he lets you, patting your ankle fondly when he sets his drink down. He has no idea how torturous that alone is, the simple comfort of his familiar touch enough to send your eyes averting across the room, trying to control your breathing.

“What are the favorites and least favorites this week?” he asks, balling up the paper his straw came in.

Favorites and least favorites is a game you like to play with him. It’s not so much of a game as it is a routine where you tell him your favorite piece of material from your classes and your least favorite. Most people dismiss your major as too peculiar for interest. No one knows what you’re supposed to do with Occult Studies but it fascinates you.

And Vernon, who has always had a keen interest in the goings on in your classes and homework.

“We’re in the psychology of the occult module.” He nods, eyes fixed on you. “Mostly covering the psychology of community as it relates to the occult. We have sections on covens, clans, actual cults, sects and more modern mass followings.”

“Hmm. So like… Twitter stans.”

You smile a bit. “Something like that. We covered the maenads in class today. Ever heard of them?” He shakes his head and you lean forward, elbows on the table. “They were women in Ancient Greece devoted to the god Dionysus and they were believed to be possessed by the god. They were said to have wild parties in the woods with one another where they’d do all manner of sordid things, all while under the influence.”

“A Friday night for Chan.”

“Exactly. A lot of historians call them crazy and speculate they were raving mad, but if I was a woman under the thumb of men in Ancient Greece…”

“Shit, I’d get fucking crazy in the woods with my friends too.”

“Exactly. It was more about reveling in female companionship and being unfettered from the male-dominated societal norms.”

The arrival of your dinner interrupts the conversation. Both of you lean backward, making room for the hot plates and Vernon’s basket of fries. You slide your feet down from his side of the booth, leaning to grab the red pepper flakes from the corner of the table. He grabs salt, immediately dusting his fries.

“Ugh, you could have at least let me have some first.” He looks up at you through his lashes, brows raised. “They’re already salted, Vernon.”

“Not enough.”

“You know, if you were haunted or possessed you’d never want the salt.” He gives a questioning hum. “Salt is used in purification rituals. It’s believed spirits hate it because it’s used in banishing spells and rituals. It’s why a line of salt keeps them out.”

“Good thing I’m hungry, not haunted.”

You snort, taking a piece of your pizza from the tray. “Speaking of haunted, are we going to your Halloween party this weekend?”

“My halloween party?”

“You are in the fraternity, Vernon. Yes, yours.”

He makes a face and tears into his pizza. You shake your head as he lets out a sound, huffing and tilting his head backward as he tries to deal with the too-hot food in his mouth burning him. “Ya,” he says around the slice. “I guess so.”

“What are you going to wear?” He raises a brow at you, swallowing down the hot bite. You pout, sagging in your seat. “Dude, you have to dress up. You can’t just go in a black shirt and a baseball hat.”

“Why not?” You kick him under the table and he winces, ducking down to rub at his shin. “Shit, fine. Okay, what do I go as?”

You grin, picking up your appropriately cooled pizza. “Leave it to me.”

“This makeup itches,” Vernon mutters, looking up at you through long lashes. You hush him, putting the finishing touches on the black line down his mouth. “Couldn’t I have gone as something easier?”

“What is easier than black jeans and a jacket you already own, huh? Stop talking, I’m gonna fuck up this line and this makeup is perfect so far.”

It’s true. You’ve outdone yourself on turning Vernon’s face into a skull, taking inspiration from American Horror Story for the costume. Vernon is a low effort kind of person, so getting him into costume is a lot easier when all it requires are clothes he already owns and makeup that you have to do anyway.

Stepping away from him, you admire your handy work. His eyes are painted black, hollowed out for the skull. His dark hair is slicked back, the perfect skeleton. He looks… good. Painfully good, which makes you nervous and turn away quickly, heart flipping. You’re not sure what it says about you that Vernon staring at you while painted as a deadly skeleton makes your heart race but… it does.

“How do I look?”

“Terrifying,” you admit, turning back to him. “But good.”

He grins and if it were anyone else but Vernon, you’d be terrified. Maybe you did a little too good of a job.

“What are you again?”

“One of the witches from American Horror Story Coven. Close your eyes, I’m going to use setting spray.”

Darkness blankets the sky by the time you’re both scrambling down the steps and into an Uber. The driver does a double take when they see Vernon, eyes watching nervously in the rearview as you give him the address.

“That’s at a closed down gas station.”

“Yep,” you agree, leaning back into the seat.

The driver mutters something about fucking college kids and fucking holiday but otherwise says nothing about the questionable location. He doesn’t need to know that a mile from the abandoned gas station is also an abandoned farmhouse notorious for unsanctioned parties and being distinctly haunted.

Haunted isn’t your favorite thing in the world. You didn’t like to mess with ghosts, despite your area of study. You were infinitely more interested in the intersectionality of occult studies and modern culture and society and less enthused about the idea of drinking stale beer from a foamy tap in the middle of a murder house.

If the driver thinks there’s anything weird about other people being dropped off at the gas station - you’re sure he does - he says nothing, ignoring the two of you as you get out of the car and dive into the night air. Vernon is close behind as you take a few steps away from the car, eyeing the old gas station.

The windows have long since been broken and cracked, foggy with time. The stations are stripped of their labels and stickers, just white residue left behind and no pumps. A few people lounge around the building smoking, dressed in a variety of halloween costumes.

Nervous, you look up at Vernon. His smile is small and he juts his chin toward the dirt road that leads through the woods. Nodding, you both fall into step, sand and gravel crunching beneath your feet as you go. Vernon recognizes a few people associated with his fraternity and others, throwing a casual wave or a nod as you pass by people.

Music echoes down the road. It’s a little less foreboding in the dark trees when you can hear Michael Jackson’s thriller coming down the way and the dull roar of voices. The bend in the road straightens out, the line of trees giving way to flat land.

The farmhouse is pretty, even in old age. It’s two stories, glowing from within from all of the battery lanterns and lights being used to light the party. A generator roars somewhere behind the house, light flooding the yard where people mingle and crowd the kegs.

A chill slithers down your spine as you enter the yard, the broken gate doing a poor job at keeping trespassers out. Even with the lighting, shadows dance as you navigate through people, the strange anxiety crawling up your throat worsening as you near the house.

Vernon pulls the sleeve of your dress so that you’re closer to him, his fingers steady and calm as he leads you up the steps where you can clearly hear Mingyu’s howling laughter inside.

Bright light fills the house. As do a crush of people and beer pong tables, the abandoned home turned into a raucous display of drinking and debauchery. If you weren’t so distracted by the wave of people pushing you into Vernon’s arm, you might be impressed at how much you could forget the farm home was abandoned because someone had been murdered here.

“I need a drink,” Vernon announces, continuing to pull your arm after him as he plunges toward what used to be the kitchen.

It’s where you find Mingyu dressed as a lifeguard - and loudly yelling directions. He blows his whistle shrilly when he sees you and Vernon, pointing at the two of you and spitting the whistle out of his mouth to scream, “NOT WET ENOUGH!”

“What a weird way to offer drinks,” you mutter. Chan, who seems to be on lifeguard assistant duty - while dressed in a horrid felt dinosaur costume - scrambles to get you drinks, spilling rum as he tips it over into a cup. “No ice?”

“There’s not a fridge,” he pouts, shoving the cup in your hand. His eyes drink you in. “Are you a hot goth or?”

Instead of answering him, you roll your eyes and turn to Mingyu, who blows the whistle again. Both you and Vernon wince, the latter throwing back his drink to chug it all before thrusting the cup back at Chan. “That’s gonna get real tiring.”

Mingyu comes around the corner of the old island countertop, pumping his fists in the air to the music rattling through the house. “Vernon you look fucking sick!” He and Vernon do the little hand-clap-to-half-hug men do. Mingyu turns to look at you, eyes dark. “Are you like, a hot goth?”

Your smile is plastic as the whistle around Mingyu’s neck. “Sure.”

Mingyu, dancing and moving toward the living room, reaches out to you. “Come dance with me! This song fucks.”

“Decidedly not!”

“Go ahead, Lovecraft!” Vernon urges, pushing you toward the obnoxious lifeguard with a shit-eating grin as he imitates Mingyu’s voice. “This song fucks.”

Before you can chastise him for egging his fraternity brother on, Mingyu has you sucked into the dancing crowd, throwing his hands in the air as he swivels his way through the crowd. You try to knock back as much of the lukewarm drink as you can, cringing at the burn of cheap rum and not-iced coke.

Bodies pressed in. Mingyu is close to you, a hand going to your waist. You frown and look over your shoulder, eyes scanning for Vernon. You know he’s probably lingering on the edge of the crowd, watching you with a smirk over the rim of his cup as he watches Mingyu roll his hips toward you.

“Mingyu,” you snap, turning back to him when you don’t find Vernon. “It’s the Monster Mash, it doesn’t require grinding.”

“I mean, if you wanna graveyard smash…”

“You’re all insufferable! All of you!”

Still, you sway back and forth, trying to stomach finishing the rest of your horrid drink. It takes an effort, but shaking your head at Mingyu and judging him silently gets you most of the way through it until Soonyoung - dressed in the same tiger costume from last year - crashes through the crowd into the pair of you, thrilled when he realizes who it is he has slammed into.

“Hot goth!” he screams, pointing at your outfit. “Where is your other half?”

You don’t have to ask what Soonyoung means and both the drink and the accusation have you flushing. You shrug a shoulder, eyes surveying the party. Before either of you can find Vernon, Joshua appears at Soonyoung’s side, leaning to his ear to murmur something. Soongyoung’s face lights up and he grins at you, grabbing you by the wrist to yank you through the crowd.

“Hello?” you demand, pulling your wrist from his grip. “Have you heard of asking?”

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“The last time I heard that was promptly followed by you showing me that stupid peach tattoo on your ass.”

“First of all, that tattoo is amazing.” He heads to the stairs, which you eye warily. “Second, Vernon is already upstairs, come on. You like weird ghost shit, you’ll like this.”

Without waiting for a reply, Soonyoung thunders up the stairs. You cringe, waiting for a foot to go through a dry plank and send him falling. It doesn’t happen, though. Tentatively, you creep up the stairs after him, eyes glued to each of the steps as you go.

It’s colder upstairs, the windows in the rooms open to the elements. You shiver, looking down the hall to Soonyoung heading into a bedroom. You tentatively follow him, stopping at the threshold of the doorway to survey the people inside.

Vernon is one of them, back pressed to the wall near the window, his eyes focused on his boots in front of him, hands tucked into his pockets. A girl next to him dressed as Red Riding Hood is leaning close, speaking to him rapidly. Nothing on his face indicates he’s listening. Then again, his expression is hard to read while painted as a skull, mystifying and dark as you follow Soonyoung down the hall.

Soonyoung goes straight toward a pile of things on the floor next to Seungcheol’s feet in the corner of the room. The president of Vernon’s fraternity pays Soonyoung no mind, eyes totally focused on the pretty fox in front of him, bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Suddenly, the room feels too intimate for you, like everyone is a couple tucked away. You have half a mind to go back downstairs when Vernon looks up at you, dark eyes zeroing in. His face is ten times more intense with the skull paint, pinning you to the spot.

Everything dulls to the background for a second. You don’t dare breathe, too afraid to shatter the moment as he stares at you, unblinking. His eyes glitter in the darkness of the room, two amber pools reflecting the moonlight.

