#despite having read this chapter a thousand times.

[annaskareninas]

Dearest Gentle Reader - out now!

Read Chapter 1 on AO3

Story summary: By day, Nesta Archeron is a washed-up old maid. By night, she's London's most notorious gossip writer: Lady Evergreen. But when she's forced to spend the season living with Cassian - and only Cassian - keeping the two personas separate becomes more and more difficult. Despite their fraught past, she must contend with her rising attraction to Cassian - and mysterious letters from the anonymous Sparrowhawk, who seems to see straight into her soul.

Not only that, but the sudden arrival of Princess Briallyn, a Prussian beauty with her eyes set on Cassian, threatens to throw yet another spanner into the works. In a world full of secrets, lies, and scandal, Nesta must find the truth - and, above all, be honest with herself.

Chapter summary: Nesta is forced to move in with Cassian, and meets an interesting woman at Presentation.

Snippet:

“And how did you deal with that, Cassian? Hm?” Cold fire surged through her veins, ice crackling over them.

He closed his eyes for a second, as if willing himself strength. “What I said—what I did—it was wrong. It was ill-judged. I’ve told you that a thousand times—”

“And I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t care,” Nesta snarled. Seizing the box from the table, she shoved it into his chest, forcing him to straighten up to take it and all but pushing him away. He took a deliberate step back, the dizzying heat of him lessening. “Take the stupid jewels and go. They’re all ugly anyway.”

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Fine!”

“Fine!” He backed towards the door.

Unable to let him have the last word, Nesta added, “I hope your partner turns your toes black-and-blue tonight.”

“At least somebody will ask me to dance,” he retorted. “At least I don’t have to sit at the spinster’s tables alone because I’ve alienated anyone that might call me friend—” 

She flung a hairbrush at him, missing by a hair’s breadth; it cracked against the doorframe and clattered to the floor, leaving an ugly dent in the wood. “You missed,” he said snidely.

“I won’t next time!”

[kyouka-supremacy]

WAIT A FUCKING SECOND. “WELL DONE”. SO YOU'RE TELLING ME WORDS OF PRAISE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT FROM THE MOST POWERFUL SKILL USER IN THE WORLD ARE THE LAST WORDS AKUTAGAWA HEARD BEFORE DYING??

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[whimsyvixen]

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ~ 𝟙/?

Stalker Fic (original work)

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Female Reader x Male Yandere Synopsis/Excerpt:   It felt like someone was looking at you. A predator looking at a fawn. Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, stalking, yandere, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, masturbation, captivity, non-consensual bondage, dacryphilia, forced breeding, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, fuck or die, tags will grow as this story progresses. ⚠️READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags . NO minors. ⚠️

A/N: Wooo! so I finally decided to make story for this post I made awhile back (a thousand thank you's to everyone who liked and commented <3 ). Please read up on the tags, so you know what to expect in the coming chapters. Happy reading!

-Dividers by @adornedwithlight-

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work. 

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop. 

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake. 

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you. 

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic. 

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone. 

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept. 

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing. 

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly. 

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other. 

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone. 

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger. 

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further. 

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it. 

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace. 

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness. 

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!” 

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year. 

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus. 

Who was he? 

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough? 

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly. 

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit. 

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment? 

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open. 

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

~

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo. 

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist. 

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant. 

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood. 

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick. 

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips. 

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. 

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat. 

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up. 

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity. 

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash. 

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone. 

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked. 

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love. 

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[niteshade925]

April 20, Beijing, China, National Museum of China/中国国家博物馆 (Part 2 - Dehua white porcelain exhibition/德化白瓷展 continued):

This was actually the very first piece I encountered at the entrance to the exhibition, a gigantic basket of flowers (probably over 1 meter tall and over 1 meter wide?), the entire thing made of porcelain.

And to reiterate, every part of every piece is porcelain. Though I will say that despite the ultra-realistic shape of the flower petals and leaves, the only detail that hinted at these flowers being made out of porcelain was that the painted colors weren't as vibrant as real flowers. That's it. If you don't examine it up close you really can't tell that it's all porcelain.

This is a good place to roughly introduce the technical side of Dehua white porcelain. The color of Dehua white porcelain mainly comes from the clay it uses, which is a special kaolin clay (gaolingtu/高岭土 in Chinese) found in Dehua. The clay mineral used naturally contains sericite and quartz, both of which are silica minerals and may have contibuted to the almost translucent look of the finished pieces; it also contains comparatively high amounts of potassium oxides, while the amount of iron oxides present is low. Due to the intricate designs of the pieces, the firing success rate may be very low. All those pieces involving super thin parts representing fabric or paper or flower petals? They may bring the success rate down to about 5%. Which means many of these pieces may be the 15th-20th try that finally survived firing. For people who are more interested in the chemistry of Dehua white porcelain, this paper goes into depth about it. There's also a great book in Chinese that goes into depth all about Dehua porcelain. (link goes to the first chapter only)

Continuing on, this is one of many Guanyin/观音 (Avalokiteśvara) statues at the exhibition, again with light clothing made out of porcelain:

More Guanyin statues in various classic depictions/forms, of which there are 33 total. This particular form is called Yulan Guanyin/鱼篮观音 (鱼篮 means fish basket), and comes from a legend where Guanyin transformed into a beautiful female fish vendor in order to guide mortals.

I believe the text here reads 持经观音 (Guanyin holding scripture)? The Guanyin here is holding a vase instead of a scroll though.

This is a classic depiction of Guanyin with a little bit of a modern-ish twist? Guanyin is often depicted with a vase of divine water, but here it forms a circle.

Despite some of the Guanyin statues having the amazing ceramic "clothing", this one remains my favorite, just because of the sense of space and serenity that this simple "frame" design creates:

And this very literal take on "thousand arm Guanyin" (千手观音). It's giving me that "biblically accurate angels" vibe:

Buddha floating atop.......idk what that is but the texture is amazing:

A fully painted statue of Guanyu/关羽. The gradient and detailed patterns on his robes is amazing:

Two identical (I think?) statues of the daomadan/刀马旦 (female commander archetype) character Mu Guiying/穆桂英 as she would appear in Chinese traditional opera, one painted and one unpainted. The word 巾帼英雄 in the title means "hero in women's headscarf", which is a term used exclusively in reference to female heroes. There's also the phrase "巾帼不让须眉", which roughly means "those in women's headscarves aren't inferior to those with beards and thick brows"

Porcelain depiction of Dunhuang's famous feitian/飞天 figures, in the classic pose of playing pipa in reverse (called 反弹琵琶). The clothing on this figure is made of porcelain, but this time also painted:

A porcelain statue of a couple in traditional Lhoba/Luoba/珞巴 clothing. The Lhoba/Luoba people are one of China's 55 少数民族 who mainly live in the south-eastern region of Tibet Autonomous Region, and as of 2019, it is the 少数民族 with the smallest population

A porcelain statue of a woman in traditional Miao/苗 clothing. I love how the artist recreated the traditional Miao silver crown in porcelain.

Painted porcelain bust of a woman wearing the Xunbu/蟳埔 "flower crown", named a zanhuawei/簪花围. The town of Xunbu in Fujian province is known for its tradition of zanhua/簪花, or wearing flowers in one’s hair.

Porcelain statue of a Buddhist monk wearing a zhiduo/直裰 (the robes on the inside) and a jiasha/袈裟 (काषाय/kasaya; the garment on the outside that drapes over the left shoulder). From its looks, one can tell that zhiduo originated from hanfu, but with some minor changes (sidenote, this is not the same as the zhiduo of Ming-era hanfu). Jiasha evolved from the clothing of Indian Buddhist monks, but there appears to be a lot of influence from Central Asia and ancient Greece as well (link goes to pdf; this article is in Chinese).

Some modern-themed pieces. Look at those dresses omg

A porcelain statue of Hua Mulan/花木兰, the character from traditional Chinese literature and opera that inspired the Disney character. I will say though this pose reminds me of someone else.......

[feenoire]

Heartfelt Veils I. New Dawn

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.8k

warnings: slow burn-ish, age difference (18/50), brief sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: moving to a strange, quaint little town isn't so bad after all, especially after meeting your soon-to-be stepdad, who’s very handsome and nice to you.

a/n: i never knew what it felt like to have a dad or father figure in my life. that’s why i wrote this silly little fiction to fulfill my fantasy. i use the character Joel because he’s my comfort character, and i see him both as a father figure and a lover. please read it with caution, as i know this kind of story is not for everyone. i’m currently writing the next chapters <3

series masterlist

A piercing ring shattered the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears. You don’t remember how you here sitting on the ground. But you can’t see anything, everything is black like the whole world goes dark. You struggle to open your eyes but it’s hard, but you persist until it opens.

You begin to breathe faster as you examine your surroundings. You’ve been here before, but you don't exactly remember when and what happened. All you know is that you can feel an unsettling fear creeping over you in this place, and you begin to cry.

You find yourself encircled by towering trees, as you sit on the cold, damp grass. You feel like someone is watching you, but there’s no one. As you attempt to bury your face in your hands, you notice a bruise on your wrists.

What happened to me?

From the fear, your hands begin to shake. As you try to stand, you hear footsteps behind you, but you don’t dare to look back. Your heart races, and despite the cold weather, you start sweating. Everything else is silent except for your own breathing until a deep and familiar voice speaks from behind you.

“You think you can run away from me?”

You close your eyes tightly. The voice starts low, then gets louder until it speaks directly into your left ear. Leaving goosebumps tingling across your skin.

“I’ll always find a way to get you. No one can stop me.”

There’s a faint, distant voice calling your name over and over until a hand touches your shoulder. You wake up with a gasp, finding yourself in a moving car, your lungs heaving with ragged breaths.

“Are you okay, flower?”

Your mind is still processing the nightmare and trying to make sense of where you are right now. You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin.

“W-where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” your mother says. “We’ll be at the house soon.”

“Oh… right.” Of course, you are.

It all makes sense now as you start to remember things. You admire the buildings, trees, and pleasant views of the small town that will be your new home, from the backseat, with your mother beside you. With a population of just three thousand, it feels almost like a ghost town. People walk here and there, stepping on fallen leaves amid the October fall.

You check the time on the car’s radio display, it reads 4 PM, but the foggy and cold weather makes it feel much later. Meanwhile “Just Like Honey” plays softly on the radio.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your mother asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a nightmare,” you reassure her.

The car starts to enter the small neighborhood on the edge of the town. Most of the houses already have jack-o-lanterns on their porches, seems like this town loves Halloween so much.

“I’m excited,” your mother says with a smile, holding your hand on the seat.

You smile genuinely. “Me too, Mom.”

“A new dawn, a fresh start,” that’s what your mother had said when she told you about the move a month ago, to a quaint little town called Silvervale in the middle of Montana.

It came out of nowhere, and you still think about it. You miss your friend from your old school. But with your mother’s enthusiasm, you can’t say no to her, and you want to make her happy. And you like the idea of a fresh start. Why refuse it when you have the chance to begin anew?

A few minutes later, the car stops in front of the house. It radiates a cozy charm that you immediately appreciate. What you didn’t expect is that the backyard is a dense forest, with trees stretching as far as the eye can see. It would be easy for a wolf or serial killer to attack you, but you hope that won’t happen. Your mother told you that the neighborhood is safe.

The house is a two-story structure with a classic, early 20th century architectural style, a white-painted structure with a metal gabled roof and a chimney. It features a large wraparound porch supported by columns.

“Come on, flower.”

You and your mother get out of the car and grab your things from the trunk, with the cab driver helping to place them on the porch. After giving him a tip and thanking him, the driver leaves.

The two of you stand on the porch, with bags and suitcases on the floor. You tighten your jacket around your body to ward off the cold, realizing you shouldn’t have worn a dress above your knees. Meanwhile, all your other belongings are still on their way and are expected to arrive tomorrow.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“He’s not home yet, but he told me we could come inside.”

“Wait, are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

You take your bags and go inside with your mother. Now all the stuff is in the living room. You take a look around the place. It’s cozy, with many books on the bookshelves beside the fireplace. There are guitars on the wall and some wood carvings on the table. You draw closer and touch them carefully, they’re beautiful. There’s a bear, a deer, a wolf, and a cowboy sitting on the horse.

Lost in a trance, you don’t hear another person enter the house until your mother calls your name.

“Yeah?” Your eyes are still trained on the carvings as you turn around until you see the man in front of you beside your mother, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh.”

Your mother, with a beaming smile, says, “Flower, this is Joel.”

Joel.

Joel is your mother’s boyfriend and one of the reasons she proposed to move here, to his house. He might’ve asked her to marry him after two years together. And she wanted to start fresh, away from your hometown. However, you have never met Joel. Your mother met him at the local bar in your hometown, Phoenix, when he was on a road trip with his brother. The rest is history.

You only recently learned that your mother dating him, she never told you about it or even mentioned anything about dating. Your mother was single, that’s all you knew since you were a kid. She was always busy working, so she never had time for a relationship. Until a few months ago, when she finally told you about Joel.

She said she wanted to make sure that Joel is a good man for both you and her, and that she wants to protect you. Now you understand why, sometimes every few months she would leave for like a week, over the past two years. She told you it was for work, and you believed her.

She said Joel’s the one, she never really went on a date with anyone since your father. Joel is a good and kind man, and she said she fell in love with him. It was kind of shocking when you heard the news, but you accepted their relationship. Actually, you’re kind of happy for her that she finally met someone she could spend her life with and who will take care of her. You’re almost eighteen, and you won’t be living with your mother forever.

It's the first time you’re seeing Joel in person.

You’ve only looked at pictures of him that your mother showed you or seen him during Facetime calls with her, when she told you to say hi to him.

You know Joel is a good-looking man from the pictures you saw, but you didn’t expect him to look this good in person. His salt-and-pepper hair suggests maturity. He has beautiful features: a rugged handsome face with tan skin, a strong jawline, warm brown eyes, and a sharp nose. Unbelievably handsome. He’s tall and broad, so you have to look up at him. His big arms stretch the charcoal flannel he wears.

In return, he looks at you, inspecting your face as if lost in a trance.

“Joel, meet my daughter,” your mother introduces.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you extend your hand.

Joel shakes your hand warmly. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m so glad we’re all finally together,” your mother says.

“Me too, Daphne,” Joel says as he kisses her temple.

It’s kind of strange to watch the scene unfolding in front of you, you’ve never seen your mother this affectionate with anyone before. But you are happy for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I thought I’d made it on time. I bought your favorite cake, tiramisu, right?” Joel says to your mother, gesturing to the large paper bag he’s holding.

A soft blush tints her cheeks. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Joel.”

“I planned to surprise you with it before you got here, but my car broke down on the way.”

“It’s okay, Joel. It’s perfect,” she says as she hugs him.

“Okay… so, are we gonna eat the cake now?” you say, trying to ease the awkwardness of witnessing their intimate moment.

Joel and your mother laugh at your remark, breaking the embrace with a shared smile. Then, he leads you to the dining room. The table is full of delicious-looking food, and your stomach grumbles at the sight.

“This is amazing, Joel,” your mother says.

The three of you finally sit down and enjoy the food on the dining table. You can’t believe Joel actually cooked all of this, and it’s kind of sweet. You’ve never had someone cook for you, not even your mother, because she’s always busy. So, you either cook for yourself or buy takeout. Joel mentions that he has always loved cooking. Everything on the table is flavorsome, especially the ravioli with spicy cream sauce.

You’re too busy eating your food to notice Joel looking at you until you catch him. He quickly averts his eyes back to his plate, and you can feel a flush rising to your cheeks. But you quickly push the thoughts aside.

“Oh, yeah, mom. I was wondering how I’m gonna finish high school. You haven’t mentioned anything about it yet.”

“Don’t worry, flower. I’ve already taken care of it,” your mother says. “You start next week, but there’s no high school in this town, so you’re going to the one in Lakewood.”

You furrow your eyebrows, you have no idea about anything in this town. “Where?”

“Lakewood, it’s not too far from here. Twenty minutes tops,” Joel says. “Don’t worry, I can take you there and pick you up.”

It’s such a dad thing to say, you thought. You never knew how it felt to have a dad before, and the thought warms your heart and also your cheeks. You must be blushing right now because you can see a hint of a smirk on Joel’s lips, though he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say.

Joel smiles warmly. “I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street on VHS from the store. I thought it’d be nice to watch it together tonight. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Oh god. Wait, but how does he know? Uh… your mom must have told him, of course. Stupid you.

“But why?” you ask, puzzled. “We can just watch it on Apple TV or something.”

He smirks playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You chuckle. “Right, okay.”

The two of you share a smile, locking eyes for a moment before you finally look away and return to your food.

“That’s very thoughtful,” your mother smiles and holds Joel’s hand on the table.

After everyone has finished eating, Joel leads you upstairs to show you to your room, carrying your bags. Meanwhile, your mother is having a phone call with her friend. As the two of you walk, you pass a wooden door adorned with painted blossoms and vines, with an “S” initial in the center, but you don’t ask about it. He leads you to the door on the left at the end of the hallway and turns on the night lamp.

“It’s your room, I hope you like it,” he says as he puts the bags on the floor.

It’s such a pretty room, it’s cozy with a vintage ambiance. The walls are covered with floral wallpaper, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s very Joel but in a feminine way. The windows have white lace curtains, allowing you to see the forest. All the furniture is made of dark wood, including the bed frame, bedside tables, dresser, chairs, study desk, and vanity table. There’s a floral carving around the mirror. He placed some unlit candles around the room. The bed is full-sized, and you touch the soft pink bedding with your fingers, feeling the little flowers on it. It’s pretty, soft, and you. What you didn’t expect is the painting of “Fallow Deer with Fawn” above the headboard—your favorite painting.

You gasp at the sight of it and turn around to face Joel, who’s already looking at you. His pupils dilate as he looks at you. But there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Joel, how did you—”

He smiles warmly and looks back into your eyes. “I asked your mom if there’s something you like. She told me that you’re crazy about that painting, and even wrote an essay about it for school. So I found a very similar one and got it for y—”

You stride to him and hug him before he can finish his words, burying your face in his chest with your arms around his torso. You feel his arms enveloping you, holding you in a bear hug, and you can feel his face resting on your hair.

You feel emotional from the gesture, unable to believe that someone actually cares about you and your interests so much. It means a lot to you, even if it might mean nothing to Joel. You try to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall, closing your eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, the masculine scent of Joel fills your nostrils.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper. “It means a lot to me.”

He caresses your hair with his other hand. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Joel’s deep voice is like music to your ears. After a few seconds in what feels like heaven, you realize what you’re doing and quickly break the hug, stepping back. Overcome with embarrassment, you don’t have the courage to look him in the face. You bow your head and focus on your socks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say.

