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bamboozledbird · 2 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop��but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

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noxturnalnymph · 9 months ago

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Devotion 🖤 II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 4)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

II. Predator or Prey?

CH 4 (4.8k) The following Sunday everyone in town is gathered at the old church with the big white steeple for the weekly Valley meeting. After a midday interfaith service, the religious leader gives Joel the floor for his usual speech. As he always does, Joel begins by extolling the virtues of the community, speaking on their recent raiding successes, and then reviews the three tenants.

We are stronger together. It’s important that everyone finds a place within The Valley that caters to their strengths, so we can depend on each other and serve one another. The predator versus the prey. You have to be one or the other and we choose to not be anyone’s prey. This community is held above any other and we must protect it at all costs. Create a path to the future. Everything we do here paves the way for us as a society to beat the fungus, to find a cure, and to return to the top of the food chain.

The crowd listens, enraptured, nodding along and smiling as Joel holds them in the palm of his hand. He praises the men and women who patrol the perimeter of the community for their diligence and bravery. He thanks the farmers who live outside the town borders for their perseverance. Then he scans the crowd, looking for you, to silently acknowledge how grateful he is for your presence. But all he sees are the same eyes over and over again, looking at him with devotion and reverence. He usually sees you in the second row with the rest of the house, but you’re not there.

As his speech winds to a close and he heads back to his front-row seat, he realizes that you were in the crowd with the rest of his household. You were there in the second row the whole time, staring at him just like the rest of them do, with blind adoration, with expectation, with mindless loyalty. He’d felt a change on Thursday. After the meeting he’d touched you everywhere, gotten down on his knees for you, and worshiped at your altar. He’d felt something shift and now the wild look in your eyes is gone.

You’re completely devoted. You’re under his spell. You’re one of them.

One of us, he corrects himself. You’re one of us, just like he wanted you to be…. Right?

You watch Joel speaking at the meeting and it's as if his words have new meaning – like he’s speaking directly to you. You’ve never felt small or beautiful or feminine, but he makes you feel whole. He makes you feel strong. He makes you feel like a woman. You feel like you were supposed to be his, always. And it was always supposed to go like this, as if your whole life has led you to this moment. All of your failures have led you here, to him.

The trepidation you felt when you first got here has completely disappeared and you know that you’ll give everything you have to Joel. You’ll give him all of you, your mind, body and soul, gladly. He can fill in all of the broken or missing pieces of you. Every bad thing that ever happened to you Joel can fix. He can heal the parts of you that weren’t good enough, that weren’t pretty enough, that weren’t smart enough.

He can save you.

As soon as the crowd begins to move out of the large room and amble towards the dining hall next door for dinner, he grabs your arm and pulls you roughly into a small supply closet. It smells of lemon and vinegar and is far too small for two people to move about comfortably. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that there is a crowd of people on the other side of the door or that he shouldn’t be asking you to do what he’s about to ask you to do.

The look in your eyes has gone to his head, he needs to see your supplication right now. He needs to witness your devotion, he needs to give you communion. He pushes you down onto your knees, undoes his pants, and offers himself to you. It’s your first time seeing the size of him and you look willing to comply, your eyes still dazed and glowing, still filled with trust in him. He watches as you take hold of him with one hand and begin to lick and kiss the head, slowly dragging your tongue up and down his shaft.

Once you put him fully in your mouth he loses all patience, needing more immediately. He pushes your hand away and takes your head in a firm grip on either side, pausing as you look up at him. Your eyes are still glassy. He nods his head and you reciprocate, which he takes as permission to begin drawing himself in and out of your mouth, gently pushing your head forwards and backwards.

Slowly, he passes back and forth over your lips, allowing you to adjust to him. This only lasts for a few thrusts before he begins to move faster, deeper. He matches the movements of his hips with his grip on the sides of your head, coordinating them to fuck your face in earnest. He hears your gurgles and sees tears beginning to run down your cheeks but you don’t push him away, so he doesn’t stop. He tells himself that you want this. You want this as much as he does.

You kneel beneath him, knees stinging on the hard floor, mouth full and struggling to breathe around him. You’re not sure where this is coming from, but it's obvious that he needs this right now, and what you want above all else is to give him what he needs, to be everything for him. You place your hands on his thighs to brace yourself and try your best to breathe through your nose, to be quiet and still and exactly what he needs you to be, even if this is painful and uncomfortable.

You wish the tears would stop streaming down your face. You’re afraid to even look up at him, worried that he’ll take one look at you and think you’re not enjoying it. What if he thinks you’re having a terrible time, what if he thinks you look awful, what if he thinks he’s hurting you? Maybe those things are kind of true, but still…. What if he stops? What would you do with yourself if he stopped? If he didn’t want you to do this anymore?

You finally look up and meet his eyes. You barely recognize him, his eyes black and his face hard. He doesn’t even meet your gaze, it’s like he’s staring right through you. His pace begins to falter and his hips start to stutter, and you hope it means he’s nearly done. You’re trying so hard to bear this, to not choke, to not cry, to ignore the stiffness in your jaw and the stinging in your knees, but you don’t know how much longer you can do it.

“Are you gonna swallow it?” he huffs out, voice strained. He pulls himself out of your throat until only the tip of him rests on your lips.

“I’ve never–” you swallow back a gag, “I’ve never done that before.”

“But you will, right?” he nods his head as he asks.

He nods, so you nod. And you will. You’ll do anything he asks of you. You don’t have time to wipe your face, which you’re sure must look a mess, before he puts his entire length back inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You can’t stop your body from heaving as he pushes in, and part of you wonders how he’s able to ignore it. He’s usually so in-tune with you.

He lasts less than a dozen more thrusts before his hips stutter to a halt as he starts to release his orgasm down your throat. You feel hot spurts hitting the back of your mouth and you’re awash with shame that it instantly makes you want to gag. He needs this, you tell yourself. You have to be good for him, you have to do a good job for him. You have to be everything he needs you to be.

He pulls himself back so his cock rests on your tongue as he continues to come, coating your mouth, and now you taste him for the first time. The salty bitterness covers your tongue and you’re begging yourself not to retch. He holds your head still, encouraging you to swallow him, even placing one hand over your throat and telling you don’t spit, and swallow it all, which you do with difficulty.

When you’ve swallowed every drop, he seems satisfied and lets go of your head, tucking himself back into his pants. Without warning he turns and walks out of the closet, leaving you to lurch forward since you were resting on him for support. You fall forward onto your hands, catching yourself before your face meets the ground, scraping your palms a bit on the dirty linoleum.

You stay there for a moment like that, on all fours, in a cleaning closet, alone. Down here it smells like musty mop heads and mildew. Down here. On your knees. For Joel. Days ago you were alone with him and he was the one on his knees, worshiping your body, treating you like a goddess. Today he used your mouth like a fuck toy. No, you can’t think like that. That’s not what Joel did, he would never do that.

You run the last ten minutes through your mind a few times as you slowly get up and brush yourself off. He needed you. He could have anyone here but he chose you, out of everyone. No one ever did that before. No one ever chose you over anyone else. But Joel did. Joel needed you today and you were able to be there for him, and that’s what matters.

Joel pushes his way through the crowd, not an ounce of shame or regret present. He smiles and shakes hands and gives hugs. Everyone in The Valley looks to him for answers, for guidance, for leadership. He’s the reason every single one of them is here and he’s responsible for them all. They are his flock and he is their shepherd. He gives so much of himself to be here, to do this. He deserves the adoration and the appreciation. He deserves you. He deserves your body, your mouth, your reverence.

He knows you’ve changed since you arrived, you’ve become more trusting, less wild. You’ve morphed into what they all wanted you to be, a devoted member of The Valley. He’s changed also. He used to be different, back when you first met. Back then he could give you pieces of himself, his real self. But the more you’re drawn to him and the more you’ve trusted him, the more he's become unworthy of your trust. He doesn’t even remember doing it intentionally, but it’s done.

He’s slowly lured you into his trap and now, you’re caught.

–

The rest of the week your head is completely filled with thoughts of him. He’s your first thought in the morning and your last thought before you fall asleep. All night your dreams are filled with him, and you cling to the fleeting images of him when you wake. You can’t seem to get enough of him, aching to be near him every moment of the day. You stare at him longingly across the table at every meal and follow him around like a puppy whenever you can, unable to focus on anything else.

Joel himself is so lost in his own delusions of grandeur, he walks around the house with his head held high, cocky and full of himself. He can feel you staring at him all the time and he indulges you once in a while by taking your hand and grazing it across his lips, down his chest, over his burgeoning erection. He’s half-hard all the time now, anticipating. He’s convinced that you’re going to let him fuck you after the next Thursday meeting. He’s going to have you, he’s going to have every piece of you.

The days leading up to it, he thinks about it all day; his dick achingly hard but he refuses to jerk off now, wanting to save it for you. He’s practically vibrating with anticipation when Tess comes up to him Thursday before dinner and gives him the bad news. She tells him you’re sick, started throwing up a couple hours ago, and won’t be able to accompany him to the meeting.

Before he can argue, Tess waves her hand in front of his face, telling him not to worry, that Kerri will be going with him instead. Without a moment for an argument to leave his lips, Tess slips away and Kerri is standing in front of him. She has been living with them for almost a year now, since he found her battered and bruised about a half day’s ride from here.

Kerri is petite, has chin-length curly hair, a toothy smile, and a faint scar stretching from her left temple down to her jawline. She walks with a barely noticeable limp but always pulls her weight around the house, doing most of the meal prep and impressing everyone with her fine cooking skills. She is nurturing, generous, pretty, and maybe the last person Joel wanted to see tonight. She’s not you. He wanted you.

He’s made so irritable by the last-minute change that he can’t even hide his disappointment. He can barely focus during the meeting, getting easily distracted and having to ask people to repeat themselves. After the meeting, Kerri, sensing his unease, gives him a hug to try and ease some of his tension. He knows she feels his erection, how could she not? It’s been raging for days and he can’t help himself, he pulls her tight and grinds himself into her for a brief moment of satisfaction.

Back at the house he heads into his room but within minutes Kerri is knocking on his door. She asks, is this okay? and he hesitates. She hasn’t come to his room since before he brought you into town, but pushing his dick into her thigh at the meeting tonight for the small relief that friction brought him must have signaled to her that he desired her company. He doesn’t. He only wants your company.

He looks at the closed door to your room and thinks about you inside, sick, probably asleep. What would be the harm in seeking comfort from Kerri? He’s fucked her before, it’s not a big deal. He’s never fucked you, it wouldn’t be like he was cheating. In fact, he thinks you’d probably want this for him. You wouldn’t want him to be suffering, and he’s been painfully hard for days. You’d want him to have relief.

There’s a small voice screaming in the back of his head that he ignores. You’ll never have to know about Kerri. You didn’t know about her before and you won’t know about her tonight, and what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

He opens his door further, silently inviting Kerri inside. She attempts to kiss him but he won’t let his lips meet hers, instead kissing the side of her head, her cheeks, her neck. He tries to breathe through his mouth, unable to get over the scent of her that isn’t at all like yours. He lets her hands grope along his body and he closes his eyes tight, trying to imagine they belong to you instead.

She undoes his belt and pushes his pants down with a practiced hand as she palms his length, working to get his half-hard cock to come to life. Between her curls tickling his chin, her all-wrong scent, and her rough touch, he can’t seem to keep his erection. How is he supposed to fuck away his need for you if he can’t stay hard?

Wordlessly, she sinks down to her knees in front of him. Don’t worry, she says, as she puts him in her mouth, doubling down on her efforts to work his stress right out of his dick. With her not-your scent, not-your hair, and not-your face out of his line of vision, he’s able to let his mind wander and let his thoughts of you return.

He imagines you on your knees in front of him, thinks of you in the closet with your lips wrapped around him. He thinks of your wet mouth, your soft hands, your wild eyes. That does it. He comes immediately and without warning, causing Kerri to cough and sputter around him, spitting his come back onto him. His own release gets splattered onto his thighs, slides down his shaft, and drips from his balls as Kerri wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, rising to her feet.

“Uhhh, thanks hon,” Joel mutters, as he pets her head and pushes her towards the door.

You know it’s probably close to midnight when you rise in your bed, having spent hours throwing up and then sleeping. Your body is tight with pain, you feel flushed and sweaty, and your head is pounding. You should drink the water Tess left on your nightstand but you worry that it might cause you to throw up again. You were really hoping to see Joel when he got home from the meeting tonight, so when you hear his door open, you heave yourself out of bed and turn your doorknob to greet him.

You see Kerri leaving his room as he stands in the open doorway, pants undone and softening dick still dripping with the evidence of his release. Kerri doesn’t see you as she heads down the hall to her room but Joel’s eyes rise to meet yours for a brief moment before you hastily close the door. You hear the clinking of his belt and then hear his voice directly on the other side of the wood.

“Hey baby, how you doin’?”

Your head is spinning, you’re sweating profusely now, your pulse throbs behind your eyes. Did you really just see what you think you saw? It was pretty dark in the hallway, maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. You’re pretty sure you have a fever, maybe you’re hallucinating. Joel lightly knocks on the door and you jump.

“You alright?” he asks.

You mutter back a yeah before you stumble towards your bed, wondering if this is all just some bad dream. Joel wouldn’t be fucking around with Kerri, he wouldn’t do that, he isn’t like that. Joel doesn’t use people, right? Joel is yours… right? This must all be a nightmare you’re having. You’re taking short, quick breaths now, fighting to remain conscious. You fall onto the mattress. You’re so fucking sick and as your head hits the pillow you let sleep overtake you.

After a long, fitful night’s sleep, you wake in the late afternoon, feeling slightly less feverish than the day before. You’re immediately hit by a wave of panic, feeling tightness in your stomach and it starts to hurt, causing you to fear you may throw up again. You saw Joel and Kerri last night, and you’re pretty sure she wasn’t helping him with a stuck zipper. You need to talk to Joel, you need to confront him about what you think you saw. You need to hear him tell you it’s not true.

Joel is sitting at his desk, going over the patrols for the upcoming Christmas holiday, when you knock at his door. He’s been waiting for you to come see him since you caught Kerri leaving his room last night. He knew he’d have some questions to answer, he’s just not sure yet how he’s going to answer them. He knows he was well within his rights to have Kerri get him off, he just hopes you don’t come crying to him, jealous and angry.

He opens the door for you and lets you into the office. You enter the room and round the corner away from the door, keeping your gaze at your feet. You fumble with your hands but don’t speak, attempting to gather the courage to ask a question you’re not sure you want the answer to. Joel opens his mouth to start the conversation but before he can speak, there’s another knock at the door.

He moves to open the door and Rosie, all five feet nine inches of her, is peering at him over her glasses. She throws her arms around him, pushing him back into the room a little, whispering in his ear.

“I heard you were stressed out honey, I can help ya out a little,” as she lowers herself to her knees.

Joel doesn’t even have time to protest as she reaches for his belt, looking up at his face. She stills her hands and follows his gaze behind her, turning back to meet your eyes, which are bulging out of your head.

“Oh PJ, I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you were in here.”

She gets up off her knees and quickly exits, leaving you and Joel alone once more. Joel knows the other shoe has dropped. Some of these women have been here for a long time, some for a short time, they are free to come and go if they desire, but living in his house is considered a privilege. He’s the leader of this community and to be able to help take care of his sexual needs and have him take care of yours is held in high honor.

The women who live here aren’t petty or jealous, they are sweet and giving people, hard workers, and dedicated members of The Valley who make sacrifices and put others – notably Joel – first. They’ve been keeping their distance out of respect for the obvious affection that you and Joel feel for each other, but they must think that since Joel seems stressed then it’s their time to step in and perform their usual duties.

They don’t know that you aren’t aware of the long-standing arrangement they have in this house. They don’t discuss things over the breakfast table but they also don’t keep things secret, because they don’t know that it should be a secret. They’re all open and honest with each other and have no idea that Joel has kept you in the dark about his relationships with them.

Of course, you have been kept in the dark, and now that the light is shining – too brightly – on the truth, it’s making you sick to your stomach. You stare at the ground where Rosie was just kneeling in front of Joel. You know that what you thought you saw last night was, in fact, Kerri leaving Joel’s room after getting him off somehow. It happened. It was about to happen again. It’s probably happened before.

“It’s all of them?” you ask.

Joel shrugs.

“It’s all of them,” you say again, not a question this time. Your vision is going blurry from the blood pumping through your skull so hard. You’re afraid you’re going to pass out. “You fuck all of them?”

“I have, yeah,” Joel says, shrugging again.

“And you plan to fuck me too?” You can’t even meet his face, your mind is reeling a mile a minute.

“You’re welcome to come to my room anytime you want, baby,” he answers casually. Goosebumps roll across your whole body and you fight back a dry-heave.

“Like they do?”

“Sometimes,” he fucking shrugs again. “It’s not a big deal, PJ.”

You barely hear him, the sound of your own heartbeat creating a hum in your ears, the sick feeling in your stomach rising up your throat, threatening to spill your insides out at your feet. Not a big deal, he says. It’s not a big deal that he’s been lying to you since the day you got here. It’s not a big deal that he wants to use you just like he’s apparently been using these other women, that he wants to use your body for his pleasure. It’s not a big deal that you thought he was different.

And now you see the cracks in this whole place, see it for what it actually is. This place is upholding a façade of a normal society, but it isn’t even close. Joel is treated like some kind of god or king or both and no one says no to him, he gets whatever and apparently whoever he wants. You can’t believe that he made you feel like you mattered when you clearly don’t matter at all.

You thought he could fix you. All he did was break you. You’ve never felt so low.

“Just another one,” you start to repeat, “Just another one. Just another one. Just another one.”

You’re just another one of these things that he gets when he wants it, and he gets whatever he wants.

“Just another one. Just another one. Just another one.”

He’s just another man, in a long line of many, who used you.

“Just another one. Just another one.”

He walks towards you, backing you up against the wall, bringing his face closer to yours. Baby, you hear him say, as he brings his lips towards yours. He tries to kiss you but you shudder away, repulsed by him, and he grabs for your arm to pull you back to him. Overwhelmed by his scent and the clawing tightness gripping your insides, you bend at the waist and throw up all over his shoes.

“What the fuck,” he curses loudly before he takes a deep breath, calming himself. “You okay, PJ?”

He reaches for you again and you push him away, a loud sob leaving your lips. Oh fuckin’ christ, he mutters. Here come the fuckin’ waterworks. You’re making a big deal out of nothing and he’s getting annoyed at the theatrics. He grabs your arm and yanks you up, ignoring the vomit dripping from your chin and the tears streaming down your face.

“Quit bein’ dramatic,” he says as he shakes you by the arm.

Tess comes in the door just then, seeing your face and the way Joel is manhandling you.

“What the fuck, Joel?” she wrenches you out of his grip, touching your forehead and feeling your fever.

She sees the throw-up all over Joel’s feet and sees him roll his eyes. She has no idea what’s going on right now but Joel has lost all his tenderness with you. She scolds him for letting you out of bed, telling him you’re still really sick. She takes you back up to your room, makes you drink some water, and tucks you back into bed, threatening to call the doctor if you try to get up again before your fever breaks.

–

Later that night as Joel heads up to bed he goes to your door and knocks several times, but you don’t answer. He knocks again, no answer, and knocks again. Tess comes out of her room and down the hall, having heard the noise he’s making knocking repeatedly at your door.

“Leave her alone Joel, I told you she’s fuckin’ sick.”

“Shut up Tess,” he doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Get back in your room.”

He throws your door open and sees you laying in bed with your back to the door. He says your name several times but you don’t move a muscle. He takes a step forward, his foot crossing the threshold to your room.

“Don’t you dare,” Tess snaps at him.

His steps halt. He says your name again, louder this time. Aside from the rise and fall of your breathing, you don’t move. He knows you can hear him, the whole house can fucking hear him. Tess is behind him, berating him some more. He repeats your name, yelling now. He hears a door down the hallway open, yells again, hears Tess hissing stop it, goddamnit, and then hears another door open.

How dare you fucking ignore him. Who the fuck do you think you are right now? He lifts his foot to take another step into your room and he hears Tess start to go ballistic behind him, cursing and bellyaching. Why don’t you fucking look at him? He hears whispers of the other women further down the hallway. Jesus fucking christ, why don’t they leave him alone? Why don’t you roll over?

He steps back into the hallway and slams your door closed, rattling the walls of the entire house. “Go to bed,” he screams at Tess. “Go the fuck to bed,” he repeats down the corridor as he steps into his room, slamming his own door behind him as well.

🖤

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin @heimtathurss @untamedheart81 @pixielou5 @feel1n-h1gh

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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thecoffeelorian · 8 days ago

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Fandom Friday, 11/15: Fanfiction!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin...let me first do a little check-in with everyone, so that as many of us can start off with a fairly good morning as possible. In other words, if you haven't had any glasses of water yet, please do; if you're able to get yourself some breakfast, go ahead...and if you haven't taken any necessary meds yet, please take them.

Now...if you're all ready to go, here are my picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @threebea:

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @sinfulsalutations:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @im-no-jedi:

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @rex-meshla:

ANDOR

Andor Fanfiction--By @ghostofskywalker:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @violetwanderer:

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @echoingbirdsofprey:

AHSOKA

Ahsoka Fanfiction--By @kalevalakryze:

Ahsoka Fanfiction--By @illuminatedquill:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those writers who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you to my friends, thank you to this fandom, and if it's a little longer between updates, please stay safe out there.

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @theosb0rnway @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenabb104104 @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @snoowply and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanfiction.

#star wars #starwarsblr #fandom friday #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #the bad batch #andor #the mandalorian #ahsoka #the clone wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #andor fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #ahsoka fanfiction #be excellent to each other #party on dudes

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 6 months ago

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Closed Position: Week 3 (Cha Cha Part 2)

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: 17.6k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, 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 being Dieter. Gratuitous use of the "f" word and talk about Dieter’s member. Cat and Plant dad Dieter cuteness. Brief mentions of intimate partner violence (more protective Dieter).

Chapter Quote: “I think I just became the bitch of a seven pound menace.”

Dieter’s POV

This week had been a fucking roller coaster. It started off with a bizarre production meeting with Stacia and Joe. I couldn’t believe they asked Kat and me to be flirty for the cameras, knowing she was engaged to someone else who is part of the cast. It was beyond inappropriate. Honestly, it pissed me off and I wasn’t OK with it. I didn’t like the position it would put her in.

They hadn’t been wrong about Kat standing out during the group performance. It was obvious to anyone who had eyes and I honestly felt proud of her. After the way Stacia had acted when I requested Kat as my partner, like she wasn’t that great of a dancer, it was almost like a big ‘fuck you’ to her. I loved every second of it and was feeling a little smug as they talked about putting Kat in the spotlight. It took everything in me not to rub it in.

The lunch with Kat that followed was an interesting experience. We really hadn’t got to spend a lot of time talking about things other than dancing up to this point. The lunch was a welcome break to have other conversations. I appreciated that she seemed interested in my hobbies. My plant hobby wasn’t something that I really got to discuss with people, so it was refreshing. I also got to learn about her plans for opening a dance studio after this season ends. I could tell she wasn’t looking forward to giving up competitions, but she seemed legitimately excited about her next steps. I was excited for her, and honestly, I couldn’t wait to see what she came up with. I knew whatever she did would be amazing.

During our first rehearsal for the Cha Cha, I found myself spiraling. Especially when we started putting the dance together. I knew the Latin dances had more of a flirty and sexual feel to them and I tried to mentally prepare myself for that ahead of time. However, I was not prepared for the way Kat was moving her hips, especially when she was doing it with her backside essentially rubbing up against my dick. When I told her I didn’t want to make an ass of myself, I was referring to the fact that it was taking everything in me to keep little bravo from standing at full attention and poking her from behind. I couldn’t focus and I couldn’t relax. It was literal torture. I was obviously going to have to figure out how to deal with that or we were going to have a problem going forward. I’m not even sure how I made it through rehearsals that day.

I was shocked when a text from Kat popped up on my phone later that evening. I was even more shocked when she said we were going to a Latin dance club. I tried to play it off with jokes, but internally I was falling apart. I spent the evening standing in my closet staring at my clothes. I had no fucking clue what to wear to a Latin dance club. I ended up texting my stylist around 10:30 PM, begging her to tell me what to wear. I was relieved when she said she would have a few things sent over the next day.

I had an appointment with my therapist very early the next morning. The first topic of the day was how things were going with Kat. I lied through my teeth, wanting to change the subject. I was not ready to unpack my feelings for Kat with Dr. Smith. Mostly because I was afraid of what she would have to say about it. I’m not sure Dr. Smith believed a word I said. She gave me a skeptical look when I changed the subject, but let me continue without coming back to that topic. I did notice her jotting down some notes though. I had a feeling it was going to come back to bite me later. I knew my feelings were wrong and that I shouldn’t be having them, but I couldn’t help it. I felt like it was out of my control at this point. I had tried so fucking hard to ignore it and I was still trying but failing. Some of it was physical, obviously, but the more time I spent with Kat the more I was drawn to her personality. I had never felt anything like this before and could not even begin to understand what it meant. I just wanted to pack it away and worry about it later.

I had a photo shoot with some fancy men’s fashion magazine after that. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure which one. It was the last thing I wanted to be doing, but I needed any job I could get. I still had to prove that I had my shit together and could show up and work without issue. It was also part of rehabilitating my image. The new and improved stylish Dieter Bravo. People in Hollywood talked, so it was important that I was present mentally and physically for this. I did my best to smile and be engaged with everyone, but it all felt forced. However, everyone seemed happy with the final product, so I took that as a win. At least it kept my mind distracted from what Kat and I were doing later.

When I got home, I found that my stylist had dropped off several items of clothing for our outing. I went with what looked the most comfortable. Luckily it was mostly light fabrics, so I wouldn’t burn up. I really only needed to change clothes since I had already showered, and my hair was styled from the shoot. That left me with an hour to do absolutely nothing except get myself worked up into a frenzy. The minutes were dragging on agonizingly slow, and my mind was already going to places that it shouldn’t be. I wondered what Kat would be wearing and if she was going to be moving the way she had been during rehearsals the day before. The thought of her rubbing up against me again was already making me hard.