Joshua enters the room behind you, shattering the spell as you step out of his way. You turn back to Vernon, clearing your throat. He pulls a hand from his pocket, beckoning you over. Mouth dry, you obey, skittering over toward him quickly as you observe the materials that Soonyoung is sifting through in the corner. Candles. Matches. Salt. A bell.

“Soonyoung,” you say sharply, slowing your step. “Why do you have ritual materials?”

He looks up at you, his grin wide. “Told you that you’d like this.”

“What is this?” You turn back to Vernon, who shrugs one shoulder.

Hesitantly, you take the unoccupied space next to him, casting the girl at his side a cursory glance. She observes your costume. “Are you a hot goth?”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, head thunking against the wall as you watch Soonyoung stand, materials in hand. Vernon coughs next to you, trying to cover his laugh. You glare at him sidelong and he says nothing, but his skeleton mouth is screwed up in a smirk. “What is he doing?”

“No clue.”

Soonyoung walks over to the bedroom door, looking down the hallway before shutting it. You fight a shiver, disliking how quiet the room becomes, cut off from the rest of the world. The window near you is the only source of light, and the only one shut on the second level of the abandoned home.

“What time is it?” Soonyoung asks Joshua.

“11:45.”

“Perfect.” Soonyoung spins, eyes falling on you. “Want to talk to a ghost?”

All eyes turn to you in the room. You open and close your mouth, confused. “What?”

“Do you want to talk to a ghost? Like someone who died?”

Your eyes drift to the candle, bell and matches in Soonyoung’s hand. A tingle spreads over your skin and your spine stiffens. “Soonyoung that better not be to invite a spirit in.”

His grin grows. “Come on, you are the ghost major or whatever. You should be thrilled to do this.”

“Occult Studies. And that doesn’t mean I fuck with the unknown or make a mockery of the dead. We’ve been over this.”

“It’s basically the same thing, come on. You learn it all in class.”

“No.”

He pouts. “You’d be best at it, though. Rumor has it that when the veil is thinnest, you can talk to the spirit that haunts this house.”

“The murderer? Or the murdered?” Soonyoung shrugs. “I doubt either would be very happy a bunch of drunk college kids are trying to bother them. My answer is no.”

“Ugh. I was kind of counting on you doing it.”

“Do it yourself.”

“I don’t study ghost shit!”

“Occult! Studies!”

“Ghost shit,” Soonyoung assures the room confidently.

“I’ll do it,” Vernon sighs, pushing off the wall. “Leave her alone.”

Soonyoung’s eyes are alight as Vernon steps toward him. You reach out to grab his wrist, pulling him back. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine.”

“Vernon.”

His eyes are soft when he looks at you. As soft as the terrifying makeup allows, anyway. “It’s fine, Lovecraft. Let me. He’ll stop asking.”

“I’m right here.”

“We know,” you and Vernon say in unison. You feel warm, chewing the inside of your cheek before nodding. You drop his wrist and turn to Soonyoung, eyes hard. “Give me that, you’ll do it wrong. Tell me what the mythos is.”

“What math? You need math?”

“The story, Soonyoung. What is the fucking story of this house?”

“Right. Apparently some dude murdered his girlfriend in here and then hung himself in that closet.” He points to a door you didn’t see when you walked in, dark and far away from the window. “Legend says at midnight, ring the bell three times and step into the closet with a candle. If the candle blows out, the spirit is with you. If it doesn’t, it didn’t work.”

Grabbing the items from Soonyoung’s hand, you look at Vernon. “When you’re done, ring the bell three times again and say: Thank you, I dismiss thee. Go in peace.”

“Thank you,” Vernon repeats gently, taking the bell from your hand. “I dismiss thee. Go in peace.”

“Everyone else take candles,” you direct, voice rough with irritation. You glare at Soonyoung and Seungcheol in particular as you shove candles in their hands. “Stand in the four corners of the room. Did you bring sage, Soonyoung?”

“Bring what?”

“Of course not, why would you?” Everyone starts moving to the corner of the room, using matches to light their candles. The room feels unnaturally cold now, despite your long sleeves. Turning back to Vernon, you say, “It’s probably a stupid rumor.”

“Probably.”

“If your candle goes out, just ring the bell, say the words, and dismiss it.”

“Right.”

“You don’t have to do it, Vernon.”

His mouth kicks up at the corner. “I’m not worried, Lovecraft. You are.”

Letting out a breath, you give a laugh that’s only half-there. You are nervous. You don’t like the idea of inviting a spirit into Vernon’s space, and though Soonyoung’s little ritual doesn’t really sound right, you’re not going to correct him.

Still, you feel unsettled as you light your own candle and then Vernon’s. He cradles it in his hands as you escort him to the door. Tucked under your arm is the canister of salt. Crouching down, you pour the salt in a thick white light in front of the door, careful to ensure that there are no breaks and that it covers the entire entryway from corner to corner.

“Be careful when you step over it and when you open the door,” you instruct, standing up. The candle in your hand flickers unsteadily. “Don’t break the line. The idea is that if Soonyoung’s stupid summoning works, the spirit can’t get through the salt.”

“Banishing and all that,” Vernon recalls with a smile. Your heart flips. “I remember.”

“Come on, you only have a minute!” Soonyoung calls eagerly.

Shooting him a glare that silences him, you turn back to Vernon. “Ring the bell three times. Thank you, I dismiss thee. Go in peace.”

“Got it.”

Unsettled you shuffle back from the door a little bit. You don’t go to a corner of the room like you’ve asked everyone else, unwilling to totally leave him by himself. Heart hammering, you hold your candle in front of you, cradling the warmth like a second heart.

Vernon is unbothered. You can see it in the loose set of his shoulders and the way he sighs, already tired of Soonyoung’s antics. The party downstairs feels a million miles away as you watch Vernon stand in front of the closed closet door, looking up at it, unimpressed.

“It’s midnight,” Joshua whispers from the corner.

Vernon doesn’t make any sound that he’s heard Joshua, but he lifts the little bell in his hand. It’s a hand bell, the wood grip worn and cracked. You wonder where Soonyoung got it from, having half a mind to ask him when the first clear ring of the bell disrupts your thoughts.

The note sings through the air, your blood turning to ice in your veins. It feels like your pulse is throbbing in your neck as Vernon rings the bell hard a second time, the sound chasing the echo of the first. The third ring feels like a tremor in the air, warbling as Vernon quickly sets the bell on the floor, careful not to extinguish his candle flame.

You hold your breath when he sets his hand on the doorknob. No one makes a sound as he twists it open. He pulls on the door and it comes away with a silent swing. The darkness on the other side is gaping, like there’s no back to the closet, just a wide hole of nothing.

Vernon doesn’t seem to mind. He steps over the line of salt carefully until he’s in the middle of the closet, pivoting to face you. The orange flicker of his candle casts a haunting glow over his skull face. You swallow down a brief moment of fear before he winks and leans forward to pull the door shut.

For a long moment, there’s nothing. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, the thudthudthud so loud you swear everyone else in the room can hear it. No one moves, everyone fixated on the door. The silence is so piercing that your ears start to ring, the sound of the party completely unreachable over your mounting anxiety.

“Well?” Soonyoung whispers somewhere behind you. “I guess it didn’t work.”

Vernon begins pounding on the door. Someone screams behind you followed by a bunch of curses. You leap forward, heart in your throat as Vernon screams something unintelligible on the other side. You drop your candle, completely throwing caution to the wind as you grab the doorknob and twist.

It doesn’t move.

“Vernon?” you ask, voice spiking with fear. “Let go of the doorknob, let me turn it. Vernon!”

The pounding doesn’t stop. He is screaming in a way you’ve never heard before, his fists rattling the door against the frame. You shriek his name back, yanking at the door frantically, your panic mounting as he screams and-

When the door opens, you nearly fall backward with the force of it, stumbling over your feet. Soonyoung steadies you, to your surprise. You hadn’t realized he had left his corner of the room to help, his hand warm and firm.

Vernon stands on the other side of the door, mouth pressed in a firm line.

“You fucking asshole,” Soonyoung swears, throwing his unlit candle at Vernon. Vernon laughs, dodging it. “You fucking suck.”

“Yeah, well don’t ask me to do stupid shit.” Vernon steps out of the closet, eyes dropping to you. His mirth is edged with something sharp, a glint in his eyes that is wholly unfamiliar. “I was kidding.”

“You fucking asshole!” You screech at him, slamming your hands into his chest and knocking him back a little. He smirks and says nothing, letting you hit him a few times. “Why would you do that to me? What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you sound really fucking sorry.” Anger sours your mouth. Turns your words to poison. Your throat tightens up and you feel the telltale sign of tears, equal parts livid, embarrassed and offended that Vernon would do such a thing. “Fuck you, Vernon.”

Someone laughs awkwardly as you storm off. Vernon calls your name but you ignore him, bolting down the hall and down the stairs. The wood creaks uncertainty under your feet but you don’t care. You want to be anywhere but here, the hot lick of embarrassment burning your heels as you go.

You blow past Chan on your way out, his bleary eyes following you. “Nooo,” he whines. “Hot goth, come back to me!”

“Shut up, Chan!” You scream, slamming down the steps as you go.

People nearly dive out of your way, swiveling to watch the wake of your wrath as you leave the party. You ignore them, not wanting anyone to see the hot tears that spill over as you hit the dirt road, boots crunching.

It’s hard to tell what’s worse. The fact that Vernon had played a joke on you he knew you wouldn’t like, or the way you had panicked and lost all resolve to be the one in charge. Both feel awful, but the sting of Vernon’s joke is the sharper of the two, cutting you to the quick.

Vernon has never dared to do something like that in your entire friendship. You have no idea why he did it now. Was it because he had an audience? Was he drunk? Was he actually like the members of his fraternity he associated with?

You had no idea, which only made things worse. Above anyone else, you thought you knew Vernon best. But perhaps, you didn’t know Vernon at all, which was far worse than any sort of haunted spirit you could imagine.

The next morning, you don’t hear from Vernon. It makes your blood boil, a nasty feeling forming in the pit of your stomach as you put your phone on Do Not Disturb. You put on a big set of headphones, blaring music to keep you sane as you set about cleaning your apartment furiously.

It’s an okay distraction. The lull of clinical cleaning is nice and the music soothes the sting that nips at your heels like an incessant hound. When you run out of things to clean, though, you’re forced to face the fact that it’s nearly evening and Vernon still hasn’t said anything to you.

You don’t want to text him first. Your pride is wounded from the night before and you’re shocked he hasn’t apologized - he should apologize. The silence only makes you angrier, and with nothing left to clean in your apartment, you decide to think of all the things you’re going to say to him when he does finally reach out to you. Because you’re not saying anything first.

Vernon’s radio silence makes it nearly impossible to sleep. You toss and turn in bed, unable to get comfortable, checking your phone and social media. It’s difficult to remember the last time you went over twenty four hours without hearing from Vernon, and the realization forms a pit in your stomach.

Maybe the silence was good. Maybe you were too reliant on his friendship, the one constant that you had grown far too fond of. Maybe he was into that girl last night, making a show of you because he wanted to make her laugh or maybe he was just putting you in your place.