Joel takes a step closer to you and caresses your soft cheek with his big hand. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.”

His gentle voice soothes you, but you’re so embarrassed that your cheeks must be red. You still don’t dare to look at him. After waiting for a few moments and seeing your resistance, he takes a step back.

“Makes yourself comfortable, okay?” Joel says warmly. “If you need anything at all, just tell me. I’m gonna help your mom carry her bags.”

You nod, and Joel takes it as a yes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

You curl up in your bed, quietly crying for almost an hour. Why did you do that? You feel so embarrassed and stupid about the moment earlier. Lost in your feelings, you didn't think twice before hugging Joel. Now, you can’t find the courage to face him. You just want to sleep and hide under your blanket forever.

But you still can’t believe Joel prepared all of this for you. The pink bedding, the flower-patterned details everywhere, the candles, the painting—all your favorite things. Not that you're ungrateful, but this is far better than your old space. You love this room Joel made for you.

You remove the blanket from your head and rest your head on the pillow. There’s a little something you didn’t notice earlier—a beautiful wood carving, much like the one in the living room, but smaller. It’s a wolf and a doe and is placed on your bedside table. You smile at the sight. Not long after that, you fall asleep, dreaming about resting on the forest floor with a big wolf hugging you.

The sky is dark outside when you wake up a few hours later. You change into your soft pink nightgown, which is sleeveless with a round neckline. Three small buttons run down the front, with small embroidered flowers beside them. You tie the delicate ribbon at the waist into a small bow. As you brush your hair, you hear a knock on the door.

You put the brush down and go to open the door, finding Joel on the other side. You don’t open the door all the way, keeping your hand on the handle. He looks so handsome, his curls falling into his forehead. He’s wearing a faded black t-shirt that hugs his frame, paired with flannel pants.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

In return, he looks at you. His once-brown eyes darken and dilate as he gazes from your right eye to your left, lingering on your lips. You notice him wet his lips, and then his eyes roam over your body, making you feel self-conscious. His intense gaze sends a hot sensation through your core.

“Joel?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly as if realizing what he is doing. “Uh… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I came here to ask if you’re still up for the movie night.”

“Oh, right. Um… yeah, sure,” you stutter.

“Okay. Uh, are you alright?” he asks.

You immediately know what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry, Joel, about earlier,” you bow your head.

“Hey, please don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You can come to me anytime you want,” he says, his voice sincere.

You nod.

“Alright, why don’t we head downstairs now? Your mom’s in the kitchen making popcorn. Or do you need more time?”

“No, I’m ready.”

You open the door and step out of the room.

“Do you want a chocolate or something? Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says as he walks down the stairs in front of you.

Your heart warms at his offer, and you smile softly. “Um… could I have hot chocolate and Oreos?” you ask shyly.

“Of course,” he replies with a smile. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and let me make it for you?”

“Okay.”

Joel walks to the kitchen and joins your mother. Meanwhile, you sit on the couch in the dim living room, waiting for them. You grab the VHS, still inside the box, and examine the back cover. It says, ‘If Nancy doesn’t wake up screaming… she won't wake up at all!’ and you smile as the words send a shiver of excitement down your spine.

A few minutes later, your mother shows up with Joel. He brings a steaming cup of hot chocolate with Oreos and two bottles of Corona beer. Meanwhile, your mother puts a bowl of chips and popcorn on the coffee table.

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “Thank you, Joel, Mom.”

Joel grins. “Excited?”

“Flower, why don’t you change into something a little more appropriate? Don’t you get cold dressed like that?” your mother says, her eyes looking sharply at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, puzzled. “But it’s my nightgown.”

“Just change, alright?” she says, her tone brooks no debate.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

Your smile fades as you stand up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s face—his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks confused as he glances at your mother. Quickly, you go upstairs to your room, holding back the urge to cry.

“Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself like a spell as you look for more appropriate night attire in your suitcase.

You’re confused because your mother also wears a short nightgown too, with tin straps. So why is she upset with yours?

So you opt for your winter pajama set: long-sleeved button-up top and long pants. It’s light-colored with a pattern of small bear figures scattered on the fabric.

After changing, you take a deep breath, go downstairs, and sit on the rug with your hot chocolate in your hands, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m ready,” you say softly.

You’re glad your voice isn’t shaking because you don’t want to look vulnerable in front of them. Joel stands up from the couch, puts the VHS in the VCR, and plays the movie. You can feel his eyes on you, but you bow your head and focus on your hot chocolate.

The atmosphere is not as exciting as it was before your mother scolded you, but you try to enjoy the moment. A few moments into the movie you can’t help but giggle and blush at Glen Lantz's appearance, you’ve always had a crush on him.

“You sure your cheeks don’t hurt now, little girl?” Joel says with a smirk on his face, catching you smiling for not the first time.

Embarrassed, you lower your head and take a bite of your cookie. “No…”

Joel chortles. “Your cheeks got redder, sweetheart.”

You put the cookie down, curl up, and bury half of your face in your knees at his teasing. If your ears could work like a chimney in a cartoon, you are sure there would be fumes coming out from how warm your cheeks are right now. Damn Joel.

Near the movie’s end, you catch a glimpse of your mother kissing Joel’s face and neck—not the peck kind but the longing kind. You feel deeply uncomfortable and don’t want to look. You try to focus on the movie but can’t. You hold yourself together until the closing credits appear, and then you quickly stand up.

“I’m tired, I’m gonna go to my room,” you mutter before leaving and going back to your room.

Why did they have to do that in front of you? Are they drunk? You throw yourself onto the bed and turn off the night lamp, allowing the natural light from the night sky to illuminate your room as you try to sleep.

After what feels like twenty minutes, just as you doze off, you hear thumps and muffled moans coming from the other side of the wall behind the headboard. And you know exactly what they’re doing, which pisses you off even more, and you feel like you want to cry. So you clutch your pillow and blanket and go to sleep in your closet with your earmuffs on. You didn’t expect your first night here to be like this—sleeping on the closet floor. It takes a while to fall asleep again.

[sarahsartistportfolio]

SAGAU: A Rumor Spreads

Forewarns: Female reader, real self indulgent shit, not cult au or imposter au, reader is a virgin, reader is soft and feminine, ok honestly this is straight up virginity kink I'm going call it what it is lol, Kazuha having a bittt of a corruption kink, Wanderer's section turned out really romantic? lol, this bit isn't 18+ but future chapters might be, Cyno on his knees for us👀, Xiao yearning hard,

AO3

Kazuha - Cyno - Xiao - Heizou - Zhongli - Childe - Wanderer - Maybeeee Lyney and Albedo

“Ei I’m thinking of planning a girls only getaway at an Inazuma hot springs? Would you and Yae Miko like to help me out?” 

The two are immediately beaming and receptive to the idea. Any chance for you to spend more time in Inazuma is quickly snatched up. As you sit with the two lovely ladies, planning out who to invite, where to host the outing, you explain to them that you’d rather keep this event private. If word got around(especially to the other nations) that you were holding an exclusive get together in Inazuma(at an hot springs no less) you’re afraid some nosy guests might try to peep in on the conversation. The two swear to you they’ll keep their lips shut but as your invites go out rumors just tend to spread. Now every woman in the nation of eternity would love to attend this private get away, just to get an opportunity to speak to you their goddess one on one. And of course there are those with a little more devious intentions of seeing their beloved goddess in such an exposed state. 

Oh and of course once the word gets around to the boys, the absolute disappointment on their faces plus the swirling curiosity. A trip with just the girls? What will you speak about that you don't want any male ears to hear? Is it about them? Are you going to speak about them in private?

(Heizou not so subtly asking Sara what was said on this trip. Thoma sneakily listens in to conversations any of the women have on the estate that even mention your name. Itto loudly and desperately begging Shinobu to tell him where you are holding this outing so he can just, you know, not subtly spy on your conversations.) 

Despite the rumors still floating around, you follow through with this little getaway plan. With extra reassurance from Yae Miko that if she catches any peeping toms she'll be sure to zap them. 

And despite some of the girls being more nervous to be so up close and personal with you, others are just jumping at the chance to see you so laid back and vulnerable. And the steam from the hot springs just seems to melt away your walls, as the night goes on you find the conversation drifting to…romance. You tell Yae Miko how you love to write sappy cheesy romance novels and she’s more than happy to give some of your rough drafts a read. You playfully start to run your hands through Kirara’s damp hair just to hear her purr and now suddenly Yoimiya is asking “Me next! Me next!”

It isn't until you sheepishly say “Ah well despite writing about romance a lot I’ve never actually been in love or slept with anybody.” that an audible pause washes over the group. The deer scare making a loud echoing “clink”.

Now they all begin to coo and question you. 

“There’s no way no one hasn’t fallen head over heels for your Grace yet?! You must be like thousands of years old, surely you’ve stolen someone’s heart” Yomiya loudly proclaims.

“Aww so you’re saving yourself for your one true love, how cute.” Yae Miko insinuated.

“When you say it out loud its embarrassing-”

“Has anyone caught your eye yet your Grace?” Sara asks a bit too calmly as she and Ei eye you down with anticipation. 

The girls continue to grill you with nosy questions “What’s your ideal type?” “Do you prefer men or women more?” 

And you answer them with giddiness, happy to spill your life long dreams of getting married and having a family of your own one day.

“Ah, so you desire to get married and become a mother?...” Yae Miko vocalized aloud, wondering what this would mean for the whole of Tayvet. 

“I know it's a silly little dream of mine…”

“It's not silly at all, your Grace!” Yomiya cheerfully chimes in. “If you have your heart set on someone let me know and maybe I can set up a huge fireworks display that spells out I love you.” She giggles and Kirara nods in agreement.

Thanks but I don't really want anyone to play matchmaker…

The rest of the night goes on with laughter and drinks. The women feeling blessed to see this vulnerable side of you. You assume the conversations you had with the ladies will remain private but…it seems like someone has loose lips.

Soon days after the trip, rumors start to pop up.

“Ah didn't you hear our dear goddess is still a virgin, as pure as a lily kissing the sun’s rays for the first time.” “I aspire to have the same chastity as her.” “I heard she’s specifically looking for a husband because she wants to have kids.” “Surely if she chooses a man from our nation that means she’ll permanently reside here right?”

When you meet up with Venti again he’s a little more gleeful than usual. And when you part to say goodbye he leans in, eyes close but you abruptly stop him with a hand covering his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to kiss you before anyone else does.” He says with disappointed eyes, voice still muffled by your hand. When you allow him to speak more it's then that you know. Somebody in at that hot springs squealed. 

And there’s no stopping these nosy rumors once they start going. What happens when they reach the ear of...?

[vettelsvee]

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 5: I'LL NEVER LEAVE... NEVER MIND [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist | wattpad f1 masterlist | ao3 | ask anything or let's talk!

ferrari sebastian vettel x ex gf!female reader

word count: 4437

summary: after not seeing each other in almost five years, seb and y/n finally meet with just one purpose for her: telling seb they have a 4 year old daughter. will y/n be able to tell him?

warnings: mentions of sex. i think nothing else but i literally cried while writing this. i recommend that you listen to loml by taylor swift while reading this hehe

taglist: [ @saltycomicsanimalssalad @hc-dutch @mycenterfold @simplyamberj @spitesfvl-blog @jaydaaasworld @lottalove4evelyn @zoeyjadetice2010 @jehun @ferralari @cosmoscoffeee @mcmuppet @myescapefromthislife @sleutherclaw @youre-on-your-ownkid ]

a/n: i'm finally back! sorry you had to wait this long to get a new chapter but writers block had me going like crazy, as well as my mental health in general. i had something else planned for today BUT be aware of what I'm posting tomorrow since you might like it! christmas is coming soon and i have a surprise ready for you. let me remind you that feedback and reposts are truly appreciated. and also comment me your thoughts and theories on the story pls! missed you so much guys, thank you for everything, love you all <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

May 15th Heppenheim, Germany

“Y/N, remember that you need to be careful with what you say to Seb. I know you want to tell him about Emily, but also consider whether today is the right time. Imagine if…”

You stop listening to Hanna the moment her lips utter your daughter’s name. Instead, your mind started creating a thousand different scenarios about what could happen when you saw your ex-boyfriend today. Your gaze remained fixed on the mirror in your room.

You only returned home five days ago, but it felt like an eternity.

You knew perfectly well why, or rather, you knew perfectly well who was to blame for your distorted sense of time: Sebastian Vettel, of course.

The trip to London felt like a fresh start. While the main reason to go was your meeting with Capital Records to discuss what your near future might hold, you considered it as an opportunity to rethink what you wanted to do with your life from now on. 

You had just turned 30, and the only thing you longed for was to start this new decade with a clean slate in every possible way. That, of course, included facing your past mistakes and recognizing your faults, one of which you might be about to commit today.

Hanna acted as some sort of mediator between you and Seb because, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to send him even the simplest of messages. The driver seemed to understand, as he told Hanna not to worry, that he understood, and that all you needed to do was show up without standing him up. 

Despite having agreed to meet at your house, you decided to dress up a little to present yourself in the best way possible. After spending far more time than you’d like to admit choosing what to wear, you settled on a light blue knee-length dress and white Converse sneakers, with a bracelet your daughter made (or better said your mother made, just Emily took credit for).

"Y/N, are you even listening to me?"

The reflection of your best friend in the mirror startled you. You turned towards her, trying to maintain the calm you’ve lacked since returning from London. Exactly five days that have felt like five years.

Like the five years since you last saw Seb.

"Hey, cat got your tongue or what?" insisted the blonde. "Seriously, Y/N, I want you to be speechless, but preferably when you and Seb take the conversation from the couch to the bed and he makes you scream his name again just like he used to do when..."

"Hanna, for God's sake, shut up! Seb and I are only going to talk about..."

"I know, I know, I was just trying to make you laugh. You know I like to..." 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

If you were restless before, pacing back and forth in your room, checking that there was no trace of Emily in the house for Seb to find, now you were frozen like a statue.

You looked at Hanna, and she looked back at you. You shrugged, but Hanna just put her exaggeratedly unfriendly faces.

"Hanna, no..."

"It's Seb, Y/N! It's just Seb, for heaven's sake," she interrupted, and you cut her off just as fast.

"It's the Seb I haven't seen in five years!" you stammered, feeling the anxiety taking over. "Seriously, Hanna, this was a very, very bad idea. I don’t even know why I asked you to tell him to come and..."

"Because he's the father of your daughter, and your only goal is to tell him!" she yelled, trying not to raise her voice too much but failing miserably. You hoped to God Vettel didn’t hear that.

"Hanna..."

"Since I know you're not going to open the door, I'll do it myself. Stay here or come down, do whatever you want, but I'll tell Seb to come find you because clearly, you can't handle welcoming your guest," she declared.

Without saying anything else, she strided out of your room. You could only follow her, practically tripping down the stairs, legs trembling like a teenager on her first date. Your pulse was pounding in your temples, while your mind kept screaming at your body to calm down.

As soon as you stepped onto the ground floor, you saw Hanna opening the door. Her cheerful voice broke the silence, asking Seb how he was and, to your surprise, inviting him in.

You inched closer, not quite enough for them to notice you. Then you stopped, inspecting Seb from head to toe, as if you didn't already know every inch of his body by heart. Even though you were used to seeing him on TV and social media daily, it felt like you haven’t seen him in all this time you’ve been out of touch. He was wearing a slightly worn-out white t-shirt and jeans. His hair was perfectly trimmed, though a bit longer on top, and his beard, probably several days old, was what caught your attention the most, looking just the way you liked it.

But what really captivated you was the bouquet of yellow tulips he was holding, just like he used to bring you for dates or whenever it was a special day for either of you back when you were dating.

You swallowed hard, guilt washing over you as you thought, for a fleeting moment, about him handing you a flower bouquet before you told him you were having his baby.

"Hi..."

You thought your whisper was too soft to be heard, but it was quite the opposite.

Both Seb and Hanna turned to look at each other, then focused on you, still standing in the entryway. Your best friend tensed up slightly, but you tried to reassure her with a slight movement of your hands. The expression on your ex-boyfriend’s face seemed to light up at your small intervention, even if it was minimal.

“Well, Seb, I'll leave you with Y/N. I have a few errands to run…” Your friend tried to excuse herself, though both of you knew it wasn’t true. “See you later for a drink guys!

She winked and quickly slipped out, shutting the door behind her before either of you could even say goodbye.

Now, it was just the two of you, alone.

Seb looked at you again, and you couldn’t help it but get lost in the blue of his eyes. The situation felt strange. You used to cherish every moment of being alone together, but now you didn’t even know how to say a simple "hello." 

You once trusted him completely, and now you were unsure whether to offer him a drink or tell him that you have a four-year-old daughter.

“Hi, sunshine,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Hi, Seb.”

He took a step towards you, slowly moving closer. You noticed how his gaze shifted from the flowers to your eyes, as if he was searching for some kind of answer from you. His eyes reflected a mixture of nervousness and tenderness, stirring a whirlwind of emotions inside you. 

He didn’t have to say it, you could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture, this little detail that used to drive you crazy, but now… you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You, on the other hand, were utterly stunned. 

How, after all this time and how cold you ended things, could he still do this? How could he still remember?

“These... are for you,” he finally said, his voice low and shaky. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling.

You met his gaze, and the way he looked at you was filled with fear, insecurity, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of tenderness. He didn’t need to say it out loud because you knew him too well. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, taking your time to smell the flowers.

You couldn’t hold it in. Tears began to blur your vision, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

He noticed. Even though you didn’t want to, even though you didn’t feel capable of getting close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek or maybe even a hug, Seb did it anyway.

“It's okay, Y/N,” he whispered. “It’s okay...”

But it wasn’t okay… it was far from okay.

Sebastian Vettel was here, once again, standing in front of you, and possibly back in your life. The boy you once considered your best friend, the best friend you fell in love with, the driver you always supported, and most importantly, the father of your child, was back in your life in such an unexpected way that it still felt surreal.

“I don’t know...” you tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. “It feels surreal that after everything, after such an empty goodbye, here we are, together again,” you confessed. “It’s weird seeing you in front of me in the flesh and not as pixels on a screen.”

“Y/N…”

“I’ve missed you, Seb. So much.”

You knew your honesty didn’t catch him by surprise, because he felt the same way. That’s what hurt the most.

“I missed you too, Y/N. I really did...” he said after a moment, wrapping his arms around you, and you pressed your face against his chest.

