#OH and the bit where he’s monologuing that maybe he wanted to be someone beautiful and powerful but can’t meanwhile the exit sign is behind

[peresephoknee]

part of isttg that hurt the most was in the cinema where the other workers are bullying owen under the guise of ‘we’ll set you up with her! she really likes you! just look me in the eye!’

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

⋆˙⟡♡ Redamancy ⋆˙⟡♡ Pt1 - Amo

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Jisung x Fem!Reader

Anon Request: I hope you enjoy, sunshine <3.

Warnings: Slight Cursing, Slightly Suggestive

Word Count: 3.5k

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Stemmed from the New Latin word "redamantia" which is derived from the Classic Latin word "redamō" which translates to "I requite love"; Redamancy is used as a term translated to "a love returned in full, loving the one that loves you". Or in the simplest form - the opposite of unrequited love.

Redamancy: a love returned in full, loving the one that loves you.

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Amo: root word. it means "love". lots of languages use it, most commonly seen in romance languages...te amo...mi amor... mon amour...

♡ Amo: root word. stage one. the art of falling for you. ♡

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Jisung had always considered himself a words guy. The amount of time he spent sitting anxiously led him to be an observer in certain circumstances; and the one thing he always observed was words.

Language was a funny thing to him. How a few letters could change the entire meaning of a word. Or a few words could change the entire meanings of sentences, and sentences monologues, and monologues stories. And how a wrench was thrown into that based on the tone someone was to deliver certain things in.

It was fascinating to him. And it was also fascinating to see how things could change by not saying a few simple words.

It was something he was living through first hand.

In a sense, it felt scandalous to him. Being so close to you, breathing in your scent, having the warmth of your body pressed against his, his hand delicately resting on the curve of your hip, as you prattled on about something that had happened that day.

He could only focus on your lips. He could only imagine how it would feel to have his own connect with yours; they looked so kissable, painted a beautiful powder pink due to the job interview you were in the middle of telling him about.

He adored moments like these, where he could delude himself into believing that you guys weren't just friends. But he had to be careful with delusion, because soon enough delusion would become action, and he didn't think he could easily take back the action of shoving his tongue down your throat while you were in the middle of telling him about having to explain the difference between a buyer persona and a target audience as one of your interview questions.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your words, and you shifted in his embrace, the area of his shoulder you rested on being a bit too bony for your comfort.

"I think I got the job. Although, I already know Jiwon is going to be a bitch." You mumbled. "Making comments about foreigners and saying we're incompetent. Excuse me but I don't think you can speak five languages, babo. Pinche cabrón. Cadela. Uderay, iserablemay, insufferableay, itchbay.

The incompetent woman couldn't even understand basic English phrases. Before dissing an entire language maybe try understanding it first. I don't see how it's my fault you can't understand grammar rules and slang. Maybe study harder, isn't that what you're teaching your kids- cause that's how it's portrayed in the dramas! The ironic thing was I actually could have told her that and you she wouldn't have understood any of it." You sighed and then looked up at the ceiling. While your best friend's focus was still on your mouth.

You bit your lip slightly, the place you your front tooth connected with turning slightly red. Han wanted to reach out and pull your bottom lip from your gentle bite. You had drawn blood before, no need for you to do it again.

"That was rude of me I apologize." Your eyes met him through you lashes and oh was Jisung so tempted to lean closer to you, with the dumb excuse of counting each of those long lashes.

Fuck, what are you doing Han Jisung look away.

You watched as his face morphed into something that looked like pain? Disgust, perhaps? And he turned his big boba eyes away from you.

You tensed slightly in his arms, your mind focusing on the wrong things. Like the burning feel of his hand on you hip, your shirt riding up just slightly to where you could feel exaclty where each of his fingertips rested.

The same word that had come up in Jisung's inner thoughts had come up in yours.

Scandalous. Should you have been so aware of your best friend's touch. So...happy being up close to him? Feeling his warm skin against your temple. Smelling his laundry detergent and shampoo so closely it was a smell that you could just conjure up on a dime?

There was so many words you wanted to say...so many things you wanted to tell the chubby cheeked boy in front of you.

But how could you? How could you tell your friend of many years that you wanted to discontinue whatever it was between you and turn it into something more. Something more meaningful. Not that your friendship with him wasn't meaningful.

Rather the contrary. Maybe it was something too meaningful. Was it okay for you to be picking apart every interaction, and weaving in your own little fantasies with them to the point where you yearned for the feel of a reality that wasn't existent?

You couldn't bring yourself to speak any of it out loud. It would be odd of you; to confess. It wasn't something that someone of your status could do, to someone of the magnitude Han Jisung was at. It hurt. Because you ached for his touch to be something more than friendly gesture.

And Jisung ached for other things.

The amount of times you referred to him as a casanova of some sorts.

The way he perfectly formed lyrics, and simple things into grand poetic gestures. Would you like it if it was aimed at you? He wondered.

Would you like it if he spoke his thoughts on a whim?

If he told you everything he noticed; even the slightest differences in neon and bold, ringing alarms in his head and becoming his new hyperfixation until something else about you caught his eye.

You changed your perfume. You always wore warm smells, yet this time there was a slight sweetness to your scent. It was a delicious change. A spark to the primal urges you probably didn't want him to direct at you. Not that he wanted to...he was rather...vanilla, he concluded. The thought of being able to intertwine his fingers into your hand; or giving you forehead kisses, or hugging you from behind, or braiding your hair, or even laying in a bed with a pillow fort separating you did things to his stomach that were 100x more powerful than they should be for a 23 year old man. It was almost childish...but...he loved that thought of chaste moments with you. He would proudly admit that it was the simple, innocent things; the fleeting glances and touches that made the desire grow in him; that turned him on for lack of better phrase. Would you find that strange coming from him?

It was moments like these that the world felt as if it had stopped moving. When Han's overthinking went into overdrive.

He was enamored.

Irreversibly so.

Holding you wasn't doing him any good either. Just fueling his craze.

"How do you feel about a movie night tonight?" Jisung wondered aloud.

You felt him pull away from you slightly so he could gauge your response.

"Will the rest of the guys be joining?" You ask, a smile working its way into your voice. Jisung could tell it was that one particular smile. Where the left side of your mouth upturned just slightly more than the right side.

"Yes. Minho has actually been wondering about you..." The quokka boy hummed in thought. "He said I've been hogging you. I never have known Minho-hyung to be one to step outside of his comfort zone; or even really let people step inside of it. But he really loves you for some reason."

You look at him with raised eyebrows and a smug expression as you pull back.

"It's because I'm simply the greatest person to ever exist." You tease, bringing out yet another type of smile.

The slightly gummy smile that mimicked the boy in front of you's slightly.

I want to kiss her.

Instead he smiled.

Your heart fluttered at his heart shaped smile. The way his eyes narrowed as the fat in his cheeks pushed upwards as his lips did the same. His brilliant white teeth reminding you of his representative animal; possessing you with the urge to take your hands and squish his face further.

Would his eyes widen? Becoming rounder than they already were? Round with wonder, or surprise, or shock...or affection? Admiration? Dreaminess or anything of the sort?

Or would you get to hear that glorious little giggle you loved so much. The giggle you would catch like a firefly and put in a jar if you could?

"You are Y/N." He said with a light chuckle dancing in the tone of his word. "Undoubtedly."

You felt your cheeks warm up, as you searched for any hidden meaning in his words.

We're just friends. He couldn't have meant that as anything more than a tease. Is it bad that I'm so enamored right now?

You got up from your couch. "I'm assuming we're headed to your dorms then? For movie night."

Jisung nodded once. "We should probably stop for some snacks on the way there. I know Lix made brownies but I'm not sure if we have anything around the house."

You smiled, a warm smile.

Your eyes were a little more soft with this smile. Your warm smile...my favorite. Especially when you speak warmly as well... It was little thought like this that Jisung could never seem to keep himself from thinking.

He only had the power to keep himself from speaking.

"It'll be nice to see the guys. Lixxie, Channie, Hyune, BinBin, MongMong, Jeonjeon, Minnie..." You sang out lazily as you pranced to the other end of the room, grabbing your hoodie off of your love seat and headed towards your room.

Your voice was the slightest bit softer when you referred to Minho.

Jisung would normally smile at your interactions with his hyung. He found it endearing how much Minho cared for you. Like you were his little...sister.

As you changed Jisung rested his head back against your couch, against the makeshift padding you had due to your aversion of putting your hoodies away whenever you stripped yourself of them.

He couldn't help but turn his head into it slightly, breathing in the faintest whisper of you.

I love her.

The thought crossed him suddenly; yet he was self-aware enough to know that it was ineveitable for himself to reach this conclusion.

Its as if the l-word was just a waterfall at the end of a river of pent up emotion.

He could see the current taking him to inescapable fall. Yet he allowed himself to float merrily along without focusing to much on the semantics of such.

I know I love her...I just didn't label it as love until now...but who am I fooling?

He sighed as he brought the sleeve of the burgundy hoodie to his face, as if it was some sort of safety blanket; as if it could hide the ever growing warmness of his face.

You don't think these things of your best friend unless it's love. I don't care what anyone says...its just...semantics...

His eyes were half lidded as he focused on the few pieces of stray string attached to the sleeve.

He picked at them mindlessley, one thought in the forefront of his strangely still mind-

It's love. Simple as that.

You thought as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror.

"What are you thinking, Y/N..." You mumbled to yourself as you washed your face. You met your own eyes in your slightly grimy mirror. Little flecks of eyeliner and foundation that had somehow managed to find their way onto the mirror glaring back at you.

You had known you were in love with Jisung for a while. Most people couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment they had fallen in love with another; but that wasn't the case for you.

Those stupid kdrama cliches.

Tying your shoe for you while your hands were full with snacks on a night similar to this. You guys had been headed towards the dorms for a movie marathon.

It had rained earlier, and Jisung being the slight airhead he was had knelt down straight into a murky puddle while wearing light wash ripped jeans.

You didn't even give a second thought to falling for your best friend.

As he softly sung that stupid shoelace song from Shrek while knotting the laces.

In an angelic voice that did not fit such a childish song.

While kneeling down in a puddle of extremely dirty rainwater.

Such a simple moment. That most any would forget.

But you remembered it so vividly. You could remember the exact angle the light of the convenience store was hitting him. The exact feel of the night time breeze. You could even remember the exact amount of pressure he had applied while tying you shoes. And if you thought hard enough you could remember exactly where you felt the warmth of his skin through your canvas shoes as he finished the knot with a soft little pat.

"All done. Double knot. Just like our song."

That was a year ago. How had I held my affections in that moment? You had thought to yourself.

You made your way out of your room and saw Jisung standing at the door. He shook his keys. A little flash of burgundy under his gray sleeve.

"Ready to go?" He asked.

You nodded, feeling a strange tension in the air.

It seemed to only intensify in the confined space of Chan's borrowed car.

It was all you could focus on.

Something is different...Is it because I'm accepting it?

Jisung was resolute in that. It had to feel this way only because he decided to acknowledge that his feelings for you were nothing close to being platonic.

But he wouldn't say anything.

You wouldn't say anything either.

Instead you both were decided in silently suffering.

And struggling to navigate the art of falling.

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Amo: root word. it means "love". lots of languages use it, most commonly seen in romance languages...te amo...mi amor... mon amour...

♡ Amo: root word. the feeling that you feel for Jisung; the feeling that Jisung feels for you; the feeling that both of you are unwilling to share with one another ♡

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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel

[griefabyss69]

Hi hello!

Nobody likes religious trauma frowny face

For the wip game please 💜😊

both you and the other person in my inbox this morning asked about steddissy WIPs <3 <3 <3 What a beautiful morning!!!!!! This fic is 12K already lmao and another one that's going to be super long. I'm thinking of seeing if it's congruent with the other one I just posted about, if it is I will put them in the same series/universe!

This is one of my older ones, I wrote + shared a bit from it when I did this game in november! Here's the link to the post What I shared in that post was from when Chrissy was still in school, so I'm going to jump ahead and share from later in the fic! My characterization for how Eddie acts around Chrissy is fully extrapolated from that one scene in the cafeteria in episode 1, where he like bows all dramatic and lets the cheerleaders go by in the middle of his big monologue LMAO. Ofc I've made it way more well rounded than that, but at this point in the fic they're still new to each other and he's still walking on egg shells that he doesn't know aren't even there Excerpt: (Contents: ED mentions (in the form of child abuse tbh), rated G)

Eddie's fingers drum restlessly against his knees until he slaps his thighs, getting to his feet.

"Okay. We need to run an errand."

His voice is hard like it never is, even when he's putting on a dramatic show and taunting someone. He's clearly trying for a smile but Chrissy sees the glass in his eyes, even as he tries to blink it away.

She doesn't really know what has him trying not to cry but her own eyes sting in sympathy.

"Um, what kind of an errand?" She asks, hating how strained and timid her voice is.

Eddie chews on his lip, fingers twisting at his rings for a few agitated moments before he takes a deep breath and sighs it out.

"Sorry, I got ahead of myself," he says, the charm back in his voice but the cat's out of the bag, Chrissy can see he's still upset. "Would you like to go to the library with me?"

She lets herself frown in confusion, knows he won't take it as an attack of obstinacy.

"What's at the library?" She asks, catching her mistake the same moment he does.

"Books, duh," they say in unison as he grins at her and she rolls her eyes.

He laughs, seems like he's loosening up a little bit, and reaches out to clap her on the shoulder before stopping short, bringing his hand back to himself.

"Sorry, forgot personal space."

She doesn't frown at that because she gets it, but it would've been fine if he touched her shoulder. She kind of really wanted him to.

She shrugs.

"Which book does the library have that has you so excited?"

Eddie fidgets without moving somehow, his muscles tensing and untensing in the same way he taps on things. The tempo is the same, maybe.

"Don't hate me, okay? If I'm like, overstepping or just making things worse just tell me and I'll drop it but," he pauses, looking at her out of the side of his eyes, his endless array of expressions showing off both a puppy dog cuteness and a nervousness ready for a slap. He winces preemptively like it'll lessen whatever blow he's about to deal. "The library has books on sewing."

Sewing.

She doesn't get it for a moment, eyes wandering over the floor as she thinks about it, the hem of her skirt catching the bottom of her sight and tipping her off.

She feels her chin crumple dangerously and buries her face in her hands, trying to concentrate on keeping the tears inside of her face and the embarrassing sob in her chest. She cannot cry in front of Eddie, the only person who despite being scared to touch her, doesn't treat her like she's a porcelain doll these days.

"Oh no," Eddie says, voice soft and panicked. "I'm so sorry, I knew I should've just minded my own business, shit."

She feels a laugh bubble up, maybe inappropriate but way better than what was going to come out of her, so she lets it out, even if it's watery.

"Chrissy, I'll drop it. We won't go to the library, I won't get any books, I'll forget how to read," Eddie's voice is still soft even if it's ramping up in drama, like he's trying not to scare her and she hates that, but she hates that it works even more.

She sniffles hard, pulling her hands away from her face. She has like, two tears on her cheek but it's enough to make Eddie wring his hands, clearly unsure what to do now that he's made a girl cry.

She kind of wants to use it, show him how she wishes he'd comfort her, but that probably wouldn't be very honest. He thinks she's sad, and yeah, sure, she's a little bit sad all of the time, but.

Mostly she just can't believe it, that he picked up on something she hides so well, remembered maybe the one sentence she said about her mom giving her trouble about needing to let out her skirt again. And then instead of telling her she needs to listen to her mom's advice or try harder or just suck it up and deal with the shame and humiliation of trading in another of her dwindling meal options for a skirt that fits better, he just.

Fuck.

"Eddie I'm not mad," she begins, because she knows how despite all of his bravado about gender roles and how maybe they suck, he has a guilt for women that he doesn't for men. "I do want to go to the library."

He pauses, bottom lip firmly between his teeth, practically on his toes with how he's both working himself into a frenzy and desperately trying not to make it her problem.

"I'm sorry for crying, I just got like," she sighs, shrugging. "Surprised, I guess."

Eddie relaxes even though he's shaking his head.

"It's not your fault, don't apologize," he says, a little smile bringing out his dimples. "Do you want to go now?"

Chrissy nods, giving him a little smile of her own. She reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, squeezing. Since he won't do it to her, she'll do it to him; bridge the gap that he self imposed even though she's seen him get so close to other people's faces they could've been kissing.

[aranarumei]

day negative fourteen.

hiii everyone. i've been really thinking about it lately so here is a sort of. fun(?) prelude for the sasamiya dating sim au.

In the end, everything is built with a switch. You have two choices. On and off. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t get it. Could you explain that a little more?

You’re talking about binary code, right?

…Hana-san, you’re quite strange.

Shirahama’s hands pause on the buttons of his controller. First, he yawns—it’s quite late, and this is probably going to be the last bit of progress he makes in this game. Hana’s sprite is staring back at him. She’s usually ducking her head or fidgeting, the glare of her glasses obscuring her eyes, but right now she has her hands folded politely in front of her, shoulders set straight.

It’s a pretty sight. Shirahama’s been trying to get into Hana’s route for a while—there’s a lot of characters he was interested in learning more about, but after he’d gone through a tumultuous relationship with the secret daughter of a prime minister, he’d wanted to pick a character that seemed a little more mundane. She’s the shy and nerdy type of character who’s beautiful once her glasses are removed, which Shirahama would be fairly ambivalent about were it not for the fact that whoever did the art for the game had gone all out on the expressiveness of her eyes. When he’d first seen her sprite switch from a dull, downcast look into eyes that glowed and glittered in purple tones, it was like magic. He’d avoided everyone else in the game since then.

As for how to respond…

Calling her strange is definitely the wrong play. Shirahama’s not that stupid. The correct answer is probably to say the line about binary code. Hana’s pretty good with computers, and in the last time they’d chatted, she’d showed him something she’d programmed. He’s about to select the second option when he finds himself hesitating.

It’s just that… the second option sounds so confident. What if it’s faking out people who try to sound smart without knowing anything? Shirahama honestly doesn’t get what Hana’s talking about, and if he wasn’t playing a game, he’d probably just ask. Didn’t people like it when you asked about things they liked? What was wrong with that?

I don’t get it. Could you explain that a little more?

Oh… you don’t get it.

Hana’s sprite reverts into her gloomy self.

It’s just… I thought someone would finally get me, you know? But it’s still really nice of you to ask… it’s just something about coding or whatever. It probably won’t make that much sense to you. I’m sorry, ˹Shirahama˼.

His eyes are stinging. Maybe sleep deprivation is the reason for Shirahama’s stupid choices.

Making sure to not save his progress, he exits out of the game, turns the lights off in his room, and flops down on his bed. If he replays that section of the game tomorrow, he’ll just pick the right answer. That’s the entire point of dating sims. Picking the right answer. Being the right person. No room for anything else.

His gaze drifts to the vague shadow where he knows his bag is. There’s a copy of Boys Life Romance! tucked deep in the bottom, separated from its original game cover. For such a peppy title with such a garish looking cover, some of the routes are pretty depressing.