The insecurity wars with your logic that Vernon wouldn’t do that. He’s never had a history of that kind of behavior before, and though he might tease you on occasion, you have never been the butt of his jokes or the target of his humor.

Jokes like that aren’t even Vernon’s style. He doesn’t like cruelty, and that’s what pretending to be screaming for help was. It was cruel, and strange and it hurt.

What hurts more is the silence continuing into a second day. By the late afternoon, though, the hurt has morphed into something else. You sit on your couch, staring at the phone on your coffee table. Your pride was begging you not to text him, but your worry was starting to chip away at you.

Heaving a sigh, you pick up the phone. The tap of your nails against the glass screen is loud in your quiet apartment, the final rays of sun melting through the blinds while a candle burns on the counter.

[You 5:14 PM]: So are we not talking?

Setting the phone down, you immediately start making dinner. It doesn’t matter that you’re too early. You’re nervous waiting for his text back, which makes you feel ridiculous. Then you feel ridiculous for feeling ridiculous, validating yourself that it is totally okay to have feelings and be nervous.

“God,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m exhausting.”

By the time you’ve had dinner and watched a full episode of Alice in Borderland, Vernon has said nothing. Worry eats away at the lining of your stomach. You pause the show and pick up the phone again, dialing his number.

On the other side of the line, the phone rings. And rings. And rings.

You hang up when you get the automated voicemail, frowning. It’s all strange, and a nagging feeling tugs at your nervous system but you can’t put your finger on it.

Just as you set the dishes in the sink, your phone starts to ping. You’re grateful no one can see you in your apartment as you lurch to the phone, picking it up and unlocking it to see if it’s Vernon. It isn’t, but your heart starts to thud when your group chats with other friends and classmates in projects flood with the same rumor over and over.

A dead body had been found on campus.

Vernon doesn’t live on campus, but it doesn’t stop you from calling him again. And again. And again. When the voicemail turns on a fourth time, you seethe into the phone, fingers gripping it so hard it feels like it’ll break. “Call me back you fucking asshole! Someone died on campus and you’re not answering and I just need to know it’s not you. Fuck!”

Time passes and you get so desperate you do the one thing you didn’t want to do unless it was dire circumstances. You hit dial and bring your phone up to your ear, pinching the bridge of your nose to prepare yourself for when Mingyu answers the phone.

“Am I dreaming?” he says by way of greeting. “It was the life guard costume, right?”

“Mingyu, it wasn’t a costume. You were shirtless with board shorts.”

“But it worked, right?”

“Have you heard from Vernon?”

“Nah, why?”

“Like you haven’t seen him at all since the party?”

“Mmm. I don’t think so.” There’s a muffled sound on the phone like he’s trying to cover it when he yells, “Chan, have you seen that fuck head Vernon?” You wait impatiently, holding the phone further from your ear as Minguy yells. “Chan hasn’t seen him either.”

“Isn’t that weird? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him.”

“Nah, I mean we never really see him. Usually he’s with you.”

“Right. And he isn’t with me, I haven’t seen him since the party.”

“Well have you checked his apartment?” You hesitate. “Helloooo?”

“No.”

“Well. Do that. He’s probably sleeping or some shit, who knows.”

“Great. You were so helpful,” you deadpan.

Mingyu sounds genuinely happy when he says, “I’m so glad!”

You hang up the phone before he can say anything else.

Chewing your nail, you stare at the wall, mind racing. Mingyu has a point that it’s normal for them to never see Vernon. He is usually with you, or he’s solitary. There is little in between. He also has a point that most of the time if you were looking for Vernon, you’d just swing by his apartment.

The thought of seeing him again makes you want to curl in on yourself, but your concern weighs out. You get dressed and grab your keys, trying not to let your fear of what you might find there keep you from leaving.

Opening the door to your apartment, you get one foot out the door and then slam directly into Vernon. You reel backward, eyebrows shooting up as he steadies you by the elbow, equally surprised to see you as though he wasn’t at your doorstep.

“Easy there,” he greets, a half smile on his face.

Vernon looks totally normal. He definitely doesn’t look like he was murdered, and he’s dressed in his usual jeans, plain black shirt, and a backwards hat. For a second, you just stare at him, totally shocked and utterly relieved he isn’t dead.

Then, the anger comes.

You slam a hand into his chest, cursing at him. “Where?” Slap. “Have?” Slap. “You?” Slap. “Been?”

He takes the blows in stride. His chest is firm beneath your palm, heart beating steadily. Alive. And now that you’ve established he’s not dead, you feel so much anger ripple through you that you don’t let him answer before you’re pivoting on your foot and storming back into your apartment.

The sound of the door closing behind you followed by his shuffling as he takes his shoes off tells you he hasn’t left. A small part of you curls in satisfaction with the domesticity of his arrival, but it is blotted out by the hurt and rage at the surface of your emotions.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. It isn’t as eloquent as your practiced rant, but it’s something. “You better explain yourself. And quickly.”

Vernon’s dark eyes connect with yours, simmering. You feel your heart lurch as he slinks over to the kitchen, never taking his gaze off you. The back of your neck tingles. Vernon never keeps this much eye contact and it’s both thrilling and unnerving.

“I want to apologize,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low. You watch with trepidation as he reaches out to gather your hand in his. He folds your fingers under his, pulling your hand to his chest. Your breath quickens, pulse throbbing as he cradles your fist to his chest, his heartbeat steady. “I fucked up. I wanted to fuck with Soonyoung but I did it at the expense of you, and for that I’m deeply sorry.”

Warmth spreads from his hand to yours. You don’t know what to make of the apology - it’s so unlike him. Vernon has no problem apologizing when he’s wrong, but he’s usually not so confident, so well spoken. You stare and stare, that pitless gaze of his pinned on you.

“I just…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “You really hurt my feelings, Vernon.” His hands tighten around yours and he tugs a little, pulling you closer. It’s harder to think when you’re this close, fingers wrapped in his. “You really scared me and then you vanished for nearly three days. Why did you do that?”

“I wasn’t feeling well and I slept most of the days away. Honestly.”

“You weren’t feeling well?”

He gives you a look. “I see the skepticism. I’m serious, I just… wasn’t myself. I tried to rest and I didn’t hear my phone and I’m sorry. Really.”

Vernon’s apology settles around you like a weight. You watch him, contemplating what to do next. He doesn’t look ill, his gold skin as flawless as ever, his rosy lips tucked under his teeth as he watches you, waiting. His heart thuds under your palm, his thumb absently brushing back and forth over the top of your hand.

Breathing becomes difficult. Vernon isn’t overly affectionate, but the way he presses your hand to his chest now sends you down a dangerous path. The desire for him bubbles just below your surface and you’re terrified it’ll boil over, exposing everything you’ve ever thought about him.

“Alright,” you say softly, pulling your hand from his. He lets you. “Don’t ever do something like that to me again. It was scary and I felt stupid. And I thought you were dead.”

“Why?”

Gesturing to the couch, the two of you plop down, seemingly back to normal. You’re still a little off kilter, but you report back to Vernon what your classmates had been saying. He grabs your remote and turns on the news, settling close enough to you that your thighs brush against one another. You shoot him a questioning look but he’s fixated on the TV, leaning forward to press his elbows into his knees.

The reporter on the news confirms the body of one of your fellow students had indeed been found on campus. Names and details were not yet available, but they were interviewing students about whether or not they felt safe on campus. By the second interview, Vernon was turning off the TV and leaning back.

“Freaky,” you murmur, tapping the arm of the couch. “Weird timing, right?”

“How so?”

“We just had a Halloween party in a weird murder house.”

Vernon goes silent. You turn to look at him, eyes searching. He stares at you, again the eye contact unsettling. Even though it feels like your Vernon sitting next to you, there is an edge to him that’s new. You don’t know what to do with it, shifting in your seat a little.

“Forget the murder house,” he says eventually, flicking his fingers in dismissal. “That party sucked and I’d rather forget it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyeing him as he looks out the window. You swear he’s agitated, but you can’t pinpoint why. “Me too.”

Someone sitting down roughly next to you draws your attention away from your essay, barely audibly over the sound of Current Blue playing through your headphones. You raise a brow as Vernon slings his belongings on the table unceremoniously, uncaring how loud he is in the library.

You glance around, seeing that he’s attracted the attention of a few people at nearby tables, some scowling, others blushing. When you turn your gaze back to him, you see his mouth moving as he divests his bag of its contents, but you can’t hear him.

Pulling your headphones from your head, you ask, “What?”

“Can you help me with my organic chem assignment?”

“I hate chemistry.”

His mouth twitches as he opens his laptop. “Right, but you’re good at it. You’re the smartest person in school.”

Again, something nags at your instincts. You can’t pinpoint it, examining Vernon more closely. He looks totally normal, dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and a jean jacket pulled over it. He’s without a hat today, his hair falling in messy strands over his brow as he sets up his area to study.

Sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You seem different.”

“Different how?” He types on his computer to start bringing up his chemistry homework. “Different as in going to fail organic chem without your help?”

“Oh shut up. I’m obviously going to help you.”

His mouth is wicked when he grins. “Good.”

When Vernon looks up at you, the world stops a little. His gaze today is fathomless, dark eyes smooth like the surface of a lake with no end. You tip into that gaze, letting yourself drown in it for a moment. Normally, Vernon would break eye contact by now, easily distracted or unrealizing that he’s got you stuck on him.

Now, he doesn’t do that. He looks right back at you. Heat crawls up your neck and your breaths quicken. For the first time since you’ve known him, Vernon looks at you like he knows everything inside your locked-tight heart.

You lick your lips and his gaze dips to your mouth. Inside your chest, your hummingbird heart hammers, threatening to break free. The corner of Vernon’s mouth tilts upward as his eyes meet yours again, and you watch, completely frozen, as he leans toward you.

Vernon is so close you can smell the spicy cologne on his skin. It’s heady and makes you dizzy, and you watch, totally lost as he wraps his hand around the leg of your chair and tugs hard. You yelp, startling a few people around you as he yanks your chair next to his, your thighs pressed together.

“What are you doing?” you whisper harshly at him, throwing an apologetic look at the people you’ve disturbed for a second time.

“How are you going to help me from over there?”

“You could have asked me to move my chair.”

The problem isn’t that he moved your chair. Not really. The problem is how close he is, leg pressed against yours and elbows touching as he shrugs and turns his computer screen toward you. The problem is how at ease he is with you nearly on top of him, his lazy smile making your thoughts tangle and your breath quicken.

This Vernon is still the one you’re used to but there’s something about him that keeps you on edge. Keeps you looking at him when his hand brushes against yours to grab a pen, or when he leans back and puts his arm across the back of your chair, idly playing with the hood of your jacket.

It’s almost like he’s flirting, and you spend half the time stumbling through his homework, barely able to assist him in a meaningful way because you’re busy decoding the subtle touches and the light teasing. You feel yourself blush more and look the other way to collect yourself more in the hour you help him than you have your entire friendship, unsure what’s happening or how to handle it.

Homework completed, Vernon stares off into the distance, his finger twisting in the string of your hoodie absently as you try to write the rest of your paper. It’s nearly impossible to concentrate like this, the intimacy more than you’re used to.

“You’re very distracting today,” you comment as you reference a text to the right of your screen. “Are you aware of that?”

He hums. “This is hardly a distraction. I could try harder, though.”