“Seb…”

“Don’t overthink it, really,” he interrupted gently. “I’m not here to talk about the past or blame anyone,” he paused, letting out a breath before continuing. “I just want us to go back to who we were before we were together. But, if I’m being honest, we’ve been in love with each other for so long that I can’t remember a time when you weren’t my everything.”

Your lips trembled. The weight of his words was too much for you to handle, at least today, in a first encounter where you haven’t even spent ten minutes together.

You felt awful. You felt shattered inside knowing that if you were in this situation, it was because of you.

“Well, Y/N, tell me…”

“No, no,” you quickly interrupted, grabbing his arm and guiding him to sit on the couch. Immediately after, you rushed to the kitchen to grab the drinks and snacks you spent all morning preparing. “You tell me first. Even though I’ve seen you on TV, I know you’re very private about your life, you know... You never share anything with the media, and well, you don’t even have social media so… How are you?”

He let out a short laugh as he picked up a bottle of water and a cheese-and-salmon toast.

“Well, to be honest, I’m doing much better than when you left me,” he revealed. It didn’t surprise you. After all, it was what you expected him to say. “You must have had your reasons for breaking up with me, and after all these years, I’m not going to ask why you did it. But I won’t lie to you… you left me shattered, Y/N.”

“Seb, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” he cut in softly, making a gentle gesture with his hand to calm you down. “Like I said, I’m not looking for an explanation or an apology. I just want you to know how I felt. Mentally… damn, Y/N, you broke me, and I completely lost myself, but at the same time, that’s what gave me the strength to win the championship in 2013,” he looked away from your eyes, shifting his gaze to the wall. Nervously, he started playing with his fingers. “All I could think about was you and that, maybe, there was a chance you were watching...”

“Of course I was, Seb,” you said softly, trying to hold back the tears and keep your composure. “No matter what happened, I never stopped watching or supporting you. I’ve always been, and will always be, your number one fan.”

He nodded, a bittersweet expression crossing his face.

“That year, everything I did was with the thought in mind that you were watching and, somehow, it helped me move forward. But… 2014 was when everything fell apart,” he admitted. “Red Bull wasn’t the same anymore, or at least, I didn’t feel the same way. I wasn’t winning, Daniel was beating me… I felt like I had lost everything, including you and, with time, I started to feel like I had no reason to stay with the team or maybe even in Formula 1. Until Ferrari offered me the contract.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Unlike any regular sports fan, you found out through Heike when you were out for a walk with Emily.

“When I was given the chance to sign with Ferrari in 2015... Y/N, really, that’s when I realized it wasn’t the end. That’s what I needed to move forward. I think I mentioned it to you on WhatsApp, but I don’t know if you remember…”

You swallowed hard. Of course, you remembered. He told you just before the news became public, before his mum told you, but you didn’t know how to answer him or if you really should do it. The demons in your head made you think it was a joke, even just an excuse to get closer to you. And you also felt that if he did sign with Ferrari, it would open a door you had closed because you weren’t ready to face the truth.

Just like you were doing now.

“I remember, yes,” you murmured, unable to look him in the eyes.

“When I didn’t get a reply from you I decided not to push it. That’s when I realized you didn’t want anything to do with me. Yet I kept sending you stuff as you might know…”

“That’s not it…” You could barely speak. You were as broken as he was. “I read the message, Seb, but… I burst into tears and didn’t have the strength to reply. I didn’t want to give you false hope when I wasn’t ready to… I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had,” you confessed. “I knew that if I spoke to you again, I’d hurt you again. And I’d hurt myself too. I couldn’t do that to you, Seb.”

He nodded, looking for some kind of affirmation in your gaze.

“At first, I felt really out of place on the team, you know? And I felt that way for a long time,” he revealed. “It was completely out of my comfort zone, and I felt like I’d never fit in. But little by little, Kimi, Maurizio, and the team made me feel like family. It’s strange to think about it now, but I can’t imagine being with any team other than Ferrari.” You agreed with him, from what you had seen on TV, it was clear he felt that way. “Fighting for the world title with them this year and having a real shot at beating Mercedes… I never thought I’d get to this point.”

You looked at him with a mix of admiration and nostalgia. This was the Seb you knew, the Seb with ambition, who always desired more and more. The Seb who never gave up.

The Seb who didn’t break down, even when he had every reason to.

“I’m so proud of you, Seb. I’ve always been, and I always will be. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he looked uncomfortable. Quite a bit, actually. “Well… enough about me. You know I don’t like talking about myself… What about you? What have you been up to all this time? My mom told me a bit, and I’ve seen you a few times, but…”

More than not knowing what to say, you sensed he didn’t want to intrude too much into your life.

You swallowed, trying not to get more nervous than you already were, because now, you supposed, was the moment to tell him about Emily.

“Well, not much has changed, really,” you started, unsure of what to say. “I’ve been in Heppenheim the whole time, except for a couple of trips to Berlin, but nothing unusual,” you tried to smile, but your mind kept circling around the fact that you had to tell him you had a daughter. “I’ve been working at the bar and writing music. To be honest, since we broke up I’ve had a lot more inspiration.”

And since I gave birth to Emily, you thought.

Seb didn’t say anything. You figured he understood. After all, he had thrown himself into his career to cope, while you had poured your emotions into writing songs about the story you shared to cope with grief.

“Now things have changed a bit,” you continued, trying to sound more upbeat to push away the painful memories. “Ever since Red went viral… I swear, I uploaded it without expecting anything, but the reaction…”

“The song is amazing, Y/N. Of course it went viral.”

“I’ve been offered a record deal,” you blurted out. “A few years ago, I met Niall Horan at the bar. You know, the guy who was on that band, One Direction…” Seb nodded, his eyes wide, encouraging you to continue. “He told me he was traveling to find some inspiration for his solo career, and I guess Heppenheim seemed like a good place for him to visit.”

“Wait, wait… a record deal?”

“Apparently, Niall told his label that I was the voice behind Red, and, well… Capital Records offered me a contract,” you explained. “They called me to have a meeting in London, which is why we couldn’t meet up last time…”

His face was calm, unreadable, though his mouth had curved into a big smile. He didn’t seem surprised, and you knew there was a strong chance Hanna had told him everything.

If that was true…

“I hope you accepted, Y/N.”

“Well… actually, I didn’t. I turned it down.”

His smile faded for a moment, and his expression became completely serious.

“You turned it down? Why? Sunshine, this is an opportunity…”

“Yes, I know it’s an amazing opportunity, but I can’t accept it. Not right now.”

You figured this was the moment you should tell him the real reason behind rejecting such a big deal, which included a tour if you sold a certain amount of CDs.

Sebastian kept staring at you, which only made you more nervous. You tried to gather your thoughts, searching for the right way to tell him you had a four-year-old daughter, but you couldn’t find the moment.

You couldn’t just drop it on him now, after all, this was your first real conversation in almost five years.

“Y/N, darling…”

“I can’t take the risk when the only thing I’ve managed is to get one song out of all the ones I sent to the label to go viral,” you half-lied. It was true that you didn’t want to talk about it yet, but you were also insecure about your music. “As much as I’d love to have an album, to fill stadiums and have people singing along to my songs, I can’t take that risk.”

“But, Y/N…”

“I’m not sure all the songs on the album would be successful, Seb.”

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re going to regret if you let this go....”

“No, Seb, I know exactly what I’m doing, really,” you shook your head, firm in your decision. “This is the best thing for me.” 

And for Emily too, though you didn’t say that out loud.

Seb remained silent for longer than you would have liked, as if trying to process what you’d just told him. Then, he stood up, crouching down to your level, and taking your hands in his, he said:

“Alright. If you think your songs aren’t good enough, sing one of them to me.”

“What?” you asked, confused.

“If you turned down the record deal because you think your songs aren’t good enough for the world to hear, sing one of them to me.”

His tone, though calm, was direct and insistent.

“Seb… I can’t. I’m too embarrassed,” you laughed nervously.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, gently rubbing your hands with his thumbs, just like he always did when your anxiety was at its worst. “It’s just me. I’m still the same after all these years.”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go until you gave in. It was Seb, and he always got what he wanted from you, even when you didn’t want to. In the end, you gave in, carefully standing up from the couch and heading towards the piano at the back of the room, gesturing for him to follow you.

You carefully slided the bench back, lifting the lid as you sat down. You positioned your hands, starting to play the first few chords to warm up, ensuring your memory flawlessly recalled the piece.

“This is song number 5, like your driver number... It's called loml.”

You continued playing, finally giving way to the song.

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing   Back into rekindled flames?   If we know the steps anyway   We embroidered the memories   Of the time I was away   Stitching, ‘We were just kids, babe.’   I said, ‘I don't mind, it takes time.’   I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed   I felt aglow like this   Never before and never since.

Your voice shook as you began to sing, but you kept going, holding on to what your ex-boyfriend had told you about how he knew it was about him. As you settled into the song, you started feeling more comfortable, just like you did when you used to sing for Seb. Though you couldn’t look at him because you were absorbed in the key, your fingers delicately moving over it, you could feel his eyes on you.

You shit-talked me under the table   Talking rings and talking cradles   I wish I could un-recall   How we almost had it all   Dancing phantoms on the terrace   Are they second-hand embarrassed   That I can't get out of bed?   Cause something counterfeit's dead.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you approached the final part of the song. Memories of your shared history flashed through your mind like a movie. Your vision was completely blurred, and you felt a tightness in your chest that was overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, almost impossible to keep singing. Somehow, though, you fought to hold it together, just as you did the day you said goodbye to the man now sitting beside you.

Oh, what a valiant roar   What a bland goodbye   The coward claimed he was a lion   I'm combing through the braids of lies   ‘I’ll never leave’... ‘Never mind.’   Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire   Your arson matches your somber eyes   And I'll still see it until I die   You're the loss of my life.

Silence filled the room as you played the final notes. With your hands still resting on the keyboard, you looked at Seb. Once again, you didn’t know what to say to him, and you knew he didn't either. He was motionless, running a hand through his hair, probably trying to process what he just heard.

Y/Ni, this song... it’s about us, isn’t it?”

“It might be,” you admited, unable to lie to him, at least not about this.

He sighed. You could tell he was affected; you knew it the moment his tears began to form, just as yours continued to flow.

“You should rethink the contract,” he said firmly. “This song deserves to be heard by more than just me, your parents, and Hanna.”

“I can’t, Seb. I just can’t…”

“Can I sit next to you?”

You looked up and saw him gesturing to the bench. Confused, not sure what to do or say, you shifted a little, making space, and he sat beside you. Seb didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, offering a comfort that felt wonderful but also caused you to crumble a bit more inside. 

You surprised yourself by resting your head on his shoulder.

“Why are you so determined to convince yourself you don’t deserve this opportunity?” His tone was soft, just like the way he stroked your hair. “Do you really think you're not good enough to be a successful singer?”

“It’s not about being good enough, it’s that I’m not,” you whisper,ed your throat tightening. “I’m not a good person, Seb, and it’s only a matter of time before I screw up again and hurt someone, just like I hurt you.”

“Does this… have something to do with the second date in your YouTube channel username?”

You stood your head up, staring at him in confusion while trying not to panic.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your username,” he repeated, moving closer. “I figured out that the numbers represent two dates. I know for sure that one of them is June 15, 2006, the day we started dating, but the other one… I don’t know what January 12, 2014 means for you because we weren’t talking by then, but it must be important. And based on what you just said…”

Your eyes widened in shock. You were paralyzed, not knowing how to react. 

How could he have noticed something so… insignificant? How had he connected the dots and figured out the dates you had in mind when you created that account?

You thought this would be the perfect moment to tell him that the second date marks the birth of your daughter, the daughter you had together; that on that day, while you were in labor, he was at the hospital waiting for some exams results and he was talking to your dad, who couldn’t contain his excitement about his granddaughter’s arrival and had to keep it a secret from him.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. You need to regain his trust first. You and Seb needed to rebuild the kind of relationship you had before you became the love of each other’s lives.

“Seb…” you trailed off, unable to continue. “I swear, on everything that matters to you, I’ll tell you, but right now… I just can’t.”

He looked at you for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. You knew him better than you knew yourself, and you knew he was persistent, that he needed an answer, but you also knew he was respectful and wouldn't push you.

“That’s okay,” he said finally, a bit resigned. “I understand, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to tell me now if you’re not ready, but I want you to know that when you are, I’ll be here to listen.”

You looked at him, grateful, and nodded without saying anything else. 

You both sat at the piano bench for a while, in silence, listening only to the sound of your breathing and the melody of the song replaying in your mind, as intrusive thoughts overwhelmed you.

“If I waited almost 19 years of my life to be your boyfriend, I can wait a little longer, it doesn’t matter the time you need, for you to tell me,” Seb finally spoke, and his words broke you a little more than you already were. “Let’s be friends again, what do you think?” he offered, giving you a small smile. “Let’s take things slowly, like maybe we should have done when we first started dating. You know…”

“Slowly, no problem,” you repeated, smiling back at him.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders at his words. Maybe you were not at the peak of your relationship, and maybe you’d never got back there, but at least you were working together to turn your story into something new.

“You know what, Y/N? I’ve always felt like our story wasn’t over. I don’t just mean that romantically, but in a broader sense,” he said quickly. “We have a whole lot of history, and now is when we’re going to start writing our second book.”

“I know, Seb. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since I said goodbye to you,” you confess. “That day, goodbyes were bittersweet, but I knew it wasn’t the end and that I’d see you again.”

Before the year ends. I’m telling Seb Emily is her daughter before December 31st.

[olderthannetfic]

I accidentally killed my own desire to write, and I need some advice. To be really blunt about it, what's the point of writing? When I would spend lots of time laboring over making a good story with a plot and characters who were in-character and connecting all the dots narratively so payoffs were satisfying, my reward was dead silence and virtually no clicks. I posted some mindless smut to my side account one day and got more hits in a day than most of my other works combined got in a year. I know, I know. "Write for ~*~yourself~*~" is the common response. It's the "be yourself!" of writing. It's supposed to be a magical phrase that'll make everything okay. But... I don't like knowing that something I spend months working on won't be read by anyone while something I write in a car while bored got thousands of clicks. I don't like making something I'm proud of and then no one ever looks at it. That's not fun for me. It's not fulfilling.

For a solid decade, I've tried to ignore how the level of interactivity in fandom is falling. Fewer comments. Fewer kudos. No comments in the bookmarks. You put your tumblr and Discord in the AN and get a handful of asks and one person who adds you, talks to you twice and then ghosts you. Most of the comments are "well, actuallys", made even more annoying by them being wrong as opposed to actually correcting an error. I avoid fandom drama, wank, and infighting. I don't engage with things I know will make me unhappy. I try to be happy over in my own little corner. I comment on every single work I read. I want people to enjoy fandom. I used to.

Some dumb smut I wrote in 40 minutes gets five times the hits of the writing I'm most proud of, and it gets it in just under three months. I am not a great smut writer. I haven't stumbled onto an incredible talent I had that makes it so the issue is that I'm so amazing my smut brings all the boys to the yard. People just don't like what I write and put effort into. It's very likely that despite 20 years of writing fic, I suck at writing. And people enjoy my writing most when they don't have to put up with anything substantial and can just skip to the sex.

So for the last eight months, when I write, I just sort of give up. Close the Word doc without saving. No one will read this. No one cares about this. There is no fan eagerly awaiting every update like I await updates from my favorite authors. There's not even someone saying, "update soon!" Close the Word doc. Delete old WIPs. There's no point. I do not tell stories worth reading. I used to. In the FFN days people genuinely enjoyed my work. I'd never have had an opportunity to do the 'I won't update until I get 3 reviews' thing because getting that many on a chapter was usually something I'd do overnight. Post before bed. Wake up. Read the reviews before school. I peaked in high school, I guess.

And now I'm just sort of lost. I still have lots of ideas. Ideas for fics fall into my head all the time. That's never been a problem. What I don't have is any motivation to write them. What's the point of writing? If no one else is reading, I guess the point would be so I could go back and read my own story and have fun with it. Write for myself. But I can review the story and have fun with it in my head without writing it down. It's substantially faster and more importantly, isn't incredibly depressing.

So, at the risk of definitely being calld the second-coming of True Art Anon or a troll or validation-seeking or haha mentally ill haha... what's the point of writing?

--

Okay, so write porn in a car while you're bored.

Look, you can whine all you want about my response, but what you've written here is blatantly about depression.

Lots of people in fandom are still interacting. And no, it isn't just on fics that are objectively written to some pro fiction standard or whatever. Teenagers still breathlessly review poorly spelled cracky masterpieces about this year's big anime and so forth.

Yes, there may be reasons why you in particular are in a slump when it comes to fandom friendships or "plz update" comments. We can talk about that. But this ask is all gloom about fandom in general. That's not realism: that's you having a problem.

--

As for why a person should write: because the actual hours you spend doing the writing are fun.

If they aren't pleasurable in some way, find another hobby.

--

But if you want an answer to the age old "Why did my 5 minute fic get 1000000x more asspats", I've seen meta about this for literally decades.

The most likely reason is that the fic we write quickly and without much thought often feels fresher and more fun. The things we labor over endlessly can feel overworked. Even in cases where they don't, they're often heavier subject matter or more niche subject matter. On top of all that, we just care more, so even a high level of feedback doesn't really feel like enough for the effort and care we put in.

--

Do you really need me to tell you why you don't feel the same as in high school when things were fresh and new?

Go read up on combatting burnout or dealing with post-college anxiety or managing stress in a dead-end job in your 30s or finding meaning in your 40s or whatever is going on.

Everyone goes through fallow periods in fandom and in life.

Feeling reinvigorated has to do with internal factors and some general life circumstance stuff. It doesn't have that much to do with number of kudos. That's just the surface trigger for a mood that was already there.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire. 

His four hours of nothingness. 

He had too much time on his hands. 

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day. 

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you. 

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM. 

You were probably asleep by now. 

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself. 

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with. 

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans. 

He could be with you. You could be his. 

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you. 

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting. 

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas. 

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once. 

He didn’t know how he did it. 

He really just did. 

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest. 

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation? 

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life. 

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late. 

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you. 

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there. 

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy. 

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind. 

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window. 

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right. 

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that. 

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus. 

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago. 

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up. 

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all. 

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives? 

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions. 

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you. 

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home. 

Dean didn’t expect this. 

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home. 

He blinked. 

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees. 

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it. 

You needed to be safe. 

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you. 

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human. 

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you. 

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement. 

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools. 

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked. 

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma. 

You were still way behind on unpacking. 

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated. 

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them. 

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy. 

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing. 

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself. 

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents. 

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway. 

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all. 