I paced around my bedroom, begging my dick to calm the fuck down. Nothing was working. The only resolution I could come up with was to take care of it. I had been avoiding doing this because every time, my thoughts would wander to Kat. I didn’t want to think about her that way, worried that it would open up a door that I was frantically trying to hold closed.

I huffed out a quiet “fuck it” under my breath before quickly undressing and grabbing a t-shirt off the floor that I had slept in and crawled onto the bed. I found a bottle of lube in the nightstand drawer and went for it. I didn’t even try to keep the thoughts of Kat away this time - the way she would bite her lip and look at me through her lashes, the way it felt when she touched me while we were dancing, the way her hips moved. I imagined how she would look moving her hips like that on top of me and how fucking amazing she would feel wrapped around me. That was all it took to send me over the edge. I felt like a fucking teenager who was unable to control his load with how fast I came into my dirty t-shirt over the mental image of her writhing on top of me.

I laid there with my eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to come down from the high I was still riding, but the images and thoughts kept coming. I couldn’t stop them now. I wondered how she was when it came to sex. Would she prefer it to be slow and sensual or did she have a wild side? Something told me it was a little bit of both, and I was one hundred fucking percent on board with that. Within minutes, I was hard again. Jesus fucking Christ what is wrong with me? It had to be a new record because it never happened that quickly. Was it because I had been denying myself? Or was it because of Kat? Maybe both?

I looked at the clock, realizing I had to leave in 30 minutes. I sighed loudly, aware that this little problem wasn’t going away on its own. It was already almost painful. So, I went for round two and hoped that it got whatever the fuck this was out of my system.

Twenty minutes later I was a sweaty mess, standing in front of a fan trying to cool off after having one of the most intense orgasms I can recall having from masturbating. Then again, I had probably been too high in the past to remember the majority of them, so that didn’t say much. Once my heart rate calmed down, I moved to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to dry myself off some. I didn’t have time for a shower, so I threw on some more deodorant and cologne and hoped for the best. At least my hair still looked decent.

I somehow made it to the dance studio a few minutes early. I sat in the car waiting for Kat. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, feeling strangely calm and focused. I hoped I could maintain this mood for the rest of the evening - the rest of the week even. I just needed time to desensitize myself to the intimacy and close proximity that we were being forced into this week. Once I did that, I would be able to handle anything. I had to.

I was startled from my thoughts by Kat opening the passenger side door. She laughed loudly over my reaction and it was the most beautiful sound. I could listen to her laugh all day. Then I took in what she was wearing, a simple knee length black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, and she wasn’t even showing that much skin.

I appreciated that she thought to warn me about the bar during the drive to the club. Most people wouldn’t have considered that. I figured there would be alcohol and other substances floating around, but oddly enough, those things were not even on my radar. I wasn’t lying to her when I said it was a non-issue because I would be distracted. I just fibbed about what my distraction would be. My thoughts were only of her, and I knew they would be for the rest of the night.

The club was as expected, the same as any other. Kat wasted no time pulling me onto the dance floor. I was hesitant at first, worried about the possible involuntary reactions my dick might decide to have. Any hesitation I had dissipated when Kat grabbed my face and forced me to focus on her. There was something familiar about the way she was looking at me that I couldn’t place as she urged me to become one with her and the music - to relax and trust her. It drew me in, igniting that connection that we shared. The connection that I had been fighting so hard this week. After that, I was surprised to find that my worries ended up being a non-issue. I had to laugh to myself, realizing the only thing I had been needing to do was beat little Bravo into submission, for tonight at least.

The longer we danced, the more at ease I became. It felt like we were just two friends having a good time together. It seemed a little flirty, but that was the general atmosphere, and it came with this type of dancing. I knew that and tried not to dwell on it much. When Kat broke away and suggested a water break, I noticed she had an odd look on her face. I wanted to ask if something was wrong, but decided not to, figuring she was probably just tired. She had been going all day after all. She offered to go grab us some bottles of water. She didn’t have to say it, but I knew she was making an effort to keep me away from the bar, which I appreciated. The last thing I needed was to be photographed near one.

I was surprised when a few fans approached and asked for pictures while I waited for Kat to return. In the past, I had been kind of an asshole to fans, and I knew it. So, I tried to make it a good experience for them. They seemed just excited to see Kat when she joined us. They had actually been fun to talk to and it ended up being a humbling reminder that they were the reason I had the life that I did. It made me appreciate my choice to get sober even more.

Once Kat and I got back on the dance floor, I could feel something shifting between us. She had that familiar look on her face again and it was stirring something inside of me. After a few songs, it finally hit me. It was the same look she had in the video I had watched of her and Alec dancing. She never had it with any of her other partners from what I had seen.

This realization sent my mind spiraling. Now that I had picked up on it, I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. There was fire blazing in them as she looked back at me, but there was something else there too. Conflict? Confusion? The intensity of it only seemed to increase the longer we went on. I could feel the air crackling between us so strongly that it was making me dizzy. I was almost afraid to think about it, but my gut told me that she was feeling something for me too.

When I playfully dipped her backward, I couldn’t help admiring her neck as her hair slid off it. For the first time, I dared to wonder what it would be like to kiss her there. As I pulled her upward, our eyes locked. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t. She rested her forehead against mine as her hand gently caressed my cheek. I could feel her hot breath blowing over my lips as we lingered there. I really thought she was going to kiss me, until she suddenly turned to walk away. I didn’t want to let go, allowing my hands to trail down her body as she moved toward the edge of the dance floor. What the fuck just happened?

And just like that, the spell was broken. When she turned back toward me, she was smiling, but her eyes were guarded, and the fire was nearly extinguished. It wasn’t completely gone though, I could still see it simmering under whatever composure she thought she had gained. I gave her a big smile, relishing my new discovery.

I wasn’t surprised when she suggested we leave after that. The atmosphere of this place was chipping away at the thin wall that both of us had put up. If we stayed, that wall was going to crumble, fast.

I didn’t hesitate to take her hand as she led us out of the club. I was having sort of a “fuck it” moment and throwing caution to the wind when it came to touching her. I wasn’t even sure if I could stop myself at this point. We took a minute to take some selfies with fans on our way out. I kept at least one hand on her throughout that. The whole ride back to the studio I did manage to restrain myself since I had no reason to touch her while I was driving. I wanted more than anything to take her hand or rest mine on her thigh. I was dumbfounded by this sudden urge. It wasn’t one that I had before. I usually shied away from any type of physical touch unless I was having sex with someone. Even then, it wasn’t affectionate. It was for pleasure. Affection just wasn’t something I had had a lot of in my life and it wasn’t something I ever wanted. Until now.

When we got back to the studio and found Alec waiting outside, my stomach dropped. I had a really bad feeling about leaving Kat alone with him because he looked angry and a little inebriated. When she told me to go inside, I hesitated, but felt like I couldn’t just stand there. So, I went inside and got changed, realizing that I had left my sneakers in the car when I didn’t find them in my gym bag. At least I had a good excuse to go outside and make sure she was OK.

As I walked out the front entrance, my eyes immediately sought Kat out. My gaze found her just as Alec shoved her against the wall, causing her head to smack against the brick. I didn’t hesitate to go to her and shove him out of the way. I had never wanted to cause harm to someone so much in my life. It was taking everything in me not to crush his fucking face in with my bare hands, but Kat came first, and I needed to make sure she was unharmed. I’m sure my attentiveness to her only pissed Alec off further, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to bow down to his ego anymore.

I decided to try and diffuse the situation, for Kat’s sake, but that didn’t go as planned. I couldn’t say I was really surprised that Alec tried to hit me. I saw the look in his eyes and the way his hand balled up before he threw the punch. I was surprised by my reaction to it though. I’m pretty sure I closed my eyes as I flinched away from his fist, but somehow still managed to hit him pretty damn hard right in the nose. Hard enough that my hand was burning afterward. The satisfaction that I got from seeing his busted up face was well worth it.

When Alec called out for Kat to leave with him, I could feel every muscle in my body tense. There was no way I was letting her go. I couldn’t. I would hit him again before I let that happen. I was relieved when he didn’t try to fight it and left without further issue. As soon as he was safely out of our vicinity, I pulled Kat into a tight hug. I needed to check her over again - make sure she was really OK. Of course, she brushed away my concern in place of her own as she looked over my hand.

I realized she needed something else to focus on so that she didn’t fall apart. So, I let her take care of me. It didn’t stop me from looking her over again as she dug through the first aid kit. I could see her hands trembling as she rummaged around for supplies. Physically she seemed fine, but I knew her emotions were all over the place. I could tell she was in a fragile state, and it was breaking my heart. For the first time I noticed that this sweet and beautiful person was so fucking broken on the inside. She had done well to hide it, but the cracks were there, and I was finally seeing them. I wanted nothing more than to make her feel better and keep her safe. I wanted her to be mine and I wanted to take care of her the way she deserved.

I knew it was a bad idea to put my feelings out into the world right now, so I didn’t. I did, however, want her to know that I was here for her and that I was willing to help in any way she needed. It was all I could offer, but it seemed to be enough. For now. Even though I didn’t tell her how I felt about her, I did share what I thought about Alec. I could only hope she would consider my words and make the right choice for her own well being. I had already decided that I would be there for her through it, no matter what, I just hoped she would let me.

I spent all night tossing and turning, worried about whether Kat was safe. She had texted that she got home safely and was locked in, but that didn’t do anything to relieve my anxiety. I was up before my alarm went off the next morning, in a rush to get to the studio just so I could lay eyes on her. Then I realized me getting there sooner didn’t mean she would get there sooner. I grabbed my phone, found her name in my contacts, and typed out a quick text.

Me: Want me to pick you up some breakfast with your coffee? Muffin? Cheese Danish? Kit Kat? 😏

It was my sneaky ass way of making sure she was OK without asking.

Kat: Again, I will never turn down food. Surprise me. No Kit Kats though. I’m banning them from the studio.

I chuckled. It seemed like she was back to her normal snarky self.

Me: ☹️☹️☹️

Kat: OK. Fine. Just don’t let me SEE you eating them.

Kat: And Dieter…

Me: Yeah?

Kat: I’m OK. You could have just asked. Thank you though. 💜

Well, damn. She was onto me. Not that I minded. I kind of loved that she knew me well enough to know what I was up to.

Me: I didn’t want to be annoying about it. I’m happy you’re OK though. I was worried. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep tonight…I’ll see you soon.

I hesitated before I hit send on that reply, but I wanted her to know how concerned I was and that I actually cared. At this point, I felt like I was mentally getting out a hammer and chisel, chipping away tiny pieces of wall between us. I wasn’t going to be able to keep all this in forever. Hell, before it’s over, I may end up busting through, Kool-Aid man style.

Once I gathered everything I needed for the day, I headed to the coffee shop, getting there in record time. I got Kat’s usual coffee order and added a blueberry scone. I was antsy, wanting to get the studio as soon as possible. I still needed to see her, to be sure. I knew the tightness in my chest wasn’t going to go away until I did.

I arrived at the studio twenty minutes early. I was surprised when I spotted Kat’s car in its usual spot. The space beside it was open, so I pulled in. Knowing it would be easier for me to keep an eye on things as we left later. My arms were full causing me to struggle to get inside the main entrance, but I managed without dropping anything. Kat laughed at my exasperated face once she noticed me trying to open the heavy studio doors. She ran over to help, giving me a warm smile as she took the drinks and food from my hands.

Kat sat everything down on a few chairs at the back of the room. I followed behind, eyeing her. I was relieved to see that she did seem to be OK, that was until she reached up to tie her hair back. After she finished, the wide neck of her top slid off of her shoulder, revealing bruises. I could feel my jaw tightening as I reached out to touch them.

Kat’s brow furrowed at my expression before looking down to where my fingertips softly grazed her discolored skin. She sighed, taking my hand in hers as she peered up at me, “I told you, I’m fine. I didn’t even notice it.”

I shook my head, feeling the rage simmering, then pulled her into a tight hug. “Please tell me you’re done with him,” I said into the top of her hair.

She hugged me around the waist, burying her face in my chest for a moment before she pulled back, inhaling a deep breath, “I had a ton of messages and missed calls from him when I got home last night. All full of apologies…he knows he fucked up.”

I tensed, not liking how this sounded.

“I texted him back…not ending things, but I did ask for space. I have a lot to think about and I can’t do that with him talking at me.”

I was hopeful that she would see what an asshole he was. She had to. She couldn’t continue like this.

“How are you feeling about things this morning?” I asked.

She gave me an apprehensive look.

“You know what, it’s not my business. I shouldn’t be asking.” I said before she could respond, suddenly feeling like I was prying. I didn’t want to do that. I moved to turn away from her, but then I felt her hand on my arm, “No, really…it’s OK. I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. Nobody knows about that side of him.”

She sighed, sat down, then ran her hands down her face. “Honestly, I’m just kind of numb. I really don’t feel anything. I should at least be angry, right? Is that bad?”

I sat down beside her. She reached for my injured hand and started rubbing her fingers over the knuckles with a lost look in her eyes. I watched her for a moment before I responded.

“Honestly, I think maybe you feel that way because you're avoiding dealing with it. Compartmentalizing it maybe? But I get the feeling it’s reaching a point where you can’t do that anymore.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “I think maybe you might be right.”

Her eyes met mine with a sad smile on her lips, “The film crew will be here soon. I should try to cover this up. I don’t wanna give them gossip on a silver platter.”

She turned and reached for her gym bag, pulling out a smaller pouch full of makeup. I watched as she dabbed green, yellow, and purple color correctors on my knuckles then covered it with concealer, finishing with a setting spray. The discoloration and bruising were hardly noticeable now.

“Hopefully that will last long enough to get us through filming today. I’ll try to be careful and not rub it off while we’re dancing,” she said. Now turning her attention to the noticeable bruise on her shoulder. She started working to cover that as well, but struggled, not really able to see what she was doing. I reached out my hand, “Here, let me do that for you.” She sighed, but relented and handed me the color corrector palette she was holding.

I could feel her eyes on my face as I worked. My cheeks heated under her gaze as my heart pounded away in my chest. The static was crackling between us again, causing a few more chips to fall away from the wall between us. The moment felt incredibly intimate, and it only made me crave more. Once I was finished, she quietly thanked me and packed everything away out of sight.

We sat enjoying our coffee and breakfast as the camera crew started filing in with their equipment. A couple of the crew members got us mic'd up and started the interview right away while everything else was set up. Of course, they had questions about the sightings of us at the Latin club. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Luckily, Kat handled those questions perfectly. I know I would have stumbled my way through them in a way that probably would have raised some eyebrows.

Overall, we were more relaxed during filming this week - actually laughing and having fun as we rehearsed. We had a moment where Kat accidentally kicked me in the shin while transitioning to a lift. I turned on the dramatics for it, whining and rubbing at the spot as if it had hurt badly. It really hadn’t, but I did enjoy getting her worked up over it. Once she realized I was messing with her, she lightly smacked my shoulder and called me a jerk before breaking into laughter. The crew got a good chuckle out of it, quickly catching onto my antics before Kat did. We pretty much had the routine down by the end of the day, which put us a little ahead of schedule. That took a lot of stress off us for the week, which I think helped with the playfulness between us.

The day was over before we knew it. Kat seemed to be in better spirits as she got into her car, smiling at me over the roof of it as she waved. Once she was safely on her way, I pulled out of the parking lot to head to the pet store…again. I had gone through several different brands of cat food over the last week. The Little Dude wasn’t having any of it. He only wanted Tuna. I found myself in the cat food aisle, staring at a wall of packages. They all looked the same to me. I sighed, feeling overwhelmed by the options and not knowing anything about cats. I finally settled on some meaty looking wet food and hoped for the best.

As soon as I got home, I found Little Dude waiting outside the sliding glass door in the kitchen. He was on a schedule now and wasn’t going to let me forget about it. I opened the door, allowing him to come sashaying into the kitchen to sit next to the island. Waiting and watching as I scooped some of the new canned food out onto a plate and presented it to him. He stood and tentatively sniffed the chunks, then took a few nibbles but decided against it. He sat back down and looked up at me, whipping his tail around.

“Still a no, huh?” I said to him. He meowed loudly back at me. I sighed heavily, “You know, considering you were on the streets not long ago, you’ve gotten awfully picky. I feel taken advantage of here…”

He meowed again. I rolled my eyes as I moved toward the pantry for another pouch of tuna. I tried mixing some of the juice in with the food and gave it back to him. He still wouldn’t touch it. So, I added a few chunks of tuna as a topping. He ate the tuna and left the rest of it, before plopping himself down on his haunches and staring at me for more.

I chuckled to myself, “I think I just became the bitch of a seven pound menace. Fine, Dude. You win. Here’s your damn tuna. We need to get this figured out though. I’m sure you're not getting all your nutrients from that.”

He meowed up at me happily as I added more tuna to the plate. Once he had his fill, he walked over and jumped up on the couch making himself at home. I scoffed, “Dude, come on. You smell like something out of Pet Semetary.” He had the audacity to start wallowing around on his back. I rolled my eyes as I made my way to the linen closet, pulling out a spare blanket. After moving back to the couch, I opened up the blanket and fluffed it out next to him. He wasted no time settling in, purring and making biscuits with his paws. I gave him some scratches behind the ears as he dozed off. It was clear to me now, this cat was obviously trying to move in. With a heavy sigh, I realized that I needed to get some cat stuff for the house if this was going to be a thing, but I wasn’t even sure where to start with that. It was just another thing to worry about, but I sort of didn’t mind. He was definitely growing on me, making the house feel less empty and me less alone.

Friday rehearsals went by in a blur. I arrived a few minutes early, finding Kat in the studio, ready to go. She seemed in good spirits as we joked through our morning coffee. Her twinkling laugh continued as we went through our stretch routine. I moaned and groaned through the torture while she bent my body to its limits, and I loved every fucking minute of it. I noticed that our new found comfort with each other had her leaning into me more. Her touches were more casual and relaxed. I couldn’t get enough of the feeling of her warmth against me or the brilliant smile on her face as she laughed at my ridiculousness. The hint of sadness that I noticed hidden in her eyes the last couple of days was nowhere in sight.

Once we moved into the routine, the air between us felt like it was crackling again. Heated glances and small smiles passed between us as we made it through the entirety of the dance several times without error. We were so in tune with each other now, dancing in silence as one. Moving effortlessly through the steps without any thought or hesitation from either of us. The world fell away at that moment. We could have been in the midst of a war zone, and I wouldn’t have noticed. All I saw was her. There was no question about it now, I definitely had feelings for her that were more than just physical attraction. I couldn’t keep denying it to myself.

Of course, Alec was technically still in the picture. Kat made a point to say that she hadn’t ended things with him. She had only asked for space. I was still determined not to put her in any type of compromising position. I had too much respect for her to do that, my own feelings be damned. I really needed to watch myself.

After a few hours, we finally took a break. I lay sprawled out on the floor, staring up at her as she drank from her water bottle. I could see the sweat running down her neck, disappearing in the hidden space between her breasts. I had to force my eyes upward to her face before little Bravo decided to wake up against my wishes.

When she finished, she turned to me, catching me staring. I didn’t even bother to look away. She gave me a shy smile as she sat down on the floor next to me.

“So, what are you up to this evening? More plant daddy responsibilities?”

I snorted, “Plant daddy? That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

Kat snickered before taking another sip of water.

“No, actually I need to go to the pet store…hey, do you know anything about cats?”

Her brow furrowed, “Is this some kind of weird joke that I’m about to walk into?”

I chuckled, “No, I’m serious. I’m talking about the feline kind. I’ve had this stray show up at my house and he won’t fucking leave. Somehow that’s turned into him becoming a roommate. I’m having issues finding food he’ll eat though. I also don’t know what sort of cat stuff I need if I bring him inside like he seems to want to do.”

She chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eye as she said, “So, you’re a cat daddy now, too?”

I shrugged with a smirk, “Yeah, I guess I’m trying to be.”

She had a look on her face that I couldn’t decipher before breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, I had cats growing up. They can be finicky and dramatic when it comes to food.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve picked up on that...What should I do? Can you give me a list of stuff I need to get? I’ve never had a pet, so I have no idea where to start.”

Her face softened, “You’re going to the pet store after you leave here?”

I nodded, curious what her tone meant. She paused before answering, seeming somewhat hesitant at first, “I could go with you if you want?”

I felt one side of my lips tug upward, “That would be amazing, actually.”

Kat was true to her word. Once we finished rehearsal, she followed me to the pet store. Parking in the space next to mine and smiling as she exited her car. As she walked toward me, I realized it made me feel strangely giddy to be doing something like this with her.

She hooked her arm with mine as we walked toward the entrance. I could feel warmth spreading in my chest at her casual touches. I had to fight the smile tugging at my lips.

“So, what is your fur child actually eating?” She asked.

I grimaced, “Well, up until like a week or so ago, I assume whatever he could catch and kill. Honestly, he smells like something out of that Pet Semetary movie…which reminds me…have you ever given a cat a bath?”

It was her turn to grimace, “Are you insane? Cats usually don’t like water. There are professionals that will do that for you, ya know?”

I shook my head, “This kid is not used to people. I fear he wouldn’t be able to handle a grooming salon. At least not yet…”

She sighed, giving me a serious wide-eyed stare, “Fine, I’ll help you give the cat a bath…but if I die…I’m haunting your ass.”

I belly laughed at her response as we entered the store, which seemed to draw some eyes toward us. I dropped my head and moved toward the first aisle as Kat got a shopping cart.

“A cart, huh? How much of my money are you about to spend?”

She chuckled, “Hey, I’m just making recommendations. You do what you will with them.”

She pointed things out as we moved down the aisles, some of it just for fun, some of it was needed. I ended up splurging on a couple of robotic litter boxes and cat cave beds, bathing supplies, toys, a ridiculously massive cat tree, and a collar all before getting to the food. She was relentless with her teasing about my need to buy the most expensive thing on the shelf. I loved it when she teased me like this. It caused her eyes to light up in a way that made my heart race.

Once we got to the food aisle, she again asked what the cat was currently eating.

“The only thing I’ve been successful with so far is Tuna. I’ve gotten several different kinds of cat food, and he just turns his nose up to them.”

She stood staring down the aisle with too many options, scrunching up her nose before speaking again. “OK, so he likes fishy stuff. Have you tried dry food or wet food?”

She is too fucking adorable when she makes that face. My brows arched at her, “Both.”

Her lips set into a line, “Did you try salmon flavored?”

I scoffed, “I’m pretty sure I tried every flavor they have. They were all a no.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked up and down the aisle, thinking. Her eyes finally settled on a freezer at the far end, “Maybe he would prefer something a little fresher since he’s a hunter?”

My eyes widened, “I hope you don’t mean like…live rats or something. I’m not doing that.”

She snorted, “Noooo. Ugh, no. I would never suggest that. I meant raw food.”

My eyes widened, “Ohhh. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe…I’m willing to give it a try.”

We made our way down to the freezer and she picked out a raw salmon food. It was small scoopable frozen nuggets full of organic ingredients. It honestly sounded better than the other stuff I had bought. At least I could pronounce everything on the label. I felt confident this might do the trick. It figures I would end up with a cat that had a taste for the fancy stuff.

As we walked down the last couple of aisles, I circled back to the bath conversation, “Sooo, were you serious about helping give the Little Dude a bath?”

She nodded with a smirk, “Yes, I meant every word I said.”

I chuckled, “You wanna come over tomorrow evening for that? I can get everything set up for him tonight. I’ll let him formally move in after he’s bathed.”

She made an annoyed face, “Tomorrow is spray tan day.”

I puffed air out through my cheeks. “I could get some of those long dish washing gloves, then we won’t get wet…and maybe protect us from being clawed to death too.”

She snorted, “That sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll make dinner. I have a feeling I’ll owe you by the time this is over...”

One of her brows ticked upward, “I know I said I would never say no to food, but…you’re gonna cook?”

I placed my hand on my chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I happen to be a very good cook. It’s another new hobby I’ve picked up since rehab. My stuff is better than any five star restaurant.”

The sound of her twinkling laugh filled my ears. “Riiiight. I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said between laughs.

I rolled my eyes and gave her a playful smile, “Fine. Be prepared to stick your foot in your mouth.”

Kat chuckled as we approached the checkout counter. We were surprised when the young lady behind the counter nervously asked if she could take a picture with us. We of course agreed and snapped a quick group selfie with the girl. We made small talk with her as she rang up my items. I explained how I had a new visitor show up and Kat was kind enough to show me what all I needed to buy, suddenly worried the girl might get the wrong idea about why we were there together. I had a feeling this would show up on social media at some point.

Kat helped me load everything into the back of my car before giving me a small smile and asking to let her know how the new food goes over with the Little Dude. I thanked her again with a cheesy grin before we both got into our vehicles and headed to our respective homes.

It was a little after 9PM and I was deep into cat tree assembly when I received a text from Kat asking how dinner went. I pursed my lips as my fingers hovered over the keypad. Instead of typing out a message, I hit the video call button. I almost thought she was going to send me to voicemail, but she finally answered, her eyes wide as they jumped around the screen. It looked like she was lying in bed in a dimly lit room. Her hair fell around her face in damp waves, like maybe she had just showered. She looked beautiful. It took me a few seconds too long to find my voice.

“Hey, sorry, are you in bed?” I finally managed to sputter out.

She smiled, “I’m in bed, but not sleeping. Just watching trashy TV and doom scrolling. How did the new food go?”

I smiled at the screen, “Amazing. He devoured it…didn’t even hesitate.”

She smiled back at me, “Good. Happy to hear it. What is he up to now?”

I huffed out a laugh, “Laying at the end of the sectional, silently judging me over my struggles to put this damn cat tree together. I swear you have to be a fucking engineer to figure it out.”

I turned on the front camera of my phone to show her the cat, stretched out on his stinky blanket at the end of the couch as he gave me that judgy stare. She laughed loudly.

“Oooh he’s pretty! He does look very judgy right now though.”

I switched the camera back to me, “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. Why are there so many parts?”

“Hey, you’re the one that had to get the biggest one they had in the store. Deal with the consequences. I told you that you should’ve just asked for the floor model that was already put together.”

“Ummm, no. I wasn’t about to buy something that’s had a million grubby little hands on it and who knows what else. Dude only gets the best…brand new out of the box.”

She rolled her eyes at me, “Did you try looking at the instructions? I know that’s hard for guys to do.”