You cut a glance at him. He seems utterly serious, any sort of mirth nonexistent in his expression. There’s just that shadowed gaze, that spark of something right where you can’t reach it. You abruptly stand, surprising him as you knock his arm away from you and clear your throat.

“I need a different text. It’s downstairs, though.”

“I’ll come with you.” You raise your brows and he shrugs. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Sure.”

Without another word, you pivot on your heel and nearly run for the far set of stairs that lead to the subterranean level of the library where all the old texts and books exist. Vernon follows you at a casual pace, still totally at ease despite the fact that you’re obviously unraveling.

You have no idea what his sudden interest in you is and it’s making you unspool, thoughts wild and racing as you reach the stairwell that leads down.

Damp air greets you as you start down the steps and it smells like wet carpet. You cringe, hating every time you have to come here. It’s always poorly lit and damp, not at all what one would expect from a library trying to keep books from molding. But no one really comes down here anyway, only the history majors and people like you, who require weird books long retired from the main shelves.

It’s eerie in the old stacks. There are lamps above head casting a burnt orange glow over the green, shag carpet but otherwise it’s nearly impossible to see in the shadowy parts of the room. You certainly could never read a book down here.

Vernon is silent behind you but you can feel him, his gaze burning into your back as you navigate toward the last set of rows. As you approach, you hear a sound, stopping you dead in your tracks. Vernon crashes into you, nearly knocking you over but his hands grab you, steadying you and holding you close to his chest.

For the first time today, you’re able to ignore his nearness in favor of straining your ears for the sound you heard, a small whimper, perhaps. You hear it again, distinctly human. Your heart starts to pound as you remember that just the day before there was a body found on campus, mind racing with thoughts as you stand rooted to the spot, Vernon pressed against you.

Craning your head, you look up at him. His expression is unreadable as he looks at you through long lashes, face shadowed. There’s a soft bang, like someone knocking something over. He looks over your head and back at you, shrugging his shoulder as if to say your choice.

Slowly, you move forward. Vernon keeps close, his heat radiating behind you like a furnace as you creep through the last few rows of shelving. As you near the third one, you stop and peer around the corner, eyes trying to adjust in the shitty lighting.

What you see has you snapping back around the stack, mouth dropping open. Vernon, curious, leans around you to peer around the stack. He raises his brows and steps backward, mouth pressed in a firm line to conceal his laugh.

In the next row over is a girl you vaguely recognize, naked from the waist down while someone who is very much not her boyfriend, pumps their fingers between her legs. Slapping Vernon’s chest you point toward the door, silently screaming at him to turn around and hightail it out of there.

Vernon, for a second, bites his lower lip and wags his eyebrows at you, suggestive. You glare and shove his chest. He goes easily, grinning at you playfully as he turns on his heel and heads back up to the main floor.

When you reach your table, you drop down in the chair, totally shocked. Vernon drops down next to you, laughing. “Listen, when the urge hits, I guess.”

“I guess,” you agree sharply, shaking your head. “That was not her boyfriend, though.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. She’s dating some dude in Sigma whatever.”

Vernon’s gaze turns sharp and his eyes trail back toward the far side of the library, resting on the stairs. “Interesting.”

“Not really. That seems to happen a lot among you Greek lifers.”

“I would never do that.” The severity of his declaration has you looking up from your notebook. Vernon’s expression is cutting, his jaw flexing. “I would never participate in infidelity. Ever.”

“I didn’t mean you, Vernon.”

“I’m not like that.”

You soften a little, guilt tugging at you. So often you remember that Vernon isn’t like a lot of the people around him and grouping him in is unfair and insensitive.

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods once, turning from you to pack up his stuff. Somehow, you can’t help but feel like you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Oh shit,” Vernon mutters. You look up from where you’re flipping a grilled cheese in the pan. He holds his phone out to you from where he leans against his kitchen counter. “They found another body. Same MO or whatever as the first.”

“No way?”

Putting down the spatula, you grab his phone from him where he has the article pulled up. Sure enough, there’s been another murder on campus. Your eyes drink in the details, similar as before: student victim, stab wounds, message written on the wall.

“What is the Hello Darling Murder?” you ask, more to yourself than Vernon. “It’s linked here as a reference to these being copycat murders.” He says nothing. You read out loud, “The Hello Darling Murder is a case of a murder suicide that happened in the same town in 1979. It was the town’s first violent domestic crime in years, and drew national media attention for the gruesome crime scene in which a message had been written on the wall in blood.”

Vernon makes an amused sound. You look up at him sharply, staring. He has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor with a mildly bemused expression. You kick him and he looks up at you. “What?”

“Why are you laughing? That’s not funny.”

“The way people sensationalize murder is weird.”

“I mean, I agree. But what is funny?”

“It’s not funny as in funny ha ha,” he clarifies. “It’s funny stupid. The media is going to sensationalize this and turn it into an entire thing.”

“Yeah, well. That’s their job.”

Off put by his dark mirth, you turn back to the article, reading further. You skip over the old murder, more interested in the details of the two new ones. Your heart seizes in your chest when you see the name and picture of the second victim, stomach roiling.

He sees your expression, pushing off the counter toward you, hands shooting your arms. “What? What’s wrong?”

In any other scenario, you’d be overwhelmed by the sudden care and affection. Now, you just turn the phone toward him, showing him the photo. “It’s that girl from the library. Her name was Sidney. She’s the one I told you was cheating on her boyfriend.”

Nothing registers in his face when he looks at the phone, his hands still resting on your arms lightly. He looks away from the screen and at you instead, a sharpness to his gaze that’s there so often you’re starting to grow used to it.

“You’re burning the grilled cheese, Lovecraft.”

Mosquitos nip at your skin as you walk down the narrow path between trees. You slap your hand against your neck again, muttering under your breath. Vernon chuckles next to you, keeping his pace even as you struggle to step over a fallen tree branch.

You hate the woods at night. It’s not your first time going to a bonfire deep in the woods off campus, but you don’t know why you keep coming back. Tripping over another branch, Vernon catches you by the arm and steadies you, stopping to make sure you’re okay before he lets go.

Scratch that. You do know why you keep coming back. For as long as you’ve been friends, you’ve been Vernon’s permanent plus one to all of his parties, formals and events, even if both of you hate going. It’s become a weird obligation to show up at things like this as a pair.

They aren’t always terrible, you have to admit. When Mingyu isn’t absolutely hammered, he’s mostly tolerable to be around. Soonyoung isn’t bad either, though you’re still pissed off at him for the Halloween party incident, unwilling to talk to him.

But nights like this where you have to trek out into the middle of the woods using your phone’s flashlight to navigate, you sort of loathe your unspoken oath to attend with Vernon.

Instead of focusing on the distaste and the inherent anxiety the shadows of the trees give you, you let Vernon help you slide down a ditch and climb up the other side. His fingers are firm on your wrist, not quite holding your hand but keeping you connected.

Your skin is warm and tingles when he lets go, deeming it safe enough to let you walk yourself. It’s easier to see now, too, the orange light of the massive bonfire casting a circle of orange glow that only grows as you near the party.

Party is perhaps too strong of a word for it. There can’t be more than twenty people in the small clearing surrounding the roaring fire the Soonyoung tends to, foldable chairs and coolers arranged in a circle. Chan is trying to roast a marshmallow and failing, the white snack immediately catching fire and singing in the heat of the fire.

Mingyu whistles when he sees you, catching your attention to wave you over to a pair of seats by him and Chan. You make your way there, navigating through groups of people clutching plastic cups and stepping over various sizes of coolers.

The heat from Soonyoung’s inferno is nearly unbearable, making you cringe back as he adds something that cracks and pops, sending bits of orange ash floating toward the sky.

“Jesus Christ, Soonyoung!” Seungcheol complains from his seat where a girl sits on his knee. “Enough, it’s fucking hot!”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung answers, sheepish.

Backing your chair away from the fire a little, you sit down and curl into the folding chair, accepting the drink Vernon hands you before moving his chair closer to yours and sitting down. A shiver ripples through you at the cool can in your hands. You crack the top and take a sip, trying to cool down from the blast of heat you’d taken while passing the fire.

Mingyu turns to you and Vernon as Chan pops a burned marshmallow in his mouth, the two of them immediately launching into discussions of the murders. You shift uncomfortably in your chair, listening as they recount the details in the news mixed with the rumors on campus.

So far, two bodies have been discovered and linked together. The authorities don’t want to call it a serial killer, attempting to avoid a media craze and inspiring the killer to go on a spree, but denying the murders are connected is impossible.

You’re unsure what the victims have in common. The first had been a male senior who was in the business track, discovered by the dorms near the lake on campus. The second had been the girl you’d seen in the library in her apartment off campus, and Sidney had been in the education track and a junior.

Neither of them were friends. You don’t go to a large university, but there are enough students that it’s normal to have a ton of people that you don’t know. From what anyone can tell, there was nothing the two victims had in common.

Except that they’d been murdered by someone who had left a bloody Hello Darling written at the crime scene.

A chill sweeps over you as Mingyu mentions the Hello Darling Murderer. It was the same story as before - a man had murdered his girlfriend in the 70s, a shocking and violent domestic crime that had unsettled the citizens and local university. He’d promptly killed himself after that, leaving only a bloody Hello Darling on the walls.

Authorities didn’t even know who the blood had belonged to - it took them so long to realize the couple was missing before they did a wellness check that by the time they investigated, they’d been dead a week.

Vernon snorts at that and mutters something about the ineptitude of law enforcement. You cut your eyes at him. Though you agree, Vernon is usually the last person to make degrading comments - or comment at all really.

Not for the first time in the last two weeks, you can’t help but sense that honed edge to him he has now. You’ve attributed it to him moving with more confidence, talking to people directly and making actual eye contact. You don’t know where the sudden swell in self-conviction has come from, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t look good on him.

Still, it’s got you a little uneasy, trying to adjust to this version of him.

The topic shifts to football and you find yourself tuning everyone out, sipping your cider and staring at the fire as it warms your feet. More people arrive and drag chairs up. Someone hauls a few kegs into the firelight, cheers going around the fire.

Vernon stands and holds his hand up for your empty can. You give it to him wordlessly and he heads to get you a refresh, tossing the trash into one of the trash bins.

Turning to Mingyu as he goes, you ask quietly, “Has he seemed different to you lately?”

“Who?”

“Steve Jobs,” you deadpan. “Vernon, obviously.”

“I don’t think so? He’s around a lot more lately and actually talks to us.” Mingyu pauses, thinking as he cocks his head to the side. “I mean, I guess that is kind of weird for him. He also actually goes to places with us now.”

“Exactly what I mean.”

“Hey! We are friends, you know?”

You hum uncertainty, your attention trailing back to Vernon. You observe him, noticing all the little details that are different. He stands a little bit straighter, inserts himself in conversations where he didn’t before.

Now, he stands near the keg, nodding along to something the girl next to him is saying. They’re standing close - you realize it’s the same girl from the Halloween party that had been talking to him, except this time, he’s talking back.

Vernon leans in close to her and says something, making her laugh. He bites his lower lip a little, watching her with half-lidded eyes. Your stomach turns a little, eyes glued as he brushes her arm when he reaches for the cup that Joshua hands him.

Turning away from them, you tune yourself into Chan’s conversation, needing a distraction. You try not to count the minutes until Vernon returns. When he does, the girl is with him. He drags a chair over so she can sit on the other side of him.