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive. 

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste. 

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had. 

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered. 

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle. 

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about. 

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate. 

He was thorough with his search. 

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong. 

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute. 

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear. 

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties. 

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm. 

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you. 

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating. 

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned. 

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional. 

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life. 

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed. 

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future? 

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent. 

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you. 

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration. 

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that. 

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting. 

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you. 

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule. 

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking. 

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet! 

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of. 

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it. 

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more. 

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet. 

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs. 

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom. 

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him. 

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth. 

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses. 

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all. 

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life. 

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone. 

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him. 

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks. 

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in. 

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns. 

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed. 

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him. 

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him. 

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his. 

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 4

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The fourth time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on the brink of a promise he knows he can't afford to make.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word, @itzjustj-1000, @k-l-a-w-s, @hotdogbread23

Author’s Note: I've been blown away by how kind you all have been about this fic, and I'm so glad you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it! We've got two parts to go, and they only get better from here :) Thank you for all the support, and let me know what you think of this chapter!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

It’s five o’clock in the morning, and Colt Seavers has already been standing in the misty parking lot for two hours when he finally sees your car pulling in the entrance.

The last twelve hours have been absolute torture for him. One minute, he was walking into the crowded club to drop off some equipment with the stunt coordinator; the next, he was sharing space at the bar with you, trapped under your spell despite all his vows that he wouldn’t keep pushing this flirty thing you’ve been sharing.

He’s been conflicted for months now, knowing that his feelings for you are only getting deeper but also knowing that a relationship with him is the last thing you need. No matter how hard he tries to be noble for you, he just can’t get free from the way you enrapture him so completely — the way he thinks of you every moment of the day, dreams of a future where you could feel about him the way he feels about you.

And he honestly thought you didn’t — that you couldn’t — until last night. When he completely wrecked everything, including your heart.

Colt squeezes his eyes shut again, remembering the way he pulled back from you just a few seconds before your lips would have met. In the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do: cut it off, laugh it off, let it go before he betrayed how absolutely captivated he is by everything you do.

He keeps telling himself that he did the right thing. That he’s no good for you, and you’re better off not getting confused by his overwhelming feelings for you. But he keeps seeing your face — the way all the light in your eyes vanished, the way your shoulders slumped and your expression wilted. He had no idea there were actual, genuine feelings on your part. And for him?

Colt has spent the last twelve hours deliberating how to handle this situation. He knows he has to make it right with you, but the question is how. His inner monologue has quite the speech ready for him. You can’t even THINK about confessing your feelings. You’re the one who has no future, no big dreams, maybe not even much longer to live! You have no right to force that kind of life on anyone. Especially if you really care.

After hours of tormented decision-making, Colt has come to the same conclusion he always does: he can’t let you know how he feels about you. He’s got to apologize, make sure you know he didn’t mean to hurt you, let you think he’s just been flirting for fun, maybe even rekindle your injured friendship. But he absolutely cannot let you know he’s in love with you.

And he is, isn’t he? He wouldn’t have waited with bated breath in the parking lot for two hours if he wasn’t madly, hopelessly, irremediably in love with you.

Colt has planned this conversation thousands of times since last night, but the only thing he can choke out when you climb out of your car and start toward the studio is, “Hey.”

You glance up at him in surprise, clearly less than pleased to find him hanging around the parking lot so early. His heart tightens at the sight of your pale face, the dark circles under your eyes betraying what was probably a sleepless night. “Hey,” you respond emotionlessly.

“Do you have a second?” Colt asks. His voice isn’t quite as strong as he hoped, but the sight of you is sending jolts of electricity through his veins.

You look to the side, pursing your lips and injecting a hint of coldness into your voice that he has never heard before. “Honestly, Colt, no offense,” you say plainly, “but I don’t really want to talk right now.”

Colt presses his lips together, knowing he’s the reason for this uncharacteristic coldness. “Believe me, I understand,” he blurts out, “but I’ve got to talk to you about last night.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shoot back, fixing your stare on him again. Behind the coldness in your eyes is a deep sorrow that twists his heart. “I misread the signals, I overthought it, it’s not a big deal. You don’t need to explain anything.”

“Yes, I do,” he insists. “I messed up big time. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since last night, and I have to get this off my chest, okay? You don’t have to say anything.” He knows he sounds desperate, but he’s past caring. “Please, just hear me out and let me explain.”

You hold his stare, unrelenting, unforgiving. He loves you for it. “Fine.”

Colt releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, overwhelmed with relief that you’re even willing to listen to him. His biggest worry all night was that you wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t let him make things right.

He plunges right in, knowing it will be messy but not caring. “Listen, I’m really bad at this, but I’m going to give it my best go. These past few months that I’ve known you… it’s been really nice. You’re amazing to be around, and I always feel better after I’ve hung out with you. You’ve honestly been the best thing about this shoot.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but Colt can feel the iciness in your gaze softening ever so slightly. It gives him the courage to press on, even though he knows what he’s about to say is going to devastate himself.

“The thing is,” he continues, heart in his throat, “I’ve been so caught up in just… flirting and messing around, that I haven’t paid attention to how it might affect you. I haven’t been paying attention to the signals either.”

You furrow your brow at him. “What are you saying?”

Colt, you are the worst at this, man.

“I’m saying… I’m really sorry that I hurt your feelings last night. I’ve been replaying it over and over in my mind, and I can’t get past the way you looked at me when I pulled away and laughed everything off. Just, the look in your eyes and the way you looked like I had let you down — it’s been killing me.”

Your expression finally softens, and Colt hates himself for the words that are coming out of his mouth. “I thought this was just a fun flirtation between friends and that it would be better to keep any physical stuff out of it. I didn’t know there was anything on your side. Honestly. Not until I saw how much it hurt you for me to just… act like it meant nothing.”

There it is again — that hint of betrayal in your eyes. Now that Colt knows you care for him, his decision to “do the right thing” suddenly seems like the most gut-wrenching, agonizing thing he’s ever done.

It’s all I can do. I have nothing to offer, nothing to make a relationship worth the pain it would cause. I love you, and that’s why I won’t tell you.

Your brow is still lined with confusion, trying to parse out his real meaning among the confusion of words. “But you’re still saying… it didn’t mean anything to you.”

This is killing him. “Of course it meant something to me,” Colt blurts out before he can stop himself completely. He tries to amend it. “Man, I am so bad at this. What I’m trying to say is… I would never have even started a flirtation with you if I knew it would hurt you. Please believe me when I say I would never, ever, in a gazillion years want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel like I don’t care about your feelings. I should have been more sensitive and realized that I can’t just… lead you on without it mattering.”

Lead you on. As if I didn’t mean every word I’ve ever said to you. As if I wouldn’t die for you right now.

You nod, pursing your lips again with a clearer, more determined look in your eyes. “So, just so we’re clear,” you say slowly, “there’s nothing going on? All this flirting and hanging out and almost-kissing — it’s just been for kicks?”

“No, no, not just for kicks,” he backtracks immediately. Even when he’s trying to be noble, he can’t betray your trust that far. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean, Colt?” He can hear the genuine confusion in your voice. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Colt takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tries to focus on the right thing to say. “I’m just trying to tell you that I am so, so sorry for anything I’ve done to hurt you. I’ve been stupid and insensitive and awful, and I wish there was a way I could make it up to you. I just…” He opens his eyes, fixes them on yours so you know he’s telling the truth. “I couldn’t let this go without making it right with you. No matter what, you mean a lot to me, and the thought of losing your friendship honestly makes me miserable. Please just tell me I haven’t messed this up beyond repair.”

Please tell me I haven’t lost your trust completely. Please tell me I haven’t damaged the person I love most beyond repair.

You stare him down for what feels like an eternity, your discerning gaze burning holes into him. Finally, you sigh, seeming to come to a decision. “No, you haven’t,” you tell him at last. “I mean, I’m still trying to process everything and sort it all out, but… it means a lot that you wanted to have this conversation.” A note of humor slips into your voice, and the twinkle in your eyes makes a very welcome reappearance. “I mean, you waited for me in the parking lot like a stalker, so that says something. Not sure what.”

Colt laughs out loud at that, all the intense pressure of the night lessening with your words. “I thought about camping outside your hotel, but I thought it might be a little much.”

“Yeah, it would have been,” you agree, scuffing your shoes on the pavement.

Colt feels like the weight of the entire world has been lifted off his shoulders, but he knows he has to keep handling this the right way if he doesn’t want to risk hurting you again.

“So, are we okay?” he asks sincerely.

You nod, smoothing your hair back and closing your eyes while you think about your response. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. Just… getting some closure and some straight-shooting takes a lot of stress out of this.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Colt agrees. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to shoot it straight with you.”

If you can really call this shooting straight.

You shake your head, raising your eyes to meet his again. “No, I should have been more upfront, too,” you admit. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

Colt’s first reaction is to argue, to insist that you haven’t done a single thing wrong, that this whole tangle has been caused by his inability to let go of the feelings he has for you, but he knows it’s best to let that go. Better to end on a positive note.

“Friends?” he asks tentatively.

“Friends.” You grin at him, obviously as relieved as he is to have mended your relationship.

Great, just friends again. Exactly what we wanted. Colt elects to ignore his inner monologue this time.

With the tension lifted at last, you heave a grand sigh and nudge his shoulder in the old familiar way, heading in the direction of the studio.

“So, where are you off to?” Colt asks you, falling in step beside you.

“Train station set,” you reply lightly. “Filming for that scene is supposed to start next week, so I’m scrambling trying to get everything finished. It’s the biggest set I’ve ever created from scratch, so it’s been a serious challenge.”

Colt grins down at you, nudging your shoulder with his the same way you just did. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” he assures you, meaning every word of it. “Your sets always are.”

You grin back up at him, your cheerfulness infectious. “What about you? Any big stunts today?”

“Nah, just rehearsing some choreography for a fight scene. Easier schedule for the rest of this week.”

“That’s good,” you respond. The art trailer, empty in these early morning hours, is coming into sight now. “Maybe you can stop throwing yourself off moving vehicles for awhile.”

Colt smirks. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Unless something crazy happens on my way to the gas station or something.”

“Oh, sure. You never know with a Citgo.”

The two of you share a laugh, and suddenly everything feels back to normal. Maybe it can never be completely normal again, but after the fears that kept Colt awake all night, this feels like he’s just stepped into paradise after being cast out.

“Hey, bad guys come in all shapes and sizes,” Colt informs you, feeling his sense of humor coming back full force. “Sometimes it’s a hard-boiled gangster chasing you on top of a transfer truck; sometimes it’s a plastic bag flying off the pavement and around your head.”

“Maybe that’s the real reason why recycling is so important,” you quip. A few more steps, and the two of you are standing at the door to the art trailer, the pink rays of sunrise beginning to touch the tops of your heads. “Well, here’s my stop. Thanks again for talking with me. It really means a lot.”

Colt nods, a genuine smile crossing his face. “I couldn’t let things be strained between us. Who would patch together the props I destroy in every take?” he teases you.

“Who would destroy the handmade props I painstakingly create every day?”

“Publicity stunts wouldn’t have been the same without you to critique my color coordinating choices.”

“I was really going to miss you sneaking me a packet of Mini Muffins every morning.”

“Consider the Mini Muffins sneaked.”

You grin at that, and Colt’s heart speeds up a few beats just at the sight. He’s glad to have this image — your captivating smile, framed by the pastel light of the sunrise, happiness sparkling in your eyes — to replace the one from last night.

You don’t say a word before turning to open the door to the art trailer, clearly needing some space, so Colt turns to walk away, but the door doesn’t close behind you. When he turns back to face you, you’re lingering in the doorway, an unreadable expression on your face. Colt hesitates, not sure what you expect from him, but he’s cut off by you closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping your arms around his neck.

What what what what what what WHAT WHAT WHAT—

Colt isn’t sure this is the best idea, but he certainly isn’t going to make the mistake of pushing you away again. Instead, he lets his arms fold around your waist, pulling you close against him. Every muscle in his body aches to hold you as tight as he can, and it takes all his self-control not to lift his head up a few inches, to whisper in your ear, You’re every sweet dream I’ve ever had. You’re everything I hoped love would turn out to be.

You don’t make a move to release him, and suddenly Colt realizes: this is your way of letting go of him. You’re taking one last moment to savor this closeness before you resign yourself to a simple friendship and an inevitable goodbye. With that realization, Colt grips you tighter, lets his face rest in the crook of your neck while he breathes you in.

The sun keeps rising, and still you hold onto each other as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each other.

Colt feels your arms loosen their hold around his neck slightly, and he takes that as a cue to release the death-grip he has around your waist. He didn’t realize he could feel your pounding heart against his chest until you’ve pulled back a few inches.

He’s surprised, though, when you don’t get go of him completely. You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your eyes searching his own for some answer that you can’t quite grasp. It’s as if you know he’s holding something back — as if you can tell how deeply he feels for you just by the way he stays absorbed in the warmth of your gaze.

A sad smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you lift one hand to rest on the side of Colt’s face. His heart instantly starts rocketing again, and all he can imagine is that you’re finally going to go for the kiss that has almost happened three times now. He holds his breath, knowing that he can’t trust himself not to seize you and kiss you with all the passion he’s holding inside.

Your fingertips trace the side of his face slowly, intimately, traveling over his cheekbone, down his jaw, right under his lips. His skin feels like it’s burning from the inside, incinerating him with heat. He knows he’s still holding your waist too tight for someone who is “just a friend,” but holding you is the only thing keeping him sane right now.

Your gaze slips down for a fraction of a second, landing on the spot where your fingers are resting tenderly. Colt’s hands are shaking from the tension. All he can think of is how close your lips are to his, how effortless it would be to lean forward a few inches and live out the daydream he’s had a thousand times before. He doesn’t even blink, unwilling to miss a second of being this close to you again.

Finally, finally, you take mercy on him and lift your fingers from his face, your own expression betraying the level of affection you feel. Right now, all Colt wants to do is close his eyes and let you trail your fingers over his face for the rest of his life, but your touch is already gone, and he finally feels like he can breathe again.

You take an unhurried step back, your eyes never leaving his. Your hands slowly slide down from his shoulders, his letting go of your waist at the same time. The distance between you suddenly feels miles wide, and it’s quite obvious that both of you want to close it again.

But neither of you does.

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes drifting across his face. The early morning sunlight is dancing through the strands of your hair, alighting on the dust particles in the air to create a mystical glow around your face. “I should go.”

Colt barely even registers his own response, still so dazed from the past few moments. “Me, too.”

You take a step inside the art trailer door, eyes hazy. “See you later?”

“Of course.”

You give him one last soft smile and walk into the art trailer. But Colt stands in the light of the rising sun for a long time after you’ve gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 5

[vagabond-umlaut]

gojo satoru x reader fic recs (I)

‣ now that i've got loads of free time, thought why shouldn't i use it well by showing (few of) my fave authors their much well-deserved love, respect and attention? ^_^

‣ this is merely a list of works i've enjoyed reading. kindly heed the tags and warnings in each of them and consume content responsibly, at your own discretion. that being said, i own neither these fics nor the characters nor the above gif. enjoy reading! 🥰

⌀ all that is solid [series] by GrilledTandooriSmoke on ao3

one of the best series there is. period. the fluff, the angst, the drama, the humor, the romance, the friendship, the plot, the dialogues - everything is top-notch in this series, i'm telling you. bonus points for being narrated in both reader's and gojo's pov.

⌀ The King is But a Man [series] by Petrichorium on ao3 (@petrichorium on tumblr)

royal!gojo who's terribly in love with the reader x reader who's equally (but way more discreetly) in love with gojo. add to that, the trope of childhood sweethearts reunited as adults, excellent communication between the couple and a wonderfully-crafted world and dialogues - what more could you ask from a series?

⌀ Ten to None (Soulmate AU) (oneshot) by Oreosmama on ao3

a fic which i adore with every fibre of my being. i will not say anything more about this, except to request you to go read this. you'll love it. (especially the fantabulous ending. btw, did i already say how much i'm in love with how well-written this fic is?)

⌀ Scarred [oneshot] by cainis on ao3

one of the best angst-with-a-happy-ending fic there is. i wish i could give thousands of kudos for the heart-wrenchingly amazing way the author has portrayed gojo's character here.

⌀ Mother of otherness, Eat me [oneshot] by itsbaby on ao3

one of the most beautiful works i've read so far. told from yuuji's pov, it explores gojo and reader's relationship and its nuances in a way seldom done before. however, what stole the show for me, was the soft and sweet mother-son duo the reader and yuuji grow to be in this fic. i really love this one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

⌀ something sweet [oneshot] by heresan on ao3 (@pretty-toru on tumblr)

i love love love this fic. it's so fluffy, so funny, so cute, so heart-warming... just read this fic, people. you won't ever be disappointed by the dynamics reader and gojo have in this one. one of my all-time faves, tbh.

⌀ teen dad Gojo [series] by pantao on ao3 (@seravphs on tumblr)

a sweet and realistic depiction of reader and gojo being teenaged parents to young megumi, all the while they try to figure out their feelings for each other. a perfect mixture of fluff, angst, drama, slice-of-life and romance, imo. (also, the author's notes are pure gold. whatever you do, please don't miss reading them! :D)

⌀ To see those eyes I prize above mine own (twoshot) by koyama on ao3

if you wish to watch godlike!gojo willing to let go of his powers, out of guilt and immense, immense, protective love for the reader, this is the ideal fic for you. i'm in awe of the way the writer wrote gojo's complex persona and the way the sorcerer realized his feelings for the reader. (the second chapter's the cherry on the cake. it's so good!!!!)

⌀ keeping up with the fushigojos (series) by @augustinewrites on tumblr

fluff? A+; angst? A+; drama? A+; characterization & dialogues? A+; humour? A+++++. a sureshot way to end a long hectic tiring day on a happy note is to read this series. (my go-to comfort series, ngl. :])

⌀ CAT & DOG (oneshot) by @mimiriko on tumblr

an adorable fic of gojo being in love with the reader, who knows, yet doesn't really know, much about it. plus, the feline-like features of gojo are sooo cute... and this fic is sooo sweet... the story left me smiling when i finished reading it.