It’s also a game that’s way harder than the one he just quit out of. If he’d tried to assume what Hanzawa-senpai meant to say whenever he drifted into a strange monologue, he’d get dropped from his route immediately. Now that was a character like a real magic trick—every once in a while, he’d say things so perceptively it felt like he was piercing Shirahama through the screen. His favorite route, though, had probably been Kagiura—sweet, jealous, and possessive, but never in a way that felt troubling. Really good at basketball, too. That was probably what Shirahama liked best in any character in a dating sim. Passion. Interest. One thing, and now you had a character with a life outside being romanced but also the kind of intensity that could turn you head over heels in an instant.

Miyano had said he’d never really played visual novels before, but he had talked about reading BL manga, yesterday. He’d also been blushing like crazy. It was kind of cute, seeing him get so worked up. To spare his embarrassment, it would probably be best to hand it off to him some time before he left to catch the train, or something. Find a secluded enough stairwell and recommend it in a way that didn’t come off as too awkward… well, it would be a little awkward. But Miyano was the kind of person that you wanted to talk to even if it felt a little strange.

He’d probably like it, anyways. Shirahama kind of wonders if his ears will turn red when he finds out just what kind of visual novel Shirahama’s lending him.

That image in mind, he drifts off to sleep.

Maybe it's nerves, but he dreams of nothing and wakes up with enough time to play the correct option on Hana’s route.

Yes! If we treat ‘on’ as ‘one’ and ‘off’ as ‘zero’, we get binary code. And when we read certain patterns of ones and zeroes, we can make larger numbers and letters… and everything cascades into more complex code until we get to what a modern-day programmer uses. It’s amazing that something so versatile is born out of something so simple, don’t you think? I’m so glad I can talk about this with you, ˹Shirahama˼!

Hana’s eyes are sparkling. Shirahama heads to school with some extra cheer in his steps.

—

Two weeks later, Miyano Yoshikazu wakes up in a bed he doesn’t know. It’s a good thing he’s in the nurse’s office, because he feels immediately, deeply sick.

He’s not the only one.

[lesaltywarlock]

A Regular Day For Griffin Fogarty

A story about how Griffin Fogarty met a Demon. 

I was working on Griffin’s profile when I thought about this fic I made a while ago, detailing the story of how he met his Servant. I want to make similar stories for the rest of the Masters as well, but...well, I’ll get to that eventually.

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What a beautiful day, ain’t it? The sun’s shining, the birds are chirping, and the car exhaust is as rotten as it was the day before.

“What a beautiful day.” Griffin Fogarty repeated his inner monologue, only questioning his sanity for a few seconds before sitting up. Reaching his arms up above his head to stretch, he promptly banged his knuckles on the metal roof of the van he called home. He recoiled and rubbed his mildly sore hands. “Jesus, I really need to stop doing that.”

Seriously, there were indents from how often he’s done that. 

To start off the day, he did his morning routine as anyone would. He neatly folded his thin blanket and placed it on the upper right corner of his mattress before throwing open the van’s back doors and slipping on some gym shoes. Griffin hopped out onto the blacktop of the gas station parking lot to go buy some breakfast. 

The familiar jingle of digital bells greeted him when he entered, along with the bored expression of the clerk at the door. An old Italian woman, with a voice ragged and scratchy from years of smoking, but she was kind and gave him free reign of the drink machines. 

“Hey, Griffin.” They said, just like always, with a heavy accent. “Just the usual?”

“Yes, please! Oh, actually I just got paid yesterday, so I might be able to splurge a bit more this time.” He placed down a crumpled up ten dollar bill with a cocky grin. “I’ll actually pay for my coffee this time. 

The woman’s name tag reflected the morning sun into his eyes, displaying her name. Janice. She smiled at him, perhaps the first expression of interest she’s made today. “Really, now? Why don’t you use it for something better.”

He denied it at first, but she kept insisting, so he eventually relented. Griffin roamed the three short aisles of snacks and occasional premade meals before choosing out some trail mix, a salad, and a Gatorade for when he gets thirsty. There weren’t many options he could choose when it came to meals, as most of them contained meat, but he’s grown to like what little he had. He also got his usual coffee order, adding as much cream and sugar as humanly possible in the tall paper cup filled with slightly burnt vanilla flavored coffee. 

Janice scanned his things and handed him his precious change before they bid their farewells. Today was a weekday, and he only got gas on Sundays. He hopped into the ripped up, sun bleached driver’s seat of his van and sped off into the city he’s memorized like the back of his hand. 

The gym was his first stop, as always, where he greeted the man at the front desk who only worked Mondays before heading off to his usual round of machinery. He had no need for exercising this frequently every morning, but it was a nice way to get him energized and ready to take on the world. 

Also, gyms had showers, and since he didn’t exactly have a home, a corresponding gym membership would allow him to use said shower all he wanted. Which he did, for maybe a good thirty minutes afterwards. 

Today was an off day for him. The past few days have been off days for him, mostly because he couldn’t find work after being let go from his old job, and it was rare for anyone to come to him of all people for appliance maintenance or locksmithing no matter how much he advertised it online. The only exception was yesterday, when he miraculously snagged a job helping someone locked outside of their home. 

After changing into much cleaner and less sweaty clothes in his van, he then drove to the local library. Having a library card was also a much needed expense since they had free wifi, computers, and, of course, books! Grabbing his old backpack that was practically ripping apart from years of use, he headed inside and plopped onto his usual spot at one of the many wooden long tables inside. 

Griffin was still a student after all, taking a few online classes over the summer partly for fun and to finish off some electives he missed before. School was difficult, but having a full ride made things a bit easier, or at least it motivated him enough to keep trying for at least a B+. Without it, he’d probably have gone into debt which he sure as hell didn’t need when he didn’t even have a home.

His stomach’s incessant growling signaled the end of today’s work session. As he left the library and navigated through the parking lot, he mentally tallied up the money he had saved up along with the number of places to eat at. In the end, he decided on his favorite taco truck that was always close to where some of his friends lived. It was hard being on the streets as a vegetarian, but the owners of the truck were kind enough to start making vegetarian options for him. 

He was about to start the engine when he noticed a slip of paper peeking out from the lower left corner of his windshield. Griffin stared at it for a few seconds before fear ran through his spine. He let out a defeated sigh and got out to retrieve the ticket. 

“Come on, New York, what the hell did I do wrong this time?” He groaned and pushed the door open with his foot. “Seriously, you see a guy living in a van and think he’s a criminal or something….”

When he grabbed the ticket, he was surprised to see that it very much wasn’t a ticket. In fact, it was a parchment adorned with a golden eagle wax sealing. After peeling it off, he opened it up and read a fancily written letter. 

To the head of the Fogarty family, 

Fortune smiles upon you today, oh fallen blacksmith. You, whose family has all but perished, have been given a chance at redemption. The Holy Grail of legend, an all powerful wish-granter, has been planted in New York City. You and six other Mages shall conduct a ritual known as a Holy Grail War, in which you summon a familiar, a phantom of the past, at your side and defeat your fellow Mages so as to win ownership of the Grail. Only one Master and Servant will win this. If you search the back of your van, you will find the materials needed to start the process, however, a catalyst to help assist with summoning your Servant is not provided. Perhaps you already own one, as the heir to a family of talented armorers. 

Good luck, 

- Quentin Rambert

“What the fuck?” Griffin exclaimed aloud, turning the heads of a family entering the library and causing the parents to glare at him. His face heated up, and he yelled out, “sorry!”

Obviously, they didn’t care about his apology, and the kid didn’t care at all about what he said either.

He turned his attention back to the parchment in his hands, which weighed as much as the world itself. A chance to wish for anything he desired, and all he had to do was kill six other people and their familiars. 

Griffin wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of killing someone, though he never did. He was still a Mage, and his pride as a Mage still burned within him no matter how long it’s been since he lost everything so many years ago. Nonetheless, he was still inexperienced, and he lived in a van of all things. If anyone found out, he’d be better off as death fodder. 

But…there was still a chance for him to win, right? All he needed was his familiar to fight with him and a catalyst to help summon them. 

He crawled into the back of the van through the driver’s seat and found a duffel bag containing another large parchment containing a summoning circle, the directions and incantations to summon the Servant, and an address. 

After looking it up on his phone, he discovered it was an old abandoned store in a practically barren part of town. It looked shady, but then again, most Mages were. 

Griffin weighed the odds, but he began to imagine seeing his family’s faces again. His mother’s kind smile and his father’s tough gaze that always encouraged him to succeed. He shut his eyes and pictured that scene countless times before coming to an answer. 

“Alright, Quentin. I’ll accept this offer of yours.” 

The only problem, of course, was a catalyst. Some item meant to help summon this Servant of his own. Considering he was homeless and also very poor, there wasn’t much that he had much less could use as a catalyst. 

But then a thought popped into existence in his mind. He hoisted the mattress off the floor of the van revealing a garbage bag filled with mementos of his past protected by bubble wrap. After rummaging through family pictures, documents, and some personal keepsakes from his parents, he found it. The first sword he ever made that earned his family’s approval, and it was the start of his journey as a Fogarty before it all came to a screeching halt. He sold a lot of his tools that came after that for money, but he could never quite let go of this one. The blade itself wasn’t perfect, with the edges slightly jagged and starting to rust from years of being hidden away. Even the pommel was barely attached to the hilt, and the leather sheath it was in had started to rot away.

But it was his, and maybe it could give him some badass Servant to boot. 

He drove to the address on the paper, only getting lost once trying to take a shortcut along the way. Eventually, he arrived at the empty square and headed inside past the cracked nonfunctioning automatic doors. 

Either a storm passed through it or a fight broke out, because the whole place was wrecked and filled with debris. A long gash wrapped around the entire store, with overturned shelves and carts all slashed in half in a manner that looked way too clean to be anything natural. Obviously, none of this was natural, but….

“You’ve accepted our invitation, then?”

The shadows spoke in a shrill, cocky voice. Emerging from the darkness came a young man several inches shorter than him. He was dressed in a black suit lined with gold, and the insignia of an eagle was branded on his shoulder. The man strutted his way over to Griffin, staring straight at him with green eyes shimmering with some sort of electricity. Smoothing his dirty blond hair back, he remarked, “call me Quentin. I’m the heir to—”

“The Rambert family. Famous and rich modern day aristocrats who’ve served New York for years. I-I read your stupid invitation or whatever.” Griffin waved the parchment around in his hands, only to realize that he just yelled at the heir of a rich and powerful family who could probably sick the fucking mafia or something on him. “Uh…I mean, yeah, I’ll be in your Grail War.”

“I’m a bit honored you know me.” Quentin stood up straight and bared his chest out in pride. “Then again, everyone knows me.”

“Why are you here?”

“To observe the birth of a new Master, of course.” They replied. “It’s not everyday that one gets to be in a Holy Grail War.”

Griffin wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with any Mages, much less the famed Rambert family. He was immediately suspicious, and all of his brain’s alarms flared up with every passing second, but it’s not like he had a choice. If he rejected, there’s no telling what they might do to him. Though if he accepted, there was also a chance that Quentin might kill him on the spot. 

His only choice was to do the ritual.

He glared at the man but tried his best to continue as usual. He laid out the parchment of the summoning circle and placed his old sword in the center. Quentin raised a brow at it and said, “you’re trying to summon a Saber, then? Going for a strong Servant from the bat, aren’t you?”

“If it helps me win, then I’ll do whatever.” Griffin stepped back a few paces and held up the paper with the incantation. With a catalyst, it made the whole process much easier, so all he had to do now was start the ritual. 

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let fire and brimstone pay tribute. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate!”

The moment he started the incantation, energy poured out from his body in the form of flames that burned the parchment away, leaving the now glowing shape of the summoning circle. Quentin’s face was illuminated in the light, giving his cold expression an eerie glow. 

He continued. 

“Let it be declared now. Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.”

His sword trembled, absorbing the summoning circle’s energy before shooting out a pillar of pure light up into the ceiling. A gust of wind shoved him back, but he managed to keep himself from falling over. As he spoke, a deep voice repeated his words moments after they left his tongue. 

“From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!”

The light promptly disappeared in the blink of an eye. The energy surging through the summoning circle faded away like embers crumbling off firewood. It was just him and Quentin once more. 

“Did…it work?” He asked above the ensuing silence. 

Quentin said nothing but pointed at his right hand. When he looked down, he found a lion’s head branded on his skin like a tattoo. Its jaws were open in a ferocious roar, with eyes that pierced right through his being. It burned, but no matter how much he rubbed at it, they didn’t smudge. 

“Those are your Command Seals.” Quentin explained. “They are proof of your title as Master. They’re powerful spells that allow you to order your Servant to do anything, regardless of power or will, but remember that you only have three. Use them wisely.”

Suddenly, they started to ache even more after hearing that information. Did they really just freely give him the spells to give his familiar absolute orders? Griffin looked around the store, not finding a single person, and a part of him wondered if the ritual actually worked. HIs Servant was nowhere to be seen. 

“I…uh, don’t know what to do now.” He murmured in a feeble attempt to fill the silence. 

“What we do now is kill each other.” 

Griffin choked on his spit. He stumbled backwards, tripping on an empty cart and falling on his ass. Quentin approached him at a snail’s pace, but it didn’t ease the fear creeping into his throat. “Wh-what?”

“With you, our final Master, the Holy Grail War has officially begun.” Lightning crackled between his fingertips which he clasped together, smiling with bloodlust. “The objective is to kill six of the seven Servants, but considering they’re much more powerful than regular humans, it’d be easier to target the Masters. Starting…with you.” 

Oh fuck. Oh shit. He was about to die. Griffin Fogarty was about to die. He tried to move, but found himself paralyzed by the growing static electricity in the air. His nose hairs burned with the scent of ozone as clouds gathered above them. Quentin snapped his fingers, sending a bolt of lightning to strike the ground in front of him. 

At first, he thought the man just had bad aim, but the sound of footsteps growing closer behind him told Griffin that it was done on purpose. It was a signal. 

He turned his head to come face to face with a spear flying straight at his chest, held by a warrior in silver armor. His brief, miserable life flashed before him, and it only made his impending doom feel even more disappointing. After trying so hard to turn his life around after losing everything, this was where it all ended. 

“Pick yourself up, Griffin Fogarty!” That same deep, echoing voice spoke both in his mind and in reality. Milliseconds later, a sword, his sword, deflected the warrior’s blow. The wielder was a samurai, or at least someone dressed in the thick plated samurai armor that he’s only ever seen in movies. Despite his sword being a standard European style longsword, they wielded it similarly to a kendo player and used it to parry the silver-clad warrior’s strikes with their spear. 

The samurai stared at him with blood red eyes, almost like a demon. His words shook Griffin to his core, like they were commands etched into his very being. “Your life shall not end here. Be brave, Master.” 

All of the fear and horror that froze him in place melted away. He pushed himself to his feet and looked over to Quentin’s direction. The man furrowed his brow in anger, yet he didn’t seem surprised by anything that happened. “Lancer! Distract that Servant, I’ll take care of him.” 

Electricity gathered in Quentin’s hands as he prepared a spell, but the samurai was much faster than that. He kicked the other Servant, Lancer, in the gut and sent them flying all the way across the store. Then, they were gone in the blink of an eye and reappeared right in front of Quentin, striking them in the nose with the butt of his sword. 

Their spell fizzled out as they stumbled back clutching their bloodied nose. Quentin glared at them as Lancer ran to his side with his spear pointed at Griffin. “Alright, you pissed off the wrong guy. Servant or not, you’re still outnumbered.”

The air shimmered as dozens of men with assault rifles appeared from the shadows aiming their laser sights at him. His Servant took up a defensive position, holding up an arm in front of him as some sort of shield. They then huffed and said, “I assure you that you are the one who is outnumbered.” 

Plumes of smoke swallowed up the men as the sounds of fighting ensued. Seconds later, when the dust settled, figures cloaked in dark blue clothing that blended in with the darkness stood over the now unconscious gunmen. For the sake of his sanity, Griffin ignored the blood staining their katana. 

Lancer took one step towards them before Quentin ordered them to halt. A smile formed on the man’s face, almost seeming satisfied as he applauded Griffin saying, “I must admit, you’ve outsmarted me. What may be a setback to my parents is a job well done for you. You’re one step closer to winning the Grail.”

“Is the Grail a trap as well?” He asked, “is all of this one big elaborate scheme?”

“I assure you that the winner will receive their prize in the end.” They answered, grabbing onto Lancer’s forearm. “I can’t assure you that I’ll help you, though. Maybe the other Masters will be willing to cooperate. Outside of us, there are five others that you will have a chance to meet tomorrow.”

Griffin tensed at the sound of meeting the other participants in this war. He couldn’t help but imagine Mages equally as powerful as Quentin, paired with deadly Servants that could take down a hundred men without so much as lifting a finger. His own Servant’s eyes burrowed into him as they said, “be calm. I will protect you with my life.” 

He gathered his courage and forced out his fears through a heavy sigh. “What do you mean by that?”

A few seconds passed before they replied, “a banquet will be held at the Rambert estate outside of the city. This will be your chance to assess the competition and for us to celebrate this momentous occasion. Please, try to wear something fancy. There’ll be a strict dress code.”

“B-but I live in a van, you think I have the money for a suit and tie?”

Quentin shrugged, “not exactly my problem, now is it? I don’t have the time to help you anyways. Being a Rambert’s pretty busy work. Come on, then, Lancer.”

With the loud crackle of thunder and lightning, the pair vanished. As his adrenaline faded, so too did his energy. He fell to his knees clutching at his chest trying to catch his breath. His Servant then pulled him to his feet and gripped him by the shoulders. “Are you alright, Master?”

“Y-yeah, thank you…for everything, and all that.” Griffin managed a smile. “So, you’re my Servant, huh?”

The samurai nodded before sheathing Griffin’s sword and hanging it at his waist, right next to the far sleeker curved katana. They bowed deeply as they said, “you may call me Saber. I shall be your blade from now on, Master.”

“Uh…just call me Griffin.” He laughed nervously. “Master’s…a bit weird of a name.”

“Lord Griffin, then.”

He had a feeling that was the closest Saber would get. Griffin motioned for them to leave the store, and as they did, he couldn’t help but eye the shadows wondering if those men from earlier were still in hiding. “Uh…Saber, where’d all your guys run off to?”

“They are my Noble Phantasm.” He explained. “I can summon them on command to fight and spy for the both of us.”

“Um, mind if I ask what that is?”

Saber nodded. “We Servants are Heroic Spirits, phantoms of figures of the past and fiction. We are given special abilities known as Noble Phantasms that represent the legends that we are known for. Some may wield holy swords, like the legendary King Arthur and Excalibur, while a samurai such as myself is given command over three hundred men. In turn, you are also given that same privilege.” 

Griffin’s mind wandered off to a certain BBC show of King Arthur, and how the king definitely sparked an interest in him. He threw that thought away as he slid out of the store and into the parking lot. The sun had set, bringing with it the blanket of night. He didn’t like being in parking lots at night outside of the gas station he’s basically called home for years. It was so dark, and sometimes eerie as well. However, Saber had such a strong presence that he felt the need to be strong as well. 