It’s close, their knees touching when he sits and hands her the drink he was holding for her. He turns and holds out your drink to you, which sloshes a little when you snatch the cup from his hand. He arches his brows but you say nothing, taking a large gulp and turning your back on him to ask Chan about football instead.

“You watch football?” Chan asks cryptically.

“Sure. Go Green Bay Ravens.”

He stares. “Packers. Green Bay Packers.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing with you. In fact, if you want to tell me what’s what more often-”

You scoff. “Shut up, Chan!”

Stuck between Vernon flirting with the girl next to him and Chan and Mingyu being - Chan and Mingyu - sours your mood. You try to lose yourself in your cup, going mute as you stare at the fire. Vernon hardly notices the shift in your mood, leaning in to the girl as they chat.

You can’t help but notice everything about them. It’s impossible not to see the way she leans into him, bumping shoulders when she laughs. He lets her, watching her with a gaze you can only describe as hungry. The grip on your cup tightens as he knocks their knees together when he shifts in his chair, leaving it pressed against hers.

It reminds you of the way he’d behaved in the library with you, brushing against you on purpose, making his words come out in a playful pur instead of what you’re used to, and seeing him do it with her now makes you snap.

You stand abruptly, drawing the attention of Chan and Mingyu but not who you want.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Need company?” Chan offers. It seems genuine, but you give him a sharp no before you’re walking away, sticks snapping underneath your boots as you go.

Chill air licks your face as you get further from the fire. There are plenty of people dispersed throughout the general area, some people pulled far away for intimate conversations, others pulled away to pass a joint in a circle, the pungent smell chasing you as you pass them.

Away from the smoke and the noise, you feel like you can breathe a little more. You find a fallen tree, thick enough to sit on. You test your weight on it first before deciding it’s safe, swinging your leg to straddle it and look off into the dark trees.

There’s just enough light from the silver moon above your head and from the distant fire to feel safe. Wrapping your arms around your middle, you hug yourself and close your eyes, breathing in deep. The fire smoke isn’t strong here, the air clean and crisp.

Opening your eyes, you look at the sky. This far out in the country, you can see the stars. Out of habit, you start mapping out all the constellations you know, eyes tracing Orion the Hunter. You skip over to Andromeda, counting each star before moving to the east to spot Cassiopeia.

It reminds you of the time you taught Vernon all the different constellations. He’d been a silent and attentive listener, watching as you’d pointed them all out while sitting on a bench at the park. You’ve caught him drawing them more than once in his chemistry notebooks, little dots of perfect constellations memorized.

An ache you’re familiar with fills your chest. It’s the same ache you had when you realized you had feelings for him but didn’t want to tell him. The same ache you had when he’d hurt your feelings on Halloween. The same ache as when you’d seen him actually look back at someone who's interested in him, for once.

Crying seems silly, but suddenly you have the urge to, throat twisting as you stare at the sky and try to puzzle out the direction your friendship has gone since that night. As you sit on the tree, a prickling sense of awareness creeps up your spine, tugging at you.

Looking around, you see nothing. You can generally see in a good circumference, but the sudden instinct that something or someone is watching you drives you to get off the branch, hitting the ground with both feet to stride back toward the fire.

As you go, your foot gets stuck in a tangle of tree roots again, making you stumble. You curse, bending down through squinted eyes to untangle your foot. Your fingers are a little cold and shaking, anxiety creeping up slowly as you pull the weeds and roots away from your shoe.

Something snaps behind you. Your fingers freeze, head whipping around to look for the source of the noise. Again, you see nothing but your heart is hammering. You don’t dare to breathe, holding your breath as you strain your ears to hear anything else. There’s only crickets and an owl in the distance, no more snapping branches.

In that moment, it occurs to you that you’ve decided to wander out in the woods at night and alone after two recent murders. The stupidity of your actions land like a blow.

Turning back around, you wrench your shoe free and stand up, nearly colliding with Vernon who leans backward to avoid smacking into you as you shriek in surprise, stepping backward. Vernon’s hand darts out to grab you, catching you and tugging you forward into him before you can lose your balance fully.

Heart hammering, your fingers dig into his biceps, keeping yourself standing as you hiss, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing? You’re wandering out in the middle of the woods while there is an active serial killer in town.”

“Oh please, like you noticed.”

He frowns. You drop your hands and try to step away from him, eager to put some distance between you. Vernon’s grip on you tightens though, keeping you where you’re standing. “I’m here, I obviously noticed.” You snort derisively and his grip tightens a little. “Is there something you want to say?”

You open and close your mouth, scowling at him. He’s never so direct you’re unsure how to approach the question. So you try for a little bit of honesty. “I wasn’t having fun.”

“Okay, so let’s leave.”

“You look like you were having fun.”

Silence hangs in the air. Vernon’s face is indecipherable. Then, “Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Your response is so fast that it even sounds practiced and hollow to you. It’s hard not to wince, hoping that as always, he doesn’t see through your cellophane defense. Vernon’s touch drops from your biceps to your wrist, delicate. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, instead staring at the buttons on his jean jacket.

“I noticed you were gone.” His voice is gentle, a low purr. You dart a quick glance at him to see the intensity of his gaze. It makes you squirm, unsure how to respond. “I always notice when you’re gone.”

“Alright. Well.”

“I notice everything about you.”

The way he says it is a soft whisper. A promise, a suggestion. Again, it feels like Vernon has discovered your loose thread, tugging lightly on it. If he tugs again, you think you might unspool all the way, showing him everything you don’t want him to see.

It feels like he wants to, and that’s what scares you more. That suddenly he’s looking at you like he wants to see past the veneer of your words, like he’s ready to look inside. You hear the double meaning. It’s so terrifying that you look away from him, ready to hide.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper.

“I’m not. If you’re not having fun, let’s go home. I came here with you.” He tugs your wrist. “Come on. You can’t be walking around out here alone with a killer on the loose, Lovecraft. I’ll be forced to fight them off.”

The tension fades. You let out a breath and laugh, looking at him skeptically. “Yeah? You’re going to fight for me?”

His grip on your wrist tightens. You wonder if he can feel the speed of your pulse under his thumb, the way it hammers when he smirks. “Yeah, I am.”

Sal’s Pizzeria isn’t your favorite place to do school work. It’s too loud and bright, the promise of food is way too distracting for you to focus for much longer than a few minutes at a time, and usually your fingers are too slippery with pizza grease to type properly.

You only have a narrow window to finish writing your paper before going to the bar for Jihoon’s birthday. You barely know him, but he’s someone Vernon is decently close enough too that you feel obligated to attend. More importantly, you’re finally almost done with your paper you’ve been working on for two weeks, eager to celebrate hitting submit.

“You know that dude who was killed first was a rotten cheater?”

The girls sitting behind you catch your attention. Your brows knit together and you turn your head a fraction to eavesdrop, eyes unfocusing on the words on your screen. There are four of them behind you that you don’t recognize but assume go to the same school as you, based on the attire and the backpacks.

“Yeah! Sam told me about that. Apparently he was sleeping around with a bunch of freshmen. Maybe his girlfriend found out and went all psycho killer on him?”

“Ew, how scummy. But what’s with the hello darling message shit? Can you say weird?”

“I know, right?”

Their words give you pause. The first victim had been someone known for his infidelity too? Turning back to your screen, you pull up your web browser and type in Hello Darling Murderer to the search. The original murder from the 70s hadn’t given you much thought beyond assuming someone was being a copycat, but now you feel something nagging at you. Something you’re missing.

All of the top stories are of the recent murders. You amend your search to the 70s and get older articles and links to podcasts covering the initial incident. Clicking on a story from a reputable journal, you start reading in detail about the first murder and his victim, skin prickling as you go.

As an Occult Studies major, a lot of people think you’re into murder mysteries. In truth, you’re not. They have little to do with what you study, and you’ve spent countless times telling people that occult and people obsessed with true crime are two totally different things. You have no idea why they’re lumped together so often, but on more than one occasion you’ve had to explain you’re not interested in serial killers or their stories.

Except now. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you unwind the story of Thomas Ellswater, who had apparently murdered his girlfriend at the time before promptly killing himself. The initial investigation hadn’t dug up much, assuming that it was a case of domestic violence gone as bad as it could.

But the journalist who had written the story had other details. Accounts from family friends that detailed Elsswater’s girlfriend, Maya, unhappy with their relationship. One even insinuated that she had been cheating on him for a long time, though with who, they were unsure.

Further down in the article, you stop. Read the paragraph again. Look at the picture of the house. A sickly chill coats your skin as you lean forward, taking in the details of the house. You’ve seen it before, though your memory of it at night surrounded by floodlights and full of drunk college students makes it almost unrecognizable when you see it on the screen.

Thomas Ellswater lived in the same house that you’d partied in on Halloween night, where Vernon had played that horrible prank in the closet. Thomas or Maya had been the haunting spirit Soonyoung had been attempting to summon.

And now someone was killing in the same exact style..

The server bringing you two trays of pizzas and a basket of fries breaks you from your trance. You close the article, a sick feeling in your stomach as you try to piece together the puzzle. Was it just a spurned lover who was paying homage to someone who related? Or was it a serial killer poking fun at the MO?

Vernon crashing into the seat across from you startles you. He gives you a grin, eyeing the pizza in front of him and rubbing his hands together. Rolling your eyes, you grab the red pepper flakes and salt, passing the latter over to him.

“So I learned something weird today,” you venture, pulling a slice of pizza from the tray.

“Tell me,” he answers over a mouthful of pizza, once again burning himself. You roll your eyes, shaking your red pepper onto your slice. “What is going on in the world of occult today?”

“Actually, not occult.” He gives you an appraising look, popping some fries into his mouth. “What, no salt today?”

He pauses, looking at the basket of fries. “Nah, I need to cut back on the sodium.”

“Good idea. Anyway, it’s about the murders.”

“Do tell.”

“The girls behind me said the first victim was known for cheating.”

“It’s college. Apparently there is a lot of that.”

“But remember that day we saw Sidney in the library? She was cheating too.”

“Right.” He rips into his pizza, gaze sharp as he looks at you. “So this town is full of a bunch of lowlife fucking cheaters.”

You flinch at his vehemence, leaning back in your seat. Vernon drops his gaze, tearing into his slice in silence. “Sorry,” he says after swallowing. “I’m hungry.”

“Right. As I was saying, I looked up that Hello Darling Murder.”

He pauses, gaze flicking to you. “And?”

“And it was ruled as a case of domestic violence gone wrong, but there were some people who think the Maya Caravalo was cheating on Thomas Ellswater, who killed her.”

“I’m sure cheating is the leading cause of crimes of passion.”

“In the house that we were in on Halloween.”

Vernon frowns. “Ah. Weird.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You watch him as he chews on more pizza, shoving fries into his mouth on occasion too. He seems totally at ease - and more normal than he’s been in weeks. You watch, mildly disgusted at the way college men eat.

“That’s all you have to say?” You ask. “Weird.”

“It is weird.”

“Kind of an insane coincidence.”

He becomes still, only his eyes moving as he settles his inky gaze on you. For a second, you can’t help but think he looks a bit like the cat who ate the canary, eyes glittering. “So tell me what theory is in that pretty head of yours, Lovecraft.”