⌀ surely summer wasn't over yet [3 chapters] by 3rdgymbros on ao3

an amazing fic set against the backdrop of the hidden inventory arc. the portrayal of the characters and their dynamics is simply impeccable. despite my kind-of-dislike towards this particular arc of the manga, i really enjoyed reading this one.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Five

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour including toy use. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.6k (I am so sorry)

A/N : This was originally over 7k long so... at least I managed to get it down to under 6k. Tumblr is still only letting me tag five people at a time, so tags will be in comments again.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

MASTER LIST

Chapter Five

Minutes passed, your back against the door, barely breathing, the stuffed beagle clutched to your chest. Eyes closed, you tried to focus on any little sound that might tell you what he was doing, if he was even still out there. Part of you wanted to go to him, to carry on your conversation. To be near him. You’d seen a new side of him and it was enticing as it was frustrating; how could he be so aloof one minute and so sweet the next?

Your thoughts strayed to that night, to the way he’d kissed you and how his body had felt pressed against yours.

Tearing yourself from the door, you moved to your room, creating distance between yourself and temptation. But yet felt like a spring, coiling tighter and tighter with every little thought of him.

Surely he knew what he was doing to you, the effect he had every time he touched you and smiled that damned smile.

You barely knew him but he gave you butterflies. He stole your breath every time his dark eyes found yours.

Fuck. 

You felt like a silly school girl with a crush on the teacher, knowing that it was wrong and nothing could happen. Only, something had already happened. Just the thought of it brought heat to your cheeks and that fluttering feeling to your stomach.

Locking your bedroom door, you let your attention drift to your nightstand. To the top drawer. Cautiously you pulled it open and peeked inside. Embarrassment swelled inside you, reminding you why you’d been trying so hard to ignore it. 

It was as full as any other drawer in the room. No expense had been spared. Honestly, you weren’t even sure what half of the toys were for. Some you could guess but others were a little more confusing. All different shapes, colours and sizes. Some so large they looked downright painful.

Frustrated, you slammed the drawer shut.

You weren’t a virgin but you didn’t consider yourself experienced. Sex for you had been awkward fumbles with guys you’d grown up with, shameful moments that often ended in disappointment. Dates had been approved by your parents, and no one they approved of wanted sex unless it could be used to force an engagement.

But, now that you had the opportunity to experience new things, you didn’t even know where to start. Despite your age, you felt like a naive child.

Changing into your PJs you fell into bed, TV distracting you from thoughts of Billy and having dinner with him. When you finally settled to sleep, you pulled the stuff beagle to your chest again and realised that you could spell the faintest hint of his cologne on it. And, all you could think about as you drifted off, was how it would feel to fall asleep in his arms.

Panic gripped you the moment you woke, a thousand anxious thoughts about the evening to come filling your head. You didn’t know what you were going to wear or how you’d manage to make it through an evening without saying anything stupid.

You tried to read over breakfast but you couldn’t concentrate. The tension inside you, the desire that you didn’t know how to suppress, seemed to wind tighter and tighter until you couldn’t sit still.

Taking a cold shower didn’t help either. Instead, the cold water reminded you of his touch and, suddenly, it felt like his hands were all over your body, touching you and caressing you in ways that drove you crazy.

Returning to your bedroom wrapped in a towel, you threw yourself onto the bed, the frustration boiling over. 

He’d suggested talking, getting to know each other, but how were you going to do that when you couldn’t focus? How could you have dinner with him when all you could think about was him kissing you?

You realised there was only one thing you could do.

Closing your eyes, you fumbled with the top drawer of the nightstand, reaching in and pulling out the first toy your hand fell on. You took a few deep breaths before looking at it; blue silicone with a slight curve, not big enough to be intimidating but it still made your cheeks warm. A little button at the base caused it to vibrate.

Oh fuck.

You took a few more deep breaths, knowing you had to at least try. Parting your legs, you slipped the still-vibrating toy between your thighs.

Your breath hitched at the first little touch. The second touch was firmer, pressing the tip against your clit. Oh. It felt good, better than any pleasure your fingers were capable of creating. Biting your lip, you tried to keep from moaning, as the pleasure quickly started to mount inside you. You turned it off, knowing you needed more, you needed everything.

Gingerly, you reached between your thighs, feeling how wet you were before guiding the toy to your entrance. A low, gasped moan escaped you as you began to slowly slip it inside you.

Letting your head fall back on the pillow, you tried not to think too much about what you were doing, instead finding your mind drifting somewhere far more dangerous. To thoughts of him. And the more you thought about Billy, the better it felt. Soon enough, your eyes were closed and you were imagining him on top of you; the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress and his dark eyes fixed on you as he fucked you. You were certain that he’d know exactly what he was doing, that a night with him would be better than anything you’d experienced before.

“Billy,” you moaned softly, remembering the kiss, remembering the way he’d made you feel wanted. It became harder to hold back the sounds that were desperate to escape you as you descended further into the fantasy, moving the toy a little faster.

Your free hand reached for the first thing it could find, bringing the stuffed beagle to your lips to stifle your moans. Suddenly all you could smell was his cologne and it was almost enough to push you over the edge. 

Finally, you turned the vibrator back on and came almost immediately.

“Mr Russo,” you keened softly into the stuffed toy, every gasped breath filling your nostrils with his scent.

Your cheeks burned with shame the moment it was over, but you kept the toy inside you, imagining him as the sort of man who’d take his time before pulling out, making sure you were finished.

Suffice to say, you were mortified once you’d dropped the toy to the floor and your heart rate had started to slow.

It didn’t feel right, in fact it felt awful, like you’d used him for your pleasure without permission. But, you finally felt better. The tension was gone. You could finally relax and spend the rest of the day finishing The Picture of Dorian Gray, hoping it would give you and Billy something to talk about.

You drew blood early, getting it out of the way so you could spend an obscene amount of time obsessing over what to wear. Eventually, you settled on a casual little black dress that wasn’t over the top, but made it look like you’d made an effort. After tying back your hair, you put on some natural looking make-up, hoping it would give you a little more confidence.

And, when you finally stepped out into the penthouse, you could have sworn you saw his breath catch.

Billy was dressed more casual than you’d ever seen him, wearing a red sweater and dark jeans. A look that definitely worked for him. He watched from the sofa as you made your way towards him.

“You look lovely,” he said and your heart stuttered.

Glancing down at yourself, you bit your lip, feeling like it was too much. “We usually only have take out on special occasions back home, so...” you shrugged.

“I feel a little under-dressed,” he joked.

“You always look nice,” you remarked before realising what you’d actually said. “I mean... you always dress very nicely.”

“My tailor will be glad to hear you say that,” he smiled as you sat. “The food should be here soon. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered the fixed menu.”

“That’s fine.” If anything it made it easier; you wouldn’t have to worry about the food list.

“Wine?” He offered and you nodded eagerly, despite not being much of a drinker. “Is Riesling okay?” You weren’t sure so you nodded again.

The bottle and glasses were already on the table, in fact his was already half-empty. He filled a glass and you leaned to take it from him, your fingers brushing against his and, for a second, he didn’t let go.

“You smell nice,” he muttered, his gaze lingering as your cheeks warmed. You hadn’t put on perfume, so you assumed it must be your vanilla body wash. “How’s your hand?” He asked a moment later with a touch more reluctance.

Holding it up, you showed him the gauze bandaid across your palm. “It’s fine. Nearly healed.”

Billy nodded, his guilt obvious. But, thankfully, he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

“I finished Dorian Gray,” you told him, stopping an awkward silence from falling.

“Oh? And what did you think in the end?” He asked, crossing his legs so he could turn more towards you.

“I’m not sure yet. It was a lot to take in.” You shrugged. “He did some horrible things; especially to Sybil and poor Basil, but some of it wasn’t all that bad? And then when he tried to change, Henry made him feel bad about it.” You took a breath, feeling the weight of his scrutiny on you. “I get that it’s a cautionary tale about excess and hedonism, but I don’t think anyone should be punished for trying to enjoy themselves...”

“It was a different time,” Billy offered, still completely focused on you. “Dorian’s hedonism damaged almost everyone unlucky enough to fall under his spell.”

“I know, I just...” you let out a huff, not sure how to articulate what you wanted to say. “I think if he’d been given the opportunity, he could’ve changed for the better.”

“That’s very optimistic of you.”

He said optimistic but you were certain that he meant naive.  

“I still don’t understand why you like it.”

“Well, it’s -” he was cut short by the sound of a buzzer before the elevator doors slid open. “Saved by the bell,” he remarked, grinning as he got to his feet to go collect the food from the doorman and tip him.

While Billy got the food, you made your way to the dining table, taking your glasses and the bottle with you. Places were already set and you felt butterflies in your stomach when you noticed the candles. Realistically, he was probably just trying to make things nice but, in your mind, all you could think about was how it seemed intimate. 

You took a seat and a long sip of wine while Billy unpacked the food, almost covering the whole table. The smell was enough to make your stomach grumble. Once everything was on the table, Billy dimmed the lights with his phone and lit the candles.

“Dig in,” he told you, starting to fill his own plate.

You started with the things you knew you liked, taking a little and starting to eat, but it wasn’t long before you found your attention drifting to him, watching through your lashes. You watched him eat, watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way he licked his lips.

“What?” He asked, fighting back a grin. Your gaze dropped to your place and your cheeks started to burn. “It’s okay, you can ask.”

“What’s it like? When you eat, I mean,” you asked softly, knowing it really wasn’t any of your business.

“Same as when you do,” Billy offered without seeming to care, “only flavours are muted and it never makes me feel full.”

“Oh,” you looked up and instantly felt bad.

“What’s that look for?

“What look?”

“You get this look sometimes, like something I’ve said has made you sad. Like you feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain, “I just... I can’t imagine not being able to enjoy things like food and sunsets.”

“It’s not that I can't enjoy them,” he shrugged again, “I just enjoy them less than I did when I was human.”

“Do you miss being human?” You asked before realising how inappropriate it was. You shook your head. “I’m sorry, that was rude, I shouldn’t’ve -”

“No, it’s fine,” he answered, reaching for his glass and taking a long, slow drink. “I do miss it. This - this wasn’t something I chose.” 

There was nothing you could say to that. There were questions, yes, but you weren’t entitled to the answers and you didn’t want to risk ruining the evening by asking them. Awkwardly, you reached for your glass and took a drink.

“There’s that look again,” he remarked with a soft smile, “don’t worry, I’ve had enough time to come to terms with what I am now.”

The small talk continued over food, mostly about the food, until you felt like you couldn’t eat another bit. Sinking back in your chair, you closed your eyes and let out a slow exhale. When you looked at Billy again you found him grinning at you as he reached across to top up your glass.

“I didn’t order any dessert but if you’re still hungry I could -”

“Don’t you dare,” you laughed. “But thank you, this was really nice.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he told you as he refilled your glasses. “I want you to enjoy your time here. I know things got off to a strange start, but I want you to be comfortable here.”

“I am - I mean, I’m trying to be,” you struggled to explain. “I’m still getting used to it, but being able to go out with Karen really helped.”

“She enjoyed meeting you. She found you very interesting,” Billy answered, an indecipherable smile on his lips. “I find you interesting too.”

The comment caused your head to pound a little harder in your chest and your thighs to press together. The lump in your throat kept you from responding. A moment later, he changed the subject.

“Let’s go sit on the sofa,” pushing his chair away from the table. You nodded, pushing back your chair and standing, hesitating when you looked at the mess on the table. “Don’t worry, the maid will deal with it.”

“Maid?” There was a maid?

“She usually comes around 4am,” he answered, waving his hand towards the sofa, indicating that you should go while he got tonight’s blood from the kitchen.

Wine glass in hand, you sat on the sofa, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city and, again, you couldn’t help but think how intimate it all felt. Billy soon joined you, leaving some space between you, but not much - even less when you folded your legs beneath you and turned towards him.

“So,” he started with a smile, “what do you want to know?”

What followed was a long conversation about Billy, finding out what you could. He’d been a vampire for fifteen years; in his human life he’d been a Marine and, now, he ran a private security firm that mostly catered to vampire clientele. He was born and raised in New York but had no family. And he was wealthy enough that he simply laughed when you asked about the credit card in your name.

Then, he turned the spotlight on you.

You explained that you were from the Midwest, a little middle-of-nowhere town, and that your family were part of an insular, conservative community. You’d spent the last few years helping homeschool some of the local children, but you’d decided you’d wanted a change. You’d wanted to see the world and experience new things. He didn’t ask why you’d taken the job, and you didn’t offer the information, instead you tried to make it seem like everything was simple and happy in your life. 

All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on you, as he sipped your blood.

“Does it unsettle you?” He asked suddenly. “Seeing me drink your blood?”

“N-no,” you tried to speak around the lump in your throat, “I don’t mind.”

“But you have questions?”

“Some?” You answered and Billy gave a nod, indicating you could ask if you wanted. “The other day, when you mentioned it was still warm, is that...” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

“It’s better, yes,” his voice dropped to a low whisper, tongue running over his lips. “It’s like drinking from the source.”

“And is that...” Again, you couldn’t finish, feeling breathless just at the thought.

“I don’t bite. You never have to worry about that.” But the way he was looking at you said something else entirely.

“Good,” you finally manage to take a breath, “I don’t want to be bitten... or turned...”

Billy simply nodded.

“What can you taste when you drink my blood?” You asked, remembering what he’d said about knowing you hadn’t been sleeping or eating. “You said you can tell certain things from it?”

“Hormonal changes can affect how it tastes,” he offered.

“That’s why you want me to keep healthy and eat right?”

“Yes, it makes your blood taste better, but it’s also because I don’t want you getting sick. I’m not entirely heartless,” he smiled.

Silence fell and Billy took another drink. The care he took not to waste a single drop had your heart beating faster and, this time, when he noticed you watching, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t look away. Maybe the wine had helped lower your inhibitions, or maybe you were starting to feel more comfortable with him. Whatever it was, the moment didn’t end until he’d finished the whole glass.

Billy licked his lips again, and you noticed his gaze drop to the neckline of your dress as you took deeper breaths trying to calm your racing heartbeat, causing your breasts to awkwardly rise and fall. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and your eyes dropped to the empty glass in his hand, now resting on his lap and - fuck, your eyes snapped back up awkwardly, the moment you noticed the way his pants were tented. He was hard. 

“I, uh -” you started, getting to your feet, “- I need a glass of water.” 

You didn’t wait for a response before heading to the kitchen, giving him space to deal with whatever that was. Your heart was still pounding uncomfortable, your hands shaking as you found a clean glass and started to run the cold tap. Filling it, you took a slow drink, hoping to drown the butterflies in your stomach.

You didn’t hear him move, didn’t realise he was right behind you until his hand came to rest on the edge of the counter beside yours, his cold thumb brushing over your pinkie. Your breath caught as his shadow swallowed yours on the wall, and your cheeks continued to burn. Desire and embarrassment warred inside you, but Billy didn’t speak until you did.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing without your consent,” he answered softly, against your ear.

He inhaled slowly, his nose inches from your hair. Then came that low, restrained groan. He sounded like a caged animal, desperate to be released, and you realised you were the one holding the keys.

For a second, you remained frozen, knowing that he was giving you a choice. It was a bad idea to complicate things between you, but some part of you wanted this, wanted him. Suddenly all you could think about were the fantasies you’d played out with the vibrator that morning.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped back, pressing yourself against him.

His hand twitched, his thumb covering your pinkie, holding it.

“Say yes,” he near-demanded, wanting your unequivocal consent, his lips ghosting your ear with every word. “I need you to say you want this.”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I want this.”

A split-second later, his hand was on your stomach, pulling you back against him, letting you feel the hard press of his cock against your lower back. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin in a way that made your heart race faster. And you quickly realised how much Billy liked that.

“That’s right, little hummingbird,” he groaned, moving his hand to palm your breasts over your dress. “Fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy all night.”

All you could offer was a whimper in response, breath catching as his hand started to slip down your body, reaching beneath your dress. Cold fingers trailed up your bare thighs, causing a shiver of delight to run up your spine and for heat to pool between your thighs.

His knee pressed gently between yours, urging your legs apart, letting his hand move higher. You bit your lip and tried to stifle a moan when you felt his fingertips against the wet fabric of your panties, but holding back anything became impossible the moment his cold fingers slipped inside. His touch was light to begin with, teasing, fingers stirring between your folds, drawing a gasp from you. A low growl vibrated through his chest as he coated his fingers in your arousal, his touches getting more pronounced the wetter you got.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as his lips and fingers continued their assault on your senses. You didn’t even notice his hand move from the counter until you felt his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling gently to turn your face enough so he could kiss you. His tongue against the seam of your lips was almost enough to distract you from his finger slowly easing its way between your walls. You whimpered and moaned against his lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, keeping you in the kiss until every inch of his finger was buried inside of you.

“Fuck, hummingbird,” he groaned, a dangerous glint in his eyes and a grin on his lips. You moaned as his finger flexed inside you, slowly starting to withdraw before pushing in again. “Don’t come. That’s the only rule you have to follow right now; don’t come until I say you can. Can you do that?”

“I -” you could barely think to answer.

“If you can’t, I’ll stop,” he warned, his finger stilling and causing you to keen at the loss of sensation.

“Yes,” you moaned.

Your relief was palpable the moment he started to move again. The fingers in your hair, tugging softly so his lips could return to your neck. It didn’t feel real. It felt amazing in a way you couldn’t comprehend. Your heart raced faster when you felt him start to press a second, cold finger inside you, and you realised you were gripping his thigh. Hard. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned against your neck. “Practically dripping all over my hand,”

The words alone were enough to cause you to clench around his fingers, letting you feel them more acutely as they started to move a little faster, fucking you to the knuckle each and every time.

“Billy, please...” you pleaded, not sure you could take much more.

“Not yet,” he groaned, his lips against your ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe in a way that made everything so much harder for you. “It’ll feel so good if you just wait.”

You wanted to wait, to play his game, but how could you when it already felt so good? You felt yourself on the precipice, every muscle tensing, your slick walls tightening and gripping his fingers. Your eyes closed tight and you almost felt ashamed of yourself, like you were going to ruin the moment because you couldn’t control yourself.

His fingers stilled again just before you could go over the edge.

“Not yet,” he told you, voice calm but commanding. “Just breathe. Let me be in control.”

You managed a weak nod before he pulled you back into another kiss, fingers staying perfectly still for a few moments, not moving again until he felt you start to relax. This time his fingers moved in shallow thrusts, bending inside you, pressing against your soft inner walls like he was searching for something.

Your whole body shuddered when he found it and you saw stars.

“Does that feel good?” He asked and you nodded, unable to do anything but moan when his fingertips brushed against the same spot. “That’s it, little hummingbird, sing for me.”

More moans slipped from your lips, each more desperate than the last, your fingers digging into his thigh through his jeans.

“Billy, I-I need to...” you begged, words fracturing into another cry of pleasure.

“Do you need to come?” 

“Y-yes!”

“Say it,” his commanding voice sending a thrill down your spine and right to your core.