“Do you have a name, Saber?” He asked. “Your…real name. I don’t remember any samurai named Saber in history.” 

“It is just a cover name. There are seven classes of Servants in a Holy Grail War, and Saber is one of them.” They answered once more, and Griffin suddenly felt bad for asking so many questions to a man who only just came into being a few minutes ago. “My True Name…the name I was given in life…is Hanzo.”

“Hanzo…that’s a much better name than Saber.” Griffin laughed, throwing open the door to his van and sliding into the driver’s seat while allowing the Servant to rest in the back. “I’m guessing these True Names are supposed to be kept secret?” 

Saber nodded. 

“Huh…must be weird, you know, to never be called by your name. I wonder if you Servants ever forget who you were back in the day.”

No response. 

Griffin was beginning to see how most of their conversations would turn out. He hid his disappointment and drove out of the square, suddenly doubting his actions and the future. Perhaps most importantly, he began to doubt whether or not his wallet could handle having another mouth to feed. He could survive for today, sure, but what about the coming days? What about the literal suit and fucking tie he’d have to buy for tomorrow?

He decided to go and ask his friends tomorrow for help. They were all rich anyways, or at least they had homes unlike him, which Griffin considered wealthy enough. Too tired to do anything else, he pulled into the gas station, headed inside to fetch another pre-packed salad and a chocolate chip cookie as dessert, before flopping onto the mattress in the back of the van. 

Saber observed him as he wolfed down his food with reckless abandon. Griffin felt a bit awkward since he’s never exactly had guests in his van, but he did his best to ignore it. 

“Are you sure it’s safe to be out here, Lord Griffin?” Saber questioned, eyes roaming the nearly empty parking lot with a hint of unease. “We cannot be stuck out in the open like this, when there might be enemies at every corner.”

“It’s the safest I can manage.” He answered, “considering I don’t have a place to go other than this ol’ thing.”

Griffin proceeded to bang on the van’s walls, causing Saber to freeze and then slowly nod. “I see…so you have no home?”

“I’ve been living on the streets for a couple years now, ever since my parents died and their house burned down.” Griffin cleaned up his hands with some hand sanitizer before stuffing his trash in a plastic bag to throw away in the morning. “All they left me were this van and the tools they made, before I had to sell those for money. That sword I used to summon you is the only thing I couldn’t sell.” 

“It is a fine sword.” The Servant unsheathed the blade and held it up against the light pouring out from the gas station. “Whoever made this holds great potential as a craftsman.”

His chest burned with pride hearing those words, and he smiled, sitting up a little bit straighter. “Thanks. It’s the first sword I made that earned my parent’s approval. I could probably make a better one now, but…a blacksmith can’t exactly do his job without the tools, and buying those tools takes money that I obviously don’t have.”

It was the worst thing about his situation. If he just had the tools, he might just be able to start earning a living for himself. But in order to do any of that, he needed money, but he also needed money for food and paying for his phone or gas and all the fucking things homeless people still deal with despite not having a home. 

“A blacksmith?” Saber questioned, “there’s far more to you than meets the eye, Lord Griffin.” 

“Heh…yeah. My whole family line made their legacy as blacksmiths.” Griffin hung his head and conjured up memories of his childhood. The roar of a furnace and the constant hammering of metal always sounded so comforting to him. For a long time, he could never fall asleep without hearing the sounds of fire crackling in the background. “We made a lot of things…and I sold them all, just to get enough money to survive.”

In hindsight, it was a bit dumb, but he was a dumb teenager who didn’t know how to survive on his own. 

They sat in silence. Griffin shifted around before eventually laying down on his bed and wrapping himself as best as possible in his blanket. It was getting late, and if he wanted to wake up early to get that suit, then he’d best sleep now. Maybe it’ll give him a bit more time to dream as well. 

“Rest well, Lord Griffin.” Saber said. “My men and I will keep you safe, both you and your dreams.” 

He heard the Servant exit the van and shut the door. Normally, Griffin was still paranoid sleeping out in the open like this, even with the door’s locked, but today felt different. Then again, not everyone had some badass samurai and his retinue of three hundred ninja to protect them. 

As his eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, Griffin fell asleep, and he fell into the warm embrace of his dreams where his mother and father still lived, and a place where he wished he could live as well.

[maki-makis]

I haven't seen many comments on Due Vite (Italy) and it's in my top 3 this year (yes, I am that person who falls for typical sanremo ballad™️ every year, sue me), so, here it goes:

I've really wanted to hear this song because it was overhyped and practically pronounced winner of Sanremo before it even started and then I did and thought - that's it? that's what the hype was about?

Heard it 5 times during the festival and didn't like it one single time, said to myself: oh well, I guess it was about time for me to dislike the winning song of Sanremo.

The next day, having already assembled my Sanremo playlist, I've excluded Due Vite. It was eating me inside though, so I've finally caved in and gave it another listen...and another...and then one more. Essentially, at that point, I feel like I've listened to it like 15 times and it still hasn't clicked for me.

Then, the following day, I have no idea what happened, but it just kinda became my favorite song overnight? Maybe it was the Stockholm Syndrome because I did imprison my ears with that song the entire previous day, but, I think I've just stupidly resisted this song because it was really hyped and I didn't feel the hype when I first heard it so I've scratched it off altogether. When Sanremo ended and it all settled down a bit, I was able to actually enjoy the song for what it is.

And it's one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. What's even more beautiful is how you can feel him living through every single note. I assume this song means a lot to him, you can tell from the lyrics that it's very personal, but especially from his live performance, where I feel he left his soul on that stage.

I still don't know what the song is exactly about, because, like I said, lyrics is very vague and feels too personal for anyone but Marco to know what it's really about, but, he did say this: "Due Vite is my neverending story. It's a journey from a phenomenal to a subconscious world. There is a dreamlike imagery, of course, and somewhat fantastic. There are also moments and pictures of my real life."

The way I interpret this song is that it speaks about the constant fight with oneself. "Due Vite", two lives, one that you live, one that you feel and the battle between the two. The way he sings it is sad, but at the same time angry and desparate, at moments bittersweet; you believe him that he's fighting with himself.

There's quite a bit of lyrics dedicated to not being able to sleep, or simply not sleeping ("and you don't sleep/and where will you be?/where are you going?/when life goes too far/all the running, the fighting, the mistakes you make/when something upsets you") and it truly encapsulates that feeling of tossing around in your bed at 3am, not being able to sleep and thinking about every single mistake you've ever made, every single mistake you're going to make and not knowing where to go or what to do.

Whenever I listen to this song (and that's literally every day), I get the feeling that he's struggling through the entirety of it. Not sure how else to explain it, but I feel as if I'm listening to someone living through a panic attack alone in the middle of the night while trying to calm himself down, yet it's getting progressively worse anyway.

To summarize this insanity: Due Vite sounds like an inner monologue of a person in pain. And whenever I'm listening to it while sad/anxious, it sounds like my inner monologue.

So, yes, this song has been quite a journey for me; it went from: "my least favorite Italian entry of the past decade" to one of my favorite songs of this year's Eurovision, if not my favorite.

[rrking]

Me who never posts on Tumblr

Also me in my notes:

Not being funny I have a legit fantasy involving being pounded in the back of a Hummer truck after I saw that in an adult film LMAO

This is just a story based on that but from the perspective of someone quite closeted and inexperienced, I've been using writing to navigate my own feelings and this was one of the pieces

Plot: Girl in late 20s has first experience with real intimacy with her boyfriend in a car, (it's a nice car mind) after most of her life being afraid or avoidant of sex and intimacy. The boyfriend is a well known actor, which only adds to the uncertainty - and he knows this, but he tries to convince her that he wants to be together and he wants this, because he's just a person too.

Most of the story is her thoughts and feelings as described by her spiralling internal monologue.

❌NSFW❌

❌M/F PAIRING❌

❌DESCRIPTIONS/MENTIONS OF PREVIOUS SEXUAL RELATED TRAUMA❌

(I was groomed by an older man online when I was 16/17. I'm trying to heal from this even ten years on and that's part of the reason I wrote this.)

I can't believe I agreed to go up this stupid mountain with him. I already hate being stuck in a car, but how we're stuck at the top of some fucking mountain in the middle of nowhere.

To be fair, I would have said yes to anything considering I'm flying home tomorrow, and... Well...

LA looks beautiful from up here. I can see the entire city, from the centre to the stacked rows of houses on each side. I can see his house too... Maybe even our house, one day. What a dream.

My boyfriend is an actor, one of many trying to make it in Hollywood.

Well, he's already 'made it', actually. That's why I was so confused when he took any interest in me. But I don't see him as some big shot actor. He's just... Him.

Genuine, laid back, smart and funny - he even has a (good) sarcastic sense of humour which, I've honestly never known of in an American national. Oh, he's good at playing guitar and singing too - a talent I never thought I would truly appreciate. He likes the same obscure, terrible bands that I do - but not in an obnoxious way. We connected through music mainly, but our mutual love of sport was the first connecting bridge.

Then, there's the fact he's a bit older than me... Quite a lot, actually. About 11 years to be exact. It doesn't bother me so much because I've dealt with older men many a time - they're easy for me to attract apparently. Talk about being born in the wrong era. They say I'm an old soul.

But he isn't like that. He's kind and mature and caring... All the things that those men in my past masked themselves to be. There's no manipulative tactics being used - he's just one of the guys.

I mean, I was kind of surprised when he didn't find it weird or emasculating for me as a woman to enjoy and follow major league baseball to the extent I do. I had only been in the loop for around 2 years at this point, but I have developed a clear interest in it - and apparently, we even have the same team.

I felt such a connection the first time we spoke about the players and other teams.

He gets me.

The man points to a large building with specks of light hitting off the glass. It's one of the biggest in the city - his talent agency.

"That's my office. Pretty clear from up here, huh?" he asks, smiling as he looks over at me from the steering wheel. Wow... He's so handsome, especially when the sunlight hits his face just right.

"I've never been a fan of heights but... This looks cool," I reply, sweeping my eyes along the skyline. I want to remember this view forever... Even if it doesn't work out between us - which it never does. I've never had much luck when it comes to dating. I always guessed I just didn't have an attractive aura or I was just... One of the guys. I was never tomboyish or anything, so I always wondered where this unwanted masculinity came from. I have PCOS, which could explain some of it, I suppose. I try not to think about it - because that's when my thoughts turn dark and I begin thinking I look like a man when I don't want to.

Amidst my rush of thoughts, I feel him staring at me, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It makes me swallow and my body prickles anxiously.

"Whatever you're thinking... Please just say it," I whisper, feeling my heart beating faster. I bet he can hear it. "You're making me nervous."

He takes a deep breath, trying to mask his own awkwardness with a smirk. My guy is awkward in a cute way. He's clumsy and just does dumb shit without thinking - this week he pretended to spray something fruit scented into his mouth and actually did it by accident - remarking the false advertising because it tasted perfumed. I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed too - this loud, cackling clown laugh - and we continued laughing together, way into the day because it kept being brought up and we couldn't stop.

That thought quickly dissipates when I feel his hand reach over to brush my thigh, bare since I decided to wear a casual dress today. I panic, beginning to ramble about anxiety when he gently shuts me up by leaning close and teasing my lips with his. He always kisses me like that... I've never been kissed that way before. There's always a short, featherlight pass of his lips on mine - and sometimes that's the best part because my lips are so sensitive. Even something as simple as shower water grazing over them can set me off if I'm in the mood for it.

However, I've yet to decide if that's just his move or if he specifically targets me because he can tell I have such sensitive lips...

"Shhh..." He whispers, gazing into my eyes and reaching up for my jaw. I'm melting. I'm honestly melting.

"You wanna make out in the backseat?"

Ha. So American. No asking if I fancy a quick shag - no way.

I blush at first, but grin and laugh. I feel more comfortable around him now, I just lack confidence. Inside of me somewhere, is a sexy, fiery phoenix trying to get out... They just need some serious coaxing.

In my mind, the answer is already yes. We've made out many times before. It comes a bit more natural to me now.

I've wanted to get to fourth base for a while, though. Definitely, before I go home - but I'm just so unsure. So scared.

I'm a virgin.

I don't feel good enough - this guy could likely get any woman he wanted, I mean, he's rich, he's well known and well liked... he's probably dated literal models - so why settle for the likes of me?

However, I tuck that in the back of my mind, deciding to push myself to do this despite the gnawing, tugging feeling in my gut, behind my belly button. I've never had sex with a real person before - but I can't let him know that. Not when I'm as old as I am. He's about ten years older than me, sure, but I feel like that makes it worse.

God. I bet he's had so much practice over the years. He's probably slept with tons of women. It makes me feel so anxious. What if I'm not normal? What if I'm not up to their standard?

Does a beautiful model fuck different to a normal chick?

Finally, I clear my throat and reply, realising I haven't yet. He's so patient.

"Go on then, you first," I smirk, gesturing to the back. He presses a few times for the radio to go up just a little more, likely to put me at ease a bit, then squeezes through to the back seat. He's pretty skinny, so it's hardly some full on crush to get in there.

I'm next, getting my wide hips stuck a little on the way there, but ultimately laughing it off. Hopefully, that just makes me look all cute and not absolutely fucking goofy. I've got a fat ass as well, and it gets wedged into everything.

Stretching my arm to place my purse on the seat in front, realising I've brought it with me, I've barely even sat down before his skin is touching mine.

Holy shit. That's contact.

Warm hands touch my chubby thighs, cold from wearing a dress in November. The way he smooches me within an inch of my life - I can tell he's been holding back, by the way he's feeling every inch of me with his hands, beneath my clothes and along my thighs and ass, manoeuvring me into the position he wants. As I moan into his mouth, his tongue slips out and begs entry. Of course, my lips hardly put up a fight. I've slowly learned to let my hands wander over his arms and shoulders, to make things seem less awkward. He taught me to do that. Actually, he really enjoys it when I do that - it seems like something so simple, but it makes such a difference.

Oh... He laughed at first, telling me what a terrible kisser I was - he didn't believe me when I told him I'd only kissed a handful of people in my life.

"Huh? A cute face like that only got kissed like ten times?" he told me. He is such a patient guy, and an even better teacher. He's the one who taught me how to mould my lips to his without judgement. That's probably where he discovered my lips are sensitive from so much as a touch.

Without really thinking, I get brave and sling my leg over his to sit in his lap, facing him as we snog each other in the backseat. His hands are still feeling me up all over, moving only between heavy breaths and taking special interest in my black panties beneath my dress. I made sure to wear some good ones all week, just in case.

The seats are shuffling beneath our combined weight as we flit around in one another's arms, struggling to find a position that is comfortable to sustain and relaxing, too.

My body clearly feels so comfortable with this man, so why doesn't my spirit? How is a man supposed to calm a woman's spirit? Can he even do that?

I think he can. I swear I've fallen in love with him over this last week. Coming to America to hang out with him has been the best idea I've ever had.

I must have been zoning out and flagging a little since he pulls away briefly, instead trailing kisses down my neck towards my collar, sucking on my skin and forcing a louder moan from me in response to the pain.

I huff his name, and he unlatches, going to do another even deeper than the last, immediately.

"Mm... That fucking hurts..." I grumble, breathing through it with a bitten lip. I'm anaemic, so he probably shouldn't do that, but I don't care. I'll suffer the consequences later.

"Can't have you flying back without a piece of me," he smirks, nipping at me some more. Why is he so good at that? He's clearly enjoying it too, because I can feel his body reacting beneath my thighs.

"No, I suppose not," I giggle, making the mistake of matching his kind gaze. There is a spark between us. It's like our souls are speaking to one another.

Like he actually loves me. As in, the innermost me. I have never seen such an empathetic look in all my days... Could I really be loveable in that fashion after all? His hands are saying they want to break me, the way he's digging his fingers into my hips, pulling my skirt up some in the process... but his eyes tell me they want to save me, hold me, love me, take me... All together and all at once. Perhaps I'm thinking too deeply into this, but I've never felt this way. He makes me feel strange, like I'm going to die, but I just can't find it within myself to break away - because he also makes me feel so good.

Edging forward, he kisses me again - but with a different intensity from before. It's slow and passionate, far less feverish than initially. Fingers creep along my back, gradually coming down to my front, over my thigh and towards the inner part of it.

He hovers there, awaiting consent.

This is it.

I don't even give it because I swear I would be exerting more energy trying to speak. I just feel for his hand and guide it to my tingling mound as we kiss, trying to focus more on kissing than the delectable stroking of his slightly calloused fingertips in my panties. (He tried serenading me earlier in the week with his guitar, and of course I told him there was no such need... But I always wondered what calloused fingertips would feel like on the most sensitive areas of my body... His singing was cute too, of course. He sang something he performed in one of his first films.)

Along with the heightened sense of belonging as I squirm a little bit now beneath his ministrations, occasionally breaking the kiss to gasp or keen as he explores what works best, the lids of my eyes are beginning to droop slightly as I slip into what can only be described as heaven.

He's clearly used his hands before for things other than picking at strings and button mashing video games. My stomach pulls taut as one finger starts sliding its way inside me, somehow able to fight so gently against the raging seas that are my narrow walls. Initially, I tense up, but then remember I need to relax in order for it to work. He must have felt the sudden tightening, since he eases off for a moment.

"No, no..." I insist, taking a deep breath and shutting my eyes. "It's just a new sensation... I'm fine."

He seems a little guarded, but I've done this before with my own fingers and other such objects. The calmness just doesn't come very naturally to me. I have to remind myself at first that the initial discomfort is only temporary. However... Giving control over to another is different. I cannot control his fingers, all I can do is trust that he is patient and gentle with me - which I imagine he will be.

"You sure?" he says lowly, looking at me as if he's searching my eyes for some kind of celestial answer.

I'm sure.

With this, he continues to delve deeper into my velvet trap, watching my subtle facial changes and kissing my neck as he works his full finger inside to the knuckle, pumping it in and out gently. I'm so embarrassed, swearing I can feel his fingertip all the way up in my pelvis. It feels divine. I'm squealing because I can't help it and it's having such an effect on him. I think he's... Enjoying it. Getting off on it even. Then he speaks and that confirms my suspicions.

"Hm, wow... Noisy."

Oh. My. God. No. I want the car to just crush me, Optimus Prime style. I'm so embarrassed - but he's not. He's just grinning. That stupid grin. I swear that's what even pulled me into this situation in the first place.

There's a second finger poking my entrance. I change expression for a moment, but initially take that in, too. I don't know what the hell he's touching or how he's flexing his fingers this way, but I'm feeling actual sparks in my abdomen. I definitely can't get my fingers that far in. It feels amazing - and this is ONLY his fingers. I'm so hot and bothered, biting my lip. How am I even coping with this right now?

"Hhhaaa, fuck..." I moan breathily, whinging as I reach up to grip the carpeted ceiling of the car, my painted nails scraping over it as I arch my back into him.