Ignoring the way your heart leaps at him calling you pretty, you sigh, picking at the wooden table with a thumb nail. “I don’t really have one. I just think someone came across the original murder and thought I could write that at my crime scenes. I don’t study criminology, I can’t figure out motivation.”

“You’re the smartest person in school, Lovecraft. Try.”

“I guess… I don’t know. The new killer was probably cheated on recently, came across what happened in the 70s, and has been taking out their rage on other adulterers because they feel some sort of kinship with Thomas. Maybe like finishing his work or ridding the world of a common enemy.”

Vernon hums. “Maybe so. Do you think they deserve it?” You look at him sharply, mouth downturning. “The victims. Do you think they deserve to be killed for their infidelity?”

“I don’t know that anyone is deserving of murder.” You chew the inside of your cheek, watching Vernon’s face for any sign of what he’s thinking. He’s totally closed off, a blank canvas. “This is why I’m in Occult Studies and not law, Vernon.”

He gives a wolfish grin. “Touche. Come on, eat your pizza. We have a bar to go get drunk at.”

The bar in question is teeming with people. You’re immediately overwhelmed, squeezing your way between chairs, tables and people as you navigate to your group of friends. Vernon keeps you close, his arm encircling your waist as pulling you to him as you go.

He either ignores or doesn’t notice the sharp look you give him. Instead, he’s focused on keeping the two of you attached, shouldering his way through the crowd, the press of his fingers on your hip dizzying and steadying at the same time.

At the far back of the bar, an entire section of people associated with Vernon’s fraternity crowd from wall to wall. Vernon manages to get you onto a stool at the bar top, shouldering one of the pledges off the seat with a narrow-eyed look. You raise your brows at him and he winks, leaning his elbow on the bar top to order you both drinks.

Spinning to face him in the stool, you give him a quick once over. You’d been so engrossed in your murdery mystery findings at the pizzeria that you haven't really looked at him until now. He looks good, dressed simply in dark jeans and a dark, long sleeve shirt that shows how broad he is. Has he always been that broad?

Vernon catches you staring. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

He grins, accepting drinks from the bartender and sliding one over to you. You burn under the full weight of his attention as he pops his straw into his mouth. “Tell me.”

“You look nice tonight.”

“You look nice every night.”

“Oh shut up.”

“What?” he laughs. “I mean it.”

“Whatever.”

Spinning in the chair again, you place your back to the bar, facing the crowd to watch people. Vernon is content to stand next to you in silence, both of you sipping your drinks as you observe the people around you. Someone jostles him a little closer, his arm shifting to lay across the bartop along your back.

Heat creeps into your cheeks and you try to remain breathing normally. Vernon leaves his arm there, pressed against you but not exactly wrapped around you. There is a distinct difference, but this is still new. Still confusing.

People who recognize you both come up and say hi. You keep the conversation polite and short, especially when you see the girl who has lingered at the last two parties slink toward you, her eyes only for Vernon.

“Hi,” she yells over the crowd, totally ignoring you. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight!”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m friends with Jihoon.”

The girl opens and closes her mouth, lips pursed at that. You sense the serrated edged to Vernon’s words, casting a glance his direction. He’s not looking at her, eyes instead scanning the crowd. Uninterested. Even you know she didn’t literally mean she wasn’t expecting to see him - it was just a conversation starter.

Using the opportunity to sip from your straw to hide your laughter, you have to admit you’re a little relieved to see Vernon missing social cues again. It’s more him, a Vernon that you're used to. Maybe a little meaner than usual, but this is closer.

“Right,” the girl says. Her eyes flicker to you for the first time. “It’s his birthday, right?”

“According to the giant sign in the corner and all the balloons, yes.”

Okay, maybe it’s not entirely normal Vernon. Usually he isn’t so callous. In this case, you don’t mind, watching as she tries to puzzle out how to keep the conversation going. Vernon decides for you, turning from her to press his mouth close to your ear.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, breath hot against you. “I’m gonna greet Jihoon really quickly.”

All you can manage is a breathy, “Alright.”

Vernon finishes his drink and pushes off the bar, fingers dragging against you as he goes. He ignores the girl standing and watching, her eyes darting from you to him until he vanishes in the sea of bodies. Without Vernon there, she has nothing to do. She tilts her chin up, sucking up her pride and turns on her heel to walk a direction distinctly not the same way as Vernon.

Alone at the bar, you swivel in your seat to order you both another drink. You assume Vernon is drinking a whiskey coke, hoping that’s right as you flag down the bartender. While you wait, someone slips into the spot next to you. You turn, thinking Vernon’s already back only to find someone you definitely don’t know.

“Sorry,” he shouts over the loud voices and music. “Did not mean to get in your personal space, this spot was way smaller than I thought it was.”

“That’s okay! Getting a spot kind of sucks.”

“No kidding.” He grins at you, turning his attention back to trying to get anyone to take his drink order. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to notice me?”

“About seven years.”

“Yikes. I’m Seokmin, by the way.” You give him your name and he grins. “What brings you to this shit hole ass bar?”

“A friend of a friend's birthday. You?”

“A friend of a friend's birthday indeed.”

A bartender finally comes over to take Seokmin’s order. He leans forward to shout over the crowd, his shoulder knocking into yours. You don’t mind - he’s nice. He looks over at you, a question on his face. “You like tequila?”

“No!”

“Let me rephrase - want a shot of tequila?”

“She doesn’t.”

Vernon slides behind you, his palm pressed flat to your back. You startle, looking up at him in surprise. He isn’t looking at you, his eyes zeroed in on Seokmin. You slide Vernon’s drink toward him, eager to dispel the sudden tension thrumming through him.

“Whiskey and coke?”

He looks down, eyes rounding out a little as he softens. “Mhmm. Thank you.”

Drink in hand, Seokmin turns to you both and waves. “Y’all have a good night!”

When he’s gone, Vernon leans against the counter again, his tone flat as he says, “He was nice.”

“He was, but what do you sound bothered by ?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. Instead of answering you, he picks up the lime in his drink and squeezes it, stirring it with his straw before taking a long pull straight from the rim of the glass.

You nudge him. “I’m going to say this again: you’ve been different, lately.”

“Different how.”

“I don’t know. You talk more. You’re a lot more engaging. You’re a little…”

“A little what?”

“Cockier?” He hims, eyes dropping down to your mouth. “Like that,” you point out, voice a little weaker. “You do that now, and you didn’t used to.”

“I always did. I’m just a little more obvious about it now.”

Tension crackles between the two of you. Your mouth feels dry as you watch him, reading the minute expressions of his face. Finally, when you can’t unpuzzle him, you say, “I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell if you’re coming onto me or if it’s some sort of game to you.” That makes him frown as he sips his drink again. Your fear and frustration clash, wrestling for dominance. “It makes things confusing.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I’m happy to clear things up.”

You grip your glass, trying to keep your fingers from quaking. This moment feels like it’s all or nothing. Vernon puts it out on the table so easily, leaving the option to you. Either you can ask for clarity, or keep playing this new game of cat and mouse. But you have to decide.

“I would appreciate it if you did,” you say eventually.

Vernon nods and finishes the rest of the drink. He sets the glass down before he leans forward, hand going to the underside of your chin to lightly tip your face upward with his knuckle so he can press the world’s most gentle kiss to your mouth.

You freeze. When he doesn’t pull away, lips soft and warm, you sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. He feels you relax, mouth curling in a smile against yours. He steps into your space without breaking the kiss, finding the space between your legs as his lips press firmer to yours.

Vernon smells like his cologne and something distinctly him. It makes you dizzy, and the way he tastes like whiskey and lime makes the room spin. When he pulls away from him, you feel like you’re going to fall from the stool, leaning toward him.

His hands grip your thighs, squeezing generously as he leans in and drags his mouth to your ear. “Does that clear things up?”

“Actually, no?”

His groan is throaty, turning into laughter as he buries his face in your neck. Your hands tentatively settle on his waist, a little hesitant. “I always said you were the smartest person at school, but maybe not.”

“Hey!”

“Come home with me.” He feels your delay, laughing. “Come home with me because I like you. Is that clearer? Because I want you to come home with me, and I don’t want anyone else here.”

Your heart goes bolting like a rabbit, running in circles. Vernon pulls away from you to study your face. You watch him for any sign that he’s kidding, that he doesn’t mean it. You find none. In its place, you only see honesty. Hunger. Fiery desire burning at the surface.

“Really?” Your question is small. Vulnerable. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your thighs. “I’m not playing games with you. Come home with me - I’ll prove I’m serious about you. You are what I want. I just had to be sure.”

Lightheaded and heart slamming, you let Vernon pull you from the seat and lead you out of the bar.

Vernon’s apartment on the north side of town is a place you’ve been a million times. You recognize all the cars in the parking lot, and you know exactly what building and floor belongs to him. You even recognize his neighbors come in mat that you’ve always hated.

He catches you staring at it with distaste now, laughing as he shakes his head and inserts his keys. “You and that mat.”

One hand works the keys into the door while the other is stretched behind him, fingers linked with yours. Your hand is warm and your heart is still racing as he gets the door open, pulling you inside the dark of his home.

“They could be inviting anything in,” you assert, a little breathless as he pulls you to his chest. He kicks the door shut, the frame rattling as it slams. “You should never have a doormat that just welcomes whatever shows up at your door inside. You could end up with a vampire in your home.”

“A vampire, huh?” Vernon ducks his head towards your neck, lips skimming your throat. Your fingers twist in the hem of his shirt, eyes fluttering closed as his teeth scrape against your pulse point. “Sounds scary.”

“It is. There’s nothing to disprove that vampires exist.”

Vernon bites down and you whine, melting into him. His laugh vibrates through his chest as his tongue presses to the bite mark, soothing the pain. His mouth closes over the spot and he sucks gently, sending a shiver through your body.

“I promise the only thing biting you will be me.”

The full weight of his words hit you between the legs. You feel like putty in his hand as he navigates you to the island counter in his kitchen. He presses your back into it, careful not to jam you too harshly against the marble.

Heat licks through your stomach as Vernon steals your lips in a kiss. It’s different from the gentle one he gave you at the bar. This one drinks you in, pries you open and lets you spill out into him, all the feelings and bottled thoughts you have free for the taking.

You get lost in him, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him close, fingers sliding through his hair. He moans and you respond, curling your fingers to scrape your nails against his scalp. His hips twitch forward, pinning you between him in the counter as he sucks your bottom lip harshly.

“Be careful,” he warns, a hand drifting from your chin to your neck. He doesn’t wrap his fingers around your throat, but his hand rests there, heavy and wanting. “I’m trying to be gentle.”

You steal a kiss, nipping his bottom lip sharply. “Don’t be.”

His resounding groan makes you dizzy. His kisses become rough and heated, using his tongue as much as his teeth. He presses you hard into the countertop now, the marble digging into your back as he nearly folds you in half with the weight of his body.

It feels like the air has left the room. Vernon is the only thing you need to breathe in, fueled by the way his tongue licks into you, the gentle squeeze of his hand at the base of your throat. His fingers press against your pulse, not enough to cut off any airflow but enough to send a bolt of pleasure and thrill through you.

“You have no idea,” Vernon pants, pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your jawline. “How long I’ve waited to do this. I could have had you this entire fucking time, but I held myself back.”