“I-I need to come,” you pleaded, feeling more brazen than you had in your whole life. You’d never been the sort to beg to come, but the thought of it thrilled you almost as much as his fingers inside of you.

“Then come for me.”

Your reaction was instantaneous, so much so that you had to wonder if it was because you’d needed to come or simply because he’d demanded it. Your body started to tremble and shake, your walls clenching around his fingers as they continued to move inside you, and the sounds you were making - if you hadn’t felt completely out of your mind, you would have been embarrassed by the desperate noises.

As you came you barely noticed his hand slip from your hair to press against your chest, resting over your racing heart. Your head turned and his lips quickly claimed yours, swallowing down your moans, his fingers still dragging out your orgasm until your legs felt so weak you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand without his arms around you.

Without warning, Billy's hand slipped from between your legs and he swept you off your feet, carrying you back to the sofa. He sat back with you on his lap, holding you close, your body trembling so much that you worried it would never stop. It felt like he’d broken something inside of you and your body didn’t know how to process all the pleasure he’d created.

Being on his lap didn’t help, but it would have been a lie to say you hated the feeling of his arm wrapped possessively around you and his hand resting on your bare thigh. You curled against him, your head on his chest as you slowly caught your breath. 

Billy’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you finally started to sill.

“Are we going to -”

“Not tonight,” he answered, not needing you to finish the question. “I’m not going to rush you.”

Even though he was still hard, he didn’t want anything else. You weren’t sure if it was a rejection or if he really didn’t want to rush you, but it left you feeling even more uncertain.

When you found the nerve to lift your head, he gave you a gentle smile, his fingers squeezing your thigh tenderly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

Any conversation felt like it would be for your benefit rather than his. Billy seemed perfectly comfortable with what had just happened.

“Thank you,” you told him softly.

“For what?” Both confused and amused by the comment.

“For - for asking first,” your voice broke a little.

His gaze darkened, an unasked question on his lips. He was angry, not at you but at what the comment implied. Thankfully, he didn’t ask, didn’t push for an explanation you didn’t want to offer.

“You always have a choice here,” he reminded you. “You can always say no to this. I’ll never hold it against you.”

You stayed silent for a beat. “What if I don’t want to say no?”

“Then I’ll make sure you enjoy your time here with me.”

“But that’s all it’ll be?”

“Yes,” he answered, “I won’t pretend I can offer you more than that.”

“Okay, good. I-I don’t want anything serious.” The comment earned a strange smirk from him. “What?”

“I just didn’t expect you to want anything so casual. You’re constantly surprising me.”

“I -” you paused, biting your lip, “- I want to have fun. I want to experience the things I’ve been missing out on.”

“That’s something I’d be more than happy to help with, hummingbird,” he told you, smiling that cocky smile, making you want to melt.

“I’ve never...” you trailed off and saw his eyebrow raise, “I mean I’ve never done anything like... friends with benefits?”

“I thought I was paying you for your blood, not your friendship?” He smirked, recalling the terrible comment you’d made when you’d been angry with him. Then he shrugged. “It’s simple; we hang out and, if you want me to touch you, I’ll touch you. We’re just two adults having fun with an equal say in what happens.”

“Even when you give me rules to follow?” A shiver running up your spine as you remember the way he’d commanded and you’d obeyed.

“I told you, I like to be in control. But if it doesn’t work for you, there are no consequences.” He fell silent for a moment, the smirk on his lips seeming to grow. “Unless you want consequences.”

All you could do was nod, not daring to ask what kind of consequences he might have in mind.

“I have a rule too,” you dared to say.

“Oh?”

“You can’t lie to me.”

Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that but he quickly conceded. “That’s fair. As long as you follow my rule, I’ll follow yours - even when you’re in bed with your vibrator.”

Your heart almost stopped and your cheeks started to burn with embarrassment. 

“How did you -” you could barely get the words out, completely mortified.

“You moaned my name,” Billy continued, not in the least bit embarrassed. He’d heard you across the penthouse. “All I could think about over dinner was how wet you must have been and the way you moaned when you came.” His hand moved to your cheek, making sure your gaze didn’t drop in embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve jerked off, but listening to you had me coming all over my hand.”

Biting your lip, embarrassment and shame filled you, but Billy still wouldn’t let you look away. His thumb grazed your lip and left you speechless.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he told you, “those toys are yours to use whenever you need to, as long as you remember that your orgasms are mine now.”

You weren’t used to anyone being so candid but, you had to concede, it was exactly what made Billy the best person to help you experience new things. He knew what he was doing and he wasn’t shy about what he wanted.

“I’m not embarrassed,” an obvious lie that Billy decided not to call you on. “Things like that just aren’t exactly acceptable where I’m from.”

“Was that your first time pleasuring yourself - or was it your first time using a vibrator?” He asked, sounding like he was enquiring about something utterly mundane.

“Using a vibrator,” you answered, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Well, you never have to feel ashamed of doing anything that makes you feel good while you’re here,” he told you with enviable confidence. 

“Like Dorian Gray?” You offered with the smallest of smiles.

Billy let out a huff of laughter. “Does that make me your Lord Henry?”

“Only if you plan on leading me astray,” you answered back.

“Oh, little hummingbird,” he smiled, leaning towards you, “you’ve got no idea.” Before you could answer, his lips were on yours again.

Minutes ticked by with his lips on yours, enjoying everything about the moment, about him. When he finally pulled away, you let out a content sigh, smiling as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“So, this rule of yours... I take it you have a question, something you want me to answer honestly?”

You were quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Have you ever done this before, with someone living here like me?”

“No, not like this,” he answered instantly, and it was good enough for you.

As he pulled you close again, you found yourself yawning, exhaustion catching up with you. Billy checked his watch.

“Looks like I’ve kept you up past your bedtime,” he joked, sitting forward and helping you to your feet. “We can continue getting to know each other tomorrow night, if you’d like.”

You nodded, barely even noticing that the pair of you were moving until you found yourself at the door to your rooms. His weight shifted from left to right, and you knew without looking that he was still hard. Your fingers tangled with his sweater at his waist and, for a few seconds, you just looked at him. Billy gave you a smile before pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Goodnight, little hummingbird. And remember, I’ll know if you break the rules.”

Biting your lip again, you nodded, and finally pulled yourself away from him and slipped through the door. 

End Note : I never know what to say after the spicier chapters so... hope you enjoyed this and it lives up to expectations. Thanks so much for all the genuinely lovely comments and feedback over last four weeks, I'm loving how much people seem to be enjoying this story!! Hope you all have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (Note: Tumblr is currently being stupid and only letting me tag five people at a time, so I'll be tagging people in the comments. Sorry if you get tagged twice!!)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17 @sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim @countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl @rosey1981

[yexthiccxa]

The Angel With Horns Pt. 1

summary: you accept a teaching position at jujutsu high where you get to work with your childhood crush, suguru geto. unfortunately, that means you'll also have to work with your childhood nemesis, satoru gojo. are you going to rekindle new flames or potentially make new ones?

wordcount: 7.3k 🙃 (this is pt. 1 and it's four chapters long)

c/w: gojo/fem!reader, geto/fem!reader, gojo/oc, geto/oc, modern!au, teacher!au, smut, fluff & smut, some plot, plot what plot, flashbacks, timeskip, asshole!gojo, flirty!gojo, cocky!gojo, soft!geto, cousin!shoko, mutual pining, teasing, flirting, playful banter, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, sensual tension, sexual tension, pet names (angel), dry humping, fingering, oral, fantasizing, multiple orgasms, inappropriate use of cursed energy, inappropriate use of cursed techniques

a/n: eeeep. this is my first fanfic so feedback is welcome 🥺it’s a first person pov where the unnamed oc is meant to be the reader! Currently working on Part 2!

edit: just posted this part on ao3 if you'd rather read it there!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

Chapter 1: Reunited

It’s clear as day but my mind is fuzzy. There are thousands of thoughts surging through me, but all I can focus on is the pleasure filling my body. For as long as I’ve known him, I’ve always wondered if this day would ever come. My hips are pinned against his counter. Arms stretching wide while my fingers grip his sink. My neck rolls back as the rays of light blind me from his window. 

In my head, I’ve spent countless hours wondering how it feels to have his body pressed against mine. Or how his breath hovers on my neck as he pulls me closer. His scent is undeniably sweet, but the way he handles me tells me that he’s everything but that.

“I always thought you were a good girl,” he growls in my ear, kissing his way down to my neck like it was never his to claim. “I never expected you to prove me wrong.”

I imagined how his kisses would consume me, how his touch would paralyze me, and how his moans would ignite me. But in all these years, I never imagined this entire fantasy would be with someone else instead.

✦✧✸✧✦

TWO WEEKS AGO

The clouds begin to subside as I walk through the familiar gates of Jujutsu High. The droplets of rain fade away and a strange mix of emotions hit my core. Today marks the beginning of my journey as a teacher here, but I can't stop myself from feeling a pang of anxiety. Amid the unease, there’s still a sense of comfort in returning to a place I once called home.

My footsteps echo softly on the hallway tiles as I make my way to room 3-A for orientation. The memories of my time as a student creep into my thoughts. It’s changed in many ways, but I find solace in knowing that there are still a few people here that I can lean on.

When I moved back to Tokyo and got the teaching position, Shoko mentioned that Suguru taught here as well. Memories of him invaded my thoughts. We were practically inseparable during our high school years, largely due to my close bond with Shoko. Wherever she was, I was sure to follow—our Ieiri blood may tell us we’re cousins, but I always thought of her as my sister. Her friends were always fun to be around. However, they constantly got into situations that always put me on edge. Shoko has always been such a free spirit, and while I adore her, I know her comfort zone far surpasses my own. Despite my lack of participation in their wild adventures, I surprisingly never felt left out or lonely.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go? Finding curses in abandoned hospitals sounds way cooler than studying curses… in a book,” I muttered to Suguru as I gestured to my pile of textbooks.

“How many times do we have to go over this? I’d rather practice my curse techniques here instead.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and lowered his face towards mine—his breath tickling my ear.

“Plus, taking care of you is a hell of a lot better than taking care of everyone else,” he chuckled.

“Who said you needed to take care of me?” I protested. He remained close, and I felt his mouth curve.

“I never said I needed to. I want to take care of you,” he whispered. A secret for only my ears to hear.

Throughout the years, I grew to love his playful laughter. It was soft, tinged with warmth and sincerity—though it always seemed to trail his jokes that slightly missed the mark. And his touch, though never sensual, always felt protective—like a wolf looking after its pack. The more I learned how sweet Suguru was, the deeper I fell in love. For years my guarded soul harbored this secret, and even if the world was ending, I swore to myself that I would never tell a soul. The "what ifs" often danced through my thoughts, but ignorant bliss always outweighed the risk of potential heartbreak.

My thoughts come to a halt as I turn a corner, and suddenly, I'm face-to-face with a towering presence. My breath catches, and my eyes instinctively trail up the contours of his strong frame. The world around me blurs for a moment, and my heart quickens. But before I can fully process the shock, a familiar voice calls out to me.

"Hey, there’s my girl! Did you realize the world wasn’t as great without me?" Suguru teases, his voice bringing back years of memories.

"Suguru!" I exclaim, a surge of excitement makes me toss my arms around him. My words tumble out eagerly, "If I was your girl, I probably would’ve never left." I laugh, though my heart races as curiosity causes his brow to rise. “I’m just kidding. Everything was great, but I’m glad to be back though." It may not have been the best save, but it’ll work for now.

My arms tighten ever so slightly, and I’m compelled to study him. His shoulders are still broad, yet somehow, they seem larger than I remember. His hair has grown longer, though he still keeps it partially tied. The chiseled contours of his jaw feel like steel against my skin, but his arms around waist are gentle and comforting. I notice that the morning gloom has officially cleared, because his beauty is bathed in sunlight. As we break away from our hug, his dark eyes meet mine with recognition and warmth, as if our time apart has only deepened our connection.

"Well, I’m glad it was good. I’ve missed you." he rumbles, his voice resonating like a soothing melody.

"Likewise," I reply with a warm grin, feeling a rush of nostalgia. "Will you be at orientation today?"

He explains that he has to help Yaga with some setup throughout the morning. I try not to let my smile drop, but he's quick to notice. Of course he notices, it's Suguru. Before I can even process my thoughts, he adds, "I have the same lunch break as everyone else though, let's catch up then? We can meet in the courtyard."

A surge of excitement washes over me, and I nod eagerly. "Sounds perfect," I reply. Feeling a newfound sense of confidence, I continue on my way to the orientation room. 

“I’ve missed you." his voice echoes through my mind. For a moment, I can't help but wonder, was he thinking about me the whole time I was gone? Why did he call me his girl? Does that mean he had feelings for me? No—stop, that can’t be. If he had feelings for me, he would've said something, right? But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

My stomach begins to flutter as a seed of hope is planted into my heart. The slightest possibility of Suguru's interest sends me to the moon. I know I’m not the same girl I was when we last saw each other. So maybe, just maybe, this is a sign.

As I head towards the room, my steps feel lighter than they've been in a long time. For once in my life, I can finally hope for something more. I finally believe that I…my heart sinks as I reach the door. 

Blocking my path is a figure I desperately hoped to avoid—the infamous Satoru Gojo.

Chapter 2: Repulsive

Much like Suguru, Satoru’s build overpowers me. His arms rest on the edge of the doorframe and I can see the contours of his bicep peek through his shirt. I take in a sharp inhale and reluctantly step forward. Satoru will not, I repeat, not get the better of me today. I hesitate for a moment, locking my eyes with his.

He peeks out from the edge of his sunglasses, and the corners of his lips begin to curl. I watch as pieces of his platinum hair barely brush the top of his rims, while others just fall short of his eyes. It’s been years, but those striking pools of blue remain etched in my memory. Swirls of azure, navy and cobalt fill my vision, but I stop myself before my gaze begins to linger.

I attempt to slip past him but find myself with no clear escape. As I contemplate my next move, I mutter a greeting through gritted teeth, "Satoru."

His smirk grows into the devilish grin that haunted my past. "Hey there, Angel,” he purrs. “No hello? Or how have you been?" His tone takes on a playful note, laced with a hint of something else—something I can't quite decipher.

I try my best to let the moment pass, but I’ve let this go on for far too long. I’m done ignoring his comments. “You know I have a real name right?” I bite back.

“But why switch it up now? You’ve always been my little angel,” he teases mockingly. 

“And you’ve always been a pain in my ass,” I reply, my stare unwavering.

“She fights back,” his brow rises in shock. “I like this new version of you. Keep it up.” His grip on the doorframe loosens and he turns to make his way into the room. 

I let out a deep sigh, feeling the tension of my grip escape through my fingers. As I regain focus, I notice Satoru has turned back, his face mere inches from my ear. His voice is smooth, like silk across my skin as he whispers, “I can be a pain in a lot of other places, but I promise it’ll feel good.” 

My eyes widen as my pupils darken. My mouth runs dry as he chuckles his way to the edge of the room.

Memories of my high school days with Satoru flood back into my mind. His words cut through me, but in a way more akin to pleasure than pain. A mix of emotions overwhelm me, but I ultimately scowl at the sight of him. While Shoko and Suguru have helped me blossom, Satoru has always been the thorn in my side.

“Come on Suguru, are you really going to stay with her again?” Satoru asked.

“It’s okay, just go without me. I’ll go with you next time,” Suguru replies. His arm raises to scratch the back of his head.

This is the last festival of the season; there won't be another chance. “Please just go. I’ll be fi—,” I uttered.

“Well, enjoy your time with the little angel,” Satoru calls out as he continues walking away.

He makes his way out of our view, and I turn to Suguru, “Why do you even call him your best friend? He’s kind of a dick.”

Suguru laughs. “When you go through some of the stuff that we have, you’ll see that there’s a bond that goes deeper than blood. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but it’s not an excuse. Don’t worry. I can talk to him.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling with adoration.

I quickly find an empty seat in the orientation room, my mind still buzzing. The comfort and familiarity of the school are now tainted by the presence of someone I had hoped to forget. It was stupid of me to think Suguru and Satoru would drift apart after all these years. As I gather up my resolve to remain close with Suguru, I accept that their connection means my path with Satoru will cross more often than I would like.

✦✧✸✧✦

A full morning of orientation reduces my brain to mush. The anticipation builds and all I can pay attention to is the clock ticking away. Yaga drones on about teamwork, collaboration, and trust – unsurprising, considering his history mentoring Suguru and Satoru. If he survived that, I’m sure being the principal is a piece of cake.

As the clock finally strikes noon, I gather my belongings and head for the door.

“Ms. Ieiri—one moment please,” Yaga calls to me, stopping in my tracks. He assembles the group of new hires and hands each one a folded letter. “This is for the afternoon sessions. On this sheet you’ll find…”

His words trail off and I find myself glancing at the clock again, hoping that Suguru hasn’t been waiting too long. Once we’re dismissed, I rush towards the courtyard.

While my legs carry me on autopilot through the halls, I take a moment to examine the letter. The paper feels coarse, the creases are weighted with importance, yet the ink is delicately placed. The overwhelming amount of information makes it clear that I'll have to review it once lunch is over. I scan the letter to find main items scheduled for the afternoon:

1pm: Mentor Session (Room 2-C)

2pm: Lesson Planning (Room 1-B)

3pm: Team Review (Room 1-B)

Seems simple enough. I approach the stairs leading to the courtyard, when my eyes catch the small section at the end of the letter:

Mentor Assignment: …

As I hurry, I fail to notice the uneven step at the halfway mark. My foot catches the edge and suddenly, I’m airborne. I feel the letter escape my fingertips. My heart leaps into my throat and the world starts to blur.

I reach for the railing, but my grasp barely holds. In the following moments, I find myself colliding with a figure. His hold is strong, bringing me comfort. I feel his fingers slowly cup my arms—they’re soft, tender, holding me with care. 

“Easy there,” he rumbles. “I got you,” his voice is low and radiates through my core. Suguru’s eyes lock onto mine and I feel the heat beginning to smolder. “I got you.” His words bounce through my head.

“Suguru. Sorry… I—” The words are impossible to make out.

“Don’t apologize,” Suguru smiles. “I like having you in my arms.” He adds a playful wink sending butterflies through my chest.

I hold his gaze and my body melts into his. Suguru and I have been close for years, but this time, it feels altered, deeper. It feels like the intensity of our connection is seeking something beyond friendship. We’re inches from each other and I wonder if he can hear my thoughts or feel my heart beat out of my chest. Time slows as I marvel at his smile. I let my mind wander just for a moment…

Suguru lowers, barely touching his lips against mine. He starts soft, planting kisses down my neck as he caresses my cheek. His touch trails to the rest of my body and delight surges within me. It's gentle, but I crave more. He bites my lip before slowly letting his tongue make his way inside my mouth.