"Is that alright?" He whispers, looking up at me with that same, longing stare from before. You can always tell when he wants something, because he has this thousand yard stare with a hint of softness - to anybody else, it would just look fucking creepy. But to me, it speaks pure desire. He's actually getting off on ME.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No..." I whimper, letting my head hang back as much as I can and trying to ease back some more, leaning back against the rear of the front seat and providing more room for him to work. Well, as much as I can. He's a skinny guy, all things considered. I'm short and round, so my thighs don't quite straddle over him completely.

There's a disgusting noise now beneath my dress which I can hear and feel but not see. It's making it so much worse. I am flushed. He is flushing. He's staring at my face and my bitten lip, trying to kiss my teeth away and stop my sound muffling.

"Oh my god, that's so good..."

I'm sure as hell flushed to fuck, redder than a lobster.

Oh, but that's nothing compared to my slutty whining. Despite my eyes being shut, I can feel his stare on my face, a toothy grin blooming on his lips as he watches me pant with bliss. I've only ever done this to myself before, so having someone else do it is tantalising. I never imagined anybody would be able to do such a thing. I've wanted this guy for a long time and that's possibly making this experience better than ever.

Slowly removing my hand from above my head, I slink it down between us, rubbing tight circles on my clit to propel things forward a bit. I'm tired of waiting. He's such a tease, and I am not used to teasing myself. I want this now. I need it now. I'll die if I don't cum on those slender fingers.

His lips press gentle kisses to the arm across me as if to encourage it away, and I feel myself growing closer, my ribs rattling against my chest.

"Ahh, shit... That's it-!" I squeal, biting my lip and still trying to muffle the noises coming from my throat to no avail. He's just panting, staring, appreciating.

"Ughhh, god... I'm gonna cum..." I try to warn. That's another thing I've never been particularly good at. Often, it just happens before I can stop myself.

But I'm too loud and he's breathing heavily, clearly more experienced at this than I am despite being unable to hold his own moans back as he works his fingers between my legs.

"Fuck... That's hot," he husks sensually against my ear. The sound of his American drawl and the feel of his beard is enough to send me over the edge.

Finally it happens, that gush coating his fingers in slick. I'm shocked at first, even embarrassed.

What if other girls don't cum like that?

Why am I even thinking this way? He wouldn't put himself through this if he wasn't even the slightest bit attracted to me, right?

I'm clawing into his neck right now.

He definitely doesn't seem phased... Not by my noise or my wriggling. Especially once the sparkles of my orgasm hit and I feel some... fulfillment.

However, I know that if he keeps up, I'll be unable to stop cumming - and I'm not sure I want to show him that side of me yet. After years of learning myself I've gotten to a stage where I know how far I can push myself.

Oh god, if he finds that out then... Then, he might beg me to stay in LA and I'm just not ready for that sort of commitment yet either! What would I tell my family? What about my life in the UK?

I know in my heart I would leave it all behind.

I'm still struggling to get my head around the fact that someone with such a following has taken an interest in someone like me.

I don't belong in Los Angeles. As much as I want to. As much as I want to belong with him. It's not like he belongs in my country either, really. His life is here. His job, his family, his friends... His shitty football team.

I mean, perhaps if he convinced me I was the one piece left that he needed...

Once my walls stop spasming, he gently pulls his digits out and that's what pulls me back again. Kissing me deeply, he takes care not to wipe his wet fingers on my clothes. Always so thoughtful. It actually brings me from my deep thoughts back into the real world and what's happening right now.

Going into his coat pocket, he pulls out some tissues he stashed there earlier, probably at the local coffee shop or something, making me giggle on his lap despite still being out of breath. He's so smart, sensible and mature. It's so him coded. I love it.

"That was amazing..." I gush breathily, craving more. I've started the obsession. I fucking knew this would happen. I'm going to be gagging for him on my flight home.

It feels a little easier now to push forward into uncharted territory, though.

Maybe, I won't look like a total fool trying to bounce and grind on a real dick for the first time ever... It can't be anything as embarrassing as the times I've tried in my bedroom, surely?

His hands trace the curves of my waist, seeking more, so I sigh and lean back, trying to remain calm. Full lips are peppering sweetness all over my neck again, making the skin of my cheeks heat back up.

"These marks suit you, y'know," he smirks. "I think I like them."

Why, oh why does he keep going for my neck?

"I want you..." He whispers, working me perfectly. Hearing it from HIS lips hits different.

This time, I waste no time and lean through the front seats again, rifling through my purse for some protection I've had stashed in there for a while. I have an allergy after all - another weird thing about me I figured nobody would want to deal with - so I just brought my own hoping it would help that burden. Maybe he'll just think it's some budget brand or something - god, why so I think so stupidly?

Oh no. It turns out men like it when you come prepared. It's a sexy thing. His eyes light up, and he looks between me and the packet with a gritted grin.

Holy hell...

With a hefty swallow, I place it into his hand. I'm not being lazy, I'm just submitting, I suppose. However, I reckon I would genuinely screw up this whole encounter somehow, so my external unease is probably obvious.

"I've been keeping these in my purse," I admit quietly, giggling nervously as I just try to say anything to fill the silence.

"Okay," he says simply. He says it in the dorkiest fashion, with the dorkiest, most clueless look on his face.

"W-Well I want to use it!" I stammer, waving my hands.

"I got that part, sweetheart," he teases me with a sly, mocking simper. The pet name honestly gets me feral. I need him now.

"Look, listen. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

He still doesn't talk. Instead he just takes my chin and pushes it enough to tempt my lips with his, choosing to encourage me physically. I'm not used to this. Not that I've ever really been outwardly judged before for such a thing, but why isn't he judging me?

Did I not explain properly?

"I've never done it before," I admit, blinking. Here it comes... I'm waiting for the distaste. The lecture about how I'm a walking red flag.

But it never comes.

"Cool."

That's what he says. He just smiles. He just nods. He laughs a little, but it isn't malicious sounding. It's more of a cute, excited laugh. A dorky laugh.

"I have to admit, I don't think I've had sex with a virgin since I was like, 19," he smirks, breathing a little more paced. "Oh man, this is gonna be kinda exciting."

He's such a dork. Is he seriously getting excited about this? I feel immediately more comfortable, even bursting into laughter myself. I feel so silly.

"So, you're not put off?" I ask, touching my red hot cheek.

"Put OFF??" he squawks, letting that goofy laugh he does rip from his throat. It's so not forced, which is how I know he's genuine. I love it.

"Hell no," he smiles, shaking his head and leaning close enough where my gaze crosses a little and I hold a breath. "No. No way. This is actually super cool!" He sees me swallow, and immediately lowers his chirpy tone. "O-Oh! I'll be gentle, I promise! 19 year old me remembers how nervous I was," he smirks.

A sigh. I think I'm in love.

"I-Ia'm not sure I want you to be gentle, honestly..." I huff, gazing into his eyes and explaining that I've built up a collection of toys over the years due to being perpetually single and generally untrusting of other people.

To say I'm surprised at his reaction is an understatement, once again.

He looks extremely ecstatic. He's buzzing. It's as if I just told him his birds scored a touchdown - because they're that shit.

"You seem aware of what you want. That's good. That's helpful," he explains, even gesturing with his finger as he speaks. "Less trying out weird stuff to see if you like it, y'know?" There's a pause, and his face softens up again. "I do care about what you want, you know."

I smile. If I wasn't so cautious and guarded, I would have grabbed him and kissed him there and then. But no... I have to go and make things weird.

"Hmmm... Well... Let me see. I can't do cowgirl on my knees, as much as I would like to. I have to squat because I'm so small. Um... What else..."

He laughs light heartedly, hardly bothered.

"How do you find out a thing like that?" he squawks through that laugh again.

"Oh, there's ways around that, honey," he insists huskily, and the serious tone in his voice paired with his scheming smirk does something to me.

He looks around, considering our surroundings. I mean, he seems to have a plan in mind. Clearly, this is not his first rodeo. These Capricorn men, man.

"Hm. Y'know, it might be a bit difficult with you on top, anyway. In here, I mean! I reckon you're small enough to lie back here," he instructs, trying to move enough to let me sink back onto the bench seat sideways. My legs are pretty short, so I'm able to hold them up around him, his skinny frame nestling between my ass and the side door. "And I'll just slink in here..." There's a rustle of clothes and a clang as he pulls his belt off, just enough to pull his trousers and pants to his knees, the rubber in between his teeth as he adjusts himself and takes me through what is about to be my first time. Wow, he looks so handsome when he's concentrating. I could lose myself in this face.

I wasn't expecting him to get undressed so quickly, though.

"Y'alrigh' 'own 'ere?" He mumbles, teeth getting in the way of his tongue as he speaks with the wrapper in between the white gnashers. Multitasking.

I go to speak as he sheathes himself - and REALLY wish I fucking hadn't. My eyes widen, since I can't seem to emote inwardly, and I see the size of what he's packing. It's different to how I expected, and I can't shake the image off. The slightly above average size isn't even what I noticed first, it was the weird twitching. I've never seen a real dick before. I'm grossed out, but also intrigued. He looks really swollen. It must be so uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," I huff, trying to think of something to blame to avoid looking like some super virgin at my age. (Despite the fact that's the truth, really. I never imagined as you got older, the prerequisite to being attractive went from sleeping with hardly anybody to at least knowing what you're fucking doing...)

Pulling his hoodie over his head, he exhales briskly as he throws it into the front, clearly getting worked up. He's really fit, especially his arms. I know he isn't stupid but... I hope he isn't expecting some fit little body under this dress.

"I promise that it LOOKS bigger than it is," he laughs, seemingly okay with dissing himself. Maybe it's his mature age, he's not some silly little boy anymore. There's no need for him to be insecure.

"I'm just... So embarrassed," I breathe, trying to save myself from further embarrassment. He doesn't seem concerned and I find it hard to believe. Taking my upper arms, he holds me up a bit, looking into my eyes as he sort of pant-talks.

"I promise, it's gonna be fine, I'm just... So... Fucking... Hard," he sighs, chuckling darkly and hanging his head. "I've wanted you for... Ages. And... This is what happens with long distance relationships, I suppose. I've not been with anyone for a few years, either."

That much is true. He lives here in Los Angeles, and I live in England. As much as I want to give up my life and spend the rest of it with him, I have some other responsibilities that I couldn't just drop and leave.

"Well, let's um... Let's go, then," I say, trying to shuffle back down with a face on. He takes the hem of my skirt and hikes it up, before remembering this is supposed to be my first time. Pulling his hands away, he holds them up in a surrender.

"Oh, I can do this right?"

I giggle breathily, agreeing with a nod.

"Um, okay. Cool," he says, his body clearly struggling to keep up with his brain. Pulling it up to my waist, there's a small gasp. A large hand moves to my hip bone, running over it.

"Wow, you've got really pokey hip bones. This is gonna bruise," he chuckles, continuing to stroke over my soft curves.

Taking a deep breath, I brace myself, most likely giving him a submissive look without thinking. I really don't understand why he's being so kind to me. Does he actually love me or does he just want to sleep with me that badly? Are all men like this? Is pokey hip bones weird?

I don't know why I think like this, and whilst he's always there to ping my fears back where they came from, it still haunts my head.

Taking initiative, I lie back some more, pulling my panties to the side and trying to adjust my position to make things more comfortable.

It's now or never.

He leans in, sensing my unease. Being sure to touch his lips to mine before letting the rest of him rub me where I'm sensitive, it's enough to make me huff a gasp into his mouth, and I almost scramble back at the sheer contact. Seems he was expecting that, though. He mutters some sort of horny praise, running his hands along my thighs slowly before gripping my hips and pulling me upwards to help the transfer. I wrap my fingers around his wrists, preparing myself for what is inevitably going to be a very uncomfortable stretch if it's anything like using a toy. Remaining close to my cheek and teasing my skin, he mumbles something about how I look uneasy. I appreciate that he is trying to make this as easy as possible, but it's also annoying me that he isn't just getting it over with. Like, just bang me already.

"It just always hurts the first time," I whisper quickly, to which he turns his head to kiss my mouth again. I can't admit to him that I've never taken a real dick. I just can't. He knows but I can't say it in this moment.

Rubber dicks aren't the same as real ones, but at least they don't talk back or judge you.

"It won't hurt if you trust me... I promise," he swears, gently pressing the head of his cock against my folds to test the waters.

As he pushes, it doesn't even slightly work the first time - if my vagina didn't make sure of that, my nails buried in his wrists sure did. He can tell how fucking nervous I am, my heart in my throat leaping out from under my skin.

"You trust me, right?"

I don't reply. Yet, he STILL seems unphased, simply huffing lightly and attempting the push again. It's a little easier this time, but he still isn't quite getting past the tight little ring of muscle yet.

I look away and shut my eyes, completely trying to detach myself from the moment, just for a second. Maybe that will help my body loosen up.

But he isn't going to allow that. He wants this to be the most beautiful, sensual experience... Even in the back of his car.

I just don't want to look stupid - that's if I haven't already.

"Hey," he whispers, brushing his crooked nose against mine and trying to bring me back into the present. "You need to relax, or this isn't going to work," he pants, his face flushing.

Taking the pad of his finger and gently swiping it over my damp folds, he keeps trying to talk me down. My jaw drops without me thinking, but he keeps talking.

"What are you scared of?"

I can't speak, especially not when he's now swirling his finger over my sensitive bud. It works some sort of magic and I feel as though my muscles are forcibly collapsing around him.

"Huh? Tell me. Are you scared it'll hurt?"

No. I'm not scared of that. I've fucked myself tons of times.

He asks if it's being discovered - a copper or a hiker maybe...

Ha. No. I don't really care about that, either.

Then what is it?

"I thought you might judge me... And it would be awkward and I'd just be..."

"Be what?"

"No, I can't even say it."

He cocks his head, following my every move with his eyes.

"S-Stop staring at me," I mumble, gawping up at him. He does this intense, creepy stare.

"I need to know what's on your mind before we do this."

"Why?"

"Because, it's a special thing. I don't want you giving it up for someone just because you feel like you have to."

I swallow. His hands stroke my knees, trying desperately to settle me somewhat again. He isn't just 'someone'. He's 'the one'.

"I've always been afraid of intimacy. Letting someone get close to me and seeing me so vulnerable," I admit. "Someone hurt me a long time ago and it's left me a little messed up."

"Do you trust me?" He asks seriously, staring into my eyes. "This isn't that big of a deal, I promise. Or... We can just stop." He smirks a little, trying not to laugh incase it has the wrong effect. "Believe me, in about ten minutes you'll be asking me why you bothered because it isn't that great," he giggles, making me giggle too. I do trust him.

"Alright," I sigh, feeling a bit more prepared. I lie back, tilting my hips up a bit to help the angle.

Taking the moment, he manages to inch in just enough to start breaking the wall down. I shift forward some more to help bridge the gap between us and trying to work out what the best angle is for this to execute properly. The groan that leaves his lips is the most spectacular sound I've ever heard. It's like a mix of absolute desire and relief.

"Oh my god... Fucking hell..." He grunts breathily, struggling to keep his breath level. "Aghh... That is tight. Wow. Okay."

"Sorry... Sorry..." I apologise with big eyes, not realising I'm just making it worse. He pants some kind of cute response back, along with a laugh.

"No, it's not bad! You can't help it. It's... Really fucking good, actually..." he slurs, trying to keep his hormones in check. "I-I-I take back what I said... You... You feel fucking incredible..."

Pulling right back, he thrusts in again, building up a slightly stuttered rhythm because he's so excited. I'm taking it, trying to stay relaxed but also squirming because it feels so fucking good. Having someone else drive into you is way better than trying to drive into yourself and having your arm get tired.

"Fuck, I've wanted you like this all week..." He groans between huffs, sounding absolutely desperate. "Well... Longer than that, really. Every time your name flashes up on my phone, I..."

He trails off, biting his lip as his brain finishes the sentence but his mouth doesn't. Wow... I've never felt so desired in my life.

I can't help my noise, but I swear that's what's actually getting him off and not the feel of my tight pussy.

"H-Harder..." I wail, gripping anything to steady myself. "I usually go harder on myself," I stammer, to which he complies, holding my hips to keep me close enough and stop it slipping out. There's the most disgusting slapping sound amidst our tandem moans and groans, but that's the last thing on my mind. His cock dragging along my walls is making me feel feverish. This is the experience I wanted. Mutual understanding and excitement.

Grinding my hips a little, I feel his face burying itself into my neck, like he's trying desperately to think of anything else and avoid finishing just yet.

"I ain't gonna last in this, babe... Jesus..."

I can barely reply, instead just moaning back with shuddered breath. Holding his head, I card my fingers through his hair and arch my back as pleasure begins building up in my core. He's slipping off the seat on his knees, so brings his leg onto the footwell to steady himself.

Then he calls my name.

"Get on your front for me, it'll be a bit easier," he says, pulling out for a moment to help me change position. I twist and bring my ass up, also using my foot in the footwell to try and steady myself.

"Like this?"

"Like that," he hums gently, holding my hips and pulling his meat between us again. It goes in much easier this time, and I'm liking this position. This is making me start to howl a little, my whimpers louder and louder as I use my hands to avoid battering the car door with my face when he thrusts into me.

I know he's fucking way too deep, but I don't care, it won't be like this forever anyway. As I think that, he finishes, groaning into my body and catching his breath.

Honestly, I would have been happy to leave it at that, despite the emptiness as he pulls out of me. However, he gently rubs my puffy lips with his fingers, causing me to shudder and almost jump a mile because I wasn't expecting it.

"Sorry! Sorry," he gasps, laughing into his hand. "I keep forgetting how jumpy you are.

"It's okay..." I mewl, my pitched voice muffled by my arm. My legs tremble as I approach another orgasm, his slow strokes helping me to calm down weirdly enough.

"I just wanted to finish the job, you know?" He torments, shaking his head from behind me and leaning forward with a chuckle.

"Yes..." I hiss, concentrating so he can rub me to completion.

"That's it," he praises gently, watching from behind as I bury my face into my arms and start wiggling my hips, silently begging him to hurry up.

We sit there in comfortable silence. I snuggle into his side, falling asleep in the warm car.

"We should probably be getting back soon," he says gently, stroking my hair. I hum some sort of response, and he calls my name.

"What?" I grumble, scrunching my nose and trying to go back to sleep against his soft hoodie.

"I said, I ought to be getting you back soon," he repeats, smiling. "You can't be falling asleep on me. I'll think you're cute and want to keep you," he teases, running a hand over my head. His voice sounds a tad sad. He's clearly upset about me leaving for home tomorrow.

"If you wake up, I'll go through the McDonald's drive thru on the way back," he persuades, laughing when I perk up at the thought of food.

Perhaps he really is the man of my dreams.

[floatingvibesquish]

Today I talked to people I didn't know, and today I also didn't talk to them. I was over at a friend's house helping her cook food so that it could be captured for a cookbook or something and a photographer came over and instead of introducing myself like a normal person I pretended I didn't exist. He came over and asked if I was cooking. Instead of taking my second chance to be a normal human and say something that made sense I was like, "I mean kind of, I'm chopping vegetables" but more stumbly and confused. And then that was the end of our conversation. Then my friend came back and asked if we'd been introduced and then proceeded to introduce us. Of course he said, "yeah, she said she's chopping vegetables." After about 2 hrs of being there he started letting his weirdness out. He's a weird person but he's so beautiful. As I walked out when I actually looked at him and said " it was nice to meet you" apparently my vocabulary is very limited because that's what I had said earlier when introduced. But his eyes are so pretty. They're pretty and they're like so kind or something. They have a lot of expression and depth. I think I'm in love again. People are so beautiful, I keep on being overwhelmed with like warm fuzzies.