I scoffed and rattled the paper in front of the camera, “Umm…excuse me? I have been looking at the instructions and they’re garbage. Do you SEE this? It’s literally really bad drawings with no words. I can’t tell the pieces apart. It’s bullshit.”

She let out a loud laugh at my dramatics, covering her mouth with her hand to try and hold it back. I loved seeing her like this. A small part of me wondered what it would be like to lay in bed with her, laughing at trashy TV shows while we were wrapped up in each other under the covers. I shook my head slightly to clear that thought.

“Is this your way of asking me to help you, without actually asking…out of fear of further judgment?”

I furrowed my brows and snorted, “I’m not afraid to ask. Judge me, I don’t care. I have no shame…but if you’re offering…”

“Send me a picture of the instructions. I’ll hold your hand through it.”

I rolled my eyes, “Oh yeah, thanks. You had to go and say it like that.”

I did send her the instructions and we spent the next hour and a half on facetime putting the cat tree together. She had my full attention every time she would pull up the drawings to look at them. Her face would scrunch up in the most adorable way as she tried to figure out the next steps. The only thing that could have made the day more perfect is if she had been here with me in person.

Once the tree was put together, we said goodnight. I noticed Kat lingered on the call for a moment before finally ending it. It caused my stomach to flip. I wished I knew what she was thinking. Is she feeling this too? Or am I just being delusional?

After getting Dude settled in the garage for the evening, I finally crawled into bed. I laid there thinking about what I should cook for dinner. I didn’t want to do anything too over the top, but I did want to impress her. Then I moved on to picturing her in my house, in my space. Us in my space together. It was almost overwhelming. Realizing how badly I wanted that almost scared me.

Sunday rehearsals flew by. We did the last of our fine tuning to the routine, running through it several times with the music track. We nailed it each time. The flirty aspect of the dance seemed to come to us easily now. There was no longer any lingering awkwardness between us. We were both comfortable and trusting of each other and having fun.

We ended up leaving rehearsals a little early to get over to Television City Studios for the cast spray tanning session. We were hoping to get finished quicker by getting there before everyone else. I also felt like Kat was trying to avoid Alec too, which gave me a surge of excitement. It gave me hope that she was possibly thinking about ending things with him for good.

After heading to our respective dressing rooms to get changed into our robes, we found each other again outside the large room used for the spray tan setup. To our surprise they were able to get us in quickly. Kat went in first, then they called me in several minutes later. After I was finished, I wandered back to my dressing room and changed into my gym shorts. I took a minute to dig around in my duffel bag for a t-shirt that I didn’t care for in case the spray tan rubbed off on it. There was no sense in ruining all of my shirts for this shit.

There was a quiet knock on the door, I moved to unlock and open it, assuming it was Kat. She stood there, eyes racking over me with a smirk on her face. I gave her a quick smile as I turned my attention back to my bag, “I’m almost ready…just trying to find a shirt that I don’t care to mess up.”

She came in and leaned against the countertop of the vanity, “No problem, take your time.” She sounded amused. I glanced up at her, she had her arms crossed over her chest as she watched me with one brow raised. “Is something funny?” I asked.

“Every time I come in here, you're half naked.”

I found the shirt I was looking for and pulled it out, standing to my full height to face her, “If that’s the case, why do you keep coming in here then?”

Her face reddened, “Touché. You got me there.”

I laughed, “Yeah, see how that works? I mean…it’s a dressing room. There’s bound to be various stages of undress happening. Don’t act so shocked. At least I have pants on this time.”

She rolled her eyes before looking away. I moved to put my shirt on, purposely taking my time to pull it down over my head. Just as I yanked it down over my face, I caught her eyes shifting away from me. She was definitely checking me out. I could see it in the flush of her cheeks. Well, that's interesting. Maybe she was feeling the spark between us just as much as I am. It doesn’t matter, Bravo. She’s technically still taken.

I turned to pile all of my junk back into my bag, pretending I hadn’t noticed her staring. She finally broke the silence, “So, what are you making me for dinner? I need to start preparing myself now if I’m to survive it.”

I scoffed, “Come on. Give me some credit. You should know by now that I excel in all my extracurricular activities.”

Her eyes widened briefly, a small smirk playing on her lips, “I won’t believe it until I have firsthand experience as proof.”

Are we still talking about cooking? I felt like this conversation had a double meaning. I gave her a cocky grin, “Then prepare yourself for the most…pleasurable…food experience of your life.”

She snorted out a laugh as she moved toward the door, “Right. We’ll see.” I grabbed my bag and followed behind her. Within minutes, I was in my car, driving toward my house with Kat following behind me. I tried not to think of what the evening held, but I knew I needed to behave myself. I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn’t cross any lines with her, no matter how badly I now realized I wanted to.

A short time later, I was keying into my front door with Kat standing close behind me, taking in her surroundings. I was suddenly nervous for her to see my home. It made me feel naked in a different kind of way that I wasn’t prepared for. She would be seeing pieces of me that no one outside of my very small inner circle had. I would be opening myself up to her in a very raw and unfiltered way and I worried she wouldn’t like what she found.

We were both quiet as she entered the living room. There was a small smile playing on her lips as she slowly walked around the space, running her hands over things as she went. Stopping to look at books and little knick-knacks I had sitting around from my travels. My stomach quickly rose to my throat when she focused on the paintings hanging on the walls. There were several duotone abstract pieces I had painted throughout my early days of recovery - visual representations of where I was emotionally at the time I painted them. I had hung them to remind myself of my progress. She spent a lot more time looking at these than anything else, raising her hand to touch the one closest to her.

“These are amazing,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I watched her fingers drop down to the rounded DB initials in the bottom right corner. Her eyes suddenly widening as realization set in. She turned to me, her face now lit up in a way I had never seen. Her eyes were sparkling with wonder as she peered up at me. “Dieter…d-did you paint these?”

I nodded shyly. I couldn’t speak, afraid that my emotions would reveal themselves to her. It meant more to me than I expected that she liked them. Now realizing that her opinion was the only one that ever really mattered to me.

She smiled, “Well…I guess you do seem to excel in your extracurriculars. I can’t wait to see what else you have up your sleeve.”

I smirked at her, swiping my thumb across my lip before speaking. “Hmm, well…I’ll have your mouth watering within the hour. You wanna help me get started?”

One of her brows twitched upward, “I’d be happy to.”

I led her to the kitchen and began pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator and pantry. She stood nearby, taking everything in.

“I’m actually a little jealous of your kitchen. This is nice and so are all your gadgets.”

I chuckled, “I do spend a lot of time in here. A fancy kitchen was one of my requirements when I moved.”

She nodded, then pointed at the speaker on the counter. “Do you usually play music while you cook?”

“Yeah, you wanna turn something on?”

“Sure, it’s almost too quiet in here. I like a little background noise.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up the music streaming app - hitting play on whatever playlist was already queued up. A soulful blues song started emitting from the speaker. Kat smiled and nodded in approval. I went back to pulling out the rest of the ingredients, piling everything that needed chopping near the cutting board on the island then grabbed two knives from the drawer.

“Can you handle chopping the veggies? It’ll make this go a lot faster.”

She nodded, then took one of the knives and got to work chopping the mushrooms that I sat in front of her. We worked side-by-side in silence for a few minutes. My mind wandered to thoughts of how domesticated this felt. I liked it…too much.

My attention was suddenly drawn back to Kat as her hips started moving to the rhythm of the music. Fuck, that’s distracting. I placed my hand on the small of her back, causing her to pause and look up at me, “You’re gonna chop a finger off moving around like that.”

The side of her lip tugged upward as she peered at me through her lashes, “Don’t worry…I’m a pro at my extracurriculars too. I can do a lotta things with my hands while my hips are moving.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at her words, my mind started running through all the possibilities behind them and none of it was wholesome. I finally managed to choke out a laugh, before going back to chopping the celery I had started on. Kat continued moving to the music beside me, humming along with the chorus. Fucking hell, I’m gonna chop my own finger off if I don’t watch it. The next song started playing. I was too distracted by Kat’s rolling hips and my thoughts that I didn’t realize what it was until the chorus hit.

Fuck me like you mean it / Make me believe it / Walk the wire, it's alright / Love me like you need it / 'Cause I can feel it / Take it higher, show me why

The knife in my hand clattered down onto the cutting board, I was slightly mortified.

Kat’s movements paused, “Well, I didn’t see that coming…that's a little dirty...” She snickered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what song this was…. I’ll change it.”

Kat placed her hand on my forearm as I turned to grab my phone, “No, I actually kind of like his sound. Leave it.”

Her hip movements continued as I switched to chopping the carrots and her the tomatoes. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take. I stood there willing my dick not to get hard. Luckily, I got through the carrots quickly, and took the opportunity to turn my back to her. Moving on to peel and cut an onion under the cold water from the faucet. Which is probably just as well, because another song by the same artist came on that was sending my mind straight to the gutter. It felt like a playlist straight from my debauched thoughts.

Hypnotic lover taking over my mind / Your spell is binding, makes it so hard to fight / She twists her hips and keeps it coming all night / I can't control myself, that girl is so fine

Thankfully we finished with all the vegetable cutting soon after that. I moved on to preparing the pork and getting the frying pan and oil up to temperature. I was happy to have something that required my focus. Kat appeared, leaning against the counter next to the stove, watching me intently.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me what you’re cooking?”

I smirked, “Pork cacciatore.”

She gave me a deadpan stare, “You do know I’m a vegetarian, right?”

I was briefly hit with a streak of panic, before I realized she was messing with me. She had eaten a steak burrito in front of me, twice. I let out a dramatic sigh then smiled, “I guess I’ll be eating alone then. Oh well, more for me.”

She laughed as she playfully smacked my shoulder. I moved in front of her, placing my hand on her hip to scoot her out of the way as I reached above her head to get into the cabinet that housed all the spices. I muttered a quiet “excuse me” as I glanced down at her eyes that were looking up at me through her lashes. She didn’t really move. Instead, she stayed pinned between me and the counter. I could hear the faint sound of her breath hitching at my proximity. I smirked, then turned my attention back to the cabinet, pulling out the dried rosemary, oregano, and basil before finally removing my hand from her hip and stepping back to the stove. I could feel her eyes on me the entire time.

As I started mixing in all the ingredients to simmer, she leaned down on her elbows and inhaled deeply, “Mmm…you were right. My mouth is watering. This smells amazing.”

I gave her a cocky smile, “I told you….and it tastes better than it smells. It’s like an orgasm for your taste buds.”

Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that. My mouth got ahead of my brain. Her tinkling laugh filled my ears, “That’s a lot of confidence you’ve got in your cooking skills, Bravo.”

I shrugged, “I promised you a pleasurable experience. I’m just delivering on my word.”

Fucking hell, I’m being ridiculous and getting out of line. Reel it in, Bravo!

She didn’t seem phased by my comments, if anything it felt like she was enjoying the banter.

We soon sat down at the dinner table, which I couldn’t recall ever actually sitting at to eat. Kat proceeded to moan through several bites and gush about how delicious it was. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. It made me feel almost giddy that she enjoyed it. Our conversation flowed easily, as we talked about different things. Getting to know each other a little more and slowly chipping away at that imaginary wall that separated us.

“I’m just gonna start coming over here for dinner every night. My cooking can’t compete with this,” she finally said with a joking tone as she scooped that last bite off her plate.

I gave her a toothy grin, “I’ll cook for you anytime you want me to.”

She laughed, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

I laughed it off, but she had no idea how fucking serious I was. I would cook for her every night of forever if she’d let me.

After several minutes of Kat fussing over helping with the dishes, I finally convinced her to let it be. I had a housekeeper that would take care of it in the morning, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal. We decided to take our chances by giving the Little Dude a bath after that. I led her out to the garage which was still a mess with boxes, but Dude didn’t seem to mind it. He had turned it into his own personal playground.

I had set up everything we would need for a bath next to the utility sink so we could get right to it. Kat grabbed one of the towels and laid it out on the counter and got the brushes ready, saying we should brush out all the mats first. As she was explaining the steps we should take, Little Dude decided to make his presence known. He came strutting out from somewhere in his box fort to meow out me. He then proceeded to rub up against Kat’s legs. She giggled at him, bending down to pick him up.

“Ooof, he is rank,” she said through a chuckle.

“I told you. I swear he rolled in something dead.”

She grimaced, moving him away from her body to sit him on the counter.

“He’s really pretty though. He seems young. Have you taken him to the vet yet?”

“Not yet. I’m working up to it. I didn’t wanna stress him out too much all at once…though…he seems strangely fine with everything. He’s the one that wants to move in,” I said - laughing quietly to myself over the absurdity of it.

Kat began to look him over, “He has some pretty bad mats under his arms, we may have to cut those. Do you have scissors? They aren’t too close to the skin, so I think I can cut them easily enough.”

“Uhh, yeah. I have a whole clipper kit with scissors. I’ll go get it.”

I ran to get the kit and was back within minutes to find Little Dude sprawled out on his back while Kat brushed at the hair on his stomach. He seemed to love the attention. I stood next to Kat, keeping him distracted with pets while she worked. She ended up cutting a lot of the mats out just to save time. After several minutes had passed, she turned to me, a concerned look on her face.

“What? Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I would say so. We have a major problem here.”

My stomach was suddenly in my throat. My mind now conjuring up the worst things, “What is it?”

She fought to hold back a laugh, “Dude is not a dude.”

My brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

She snorted, “There is no twig and berries down there. Dude is a Dudette.”

“Seriously? You’re joking?”

“Nope. Did you even check?”

“Do you see how much hair she has? I was just guessing. I couldn’t tell. It makes sense why she wouldn’t leave though…chics do love me.”

Kat snorted again, “Staaap. You’re so ridiculous.”

I chuckled, “At least now I know why I was getting the judgy looks.”

“Well, now you need to give her a proper name. Something cute…that is not Dudette.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to think about it. Damn.”

After a brief pause to laugh about our discovery. We continued. Luckily the cat’s top half wasn’t as bad, so Kat made quick work of it. Then we took a minute to prepare ourselves for the chaos of the bath. Strategizing on the best way to handle it if she freaked out. It turns out, we didn’t even need to do that. The cat apparently loved water, which blew our minds. She sat still, enjoying the massage we gave her as we worked the shampoo into her fur. She nearly fell asleep as I used the spray head to rinse her, occasionally pointing the stream in Kat’s direction just to be obnoxious. After reminding me that we had just gotten a spray tan, I stopped. She said I wouldn’t be able to endure her wrath if I made her streaky.

Once we got the Little Dudette clean and dry, I picked her up and brought her inside. I took a minute to show her where the litter boxes were, her beds, and her new cat tree. I sat her at the top of the cat tree, and she immediately began exploring it. Kat and I watched her for a few minutes, before Kat looked around the room.

“Hmmm…the plants could be an issue. I know some are poisonous to cats.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t even thought about that. Damn I already suck at this cat dad stuff.

Kat pulled out her phone and found a list of toxic plants and let me look over it. I sucked air through my teeth, then moved to pick up the Aloe plant sitting on the end table, “Sorry Barb. Looks like you’re gonna be banished to the art studio.” I handed it to Kat, “Please hold Barb for a moment.”

She started laughing at me. I turned to grab the Cutleaf Philodendron that was sitting in the dining room. “You’re out too, Cutlet,” I said as I picked up the medium sized tropical plant.

“Follow me. We’ll put these away in another room.”

As we made our way through the house, I grabbed another Aloe plant that was sitting on a bookshelf. “Sorry, you’re out too, Spike.”

I could hear Kat snickering behind me as we ascended the stairs. Once we reached the door to my studio, I juggled the plants in my arms to turn the knob. I suddenly felt nervous for Kat to be in the space, but tried not to dwell on it as I pushed the door open with my foot. She followed me inside and set Barb down on the window sill next to Spike. I set Cutlet down on the desk. I’d have to find a spot for him later.

I could tell Kat wanted to explore the room, but she held back, shyly looking down at the ground instead. I was sure she could sense this was an extremely personal space for me and didn’t want to intrude.

“You can look around if you want.” I finally mustered up the courage to say. I trusted her enough to share this side of myself. Not many people got to see it.

Her eyes lit up with excitement, “Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

I nodded and gave her a small smile. Standing back to watch as she walked around the room looking at the various paintings leaned against the walls. Her eyes roamed over every surface, pausing to spend extra time on the sketches spread out on the tables and desk.

I hadn’t spent any time in this room since rehearsals started. I hadn’t had the time, and when I did, I was too tired. However, I suddenly had that nagging need to. There were images swirling in my head that I needed to get out onto a canvas. I was shocked to find they were colorful shades of purple and blue with hints of magenta. There was no black in sight. I knew the cause of the shift, it was Kat. She was my new muse. Replacing the self-hatred and unhappiness with her light. I wanted to paint her dancing with the fire in her eyes. I wanted to sketch all of my favorite parts of her - her lips, her eyes, the curve of her hips.

Seeing her in my home and how easily she could fit into my life was making me want things I never thought I would. I wanted her to be part of everything. My other half. I wanted to share my existence with her. Then reality set in. She still belongs to someone else, Bravo. Stop thinking like this.

I shook my head to clear it as she looked my way with a smile. I tried to return it, but it didn’t reach my eyes. She walked toward me, “Dieter, all of this is amazing. I-I don’t have any words. You’re so talented.”

My brow furrowed, I was suddenly feeling emotional. I murmured a quiet “thanks” to her as she turned to look around the room one last time before turning back to me, “Would you paint something…for me? I would love to have one.”

I gave her a genuine smile now, “Of course. I think I already have an idea for something.”

Our gazes locked for a moment, something unsaid lingering between us, but it passed. I motioned toward the door, “Well, would you like a tour of the rest of the place? I have a feeling you might enjoy my other sanctuary.”

She gave me a quizzical look, “Lead the way. You have me intrigued now.”

I snickered as we walked into the hallway and closed the door behind us. I led Kat down the hall to the room where I did everything else - music, reading, writing. It really was my other sanctuary. It was a large open room with glass doors that opened to the balcony overlooking the ocean. The espresso colored hardwood was covered by a deep navy and maroon Persian area rug. Floor to ceiling shelves lined one cream colored wall, full of books and scripts. Two leather chairs sat in one corner with two acoustic guitars perched on stands between them. Several other guitars hung on the wall nearby. Another wall of shelves housed my record collection. The old record player stood next to it, connected to vintage floor speakers. An espresso colored wicker hanging chair with a white cushion hung from the ceiling in the corner near the record player. An extra large white furry beanbag sat nearby, with a few deep yellow throw pillows on it. There were plants everywhere - large potted ones sitting on the floor, vines hanging from the ceiling, small succulents scattered throughout the shelves. A small writing desk sat against the wall next to the balcony doors. The few open spaces on the wall were home to more of my paintings. The center of the room was completely open. Aside from my studio, it was my favorite place to be.

When I opened the door and motioned for Kat to enter, her face shifted. A hint of a smile ghosted her lips as her eyes rounded and sparkled. She stood in the center of the room turning in a slow circle, taking in the space.

“Dieter…you’re right. I love this. Everything about it is perfect.”

She walked over to one of the paintings, an abstract sunset of black, deep blue, red, and yellow. It was a more recent one, not as dark as the ones downstairs. Her fingers grazed over the DB scrawled in the bottom corner. One side of her lip turned upward once she realized it was another one of my paintings. She turned, moving back toward the center of the room and spun around with her arms out.

“This room is huge…big enough we could rehearse in here.”

My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, biting back a smile. I loved that the thought had crossed her mind. That she wanted to be in this space with me.

“We could. There’s a lot of open space. I left it like that so I could come in here and paint if I wanted. Depending on the time of day, the lighting can be better here than in the studio. Plus, I can open the doors and hear the ocean. It’s soothing.”

She nodded, a pensive look on her face as she continued looking around the room.

“I take it you probably didn’t expect all this, huh?”

She shook her head as her brows pinched together, “No, honestly. I’m not sure what I expected, but strangely enough, I’m not surprised. I know you're not shallow and emotionless like the tabloids often make you out to be.”

She was standing in front of me now, her eyes roaming my face. “I see you, Dieter. I know you feel things deeply…even if you don’t always admit to it. So, it doesn’t surprise me that this is how you spend your time. Us tortured souls have to get the feelings out somehow.”

I couldn’t breathe. The way she was looking at me literally took my breath away. I knew without a doubt that she meant what she said. She did understand me better than anyone ever had because we were the same in a lot of ways, but complete opposites in others. We balanced each other out and fit together in a way that filled in each other's gaps to make a whole. We were meant to find each other, I could feel it in my bones. If only she could see that and finally get rid of the disease in her life that was Alec.

Kat’s face turned almost wistful as she stared at me for a beat. Finally turning away and moving toward the leather chairs in the corner and sitting down. She turned, eyeing the acoustic guitars sitting next to her.

She pointed, “Are these for decoration or do you actually play?”

I shrugged, “I guess you can call it that…I had to learn for a role many years ago. It kind of stayed with me after that.”

She raised a brow in my direction as her hand slid around the neck of the nearest instrument, “Do you mind…” she asked, pausing for my response.

Curious where this was going, I shook my head. “No, I don’t. Have at it.”

The way she handled it told me this was something she was familiar with. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears from excitement at the thought that she might play something. I shuffled over to sit in the seat next to her and picked up the other instrument as her fingers slid over the strings, like she was getting a feel for it. I bit back the anxious feeling that was forming in my chest and started plucking at the strings on the guitar I had just picked up. Playing chords for the first song that came to mind.

Kat watched me for a moment. Her eyes narrowed at my hands, “I know this song…”

I smiled up at her as she hummed along for a few seconds, trying to place it. She surprised me when she started to sing along.

She's the place I go / When there's nowhere left to run to / She's the one I hold / When there's no one to hold on to

I was awed by her. Her voice was amazing - soulful, velvety, and pure. She was so fucking beautiful it hurt. The moment caused something to swell inside of me, making me emotional. I had to take a deep breath to fight it back as I watched her place her fingers on the frets and start strumming along with me. She continued singing the chorus. Without thinking, I joined in, which elicited a brilliant smile from her.

She's been with me late at night / When I was drowning in the dark / She heard my every word / When I was pouring out my heart / So I thank my lucky stars / For every crack, scratch, and scar on this guitar

Our voices harmonized together perfectly, causing goosebumps to break out across my body. I suddenly felt connected to her in a way that I hadn’t before. I picked up the next verse as she continued playing with me.

She's given me her best / When I am at my worst / When I can't find the pieces / Fingers scratching in the dirt / She offers no forgiveness / 'Cause she likes to make it hurt

Her eyes stayed on mine. I could see the fire blazing in them again. I couldn’t help smiling as the words passed through my lips. She returned it as she joined back in for the chorus. We finished the reminder of the song with a flourish, breaking into laughter when it was done.

Once the laughter settled, I finally asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you played? And can sing for that matter?”

She shrugged, “It’s not really something I do a lot of anymore…Not since my dad passed. He taught me to play when I was younger…before things got bad with him. We picked it up again after he was sober.”

A sad smile formed on her lips, “He had a few friends he would play with on the weekends…pickin' and grinnin' is what they called it. Just a bunch of friends and their families hanging out in someone's backyard, having fun. I learned a lot from them.”

I had a sudden urge to hug her, but then the sparkle from that damn engagement ring on her finger caught my attention for the first time that evening. It was a stark contrast against the black bout of the guitar, silently screaming a reminder that she was still with the asshole. It broke through the delusional thoughts that had started to swirl around in my head the last few minutes.

I cleared my throat, “Well, you’re really good. I didn’t see that coming.”

She gave me a genuine smile now, “You’re not so bad yourself. Still excelling in all areas apparently.”

I had the sudden need to be away from her. I was feeling overwhelmed by my conflicting feelings. I glanced down at my watch, “Hmm…it’s getting late. We should probably call it a night. I don’t wanna be your excuse for being tired tomorrow.” I let out a nervous laugh.

She looked at her watch, “Oh damn. Yeah, it is…and I still have a 30 minute drive home.”

An awkward tension settled in the air as I placed the guitars back on their stands. We walked in silence down the stairs. Kat took a minute to give the kitty some scratches before collecting her purse and phone to leave. I asked her to let me know when she made it home as she leaned in for a side hug.

“I will…and thanks for dinner. It was amazing.”

When she pulled away, her hand lingered at my waist. She smiled before finally turning to walk toward her car. I kept an eye on her until she was locked inside and backing out of the driveway. This was getting to be too fucking hard.

I sighed, walking through the house to turn everything off and lock up for the night. The cat followed behind me every step of the way. Once I got settled in the bed, I felt her jump onto the mattress. She tentatively walked over and climbed up on my chest, purring into my hand as I scratched behind her ears.

“Maybe you're meant to be the only woman in my life. I should probably accept that and move on.”

Her eyes drooped under my touch. A quiet meow squeaked out in response. “I guess I should give you a proper name now, because Dude is not gonna cut it.”

I thought for a minute. A plant name might be cute, right? “How about poppy? Ehh, no. That might raise some eyebrows given who your dad is. Let’s avoid drug references…”

I laughed to myself. It was so ridiculous that I had to think about stuff like that.

“Hmm, how about Rosie? Na…that’s too girly. You’re kind of a bad ass critter catcher.”

She meowed loudly, almost like she was agreeing with me. I chuckled. “I’ve got it. Zinnia. Zee for short. That’s cool, right?”

She was asleep now. She could have cared less. “Zee it is. Zee my little warrior queen.”

I got a text from Kat a few minutes later, letting me know she got home. I sent her a thumbs up emoji then set the phone on its docking station for the night. I somehow managed to drift off to sleep.

I was woken up about ten minutes before my alarm went off by Zee, making biscuits in the crook of my arm and purring. I couldn’t even be upset about it because it was too fucking cute. This cat was already making me melt and had me wrapped around her paw. I nuzzled my face into her fur, she smelled so much better. It was nice to finally have her properly clean so I could cuddle her without being grossed out. I don’t know why I fought against having her for so long. It felt nice to have another living being in the house with me.

I finally rolled out of bed and took a quick shower. It was show day, so I couldn’t be dicking around this morning. I threw on clean shorts and a t-shirt, then headed out. I stopped to get our usual cups of coffee before heading to Television City Studios. Kat and I were one of the first groups there, determined to get the rough run through out of the way.