Passion builds within me as one hand grips my hair and the other grabs my waist. When his fingers gently graze the small of my back, I writhe with pleasure, hoping he can’t feel the squeeze between my thighs. His taste is intoxicating—sending me into a fever that I can’t seem to break. 

I close my eyes and let his mouth take me.

“I’ve been waiting for you…” he breaks away to tell me. His voice is on the brink of losing control. “...for a very long ti—”

“Hello? Are you okay?” Suguru asks. My focus immediately returns. “I’ve been waiting for you, so I was heading back inside to make sure you were doing alright.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Yaga needed to give us this letter and—oh fuck. My letter.” 

He senses my worry and swoops me up in one solid motion, but I feel too weak to stand.

I turn to see that my letter has found its way in a puddle pooling at the edge of the steps. I rush down to grab it, but it’s already too late. While I can make out certain areas, the majority of it has smeared away. I bring my gaze towards bottom in hopes of making out some of the letters:

M..nt…. ….gnment: S…..u G…o

I pause—Suguru Geto. A knot hits my stomach and I’m waiting to identify whether this feeling is anxiety or joy.

I look up from the letter expectantly. “Suguru, my mentor… is this right?” I ask.

“Yeah, it is! It’s nice being paired with someone you know. It’ll be just like old times.” His words are the only confirmation I need.

✦✧✸✧✦

Although the years have passed, it feels like Suguru and I have never skipped a beat. I miss the way he talks, the way he laughs, the way a strand of hair always manages to fall even when it’s tied. I could spend hours looking into his eyes and hearing all of his adventures and how he’s mastered his curse techniques. 

The minutes go on and the end of our lunch hour approaches. Suguru frowns as he glances at his watch, and offers an apologetic smile. "I have to head out a bit early. Yaga needs some help before the mentor sessions start," he explains.

I nod understandingly, though I can't help but feel disappointed. "No problem, I’ll see you in a bit?"

He grins, those familiar eyes twinkling with warmth. "Definitely, I’ll see you later!" He gives me a hug and we part ways.

With a sway in my step, I find myself standing before the door of 2-C—but it’s locked. I scan the hallway to see if anyone can help, but there’s no one in sight. I grab my phone to text Suguru for help, but fate has other plans.

Before I can send the message, a familiar presence creeps up behind me. The weight of his aura envelops me. His body feels warm, yet somehow my blood runs cold. With a key in hand, he moves to unlock the door.

A gasp escapes my lips, and I feel the tension build around us. My heart races as I hear a voice, a soft whisper that ignites my soul.

"Hey there, angel," the voice purrs. "Were you looking for me?"

I let out a deep breath to release the fury that boiled inside of me. “As a matter of fact, no. I wasn’t looking for you… Satoru.”

Chapter 3: Reinforcements

It takes me a second, but it finally registers. The letter didn’t actually say Suguru Geto. It was supposed to say Satoru Gojo. Suguru’s voice rings though my head:

“Suguru, my mentor… is this right?” I try to recall. I guess I didn’t explicitly mention a name.

“Yeah, it is!” Damn it, why didn’t I say his name?

“It’s nice being paired with someone you know.” My body feels heavy as my soul fills with dread.

“It’ll be just like old times.” The world begins to spin around me.

I walk through the door without looking at Satoru and head straight for the windows on the other side of the room. The room itself is quite small, just large enough to fit a blackboard, a full teacher’s desk, and three smaller desks for the students. There’s a bit of extra room to spare, but none of it is enough to keep me away from Satoru.

In the reflection of the window, Satoru props himself against the larger desk, his long arms draped behind him. His smirk tells me he's completely at ease, as if he enjoys torturing me this way. “Not who you were expecting?”

I hold my response and continue staring out the window. I suspect he can read my discomfort.

His footsteps are quiet, but I feel them reverberate behind me. The air from the window feels cool, but it fades when his body radiates against mine. He leans down, bringing his hands around my sides. As he places them on the window sill, I can feel his face inch closer to mine. He’s too close for comfort but I can’t bring myself to push him away.

“With a bit more time, angel, you’ll see that I’m full of surprises.” I can feel the rumble in his throat as he speaks. “That is…if you’re willing to find out.”

My face turns hot and my thighs tighten. I may hate Satoru, but there’s something about his charm that feels irresistible. After years of dealing with him, I thought I’d get used to it. But this doesn’t feel like the same Satoru I used to know.

His arms are still placed on either side of me, but I swat him away, “Don’t you have better things to do than to tease me?” My brow rises. “Maybe… actually mentoring me?”

He lifts his arms in defense, “Hey angel, sorry if I’m coming on a little strong. I’m just having some fun.” He nudges my arm, and the force leaves me unsteady. “For old times’ sake.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat at one of the smaller desks.

“Plus, I’m not big on mentoring,” he adds. “Yaga has me doing this because I owe him for saving my ass on the last mission. Luckily he assigned me to you, and we both know you’re more than capable of doing this job without my help. It’s always been like that.”

“Oh how sweet. Is this your way of complimenting me?” I tease. He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t going to give in that easily.

“What do you mean? I always give you compliments.”

“Calling me angel doesn’t count,” I sneer.

“Would you like me to call you princess instead?” He curled into a self-assured smile.

I blush, trying to bite back a chuckle. I lied, this is the same old Satoru. “So are you going to keep making up names, or are you actually going to teach me something?”

He brings himself close, his face stopping just short of mine. “I can teach you a lot of things, angel.”

I let out a sigh, “I’m serious, Satoru.”

“Fine, if you insist.” My curiosity is piqued as he props himself up and heads for the blackboard. 

“Lesson number one: If you ever want me, don’t want me,” he smirked.

I drop my shoulders and let out a sigh, but he continues.

“I’m serious! Lesson number two: If you ever need me…”

I finish his sentence, “Don’t need you?” His smile confirms my thoughts. “What’s number 3, Gojo-senpai?” My eyes plead as I pout in an attempt to mock him.

He seems uneasy. “Don’t do that,” he quickly snaps back, and I straighten up. “And now, lesson number three, the most important one: If you ever need my help, learn how to help yourself first.”

With a hint of sarcasm, I reply, “Wow, what a wonderful lesson. I’ve learned so much.” I gather my belongings and prepare to leave. “I think I'll just ask Yaga to assign me to someone else.”

He steps closer, blocking my path before I can fully rise from my seat. "No, wait. Don't do that,” he implores, his gaze earnest. “Can you stick it out for a little while? Just until this mentorship period ends. I need to get through these two weeks so Yaga won't make me do this again next year.”

I force my way up and scoff in his face, “Why on earth would I do that? What the hell have you done in these last few hours or even the last ten years that would make me put in a good word for you?” My volume increases. “You constantly tease me, you’ve never helped me, and—”

“I can hook you up with Suguru,” he murmurs.

“Excuse me?” My voice remains elevated from the anger.

“I can hook you up with Suguru,” he repeats firmly.

“Oh,” I pause as my voice settles. “Why would you do that?”

“For someone so smart, you ask the silliest things. It’s obvious you like him, angel.” 

My cheeks heat, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his penetrating gaze.

“It’s been obvious…for years—at least to me,” his voice softens. "And I promise, if you put in a good word for me, I'll help you with Suguru. No tricks, no games. Do we have a deal?" He extends his hand, waiting for my response.

This deal seems too good to be true. I try to figure out what the catch is, but nothing comes to mind. Unlike before, his gaze feels genuine and his smile seems sincere. I take a deep breath, preparing for a leap of faith. For the first time in my life, I guess I’m going to have to trust Satoru.

I reach for his hand, allowing a confident smile to grace my lips. “Deal.”

✦✧✸✧✦

Although this is not how I pictured my first couple of weeks back in Tokyo, this alliance isn’t as terrible as I thought. At the end of our work days, Satoru and I hang back in Room 2-C for our “mentoring” sessions. We spend 1% of the sessions on actual work, and the other 99% on dating. I tell him that it’s been a while since I’ve dated, and Satoru jumps at the opportunity to refresh me on the art of flirting.

 "Alright angel—you’ve known Suguru for a while, but I’m guessing like you only ever interact with him as a friend. Try starting…” he picks up his hand to graze the side of my arm, fingers lightly dragging towards my wrist.  “...with light touches. Make sure you maintain eye contact and smile genuinely." His voice is velvet and slow.

A shiver runs through me, and my mouth goes dry. I clear my throat. "Light touches, like this?" I laugh hesitantly. I try to mimic his advice, but it’s nowhere near as gentle as his.

Satoru chuckles. "Close, but you’re too tense. Just relax a little bit."

I soften my touch and continue to brush my fingers up his arm. As I slowly pull him towards me, our eyes lock and I’m immediately mesmerized. There’s a flutter in my core and it turns into desire. There’s an ache between my thighs, and moisture begins to form.

“That’s it,” he purrs as he leans towards me. “Just like that.” The pull of his voice is a magnet that continues to bring me closer. My heart races while the quickness in my breath trails slowly behind.

I close my eyes and let my cravings take control.

Satoru rests his thumb on the edge of my lip while the rest curl under my chin. He tilts my head and slowly whispers, “And that is exactly what you should do…” His voice perks back up to his normal tone. “...when you’re flirting with Suguru,” he smiles.

I shoot my eyes open and straighten up. What the hell was I thinking? Was I seriously trying to kiss Satoru? I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Wait…no, stop that. Something must be wrong, my wires are completely crossed. I shake it off to rid myself of the residual shame.

Shoko braided my hair like she’s done a million times before. “Hey, who do you think is cuter, Suguru or Satoru?” she posed out of curiosity.

“Hmm, that’s so hard. You know they're both hot.” I laughed. “If we’re going purely off of looks, probably Satoru. Sometimes I hate him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t cute. I think it’s the eyes.” 

“Yeah,” she replies with a hint of dejection in her voice. “I think so too.” I knew what was coming, but I could tell she had trouble getting it out. “Would you be mad if I asked him out?”

I pulled away for just a moment, “Oh my god, go ahead! Don’t worry about me. Suguru is still cute, plus he’s way nicer to me anyways.”

She paused for a moment, then threw her arms into a hug, “You’re the best.”

I smiled back and returned her embrace. “Okay, now finish doing my hair.”

✦✧✸✧✦

During these last two weeks the only times I see Suguru are during our lunch breaks. His schedule is hectic, but I can see that he makes the time for me—even though I know he doesn’t have any. I use these moments to practice some of the things I’ve learned from Satoru. Light touch, eye contact, genuine smiles.

I’ve touched Suguru’s arm, stared into his eyes, and laughed at his jokes many times before, but it was never like this. This time, all of my actions are bold, assertive, and confident. It’s no surprise that Satoru is a master of charm, but I didn’t expect him to be a decent teacher as well. Come Monday, he’ll be happy to know that Yaga will get glowing reviews for his mentorship.

For today’s lunch, Suguru and I are sitting on the courtyard steps, inches away from where he caught me just two weeks before. He has a look on his face that I haven’t seen before. I can tell something is on his mind by the way his brow furrows and his smile drops.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

“I was—” he pauses, then retracts. “Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

“Come on, Suguru. You can tell me,” I place my hand on top of his.

He smiles, and I can tell my assurance has calmed him down. “I just found out that I’m leaving for a mission next week, and I won’t be back for a few days.”

“Oh,” I reply, a pang of disappointment lingers in my tone.

“I was wondering…” he starts. “Did you maybe want to hang out or something before I leave?” A nervous grin crosses his face before he adds, “Like outside of work?”

I perk up at his proposal. “Of course! I would love that. When were you thinking?”

“I know it’s last minute, but maybe… tomorrow night? It’s okay if you’re bu—”

Cut him off before he has the chance to ramble. I reply with, “I would love to.”

Our lunch continues and the conversation shifts between current events, life updates and playful banter. I learn that Suguru still prefers staying in over going out, he’s got a new obsession with cooking, and his hair care routine is a lot more involved than I thought. As he speaks, I can’t help but admire him and the person he’s become.

When we prepare to part ways, Suguru confirms our plans for the weekend, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow? Meet at my place around 7?” Grinning as he inputs his address into my phone.

“I’ll see you there,” I return a smile and hug him before I leave. The feeling of his touch is perfect.

Chapter 4: Reckless

The workday ends and I make my way to the usual room for my last mentoring session with Satoru. As I walk in, he notices the stupid grin plastered on my face. “You look a little chipper today, angel. What’s up? Excited that you’re no longer forced to spend with me?”

“Well, yes,” I laugh. “But also… Suguru asked me to hang out tomorrow tonight. I’m going to meet him at his place,” I fight to contain my excitement.

Satoru’s brow lifts with intrigue, “If you wanted an invite to come over, you could’ve just asked me.”

Confusion clouds my brain. “Excuse me?” I ask.

“He didn’t tell you we were roommates?”

The clouds dissipate when I realize what’s going on. “No he didn’t. I guess it makes sense though.” The thought of Satoru joining in on our date fills me with unease. “You won’t be there right?” I clarify.

“You can relax, I’m meeting up with someone too. No need to worry about me barging in on whatever “activities” you two plan on doing,” air quoting as he takes a seat at the desk in front.

“Satoru, stop. You don’t even know if that’s gonna happen,” I argue.

“You’ve spent ten years drooling over this man, and you finally get a chance to spend some time with him in his apartment…alone.” he starts. “I don’t know about you, angel, but that sounds like a recipe for sex to me.” He leans back towards the blackboard and places his arms behind his head. A smug look sweeps his face.

“Well, yeah I guess… but it’s more so…” I hesitate, struggling to find the words to say. The thought of Suguru and I being intimate has always crossed my mind, but I can't believe it might actually happen.

“Oh I get it… There’s no reason to be nervous. Sex is sex,” he interjects. “Plus, if he’s the one who initiated the date, I’m sure he’ll enjoy whatever happens, sex or no sex.”

He makes a good point, but I still feel unsure. Before I have the chance to stop myself, I blurt out, “Do you know what he’s into…like when it comes to sex? Do guys even talk about that stuff to each other?” The regret immediately slips through my lips.

Satoru gets up from his seat and brings his hands to my shoulders—a gesture of comfort I’ve never seen from him before. “He’s my best friend, I know everything about him,” he assures me. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“Can you just tell me? Please?” I playfully beg, placing my hands on top of his.

Something about my question changes his demeanor, like he’s been waiting for it all along. The air shifts and suddenly I feel a rush of heat. Satoru drops one of his hands while the other drags across my chest. He begins to circle me, walking slowly, like a lion with its prey. In a situation like this, his towering presence would normally intimidate me, but something this feels different. I'm not feeling fear; instead I feel secure, fascinated, and curious about what lies ahead.

He makes his way behind me and I can feel him lower his head towards mine. “I can tell you…” he whispers, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer. “But do you want me to show you instead?” His words send shivers to my spine. 

He retrieves something from his pocket and places it into my hand. It’s a long piece of fabric, similar to the one he uses to wrap his eyes. My mind spins—stuck between the logic in my head and the cravings of my body. I hesitate for a moment, but the weight of my desire defeats me. “Yes. Please,” I say softly, as I wrap the cloth around my eyes.

“Perfect.” He ties the back securely, and I feel his touch tilt my head toward him.

I let out a breath and part my lips. Our lips touch, locking just for a moment before he briefly pulls away.

“I think for your benefit, and definitely mine, I’m going to keep my limitless on. That way it’s purely informational and you won’t feel a thing,” he says.

And just like that, an invisible barrier forms between us. While his touch is subdued, I still feel the heat hovering between us. The closer I try to get to him, the more I feel his body vibrate against mine—like magnets trying to repel. Damn it, Satoru. He might not feel a thing, but I… I still feel everything.

In my mind, I do my best to recall every part of Suguru from memory. I try seeing his face and emulating his touch. As the pieces of Suguru form, a clear image of him floods my brain.

I can feel his touch as Satoru moves up from my waist and beneath the hem of my shirt. He continues up to cup my breast and I can sense his kisses on my neck. They’re soft and muted, but the sensation still gives me chills. His breath is hot as his mouth works his way up to nibble my ear. I can feel his throat rumble when Satoru continues his lesson, “Do you want to know what Suguru is like?”

I nod. In my mind, Suguru’s dark eyes ease their way shut as he takes in my scent. His strands of hair brush against my shoulder as he continues to plant kisses down my neck.  

“Suguru is a lover—always takes care of his women,” Satoru purrs as he rubs his thumb over my breast. The friction against my nipple sends a jolt of euphoria through my chest. “Do you want to see how he’ll take care of you?” he asks.

My body tenses and I feel a rush of liquid between my thighs. I roll my head back onto his shoulder and hum with pleasure. My breath is labored, I can barely speak. “Show me,” I manage to let out.

“Well to start, he’d make sure your lips never go hungry.” Satoru slowly turns me around while his kisses move to my lips. His lips are soft, smooth as he takes me in.

The intensity rises as his kisses become needy. Using his hands to grip my ass, he leans me on the edge of the desk behind me. Shock fills my body and I can feel his tongue finding its way inside my mouth. Waves of his cursed energy flow through me. It’s powerful—commanding my fingers to lock into his hair. I pull him closer, imagining Suguru's weight crashing into me.

As the ache between my legs intensifies I ask, “What else would he do?”

“He’d work his way up your leg… past your skirt…” he slowly whispers. “And find your clit. Just to make sure she’s happy too.” His fingers travel to my panties, stopping just above my slit. He uses thumb to rub the cloth, and the trembles of his limitless cause me to moan. I roll back and forth, grinding against his hand, desperate for more. My moans are endless and slowly amplify every time the pressure increases.

When he realizes I’m enjoying myself, he runs his fingers along the edge of my panties. I whimper, wondering when he can put an end to this torture. I crave him so badly, I crave the feeling of him inside me—anything to help me find release. He finally gives in and slides my underwear to the side. As his touch grazes against my folds, I picture how good it would feel to have Suguru’s large hands cupping my center.

Satoru picks up on my thoughts and continues feeding my fantasy, “While he teases your pussy, Suguru would tell you that you’re already soaking wet…” The thought has me dripping more liquid onto his fingers. I feel his mouth curl into a smile and he whispers, “...but we’re only getting started.”

His fingers thrust inside me and I can feel the magnitude of his hands as my walls tighten around him. The thrill from his fingers barreling into me stun every inch of my body. I can feel my thighs clenching on the brink of release. His fingers find the sensitive spot within my walls and his mouth claims every spot on my body. His kisses become ravenous, like he can’t get enough. The more he devours me, the more he leaves me breathless.