Later today I was out cleaning my car and the UPS guy came and from afar asked if the dog was inside because she usually greets him. I was like "yeah" ... "we got a new dog" and that must have sounded so weird because the conversation just ended there. I had our dog inside to keep our puppy company because she doesn't like being alone and that's why I mentioned that we got a new dog but in the context I used it I feel like it makes it sound like we replaced our dog or something. Like oh yup that one's gone, we have a new one now.

I laugh but I don't know if I'm actually amused or if I'm concerned and broken.

Later today I was standing around in volunteer firefighter training. I don't talk to the people there much. One of the guys came and stood beside me. Then it seemed like he was about to say something to me. He glanced at me and did the whole talk breath thing a few times. Why couldn't I just say "hi"? That about to talk or maybe not talk thing is so relatable, so why couldn't I just say hi. Then he talked to me and I answered and I wasn't sure if we heard each other. It was the how are you how are you good thanks thing and then silence. So then I said something random. Then he told me why he was a firefighter and it involved people dying. I didn't know what to say. I fumbled. Pause. Then he mentioned his stroke or something. We talked for a very little bit. I asked someone else a question that came up about something and then someone was kind of where I'd been standing so I moved but then I felt bad because I don't know if we were still talking and what if he thought I didn't want to talk to him. I should have asked him how it had been after his accident or something but I didn't. And that's how I leave so many things and it makes me so mad. Because I wanted to talk to him so why did I leave?

Later today the puppy pooped on the floor and someone stepped on it. Then they didn't clean it, instead they came and told me (the only available person around) that the dog had pooped as if I was some sort of cleaning duty collector. In their monologue to the air preceding that they said they weren't cleaning it. I want to be a happy to do things person but I just find myself wondering why they didn't take responsibility for that. Why couldn't they just scoop it up and clean?

I stalked my old crushes on social media today and I realized I'm not enamored anymore and it's kind of sad. They're still beautiful people but they don't look the same without the glaze my admiration provided.

So I fell in and out of love today. I loved myself and then I ended the day confused again. I feel broken and lost again. But the weird thing is I think I heard the lady I was helping today tell me "you don't have to be afraid" and I was confused but quite honestly I probably do seem scared of people. I don't know, but honestly that's actually really good. I don't have to be afraid. I'm free. I love you.

[variousqueerthings]

reaaaaaaaaaally into your read on ghost!bob there, taking that onboard!

me and @gjdraws having some fun little discussions about messed up gerrard ideas... idk if they would make it into a fic, but i have a little smthin about fraser potentially being kidnapped by gerrard (a role-reversal of the episode essentially) and ray and meg have to team up in order to save him, with dief leading the team and being very done with their bickering because he knows that fraser is in serious danger and they're making everything more complicated by having their Drama (i feel like ray and meg are in a fun, strange place of not Getting one another, but having fraser as the connective glue between them, but still having to find other common ground). ANYWAY! how fucked up can gerrard be? well, according to this fic idea... quite a lot............

subby fraser is so Ingrained in my psyche now, but i'm sure one very good fic could push me in another direction. in my heart and soul though, that man needs someone to gently take care of him (in a general way? kinky way? sexual way? idk, you decide) and also maybe some ideas around "earning comfort through pain, but make it a kink-scene...." (the other fic im writing with meg and ray finding commonality in fraser) (which reminds me you sent some interesting Stuff to go through, will do! enjoyed the elf and shoemaker fic immensely!)

ohooooo i like what you're saying about "gauging fraser" in this episode. @gjdraws was saying something similarish about basically gauging if fraser would be ok with ray killing him, which... either way ray is that simpson's meme (as gj also said)

THE TAPE RECORDER! THE NOTES! THE ARREST ME RAY BIT! AND THEN RAY IMMEDIATELY BAILING HIM OUT! "SHOOT ME IN THE OTHER LEG" I AM DYING HERE!!! (married)

WHAT! WAS! THE! LOVE! THING!!!! I mean obvs it was this beautiful and sad acknowledgement of how bob let his son down (in many ways), which I remember back in my s1 musings being like "oh i bet they'll never go there" and they DID, so HAHA! (but also ouch). but then panning to ray????? what?????? am i supposed to infer??????? also this leads neatly into another bit I wanted to add which is the monologue when he's trying to get his knife from where gerrard's dropped it:

THE WHOLE MONOLOGUE IS SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I need to read it properly in the transcriptions again, because 1. obvs it serves as a distraction, 2. SO INTO how fraser points out that men are unnerved by talking about feelings, when that was how he was raised, but he's very good at holding space for others (himself is ofc another matter, but it's not for macho reasons, like he's basically saying about these other men), and also he and ray are incredibly emotionally vulnerable with one another, which is part of what makes this show so enjoyable, but it also makes me think about fraser and gender again, i should make a whole post on fraser and gender (some like it red rewired my whole fraser-and-gender brain) 3. the way it ties back to what he was talking with his father about earlier!!!! the layers of this monologue/distraction/confession/comedic-yet-maybe-quite-serious speech moment really brings the episode together (and also, once again, fuck you gerrard)

anyway, ray and fraser:

things in that episode

obviously angry fraser is. ohhhh boy. i kept saying hot and it's not not per se, but it's also... not that. it's unsettling. a man wearing the wrong skin, and who seems to know this too and feel unsettled in himself as well. it wasn't so much an "i hope this doesn't awaken something in me" moment as it was... simply wrong. but youknow. glad we got to see a little more of those boots. a million people in-universe sighing in disappointment that this man isn't a top. or a dom. or even that interested most of the time

goes interestingly back to vault of course, the acknowledgement of fraser's "selfish" emotions (that everyone has, that he shoves down down down) coming to the surface, and any person would go "hey buddy it's not unreasonable to feel hatred toward the man who was your dad's best friend, who betrayed him and got him killed, who then tried to get you killed as well, who had no respect for the ideals that you have dedicated everything to..." some anger is to be expected

speaking of wrong, what was ray hoping to achieve by giving fraser carte blanche to murder a man! ray, bby, you know fraser would hate himself if he did that. you know he'd immediately give himself up and plead guilty and throw the book (all the books) at himself forever and ever. i know you mean well, but don't try to entice the man to commit The Crime Of Murder. he almost had a panic attack fake-stealing milk duds in the previous episode!

i do wonder about the way gerrard has shifted a bit in this episode from "guy we know who committed a specific crime (over a number of years) who at the very least tried to get fraser's dad in on it (whether or not he succeeded at least a little bit hovering as an eternal lack of catharsis - one of many in fraser's life), whose crime is geared more towards that casual cruel governmental corruption and lack of care and environmental racism, and who was somewhat cowardly about the death of fraser's dad to the extent that he paid someone else to do it (and where there's so much government scandal involved in the catching that fraser had to be exiled to chicago)" to "guy who has committed many crimes from the sounds of it and was actively working with crime bosses to do smuggling and who is very very callous/real career criminal about it" it's not that they can't mesh, but that i do think pilot!gerrard has more grounding to him/the realism of that story than the gerrard we meet here. a nitpick, but one i may continue to pick at just to make it fit for me

but yeah ofc fraser throwing the knife was hot. too bad neither ray nor meg saw it, they would've 👀👀👀👀👀👀

(also they really gave the both of them some good beatdowns this episode huh. i was gonna say "poor ray" until i remember fraser has now been stabbed and shot twice in the same leg)

(also ofc fraser's ghost!dad is real, but he's really real in this episode huh. but also he appears when fraser is distraught, as he tends to do, which makes you think he's also fraser allowing that little "selfish" part of himself to have a voice, but also that part that beats himself up about not being good enough, but also if that's really fraser's dad.... your old man's kind of sub-par, I've got to be honest. you're better than he ever was bby)

[hmspogue]

Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that. 

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me. 

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused. 

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions? 

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught. 

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you. 

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike. 

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong. 

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what? 

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting. 

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏 

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time. 

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah. 

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident). 

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft. 

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug. 

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first. 

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.  

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me. 

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

[pure-kirarin]

Slow & Steady [P2] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

Genre : Romance - Smut - Bestfriends to lovers General warnings : Alcohol consumption - Dark themes - Swearing - S m u t - possessiveness - Mention of ex-relationships - jealousy

A/N : This is really different from my usual writing style but I am experimenting. Please tell me your thoughts and don’t hesitate to ask to be added to the tag list :) AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31877203?view_full_work=true

In the last chapter --  «-Enough playing now, you're going to sleep. -B-but ! This wasn't what I asked for....You're really a coward after all...You virgin... » He carried you to his room, putting you on the bed and sitting next to you. «-I'd love to prove you wrong. However, it would be better if you were in a state where you'd be able to recall how good I am. If you want me to fuck you this badly then maybe ask me when you're sober.

Part I - Part II

Part II  -Yeah yeah...Pff..You're no fun Sabo. Things were finally getting interesting ! »

He smiled seeing that you were now calmer. You started to yawn and bury your face in his pillow. He loved to see you getting so comfortable in his room. He really needed a cold shower after your little show.  -Goodnight (Y/N). I'll sleep on the couch. You can get comfortable. -Are you crazyy ? You gonna leave me alone like this ? Let's sleep together~ -Come on (Y/N), you're a big girl. You could sleep alone for one night, would you ? Translation : I don't want to spend the whole night with a semi. And you're dangerously flirty, and I have wanted you for years and now I have to abstain.

-Pleaaaase. You said looking at him with puppy eyes. He rolled his eyes placing a hand in his hair. God.damn.it.

You won again. Like every time. * * *  You opened your eyes hardly next day, feeling something hard against your thigh. You looked at the ceiling

Oh...I am not in my room...Where the fuck am I ?

you turn around only to discover the embodiment of Adonis to your side. A light beam was lighting up Sabo's face. He looked like an angel as his beauty couldn't be that of a human.

Was he always this handsome ?

You didn't know, in fact, you have never had the occasion to wake up in his bed. Wait, in his bed ? This realization came slowly as your head was still foggy from yesterday's consumption.

You looked down, the thing that was pressing against your leg was indeed :

his thing.

You frowned, blushed, pulled away, put a hand on your lips repressing an internal scream, all of this in around three seconds. You then tried to calm down, telling yourself that it was very normal for a man to experience this kind of morning unconviniences, and that Sabo was a man, after all. Even if  you have always seen him as a bestfriend, he was still a man that is capable of physical attraction.

Now that this internal monologue was done with, you felt a bit calmer, but that didn't answer your question. You got out of bed, trying to recall what happened after going in the bar. And it came back. All of it. Without any mercy for your feelings.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Your only wish was to disappear which meant : calling Nami. You headed out of the house, not even having the courage to face your bestfriend.

« Namiiiii -Uh ? What's the matter ? -I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. -Oh yeah ? Tell me about it. -Wait, why do you seem excited ? -O-oh I'm not excited. Come on tell me. What else could you have possibly done ? -I asked Sabo to fuck me. -Wait what ? You could hear Vivi ask Nami about what happened and her answering « She asked Sabo to fuck her ». -Nami ! Don't go on telling everyone about this. I'm on my way. -For starters, Vivi isn't « everyone », she's my girlfriend. And I'm here waiting for you to tell me what happened. -Wait, I'll come at your place. This can't be discussed over the phone. »

You hung up on her. Ten minutes later, you were at her place. Extremely confused. Nami was painting her nails bright red on the bed while Vivi was sitting comfortably on a chair. You let your whole body weight fall on a lounge pug, tourmented.  «-So tell me how you and Sabo ended up fucking. She emphasized the last word in a way that made you almost choke on air.  -We didn't actually. Nami and Vivi both sighed in a synchronized « Ah » of disappointment. -So hmm...I don't remember clearly. I was really drunk-- well that you're aware of and...And Sabo didn't want to leave me alone so we went to his place. Ace was at Thatch's so we were alone. We hugged and he comforted me. Then I started teasing him, and I don't know what I was thinking, but I kissed him, and then I asked him to fuck me. -Wow that escalated quickly. Said Nami as she continued painting her nails.

-Well, I was heartbroken, I needed something, someone, and he was there, and you know Sabo, he's a good guy ! I don't know what's worse, the fact that I asked him to fuck me or the fact that he said no.

-Oh god I'm so so sorry

- Nami please don't make things worse for me.

-No offense, but you're so dense. Sabo has always been into you. Do you want him, or do you not ? I know that going right into a relationship after a breakup is a bad idea. But honestly it's worth giving it a shot. He's a really good guy. Try dating someone nice for once.

-I don't know, he has something unsettling about him. Like « almost too good to be true » you know ? Added Vivi.

-Ohhh~ I see. Honestly, I always thought that he was a bit prude and hella vanilla. I mean, yes, he's my best friend. But he has never talked about girls to me or about sexual stuff. So I just assumed that. I never thought that he'd be packin' like that. You said as you popped a lollipop in your mouth.

-Ah ? Was it really that impressive ? asked Nami, genuinely curious.

-Yeah. On a scale from 0 to doflamingo he's a solid eight point seventy five. (*)

-Oh gosh. I understand why you're so worked up now.

-That's really...precise. Added Vivi, a bit horrified.

(*) [ The dear reader might need this clarification ; Doflamingo was Law's uncle, he sometimes came to pick him up after uni with his luxurious lamborghini. He wore extremely tight pants that left little to the imagination. And he was most known among your clique for having a nine incher. It was a running joke wether to know if Law got his uncle's genes. Needless to say that this joke wasn't to Law's taste. Now back to our adorable Y/N. ]

-So. I really don't know what to do. I am still heartbroken. -And horny. Added the ginger. -Yeah, that too. I'm afraid of ruining our friendship. -Listen dear, said Nami as she was closing the nail polish bottle, if you're not going for it, someone else would. And trust me, that girl Koala is upping her game. She's going to steal him right in front of your eyes, just like this - and she snapped her fingers. -Oh, and then, you can forget about being « best friends ». Said Vivi adding fuel to the fire. -Yeah, once he's gonna start dating, he won't have too much time for you-- and then, that Koala girl, my god, she seems extremely possessive ! -No way, your voice was detached, trying to act is if you weren't worried, Sabo has never dated any girl before.- -Yes but he seems to get along with that girl. And to be honest, she's kinda cute.

-Nami ! Vivi pinched her forearm playfully, pretending to be jealous.

-That hurt ! And don't be jealous, you know that you're my only one~

-Hmm...I prefer that. Vivi laughed. You started caughing reclaiming for their attention.

-Attention please ! We're discussing my dick-appointment here.

-Jesus you're really annoying, (Y/N), just go for it already.

-How much did he pay you to tell me this huh ?

-What ? He didn't pay me ! You're just always getting your heart broken. I'm just trying to be a good friend.

-Say that you are trying to get rid of her~ Jokes Vivi.

-Vivi, don't expose me like this- Nami plays along while laughing.

-I hate you girls ! You say as you throw a pillow on Nami. The ginger starts complaining that you messed her Nail polish, and the whole scene metamorphosed into a pillow fight.

* * *

You spent the whole day with the girls, chit-chatting about boys and girls and playing stupid games. You felt way more comfortable now, less ashamed. However, you were surprised because you didn't get a message from your bestfriend. You wondered wether he was mad at you, it wasn't in his habits.

You decided to message Ace [click for conversation] [ (Y/N) : Heyy amigo is Sabo ok ? Did he tell u smth abt yesterday ? Ace : Ouch, your hurting my feelings, </3 Only talking to me to ask about my brother~ Yea hes okay why tho ? (Y/N) : Ooo kay. He's home ? Ace : He is. Why don't u directly text him ? (Y/N) : Don't tell him I asked. Btw I didn't forget about those 10 bucks you « borrowed » from me. Give it back.] He didn't answer. You sighed and decided to go see Sabo to settle things down. It was the first time that you were embarrassed to see your best friend. You dressed up in a black skirt and t shirt. You didn't usually pay attention to your looks when you went to hang out at Sabo's, but you were really stressed out and what the girls have said about Koala made you scared of losing him. After all, you had some abandonment issues. You had to settle this down once and forever. You arrived at the guy's place, it was an apartment not so far from your own student flat. You knocked on the door and Ace opened : -Ohhh, (Y/N), he whistles, lookin' like a girl today huh ? -What are you implying you dumbass ? Where's Sabo ? -He's in his room with Koala.- -Wait what ? Koala ? What is she doing here ? Ace raised an eyebrow then said amused ; -I don't know, go ask him yourself. -You're useless as usual. -Always so sweet. You on your period or something ? -I didn't forget about my twenty bucks by the way. -I said I'm goin' to pay you back alright ? Now go talk to Sabo. You and Ace were always teasing each other in a brotherly way, but in reality, he really cared for you, it was just your usual way of communication. But it was true that knowing that Koala was in Sabo's room put you in a bad mood. You knocked on the door with a knot in your stomach. Did they start dating ? Was Sabo interested in her ? These ideas were torturing you. But why did you care anyways ? It was none of your business. He could date whoever he wants. You opened the door but there was only Sabo relaxing on his bed, still fully clothed. « - Sabo ?-Oh, (Y/N), what brings you here ? -Why ? Do I need a reason to see my best friend ? He sits on bed looking at you. He doesn't fail to notice your cute outfit, it was different from your usual sweatpants and hoodies, the way it complemented your figure was almost too much for him. Just that sight was driving him insane, but his face didn't betray his emotions, like always, he acted friendly, not an ounce of lust in his dark ebony eyes. You took place next to him. He smelled good, you thought. The same fresh minty smell as last time. Did he always smell this good ? -(Y/N) ?Huh ? Is everything okay ? His voice seemed concerned.He cared for you. And you had those stupid immature and posessive thoughts. Get a grip of yourself, (Y/N), you thought. -Oh yea-- wasn't Koala here ? Ace told me you were with her.

You tried so hard to act like you didn't care, but he knew you like the back of his hand. But still, he played along. -Hmm..Yes. She just left. I was going out as well. He says with a sweet smile, looking at his watch. You couldn't help but make a disappointed face. -But Sabo I wanted to - I'm really sorry (Y/N), let's talk later. He ruffles your hair and you close your eyes as he does so. You felt stressed out. What happened exactly ? You felt intimidated in his presence for the first time. You wanted him to stay and talk this out. It was a bit awkward for you now. You never thought too much. As he was going out of the room you held the fabric of his coat tight in your hand ; -Sabo- -Hum ? Need me to drop you somewhere ? -N-no. You let his sleeve go, realizing what you have just done, I'll stay a bit then go back home. Don't worry about me. -Alright then. See you later ? -Yeah. See ya. ]

You looked at Sabo go away and you followed him shortly after. Meanwhile Ace was sitting on the couch and watching some movies. You went back home and was quite tormented. It wasn't the right time to worry as you had your assignments and studies to deal with. On one hand, you didn't even have the time to think of your ex boyfriend and his cheating but on the other, you felt like you were let down by Sabo. But why ? He didn't do anything. He just found himself a new friend and a potential new girlfriend.