Kat was already chatting with the band when I walked in and handed her coffee over. We went through the routine a few times to get the camera blocking out of the way and gave feedback on the music. The other couples had started to filter in by the time we were on our last run through. I could see Alec sitting, waiting for his and Lana’s turn. I hadn’t seen him since the incident, so I wasn’t sure what the damage was. His face was pretty bruised up around the nose and under the eyes. I had to hold back the satisfied smile that was tugging at my lips as we walked by him.

Kat did take a minute to add some makeup to my knuckles. They were still a little bruised. We didn’t want the cast to see it if we could help it. After she finished, we headed into hair and makeup to get slathered in more makeup and hair gel.

Kat and I were seated next to each other again. We chatted with each other while they worked on us. I told her what I decided to name the cat. She laughed at first but wasn’t at all surprised that it was the name of a plant. She finally relented, admitting that it was cute and giving her seal of approval.

About 30 minutes after sitting down in the makeup chair, Anika approached me. She had a shy, but flirty smile on her face as she leaned against the vanity in front of my seat and purred out a “good morning.”

I smiled at her awkwardly, unsure of what was happening. Anika glanced toward Kat, then turned so that her back was toward her.

“What are you doing after the show tonight?” she finally asked.

I shrugged, “I don’t know yet. I suppose it depends on how tired I am.”

She laughed like I had just told the most hilarious joke. I now realized what was happening. Fucking hell. Please don’t do it.

Her hand rested on my knee, “How about we go out for drinks after? Maybe we can hang out for a bit.” She gave a suggestive squeeze with her fingers as she spoke.

I could tell from my reflection that I had the deer in headlights look. My brain completely shut down. I was not interested in the least. “Umm, I dunno. I really need to get home…and feed my cat.”

“Oh, come on, just one drink. You can do that after.”

It was Kat who responded with an agitated tone, “You do realize he’s sober, right?”

Anika looked surprised, then laughed nervously. “Well in that case, you can just watch me drink. You don’t have to have anything with alcohol.”

I sat there with my mouth agape, not really sure how to respond to that. I couldn’t stop anyone from drinking around me, but damn. If she was trying to win me over, that was not the way to do it.

“Are you a fucking idiot? He’s sober. He doesn’t wanna be around alcohol.” Kat was having none of this from her.

Anika huffed, “I don’t think I asked you, Katarina. Mind your business. Shouldn’t you be worried about what your own man is up to?”

I realized the ladies that had been doing our hair and makeup had stepped back. Kat looked like she was about to come up out of her seat after this girl. I cleared my throat, “Ummm thanks for the offer, Anika…but I think I’ll pass. Maybe another time?” I said nervously.

She gave me a disappointed look before flipping Kat off and walking out of the room.

Kat puffed air out of her cheeks, “Ugh, I fucking hate that girl.”

The ladies who were working on us snickered before continuing with their task.

I glanced over at Kat, “Thank you for that. I wasn’t really sure how to handle it.”

“Well, you better figure it out, because I’m sure she’s not done asking. Unless you wanna go out with her, of course.” Her tone was very clipped, and I wasn’t sure why. It surprised me. Did I do something wrong?

Kat was quieter after that, seemingly lost in her thoughts. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. It was making me feel off. I was happy when hair and makeup had finished with me. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I made a beeline for my dressing room to get changed into my costume. I didn’t hear from Kat for a while, assuming they had dress rehearsals for the group performances.

While I waited, I texted my assistant and asked him to bring me some brunch to pass the time. It was a little early for lunch, but I was already starving. A few minutes after he dropped off the food, I got a text from Kat, asking where I was.

Me: In my dressing room. I have 🌯🌯🌯. (three burrito emojis)

It wasn’t even a full minute before there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” I managed to garble out through a mouth full of steak goodness. Kat pushed the door open, standing there with a disapproving look and her hands on her hips.

“You're hiding away to eat burritos? Really?”

My ability to speak left me as soon as I laid eyes on her. The only response I could muster was to hold out the extra burrito I had gotten for her. She looked fucking amazing in her costume. The hem was asymmetrical, showing off her toned legs. The shorter side revealed her entire right thigh. The front was lower cut than I had expected, showing the curve of her breast. From the sketches, I knew the back was non-existent. There was only enough of the fringy fabric to cover her ass. They had left her chestnut hair half down this time. The front of it was pinned back leaving the soft curls cascading down around her bare shoulders. The red shade of the dress, if you could even call it that, looked amazing against her golden skin and made her red lips pop. All of the exposed flesh definitely had little Bravo’s attention. It took everything in me to refocus my thoughts and get him under control.

She raised a questioning brow at me, a smirk forming on her lips as she took the burrito, “You OK, Bravo?”

I nodded as I swallowed down the food I had been chewing even though I wasn’t ready, nearly getting choked in the process. I coughed uncontrollably for a moment, then reached for my drink. I ended up dropping burrito juices on the robe I had put on over my costume.

Kat laughed, “Good thing you put the robe on. I wouldn’t want to explain that mess to the costumers or producers.”

After taking a long drink through the straw, I managed to get myself together enough to respond, “No kidding. I have an extra one hanging over there if you wanna use it while you eat. I know these are messy.”

“Why yes, I think I will. Thank you.”

Whatever had been bothering her earlier seemed to have passed. She was back to her normal smiley self as we rushed through our meal. It helped me feel a little more at ease and out of my head. Once I was finished with my burrito, I pulled the robe off, checking to make sure I hadn’t gotten anything on the costume. I turned to ask Kat if she saw any evidence left behind. I didn’t miss how her eyes looked me up and down before focusing on my shirt.

I couldn’t help teasing her, “You see something you like, Kit Kat?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, “I was just getting a look at your costume. I hadn’t seen it on you yet.”

I stood back, pulled the blazer open, and did a little spin for her, “You like?”

“Oddly enough…yes. The 70’s vibe suits you. I can’t believe you have it buttoned all the way up though. I was beginning to think you had a button allergy.”

I gave her a cocky grin, “If you wanna see a little more skin, just ask honey. I guess I probably should show a little more, in solidarity with you.”

She rolled her eyes before taking her last bite. I turned to the mirror and undid the top few buttons. I could see her watching me in the reflection, shaking her head with a smirk on her face. A few minutes later, we headed toward the ballroom for our final dress rehearsal. As we stood on the outer perimeter of the dance floor, Alec and Lana came to stand behind us to wait their turn. Kat seemed to be ignoring them, which was surprising. I couldn’t help glancing over at Alec. My mouth seemed to have a mind of its own as I took in his appearance.

“It looks like hair and makeup did a knockout job on you today, Alec. Can’t even tell that your face is fucked up.”

Kat snorted next to me, covering her mouth with her hand to hold back the laugh. I was surprised to see that Lana also had a hint of a smile on her lips.

Alec sneered, “Don’t get too excited, Bravo. You didn’t hit me that hard…nothing is broken.”

I gave him a toothy smile, “Nothing but your pride, right?”

“Fuck you, Bravo.”

Kat turned to me, placing her hand on my chest, “That’s enough, you two. Shut up or I’ll throat punch both of you.”

I was still smiling when I muttered a quick “sorry” her way.

She gave me a playful wink that Alec couldn’t see before looping her arm with mine, forcing me to turn away from him. We were called to go through our routine soon after that. We nailed it the first time through. The lightning, music, and camera angles fell into place perfectly for us. We went through it two more times just to be sure.

I don’t really know what came over me, I assumed it was because Alec was glaring at me the entire time, but I made sure to turn the flirtiness of our routine up a few notches. Kat didn’t seem to mind, meeting me where I was. Not that it was all an act. The way the fringy dress accentuated her hip movements really did almost have me on my knees. The woman’s body moved in ways that my brain could not handle.

I have to admit, I was getting a small thrill out of knowing Alec was seeing how good Kat and I were together. I didn’t want to make things harder on her, but he really did need to be put in his place. He needed to know that Kat was desirable.

I could feel the static crackling in the air between me and Kat as we walked off the dance floor, hand in hand. She had that look in her eyes again while we waited for final feedback. We were given the all clear to head to our final fitting after that. Kat kept hold of my hand the entire time. Only dropping it as soon as we ran into Stacia and Joe in the hallway. We moved to walk around them, but Stacia stopped us. I noticed she looked both of us over before she spoke to Kat, “Care to share what happened to Alec’s face?”

Kat’s eyes widened slightly, “What did Alec say happened to his face?”

Stacia’s eyes narrowed, “He didn’t…just said he’s clumsy.”

I worked to keep my face neutral, but I really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of everything.

Kat gave her a tight lipped smile, “Well, I won’t argue with that. He is clumsy.”

“So, you’re not gonna spill the details?” Stacia prodded.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the details. He was fine the last time I saw him…so I can’t help you there.”

I could tell by the way Stacia was looking at Kat that she didn’t believe her. It was almost like they were having some sort of standoff now, eyes locked in an intense gaze. Stacia’s eyes finally shifted over to me, her head tilting slightly. “How about you, Dieter? Do you know what happened to his face?”

I shrugged, “What makes you think I would know anything? I hardly see the guy.”

Stacia studied my face for a moment, almost like she was trying to read if I was lying. Her lips eventually turned upward into a smirk, “Well, good luck you two. Your dress rehearsal looked perfect. You’ve really turned up the heat this week. I’m sure the viewers are gonna love it.”

Joe stood by smiling like the Cheshire Cat through this entire interaction. Only mumbling a quiet “Good luck” as they walked away. Kat and I gave each other wide-eyed looks as we turned to head toward the wardrobe department for our final fitting. Once the fitting was done, we stopped in for hair and makeup touch ups. Kat had to go change for the opening performance while I went to the staging area to wait.

Since I skipped out on watching the group dress rehearsals, this was my first time seeing it. I remembered Stacia saying that they were going to put more attention on Kat, but I didn’t realize how much. She was the performance. Everyone else might as well have been background dancers. She worked the room and the cameras like no other and had the audience going crazy. She was magnetic and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

I lost interest once she was off the dance floor, opting to scroll through social media on my phone instead. I went down a rabbit hole of hashtags for the show, curious what people were saying. Kat was indeed a hot topic, and it was mostly positive. They fucking loved her and that made me happier than it probably should have. I definitely felt like Stacia was getting a heavy dose of karma after insinuating that Kat wasn’t that good in the beginning.

I eventually came across a Dieter and Kat hashtag. I thought twice about clicking it but did so anyway. There were apparently a lot of shippers for us out there. It now made more sense why Stacia and Joe were pushing that narrative. I was honestly surprised at the support for it. Usually, my fans flipped the fuck out anytime I was linked to any sort of serious romantic partner, but they seemed ok with this. I saw Kat coming in my periphery, so I hit the hashtag ‘follow’ button then locked my phone just as she made it over to me.

We were buzzing with anticipation as we awaited our turn. Kat hooked up her earbuds to her phone, “You ready for some hype music?”

I nodded, “What’s it gonna be today? Eye of the Tiger?”

She chuckled, “Oh no. I only pull out the big guns when it’s serious.”

She handed me one bud and my ear was immediately filled with the familiar guitar riffs of Walk this Way by Aerosmith and Run DMC. “Yaaaaaas! I approve!” I said with a wide grin. She laughed, bobbing her head to the beat while my fingers played the chords on my air guitar. It was exactly what we needed to get hyped up.

Before we knew it, it was our turn. I was strangely calm as we stepped out onto the dance floor and took our places. Kat’s confidence and sparkling eyes seemed to keep me grounded in the moment as the spotlight dropped down on her. I stood off to the side in the darkness, waiting until it was time to join her. She opened with the flirty strut and hip shaking thing she does so effortlessly before I came into the light, playing the lovesick puppy matching her every move while she shimmed and gyrated around me. There were a couple of instances where there was no space between us as our bodies moved as one to the beat. Kat’s cheek rested against mine, our fronts pressed together, our bodies twisting downward before popping back up for me to dip her backwards. She pushed me away dramatically before we transitioned into a lock step sequence followed by cross over breaks and a chase with full turns. We ended with a flourish as I spun Kat around and dipped her backward again, this time pulling her leg upward into our ending pose.

When the lights dimmed, I pulled Kat upward and hugged her against me as she bounced up and down. Her arms wrapped around my neck as her cheek pressed firmly against mine. “I swear, that was fucking perfect. We killed it,” she said loud enough for me to hear it. I could feel her hot breath against my ear as she spoke. I couldn’t help burying my face in her neck for a brief moment. I inhaled her scent quickly, it was sweet like berries and a spring day. I didn’t want to let go, but I had to. The producers were finally getting what they wanted, our whole interaction since stepping foot on the dance floor was over the top flirty and sexy. More so than it had been during rehearsals as we continued matching each other’s energy, not holding anything back. If the connection between us continued to grow like this every week, it was only a matter of time before something happened between us. Having this much chemistry was unsustainable in its current form.

While I did my interview and waited for the scores, Kat stood hugging me around the middle with both arms. I wrapped one of mine around her and pulled her tightly into my side.

The judges didn’t really have any feedback for us. They mostly gushed about the sexiness of the performance and how in sync we were with each other. Noting that we probably had a stronger connection than any other couple on the show this season. My head was spinning from the adrenaline of it all before we even got our scores. My knees felt like they were going to give out as they started calling out the numbers. They gave us two 8’s and two 9’s. Kat and I were both in shock as we stood with our mouths agape. She had to give me a little shake to bring me back down to earth as the host asked how I was feeling about having the highest score of the night.

Afterwards, we walked back to the staging area with smiles on our faces. Several cast members congratulated us as we passed by. We found a spot in the back corner, away from the others. Kat pulled me in for another hug, “That is the highest score I have ever gotten. I think I’m in shock.”

I chuckled, “I know, I’m in shock. That was…wow. I have no words.”

“We should celebrate with a big greasy burger after this,” she said with a toothy grin.

I nodded, my hand still resting on Kat’s hip after she pulled away from the hug. Her hand sat on the back of my shoulder as she leaned into my side. We stayed like that while watching the next couple’s performance. The energy was still buzzing between us when we were interrupted by Alec. I noticed his eyes drop down to where my hand was on Kat, anger briefly flashed across his face, but he managed to compose himself.

“Kat, can we talk for a minute?” he finally asked.

Her lips set into a tight line before she finally nodded and pulled away from me. He’s not really gonna do this now, is he?

They moved further away into the back corner, but I could still hear him begging her for another chance. I rolled my eyes, trying not to listen, but I honestly couldn’t help it.

“Baby, please, I swear. I’m not gonna fuck up again. I’m really gonna try to do better. I went to an AA meeting yesterday. I haven’t drank at all since that night. I feel terrible and I realize I can’t keep acting like this. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m still going to anger management, I’ll do therapy too if that’s what you really want. Please, I’ll do anything.”

I chanced a glance in their direction, Kat looked like her resolve was breaking. Fucking asshole. He was saying all the right things and I bet he didn’t mean a word of it.

“Alec, I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know baby, I don’t blame you. Just one more chance, please.”

Kat sighed, “OK. This is the LAST time though. You fuck up again and I’m done. It’s on you. You hear me?”

I didn’t even hear Alec’s response. I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. I had gotten my hopes up - let my fantasies of her being mine run wild and infect my senses. I felt dizzy for a different reason now, realizing my breathing was turning shallow.

My attention was drawn back to Kat when I heard my name.

“You need to get over whatever your issue is with Dieter. He’s done nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. I’m not gonna put up with it. I want you to apologize for trying to hit him. That was on you.”

I don’t want his fucking apology.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just let me come home with you tonight. Please? So, we can talk, and I can show you how sorry I am. Let me make it up to you.”

She puffed air through her cheeks before nodding, “Fine. Whatever.”

I felt sick. I needed to leave. It felt like the walls were closing in on me and everything was suddenly too loud. Sweat was beading at the nape of my neck and running down my back. I felt like I was gonna have a fucking panic attack.

I turned to leave, nearly bumping into Kat who was now holding Alec’s hand at her side. I just stared at them wide-eyed. I could see the concern on Kat’s face, but I didn’t care.

“Dieter man, listen…I’m sor…” Alec started to say.

“Save it. I don’t want your fucking apology.”

I glanced down at Kat, “Enjoy your evening. I’m not feeling well, I need to go.”

I could hear Kat calling after me as I left the staging area and moved toward my dressing room. I quickly changed out of my costume and stuffed it into the dry cleaning bag, sitting it outside my door for pickup. I closed the door behind me and locked it. I sat down in the chair, my head in my hands as I fought to control my breathing. The tears pooled in my eyes as I tried to reason through why I was reacting like this. It wasn’t normal. The hurt was too much.

I was startled from my thoughts by a loud knock on the door.

“Dieter, are you in there?” It was Kat. I didn’t answer her.

My phone buzzed with several incoming text messages. They were from her, but I didn’t bother to look at them. I couldn’t.

I exhaled slowly, running my hands down my face. What is my fucking problem? It was then that the realization finally hit me. I was in love with her. “Fuck.”

Next: Week 4 (Part 1)

A/N: Y'all ready to come at me with pitchforks? Don't worry, it won't last long. Alec is a class A fuck up. You know it's only a matter of time. So, there was a lot that went down in this chapter. Now that you've read Dieter's side, who do you think is down worse, Dieter or Kat? There was a lot of flirty banter in this chapter and I am here for it. Do we think Kat was intentionally flirting? What do we think about them singing together? I can confirm, this will not be the only time that happens... We got a small glimpse of plant dad and cat dad Dieter in this part. Are we swooning yet? How much did we love Dieter being a smart ass to Alec during dress rehearsals? I feel like we need more snarky Dieter. What about Dieter's revelation at the end? How do you think that is going to affect his interactions with Kat going forward? Now for some fun stuff... a big shout out to @readingiskeepingmegoing for introducing me to one of the music artist featured in this chapter. I. AM. OBSESSED. The three songs referenced in this chapter are linked below as well as their performance song. I have also included another fun Cha Cha video that I took inspo from.

youtube

CP Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept

@survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love

@readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981

@guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty

@rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte

@timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime

@copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter @burntheedges @stevie75

@bunniboo0015 @quicax3 jackie923 @sherala007 @pastelnap @pedrostories

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held @gwendibleywrites @senorabond

👉 If your name is marked out, it wouldn’t let me tag you. ☹️

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or shoot me a DM.

Credits: Support/MDNI Dividers: @cafekitsune Disco Divider: @deadbranch

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #cat dad dieter #plant dad dieter #soft dieter #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x ofc #closed position series #Spotify

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 4 months ago

Text

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 17

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Fox, Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Y'all, we are only a few chapters away from meeting Lilith! I am so excited to introduce her! I don't want to say things are going to happen quickly from now on, but the pace is definitely going to pick up. The foundation has been set, and now it's time to get moving with the plot. And who better than Fox to help move us along? This is another chill chapter with lots of brother-time, so no one should be doing any crying... I hope. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

Part 1 || Prev | Next

Series Masterlist

The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.

He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.

It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.

Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.

Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.

His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.

It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.

As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.

Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.

"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"

"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."

Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"

"Couple more weeks," Fox said.

"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.

"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."

"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.

"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."

Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."

Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."

"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.

Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.

"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."

Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."

Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.

"What about her?" Fox asked.

Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."

"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"

Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.

"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.

"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.

"For who?" Fox asked.

"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."

"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."

"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."

"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."

Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."

"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."

"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."

Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."

Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."

"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."

"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.

"Nope."

"Hound?"

"Not a chance."

"Thire?"

"Never."

"Stone?"

Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."

Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.

Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"

"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."

"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.

"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."

"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."

Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."

"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."

Wolffe sighed. "I know."

"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."

Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"

Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"

"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.

"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.

"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.

"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."

Wolffe laughed heartily.

"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.

"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."

"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.

Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."

"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.

Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.

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agendabymooner · 1 year ago

Text

about names: the wingman of maranello || cl16 scenario (2)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

PART TWO OF ABOUT NAMES SCENARIO SERIES

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful.

Scenario summary: With his brothers coming down to sickness, Jules Leclerc travelled to Italy with his father and Uncle Arthur prior to his next karting event before them as he learned more about the ‘Wingman of Maranello’ — his namesake Jules Bianchi.

Content warning: FLUFF!!!!! What is beta reading we write with no sense of proper grammar or transitions, kids' sickness, heavily mentions Jules Bianchi (+ Jules being a good sport and matchmaker), feel-good vibes, OC (Teague; OFC's relative), Uncle Arthur Leclerc is quite unattentive, possible use of explicit language, poorly translated French and Italian(?)

Note: I have two papers due in the next two weeks lmao. Enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

Charles and Aimee always thought that if it hadn’t been for their jobs, their kids wouldn’t have the chance of catching a case of stomach flu from countless germs in their school.

They were meant to travel to Italy a week before the eldest Leclerc twins’ karting tournament occurring at the track in Maranello — but it seemed like PJ Leclerc’s class had another plan in mind. Now, two days after his last class of the week, he and his brothers Hervé, Anthoine and Alain (age two) were sulking at home.

They weren’t allowed to travel to Italy until they felt better — after all, the parents didn’t want to be running around with kids who look sickly and would probably throw up every other minute.

Hervé, out of the four boys, took that information to heart though. He was supposed to be with his twin brother as he, too, was going to compete in the karting event — with Arthur acting as his coach. He was excited to travel with his Da and Jules, but he started showing signs of a weak stomach.

Aimee had promised that if he got better before the race they’d be able to travel to where Charles and Jules were. It was just a translation to, “Listen to Maman and drink your tea, eat your soup and take your medicine” but they’d decided to put it in a nicer way to avoid dealing with a stubborn seven year old.

But as Jules placed his bag down after packing up, Hervé’s scowl turned light. His face was pale, but his face showed a lot about how he felt about his twin leaving.

Neither of the parents were paying attention to the two though. Arthur was somewhere in the house, saying goodbye to his younger nephews PJ and the twins.

“Mon cœur,” Charles started, making Aimee hum as she washed the soup bowls. There was no right time to ask his question especially if he asked his wife this but it was a shot worth taking. “Since it’s just Artie, J and I heading there for the week I’m thinking—“

“Uh oh, that’s a bad sign,” Aimee joked, now rinsing the dishes. Charles chuckled and rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter next to the sink and his wife. He proceeded with his suggestion.

“What if we took the Pista to Maranello instead?”

It was like his world stopped. Quite literally.

Turning off the tap, Aimee’s grin faded as she scowled heavily in the direction of her husband. Charles’s usually widened eyes shrunk small as Aimee continued to bore her eyes into his pair.

It was a bad idea to bring up his sports car overall.

With a scoff, she then said, “I want you to say those words slowly and understand what you just said.”

“Okay…” He nodded.

“Then I want you to think about how stupid that sounds,” Aimee smiled grimly. Yikes. He was a footstep away from being banished from his own bedroom.

“Okay,” he said regardless.

“Don’t be stupid,” Aimee warned him, “you know that the Pista isn’t for the kids.”

“I know,” Charles told her, his voice now hitting an octave as he defended, “to be fair, I wouldn’t put the kids in your McLaren either.”

“Darling,” Aimee laughed humourlessly, “we were thinking of two different things; I thought that they shouldn’t be allowed to ride it because it’s dangerous and you said that it was a McLaren not a Ferrari. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Right, alright,” Charles said with a shrug, “it was just an idea.”

“An idea that isn’t even worth looking at,” Aimee shook her head, “take the Aston or something— just don’t take any of the two seater ones. Do not ever let Jules sit on Arthur’s lap on a two-seater— he has to have a seat belt, Charles. If I find out that you took either of the Pista or McLaren I will come after your head— and you’re my husband. But I won’t hesitate to be a goddamn Black Widow if—“

“Okay, geez,” Charles interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “don’t need to threaten me. Still your husband, mon cœur.”

“Not going to be anymore if you do what you just said,” Aimee gave him a smile. It was a rather threatening one, and Charles should do anything but contest what he was told.

Meanwhile Jules stood there and awkwardly patted his brother’s head as he said, “Tu te rendras à la course, Herb.” You’ll make it to the race, Herb.

Hervé grumbled and continued to sulk, “I hope so. Tia said that Louis is going to be there. And je n'aime pas perdre contre Louis.” I don’t like to lose to Louis.

“Eh,” Jules shrugged nonchalantly, “you know what Maman said once? Uh… don’t take it personal? Is that what she said?”

Hervé nodded as his twin brother continued, “Louis me taquine aussi. Je m'en fiche parce que maman a dit que je ne devrais pas me soucier des gens qui se moquent de moi. Cela m'empêche seulement d'aller plus vite dans la course.” Louis teases me too. I don’t care much because Maman said I shouldn’t mind people who make fun of me. It only stops me from going faster in the race.

Despite being a twin, one of the things that differed Jules from Hervé was his level headed trait. It wasn’t as if he never showed any form of emotion to anything worth reacting to, but he seemed to reason more than Hervé.

Everyone around them was quick to notice this and easily pointed out that he took this rational approach from Aimee, while Hervé got his sensitivity from Charles.

Still, Jules approached things differently than his twin — and his attempt to convince Hervé to see the things he’s seeing was something that most school aged children wouldn’t do.

“So,” Jules told Hervé, “make it to the race not because of him. Remember! Auntie Vie raced for fun! Not because she wants to fight Uncle Max!”

“Hm,” Hervé nodded, but kept his head down nonetheless. The eldest Leclerc boy looked up and murmured, “My stomach still hurts, J.”

“Ah, I’ll tell Maman,” Jules nodded, “why are you up if your stomach hurts anyway?”

“Alors je peux demander à Maman si je peux venir avec vous les gars,” so I can ask Maman if I can go with you guys. Hervé grumbled, tucking his legs in his hoodie as he groaned. “Ugh.”

A four hour drive to their accommodation in Maranello and a quick trip to the Ferrari headquarters after Charles, Arthur and Jules Leclerc were found in Charles’s in-site office. Or rather, Charles was somewhere in the facility having a meeting with the PR team and Carlos while his son and brother were in his office.

Jules kept rolling over the chair from the desk to his Uncle Arthur, growing bored of the lack of things to do inside his father’s office. Arthur was just sitting there, his eyes hovering over his phone as he continued to browse through his twitter.

“Da should have just left me with Maman,” Jules sighed, his head slumped against Charles’s desk.

Arthur hummed, not paying full attention towards the boy as Jules sighed in annoyance.

Arthur wasn’t paying attention to him and Jules decided to mess with him a little, “Da could just drop me off the street and let me race by myself.”