His thumb presses under your jaw, angling your head to the side. With more access to your throat, he peppers you in bites and kisses, tongue soothing each sting. “I have wasted so much time,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Being a fucking coward.”

“Don’t say that,” you gasp as his other hand presses between your legs. The ache in your cunt is already throbbing, and he does nothing but make it worse by adding pressure but doing nothing more. “Please don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” He pulls away from you. Before you can complain, he gives you a quick kiss, tugging you toward his room. “I shouldn’t have waited until I had a little… encouragement to do this. I’m going to give you everything you want, love.”

A quiver slithers down your spine at the shortened version of your nickname. The new endearment hits home when you see the way he looks at you, the want and desire more unrestrained than anything else you’ve ever seen on his expression.

Hand in yours, he pulls you into the bedroom, spinning you to sit you down on the edge of his bed. You look up at him through your lashes, admiring the shape of his face and the way you can just barely see his freckles in the soft glow from the nightlight in his bathroom as he slots himself between your knees.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Vernon whispers, voice like velvet. He slides a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze even higher as he watches you, eyes blown. “I’m entirely devoted to you and you only. You know that, right?”

Vernon’s thumb pulls at your bottom lip. You open your mouth on instinct and he growls low in his throat. He pushes his thumb past your swollen lips, pressing down on your tongue. You taste the lime from earlier and the hint of salt on his skin, closing your mouth as you suck gently.

“Fuck,” he swears, thumb pressing harder. “You really have been a little slut for me this entire time, huh?”

Hearing Vernon say it in that deep, whispered voice of his does something to you. There’s a note in his voice you’re unfamiliar with, a dangerous edge that you want to lean into and cut yourself on. So you nod, lashes fluttering as you bat them up at him.

“Yeah, thought so.” He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it spit-slicked down your chin. “Lay back on the bed for me, love.”

You do so immediately, shuffling backward so that you can lean back. The sheets smell like him and you tilt your head to the side, nuzzling his comforter a little. You try to ground yourself, feeling a little staticky as he kneels on the bed, mattress dipping.

Vernon plants a knee between your legs, leaning forward to cage you in with a hand on either side of your head. His kiss is all consuming, any sense of delicacy gone. You let him devour you, your hands pulling at his belt loops to bring him closer.

He’s not close enough, never close enough.

Having him like this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He’s familiar, the scent of him and the warmth of his skin and the little sounds he makes but he’s also entirely new. He is rougher than you imagined, sharper than you thought. He drags his blunt nails over your collarbone as he pulls your shirt away from your neck, giving his mouth access to litter your skin with kisses.

Your hands slip under his shirt, curious as you press the pads of your fingers into his stomach. You feel the muscles flex and he hums low in his throat, enjoying your exploration as you slide your hands around the perfect taper of his waist to the small of his back.

Vernon slides his knee higher, pressing it directly to your clothed cunt. You twitch against him, a questioning sound leaving your lips as you breathe in sharply.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles against your chest, one pulling sharply at your shirt. You hear the seams rip and you don’t even care. “Take what you need, love.”

The rawness of his words fucks you up. You do as he says, rolling your hips against his thigh for any sort of pressure and friction. It helps relieve the tension a little, but not nearly enough. Your breathing turns ragged as he harshly bites and kisses his way to your bra.

Yanking hard, he rips the rest of your shirt. You let out a throaty laugh and he looks up at you, eyes like burning coals. “What’s so funny, hmm?”

“I did not expect you to be able to rip my shirt.”

“Oh?”

The dangerous note in his voice makes your hips stutter and stop. He runs the tip of his tongue around the soft curve of your chest, watching you all the while and fuck. If you’d realized that this was the type of Vernon you’d get, maybe you’d have been braver sooner. Because this Vernon is something else, confident and cocky and ravenous.

“Want me to rip this too?” He teases, teeth pulling at the cup of your bra. Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath, a little overwhelmed. “Say the word.”

“Maybe salvage some of my clothing, Vernon.”

“Fine. I will not salvage you, though.”

You believe him. Nothing about the way Vernon peels your bra off of you is gentle. Nothing about the way his hand cups your breast, squeezing before he lowers his mouth to give a generous suck to your nipple feels like he has your survival in mind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let Vernon have his way. It feels like he’s peeling you open layer by layer, plucking every string connected to your pleasure that he can find.

His mouth is a weapon, tongue lazily circling your pert nipple until you’re whining and squirming under him. He laughs and drags his tongue to the other side of your chest, licking his way to your peak to tease you further.

“Shit,” you whisper, one hand leaving his back to tangle in his hair. You don’t know if you’re pulling him away or pushing him closer - maybe both. “Vernon.”

His teeth scrape your nipple and you whine. He shuts you up by closing his mouth around you, sucking sharply. When he pulls away with a loud pop, you let out a shaky breath.

“You can barely keep it together,” he observes. He placed closed mouth kisses on your stomach as he descends, pulling his knee from between your thighs. “What are you gonna do when I eat you out, huh?”

Flushed and embarrassed, you cover your face as his tongue licks the skin above your jeans. “Cat got your tongue, love?”

“You - you’re - ugh!”

He chuckles, popping the button of your jeans. “I’m ugh?”

“You know what I mean.”

Vernon tugs on your jeans. You try to lift your hips to help him, but your thighs are like jelly already, turning you useless. He coos at you, pressing a kiss to your hip gently. “I got you.”

Unsure if he means about your inability to get out your fucking pants or he understand what you mean, you let him peel them down the rest of the way. His hands skate up your calves, squeezing and firm as he sinks to his knees on the floor.

Bracing yourself, you brave a look between your legs where he presses your thighs open gently with his palms. Veronon’s eyes are on the apex of your thighs, entirely focused on where your underwear stick to your folds. He licks his lips, hand brushing up and down your thighs.

His gaze flickers to you. For a moment, the two of you just stare at one another. You feel overly exposed, naked from the waist up, cool air pebbling your spit-slicked chest. The weight of his gaze presses you down like a physical thing, but it’s comforting. Warm. Reassuring.

The air is charged between you as he keeps watching you while he drags a hand up and between your legs. He presses a thumb between your folds and you whimper, feeling the way he prods at your aching entrance, only the thin fabric keeping him out.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asks, thumb slowly dragging up the damp patch to your clit. He digs in sharply, pressing firm enough that your pleasure spikes and your hips pop off the bed. He hisses at you and smacks your thigh, making you lower your ass to the bed again. “Everytime we were together, did you get like this?”

It takes effort to rasp, “Sometimes.”

Vernon hooks his thumb in the side of your pants, pulling. The fabric peels back achingly slow, cool air hitting your cunt and making you whine. He hums thoughtfully, placing the fabric to the side.

“Like what times?” he questions, blowing cool air against you. You thrash and he laughs, pinning you down by the hips. “I’m curious. Elaborate for me.”

“Umm.”

It’s the only word you can get out before he renders you speechless, the flat of his tongue sliding slowly up your pussy. You go boneless, breath stuck in your chest as his tongue lazily circles around your clit and drags back down. He repeats the motion, the slow-soft brush of his tongue driving you insane instantly.

“You’re not elaborating,” Vernon notes. He presses a kiss that is far too sweet for the moment to your bundle of nerves. “I wanna know all the times you were with me where you felt like this. Go on.”

“I don’t,” you breath catches when his tongue curls through your folds. He’s soft and slow as he licks you, a lazy smoothless to it that makes you see stars. “Know how to speak when you’re doing that.”

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

“Try,” he murmurs, dipping his tongue in your dripping entrance. “I want to know.”

Fuck. Trying to pull together any coherent thoughts is like wading through thick water. You’re distracted by the way Vernon’s mouth closes on you, sucking gently. He takes his time, fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he keeps you open, enjoying you fully.

“I - shit - I guess sometimes when we go out,” you manage. “I like when you wear your hat backwards.”

He flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit, making you clench, toes curling. His mouth is wet and warm, closing around your throbbing bundle and sucking gently. Your hips lift but his grip is firm, keeping his mouth to you.

When he pulls away, the suction is audible, a string of spit and arousal connecting his lips to your pussy. “Taste so fucking good,” he whispers. You think it’s more to himself than you, his tongue carving through you again. “Tell me more.”

“Halloween night. When you were in skull makeup.”

His tongue starts circling your clit again, the indirect stimulation driving you wild. Your hands tangle in the sheets, sweat slicking your skin as Vernon works to firmer motions. You realize he knows exactly how you like it, gentle to start, working you to firmer motions, a little hungrier.

It makes him all the more lethal, the way he can just figure you out like that. “Yeah?” he asks, sucking harshly against you. “Wanted me to fuck you like that?”

“God, yeah.”

“You should have asked. I’ll fuck you however you want.”

“Didn’t think you liked me.”

Vernon is too busy to answer, increasing the attention of his mouth. Your hands slide down to his, nails digging into the tops of his hands where he holds you. He lets go of your hips in favor of linking your fingers, pressing your clasped hands to the mattress.

His name drips from your mouth, eyes falling shut as you sink into the pleasure deep in your stomach. He makes little sounds of pleasure, grunting and groaning as his mouth becomes more fervent. You feel yourself toeing the edge of an orgasm, so so so close.

He can tell too. He finds a harsh rhythm, pulling you closer and closer to your high with each sharp suck of his lips. You twist in his grip, fingers squeezing his so hard you think you might break his hands. You don’t, feeling your breath catch and hold as you come hard, thighs squeezing as you writhe on the bed.

You draw in a ragged breath, desperate for air as he kisses your cunt once. Twice. His slick mouth presses against your thighs, teeth dragging against soft flesh as he mouths his way to your knee. He gives you a moment, letting you pant against the sheets.

Fabric sticks to your skin as you wiggle against the bed. He stands up, crawling up you again to find your mouth. You lean forward, catching him in an open-mouth kiss that is more tongue than anything, your taste heady in the heat of his mouth.

“Turn over on your stomach for me,” he groans. His hands squeeze your side as he gives you room to follow his direction. You do, but not without his help, your orgasm making you a little clumsy. “Can you get on your knees for me?”

“Maybe?”

“I’ll help you in a second.”

Instead of moving, you lay slumped on the bed, fully intending to let him do the work. You turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off, revealing firm, tan skin. Vernon is beautiful, the sleek lines of his body reminding you of a painting. He kicks off his jeans before shuffling back on the bed behind you, looking down and snorting.

“Didn’t want to move like I asked?” You shake your head. He pats your ass lightly. “Come on, darling. Help me get these panties off or I will rip them off.”

Huffing, you do as he says. He does lend you his strength hauling you up by the arm as you lean up on your knees. The room is cold, making you shiver but he presses your back to his chest, mouth dusting kisses over your shoulders.

Vernon’s fingers dance along your sides until he’s pulling your underwear the rest of the way down your thighs, helping you kick out of them. When he’s got you full naked, he presses your back to him, crowding your space as he angles your head to kiss you slowly. Fully.

Behind you, his cock presses firmly into your ass. You push back against him, putting pressure against his shaft. He hisses, biting your shoulder harshly.

“Careful,” he growls, teeth at your neck. “Or I won’t be very nice.”

“Want you, though.”

“You’ll have me when I say you can.”