He didn't even talk about her, but why where you so upset by him meeting her ? After all, he had the right to date just like you always did.

A few days have passed and you didn't get the chance to talk to Sabo. Your exams were getting closer and closer and you didn't feel ready.

Usually, Sabo would help you with your assignments but you were too scared to ask. You realized how much you relied on him and how he has been always there for you.

Who were you exactly to him ?

Maybe you took him for granted.

As you were on your bed looking at the ceiling and trying to collect every drop of motivation in your system to study, you heard your phone ring. It was Sabo's ringtone ! ----- Tag list : @vemuabhi @chloe-abbacchio @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping If you wanna get tagged just ask for it :)

[poguesofthebau]

paranoia

summary: meeting dylan einstein, a genius forensic scientist from indianapolis, musters up some unknown insecurities about your relationship with reid. however, morgan-- and reid, once he figures it out-- isn’t willing to let you think that way. warnings: mentions of bombings (as pertaining to the case)

word count: 3k pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: set in season 10, episode 14, this one was requested by @koc-help! as per usual, it took me forever to write, so i hope you can forgive me for that and enjoy what i came up with!! 

bombing cases were stressful. it always seemed harder for you; figuring out a motive, pushing down the overwhelming sympathy for the victims, convincing yourself that all of your team members were safe. because of your unshakable paranoia in the wake of those cases, you were already on edge by the time the team was boarding the jet to indianapolis. and, of course, spencer caught on to the way you were feeling almost immediately.

with the limited information the team had at that point, conversation about the case was reasonably brief. the file was reviewed and discussed, and hotch delegated a role for everyone to take when the jet landed. when the conversation came to a lull, you slid out of your seat, tossing the manilla folder onto the leather before moving to the back of the jet to make a cup of coffee. jj and derek’s voices were audible as they continued to spitball off of each other, masking the sound of spencer approaching where you stood. “hey,” he called to you as he neared. having been enveloped in the chatter your other friends were creating, you jumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. when you looked up at him, his eyebrows were raised in concern at your reaction, immediately making you recoil into yourself. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathed, pulling the coffee pot out of its place to pour the liquid into your empty cup. “i’m fine.”

“that’s not very convincing, you know.” you turned to face him then, sighing and internally shaking the dread away. “what is it?”

“i’m not a huge fan of bombings,” you said sarcastically. spencer scoffed a laugh at that, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as you continued with a bit more seriousness. “just a little worried. it’s nothing, spence.”

“i’m not used to seeing you worried in this way. are you sure you’re okay? i mean, do you want to talk about it?”

the soft-spoken concern in spencer’s tone along with the expression he was looking at you with warmed your heart. if there was one thing that could take your mind off of a murderous bomber, it was spencer. your eyes flickered over to the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying any attention to you and your boyfriend huddled up in the back of the jet, before you leaned up and pressed your mouth to spencer’s. the kiss was quick, but it was also just the reassurance that you both needed. “i promise, i’ll tell you if i need to talk. for now, i just want to get this son of a bitch and go back home.”

being present for the disarming of the second bomb only worsened your initial paranoia. the thought of an explosive device made you anxious enough; having to stand your ground and comfort an intended victim while a bomb was armed less than a foot from you was a whole new feeling. you trusted morgan to clip a wire without killing you, but the adrenaline in the heat of the moment was hard to shake. it had been a few hours since the scene had unfolded, but you still felt like your heart could possibly jump out of your chest at any moment the morning after the disarming. despite the underlying terror running through your veins, you were critically analyzing everything going on around you. your focus was completely dedicated to the case unfolding around you, because the sooner you cracked it, the sooner your thinly veiled fear would dissipate.

you were digging around in the bed of the pickup truck while einstein, the local forensic scientist, examined the bomb itself. out of your peripherals you saw reid and morgan approaching, but the bulk of your energy was going into analyzing the scene as best you could. your boyfriend’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds as he neared, immediately gauging the nerves you were trying so hard to conceal. reid made a mental note to address that as soon as he could get you alone, but fought the urge to do so right then. spencer knew you well enough to know that, no matter how freaked out you currently were, your mind was concentrating on the scene before you, and anything else would simply be considered a distraction. he swallowed down the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of not being able to help you before tuning in to the comment einstein began to make. “he really went for a bigger boom this time.”

the short conversation that ensued between the two following that comment was something that shouldn’t have bothered you. you knew it meant nothing; reid wasn’t the only genius in the world who memorized excerpts from anarchy cookbooks or mathematical theories. just because some young, brilliant, beautiful girl knew the same book as spencer didn’t mean you had anything to worry about.

nonetheless, you became very worried about it.

you strolled around to the passenger side of the truck, sliding into the empty seat with a quizzical look on your face. “you know, it’s a wonder that he even realized he triggered the bomb.”

opening the driver’s side door as he spoke, reid slid into the truck next to you. “maybe he heard something when he stepped on the pedal.”

“and knew not to move? i mean, what’s this guy got, an ex-paramilitary background we don’t know about?”

the back and forth continued a few more times, and within a minute you and reid had developed the idea that allen archer, the bomb’s target, could potentially be your unsub. upon this conclusion, einstein spoke up again. “that’s what you guys do. you just talk a lot.” her voice was joking as the words left her lips, and a bright smile graced her face as she spoke. regardless of the playful tone you immediately identified, the words triggered something in you.

“well, there’s also a lot of kicking down doors involved,” morgan interjected from outside the passenger door, shaking you out of your internally-mortified state. you watched as einstein announced her departure then, mustering up a measly close-lipped smile in return to the courteous and friendly glance she offered you before leaving.

as she walked away, her words repeated in your mind. it was so simple for her to summarize; you just talk a lot. a woman so young and so intelligent had just condensed your entire career into a five-word sentence so simple that you couldn’t even disagree. was that truly all you were capable of? talking? bouncing ideas off of your coworkers’ ideas and hoping you’d end up catching the killer that way?

you spent the rest of the day arguing with yourself. in all honesty, your own inner monologue was starting to get on your nerves. despite your most sincere attempts to focus on the case in front of you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that  einstein was right. and maybe she was-- maybe your job was nothing compared to hers, and maybe she was a better match for spencer than you could ever dream of being.

this new uncertainty of your career and relationship definitely didn’t help to settle your previously established fear of being blown up at any given moment.

given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time until someone on your team noticed how uneasy you were steadily growing. they knew you. you were y/n-- sometimes stubborn, oftentimes overprotective, and always capable. sure, you had off days at work, just like everyone else. you weren’t always the one to solve the case, but you were always present and attentive, engaged in the investigation with your mind and body. however, right now, your mind was in two places at once. for that reason, you weren’t surprised in the slightest when morgan approached you at the station.

as you walked toward the conference room to find hotch, you were stopped by the familiar voice calling out. “hey, hold on little lady.”

“what’s up, morgan?”

morgan shook his head at that, a knowing look crossing his features as he began to speak. “nuh-uh. what up with you, y/l/n?” you threw him a falsely quizzical look, trying (and failing) to get him off your back by playing dumb. sadly for you, morgan was too good of a profiler and friend to fall for it. “don’t play with me, girl. i know cases like this always get to you a little, but i also know how badass you are. normally you would’ve bounced back from our brush with death by now, so what’s the problem?”

you squinted at him as your face morphed into dismay. of course you couldn’t fool morgan. your mind flickered to penelope, suddenly relating to one of her more commonly made complaints: damn profilers. “my first problem is that you might know me a little too well.” derek scoffed at that, waiting for you to continue. “my second problem? well, my second problem might be that i’m not smart enough, or maybe that spencer is too good for me, or maybe that our job is too easy, or maybe--”

“woah, woah, woah. slow your roll, little missy. ‘spencer is too good for me?’ where’s that coming from?” you blinked slowly in response, not quite willing to give up any more information than you already had. “fine-- i’ll figure it out myself. let’s see: you’ve been acting weird since we got this case, but that’s not what this is about. i’ve seen you on bombing cases before, and this ain’t that. so... oh, i know. is this about a forensic scientist, maybe? maybe one who has the same name as a very smart, very famous--”

“okay, morgan. i get it. you’re a great profiler, and you know my thoughts better than i do. that doesn’t really change the way i’m feeling right now.” your tone was a little sharp, but the look in your eyes was a mixture of sadness and contempt. “and, in case you needed me to put it simply, i’m feeling like shit.”

a look of pity overtook morgan for a moment. he knew what you were going through. sure, he wasn’t dating a genius with an iq of 187, but he knew how it felt to doubt yourself, and especially how it felt to feel belittled for your work. “y/n,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching a little to get on eye-level with you. “don’t do that to yourself, kid. don’t forget how hard what we do is, and how important it is. you save lives every day. no matter how you do it, or how much brainpower it takes, there are people all around this world who are alive because of your work. whether they admit it or not, everyone has respect for that. especially our resident pretty boy.”

“i know, morgan,” you sighed. his hands slid from your shoulders as you finally gave in, looking him straight in the eye as you spoke. “sometimes it just feels like he deserves better.”

“just because it feels that way doesn’t mean it’s true. and i can promise you, reid has never felt that way. not about you.” after giving a comforting pat on the arm to go along with his final words, morgan was walking away.

damn profilers, you thought again. why are we always right?

before you got the chance to speak with reid, the team was off again. instead of splitting up this time, you were simply spreading out; hotch and rossi were scouring the crowd of civilians and news crews at the staged ceremony for allen archer, and the rest of you were divided into two suvs with morgan and kate in one and you, jj, and spencer in the other. your talk with morgan had lifted your spirits a bit, but there was still a tightness in the air as you sat beside your seemingly clueless boyfriend.

unbeknownst to you, spencer wasn’t all that clueless. not only had he caught on to your behavior long before anyone else on the team, but he’d also spotted you and morgan’s secretive moment from across the police station. (and, yes, morgan may have whispered “check on your girl” to spencer when you weren’t paying attention. he just wanted to help.) so, while you thought he was in the dark about your current insecurities, reid was very much aware of what was going on in your head. as much as he hated it, though, he was hesitant to acknowledge it with jj in the backseat and the rest of the team on comms. so, like the considerate boyfriend he was, he waited.

it wasn’t until you got back to the police station that spencer got the chance to catch you alone. everyone else was busy preparing to leave for the jet, the bustle of having solved yet another case causing an uplifting distraction for the team. while your friends were distracted, spencer grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into a nearby empty conference room. the surprise on your face was evident when he looked at you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you laughed nervously at his expression, not completely sure what he had taken you aside for. “hi, spence. you okay?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he admitted. “except, i already asked you that once during this case, and you weren’t very willing to share, so i was going to approach it in a more insistent way.” although you were amused by this mysterious behavior of his, you were still confused about what exactly spencer was implying that he knew. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice that you were upset?”

“no,” you said unconvincingly.

“y/n, why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation in his voice almost shattered your heart. the whole time that you’d been in your own head, spencer had been in his. all because you were scared to talk to the one person you trusted more than anyone in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, taking a step toward him. spencer’s right hand slid around your waist once you got close enough, and your forehead dropped onto his chest as you sighed. when you looked back up to him, spencer was already anticipating eye contact. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything. i just didn’t want to worry you, or to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong, because it’s not your fault, i just-- i don’t ever want to feel like i’m holding you back.”

“holding me back from what? you could never hold me back.”

“i could, though! you’re this amazingly brilliant genius, and there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than me, and i--”

“is that what this is about? you think you’re not smart?” you felt his hand tense from its place on your lower back, his disbelief clear in his voice.

“no, no-- i mean, i know i’m smart enough. but sometimes when we have cases like this we meet some really, really smart people, and i can’t help but wonder if you would be better off with someone on your intellectual level. someone like einstein.”

“y/n,” spencer seemed stunned at this revelation, and you realized then that morgan had been right. the idea of you not being enough had never crossed spencer’s mind. “you are the person that i’m better off with. you. i don’t-- i’ve never even thought of anyone else as a possibility since i met you. there isn’t anyone else. i mean, before i knew you, i wasn’t even sure that i believed in love at all. the only reason that i know it’s real now is because of you. i can’t think of any statistics of mathematical theories or scientific discoveries to explain or defend it, but i have always known that there isn’t anything for me aside from you. i mean that. no matter how smart anyone else is, or how cool anyone else is, or how compatible anyone else’s intellect is with mine. i love you, y/n.”

and, just like that, your fears were gone. your inner monologue went silent, and the serenity that spencer’s words brought you washed over your entire body. spencer’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. his free hand moved to the side of your face, brushing back your hair as he waited for you to reply. the anticipation on his face sent another rush of absolute love through you, and you quickly closed the gap between you. as your mouth met his, your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, slowly wrapping around until they were laced together behind his head. for what could’ve been an hour, you stood there, melting into spencer as his words of reassurance replaced the chants of uncertainty that had filled your head hours prior. you were forced to pull back from him eventually, but even then your hands remained around his neck and the distance between your faces was minimal as you reopened your eyes. “i love you.”

a knock on the door suddenly interrupted the moment, causing you to release each other as a third party entered the room: morgan. “hey, lovebirds,” he grinned. “nice to see that you’re back to normal. it’s time to head home.” you smiled knowingly at the man, lacing your fingers through reid’s as you followed morgan out of the room. grabbing your belongings on the way out, the three of you headed toward your designated suv, where jj was waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. “so, you finally confessed, huh?”

“of course i did,” you laughed. “no secrets in this relationship.”

“yeah, and i would’ve figured it out eventually anyway.” at spencer’s interjection, it was morgan’s turn to laugh.

“oh, yeah, 187?”

“he is a genius, you know,” you added smugly.

“well, apparently so am i, because i figured it out before he did. oh, and by the way, pretty girl, i told you.” and with that, morgan was jogging off (in a fit of giggles) to the suv, hopping in the passenger seat before you had a chance to jokingly scold him.

damn profilers.

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘Love Bites’ Vampire!Saeran Choi Drabbles

Hello! This is one of my slightly belated pieces for @mysme-rbb, which I worked on with the very, very talented and sweet @amagicalduckling <3 Their art is so beautiful and I’m honoured to have been paired with them for some Saeran pieces! Please check out @amagicalduckling for more of their beautiful artwork, they are criminally underrated!!  Tw: mentions of blood, biting, vampirism, rough kissing Will be under the cut after Ray!

Vampire! Ray Drabble

Ray was melancholic by nature, you knew that, but you’d never had been able to guess why it if hadn’t been for that fateful night in the garden. He always did such a good job of hiding his fangs from you and brushing his hair over his ears so you couldn’t see their slightly pointed tips. He always kept his distance as best as he could, never coming too close into your personal space. You’d assumed it was out of respect and the nervousness of overstepping the boundaries, this idea was always aided by the fact that he usually looked a little bit strained whenever he was in your company.

The way you came to find out about Ray was because you had foolishly pricked your finger on a rose that he had been trying to show you outside. With the beautiful arrangements only being illuminated by moonlight, it had been difficult to see what you were doing, and you’d placed your finger directly onto the little spike and yelped in pain. As soon as you had pulled your hand back, to indicate what had caused you to cry out, Ray had immediately brought his own hand up to his mouth and feverishly covered it. You were confused and thought that perhaps Ray was sensitive to the sight of blood, but it was when he turned to run from you that you saw the white, iridescent fangs peering from behind his lips. You saw them, and he knew that you had. Ray ran at top speed away from you, leaving you with the drop of the blood slowly dripping down the side of your finger.

You felt a little lightheaded from the sight and had to stumble your way over to the bench, a… vampire? Surely, such things like that didn’t exist. They weren’t real. They were myths. Folklore. Children’s horror stories to tell before bed. And yet, as you considered Ray, really thought about him, you realised how quickly it all added up. He was so pale, sickly looking even at the best of times. You’d thought that the prominent blue veins on his neck and wrists was a result of his pasty complexion, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. It also occurred to you that you never really saw him during the day, but he had always excused this fact as he must work arduously long hours and the only time he could find to get away and visit you was into the early hours of the night. While you supposed that there was at least some truth in that statement, it didn’t help the fact that it aligned with what you thought could be coming into fruition. Was he really a vampire? Had he been trying to hide it from you for all this time?  

And those fangs. Those could not be denied. They were the teeth of a predator, a hidden threat that he had tried so hard to keep a secret from you. So many questions raced through your head, and yet all you could worry about was where Ray was. He had left so quickly, clearly a bit distressed. You felt somewhat guilty for your own carelessness, but how were you to know? There was no way you would have guessed what was really happening here at Mint Eye. You had only been here to test a game, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, you felt anxious to be alone in the gardens at night, especially without Ray. Even if he was hiding something this serious from you, he was still the only person that you had gotten to make yourself friendly with. Well, in his case, more than a little bit friendly, but that was besides the point in that moment. You stood, trying to find your way through the maze of flowers and get back to your room but with little success. As you turned the corner, you spotted a figure at the other end of the path and it caused you to cry out in surprise, maybe slightly even in fear. It was Ray.

You’d never thought that the sight of Ray would ever frighten you, but as he stood there, pale and gaunt surrounded by the red flushes of rose petals, you had to wonder how you hadn’t realised it sooner. He looked guilty, and scared. So, so scared. You put your hands up to him slowly, asking if he was okay, but instead of receiving any sort of reply about his own wellbeing, Ray flurried out several apologies at you. He averted his gaze downwards, as though he felt as though he was no longer allowed to look at you directly for what he was. You stared at him as he spoke, focused on the slight protrusion of his sharp teeth over his lips. It was obvious that he had practiced speaking without making them visible, so you could only really see them if you were already looking for them.

‘Ray… It’s okay.’ You whispered, coming a little bit closer to him. He took a step back, moving his back up against the roses further so that he was surrounded by them. If it had been at any other moment, you would have taken the time to think about the fact he looked like a delicate portrait right then, the passion of the red surrounding his pale frame. But alas, you did not have that luxury.

‘It’s not! I scared you, oh how could I ever forgive myself! How could you ever forgive me for this! I should have been able to show more restraint… My savior was right, she’s always right…’ He replied almost frantically, to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was talking to you or telling you his own inner monologue.

‘M-My Savior said that I’m not strong enough yet, which is why I find… you difficult to be around. I want to be around you always but- she says you’re too tempting for someone like me.’

‘Too tempting…?’ You asked, a slightly unsure as to what he meant. That was, until he gestured to your bleeding fingertip, and it suddenly made more sense to you. ‘I don’t mind if you… want to be around me. I want to be around you too.’ You added, attempting to phrase it in the same way that he did, since he was clearly skirting around using certain vocabulary. It made you realised that there was a good chance that Ray was unhappy about the fact he wanted you in such a way. If he allowed himself to get too close, he would inevitably bring you pain.

As you stepped closer to him, you watched as he reached his own leathered hand towards his mouth, anxiously biting onto the tips of the fabric. He wasn’t just chewing it, he was really biting it, to the point you were worried he might hurt himself.