Nothing but an utter “Mhm” escaped Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m bored, Uncle Art.”

Still nada.

“Herb said that he should have had Auntie Vie or Uncle Max coach him instead of you.”

It was as if Arthur got a whiplash as his mouth gaped open at the boy’s comment. “Jules, is that true?”

Jules shrugged, “No.”

“Then why say that if it’s not true,” Arthur exclaimed and heaved a sigh dramatically, “you scared me.”

“Because I’m booooored~” Jules whined, spinning himself while he sat on the chair of his father’s office. “Da left me here with nothing!”

“Tell you what,” Arthur started, “why don’t we take a look around the floor and see if you can find the LaFerrari car to ride in? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you borrow it and drive around the office.”

“Fine~” Jules hopped off the seat, not even bothering to wait for his uncle as he ran out of the office. “Race you to Da!”

“W- Oi! Jules Lorenzo Pascal- agh, wrong- Leclerc!” Arthur grunted before he stood up and ran after the boy. “You lots have a lot of names to even call you by them- Jules! Come back! Charles has a meeting!”

The Ferrari headquarters in Maranello was, no doubt, a place that held a lot of memories for the Leclerc family. Charles’ name was engraved in the wall of fame and Aimee’s family was strongly connected to the Ferraris. Their connections to the team — one that became their family — led them to what they had now.

Everyone inside the headquarters were fond of the Leclerc boys and Jules was no exception.

For an hour, he’d been going around the office saying hi to everyone and asking about their day — in Italian, as well, to impress them with his ability to speak more than two languages. Then he went around asking about the LaFerrari that his Uncle Arthur mentioned earlier.

Jules gladly toured the museum with his uncle rather than finding the car he’d asked about, his eyes glimmering at the sight of Niki Lauda’s car and even Enzo Ferrari’s. When they got to Michael Schumacher’s car, however, Jules nearly jumped up and down in excitement.

His loud excited voice caught the attention of other onlookers in the museum. It was rather funny that he was so excited, because by the time people had approached them the excitement in his features had infected the Ferrari fans as they asked Arthur for photos.

“Oh, I’ll take the photo!” Jules offered in excitement.

“Jules no you have to get in the picture,” Arthur kept an arm around the boy and said, “how will people know that there are two handsome Leclerc men roaming around Maranello if you’re out of the picture?”

And find out, they did. It wasn’t even an hour after when the fans posted their photos on Twitter and became a hit tweet because of the Leclerc boy. What was funnier aside from the caption “I met Jules Leclerc with his relative today” was the result that came with it.

Charles looked quite frazzled trying to find his kid and when the fans saw the driver they nearly freaked out. Jules merely waved at his father and said, “They said they want some pictures, Da!”

Charles sighed and smiled at the fans lightly, his eyes finding Arthur’s as he warned his brother quietly about letting Jules in the pictures.

Jules was still a child, and taking photos of him without the knowledge of either Charles or Aimee was trouble you’re asking for.

“Jules,” Charles started as he held the boy’s hand, making their way back to the office after having some photos taken, “Do not go far from the office when Da has a meeting, alright?”��

“But I only went in the museum, Da,” Jules reasoned out, “and Uncle Artie went with me!”

“Well I’m glad you went with someone,” Charles shrugged, “but there is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jules exclaimed. “C'est le père de maman?” Is it Maman’s father?

Charles and Arthur shared a look over Jules’ head. Yeah no.

The boys had always mentioned that they’ve never met any of their grandfathers before. They understood why their Papy Hervé was not here anymore but Aimee’s father — Julius Hearth — was still alive. How come they’ve never met them?

“Non, mais il est proche de maman,” No but he is close to Maman. Charles replied quietly, eventually coming to a stop in front of the conference room by the Scuderia Ferrari Team Principal Fred Vasseur’s office.

Jules stood there, expectantly looking at his father as Charles gestured to the entryway. Stepping inside without looking away from his father, Jules finally looked in front of him as his glimmering eyes turned curious.

A man sat there. There are some signs of age in his face, but Jules could tell that he was not older than his father. The man’s smile brightened the room, the shade of his skin brightening like the sun.

Jules looked up at Charles, who only offered him a smile before telling him to keep walking. The man stood and stuck his hand out.

“Last time I checked, you and Aimee were still new,” the man gave a teasing look to Charles, who only chuckled. His Scottish accent piqued Jules’ interest even more.

His Maman’s accent was different from his and as he continued to think about it, his cousins’ mixture of Austrian and RP accent wasn’t like this either. He’s from a different region, Jules deduced.

The man looked down and crouched, hand still stuck out as he spoke, “My name is Teague. Teague Edmunson. And you are…?”

With a face showing a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness, Jules looked back at Charles who only gave him a go-ahead before the boy reached out to shake the hand of the man and introduced himself, “My name is Jules Leclerc.”

“Ah! Jules?” Teague smiled softly as he gave a nod of approval towards Charles’ direction. “You named him Jules?”

“Yes, we did,” Charles grinned, his hand reaching out to mess with his son’s hair.

“Seems rather fitting,” Teague teased the Ferrari driver, “the Wingman of Maranello… Ah… he made you and Aimee possible after all.”

Jules’s face scrunched up in confusion, watching how his Uncle Arthur giggled and his father’s face flush red.

It was like he missed something. He wasn’t sure what but the way his Da’s turn red told him enough about asking him about the matter later.

“I’m sorry, mister,” Jules piped up, making the men look down at him with questioning looks. He proceeded to look at the man who introduced himself as Teague and asked, “My Da said that you know my Maman well. Can I ask what you are to her?”

“Jules,” Arthur called, “do you know one of your Maman’s last names?”

The boy shook his head, making Teague laugh quietly and answer with, “Edmunson, Little Bianchi.”

“You said that is your name,” Jules pointed out, making Teague nod. “So… if Maman’s name is Edmunson then you are her… brother?”

“Well… Not quite,” Teague shook his head before elaborating, “I’m her cousin. Don’t tell me your Maman had never spoken much of me? Charles?”

“Yes we have,” Charles scoffed. But all Jules seemed to have heard was that the man in front of him was his mother’s cousin. Then he recalled that one time he went browsing through his Maman’s childhood photo album.

He saw his aunts in those photos and even his Uncles Max and Lando. He knew that some of them grew up together, but there was one person that Jules once pointed out and it was a boy with a darker shade of skin and curly hair. The boy that he saw was sitting next to his Maman.

Suddenly it all made sense to him. Aimee once introduced him to the photo of this boy as…

“You are Uncle T.”

Jules came to a conclusion, his lips spreading into a grin as it infected the whole room.

“Yes, I am your Uncle T!” Teague confirmed, nodding eagerly. “Gah! I thought Aimee and Charles had forgotten about me. Or even your uncle Arthur!”

“I’d never forget about you, T,” Arthur scoffed.

Jules then turned to Arthur and said, “Uncle Arthur, you cannot even remember my full name! You have put my Pascal first before Blaise!”

“Ahhh, Arthur~” Charles gasped dramatically and looked at his younger brother. Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I forgot about it once this noon and little Bianchi considers me a criminal for it,” Arthur muttered. “You and your Da, J. You like to give me a heart attack.”

He stood next to his father while they both brushed their teeth, getting ready to go to bed for the next day.

Jules had spent his day with Fred Vasseur and his Uncle Teague. It turned out that Teague was to work as an engineer at Ferrari after years of working at some firm in Luxembourg.

From what Jules learned, Teague never had the chance to visit Jules and his brothers due to his work commitments. Now, he’s had every chance to— and he did make sure that his time was well spent.

“Da,” Jules spoke after rinsing his mouth, hearing a hum from Charles as he glanced at the older Leclerc. “On reverra l'oncle Teague?” Will we see Uncle Teague again?

“Oui,” Charles murmured as he continued to brush his teeth. He spat the contents of his mouth and rinsed his mouth before he answered his son, “He will be there for your race, Jules.”

“Ah,” Jules nodded in understanding. Silence was shared between the Leclerc boys before Jules asked, “Est-il proche de Maman?” Is he close to Maman?

“Very,” Charles nodded, “but he is not your Maman’s best friend though. He was…”

Jules Leclerc, if you were to compare him to his twin and the rest of his brothers, was good at reading expressions. He could just tell that Charles wanted to tell him something but refuses to.

Jules always told himself that his Da got the look that his brother Hervé had whenever he was in the verge of crying or breaking down, and this was no exception.

So rather than bringing up the situation Jules went ahead and said, “Da, pourquoi l'oncle T a-t-il dit que mon nom correspondait?” Da, why did Uncle T say that my name is fitting?

Charles’s expression changed as he snapped his head towards the direction of his son. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know,” Jules said before he tried to recall the events earlier, “he said uh… Il m'a appelé quelque chose… W- wingman?” He called me something.

“Ah,” Charles chuckled, shaking his head lightly before he grabbed the brush from the sink alongside a hair tie. He stepped behind Jules and began brushing the boy’s hair back. “The Wingman of Maranello.”

“Oui! That!” Jules exclaimed, wincing lightly when he moved and his dad tugged on his hair lightly. Charles muttered an apology before Jules continued, “What does that mean?”

“Uh… so,” Charles tried to speak but he couldn’t help but focus on the detangling brush on his hand as he continued to brush Jules’ damp hair. “Do you know- Maman t'a-t-elle parlé de la Saint-Valentin?” Did Maman tell you about Valentine’s Day? Jules nodded as Charles explained, “There is something called a Cupid. Now, Cupid— he matches people with others. To find someone to love.”

“Maman said that! She said that Cupid helped you and Maman!” Jules said as his eyes glimmered at the thought of Cupid doing their work— a masterpiece that the boy called his Maman and Da.

“Yeah, well you see,” Charles chuckled, “long before Maman and I got together with the help of Cupid, we had something called the wingman. It’s someone who encourages you to talk to the person that you like.”

“Like Cupid?”

“Pretty much, but Cupid just helps people get together and love stronger,” Charles shrugged, “the wingman, in this case, helped me discover my love for your Maman more.”

Charles smiled to himself. He remembered it vividly.

BACK THEN

It turns out, being a student and a godson of a test driver — who was best friends with a stakeholder’s cousin — could lead him to a party at the Ferrari headquarters… and to her.

Teague chuckled quietly before nudging Jules Bianchi slightly, earning a scowl from the Frenchman as he followed Teague’s line of sight, smirking lightly as Charles Leclerc — at the age of fifteen — blushed furiously and walked away from the golden skinned girl.

When the girl was out of their sight, Jules whistled as if to tease the boy. Charles gave Jules a glare as Teague laughed.

“Come on, Shal,” Jules grinned lopsidedly before he wrapped his arm around the Monegasque. “I think you should talk to her.”

“I already did,” Charles tried to shove Jules away from him, but the Frenchman was stronger than him as Jules laughed.

“Not that,” Jules shook his head, “maybe someday she’ll be your girlfriend~~”

“Jules, shhh-“ Charles hissed.

“Careful now, Wingman of Maranello,” Teague piped up, “you might give my aunt a heart attack with all of your matchmaking.”

“I’ve done an alright job so far, don’t you think, T?” Jules winked at his best friend. “I’m sure your Aunt Amara wouldn’t mind having a handsome Monegasque for a son-in-law. It worked out so well with you and your girlfriend!

“Now Shal! Promise your best godfather Jules that you’d ask her out one of these days, hm? I’d be damned if you let go of a smart girl like her.”

NOW

“So if I’m called Jules and he was your Uncle Jules… does that mean I get to play matchmaker too?”

Charles laughed aloud, finally tying his son’s hair into a bun before he wrapped his arms around his boy.

“Why not,” Charles rolled his eyes before pressing kisses on his son’s face. “You can do whatever you want, little Bianchi. Just not anything that will send your Da or Maman to the hospital, hm?”

Jules sighed contentedly, resting against his father’s chest as he looked at himself and his dad in the vanity. He then smiled and said, “I hope Hervé gets better before the race. Then Uncle T can see me and him race.”

“I hope so, too, Jules,” Charles sighed quietly, patting his son on the shoulder before nudging the boy towards the direction of their bedroom. “Now off we go. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Will I drive the LaFerrari this time, Da?”

“If your Zio Fred has someone to find it for you, then yes. Perhaps don’t crash around the office. It’s a busy day tomorrow.”

“Uh… okay. Maybe I can make that promise.”

“You can promise? So silly of you, Jules.”

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pjmparadise · 2 years ago

Text

3:23 am (don’t go, stay) Pt 1 || JJK

Pairing: jungkook x f! original character

Word count: 12.1k

Genre(s): fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, slight angst if you squint; neighbor au, pre-debut Jungkook au, pre-debut au, comic book artist Jungkook au, apartment au, neighbor au

Warnings: cursing, mentions of jungkook’s penis (yeah yeah... he sleeps naked ofc), brief injury (jk hurts himself bc he’s a dork); descriptions of anxiety and fear (jungkook is scared for a sec, oops); nudity mentions, jungkook is a little horny (what can I say....), jungkook gets a hard on lol; he’s also down bad pathetic crushing and is super clumsy, and brief mentions of home robberies (lol this feels random, but it isn’t I swear), very heavily dialogue based

Audience: 18+ (minors, DNI!)

Summary: Jungkook has had a couple of awkward run-ins with his pretty upstairs neighbor, who he may or may not be secretly pining over, and one night, she pays him an unexpected visit.

“My patio, though. Did you fall? I heard a thud.”

“Are you flirting with me? I’ve heard that pickup line before, but yours sounds a little different.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t use pickup lines like those with you.”

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A/N: WOOO! my first jungkook fic!! We recently got his birth time, and thus this title was born lol! I’ve been working on this baby for a few months now, and it’s finally finished!! After a long time of contemplating, i decided to make our female character an original character, and i know it’s kind of a rare thing in the community, but i felt it worked best with my story. It’s been a bumpy ride with this one since it’s my first lengthy fic (over 12k words... sheesh!) that will be a part of a short series. I’m very excited and a little nervous, but if you’re here, I’m glad to have you here. Thank you for giving my work a shot <3 (ps. italics indicate jungkook’s inner thoughts as well as flashbacks)

a big thank you to my lovely beta’s: @cherrysoulth @the-boy-meets-evil and @jeonjcngkook you’ve all helped me shape my fic and have been so helpful, and I am so so grateful. truly. seriously. thank you for brainstorming with me, for reading my work, and for being so sweet and so supportive.

a special thank you to @itaeewon for the lovely banner! I love it so so much <3

Jungkook is awake to hear the sound of a muffled thud nearby.

His bedroom is dark and silent save for the alarm clock resting on a bedside table flashing bright red numbers at him. ‘It’s late, it’s late, you should be asleep,’ the time says. Jungkook shuts his eyes, groaning and rubbing a hand over his face. “I know, fuck, I know,” he mutters. He’s fully naked, lying on his back, eyes wide open and boring into the ceiling, blanket kicked off to the side, and arms folded behind his neck–still remembering a phone conversation with Namjoon earlier in the day.

“So she walked toward the elevator as it closed, and you didn’t open it for her?” Namjoon scoffs over the phone, shaking his head and clicking his tongue to show he’s disappointed. He knows Jungkook froze, Jungkook already told him he wanted to reach out and push the button for her, but Namjoon asked again anyway—he likes to give him a hard time. “Every time you see this girl, things just kind of go wrong. I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “I’ve noticed too. Is it a sign? Should I give up?” In his apartment, he sat curled up on his couch, his chin on his kneecaps. He’s fallen silent in thought.

“No, nothing like that. Maybe she didn’t get to see it was you, so she thinks it was someone else, or maybe she doesn't even think about it anymore. You know, like things that happen in your day you forget about later unless something reminds you of it?”

“Yes!” Jungkook relaxed, falling back against the couch with a hand over his forehead. “That probably is what’s going on. She went on with her day; other things have to happen, right?”

Namjoon was quiet. In his apartment, he was opening mail and reading over a proposal he was meant to sign soon. A project he hasn’t mentioned to anyone else, Namjoon folds the letter and sets it aside. “Sorry, yes. Yes, don’t worry too much. It will ruin your day. I mean that. Sorry for the pause. I just opened some mail.”

“Ah, okay. Well, you’re right.” Jungkook rose from his seat then. “Namjoon-hyung?”

Namjoon nodded even though he couldn’t be seen. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. I don’t know if I say that enough, but you’re always helping and guiding me when I don’t even realize I need it.”

“Thank you, Jungkook. Finish your comic tonight, and submit it tomorrow. I know you’ll place in the contest and do well. You haven’t scrapped it have you?”

Jungkook sighed. Rubbing his eyelids, walking distractedly around his living room, he spoke with his eyes closed. “I have it. I finished it; I just don’t feel too good about posting it, even with the pseudonym; it feels like too much. Too much with what we already have going on as a group even. We’re trying to do something together, and the comic stuff is just… I don’t know. I don’t want it to distract me.”

Namjoon was on his back patio, leaning over the railing and looking out at the park across from him. “Jungkook, I’m going to tell you something and think about it however you want to. I respect your life, but I think—and these are just my opinions. I think you doubt yourself too often and need to take some chances. Luck turns out; it does.” Namjoon folds his arms over the railing, leaning his body against it. “No rush, bro. At all. The music we’re trying to pursue, it’s not going anywhere, you know?”

Jungkook nodded from his living room.

“Like, okay, look.” Namjoon fixed his gaze on a flock of birds rising from the trees. “The guys, we all have our passions. Yoongi with his piano, Jimin is passionate about his dancing, Taehyung with his instruments, Jin and his gaming, and Hoseok he’s been designing his own clothes lately; with me, you know I like poetry and painting, but we all share music. That is for the team, for a part of us, but we each have so many parts. You like art and storytelling; your comics are so cool, bro. You love watching Taehyung practice the trumpet, and Jimin dance after practice. We like to see you pursue your other dreams too. Pursue it, and don't worry about the group, is all I ask.”

Jungkook almost cried. He stopped pacing. His heart was racing; it was all he had heard momentarily. If Namjoon were there in front of him, he’d hug him. Maybe he’d even cry. “Ah, Namjoon-hyung…” he swallowed hard at the saliva in his throat, blushing. ‘Namjoon always knows what to say,’ he thought. “I will think about it. I will set an alarm, just in case. I’ll decide in the morning, you know it’s my style to do that the day of. If I think about it now, it will be like this all day, and I’ll stress too much.”

“Good, then. Just think about it.” Namjoon smiled.

Jungkook lies motionless with his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, mouthing along to Namjoon’s words. “We like to see you pursue your other dreams too. Pursue it, and don't worry about the group, is all I ask.” He sighs. How could he not worry about the guys? He’s twenty-five. Most idols start out much younger, and the mandatory enlistment is already so near for his hyungs. It’s bad timing, is all. My comic book can wait.

He wants to sleep, so he turns over, laying flat on his stomach, facing his wall. Resting his full body weight on his flaccid penis is slightly uncomfortable, but he ignores it. It’s the type of restless night that he has no chance up against, and even with his eyes closed, he feels painfully awake. Jungkook is thinking of her again—her pretty smile, the pink sundress she wore in the elevator, her ability to look him in the eyes and not shy away—and it’s almost like she's here, in the same room with him. He pictures the sundress again, the way it clung to her frame, highlighting every curve. Man, I want her. He shifts his hips around, surprising himself with a massive erection.

The thud strikes again suddenly, and he sits up, alarmed. Shit, is that here? Like outside my apartment? Jungkook squints in the darkness, bringing a hand to the nightstand to fetch his glasses. Any sign of arousal is now extinguished.

“Bam?” He calls out in a sluggish voice. The clock beside him flashes bright red numbers at him. 3:23. “Ah, shit,” Jungkook mumbles, turning the clock away. A sound he can’t distinguish comes from his left, directly outside his bedroom. “It’s like home alone,” he says to no one.

Jungkook rests his head against the wall, the texture cold against his feverish face. He can hear the sound of a muffled conversation. “Shit, that’s right here, right outside,” he mumbles, stepping back. He reaches over mechanically to switch on the lamp beside him.

Now, Jungkook is painfully aware of his nakedness and frenetically searches for bottoms to change into. He’s thinking about how his legs don’t feel like his own as he walks to the chair by the door, where he sees basketball shorts. It’s like sleepwalking. Even though he’s awake, Jungkook feels as though he might’ve actually fallen asleep, and this is some strange anxiety dream he’s creating to cope with his qualms about submitting his comic. Still, he goes along with it, quietly changing into the shorts, walking out into his living room, and ducking his head when he passes the glass patio door.

Cursing under his breath, annoyed at himself for forgetting to throw on a shirt, Jungkook shakes his head at himself. I don't want to fight an intruder shirtless and commando in basketball shorts, damn... A part of him feels a rush of adrenaline as he crouches behind a potted plant and, chewing on his lower lip, fantasizes about a robbery gone wrong, one where he puts his boxing skills to the test—the other part of him wants this to be a dream, a sign from the universe that he ought to submit his comic. I’ll fucking do it if I survive this.

Jungkook stays like that for a while until he hears a sound again. Rising from his crouched position, he walks toward the back patio window, pulling back the curtain to peer out. He feels a tightness in his chest, and his hands tremble slightly. A shameful part of him is relieved that he’s alone and no one is around to see how shaken up he is.

He whistles quietly, calling to Bam, forgetting his brother is watching over him tonight. Craning his neck, he glances around his balcony patio and sees nothing. “Bam, come here,” his whispering is frantic. He whistles again, patting his leg lightly. Nothing. You’re okay. It’s nothing. It’s probably the cats again tipping over the plants. Just fix it tomorrow. Now, go back to bed. You need it. Jungkook is about to whistle once more when he remembers. His eyebrows knit together; shaking his head, he places his fingertips on his eyelids, murmuring a lamented, “Ah.”

Thinking better of it, he draws the curtain back again and sighs with relief before taking note of a figure crouched behind a chair with a hand shooting up to rub their head. Panic washes over him. His inner monologue consists of a string of every curse word he can think of as he ducks out of view. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s a person. If he’d been scared earlier, now he’s downright petrified.

Desperate, he begins to look around the room for a weapon. Anything. Jungkook stands still, breathing in heavy gulps of air, cradling his head as he adjusts his vision to the darkness of the living room. ‘Can’t even turn a fucking light on,’ he thinks as he drops to the ground and crawls around his living room. His home’s silence unsettles him. Jungkook can hear the nothingness aside from his ragged breathing, so he pinches the skin on his arm and hisses at the sharp pain. Okay, real life it is. His bare knees skid against the hard flooring, and his clammy palms slip beneath him; his heart is thudding hard and fast, the blood pooling between his ears. He’s scowling, chewing his lower lip, his chest heaving as he fumbles a hand under the couch; he fingers a cold object and remembers what it is. Aha! He comes up with a golf club Taehyung left behind a few nights ago. I love you, Taehyung!

Jungkook grips the golf club until his knuckles take on a pale color. Having a weapon gives him a newfound sense of security, and like before, he’s fantasizing about kicking someone’s ass. “You come to my house at three in the morning? My house?” he says as he walks through his living room, rolling his shoulders.

He draws the curtain again, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness; he sees the figure facing away from him and hunching over, a phone glowing against their face. He can call the police, and he almost wants to, but to avoid the drama of a police visit at three in the morning, he decides against it. Imagine the guys find out I called the police? He shudders at the thought. The stranger looks small anyway.

Jungkook reaches for the doorknob and pulls back the door. It’s a lot chillier than he’d anticipated. He folds his arms over his bare chest instantly, the skin covered in goosebumps—his teeth chatter of their own accord.

“Don't move!” He raises the golf club in a mid-swing position, ready to strike. The person shifts around, holding up the hand with the phone. “I said, ‘Don’t move’!” He sounds ridiculous, but he doesn't care. In the shadows, he watches the phone’s glow shut off. “I called the police, so don’t try anything. They’re on the way.” His voice doesn't even sound like his own. He takes a few steps toward the stranger, his grip tightening around the golf club. His heart feels heavy in his chest.

It’s hard to make out the features of this person, but they rise, walk toward the dim light spilling from the neighbor’s window, and he can see them now. The stranger looks straight at him, and he’s met with wide eyes staring at him. She’s standing, squinting at him with a hand on her hip, and she smiles wide. Damn! If this were an animation, she’d have a halo effect.

Jungkook has seen her a total of seven times—he can’t help it; he likes to keep track of these things. It’s his upstairs neighbor, their interactions before tonight being brief and in passing (the most recent engraved in his mind and tormenting him), and he’s thought of her tirelessly and has fantasized about a time they should meet, and things go well for a change.

Jungkook doesn't know her name, but he could recognize those beautiful dark eyes anywhere. He’s looking into them now, his body anchored, mouth turning into sawdust.

She’s talking to him; he’s just not listening. Not really. He can't grasp the reality that it’s actually her, and she’s standing on his patio, and she looks so beautiful. Should he be thinking that?

Her long black hair is in a loose ponytail, her eyebrows arch as her deep dark eyes blink at him, and her lips move. “Please tell me you didn't really call the cops,” she says, bursting through his trance.

Damn, I sounded so stupid! Jungkook blushes. He hopes she can’t tell from where she stands.

“I was trying to call my friend; I swear I was not snooping or breaking in.” She smiles, but her voice sounds worried. Her eyebrows furrow like she’s trying to read him. “Honest,” she says in a small voice as she leans on the railing and raises her hand with the cell phone for emphasis.

She’s wearing a dark gray sweatshirt twice her size and sandals with white socks, and he can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or if the sweatshirt is all. He can feel his face reddening just from the possibility of her nakedness underneath the sweatshirt, so he decides not to focus on that.

Jungkook rubs the nape of his neck, abashed. The cold air surrounds him, and he folds his arms across his chest, remembering his exposed chest. His empty threat echoes and bounces around in his head, and he looks away from her. “I didn't call the cops, sorry. I didn't know what else to say. It’s what they say in movies.”

“You would be right anyway; this is your patio.” She laughs a little at that, and his heart rate picks up. She pushes herself away from the railing, smiling, and walks toward him with an outstretched hand. Her nail polish is glittery, and he doesn't notice, but this small detail makes him smile. “I’m Rei. I live upstairs. Maybe you’ve seen me before.” There’s a coy look on her face as she says this, and it makes him nervous.

So her name is Rei!!! Fireworks set off, exploding behind Jungkook’s wide eyes.