One of his hands slides up to your neck, gripping your throat lightly. He pauses, leaning to catch your gaze. His eyes are round and soft. Honest. Open. “This okay?” He questions gently. He gives a little squeeze to indicate what he means. You nod eagerly, reaching a hand to close around his, making him press harder. “Fuck you’re perfect.”

You lean your head back against his chest as he holds you by the throat, one of your hands dropping to his elbow, the other reaching behind you to sink your fingers in his hair and tug. The sound he makes is feral, the hand he has placed on your waist dropping between your legs, fingers pressing between them.

“Oh,” you squeak, feeling his deft tough on your clit. His movements are aided by your earlier release, fingers circling smoothly as he squeezes your throat, thumb pressed perfectly, to make it just a little harder to breathe. “Shit.”

“Can you tell me a safe word? Not gonna go hard, just wanna know if it becomes too much.”

“Maenad.” He snorts and you huff. “I just wrote an essay on them, don’t start.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Alright. Just please use it if it’s too much - any of it. If you can’t talk, pat my arm, alright? Just wanna do this right.”

You nod, so in love with him it takes all of you to stop yourself from blurting it.

Vernon shuffles behind you, letting you tilt forward a little. The hand between your legs leaves and he instead brings it behind you, prodding at your pussy with his fingers from behind. You let out a loud sound and you can almost feel his grin as he presses a finger into your heat.

He’s slow at first, the same way he was with his mouth. He explores what you like, testing the way his fingers drag against your walls combined with different grip strengths on your throat. You feel light headed. The room spins as he finds a rhythm that draws the most noises from you, that makes you clench down on his finger the most.

All of your weight is against the hand around your neck, barely able to hold yourself up as he presses another finger in. This time, his fingers prod right against that soft spot inside of you, making you see stars. He must realize he’s found it, because he starts finger fucking you in earnest.

The grip on your throat loosens a little, careful not to keep you short of breath for too long as he works your cunt with his hand. His lips find your shoulder, peppering you with light kisses that are delicate and butterfly soft in comparison to the way his fingers fuck into you.

“Vernon,” you whisper, only able to think of his name. “Vernon vernon vernon.”

“Doing so good, darling,” he whispers against your skin. He kisses his way to your ear, sucking the sensitive spot on your neck. “So fucking good for me.”

His words hit below the belt. You shudder in his hold, letting him drive you toward another release. You never imagined Vernon to be talkative in bed, but he is, his voice like velvet. Just like that. Perfect for me. There you go, come on.

Everything about him is perfect, driving you to mania. His grip on your throat tightens suddenly, sensing how close you are to your second peak. Your breath quickens until you can’t breathe, going mute against him as his fingers press hardly into that spot over and over and over.

A high-pitched ring winds in your ears. You hold and hold and hold and when Vernon lets go of your throat, a gust of air flooding your lungs, you shatter around his hand. You collapse backward against him, head knocking into his. You don’t even care, twitching and gasping against him as his hand stills.

For a few moments, you just lean against him like that, sweaty and lost and in a dream. Slowly, you become aware of his pounding heart against your back and the slick between your thighs. Vernon’s mouth is pressed to your shoulder, waiting patiently as you blink a few times, the room swimming into view.

“Hi,” he murmurs, watching you with shadowy eyes.

“Hi,” you croak, voice rough.

“Good?”

“Very.”

“Want to stop?”

“No. Unless you want to.”

His gaze darkens. “I don’t.”

“I want more. I can take more.”

He lifts his head and presses a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re perfect for me. Do you know that?”

Reverent hands help you lay back against the pillows. Vernon touches you like you’re something delicate - not because he thinks you’re fragile, but because you’re something important to him. Valuable. You see it in the way he looks down at you, taking a moment to drink you in.

There’s something else there too. Something edged with a knife, a little wild. Covetous. There is something in the way Vernon grips your leg briefly, a language he’s trying to communicate to you with touch.

Mine, it says. Mine and no one else's.

With hooded eyes, you watch him peel his briefs off. Your eyes shoot to where his cock hangs heavy, beads of precum dripping at his tip. You reach a hand up toward him but he shakes his head, careful as he shuffles toward you.

“Later,” he promises. “I like touching you.”

“I want you to feel good.”

“You make me feel good. Seeing you unravel makes me feel good. I like seeing how much you enjoy me touching you.”

You can tell he means it. His lips are swollen and soft when he kisses you. You open your legs open for him, letting him settle between the softness of your thighs. Vernon runs the head of his cock through your messy fluids, earning a whine for you.

“Sensitive?” he asks against your lips, nose nudging yours. You nod and you feel him smile. “Sorry.”

“Feels good,” you assure him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Want more.”

“Greedy thing.”

“I’m Your greedy thing.”

Your words have the desired effect. You feel a shiver ripple through him, Vernon’s grip on your leg turning to iron as he opens you up wider. He presses his cock into your entrance slowly, pausing just as the tip pops in. You throb around him, whispering his name - begging him to keep going.

Vernon’s grin is sharp as he sinks in further, the slide tortuous and wonderful and so much as he finally finds home, hips pressed as far as he can go. He stays like that, tangling your tongue in a messy kiss as he sits there, fully seated in your heat. Your pussy spasms around him, pressed open to the max.

“Feels so good,” he whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’m going to come embarrassingly fast.”

“So do it.” You wrap a leg around his waist, your hips tilting upward. Both of you moan at the angle change, so close to breaking. “I wanna see it.”

Instead of answering, he nods. He drags his hips backward slowly before slamming back in. He punches the breath out of your lungs with each slide home, the stroke slow but deep. Your head falls to the side, breaths rasping as he sets a steady, slow pace.

It feels good, your legs curling around him to keep you close, hands tangle in his hair to keep him tethered to you. His hair is damp with sweat, your fingers curled in the strands, tugging a little. He seems to like it, making a needy sound in his throat that has you grinning.

“Mine,” Vernon whispers to you, words muffled by your neck. “You are only mine, darling. You will only ever be mine. You were made for me. No one else.”

“No one else,” you agree.

His hips move faster, a little messier. You egg him on, legs squeeze, cunt spasming around him. He lets out a feral sound, driving himself further to his orgasm. He drags you with him, another swell reaching you. Vernon can tell, chasing it like a predator, pinning you down and slamming his cock into you until you’re melting around him again, vision blotted out.

Vernon comes to the sound of his name on your lips. His movements become sloppy until he can’t go anymore, holding himself above you, trembling. Carefully, he drops next to you, pulling his cock free. You feel your joint fluids run down your leg, but you’re too tired to care.

Reaching for him, your hand finds his chest. He wraps his fingers around yours, holding your palm to him, his heart thudding wildly under your touch.

“For you,” he mutters. “Only for you, darling.”

You fall asleep like that, hand pressed to his chest.

Waking up in Vernon’s bed is not new to you. You’ve fallen asleep numerous times at his apartment or stayed the night after going out, but you’ve always had the bed to yourself, Vernon opting to take the couch.

The bed is empty now, but still warm. You stretch as you roll over in his sheets, groaning as you feel the soreness between your legs and mostly everywhere else. Pressing your hand to your chest and shoulders, you feel all the tender places Vernon mapped his affection with tongue and teeth. It makes you smile fondly as you lay in bed alone for a minute, breathing in the scent of his room.

Slowly, you peel yourself from his bed. With an awkward waddle, you make it to the bathroom, flicking on the light. You shield your eyes at first, going about your morning routine and washing your face to try and feel human again.

On your way out, something catches your eye. You frown, walking back toward his laundry hamper where you see brass glinting in the light. You reach for it, pulling the bell from the tangle of his clothes. It has an old wooden handle with cracks, a little hand bell used for-

Well. Used the night of halloween. You have no idea why Vernon still has it, the memory of that night like poison in your mouth. You toss it back into the hamper on top of another shirt that catches your eye. It’s one of his dark green t-shirts, but the collar is stained dark brown.

Curious, you pull it out, shaking the shirt out in front of you. It’s mostly unmarked, save for the spatter of something dark brown and dried. You run your finger around the edge of it, puzzled. It looks like dried blood, but you can’t recall any injuries he’s suffered recently.

You take the shirt with you into his room, tossing it on his bed as you get dressed, stealing sweatpants and a hoodie. Grabbing the shirt again, you trail out toward the kitchen where Vernon is making breakfast, the smell of bacon crackling in the pan.

You grin, leaning against the doorframe for a second to watch him. He looks so at ease, flipping pieces of bacon while he sings to some seventies song you don’t know the name of.

Pushing off the wall, you head toward him. He catches you in his peripheral, turning his head and smiling at you. “Hello, Darling.”

The nickname gives you pause. You slow as you come around the corner of the counter, stopping completely as the endearment pricks you sharply on the back of your neck. Vernon goes back to flipping bacon, singing along a song you vaguely know, but don’t know why Vernon does. He’s never liked music from the 1970s, and-

Your ears start to ring. Several things occur to you at once.

The memory of Vernon screaming and banging his fists against the door, begging for help. You’d been so afraid that you ripped the door open, crashing through the line of salt.

Vernon, sharp and confident, the new edge to him as he interacts with people, a little harsher. A little darker.

Nah need to cut back on the sodium had said when you asked about the lack of salt on his fries.

The way he’d called you darling the night before, whispering it against your skin.

70s music that Vernon has never listened to since you’ve known him.

The bell sitting in the hamper used to call a spirit on Halloween.

In the house that belonged to the Hello Darling Murderer.

Brown stains - like blood - on his shirt.

Carefully, you learn toward the middle of the counter, watching Vernon like a prey skirts a predator. With trembling hands, you gently grab the salt from where it sits next to the pepper. You hold your breath, trying not to draw his attention as you unscrew the top of it, placing the metal lid on the shirt to keep it quiet.

With as silent steps as you can manage, you cross to the other side of the kitchen where you’re out of his line of sight. Tipping the salt over, you pour it across the tile from counter to fridge, eyes darting between the barrier of white and the man standing in the kitchen humming.

Your heart hammers.

Your hands shake.

Salt shaker empty, you set it on the counter and take a few steps back. It’s an unbroken line of salt, and though it doesn’t trap him in the kitchen, at least it’s there.

Vernon turns around with the pan of bacon. He sees you and his humming stops, cocking his head to the side. He notices the empty salt shaker. Frowns. Looks at you. Looks at the ground where you’ve drawn a line of salt.

For a second, he just stares at it. His eyes flick back up to you, warm and brown but narrowed.

“Why is there salt all over my floor?”

“Cross it.”

“Huh?”

“Step over the line of salt.”

Silence stretches between you. He remains standing in the kitchen, pan in hand, music playing in the background.

When Vernon doesn’t move, you can see everything so clearly.

Vernon hadn’t been joking when he slammed his hands on the door begging for help on Halloween. A sick feeling roils in your stomach as you remember the panicked screams, the way his fists hammered the door.

Your next words come out as a hiss. “Cross the line of salt, Vernon.”

He looks at the salt and purses his lips before sighing and setting the pan down on the stove. He tosses the rag from his shoulder and shakes his head, striding over to the white line you made against his tile. He stops in front of it, looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if to say really?

“Well, do it.”

Vernon looks down at the salt. Looks back up to you. Down at the salt.

And then he laughs.

“Fuck, you really are the smartest person in school.” He sighs heavily, a gaze darker than anything you’ve ever seen on his face as he stares at you. “You know I can’t cross that line of salt, darling.”

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