You were suddenly moving quickly down the path towards him, ‘Ray! Please, stop that. It’s okay! I’m not scared of you.’

‘I’m scared that I might hurt you!’ He almost wailed. You knew that there was an obsessive nature to Ray, which walked hand in hand with his melancholy, but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you like this. For the most part, he was tender-hearted and sensitive. Of course, he had room in that heart for hate, but yet, so much more room for sensitivity.

‘You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.’

‘Please, be more careful with who you award your trust to. I don’t deserve it.’ He replied, but pulled his own glove away stiffly, since he didn’t want to worry you any further. At such a distance, he had nothing to distract himself from the pull he felt towards your blood.

‘If you want it, take it. I don’t want to see you be so strained over this. I don’t know what’s happening here at Magenta, but I know that you’re good. And kind.’ You were at his side, offering your hand to him. Initially, he tried to move his body away from your hand and cover his teeth again with his hand, but it was evident that he was growing more and more needy by the passing second. You tried to assure him that it was okay and reached out a slightly shaky hand to his cold cheek. ‘And I want to help you.’

After a few moments of tentative consideration, he took your offer. Ray watched your eyes as he held your finger in both of his hands, as though it was something fragile, delicate even. He hesitated before bringing it to his own lips, the thin line of dark red suddenly giving a burst of colour to his otherwise exceedingly white pallor. He gently took the blood that was already at the surface of your skin, closing his eyes as he did so, but you couldn’t decide whether it was out of shame or whether it was to savour the moment between the two of you. You gasped as you felt the sharpness of his teeth graze against your skin before he let the tip of them bite into your soft flesh, producing more of the red he was so desperately craving. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be, but your heart was still racing, nonetheless. When he was done, he pressed a single, sorry kiss into the palm of your hand and apologised for hurting you, adding that he was undeserving of your pain as he wiped the rest of the blood away with a handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’d rather be hurt a thousand times over than for you to have to suffer even once…’ He whispered into the darkness of the garden. Not that he would feel bold enough to tell you, but Ray undeniably saw the poetry in tasting your blood. He’s ashamed of what he is, but he relished in the fact that you were willing to share such a vital piece of yourself with him like this. He entirely made a mental plan to carry the handkerchief with him at all times, as a token and reminder of this newfound connection with you.

Vampire! Suit Saeran Drabble 

Meeting Saeran was an experience unto itself, let alone processing the surprise you received in how differently he treated you and himself. Saeran doesn’t hide what he is in the same way that Ray did, he acts proud of it. A shining example of what Mint Eye could offer to people with the Elixir, but only if they were strong enough to deserve it. He’s the strongest Believer and the strongest Vampire produced from the Elixir, The Savior said it herself. She called him her ‘One True Offspring’. When you had asked what that meant, since Ray had never mentioned anything like that to you, Saeran had angrily snapped that firstly, he shouldn’t have to answer your questions and secondly, it meant that he had been turned using The Savior’s own blood in the Elixir given to him. That meant that he was special, and better than anyone else there. He repeated that a lot, but you were never quite who if he was saying that to you or to himself but he clearly made an attempt to believe it, at least for his own sake.

Saeran carried himself around Magenta so differently to Ray, you heard his footsteps from down the corridor when he wanted you to know to anticipate him and yet you never heard him when he suddenly appeared behind you. He was most definitely choosing when to make his presence known and when he wanted to startle you from standing silently around a corner. Saeran certainly disproved to you the lore that Vampires needed to be invited into rooms in order to gain entrance, as he came in whenever he pleased. He never hid his fangs either or tried to cover his ears either with his unkempt hair, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that could be brought to them by smirking at you or asking if ‘you like what you see, Princess?’ You could feel the anger in his voice, he was practically dripping with a rage that he did not know how to release properly. It weighed on his shoulders, and somehow seemed to push him in on himself to the point where he was constantly forcing himself to stand taller, to be louder so that he would not be entirely consumed by it. The atmosphere he carried was tense, to say the least. It seemed to make him paler. Saeran’s dark undereyes were no longer something a simple goodnight sleep could fix; they were almost bruises of their own. Purple, sunken.

While he was not lacking for blood in the same way that Ray had suffered without, it appeared that Saeran was overworking himself to the point that the added sustenance did little to actually aid him, so he kept on coming back for more and more each time. He appeared at any hour of the day or night, which suggested that he was no longer really sleeping, or if he was he was only sleeping for very short amounts of time, and it was really showing him his face. You were sure his appearance must have sat somewhere between Dorian Gray and his portrait, beautiful yet rotting. The way he felt on the inside was slowly, yet surely, manifesting itself. He was so capable of kindness, and yet he never allowed himself to admit to it. If Saeran didn’t have his cruelty, he didn’t have anything. He needed to hold onto it to hold himself together as the Persecutor.

His kisses were rougher too, leaving your lips feeling puffy, tender, and always breathless. He seemed to thrive on the fact he could make you feel so weak, as though it was precisely your weakness that gave him the strength he needed to carry on this strained life he led. He’d sneak up behind you frequently, with the confidence that Ray never quite found, and bury his face into the side of your neck, running rough kisses along it until you sigh against him from the touch, not even bothering to move your hair out of the way as he did so. Even as he kissed you like this, he’d taunt you for enjoying his touch so much in comparison to Ray, who barely ‘had the guts’ to touch you freely. Saeran would lift up your finger to show him the tiny bite impressions that Ray had originally left, only to have Saeran go over them more harshly with his own bite, before moving back up to your throat.

He dragged his fangs along the thin skin of your neck, so you knew it was coming, before promptly biting you. He doesn’t try to be delicate like Ray, and he’s more likely to take too much blood and leave you feeling woozy. He’ll take as much blood as he wants, really. Once you inevitably faint in his arms, he’d usually carry you back and placed you on the bed, but only so he can reprimand you for being such a burden to him. He’d never admit to anything else, especially not to feeling bad about pushing you to your limit.

‘Heh… Don’t look so happy with yourself, your blood tastes like shit anyway. I should go and find someone better, someone sweeter.’ He smirked before laughing, his eyes alive with a frantic excitement. He still had a small steak of blood running down his lips and onto his chin, which he promptly wiped away onto his black suit sleeve without releasing you from his unwavering gaze.

There were times when he’d suddenly stop laughing and looked at his blood-covered hand in disgust, before dragging that same gaze over towards you. He’d look at the redness on his hands and try to wipe it away, even after it dried and would not budge without soap and water. Saeran would still furiously rub his skin against the fabric of his clothes in a vain attempt to wipe his slate clean. You were never able to decipher what Saeran felt in the moment that he decided that ‘play time’ was over, but he never seemed happy about the outcome of the collision the two of you had found yourselves in, even when he was the one that instigated it. He’d half-assedly throw a bag of food from the kitchen at you, telling you that you ought to be grateful for having such a kind master for feeding you, before promptly turning on his heels to leave and slamming the door shut.

He was complicated, that was for sure.

 Vampire! GE Saeran Drabble 

Saeran had been through so much, and yet he was coming out stronger and stronger from it each day. He had a lot to process, about himself, the things that had happened to him and the things that he has done to other people, especially to you. Saeran had a difficult time accepting the he hurt you. He understands that he did it and he has accepted the fact that he did it, but somehow his heart never wanted to believe it. No matter how many times you told him he needed to forgive himself for it, Saeran knew that he never could.

He tried to make it up to you in every way that he could think of. He was so loving, so caring. He always served your food first, gave you extra helpings and always made dessert for afterwards. His food was always so well made, filled with all the vitamins and minerals that your body could have possibly needed and always tasted like he had been cooking his whole life. He’d even try to feed you the last few bites if you’d let him, just to make sure that you’d gotten enough food. It’s sweet, and he does it out of care, but there’s a part of Saeran that does it because he feels as though he needs to make amends to your body for the way he treated it.

He’s not keen on drinking your blood, he feels as though he’s taking advantage of you and doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to hurt you to be able to do it. He’d looked into alternatives that he could try, such as blood banks or from animals, just any means of supply that didn’t involve hurting you. It didn’t work out very well and in the end it started to do him more harm than good, so he usually just tried to wait for as long as he can in between biting you. And even then, he waits for you to offer because he doesn’t want to pressure you into giving up so sacred for him, Saeran would much rather have himself suffer than to make you feel any sort of uneasy around him.

He was a lot more considerate and knowledgeable about the outside world nowadays, and would look into various ways of making it less painful for you: the most effective one to date being numbing creams. He’s not a fan of the chemical taste of the cream in his mouth, but he would happily deal with it if it was for your sake. While he did still have a preference for your neck, because it felt a little bit more romantic to him, Saeran would always give you the choice on where you wanted him to bite. He knows it’s not his body to dictate, and if anything, he actually wants you to put some more of your own rules in place about it. He’d be more than happy if you wanted him to do it somewhere less visible so that you could hide it from people. As long as you weren’t hiding your actual relationship with him, he wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding of the fact that sometimes it is a little awkward to have marks like that in public and that you didn’t want to answer questions from strangers all of the time.

He was very gentle with it, making sure to apply the numbing cream beforehand and to avoid any particularly sensitive spots while never biting too deep. Saeran never took more than what was absolutely necessary either, even if you told him that it was okay to do it. You figured that he always remembered the time that Saeran would make you faint after taking too much blood, and that it must weigh on his consciousness heavily. Telling him to take more than the bottom-line wasn’t something you frequently told him to do though, since you already knew he was restraining himself and trying to put some boundaries in place for your own protection, so you didn’t want to push him. He cleaned the area after drinking from it and pressed a little patterned band-aid onto it and sealed it with a kiss, just for good measure. It really didn’t sit right with him that he had to hurt you like this so he tried to make amends for it wherever he could.

He always wiped his mouth before he kissed you, since he thought it would be rather cruel to make you taste the blood that you had just willingly offered up to him. You’d find the taste unpleasant anyway, even if Saeran enjoyed it. Saeran was rather poetic at the best of times, but it was especially true when he was feeling a little bit drunk off of your love (and blood). If you ever asked him what your blood tasted like, he’d write you a verbal essay on how sweet it is. It’s intoxicating to him and it always had been, even when he was both Ray and Saeran. The two of them were so confused by their sudden feelings and this undeniable pull towards you that neither could escape from. If you let him, he’ll probably even get a little bit cliché with how he feels like he’s reached some form of enlightenment by your blood being the thing that can kept him alive, along with how he can feel your love beating through his veins and giving him strength. Sometimes you can’t help but cringe at some of the things that Saeran says, but he means it in such a sweet way that you find it even more affectionate.

In times like this, Saeran was so adorable and kind-hearted. He generally felt a bit bad about himself, since he knows that he can’t ever become a human again as a result of his time in Mint Eye, so you have to make the extra effort to love him in this moment. You cupped his face with both of your hands and told him how precious he was to you and that he is, and always will be, the most important thing in your life.

Vampire! Unknown Drabble

There were no words that allowed you to accurately describe Unknown. He was exactly that. You never quite knew what he was thinking and for the most part he definitely relished in that fact. His actions were unpredictable, and he barely seemed to keep a routine for too long, lest someone figured it out and learned to predict his moves. Everyone walked on eggshells around him out of fear and uncertainty, and he seemed to enjoy it. He found it humorous, even. He enjoyed taking you by surprise in particular, it was his main form of entertainment. You were a toy for him to play with when he got bored.

He was sort of what you expected a modern-day vampire to be, look-wise and attitude-wise. His attire was certainly a change. It felt as though he was trying to actively reflect the anguish he felt within, but at the same time, it was an external threat. A threat that if you got too close to him, you’d be in danger of getting hurt yourself. The spikes were enough to ensure that, even if Unknown wasn’t. He reminded you of Saeran, but you could tell that there was a stark difference between the two of them. Unknown rarely displayed anger in the same way that Saeran did, it was certainly there, but it wasn’t as explosive. Sometimes it was cold, warped, and vindictive underneath layers of you weren’t sure what. Like Saeran, he made little attempt to hide his fangs or ears, but he didn’t necessarily show them off unless he was actively trying to taunt someone. It was more as though he didn’t care about them until they were of use to him. At which point, he’d smirk and release the sharpened canines: a spark of excitement in his eyes inviting you closer, to dare test him.

When he wanted to feed from you, he’d summon you to wherever he is rather than coming to see you himself. After all, you were a failed experiment who couldn’t even do your job of talking to the RFA correctly; being an assistant was the best job you’d be able to manage, so he told you that you ought to be grateful for it especially since Magenta wasn’t in the habit of keeping ‘useless’ things around for very long.

He was usually desperate when he called for you because of the long hours he forced his body to endure, even throughout the daytime when he’d naturally be sleeping. He entirely believed that because he’s strong, he wasn’t allowed to feel anything except for that strength, so he had to keep himself at the same standard of work every single day in order to maintain it. He’d burn the candle at both ends and then continue trying to light the wick. When you thought of him, there was always one particular instance that came to mind when he had no choice but to display an element of weakness to you, and it enraged him. He had been out on a recon mission for The Savior and had over-exerted himself in the process, sustaining an injury. He had crashed into your room afterwards, panting and holding onto his bleeding wound, drinking enough blood in one go that he’d made you  back onto your bed with light-headedness. He hadn’t done that since, and rarely pushed you past that point, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to dance with the limit of it. He’d say it was because he preferred to tease you with it, to savour what belonged to him, even though you knew it wasn’t his only reason for taking it slow.

How he bit you depended on what mood he was in, but his typical go-to is to have you sitting on his lap while he’s at his desk and facing him so that he can pull you towards him by your hips, making sure that your collarbones are already level with his mouth. He shouldn’t have to do any of the work, he wanted you already in position for him.

Unknown’s hands were roughly on your shoulders, both pulling you towards him and holding you steady. He bites first, kissed later. There’s little warning to feeling his teeth, except for the second or so beforehand where you feel his hot breath fan over you, just before you feel the sharp break of that skin underneath. Sometimes he’d hover for a few seconds longer than usual because he sought the thrill of you not knowing when the pain was coming. He has a preference for the neck and collarbones, not that he’d never explain why to you but, simply, he doesn’t think he should have to anyway. You’d have laughed at the cliché nature of it, but you’d rather he kept it to the same area instead of spreading it all over your body. That being said, he had bitten your thighs a couple of times when your neck had been a little too sore for him to drink from there, when the skin needed time to heal.

Unknown swapped between biting and kissing at your neck, making his way up towards your mouth to continue the blood-tinted kiss there. Each time you tasted the metallic tinge on your tongue, it left your breathless, but not as much as the bite he’d leave on your lower lip did. You wouldn’t admit it to Unknown, but those kisses were some of your favourites that you had shared with him.

Not only did he leave your skin with actual bites, but he made point of littering your throat with lovebites each time too. As though the real bites weren’t enough for him, Unknown always had to go one step further with his act of possession over you. It was a cocky game, in his own mind, he needed to show that you were his and that no other Believer was permitted to look at you in the same that that he did.

When he was done and needed the wipe the blood away from his face, he’d wipe it straight onto the back of his hand. He’d make no effort to properly clean it until he went to wash his hands, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 Vampire! Savior Saeran Drabble 

It’s ironic, to Saeran, that crosses and biblical imagery did nothing to inhibit a Vampire, especially considering how linked the two aesthetics were. They truly went hand in damned hand. Mint Eye had always been steeped in Catholicism, as it was the core religion of the previous Savior, but as Saeran was forced to take the throne, he had not made any changes to those principles. He had been taught to instil and swallow those same beliefs in himself as they had been handed to him, even if they were not truly his own. He had been prepared in such a way that he would be able to take over Mint Eye when he had truly reached the peak of his strength and was intended to forge a new way for the organisation.

You had been bathed, dressed, and summoned to the throne room, where many Believers and the Savior in question were already gathered. You’d heard whispers that you were going to be cleansed, but the atmosphere you found yourself in did not seem to fit the one you associated with a cleansing. However, The Savior had yet to conduct a ceremony of his own since taking the throne and you started to fear that, perhaps, you were to be the leading spectacle. You walked between the Believers, as you were told to kneel before Saeran.

He was so lifeless in comparison to the Saerans you had once encountered before him. He was so sad, empty. At the very least, Ray’s melancholy had an element of hope to it, but as The New Savior stood before you, there was little more than a shell of the man that you had come to know. Your interaction with him was limited, but it was so plainly obvious to you that he was just being used as a pawn, a pawn in disguise of the King. It seemed distinctly sacrilegious to have a vampire dressed in religious garments, but you supposed that Saeran had probably not received a choice in either of those matters.

Another Believer came up from behind you and asked for your wrist, which he then wiped over with disinfectant fluid before presenting it to The Savior. Saeran reached out his hand to grab your arm, pulling it towards him. He was silent as his teeth suddenly found their way into your wrist, but he barely took more than a small mouthful of blood. Even with your arm in his grasp, Saeran said nothing and continued to just plainly stare ahead into the masses, occasionally throwing glances in your direction.

‘Are you ready for the next initiation step?’ He asked. You could still see your blood in his mouth, the thin line of red providing a stark colour contrast to the rest of his chilly pallor.

‘Yes.’ You replied.

Once done, he turned and pushed the red Elixir bottle towards you, tilting it into your open mouth. It was lukewarm and overwhelmed all of your senses with the metallic taste of blood and chemicals. It burned. Tasting blood like this felt so wrong. You felt it fill your mouth and you forced it down your throat swallow, gasping for air as soon as it passed. Was that… his blood? In the same way that he had been given his Savior’s blood?

You were asked to stand as Saeran took another step towards you. You tried to watch his eyes, looking for any hint of the life that Ray and Saeran had once brought to them, but The Savior in front of you had clearly managed to subdue that hope. Or rather, he had been forced and conditioned to abandon it.

Almost sombrely, he pressed a small kiss against your lips; causing you to once again receive a fresh taste of blood. Except this time, it was the remnants of your own that had been left on his own tongue. There was little free affection in his kiss, and it appeared to be more about the process of the initiation rather than anything to do with kindness or tenderness. It only lasted for a second or so and was nothing intimate, ending almost as soon as it had begun. He pulled away first, placing the bottle that he had been previously holding back onto the throne room altar.

You were hugely aware of the fact that you were still being watched by an entire room of people and felt so exposed, so seen. It was uncomfortable to have to wait there for it to be over when you would have much rather have had this be a private affair: not that you had been warned in advance anyway.

He pressed his bloody lips against your forehead, leaving a red stain against your skin. Saeran then reached a cold hand towards your face, dragging his thumb across the bloody kissmark and smearing it into the shape of an eye. A baptism.

Vampire! SE Saeran Drabble

He was trying. Saeran was really trying. Being around people was difficult, well, everything was a little difficult for him. It was taking all of his energy to adjust and process things, so you rarely saw him during the day. He was always pretty low energy and spent the majority of his time asleep or alone, with you only ever really catching glimpses of him at night. You guessed that it was at least a good thing that he was catching up on the sleep that he had deprived himself of for so many years, even if it meant you rarely got to see him.