“Huh, maybe,” Jungkook lies. He shakes her hand slowly, his hand enveloping hers entirely, the contact sending a warm shock through his body.

“Maybe a few days ago,” she says, with a finger to her chin, like she’s thinking over something. “Oh, yes, have I seen you on the elevator?”

“The elevator?” He feigns innocence as he tongues his lip ring anxiously. “That’s strange. Every day is a blur for me.”

“For me, too,” she replies. She’s almost smirking, watching Jungkook lie. He can tell she’s caught him. “You just look sooo familiar.”

“That’s a first.” Still, he denies it.

“Maybe you just look like someone I’ve seen,” she says, looking into his eyes as if searching for something she placed there. “You have one of those faces, you know?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows, lips parted to speak, but nothing comes out.

Is she flirting with me or giving me a hard time? DAMN!

“I have an ordinary face?” Jungkook wonders after a moment.

“Either that or my memory is failing me,” she says, sighing and shaking her head. “Which do you think it is?”

“I don't have an ordinary face,” Jungkook says in a small voice, “I have piercings on my face.”

“That’s true…” she’s watching the ground and suddenly looks into his eyes again. She holds his stare unblinking, and then her lips pull back into a big smile showing off cute bunny teeth. Just like me. “I’ve always had a good memory; I was just kidding.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, blushing.

He can smell her perfume when a cold breeze blows past him, carrying her real-life presence and enveloping him in it. It’s sweet and mixed with a scent of detergent he recognizes, and he’s watching how strands of her hair float beside her face. She’s so cute. Damnnnn.

“You should open the door for the ladies,” Rei says, raising an eyebrow, and stepping closer, she says, “Just harmless advice. Stranger .”

“I will consider that,” he replies, avoiding her fixed stare, attempting to ignore how she’s riled him up with a loud clearing of his throat. But his chest is on fire, his heart thudding hard against his rib cage at her closeness. “My patio, though. Did you fall? I heard a thud.”

“Are you flirting with me? I’ve heard that pickup line before, but yours sounds a little different.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t use pickup lines like those with you.”

She laughs, and he internally swoons. If he were a cartoon, his heart would burst out of his chest in comical dramatic thuds, his pupils heart-shaped.

“I’m kidding. I know I’m giving you a hard time when I’m on your patio at three in the morning, but I can explain why I’m here,” Rei mimics Jungkook’s movements by crossing her arms across her chest, her lower lip trembling, “but can I come in? It’s cold out, and I'm in the worst attire for this weather.” She gestures vaguely at her exposed legs, and Jungkook’s stare lingers before she notices—so he responds with a nod as he gestures for her to follow him inside. “Though you might have me beat. You came out here without a shirt, damn.”

Leading the way, he blushes at her comment and gives his head a light shake. She’s so talkative! Yoongi was right about her.

With a dreamy air about him, he remembers Namjoon’s words. Except now, all he remembers is: “You need to take some chances. Luck turns out; it does.”

Inside, Jungkook excuses himself to his room to change into a shirt. He reaches for his glasses beside his bed and goes to the closet. “Shirt, shirt, shirt,” he mutters as his hands sift through empty hangers. When was the last time he did laundry? He groans. “Shirt?” he reaches to pick up a heap of white clothing in the deep corner of the closet. He brings the shirt to his nose, sniffs, and walks back into the room, raising an eyebrow and nodding with approval. His hands are shaky as he maneuvers his head through a t-shirt sleeve in a panicked rush. He yanks the shirt off again, the t-shirt now inside out and knotted up in his grip; he groans as his fingers work the fabric. What if she’s gone when I go back out there? Agh, what if I’m dreaming all of this up, and lack of sleep is finally getting to me?

Rei’s voice comes through the walls, and though this is their first official meeting, he knows she’s smiling as she calls out to him. “You okay in there?”

Smoothing out the wrinkles on the shirt, he glances at his reflection behind the bedroom door before stepping out, his chest heaving and his nostrils flaring. “I’m okay; all is OK. Sorry.” He offers her a thumbs up and a big goofy grin that makes her laugh.

“Did you go on a hike without me?” She asks from her seat on his couch. She rests her face on her palm, looking up at him as he walks past toward the kitchen.

“Hike? I just put the shirt on; it was fighting me, though.”

“No, I meant,” she shakes her head, laughing. “I meant that as a while for changing into a shirt. Bad joke, sorry.”

“Ah,” Jungkook says.

“You’re wearing glasses,” she comments, her eyes looking over his face.

“I am,” he says, glancing her way.

It looks like she wants to say something else but doesn't.

He raises his eyebrows, nodding and tonguing the inside of his cheek. It doesn't happen often, but he doesn't know what to say. He walks into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets. “Do you drink tea?” He wonders as he fills a kettle with water and sets it to boil.

Rei nods, stretching her legs before her and craning her neck back to look up at the ceiling. “Chamomile or whatever you have, I’m not picky.” She points a finger above her head, motioning for him to look. “Those are stars. Is this wallpaper? It looks pretty. Is it glow-in-the-dark?”

Jungkook is in the kitchen, his eyes watching how her finger moves in a swift motion of the length of the ceiling. He thinks about how her hand felt in his grip and wishes he’d been more present. “It’s… I don’t know, actually. It’s not a wallpaper; it’s carved into the ceiling, and yes, it glows but not like the bright green; it’s softer.” He looks at her, and she scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. “Want to see?”

She twists her body to look at him, her smile so big he can’t help but return the affection. “Yes. Show me.”

“Grab the remote beside you; turn off the lights with it.”

She clicks the lights off, and the gasp she lets out makes his heart flutter in his chest. Aside from the hard thudding in his chest, the only sounds nearby are the buzzing of the refrigerator, the ice machine rolling out handfuls of freshly carved-out cubes, and the bubbling water in the kettle. Jungkook doesn't dare disturb the quiet; he’s leaning against the kitchen table, wanting her to stay. He looks for her in the dark, his eyes finding her silhouette on the couch, his lips pulling back into a smile. She’s better than in his daydreams; she smells sweet and of detergent, and she feels like a real person just like him, so near but out of his reach. And here, in the same room as him, so close to him, Jungkook realizes she could’ve left by now but hasn’t.

“I’d love it if I had this on my ceiling,” Rei pouts, “want to trade?” She clicks the lights back on, and Jungkook blinks, slowly adjusting to the brightness.

He pretends to mull it over, humming and tonguing his cheek. He puts on his best-thinking face. “No way, but you can come over and look at the stars when it's overcast or raining outside.” He walks toward the stove, where the water boils in the kettle. With his back turned to her, he’s hiding his blushing face as he sets two cups out before him.

“I think that sounds nice,” she replies, surprising him. “So what, I walk outside sometime, see a gray sky, and come downstairs to see you? ‘Hey, neighbor, can I see the stars?’ and you say, ‘Come in, I’ve just made cocoa, would you like some?’ and I say, ‘Thank you, are you sure?’ and then you say, ‘Sure’ except I never leave because I like the stars so much and you don’t know how to tell me I should go home.”

“Oh, that’s a good conversation. Is that what you’d like me to make? I like hot cocoa,” Jungkook says, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “You think I'd want you to leave?”

“Well, if I were here all the time….” she looks at him through her lashes, and he catches her eyes and raises an eyebrow at her, a playful smirk on his lips. And she shakes her head, laughing. “Do you mean it, though?”

“About you coming to see the stars whenever you’d like?” Jungkook asks, leaning against the kitchen island. She nods at him in two slow motions of her head. “Yes, I mean it.”

“The skies are unusually gray these days, aren’t they?”

“I’ve noticed that too,” he says, opening the fridge. He grabs a box of cherries and shuts the door with his elbow. “But no rain.”

“Exactly, I told my friend Kimi; she lives with me upstairs and is almost a sister to me, except we have different parents. Well, I told her, ‘Haven't you noticed how it looks like it’s going to rain every day, but it never does?’ and she says, ‘Rei, it rains. It just happens to be when you’re asleep,’ and can you believe it? I woke up yesterday, and it was early, not like tonight, but early for me, and I looked outside my window, and there was dew sticking to the glass, and it was all sweaty when I touched the windowpane, and I realized she was right, it rained during the night, and I just missed it. Isn't that something so lame?”

“Huh,” Jungkook says, chewing on a cherry and offering the box to her. She shakes her head no and mouths a ‘Thank you’ to him. “So we’re off asleep and just missing the rain, so it always works out that we’re missing out on something during the day. It’s always like that. Kimi sees the rain, and you’re off sleeping, but you probably get to see other things I miss when I’m taking a nap and on and on.”

“That’s true. But I thought about catching it tonight. When I went to bed hours ago, I kept thinking about the rain and wondering if I stayed up, I might see it, and it wouldn’t just feel like I kept missing it and living the same gray day.”

“It’s like Santa Claus,” Jungkook says, scrunching his nose as he tongues a cherry stem in his mouth, “waiting up all night for him to show up just for you to see your dad dressed up as Santa and realize he’s been putting the presents down there for years.”

Rei laughs at this and covers her face with her hands like she’s protecting her laugh from anything sharp. “Your dad did that? For real?”

Jungkook scrunches his eyebrows and pinches his nose bridge, and with a tone of feigned affliction, he says, “Yeah, he did. I knew the truth before a lot of my classmates.”

“How old were you? When he ruined Santa Claus. Do you remember a thing like that, like how old you were?” She rests her chin on her palm like she’s weighing her head. He thinks she looks cute like that but doesn’t say anything.

“I don't know exactly, but I was in the third year of school,” Jungkook says, suddenly thinking back on his infancy. He chews his lower lip when the answer suddenly comes to him, and he remembers the conversation he had with the guys a while back. They’d all taunted Seokjin when they found out Seokjin didn't know the truth about Santa until he was thirteen. “I was seven. I can't believe I remembered that. I was seven….” His mouth hangs open, and he remembers what he wore when he first saw his dad hunched over behind the tree with a gift in hand— a white flannel pajama set and his mother’s slippers. Where has this memory been hiding? “Damn.”

“I was six,” she says, smiling. “My childhood was ruined a year before yours. Or wait, are we the same age? I just assumed we were.” She laughs again, bringing a hand up to her face to hide her smile.

“I assumed the same thing,” Jungkook admits, feeling his cheeks redden. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Oh wow,” she says, almost to herself. “Me too.”

He doesn't know what else to do but clear his throat and nod. He never imagined getting this far (whatever that means). He’ll struggle to explain this later when Namjoon asks—Jungkook knows he’ll ask.

The kettle begins to whistle, and he’s reaching for the two coffee mugs as she says something behind him he doesn't catch. And he turns his head over his shoulder and nods at her. “What happened? Sorry, I didn't catch that.”

“I said, ‘You don't have to do that for me.’” She turns her head away as she says this, her long hair cascading along her profile, hiding her.

“I have a visitor,” he says, turning over to look at her with a grin. “I have good manners.”

“Oh, sure, manners,” she replies, rolling her eyes at him like a friend he’s known for years. “Is that my tea? It smells amazing.”

“It is, but it’s hot, so let’s leave it here.” Jungkook offers her a tight-lipped smile, shyly making his way toward her. “Mind if I sit next to you?”

“No, not at all; come, sit.” She pats the spot beside her and scoots over to make room for him. “Thank you for the tea and for letting me in. I know it’s late.”

Jungkook glances at the clock on the kitchen stove. 3:55. “It’s not that late. I was awake anyway, so I didn’t mind.” He’s toying with his lip ring again. “Why were you out there anyway?”

It’s been some time since Jungkook’s been this close to a girl. He feels his heart thudding away in his chest, her presence stirring up a desire that’s been dormant. Loose strands of hair frame her face, and his eyes follow her movements as she brushes the strands away. She looks embarrassed, her cheeks reddening. Still, he finds her so cute. “Truth?”

“Yes.” He scrunches his nose when he smiles at her.

“I locked myself out of my apartment. Before bed, I stepped out into my patio for a smoke and to read more of my book. I was also trying to test my rain suspicions to see if I could catch it while it happened. So, I’m out there romanticizing my life, pretending I’m in a movie; you know how we act when we’re alone and suddenly want to be poetic?” She looks at Jungkook, and he nods lightly. “That was me, except I got cold right away and said, ‘Oh fuck this, I’m going to bed,’ and that’s when I realized I’d locked the back door, and I was so mad I almost cried.” She places her fingertips against her forehead, continuing her recounting. “So, of course, I get the idea of calling a locksmith, but they’re closed; I don’t know what people should do if they need help during the night.”

“Most people sleep, I think.”

She clicks her tongue. “Right, some people do, but you and I are not those people, right?” She draws an imaginary line with her forefinger from her chest toward him. He nods and feigns oblivious as his leg brushes against her bare thigh as she shifts in her seat. “So, not only is every locksmith not available, but my service is horrible, so I am standing on my tiptoes trying to get a bar, and my phone slips. My heart almost burst.” She brings a hand to her chest for visual effect, and his eyes watch her chest as it rises and falls with each breath. He’s smiling at her—a wide smile that hurts his cheeks. “If it weren’t for your patio, my phone would be shattered to hell on the ground. I look over my balcony, and for the first time, I notice how close our balconies are.” Rei presses her hands over her thighs, leaning forward in her seat and fixing her eyes on the glass patio door across from her. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I don’t go out there much. Anyway, I’m rambling. I noticed I could jump directly into your patio because there’s a mattress out there, and well….” She makes a motion with her hands that says: ‘ Ya know?’

“You weren’t scared of jumping? The balconies are close, but we’re still six stories up.” Jungkook rests his hands on his knees, fully invested in this story; his eyes never leave her. She forms a tight line with her lips and gives him a serious look that makes him laugh. “Ok, so you were scared.”

“I was scared! But there’s a mattress out there, you know,” she says in a small voice. She’s blushing and scratching at the side of her nose to avoid his eyes.

Jungkook notices this and clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat. “So it was not an accident, then?” He raises an eyebrow at her, sucking his teeth in feigned disapproval.

The truth is, he’s not mad about it; he wants her here. He almost feels like he is in a dream.

“Not entirely. Don’t ask me how I thought about returning to my place after retrieving my phone because I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Oh, there’s a mattress out there. You could’ve just slept there; no big deal,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Rei brings a hand to her face to hide behind, making a groaning sound. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to laugh at you. I just don't know what to think— this has never happened before.”

“And it won’t happen again; let’s hope.” She laughs, and it’s different from before; it sounds deeper like she reached into herself and decided to really show him. And Jungkook likes the sound of her laugh but does not comment. She moves a few strands of hair from her face and rests her cheek on her hand, leaning on the couch's armrest. It’s slowly dawning on Jungkook how badly he wants her. What am I supposed to do with her this close to me? Damn. “So, what’s your name? You didn’t say when I told you mine.”

He rises from the couch, remembering their tea.

“Jeon Jungkook,” he says as he pours the tea, “I guess I forgot to introduce myself. Huh.”

Rei’s looking at him with her chin in her hand and a serious look on her face as he’s walking toward her with an outstretched hand in offering. “It’s chamomile,” Jungkook announces.

“Jeon Jungkook,” She repeats with a light smile. “I like it. I don’t know any other Jungkooks.”

“Yeah? I’ve had this name for a long time. I like it too.”

She takes the cup and brings it to her face, inhaling the scent and shivering, and says, “Thank you again. This tea smells sweet. It reminds me of this tea my grandmother used to make my sister and me when we were kids. She would put a little bit of honey, the real kind, and peppermint leaves; it was….” She sighs longingly. “I miss that tea; this smells like home.”

Sitting beside her, he takes a sip of tea, his gaze on her unmoving. Her lips part as she blows gently, the steam rising from the cup in lazy strokes. Jungkook’s heartbeat quickens when she matches his stare with her deep dark eyes that seem to look for something in his.

“This tea has honey, but I doubt it’s the real kind you mentioned, but I still think it’s good.” He clears his throat, looking away as he adjusts his glasses on his nose bridge.

“I like your glasses. I wanted to say that earlier,” Rei comments, taking a sip of her tea, “I don't know why I didn't say anything.” She moves around in her seat, tucking her legs beneath her, then asks, “Can I wear them? Are they prescription?”

“They’re just reading glasses. You can wear them. I put them on sometimes just because they suit me,” he pulls his glasses off, wipes the lenses on his shirt, and hands them over.

“Ah, so you like how they look on you,” she says, her eyes gleaming as she takes the glasses from him and sets them on her face. “How do they look?”

If he were a cartoon character from one of his comics, he’d have melted into a puddle, exploded like dynamite, turned into stardust, and returned to his original self. Except, she’s a real person just like he is, flesh and blood and so beautiful, and he’s off in space being reborn.

“Look at me,” he motions for her to turn his way. She looks straight at him, wearing his glasses and blushing at his attention. She begins to unfold in front of him, her playful demeanor softening. “You look pretty. If they weren't my prescription, I would give them to you.”

“Here, they’re hurting my eyes,” she says, laughing. She removes the glasses and starts rubbing her eyes with closed fists. “You’re sweet, though. I couldn't take a guy’s glasses. How will he go on drinking his tea and letting me in to watch the stars?”

Jungkook feels a warmth spread in his chest. God, how is she real? He runs his fingers through his long hair and coughs once, then again. His nerves are getting to him. She’s too close to him, her bare thigh soft against his leg. He begins to count backward in his head.

“Were you really awake already, or did I wake you?” She asks him all of a sudden. Her eyes stay on him as if waiting for him to say something else.

“You don’t believe me? I was awake. Swear.” He raises his free hand at his side.

She appears to mull that over for a bit, bringing her cup of tea to her lips but not taking a sip. “What were you doing?”

Jungkook is silent, and she sits unmoving until he speaks.

What was I doing? Besides dreading another deadline? Thinking about a comic I might not submit or thinking about not having a shot in hell with a girl like you? Images of the times they’ve run into each other flick by in his head like a slow PowerPoint slide. The registration office, desolate stairwells, crowded evacuations, elevators closing, Rei standing in front of him in a summer dress with a strange look on her face; Rei on his back patio, hunched over with a phone near her face; Rei in his apartment, on his couch, next to him. He feels the adam’s apple in his throat rising and falling. He’s been quiet for who knows how long.

“Thinking, I guess.” He breathes out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I don’t know why I took so long to say that. It sounded boring in my head, so I had to think if there was something else I forgot about.”

“That is pretty boring, just thinking. But that’s life, though, isn’t it? Kind of boring sometimes.”

Jungkook nods, blushing and avoiding looking at her. What if she can read minds? He straightens his posture and runs his fingers through his hair again, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of carved-out stars. It’s OK. It’s OK. She’s still here.

The living room is almost dead silent. Jungkook notices how Rei sips her tea and looks over the area. It’s neat, for the most part. Bam’s toys lay scattered near the laundry room entrance, along with some of Jungkook’s dirty socks the dog likes to chew on, and Bam’s food bowls are resting up against the wall beside his doghouse. The potted plants Namjoon gifted Jungkook are still alive and pop against the beige coloring of the walls in front of them. The TV is massive, his Playstation console resting on its side. Her eyes find the corner shelf where Jungkook’s Marvel figurines are on display behind glass doors, and she turns to look at him with a sparkle in her wide eyes. “Are those yours?” She gestures with her thumb. He nods, chewing his lower lip anxiously. “Can I look?” She rises from her seat when he motions for her to go on. Like standing in a museum, she silently peers into the display with her hands clasped behind her back.

“I just got that case a few days ago when I got that plant next to you,” Jungkook remarks, joining her.

“I remember,” she says distractedly.

“You remember?” His eyebrows raise, and he looks at her fixedly, bringing a fingernail to his mouth. He scrunches his eyebrows, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers; he remembers, too.

He’d bumped into Rei on his way upstairs, both arms holding the bonsai trees obstructing his view, taking long strides up the stairs, chanting to himself and grunting in rhythm. He was on the 50th stair.

“Hey!” A voice shouted at him. “What the hell?”

Jerking to the side of the staircase, flattening against it, Jungkook jumped at this voice. “Sorry! You’re okay?”

The voice struck him as familiar, but mostly, he was surprised he wasn't alone on the staircase. The person laughed a lively laugh, and he felt his chest tighten. He lowered the plants, meeting her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, shaking her head. She grinned at him, and his heart gave a squeeze. “These things happen. I should take the elevator next time.”

“The plants, I mean. You walked past me going up the stairs and hit me on the head with it.” She glances to her right, catching his eyes briefly. He groans, nodding lightly. She continues, voicing their shared memory, “You were carrying two pots of plants that day and lost your balance or something like that.”

He nods with his eyes closed, his eyebrows drawn close together as he tongues his cheek. “I remember, too,” he opens his eyes to look over at her as he continues, “sorry again. My friend told me not to do that, and I didn’t listen.”

A Spiderman figurine holds her attention, and she’s smiling. He feels his cheeks burn at her sincere gesture. She pretends not to notice and says, “You like running into me like that, then?”

“Like how? It was an accident,” Jungkook says, standing beside her and stretching his arms behind his head.

“Riiiiight,” she says, smirking. “Accident.”

“I didn’t know you were in the stairwell. No one takes the stairs,” Jungkook counters, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

“I take the stairs, I like the exercise, and it’s less embarrassing for me,” She admits. “Running in front of people just looks so stupid. I get too worked up about it and think people are just laughing at me, and they might be, but this way, I can do it in private.”

“Running across the street when cars let you pass is very embarrassing for no reason,” Jungkook says with a laugh. “And okay, fair. I took the stairs that time just because the wait for the elevator was so long. I didn’t mean to hit you that time either.”

“Jungkook, we have to stop meeting like this.” She gives her head a light shake and looks down at her hands. She picks at the glitter on her nails distractedly. “So many accidents. We’re too clumsy.”

“I know what you mean. Namjoon told me to leave one of the plants in the lobby, but I was too impatient. I’m like that sometimes.” He can’t seem to stop blushing.

But Jungkook has to agree. There have been too many accidents in their run-ins with each other, and he remembers each encounter with extreme detail.

Jungkook saw her for the first time when he moved in and face-planted into her back as she stood by the entrance of the registration office. But it didn't happen right away, at least.

The office was big and bustling with sounds. Jungkook walked in, asked out loud if there was a line, and someone nearby replied that yes, there was a line, and he was right at the tail of it. He bounced on the heels of his feet, humming a melody to himself, tapping his fingers against the sides of his legs. A TV across from him played a K-Pop music video of a group he’d never heard of. Beneath the TV was a table with a Terra Kaffe espresso machine accompanied by a spread of dan-pat bbang, songpyeon, bingsu, and reusable cups. His stomach grumbled, but he kept still, willing himself to look away.

Rei stood in line, a foot or two in front of Jungkook, sporting her hair pulled back, secured neatly with a clip the shape of a butterfly. She wore casual clothing: a black long-sleeve sweatshirt, baggy pants, and white Nike shoes. She had earbuds in, and he could hear the muffled sounds of a guitar, and though he did not fully understand why, he smiled.

“Next in line, please,” a woman behind a glass window called out, taking an uninspired sip of her iced coffee as she waved a hand toward her. “Come on, next in line.”

Jungkook wore a black t-shirt, navy plaid bottoms, and socks with slides, though standing there, he began to regret his attire. His eyes looked over the office, and mentally, he tallied the number of girls he spotted. Nine. He felt his cheeks warming up, his neck growing hot, and when he looked over to his right, a girl waved at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He blushed, nodding at her. Why hadn’t he worn something nicer?

He was adjusting his sock, balancing on his right leg, when a dog ran past him, toppling him over. He hopped on his right leg, his arms flailing at his sides, and his face instantly smashed into Rei’s back. If he had a chance to do it over, he wouldn’t have cried out so loud. Even now, months later, he cringes at the memory. He’d turned away, cupping his aching nose after she whipped her head over her shoulder at the sudden impact. Their eyes met briefly, her pupils dark and wide; she mouthed something to him, his ears ringing, all of the sounds around him muddled into incoherence.

“I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” Jungkook mumbled, turning at his heel and speed-walking past a group of girls that giggled when he passed them.

Jungkook thought about her all day after that first day. While he unpacked, walked Bam, and cooked for himself later in the evening. She was pretty, sure, but there was something else. Something he couldn’t break apart and understand— it was new and brought on a strange sensation and desire to know her. He didn't know it then, but he’d see so much of her it would become nearly impossible not to think of her.

And here they are, five months later.

“You agree, don't you?” Rei prods. “Maybe you’re the clumsy one, Jungkook. I was just standing there.” She says that like she knows what he’s thinking. That first day they saw each other. She’s thought of it too.

He swoons at the sound of his name escaping her lips again. “Jungkook,” he mouths, taking it in—not wanting to forget how it sounds when she says it.

She turns on her heel, returning to the couch and fetching her phone from between the cushions. Her backside faces Jungkook, and he shyly lowers his gaze when he catches a glimpse of her ass in shorts that do a poor job of hiding anything. “I’m impatient too, as you know now,” she offers, looking down at her phone, her face illuminated with the screen's glow. She reads something and has a serious look on her face. “It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

He squints at the clock on the stove. 4:27. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replies, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Your figures are cool, by the way. They look like the real deal. Are they?”

He nods silently, tonguing his lip ring. Jungkook watches her with a gut-wrenching desire to step forward and take her face into his hands and kiss her.

“You’re a Marvel geek. I'm guessing,” she says, staring down at the ground. It’s like she’s suddenly shy. Her voice is quieter. “I like some of the movies. I saw the new Spider-man with my friends last week. I’m late, I know.”

“I have Disney plus,” Jungkook says, his eyes looking her over. “And I’m not trying to say anything like the ramen stuff, you know, all that stuff people say to each other recently to get together. It’s a real offer.”

Rei laughs, bringing a hand to cover her face. “So you don't want to get together?” She looks at him with a deep intensity in her eyes and smiles coyly, making Jungkook swallow hard.

“I said that, didn't I? That’s not what I meant. It’s just that nowadays, words have different meanings. Let me rephrase-”

She takes a step closer to him, and his chest feels ablaze. She’s so close he can smell the fragrance of her clothing much clearer than before. We use the same detergent.

“I’d like to come by sometime,” she says, her eyes lingering on his hands holding his cup, “for a movie, no ramen.” Now she smiles warmly and takes a step back.

She likes doing this to me. It’s torture.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? You seem nice. I don’t think you’d be a freak, right?”