Saeran didn’t really talk to anyone anyway, only you and his brother. That is, whenever he can be bothered to talk to Saeyoung as he often complained that he’s too tired for conversation. He usually didn’t have the energy to talk to his brother that much because of how hyperactive the other was. Saeyoung understands that Saeran needs time, even if it hurt him to not be able to pull his brother close after all of those years apart. Irreparable damage had been done where they would need years to repair it. There were even a few tense moments where Saeran had thought that Saeyoung was taunting him, or not trusting him, by wearing his crucifix necklace. Of course, his brother tried to explain that that was not the case and that Saeran wasn’t affected by religious symbols anyway, but it still seemed to annoy him. Eventually, Saeyoung stopped wearing his necklace and kept it in a drawer next to his bed, feeling as though the faith he believed in was probably redundant now that he knew how it had been tainted by the people he trusted.

Saeyoung had offered to let Saeran drink his blood before, as a way of making reparations to his twin, but Saeran flat out denied it: saying it would be disgusting to drink from him. He also threw in the comment that Saeyoung’s blood would taste ‘like shit’ because of his diet anyway, which was entirely understandable. Neither of you could fault Saeran for that.

Saeran felt rather conflicted and tentative about drinking your blood, often feeling pangs of guilt for how he previously treated you as Unknown. He often waited right up until he was pretty desperate before letting on that he was in need, and you’d have to realise on your own that his tiredness was not just coming from social exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t ask, so you’d have to offer.

When it happened, it usually happened in the same way with Saeran turning you around so that your back was facing him and you couldn’t look at him. He already felt some sort of way about biting you in the first place so the last thing he wanted was to have to look into your eyes as he did it. He felt more comfortable like this, and he felt as though he could take his time rationalising it a bit more when he wasn’t being watched. ‘Don’t turn around.’ He said tiredly. He sighed, clearly feeling a little awkward but not wanting to rush into it. It would be in this moment where he thought about how roughly he used to do it to you and wonder where he had gotten that confidence from. Truly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Saeran placed his hands onto your shoulders, pausing right above where he was going to bite for a few seconds, letting his hot breath fan over you until he finally broke the skin. He wasn’t as rough as he used to be, and it was quite obvious how much he had been restraining himself by how quickly he drank. ‘Sorry.’ He whispered under the wight of the guilt. He always sounded like he was crying when he did this, even if you didn’t see any tears fall. You placed your hand on top of his own just to let him know that it was okay. Saeran wasn’t one for words, so he appreciated the support even if he didn’t tell you that directly.

He sat behind you for a few moments while he calmed down, his thumbs ever so slightly rubbing circles into your shoulders; a rare sign of intimacy from him. He doesn’t kiss you in that moment for a number of reasons. He felt parasitic, and he didn’t want to tie that emotion to affection. And yet, undeniably because he doesn’t want you to see him for what he is. Saeran carries a lot of shame, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable as he does when he’s in that state. He wiped the blood from his lips onto the back of his sleeve, but would change his jumper shortly afterwards because it made him feel dirty to even look at. Saeran didn’t want to sit with your blood on him, that was cruel to the both of you.

You’d often find that he’d leave you a little gift the next day but would claim to not have any knowledge of it. It was always a little thing that only he would think to bring you, such a small flower from the garden or one of his snacks out of the kitchen.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

So, since you murdered me yesterday, its only fair that I try to get a little something back from you. I want you to give me something good - I need a good ol' bath -preferably with either Frankie "Oral King" Morales or Marcus "Pants Python" Pike. Your choice, but know that my life (or afterlife) depends on it. Meaning - the sooner the better, love.

You know what? It's a Friday night, I'm feeling generous (and still a little bad about murdering you) - you get BOTH!!!

Bedtime Stories by JHFTM

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY Warnings: oral sex/F receiving; fingering/F receiving; mentions of anal sex; mentions of food; shameless fantasizing about Marcus "Trouser Snake" Pike's surprisingly filthy mouth

Frankie “She Comes First” Morales…

You come home from work on a Friday night just absolutely shattered. Frankie knows what you need, baby. He’s going to draw you the hottest bath you can stand, fill it with your favorite bath salts, and make you sink into it - no arguments, sweetheart. While you’re soaking up the warmth, he’s going to bring you a big glass of Southern sweet tea (homemade with sugar, none of that fast food shit), and sit on the edge of the tub to give you the world’s best foot massage.

What that? You didn’t know that the King of Cunnilingus also gives excellent foot massages? Well, now you do! And he’s not going to stop until you are putty in his hands. While he’s doing that, he’s going to ask you about your day. That low, calm voice of his, the little circles he’s rubbing into your skin, and the heat of the water almost put you to sleep. But Frankie’s not done yet, far from it...

When the water gets cold, he’s going to drain the tub and refill it extra-hot. Then he’s going to scrub your back, getting aaallll the spots you can’t reach. When you’re a limp, happy noodle, he’s going to rinse you off, wrap you in a big fluffy towel, and then lay you out on the bed. You’re honestly so happy and relaxed that you could fall asleep right there, laid out naked and air-drying gently under the ceiling fan. Just as you’re about to drift off with a smile on your face, you feel Frankie’s big hand on your ankle, shifting you into position so that one leg is bent with your foot flat on the bed. Then he does the same with your other ankle, and you realize exactly what he’s about to do…

“Ohhh… Frankie baby.” You’re so relaxed you can’t even open your eyes. “You don’t have to do that, love. I’m so relaxed already.”

“But I want to, sweet thing. I love doing this for you.” His voice is low and even, and he’s kneeling between your legs, rubbing circles on the inside of your knee with his broad thumb. You’re so blissed out that you almost can’t respond. The moment hangs there, and he’s starting to think you’ve fallen asleep. But it’s just that your brain is slowly processing what he wants to do, and how good he is at it, and how many times he’s made you come so hard before just from eating you. And you start to get aroused, despite your drowsiness. So you try to speak, and when you do, your breath hitches: “Okay.”

And that’s all the assurance he needs. Frankie knows you love this, he just always needs to hear it; he makes sure that you give your consent. And when you do he’s off like a shot, leaning down immediately because he’s already got both you and himself into position. All he needed was a yes.

You feel him take the first lick, separating your folds, and he loves the way you taste. You’re still warm and damp and clean and relaxed, and Frankie likes to start you off relaxed, because he knows it won’t be long. He knows how good he is at this, how to push your buttons and in what order and when to flex his fingers and when to hold them still. He knows when to lick with a broad, flat tongue and when to flick your nub with the hard tip of it, and he works every angle you have until you’re arching your back and moaning his name. Your hands can’t find a resting spot and they’re moving on their own almost; tangling in his hair and then palming flat on your abdomen and then gripping the bedspread and then squeezing your own breasts. Frankie loves it when you start to thrash around, making little squeals like you’re about to sneeze. He knows you’re close.

He feels your pelvic muscles start to tense and he does that thing with his tongue one last time and you are suddenly off in space, arching your back so hard you’re practically bent in half and squeezing his head between your thighs. He works his fingers slowly, massaging that sweet spot of sensitive tissue behind your pubic mound with one broad finger and laying a long, sucking kiss to your clit. A few tears leak out of your eyes from the release, and you can’t remember your own name for a moment. There’s only you, and Frankie, and that mouth of his, now laying soft little kisses to your mound and your inner thighs as he pulls his fingers out gently.

“Was that good?”

---

Marcus “Anaconda” Pike…

You knew that Marcus had something special planned for your anniversary. There was no way he would tell you what it was, exactly. But from the little secret smiles and hurried phone calls in the past few weeks, you knew he was pleased with his clandestine planning.

The big weekend came, and you started off on your lovely trip to the beach. A nice relaxing weekend to get away from it all, to disconnect your phones and reconnect with each other. The drive was easy, the sightseeing was fun, and the hotel he had picked was beautiful. When you checked in, Marcus made you wait at the bar. And when you got off the elevator and opened the door to the suite, you saw why.

He didn’t want you to overhear that he had rented the Presidential Suite. An enormous extravagance (you would have been happy with a regular room), but for Marcus it was perfect. He wanted to show you a good time, and let you live it up in luxury for 48 hours. When you saw the bathroom you gasped: not only was it bigger than your whole bedroom back at your D.C. apartment, but it had the largest bathtub you had ever seen.

When you finally closed your jaw and turned to look at Marcus, he had an enormous grin on his face. He knew that you were tired of the tiny shower and shallow tub in your apartment, and he had made sure to ask for the suite with the best soaking tub. You wanted to live in it.

Marcus turned the faucet on and tested the water, then told you that you could spend the entire evening in the tub if you wanted, no need to get dressed up and go out to a fancy dinner. You squealed and kissed him and made him promise to get in with you. Then you had the best idea ever.

“Ice cream in the tub? Whatever my girl wants,” Marcus had grinned. He ordered up room service and then rubbed your shoulders as you sat on the edge with your feet in the warm bubbles. When the food arrived, Marcus set it up within easy reach on a little table tray. He had ordered french fries and your favorite ice cream: chocolate chip cookie dough.

“God, Marcus. I could die happy right now.” You sat shoulder-deep in the warm water and teased his toes with yours, swirling your feet in the water to try to reach him. Marcus wiped his mouth off with a napkin and tossed it on the tray.

“I hope you don’t die. I was kind of looking forward to a nice weekend.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “I had plans for later.”

You crooked your finger at him and he shifted to come over to your side of the tub. “What plans did you have in mind, Mr. Pike?”

“Oh, you know…” Marcus moved you away from the wall of the tub gently and then spread his legs open, sitting you down in the V and wrapping his arms around your torso.

He continued. “I thought we could start with a nice bath, maybe take this into the bedroom, see where the weekend goes.” He nuzzled your neck and your nipples popped to attention.

“Mm-hmm. Go on.”

“Well, I thought maybe after this I could rail you into the mattress. Make you come so hard and scream so loud that someone calls security.”

You giggled. “And then what?”

“Well,” Marcus kissed your neck and scraped his teeth gently over your ticklish spot, palming both of your breasts in his huge hands. “Once you’re nice and relaxed from two or three orgasms, I was going to break out the industrial lube and see if you wanted me to go in through the back door. Give you one of those nights you won’t ever forget.”

You gasped theatrically and he nuzzled your ear with his nose. “Because the last time we did that, sweet girl, you ended up being such a filthy little cum slut that I nearly had to tie you down. You were wiggling so hard I thought you were going to pop right off my cock.”

You moaned, somewhere between a hum and a wail. Marcus nipped your earlobe and continued his dirty monologue. “So if you want to get fucked into next week, baby girl, you’re going to have to be good for me this time. Don’t make me work so hard that it turns into a struggle fuck.”

Your eyes closed and you bit your lip as Marcus continued to run his hands up your sides, down your breasts, and finally, finally down to your sweet spot. He used two of his thick fingers to spread your outer lips open and then massaged your clit slowly. Your breathing stuttered as your mind started to ooze away into bliss.

Marcus’s next words were spoken in his normal, sweet, even tone, and it contrasted gorgeously with the depraved words. “Are we good, baby girl? Are you going to be a good little fuckdoll for me? Or do I have to tie you down?”

~The End~

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

hi guys and gals! Part 7 sees friendship strengthened, decisions being made and love ultimately hurting. As always, please enjoy the next part and let me know what you think is going to happen in part eight! I actually love hearing from you all so please don't be too shy to reach out and message me - I love a good chat LOL Love always, Steph xx

Part 7 | settima parte

warnings; love sucks man. word count;  1850 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Monday 09/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

“bella amelia, cosa ho fatto per meritarmi questa telefonata?” (beautiful amelia, what did i do to deserve this phone call?) Jorginho spoke his second-native tongue down the line to the British girl, calling him way past her self-appointed bedtime of 9pm.

“Jorgi, ho bisogno del consiglio di un amico” (Jorgi, i need the advice of a friend). Amelia, almost desperately, pleaded down the line to the boy who became her therapist.

It had been a few days since Amelia & Jack’s facetime where they sat and listened to the countless offers the successful girl had waiting in her voice message inbox. Being the person that she is, Amelia needed to distract herself from obsessing over the messages so she threw herself into her job. Spending too many hours over her paid allocation at Juventus training ground, getting administrative work done for the season ahead.

Was this her way of nesting? Or empty-nesting? Was she subconsciously preparing the club and her boys for life without her? Getting them ready with a season's worth of set pieces and tactical plays that would secure them an outstanding 37th victory? On the flip side, was she preparing for her new role in England which she had yet to accept. There was no harm in her taking her intellectual property back over to the motherland. The two clubs did not compete in the same tournaments, perhaps only the Champions league - but who's to say that whatever club she does pick will make the Champions League? There was no doubt Juve would be there - all of her preparation would ensure they would be. Whoever took over her role simply just had to show up and keep the boys in line.

“ok tesoro, parlami.” (Ok darling, speak to me). The Italian settled onto his couch, espresso in hand, waiting to hear the younger girl's problem.

“So I've spoken with Kyle & Jack now, and have told them of my predicament. They both are very heavily favouring one side - but I need a voice of reason. If you happen to express the same sentiments that they both did, then maybe that's all of the reassurance I need to make this final decision.” Amelia switched back to her native tongue.

After spending the better part of an hour discussing in great depth the offers that she was receiving from the 5 english clubs, Amelia felt just as confused as she did before calling the Chelsea boy. No surprise that Jorgi was team Come to the Prem & Join Chelsea, but the italian midfield maestro had also brought her back down to earth from cloud nine and reminded her of what, or who, she was leaving behind.

“Now I don't like telling you what to do, but you need to discuss this with Fede, Amelia. He doesn’t deserve a lot of things, but this is something he does.”

So that's where Amelia found herself the next morning. Sunday’s in Italy were reserved for espresso and long walks in the sun. This particular Sunday must have been reflective of the internal turmoil she was facing, uncommon for the season, the sky above her was overcast and a light drizzle had started to set in on her walk to the charming Italian’s townhouse.

______________________________________________________________

“pensavo fosse un mito che gli inglesi portino con sé il tempo the” (i thought it was a myth that british people bring the weather with them) Fede said as he opened the door, and his arms, while looking down the two steps at me.

“Very funny” I said as I gave him a hug. He always was so good at hugs. I’m going to miss them. Snap out of it Amelia - you don’t even know if you’re going to go yet. Oh she knows she's going. She also knows what club she's going to. No she doesn't, you be quiet. I’m here rooting for her Italian romance. If I had an angel and devil on each shoulder, their conversation would speak my internal monologue as such.

Walking through to his kitchen, putting on a coffee and saying hello to his dogs, Fede stood in the doorway and watched me move around his kitchen as though it was my own.

“I’m convinced you got British bulldogs because you just can’t help but love the English” I cheekily smiled up at him from my crouched position in the middle of his kitchen, giving the two bullys the best head rubs.

“Sure, you keep thinking that Amelia” Oh, the way he says your name Amelia, so foreign, so romantic. He says it the same way any other Italian would say it, he’s nothing special. Be quiet, let them have their moment.

“Lets go and enjoy these out in the courtyard, is your sun shade still up? It should hold out the rain right?” Amelia spoke rushedly as she poured two espresso cups and walked towards his back door.

“Tesoro, why are you so unsteady today? Is something troubling you?” Fede spoke worriedly, noticing my little nervous habits coming out to play and speaking faster than my mind could comprehend. Better to just get this over with i think, for once we agree on something.

“Ok i need to tell you something, and i need you to let me get it all out before interrupting me. Can you do that? This is something i’ve been working up the courage to speak out loud, let alone speak it to you”

Fede took a sip of his espresso, holding my eye contact, before putting his cup back on its saucer and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He thought he was ready for what i was about to say, expecting it to be yet another long winded speech as to why i want to put a label on our situationship. Oh boy, how wrong he was.

“After the success of the european tournament, i have received a lot of praise and recognition for my skills”

“And you deserve every bit of it amore, every bit and even more” Oh dear, could my heart hurt anymore?

“Fede, I asked you not to interrupt me…”

“Ok ok, sorry, continue”

“So, I have received a lot of recognition both here in Italy as well as from my home country of England. In saying that, I have received a few offers from clubs in the premier league that want me to bring my approach, the italian approach, to the english game. It's a real step up in my career and it's something I am seriously considering. I’ve spoken with some of the boys back home and also Jorgi, they all think that this is the next step for me. I’m far too comfortable here, I can't grow in my comfort zone. I think I'm ready for a new challenge.”

I held eye contact with the 27 year old, I wasn’t about to let him know just how vulnerable I was feeling here in front of him. Something Fede could always do was read me, and read my emotions. If he knew how exposed I felt, how easily I could be swayed over this decision, then he would make it his life's mission to do so. I had made my mind up that I was going, but there was also a part of me that decided if he was to give me what I was after I would be open to the possibility of staying.

“So it seems that you have asked for the opinion of everyone else in your life, and made your decision, before even considering mine.” He slumped back in his chair, and rubbed two fingers over his lips while looking off into the small courtyard garden.

“Fede, I have made my decision. But I wanted to talk to you about it, I owe that to you. You have made my time here so memorable, so fantastic, so filled with love that I wouldn't even consider not including you in this.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay? Do you want me to ask you to be my girlfriend? To tell you I love you? To move in with me? Let me know what you need from me to reconsider this decision” He began to get frustrated with me, pulling the cap off of his head and running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s exactly it Fede! I don’t want to ask you to do that, you should ask me to be your girlfriend on your own! I don't want you to tell me you love me if you think that's what I want to hear - I want you to feel like you love me! I don’t need anyone to tell me what I want to hear, what I want to hear is what you truly feel. And if there is something i have learnt about you in the last few years is that you can’t hold back your feelings with anything! If you were in love with me it would have burst from you a long time ago. I think that you do love me Fede, but as someone to come home to instead of no one at all.”

“You know Fede, i don’t have any regrets over this. You mean just as much to me now as you did the very first time we crossed that boundary and blurred the lines. You’re just my type, you only call me late at night, you can’t decide if you’ll be your own man or mine. I hate to say it, but you really are just my type. This decision has nothing to do with you, it’s something i have come to make all on my own.”

I had stood up now, looking down at the 27 year old. I needed him to understand exactly what I was saying, how serious I was. This was the moment I could get it all off my chest, instead of just letting the relationship play out on his terms.

“I leave on Friday, I let the club know this morning. There's nothing that can be done now Fede, this is my decision. Please respect it, and me”

He stood up, his almost 6’1” frame towering over me. Looking down, face of steel, I could see everything I needed behind his eyes.

“hai ragione ti amo Solo non nel modo in cui meriti di essere amato” (you're right, i do love you. Just not in the way you deserve to be loved). He pulled me into his chest, both arms wrapping around the back of my shoulders, left hand holding my head in the crook of his neck. My arms wrapped around his back from below his arms, holding him tight enough that they crossed over and I could grab the sides of his rib cage. This was the closure I needed.

“I’ll give Jorginho a call and make sure he looks out for you”

“How do you know what club I'm going to?”

“I saw the way your eyes sparkled when you mentioned its name, it was the same sparkle that used to come out when you said mine…”

Part 8. | parte otto

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years. 

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”  

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

           You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

           A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

--

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.  

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

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