“Right,” he says, nodding.

“I know we’re technically strangers, but you have a good vibe,” she says, shrugging. “I show up here so late, and you serve me tea. You’re a nice guy.”

“Am I?”

“I think so. Are you?” She quirks up an eyebrow, twitching her lips between a smile and a laugh.

Jungkook smiles at her. He feels his cheeks growing warm. “I am. I don’t know why I challenged you about it.”

“Because you like to flirt with me, I think,” she retorts, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I’m just a nice guy,” he says as he places his palms against the kitchen counter for balance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” She glances at her phone screen, reading the time, and Jungkook does the same with the time on the kitchen stove. She's going to leave. I can feel it.

“I guess I should get going…”. Rei looks apologetic for some reason. A pink shade colors her cheeks, and she brings a hand to her forehead and lets out a deep breath as she says, “Kinda hot in here, no?”

Jungkook wants to tell her she doesn't have to go and that he doesn't want her to, but he only offers her a timid smile and looks away, nodding in agreement. “A little. I’ve been feeling it too,” he says, looking at her and catching her eyes.

Should I move now? Is it now? My move? Will she kiss me back?

Still, he brings his cup of tea to his lips as she stores her phone in the pocket of her hoodie, and she pauses as if remembering something. “And why is there a mattress outside?”

He’s drinking his tea and begins to choke. Coughing, his chest on fire, and his throat closing in, Jungkook rushes to double over his sink, and she’s standing behind him with a wrought-up look.

“Are you okay?” She steps closer to him, lightly touching his arm.

Jungkook coughs, clearing his throat; he can feel the blood rushing to his face as his eyes instinctively shed tears. The feeling of her touch on his arm feels like fire. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened. The uh, the mattress?” He looks toward his patio, a panicked look in his eyes behind the tear-stained glasses. He pauses, looking down at the floor. “I have them all over, so I can nap when I feel like it.”

She throws her head back and laughs, not taking him seriously until silence hangs between them. She raises an eyebrow. “Wait, really?” With that, her phone goes off in her pocket, and she reaches for it. “Sorry, one sec.”

He leaves her to talk on the phone with whoever and walks over to pick up Bam’s toys and dirty socks to throw in a hamper. Jungkook can hear the muffled phone conversation a room over, so he hums a song. She speaks in a hushed voice, but he hears his name mentioned.

He coughs before he reappears in the kitchen.

She’s humming to herself, lingering by the door, and his heart squeezes. ‘Don’t go,’ he wants to say. ‘Stay.’

“I should go…” she says, not budging from where she stands, chewing her lower lip, looking at Jungkook through full eyelashes. Almost as if waiting for him to interject, and him, not knowing how to.

“If you want,” Jungkook says. He swallows hard at a lump in his throat. The plead to have her stay pushed down into his chest.

DAMN!!

A look he can’t decipher takes over her face, and then the next moment, she’s smiling at him, reaching for the doorknob just as he does. They share an embarrassed exchange of looks when their hands touch, and he shakes his head, an anxious chuckle escaping him. His face feels warm as he pulls the door open for her. Rei steps out into the hallway, turns over her shoulder, and raises her hand to wave at him slowly.

Again, he yearns to kiss her and again lacks the courage.

“Bye, it was nice meeting you, Jungkook.”

“Goodnight, Rei,” he replies, leaning on the doorframe, his heart sinking into his stomach.

The next day, Jungkook is cooking for himself. He submitted his comic in the morning and has endlessly replayed last night’s events in his head.

“I should’ve kissed her,” he says to Bam.

Jungkook’s phone pings a few times and is followed by a call. He answers, distracted as he serves himself bibimmyeon and pork belly. He props the phone between his chin and ear, tilting his head comically as he walks back and forward to the table, setting down a steaming bowl of sticky rice. “‘Ey, Namjoon-hyung!…” He drags the chair out from underneath and settles in front of his plate. Jungkook reaches over the table, yanks a paper towel, grabs his chopsticks, and begins digging into the rice. “Wait,” he glances at the clock on the wall. 6:47. “It’s almost seven,” Jungkook says, confused. “Your meeting with the record executive started at six… it ended that quickly?”

Namjoon smiles. “The meeting was quick. I have really good news.” He pauses for effect. He’s in the studio, eyeing the email on screen. “Hold on,” he says, placing the phone on the desk and turning the speaker on.

Jungkook is chewing his cheek, the chopsticks loosening in his grip. He lets the silence exist for a few seconds, then he rubs the back of his hair, leaning back in his chair, his spare hand fisted over his mouth. “What?” He grumbles into his fist.

“He liked my demo. He had some comments about it but said it would do well. He said everyone else liked it; whatever that means, we’re in. He said we can come in for a group meeting where we introduce the guys, and that way, we can all talk about what we want to do going forward.”

Jungkook is speechless; they’re in. All seven of them. He can’t believe it. He stares wide-eyed at Bam, who tilts his head quizzically. “No way. No way. Is this for real?” Jungkook’s heart is thudding so hard he can see it beneath his shirt.

“I swear, Jungkook. It is.”

“Do the guys know?” Once more, Jungkook meets the eyes of his dog, and he’s smiling so hard he feels his nose scrunch.

“Some of them do, yeah. I was with Jimin earlier.”

“Yoongi,” Jungkook says, bringing his palm over his forehead. Smiling with his eyes crinkling, he feeds himself rice. “Yoongi will be so happy. We all are, you know but him .” Jungkook makes a sound with his teeth. “He’ll be so proud of all of us.”

“I know, I know. Yoongi hasn’t slept well since we first submitted our demos, and when I mentioned I had a meeting with an executive, he grabbed his jacket and took off to the studio. I don’t know what he’s been doing when he comes in, but I know he might cry.”

“I might cry too,” Jungkook admits in a hushed voice.

Namjoon wipes at his eyes, and a silence hangs between them. They’re both sniveling on the receiving end. After Jungkook clears his throat and allows himself another sniffle, he starts eating again.

“What did you make?”

“I have a lot of rice left. I made bibimmyeon and pork belly, but I have some noodles, too, if you want me to make them. Come and eat with me if you’re free. Let’s celebrate.”

“Can I leave my bike outside?” Namjoon asks. Namjoon shuts off the shared laptop in the studio, grabs his puffer jacket and the book he’s been reading, heads over, and flips off the light switch. His phone remains on speaker as he locks the door and shoots a glance down the hallway. From a distance, Yoongi does a quick two-finger salute in passing. Namjoon’s heart gives a squeeze.

Jungkook thinks it over. He’s never seen anyone leave a bike outside. “I don't know, honestly. Bring it to my apartment; it’ll be fine. I have something to tell you, by the way,” he says, referring to the previous night.

“Just saw Yoongi,” Namjoon says, jingling the keys on his finger and making his way out of the building. “I have to tell him, but I think he’s already in his studio locked up. You know how he gets.”

“He won’t let you in,” Jungkook says, scrunching his nose and stifling a laugh through a mouthful of steak.

“Exactly. And what is it? I’m bringing my bike, I thought about leaving it chained, but it’ll stress me out.”

“He’s almost done with his demos, Hobi said the other day,” Jungkook replies. “But it’s about her, bro. You won’t believe me.”

Namjoon laughs through the phone. “Mystery-neighbor-crush her, you mean?”

“Neighbor stuff, am I that annoying? Don't answer that. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you; just come in because I have to wash Bam.”

“All right, bro, give me twenty, and I’ll be there.”

Jungkook is sitting across from Namjoon, who raises an eyebrow at him as he chews on his steak. “So she came in here,” he swallows his bite and continues, “was on that couch?” he signals with his chopsticks, “and she went home after that?”

Jungkook nods. The moment he’s been dreading: admitting he chickened out. He’s not proud of himself and debates whether to omit a few things.

“Yeah, what else could’ve happened?” He takes a drink of his water, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze.

“So many things, bro. But, the very least that should have happened is that you got her number or something like that. Did you ask?”

Jungkook is quiet. His cheeks are flushing with heat. He’s chuckling at himself, remembering how he clammed up around her.

“You just let her leave, right? She walked out, thanked you, and you probably made her a tea she didn't drink.” Namjoon is laughing when Jungkook groans and shakes a fist above his head. “Ah, Jungkook!”

“I know!” Jungkook shakes his head. “But I got a name. I got a name; that’s something, isn't it?”

“Well?”

“It’s Rei. I don’t know where she’s from and all that, but that name just suits her, doesn't it?”

“It does, it does. But come on, bro! This girl lives so close! For starters, she stuck around. She could've just left after explaining herself. Instead, she sat down right where you’re sitting and stayed .” Namjoon feeds himself rice as he shakes his head and continues while he chews, “She looked at you the last time we evacuated; I saw her. And how many times have you bumped into her already? She probably thinks you’re out to get her.”

“I know. I kept thinking the same. I thought: ‘She could've left by now, but she hasn’t. I don’t know, hyung, I just froze. I just kept nodding; it was so stupid.” Jungkook closes his eyes and places his fingertips over his eyelids, shaking his head in lament.

“Not stupid, bro,” Namjoon offers, swallowing his bite. “I’ve seen her around too, and she’s really pretty, but it’s a weird sensation when she’s nearby; it’s like her beauty is different. I don't mean it like I want her now, nothing like that, but it sort of feels like I am stuck too. Like, what can I say right now?”

Jungkook nods, understanding the sentiment. “It knocks the wind out of me sometimes when I see her,” he says, reaching for a napkin. “I wanted to say so much more, but I couldn't. It was different being close to her like we were. This girl is killing me, Namjoon-hyung. You said she looked at me?”

Namjoon smiles warmly. “She did, at the evacuation a week ago. Was it a week now?” He wipes at his mouth and looks at Jungkook expectantly. Jungkook nods at him. “Well, a week ago, I went out last and caught her looking your way. She had her hand like this,” he brings his hand up to shield his eyes against nothing, “and she was smiling. She didn't see me noticing.”

Jungkook scoots closer. He rests his chin on Namjoon’s knee, looking straight at him until he’s cross-eyed. “At me?” he asks, loving that this happened.

Namjoon shakes his leg free and takes a sip of his water. “I think she likes you. She was looking at you the same way I’ve seen you look at her,” Namjoon reaches for his phone, checks a text, and continues, “so she would’ve been into you. Did she flirt with you?”

Jungkook mulls it over. He doesn't want to read too much into it, but he thinks she did flirt. “I could be wrong, and I’d hate to be wrong,” he says, “but I feel like she was into me, like, actually into me, and I thought about kissing her. Would that have been too forward?”

“Hmm,” Namjoon says as he chews his food. “Maybe. I have to see you two in action, to say. I think you can trust your gut, and if you felt that way, maybe she was giving you those vibes on purpose, you know? Sometimes girls are so forward that it's confusing. Like, ‘am I reading this wrong?’ When the whole time there was only one way to read it.” He gives his head a light shake.

“She was talkative like Yoongi predicted.”

“Oh, was she now?” Namjoon looks surprised. “I sided with Jimin when he said she seemed shy and kind of mean. Not mean, but you know the mean look girls have that makes them look kind of cool?”

Jungkook nods with a mouthful of steak.

“That’s actually interesting that she was talkative. That’s good. I think you’d do bad to get with a shy chick again.”

Jungkook once dated a girl in high school he didn't know how to talk to, and when he meant to break things off, he’d just ignored her for the entire year. She was too shy, too quiet, too reserved. He was everything else but.

“I agree with you on that,” Jungkook says honestly. “Back to Rei, she’s even prettier up close, hyung. I thought I was in a dream, that sounds so cheesy, but it’s true.”

“It was, what, four in the morning?”

“Three. Close to four.”

“Exactly. I would think that's a dream too. Seems like it. Are you sure you’re not messing with me?” Namjoon elbows Jungkook lightly.

“I want her. Is that so pathetic?”

“A little bit,” Namjoon teases, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to a slight pinch. “Like this tiny little space right here is where you live.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he walks into the kitchen for a beer.

“Honestly, Jungkook, I think she likes you back. Pass me the rice. Want some of the steaks?” He shows Jungkook his bowl, and Jungkook accepts, opening his mouth to be fed. “You can feed yourself.”

“Ah,” Jungkook says, mouth agape. “Just one piece.”

Namjoon is feeding Jungkook rice when the doorbell rings. The two exchange bewildered looks, and Jungkook shuffles from the ground, sliding on the flooring with his socks as he peers through the peephole. He falls to the ground as if shot, crouching with a deathly look about him.

Namjoon shifts in his seat on the floor and, stretching his neck, asks Jungkook who it is. Over and over, quietly, he’s asking who’s at the door.

Jungkook doesn't answer until Namjoon stands. He shoots a hand up to grab Namjoon’s sleeve, motioning him to crouch beside him. Whispering, he says, “It’s Rei; what do I do?”

“Get up!”

“I can't. I can't. I don't know what she wants. What if she knows?”

“Knows what? Get up; I’m opening the door in 3, 2,...”

Jungkook stands. He can feel his heart beating viciously, and his hands are sweating. He glares at Namjoon, raising his hand and motioning for a cutthroat. “I’ll kill you,” he mouths as his friend walks away.

Jungkook peers into the peephole and sees her turning away. He pulls back the door quickly, causing her to turn around. She smiles, and he wants her all over again. His relaxed demeanor vanished. “Hey, what’s going on?” are his first words.

Rei laughs, and he can feel himself blushing. He drops his head when he remembers Namjoon is a witness.

“Hey, neighbor,” she says, smiling the same coy smile she lent him last night. She pulls a paper from her pocket, extends it to him, and says, “It’s an invite to my birthday party this weekend; if you don't have any plans, I thought it would be nice to hang out and see you again. I’ll have friends over, and of course, you can bring yours.”

A party? Wait, see me again?? “I will be there. This weekend. I’ll make an appearance.” He stops talking when she laughs. He can feel the blood boiling on his face. What the hell is going on with him? “Sorry, yes, I mean, thank you.” Jungkook can feel Namjoon’s burning gaze behind him—he can picture how his friend stifles a laugh into his fist.

“No problem. Who’s that?” She points inside the apartment.

Namjoon waves when Jungkook turns around to see him standing behind him, a smirk tugging at his lips. Jungkook widens his eyes at him, mouthing for him to stop laughing. Stepping aside for his friend’s introduction, Jungkook signals toward his friend with a swift movement of his hand. “Namjoon, this is Rei. Rei, this is Namjoon, a good friend and gifter of bonsai trees.”

“I’ve seen you, no?” she talks to Namjoon, who nods, flexing his pointer finger, indicating that she has. He’s chewing cheese puffs, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow at him, silently questioning him: ‘Where did you get those?’ His stare says.

“At the evacuation, I was there.”

“Ah, yes, you had bright green hair like a highlighter pen then.”

He laughs. “That was me, yeah! You were with that girl, the…one with the red hair in pigtails.”

“Ah. That’s right! You have a good memory.” She sounds impressed.

Jungkook tongues his cheek, shaking his head beside them unnoticed.

“You too, you too. Cheese puff?” Namjoon offers a bag of cheese puffs.

“You’re tempting me, but I will have to decline. I just had lunch.”

“Your friend, the one with the pigtails, will she be at this party?”

Namjoon is nervous, but he plays it off well. Only Jungkook can tell.

“I think she can be there,” Rei replies, her eyes shifty and full lips pursing. She seems to think it over, anxiously looking at Jungkook and chewing on her lower lip. It’s as though she’s waiting for Jungkook to glance her way. Only Namjoon is seeing this.

Jungkook is annoyed. They’re talking so easily. He shifts uncomfortably, his fingers gripping the door. He watches how Namjoon chuckles and how she timidly looks down at her hands. The glittery nail polish made his heart feel like a stone in his chest. He wants to interject. But how?

“I’m sure the guys will be free this weekend too; we might celebrate our little accomplishment here sometime soon, so Jungkook can tell you about that and invite you when the time comes, right, Jungkook?”

Jungkook only nods. That’s all he seems to be capable of when she’s around. He feels so strange around her. He feels the same way each time, like he’s coming down with something suddenly. Didn’t it just get so hot out here with the door open like this? He wonders. Is anyone else sweating?

Their voices continue around him. He nods a few times when the conversation shifts toward him, but he feels lightheaded. He wants her so badly.

He doesn’t mean to, but he clears his throat, turning the conversation around him to a simmer.

“So, Jungkook, Namjoon told me he’d come this weekend and bring your other friends. There’s a theme, by the way.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “It’s fairytale-themed!” She raises her arms above her head like a big reveal and holds her pose, awaiting their reaction.

Namjoon laughs, turning away; he says: “I’ll give it good thought! Thank you for the invite, Rei!”

“And you?” She looks at Jungkook.

“Me?” Jungkook swallows hard at a lump in his throat. His brain seems to forget how to form sentences when she’s around.

“Yes, you. Do you have any ideas, JK?” she smiles, lopsided.

Is she flirting with me? Here? Namjoon-hyung! Come back!

“I have to rewatch all of my favorite fairytale movies to have an idea,” he says, bringing a hand to his head. He feels the heat emitting from his forehead. “I’m kidding. I think something cool like Dracula.”

“Is that a fairytale?” She laughs.

“Define a fairytale. Isn’t it just make-believe?”

“You don’t think vampires are real?” She raises an eyebrow at him, but he can tell she’s intentionally giving him a hard time. Her smile is surfacing and betraying her.

“I do, actually. Ah, okay. Give me time. I’ll think of something. What about you? Who are you going as?”

She pretends to think it over even though she already has an idea. “I won’t say; you’ll have to see.”

He’s fully leaning against the doorframe, his foot slipping under him, and he almost falls over. He mutters something to himself, and she’s biting back a laugh. “You want tea or something before you go? If you’re not busy.”

“Ah, I want to say yes, but my friends are upstairs; I just stopped by real quick but thank you.”

He nods. “That’s okay, next time.”

“I’ll catch you two later,” she says, waving.

She turns to walk away, and Jungkook doesn't know what takes over him, but he shouts after her: “Thank you!”

He’s too embarrassed to see if she turns around. He closes the door immediately.

He doesn't even want to look at Namjoon. He stands facing the door for a while, his head hanging low, eyebrows scrunched up in physical anguish. He chews his lip and winces at himself, remembering.

“I said that out loud,” Jungkook says, incredulous with himself.

“You said that out loud,” Namjoon reiterates from somewhere in the room.

Sighing, Jungkook turns over, and flinches at a grape Namjoon tosses at him. His nose scrunching, he catches another grape mid-air and chews noisily. “She wants to know me properly,” he says, with a dreamy air.

“So be her prince charming,” Namjoon jokes, plopping down on his couch, busy on his phone.

“So I will be,” Jungkook says, tilting his head back to look up at his ceiling. She’s up there, walking around, talking to her friends, and he’s beneath her, dreaming of the weekend. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Let’s go; I need an outfit.”

“Now?”

“Now, get up! Get up!”

“Let me finish my grapes; I just washed them,” Namjoon whines, still not glancing from his phone’s screen.

“Okay, but after, we’ll go.” Jungkook walks into his room, grabs his glasses, and steps back out.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Jungkook nods, biting the corner of his lip distractedly. “Oh, I’m serious.” He reaches for the car keys on the table beside him. “I’ve never been more serious.”

And he is. He’s never been more serious about anything else. He wants Rei, but he wants her to want him, too. He can’t help but feel as though his luck is turning out.

taglist: @vsualitae

A/N: thank you for being here! I hope those that looked forward to the full first chapter have enjoyed this! It's my first lengthy fic, as I've already stated, so any feedback is greatly appreciated! reblogs, comments, and anything that lets me know you've enjoyed this will make me the happiest writer :') I appreciate you for giving my work a shot <3 Let me know if you'd like a second part, what you liked, etc. I'd love to hear from you, reader >.< until next time!!

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astradreaming · 9 months ago

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So a luke castellan x Apollo!reader

Idek how this would work but I had this idea after I read your ‘My Sweetheart’ blurb-

So tlt and Luke’s betrayal has occurred and the reader was in a relationship with Luke, pretty much exactly like ‘My Sweetheart’.

So ofc she’s still really offended and traumatised from that debacle. But she still loves him deep down. Anyway (at any point during the series, you decide) they’re going to use her as bait for Luke to come here. She agrees bc she doubts he’ll come, if he betrayed her surely he didn’t love her that much. But he does.

Anyway the campers give them some privacy and they have a really deep conversation, and she accepts that she still loves him. And then they all jump out and attack him and he realises she betrayed him, and he gets grievously injured.

But somehow, before they can realise she isn’t back yet, she goes back and heals him, bc she can’t leave him for dead, and she leaves him healed but hurting.

If you wanted to be evil you could even end it with ‘if you’d only been there to heal him that night in Manhattan.’ Feel free to change anything this is just a very long thought, xxx

house on a hill

this is a part two but it can be read separately :)

a/n: so sorry this took so long love, exams have been kicking my ass but i hope you enjoy this anyways ♡

masterlist

Luke Castellan admitted it.

He admitted it all, betraying camp to help rise Kronos, poisoning Thalia's tree, stealing the lightning bolt... Everything they said he did. He openly admitted.

He proudly admitted.

When you'd followed Annabeth into the woods after hearing Percy yelling for help, you didn't expect it to end you up at a Miami beach on Clarisse's quest.

After dealing with pirates and sirens, fighting a cyclops and a hydra you'd had your fair share of scares during this quest. But your biggest horror stood with a sword pointed at Percy.

Luke Castellan.

You'd thought long and hard about what you'd say to him, if you'd ever got the chance. Something along the lines of why? how dare you. why would you ever do this? or at the very least, was everything a lie?

But all your heartache and rage got stuck in your throat like a bad cough. All you could do was stand frozen and hope that it was all a bad dream.

He had the audacity to meet your eye. He stepped forward in your direction.

"Y/n I-" His voice broke as he quietly spoke.

Every single bit of shock in your body vaporized in a second, being replaced by lover's rage.

"Y/n? Y/n what? What do you possibly have to say to me" Your voice laced with venom.

He staggered froward, eyes shining with guilt. He tried to say something but you cut him off again.

"Do you know how long I defended you? Do you have any idea how stupid- no pathetic i felt when i got your letter telling me I was wrong about you. Do you know what it was like having everyone in camp thinking I'm a traitor too. Do you even care?" Your lip quivered as you leaning into yourself.

No matter how much you willed yourself not to, you felt the tears fall down your face. You were too blinded by emotion to notice the others regrouping behind you both.

"Of course I care y/n. I'm doing all of this because I care!" With each step he took towards you, you took stepping back.

"No! You're doing this because your spiteful!"

"I have every reason to be and you know it" He yelled his face contorted with fury. Flinching back you find what's left of your voice.

"You're being manipulated to start a war! And you're too hurt to see that. Luke, please. You've broken my heart but I still love you, don't play into the Titan's hand, come back to camp and right your wrongs. Together." Your voice a broken whisper, only to be heard by him and the Fates.

You swore to the Fates you saw a flicker in his eyes, a break in his warpath.

"All I want is the house we talked about, the one on the hill. With the trees out the front. With as many animals as you want, with the stupidest names we can come up with." His eyes fixated to the floor. He cleared his throat and looked so deeply at you it was like he was speaking to your soul.

"To get that life, a life with you. The gods must die. Their way is broken and wrong. It's just our turn, and only then will we be able to have peace y/n. Together.

While you stand frozen, appalled at the man in front of you, gone was the version on Luke you made those plans with, instead stood a pawn of a Titan.

Unbeknownst to you both Percy had finished summoning an Iris message to camp.

Luke finally noticed, ordered the monsters his army to attack in retaliation. You and your friends outnumbered when suddenly The Party Ponies narrowly come to the rescue. However you'd stayed stunned throughout it all.

Centaurs, half bloods, Cyclops' all fought one another. The loud sound of battle didn't render, instead silence ringing through your head.

You wanted to believe the old Luke was still in there somewhere, but as your focus zeroed in on him. Watching him fight without mercy. You saw no resemblance of the boy you love.

Perhaps if you kept hope, kept faith in him. You could have helped him long before Manhattan. Maybe there was another universe where Annabeth wasn't the only one who could see the old Luke buried down below. And maybe in that universe you both got that house on the hill...

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfiction

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 28 days ago

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i wonder if u agree, but sometimes when i read old man rust x younger oc, it's weird to me picturing somebody in early/mid twenties bc, realistically, that would make the oc around his daughter's age, and i don't think rust can go for that. i say that as somebody who's 23, so i don't mean to exclude younger women or whatever. anyway, that's why i really like your oc bc she seems like an actual match for rust and not bc of age, but bc she's just the type of person i can see him falling for, i guess? like directly canonically in the series, so yeah, thank you for your work!!! but that got me wondering: when u started to write, did you have somebody in mind already and thought of how that sort of oc will work with rust, or did u ask urself what sort of person compliments rust best? sorry if this is too much trouble.

NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE i think this is acc a super interesting ask!

my opinions below the cut…

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

RIGHT so i wanna preface by saying EVERY SINGLE rust oc story ive read so far has meat to it, like the authors know their shit and they should get their due snaps and kudos

i think i read younger ofcs with like a pinch of salt in the sense that i know it’s a bit crazy — btw this is coming from someone who had a “relationship” with a much older man at the ripe age of 16 — but i think it’s still good to read

things we experience can be ugly and uncomfortable but it’s still real and a part of me appreciates like keeping it real 💀 this is going to sound a little femcel of me but let’s be honest, sex is about power and the dynamics of that power give intricacies to stories that make them interesting! rust is a man (😔) and have you ever seen that one study of like ages of women men find most attractive and it’s a consistent 20 even as men get to like 70

yeah

keeping it uncomfortably real but real nonetheless

true detective is southern gothic and what i love about southern gothic is that it doesn’t shy away from touching on the less palatable corners of human existence/nature/WHATever. do i see why a daughter woman child thing as a love interest to a middle aged man with a dead baby is off-putting? YES. do i still read things along those lines because it’s interesting? ALSO YES. because more often than not creators are self-aware and explore these topics with nuance, which i respect massively

now onto like the sort of second part of you ask, beautiful anon…

when writing The Idler Wheel, idk if i was thinking as deeply when creating an oc as i was fixated on the weirdness of rust and ocs like yearning 😭? for each other, and the fact that he felt anything at all was a massive woaaaahhh for them both. the way we experience / act on desire (not even sexual just any kind but actually maybe especially sexual) says so much about a person and i guess that’s the single point from which i branched out, and every other aspect of her came later

the reason she/oc is not like twenty is because, similar to what you said, i cannot picture 1995–2002 (around that time) rust with a youngYOUNGGGG woman becaaaause holy shit i think he’d just die, like out of sadness or hurt, i think he wouldn’t be able to look at her at all 💀

old dog rust on the other hand does not give a shit about doing what’s “right” imo if that makes sense, like he’s who he is and he feels what he feels and i think this version of rust would be much more receptive to a younger woman, even if it’s “wrong” because he literally just doesn’t care anymore

i think the only reason The Idler Wheel girl was able to sneak her way in around that time is because she’s grown and a part of his workplace and therefore she should be “safe”, no more than any of his coworkers. so he lets her in his space and he lets her bring him coffee and he lets her do him favours because she’s just like the others and he just has to tolerate her, just has to see her

but of course she’s not like his coworkers and he can’t place why he wants her so bad, only that he does, which is bad because she should be mundane and she should be nothing and yet unfortunately he wants to be her dog

does this answer your q or did i go off on a tangent

i love you anon 💕💕💕💕

#weird psychosexual longing #you know im not a pessimist #but when it comes to men #i struggle #so i understand why things would go certain ways #rust cohle #the idler wheel td #don’t want to offend anyone i love everyone ever and love everything please please #anon i can’t lie you really made me think #like bright and early (11am) you made me put my thinking cap on #and honestly i appreciate it #i never write thinking there’s anything to analyse in my writing #so maybe this is me digging for meaning #but either way thank you lots love you lots etc etc #idk what to go as for halloween and i have like three parties #rust cohle x reader

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part twelve

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel finally gets his head out of his ass, with a little push from tess.

a/n: we have BIG CONVERSATIONS IN THIS HOUSE FAM. i want to reiterate: i love the canon joel x tess. i live for it. but the drama/angst/emotion it has allowed me to create but backpedaling them SLIGHTLY? delish. enjoy babes, please scream at me about the ending 😇

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, drinking, lots of emotions, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries, mentions of death, joel is both an asshole and an Emotional Man, tess and liv are true bffs and god bless last night’s episode for solidifying some of my plans 🤍

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works✨

“You need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, Joel, you—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to fuckin’ do, Tess. Leave it be.”

“Joel—”

“Please.”

You’ve been staying at Deanna’s. Two weeks now, since your stint in lockup, since Angie had beat the literal shit out of you. The couch isn’t comfy, and your ribs are still sore, but it’s fine.

The kids are happy to have you around. Emily especially, once she got past the bruises on your face. You weren’t expecting Henry’s reaction; when you woke up in Deanna’s apartment the next morning, he was sitting vigil beside you, tears on his face, bottom lip jutting out. You told him you fell down the stairs, trying to get a laugh out of him, and he’d just hugged you, buried his face in your chest.

You try to keep things normal, whatever the fuck that means anymore. You take on extra jobs, trying to earn more ration cards for the three living in your apartment. Tess shadows you, follows you around every day, and you tell her your secrets, point out your routes, the soldiers you have dirt on, the ones you know not to fuck with.

“She’s the one that beat you?” she asks one day, jutting her chin towards Angie. You’re standing in the warehouse that serves as the food bank, waiting in line. You’ve had a heartbeat in the bruise on your cheek since you woke up, and standing ten feet from the woman who gave it to you isn’t exactly helping.

You disguise your nod as a stretch, wincing at the pull on your ribs. Deanna was sure you hadn’t broken any, but you sure as hell were bruised. They didn’t look as bad as your cheek, but the pain was deeper, and seemed intent to linger longer. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tess sneers in her direction, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Fucking bitch.”

You like Tess. You really like her. She’s a hard ass, but rightfully so, given the history. She hasn’t given you much more of her past, and you’re definitely not about to offer up any of yours, but the friendship between you is quick. You’ve skirted the Joel subject so far, despite the fact that they’re literally sleeping in your bed. Most of your conversations have been about the QZ, the inner workings, your smuggling. You have a job coming up, and Tess has already said she’s coming with you.

“I doubt Joel will be thrilled about that.”

“Joel can fucking shove it.”

She hasn’t been shy about her displeasure towards him, but it hasn’t done much to change things between you. You went down to grab some clothes a few days back, and he’d been the only one inside. Tess was out exploring, and Tommy had gone with her.

He didn’t say a goddamned word.

You’d managed to hold back the tears until you were back in the hallway, but you sobbed so hard you thought you actually were going to crack a rib. And on the other side of the door, you heard the radio flick on, assumedly to drown out your noise.

You nearly put your boot through the wall.

You move up a few places in line, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the ration cards you’ve collected. It’s worked out okay; you had some stashed to begin with and you were able to pull a few jobs after you got back on your feet. But Tess is adamant they’ll pay you back, despite your protests.

“First job I take,” she says to you, jutting her chin towards the stack in your hand, “you get half.”

You shake your head. “I told you, it’s fine.“

“It’s not,” she replies, her tone determined. “It’s the least we can do, after what you did for us. Hell, I should give you back double for putting up with the bullshit Joel’s been throwing at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she repeats, and grabs your arm, turning you towards her slightly. “I’m not fucking okay with this. I need you to get that. He needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, Tess,” you say, toying with a corner of a ration card. “I have to respect that.”

“And he should give you the same courtesy,” she says as you move up again. “You need to talk this out. He can’t keep putting up brick fucking walls; you deserve more respect than that. You put your ass on the line for us, and got the shit kicked out of you. History or not, he owes you. I’ll lock you two in the same room if I have to.”

“Hah,” you scoff, lifting your brows. “I’m sure he’d love that.”

She goes quiet as you reach the front of the line, handing over the cards. The woman working the table slides a crate of food across to you a second later, along with two jugs of water that Tess reaches for. It’s not until you’re back outside that she speaks again.

“I want us to be friends,” she says, and the tone in her voice makes you pause, stopping in your tracks. “I like you, Liv; you’re strong as hell. Brave. Best damn smuggler I’ve ever seen. I just…I need you to understand, me and Joel, it’s nothing close to what I had with Nate, or what he had with you. I know that. I get that. We laid out ground rules from square one. It’s a…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“A comfort,” you provide.

She nods. “Yes. And I…if I had a second chance with Nate? If I walked down this street tomorrow and saw him walking through that fucking gate, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to—” She stops, clamps her hand over her mouth and you almost jump when you see the tears in her eyes.

“Tess.” She blinks hard, waving a hand at you, and in an instant, the badass demeanour has returned, if not doubly so. You continue, “If he’s a comfort to you, I can’t be the person that takes that away. He’s not mine to take. Especially not if he doesn’t want me back. It’s okay. You can’t force his hand in this.”

She eyes you, chewing at her thumbnail before, “Maybe I can.”

You shake your head, hefting the crate of food higher on your hip. “Let’s take this back.”

The doorknob jiggles, and Joel’s head snaps up. He’s sat on your couch, some book about woodworking in his hands, a mostly abandoned glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. Tommy’s at the kitchen table, bent over a map, trying to figure out the path they’d taken, all the way back to Austin. “I’m just curious,” he’d said when Joel had asked, his voice almost clipped. Joel hadn’t pushed any further.

The door swings open, revealing you and Tess, a crate of food on your hip, Tess carrying jugs of water. Joel gets to his feet, wanders towards the kitchen, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Tommy gets up immediately, takes one of the jugs from Tess. She starts putting stuff away, and you step closer to the table, digging in the pocket of your coat. “Exciting news,” you say, pulling out a key ring with three keys on it, dropping it onto the table. “Moving day.”

“We’re not going far, are we?” Tess asks over her shoulder.

“No,” you reply, pushing a hand through your hair before shucking off your coat. “One floor up, few units down. Besides, you know where to find me.” Joel catches you glance his way, but it’s short-lived, you turning away a moment later to help Tess put the rest of the food away. “I saw they have a posting for a handyman in the building, one for the apartment across the street too,” you say, putting away a box of instant mashed potatoes. “Unit maintenance and stuff like that, thought you boys might be good for it.”

Tommy nods, enthusiastic. “Sounds good to me.” He glances at Joel over his shoulder. “Gotta get started paying you back what we owe you, Liv.”

You wave a hand, and Joel sees Tess give you a pointed look. “Listen, all of you. We’re square, okay? I mean it. I’m just…I’m glad you’re all here. Safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Joel can’t hold his tongue. “That soldier beat you half to death.”

“Oh, you noticed?” you throw back, and the guilt simmers in his gut. “We’re square,” you repeat, leaning against the kitchen counter, hip cocked, arms crossed over your chest. A mirror of Joel’s stance. “But there’s something I wanted to bring up to the three of you. Tess and I have already talked it over, and I’ve done okay for myself given the circumstance, but I could use you, all three of you.” Your eyes flick from Tommy to Joel and back again, so quick he nearly misses it. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie, but I’ve got dirt on half the soldiers in this QZ. And I know exactly what to give them to keep their mouths shut.”

“You already know I’m in,” Tess says, bumping her hip into yours. There’s a tiny grin on your face, the bruising along your cheek pinching slightly. “There are still connections from Baltimore we can use. Between the four of us, we could be living like kings, for a change.”

You nod. “Either way, it’s an offer. I trust you all enough that you’ll keep it secret, but if you want in, my door’s always open.” You pause. “But I do want my keys back.”

“I’m game,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair. “You tell me where and when, Liv, and I’m there.”

“Same,” Tess agrees, “but we’re still paying you back.”

Joel can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you out of your damn minds? Both of you?” He stares at Tommy when his brother turns to face him, glances at Tess when she steps forward and plants her hands on the kitchen table. “We just got safe again, and already you want to put that in jeopardy?”

Tess scoffs, and the sound makes Joel blood boil. There’s too much happening. The guilt never leaves, but seeing you, hearing your voice, it makes it that much worse, and Tess looking at him like he’s a fucking idiot doesn’t help matters.

“We pulled a lot of bad shit to stay alive out there, Joel,” she says, her tone stern. “Baltimore was no different. I highly doubt a bit of smuggling is going to fuck with our reputations.”

“Your records are clean,” you offer, your voice placating. It makes the hair on the back of Joel’s neck stand on end. “When Cowan brought you through, he wiped them. Tommy’s is already clean, otherwise they wouldn’t have let him through to start with.” You lift your hands. “It’s just an offer, Joel.”

How have you managed to make his own name feel like a punch to the gut?

“I’ll show you to the apartment,” you say, grabbing the keys off the table, putting a hand on Tess’s shoulder. “You guys can talk it out. There’s no pressure. I’ve got a job in a few days, and—”

“I already told you, I’m going with you,” Tess says, and Joel’s brows raise.

“Tess—”

“Shut up, Joel.” She turns towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You swallow, hard enough that Joel can see your throat bob from where he’s standing. Tess grabs her jacket, gestures at Tommy to do the same, and his brother gets to his feet. You hold open the door, and Joel follows Tess and Tommy out. He tries to catch your eye as he walks past you, but your gaze drops to the floor.

Their unit is one floor up, three down from yours. You unlock the door before handing the keys to Tess, let it swing inwards. It looks about the same as yours, save for the floral wallpaper. It’s a bit bigger, an actual separate bedroom, another bed tucked in one corner, a room divider that’s seen better days blocking it off. He’s surprised, almost, that there’s furniture, even blankets on the beds, and follows his brother inside. Tess wanders, and you hang in the doorway, leaned against the jamb.

“I found some stuff at the donation warehouse,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “People will leave all kinds of shit down there, stuff they don’t need. The mattresses aren’t great, but I cleaned them best I could, and there’s some clothes too.” Joel turns to look at you, and your eyes move away from his again. “And, if you’re game for smuggling, when knows what else we might find.”

Tommy walks back over to where you’re stood, slings an arm around your neck, pulling you against him. “You’re an angel, Liv. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, leaning your head against Tommy’s chest, and Joel ignores the zip of…is that jealousy surging through his gut? Fuck.

But it turns into guilt just as quick, makes something mean bubble out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You shouldn’t have done this.” He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but from the corner of his eye, sees you balk, flinching slightly.

“Joel,” Tess chides, walking over to the door, pulling you out of Tommy’s grip and into a hug. “We owe you, I mean it.”

Joel watches, as you hug Tess. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hooked around her shoulders, your brow pinched slightly. God, how many times had this thought crossed his mind? How many times had he wondered if the two of you would get along?

How many times had he dreamt of merely seeing you again?

Yet here he is, fucking it up harder than anyone ever could have imagined.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “Tess, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nods. “And Tommy, you can ask Sergeant McCoy about the handyman gig. He’s a decent guy.”

Then your eyes turn to Joel. He meets them, looks back at you, feels the guilt so thickly he’s convinced it’s replacing his blood. He thinks he hears you say his name, but then your wrench your eyes from his, disappearing from the doorway. His feet move of their own accord, propelling him towards the door, but he stops short, hands swinging at his sides.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “Brother, I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot.” He turns to Tess. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Tess just nods, and the door shuts a moment later. It’s just the two of them, and Joel can already tells he’s about to be on the receiving end of Tess’s anger.

“Sit, Miller.” She points to the kitchen table. It’s not much different than yours, though there are no maps spread across the surface. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Tess, don’t—”

“No, shut the fuck up,” she cuts him off, her hand flexing in the air. “You’re gonna sit there and you’re gonna listen, you understand? Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Joel swallows hard. “Fine.”

“You need to go after Liv,” she says, the words blunt, laying her hand flat on the table. “You can’t keep pushing her away and treating her the way that you are. You can’t keep doing this to her.”

“I have to,” he replies, the words quick, half-hearted. An excuse.

“No, you don’t,” Tess throws back, just as quick.

“You—”

“We’re done,” she says, cutting him off again. “You and I. It was just stress relief, right from the beginning. I know that, you know that. Nate was gone and you were there and I…” She shakes her head, lifts her hand to her mouth and bites her knuckle before continuing. “If I had a second chance like this, a second shot, goddamn, I would have dropped you so fast your head would’ve spun.” She actually laughs. Her eyes are big and wet, but no tears fall. “She loves you, Joel, and you love her. I knew it from the second you saw her at the gas station. It’s not—”

“Tess—”

“Listen to me, Joel. If I turned a corner tomorrow and saw Nate right there in front of me, there’s not a force on this whole fucking planet that could keep me from him. So why are you doing this to her? To yourself?”

He goes quiet, for a long moment. Stares down at the table top, digs his nail into the grain of the wood. “You said it yourself, Tess. We did a lot of bad shit out there to stay alive. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not who she remembers, who she loved before.”

Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezes his fingers tightly. “Joel, the fucking world ended. I didn’t know her before, but I highly doubt that the Liv I know now was the same before the outbreak. We do what we have to, to survive. She put her life on the line for us, without batting a fucking eye. The least you can do is talk to her.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. What do I have to say to get it though your thick fucking skull, Miller? Second chances like this don’t just happen. If I had one, I sure as hell wouldn’t squander it the way you’re so hellbent on doing. So don’t.”

“Tess—”

“Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Slowly, Joel gets to his feet, and Tess follows suit. He’s not quite sure what to do next, but then she grabs the front of his jacket, hauls him against her, throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, mouth pressed to the curve of her shoulder.

“And I don’t wanna hear any more shit about not joining forces with Liv,” Tess says softly. “We’d be fucking fools not to.” She claps him on the shoulder, pulling away. “I’ll see you around, Joel.”

“Bye, Tess.”

The doorknob is cold when he reaches for it, and Tess doesn’t say another word as he steps out into the hall, pulls the door shut. His feet seem to carry him down the hall on their own. He heads down the stairs, faintly hears Tommy’s voice calling after him as he heads down towards the lobby.

“Joel, where you going?”

It’s still a few hours until curfew, the sky still light, though dark clouds are gathering over the city. The moment he’s out the main door, he’s sprinting, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He’s pushing past people on the street, boots scuffing on the pavement, mumbling apologies when he almost crashes into someone.

He just keeps going, arms pumping once he’s through the crowds of people trying to get home. He has no idea where he’s going, but he just keeps going, on and on and on until he finds himself standing in the same alleyway you’d lead him and Tess through, when you’d smuggled them inside.

What the fuck is he doing?

The rain starts slow, a few drips pelting his shoulders, the back of his neck. He tips his head back, stares up at the ominous dark clouds, hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. Joel lets his eyes slip closed, hands loose at his sides.

In a flash, it’s a downpour. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds, rainwater seeping through his hair, wetting his scalp. It runs down his cheeks, sneaks beneath the collar of his flannel, gathers in the hollow of his throat.

She loves you, Joel, and you love her.

Tess is right. He knows she’s right. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he always knew in the back of his mind that if he found you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from you. Everything he’s been doing, everything he’s said since you mentioned Sarah, it’s been…survival. Fear, that if he lets himself have you again, he’ll just lose you, like he lost her. That someone or something will take you from him.

Tommy told me. About Sarah. Joel, I’m so sorry, I just—

It hurts. The memory makes panic and fear surge through him, every single time. Makes his heart beat faster, his hands clench into fists, sweat at his hairline. But you don’t know that. How could you? He hasn’t told you, hasn’t let you in, hasn’t done anything but try and stay as far away from you as possible.

He can’t keep doing this. He knows that. When he closes his eyes, he still sees those tears on your face, at the gas station. The bat in your hand, the bravery in your eyes. You weren’t the same person he’d fallen in love with back in Austin. But you’ve survived just as hard as he has, and you lived. You’re alive.

I’ll find you, baby.

He swore to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Joel says the words aloud, towards the sky, to the dark clouds still pouring down on him. “Fuck.”

He turns on his heel and sprints back up the alley. The rain isn’t letting it up, pelting his face, soaking his hair further. He pushes his way back through the crowds, takes the same random path he’d just run in reverse, back to the building.

Back to you.

He takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way his knees are shouting in protest. He’s out of breath by the time he skids to a stop in front of your door, bangs his fist on the wood. “Liv!”

“It’s open,” he hears you call from the other side, and twists the handle, pushes the door open. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing at your forehead, a bottle of whiskey not far from reach. Your gaze lifts slowly, but then your entire expression changes when you see him standing there in the doorway. “Joel? What’re you do—”

“I wanna talk to you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. His heart is hammering in his chest. He steps through the doorway, shuts it behind him. “Please.”

“Why are you wet?” you ask, your eyes narrowing, but then you shake your head, waving your hands. “Doesn’t matter. What…you wanna talk?”

“I do.”

“About what?”

He heaves a breath. “You. Me. Tess, she—”

You lift a hand, your expression turning defeated, and reach for the whiskey. “It’s fine, Joel. I get it. It’s not like I expected you to wait around for me or anything like that, but just for the record, it’s not reason enough to avoid me like the fucking plague.” You take a swig from the bottle, tearing your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and takes a step towards the table. You lower the bottle, slide your gaze back to his. “About all of it, Liv. Please. I just wanna talk you.”

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes the water from his fingers. You don’t say anything when he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on the hook near the door, settles into the seat across from you. He points towards the whiskey, and you slide it across the table to him. The liquor burns on the way down, but the warmth that follows helps with the chill from the rain.

You lean back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You wanna talk, Miller,” you say, and part of him wonders how much you’ve had to drink already. “Then talk.”

He takes another long swig of the whiskey. The noise the bottle makes as he puts it back down seems to echo through the apartment. “I’ve been an asshole,” he says, his gaze dropping to his lap, “since the gas station. I’ve been trying my goddamn best to push you away, and I just…” He lifts his head, lets one hand rest on the table, an olive branch between you. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Liv, I just…I did some terrible shit out there, to stay alive. I’m not the same. But I know you aren’t either.”

“We all do terrible shit to stay alive, Joel.” You huff a little laugh. “It’s just the way of the world now.” You drag a hand over your face. “Besides, you are the only thing I have left,” you say, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat, “from before.” You blink hard, and he can see the tears gathering along your lashes. Everything in him wants to vault the table separating you and just hold you. “I was gonna leave Boston. Before they put up the wall, when all that was standing in my way was a fucking chain link fence. I was gonna leave. Then Cowan calls the Austin QZ, asks about my family, and there’s no record of my sister, no record of you, but my parents…”

You trail off, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You wipe at your cheeks, and lay your hand on the table, inches from his. Joel’s fingers twitch.

“What happened?”

“FEDRA levelled Austin, when it was overrun. My parents were in a shelter, when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.”

Joel balks. He remembers, that night, the outbreak. He remembers Tommy’s truck barrelling down the road, down the main drag where the hardware store was. He remembers flames pouring out of the storefront, shattered glass and the way the awning had caught fire. He remembers praying to whoever the fuck was even bothering to listen anymore that your family was okay.

“So you stayed.”

You nod, fingers tapping on the table. “I stayed. I got lucky, really. Dean got me good, before I…” You trail off, rubbing at your shoulder. “They were killing anyone who was injured, shooting them point blank in the streets. I just ran, and nearly a week later, when the soldiers stopped me at the fence, I was still me, and Cowan made sure no one saw my injuries, had Deanna treat me. Left a nasty fucking scar.” You squeeze your shoulder, pulling your eyes from Joel’s. “I never stopped wanting to go looking for you, Joel. Not once. I just—”

He shakes his head, flexes his fingers on the tabletop. “It doesn’t matter, Liv. You did what you had to, to stay alive. We all did.” He swallows hard. “When did it happen? With Dean.”

You grab the bottle, turning fully to face him, your other hand still planted inches from his. “Outbreak day. It’s funny, actually, I had just been on the phone, with you, you remember?”

Joel lets himself smile, the conversation rising to the surface of his mind. “We wished each other happy birthday.”

“We did,” you agree, and take a swig. “I just got home, and Dean was…he was just standing there, in the bedroom, staring out the window. He didn’t notice me, not at first.” You shake your head, letting go of the bottle, rubbing your fingers across your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done it, looking back, but I didn’t know, and I…I called his name. He turned, and he looked at me with that…that dead look they have, you know? And then…then he started running at me, and I knew something was wrong. I kept the bat right by the bedroom door, and when he came at me, I just…swung. Until he stopped.”

You grab the bottle again, and Joel flexes his pinky wide, until it grazes yours. Your eyes drop to the table. “You protected yourself, baby.”

It’s like everything in the apartment shifts, as the endearment rolls off his tongue. He doesn’t mean to say it so soon, but everything in him is aching to comfort you, the feeling tenfold after being stuffed down for so long. Why did he put you through this? Why did he put himself through this?

Your eyes are watery when they lift to his again. “I never should have left Austin, Joel,” you say, and slide your hand across the table, settling it on top of his, your palms pressed together. “I never should have left you.”

“I’m here now,” he says, letting his fingers curl around your wrist. His heart races when you do the same. “It doesn’t matter. None of it.”

Your thumb slides across his pulse, and your eyes flutter shut for a moment before they meet his again. There’s fire in your eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “What are we doing here, Joel?”

His brow pinches. “What d’you mean?”

“This is the ultimate second chance,” you say, and he can’t help his chuckle, “and we are royally fucking it up.” He keeps laughing, and you dig your nails into his skin, making him yelp. “It’s not funny, Joel!”

“I know, I know,” he says, his tone going apologetic. “It’s just…you and Tess get on well, don’t you?”

You scoff a little laugh, nodding. “She’s a badass.”

He juts his chin towards you. “So are you.”

“I get it,” you say, pulling your eyes away. Your hand stays where it is. “The two of you, it makes sense. I…I was with Cowan.” You make a face. “Am with Cowan? I don’t know. It’s just…comfort, I guess, but now, it…”

Joel can’t help but bristle slightly. “He’s helped you all these years?”

You nod slowly. “Hasn’t ratted me out, got me out of some pretty deep shit once or twice. But he’s not…” You nail him to the spot with your stare, leaning forward slightly, sliding your hand up his arm until it’s wrapped around his forearm, resting in the crook of his elbow. “He doesn’t come close, Joel. Dean, Cowan, they’re just…” You shake your head. “They’re nothing, compared to you. I could never love anyone else the way I loved you.” You pause, chew your lip. “Love you.”

“Liv—”

“But I won’t get between you and Tess, I promise. I like her, and you and me, it doesn’t—”

“Tess broke things off,” he says, and your eyes go wide. “She was right. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, pushing you away, thinking it was easier that way. I don’t want to stay away from you anymore. I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

“You just said you and Cowan—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it matters.”

Joel’s brain stalls, for a moment, seeing the flare in your eyes. He gets up slowly. Your hands move to your lap as he rounds the table, pulls you to your feet. There’s only inches between you, the air turning thick with tension. “Say it again,” he says, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.

You close the distance, stepping into his arms. His hands slip beneath the hem of your sweater, resting on your jean-clad hips, and Joel inhales deeply when your palms slide up his biceps, rest on his shoulders, one hand slipping up the back of his hair, wet curls twisted between your knuckles.

“Don’t stay away from me,” you murmur, tugging lightly at his hair, until his face is angled with yours. He can smell the whiskey on your breath, see the remains of the bruise on your cheek. He can feel your heartbeat, wild against his own, your chest against his. “Be with me, Joel, please.”

Your voice cracks on the please, and that’s what gets him. The tension snaps, and he can’t hold back anymore.

There’s no hesitancy in it. It feels like he’s kissing you for the very first time all over again — feels like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. The press of your mouth is hot and wet, a tiny mewl falling from your lips to his as you hold him to you, your fingers tightening in his hair. He kisses your bottom lip, then the top, sinking his teeth into your flesh, pulling more tiny noises from you. God, he’s fucking missed you, so goddamned much.

You chase him when he pulls away, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth, giving you a hungrier kiss the second time round. He pushes you backwards, your boots tangling with his and suddenly you’re a heap of limbs on the ground. You actually laugh and Joel kisses the sound right out of your mouth, licking his tongue along the seam of your lips.

The motion makes you whimper, adjusting yourself beneath him until your thighs are spread either side of his hips, your boots planted on the ground. Everything in him feels white-hot, and he can’t stop kissing you, making up for lost time, pouring his apologies into his kisses, memorizing the way you feel and taste now.

“Joel,” you gasp out when he slides his hand along your jaw, tilts your head back on the wood floor, noses his way down your throat.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your skin, inhaling you deeply, kissing at your pulse.

“Take me to bed.”

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