I can hear him groan in delight and I notice the way his bulge presses against me through his pants. The desperation only makes him harder.

As the intensity grows, I cry for more. “Oh Suguru, just like that.”

“Do you like that, angel?” His pace remains steady as the sensation of cursed energy collects into his fingers. They continue to push against the insides of my center until I can’t take it anymore. The rhythmic motion leaves me breathless and I feel my body racing to its peak.

“Ugh, Suguru, fuck…that feels—”

“Does he make you feel good?” His voice feels heavy, like a low growl.

“Y—, ugh, ye—” I can’t form words through the pounding of his hand. He’s rapidly sending me to the edge and I’m ready to fall. “Suguru, you’re going to make me come.”

“Yes, angel.” Satoru says, before planting his lips onto mine. “Come for him.” 

Those words are enough to break me. The orgasm flows through my body and I feel myself beat around his fingers. His pace slows, but the sensual touch only brings more gratification. The thought of Suguru sending me into ecstasy leaves my body light, and my mind clear. The waves slowly subside and I feel myself resurrect. 

My hands head for the wrap on my eyes, but I hear Satoru whisper, “We’re not done yet, angel.”

I follow his lead and let the rumble of his voice bring me back into my dreams.

“Did you think Suguru would stop there?” he teases. “If there’s anyone he’d take special care of, it would be you.”

I feel his fingers slide out of me and I hear him lick the tips. “You taste so good.”

The words release a flutter in my core. I’m immediately enraptured and can’t help but crave more.

“Suguru would love this,” he starts. “Would you let him taste you too?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

I imagine Suguru’s strength as his hands cup my waist and he lifts me up on the desk. When I lean back, I feel him lift my shirt, exposing my breasts. “You’re so god damn beautiful.” His tongue licks my nipple before fully taking it into his mouth, giving it a playful tug.

“Please, I want you to taste me,” I plead. Liquid gushes out of me, giving him a good dose to start.

“As you wish, angel.” He bends down to hover his mouth over my center. I feel him linger before he adds, “Do you know what else Suguru likes to do?”

“Tell me,” I whisper.

“He likes making sure your pussy never goes dry,” he growls, letting his mouth devour my clit. The vibrations from his limitless amplify the sensation, and I’m on the verge of losing control. 

My body goes numb as his words echo through my head. He likes making sure your pussy never goes dry. I let out a moan, but it feels more like a cry. I completely unravel, feeling the tides of my orgasm come back to shore.

“Oh my god, Suguru. That feels so good. Don’t stop,” I cry.

As he continues to glide over me, I throw my head back and writhe in pleasure. His tongue goes up and down my center in a harmonious rhythm, and I’m so close to feeling ecstasy. His mouth on my lips may have felt needy, but his mouth on my pussy feels absolutely desperate. The ripples of his limitless accompany the motions and bring me to my limit. As he plants his hands on my thighs, I immediately crumble.

I melt into my orgasm as my legs tense up around him, squeezing him towards me. I picture Suguru’s hands gripping my thighs while he moans back in delight. My breath is quick, my heartbeat is unsteady. The muscles inside me contract and pulsate all over his tongue. He has me slick and he licks up every bit of the liquid that trickled from me.

“And that, my little angel… is a little taste of what you can expect from Suguru Geto,” Satoru chuckles.

I relax my legs and I feel one last kiss grace my center. I lay for a moment, feeling both lifeless, yet satiated. The thought of Suguru between my thighs still lingers in my mind.

“That was amazing, Suguru,” I breathed quietly.

As I sit up, my head is in a fog. I feel my brain spin for a moment. What just happened? Did I just have a wet dream about Suguru? Wait, no. Was it Satoru? It takes me a minute to recollect myself. Although I could see Suguru vividly in my mind, I remember that he wasn’t the person in the room. Anxiety surges throughout my body when I’m faced with the reality of what occurred.

I hear the door click, and rush to take off the wrap around my eyes. “Satoru, can we ta—”

To my dismay, there is no one else in the room. I see the blackboard behind me, the desk that seats me, three smaller desks in front of me, but Satoru is nowhere to be found.

Read Part 2 Here!

[justawritterwithideas]

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ previous part | next part ✩

summary: The BAU rushes to Washington after discovering that the lead singer of a famous band may be in danger, causing Spencer to come face to face with his past after 15 years.

general warnings: this series contains topics such as mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers.

chapter warnings: this chapter contains mentions of murder, vomiting, mistreatment, as well as the use of strong vocabulary. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

words: 4,269 words.

a/n: hello! here i come with the second chapter of "boy wonder and the rockstar", i had fun writing this chapter as i also suffered from lack of creativity ( T T ), but finally inspiration touched me. I hope you like it. Remember to read the chapter cautions and have a good read.! English is not first language, so I may have mistakes, if so, I'm sorry. :(

𝟎.𝟐: 𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫.

For many people, memories that are related to times in their lives relate to certain aspects of the five senses, whether it's certain sounds or textures, music that brings them back to that exact memory, or simply tastes of foods that remind them of what their loved ones used to make.

For Spencer, it was smells.

Despite possessing a memory that makes him remember even the smallest detail of what happened the day before, his olfactory memory was much more developed than other senses.

During his childhood, or what he considers childhood, his memories smelled of the pages of old books that his mother read to him and her perfume, impregnated in the bed sheets when they sat together to read some classic of literature. When he was in his youth, sometimes the smells reminded him of the charcoal in his pencil, writing mathematical exercises on white sheets, or sometimes the smell of chlorine, because of the thousand times bullies forced him to go to the bathroom.

But during his college days, he always thought that the smell that would be his favorite was the soft smell of the library, of wood and humidity; but no, those memories had the smell of freshly brewed coffee, cherries and menthol cigarettes.

His good memories always brought smiles to his face in the middle of nowhere, as if he was remembering one of those old bad jokes they used to tell him and he couldn't find the humor in them, or maybe the less thought out answers to such logical questions. His good memories caused his stomach to clench tightly and his chest to feel heavy, as if a stone was replacing his heart.

Spencer knew why. Why his body felt that way.

But he didn't want to admit why.

Because if he admitted it, he knew the only reason he did would make him regret it, he would have to give reason to his sentimental side than the rational side.

And he hated not being right.

"Spence."

J.J.'s voice brought the boy back to his desk, taking his eyes off the nearly iced coffee with a pound of sugar to keep him awake.

He'd been daydreaming about Y/N's laughter in his ear for nights now, just like when they had sleepovers at her apartment. He couldn't get her out of his head, let alone get the smell out of her hair when she was the small spoon.

"What, what's going on?" the opposite replied, looking at the blonde. She seemed to be trying to decipher what was going on in her friend's head.

"I'm asking you, is something wrong, are you sleeping well?"

"Yes." Bullshit.

"Are you sure? Your eyes say otherwise." The black circles under his eyes gave him away.

"I've been sleepless for a few days, but it's because my neighbors won't let me sleep." Another bullshit.

"You should talk to them, you know." The boy nodded, giving the blonde an elongated smile and returning to his paperwork.

"Really all right?"

"Yeah, J.J. It's fine."

"'S okay, you know what you can tell me."

"Yes J.J., thank you."

The answer didn't leave the blonde satisfied, but she made an extraordinary effort to ignore his attitude and return to the desk with Luke and Matt, who had been staring at him for a couple of minutes.

"He's rambling again." Commented J.J as she returned, who kept her eyes on her best friend and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

It was usual at this time of year, when the leaves were beginning to turn their last summer colors, that Spencer would go blank staring at a spot in the room more than once.

No one quite understood why that happened to him, the only one who knew was Gideon. But he never shared any of Spencer's secrets, not even if a gun was held to his chest.

"Guess whateee, my dear friends!" The conversation was interrupted by a cheerful and enthusiastic Penelope, who commanded everyone's attention with her sonorous voice.

"What's going on, Garcia?" Luke turned to see her, who was coming with an envelope in her hand.

"Your genius did it again, rub the wishing lamp and I got tickets to the best concert of the year - Paradox in Virginia! Can you believe it?"

"You got them!?" J.J. was the first to startle, coming closer to see the tickets for the most anticipated concert of the year.

"That's right, my dear friend! A girls' night out to see Paradox. You, me, Emily and Tara."

"No way, god. I'll talk to Will and rest assured I'll be ready for that night." J.J smiled hugging her friend's arm.

"What's Paradox...?" muttered Luke, causing Matt to turn to look at him. The poor Luke was trying to comprehend what his friends were talking about.

Was he too out of date on pop culture or were they speaking in some kind of secret code?

"Oh Luke, why did you ask that?" Matt shook his head, earning a glare from the blonde couple.

"What did you say, newbie, don't you know what Paradox is? Oh god, no way. I'll have to bring you up to date with a course on what today's music is right now, follow me." Penelope motioned to the boy, who turned to see Matt who was lifting his shoulders laughing.

"No Penelope, you're not going anywhere. We have a case, and it's urgent. There's no time, meeting room now."

The rest of the people turned to look at each other, abiding by their boss's orders as they saw her so anxious and serious about a case.

That didn't look good at all.

The adrenaline and euphoria of last night's show, plus the last two dates, had been enough of a stimulant for Y/N to fall asleep in bed once they arrived at the hotel. Her whole body was exhausted, and at that moment all she wanted was some chamomile tea and a thousand hours of sleep.

She loved her job, of course she did! But she was mentally and physically exhausted from giving almost 15 concerts without a break, from one state to another, with more cups of coffee and energizers in her body than times where her eyes closed to sleep.

And the only time she found peace and quiet was when her body was being moved from one location to another, so, at that moment, her body was resting in the comfortable seat of the SUV after being driven to an interview and returned to the hotel to rest.

She felt her limbs meld with the seat, feeling like she was in heaven itself where her muscles all over her body were relaxing after days.

Her peace didn't last long when she heard a soft call.

"Psss, Y/N."

The, now, blonde heard the call from Felix, also known as the band's drummer and her best friend.

"What? You ruin my beauty nap."

"What did one wall say to the other?"

Y/N could hang him right then and there.

More the tiredness in her body made her think, trying to devise the best answer to get him to leave her alone.

"What?"

"I'll meet you at the corner."

"I'm having the biggest self-control to not kill you because you just interrupted the only moment of peace I've had these past three months, asshole."

"You haven't been able to sleep?"

Y/N denied with her eyes closed, desperate to get back to her attempt at sleep.

"Not a single moment, I woke up three times last night and that was the best attempt at sleep I've ever had."

"Your pills aren't working?"

"They're placebos, they won't make my body calm down just like that and go back to my eight hour sleep cycle that I'd had for the last two years without touring." The young woman opened one eye, looking at her friend. "I just have to get used to it, I have to get back to the cycle of excitement I used to have when it was tour after tour."

"Maybe if we talk about that thing that bothers you-"

"No way."

Y/N knew what he meant, knew it was talking about a certain doctor who gave her goosebumps every time she thought about him and took her back to her college days.

Why was she still thinking about him? It had been almost 15 years since they last spoke.

Y/N looked at the date on her phone.

No, she was wrong.

It had been 15 years since they last spoke.

Today was 15 years since she had received the last letter from Spencer with her name written on it.

The last time she felt the smell of his perfume on the sheets and his ugly doctor's handwriting on a sheet of paper.

The last time she saw written "wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you are with, you are always on my mind and in my heart, Y/N."

Last time she saw written "Love from Quantico, dr. Spencer Reid. I'm also known as your #1 fan, but only you know that."

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well that night? Yes.

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well for that last week? Yes.

Was that the reason why, every time she closed her eyes, she saw him smile? Yes.

Was she going to admit it? No.

Never.

"Y/N..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Felix. Don't insist."

"But, Y/N-"

"Let it go, Felix. Really, don't insist." Tyler's voice made Felix turn to look at him angrily.

Tyler and Shawn, the guitarist and bassist respectively, shook their heads and made an "X" symbol with their fingers, muttering at the same time "don't do it, don't be stupid."

"Enough kids, let it go. In two days we have a very important concert to give in Seattle, so I don't want any fights."

"You heard him, Felix." Y/N smiled opening her eyes, looking in the direction of Gerald, her manager.

Thank you, Y/N murmured in the man's direction.

Gerald just raised his shoulders, noticing how the van parked.

"Okay, down."

Tyler and Shawn were the first to get out, followed by Y/N and then Felix.

Felix hated to come off as meddling in Y/N's life, so whenever he meddled too much in the girl's life, he simply knew that seeking forgiveness from her was his best option.

"Sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to insist."

"It's okay, Felix. I know you meant no harm, but I don't want to talk about it."

"And when will you?"

"I don't know, I guess when I'm ready."

"It's been 15 years, Y/N."

"I know, but I'm still not read-"

"Miss Autumn?"

Y/N turned to see the receptionist, who was holding a package.

"A package has arrived for you."

"Thank you, do you know who brought it?"

"No miss, I'm sorry."

"No worries, thanks again."

Y/N received it, walking to the elevator along with Felix after seeing how the package had a sticker on it that said "express delivery."

"What did you order, compulsive shopper?" Gerald turned to look at her, causing Y/N to deny in confusion.

"Nothing that I know of, I promise."

"Maybe it's a collaboration, Tiffany's already started putting the ads with your face all over it." Shawn smiled, elbowing the arm of the store's new ambassador.

"A gift for you to occupy at the next gig." Gerald replied, nodding softly as he looked down at his phone.

The box was small and covered in the typical plastic they place around it. Compact enough to drop a set of jewelry on behalf of the brand, but it seemed odd that it came directly and without warning.

The group made their way to the small meeting room where they had set up everything they needed, ready to hear the itinerary Gerald had prepared for them about their upcoming events.

Y/N's fingers went to open the package once it was placed on the table, watching as  the "Tiffany & Co." logo on its little sky blue box.

"Okay guys, tomorrow you have rehearsal from noon until three in the afternoon, then you'll have an interview on a radio station near the sta-"

A beautiful gold ring with a navy blue gem in the middle was the first thing that caught the young woman's eye, perfect for the occasion. But it was heavier than usual.

"Then you can go eat and rest, we'll still have dress rehearsal, so you can get ready-"

A shout coming from Y/N deafened the group of people, causing them all to look in her direction.

Her skin was as white as paper, her eyes fixed on the box she had just opened and her face with an expression of pure terror from an experimental horror movie.

All eyes went in the direction of the box, which Y/N felt like everything she had eaten that morning was going to spew out of her mouth right then and there.

"Shit."

The beautiful ring encircled something.

A human finger.

A human finger that stained the bottom of the box.

A human finger that was accompanied by a note.

"I hope you enjoy my gift, my sweet star. I made it just for you, good luck at the concert."

"This morning at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Washington, the lead singer of the band Paradox received a package. Inside was a human finger with a ring on it." Emily was passing around the photographs that had been sent by the Washington police, it showed just what she had just described above. "According to the receptionist it was dropped off by someone from a package store. The police questioned him and he said it had arrived with yesterday's load of packages."

"From where?" Luke asked.

"They don't know, they collect packages from all over the country so they don't know where it came from. They're looking for the tracking code of the branch they sent it from."

"How grotesque, who would send such a thing to an artist like her?" Tara looked at Emily, who sighed.

"But what do we have to do with this case?" Rossi looked at his tablet, zooming in on the picture of the ring.

"The DNA results came back to find out whose finger it is." A photograph of a stranger appeared on the TV screen. "He is Bruno Colombo, an Italian artist and the owner of that finger. We just got word that his lifeless body was found in his art studio."

"He's Autumn's ex-fiancé." Penelope commented, surprised at all that was going on. "In 2016, he and Autumn got engaged after dating for two years, but after a few months it was discovered that the engagement ended after Autumn discovered him and an art gallery owner having sex in his studio. According to him he did it because he wanted to make an exhibition that would portray Autumn's true feelings, and this way he could see her feeling of anger and sadness. There are still people who idolize him for that."

"What a jerk." Matt muttered.

"And how come no one noticed his absence?"

" According to this, he was isolating himself when he was setting up exhibits so it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to suddenly disappear."

Spencer felt his heart pounding, why would he get like this over a clear case of a stalker obsessing over a music star?

It's not like he even knew her.

"Apparently, this relates to a series of related cases over ten years that the only common element is this band, Paradox. No one has ever linked them before as none of the modes of operation are the same, the only factor that unites them is the viciousness with which they are carried out and the band, of course." Emily sighed, showing the various faces and deaths that surrounded them.

"Race or religion has nothing to do with it, it seems neither does gender." Spencer commented, quickly reading each of the bodies found. "But it looks like they all had an encounter with the band or one of the members. From 2008 when the first body was found until now."

"The director asked us to take on this case, the level of this band is insane and it seems to be going against the vocalist, Autumn. They are currently on a world tour after two years of no activity, plus not much is known about her in general." Emily turned to look at Penelope. "Garcia, you're joining us on this trip. You serve us better back in Washington than you do here at Quantico. Reid and Lewis will go meet the M.E., the rest of us will go to the station and then we'll all go to the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, we'll meet the band and their manager." The whole group was surprised, especially Penelope who held a surprised expression. "Wheels up in 30."

Y/N always thought that the whole thing about having human parts shipped to you in a box was part of fiction. At best, news fiction.

But what she had just experienced was surreal.

Her body was shaking with a cup of tea in her hands, feeling her hands stinging around the cup.

"Who the fuck would send something like that to Y/N? No one we know is capable of doing anything to her, they would fuck up their careers if they were exposed like that." Tyler turned, annoyed, in the direction of Y/N. "Who did this to you, are you hiding something from us?"

"No, Tyler. I'm not hiding anything, why would I hide the fact that someone sent me a fucking human part on my name to a hotel in the middle of our comeback tour? You're blaming me for something, huh? Tell me to my fucking face, Tyler."

Y/N stood up in exasperation, letting the hot water spill onto the floor.

"I don't know, you tell me, Y/N. If you got sent a finger."

"Go straight to hell, Tyler. Right straight up." Commented the girl raising her middle finger.

"Enough! Both of you." Gerald's loud voice interrupted them, separating the band's strong personalities. "Right now we can't fight. They just sent a fucking human finger to Y/N, we can't get mad about that, we should be worried."

"Finally someone with sense." Y/N sat back down, setting the cup aside.

"What are they seeing so much of us, why aren't they doing anything? They should be looking for the person responsible." Felix got up walking towards the officers, being stopped by Shawn.

"Hey, they're doing the best they can. If we go in there and raise our voices, we're going to hinder the investigation, don't be a dickhead."

"Damn it, this can't be happening." Y/N stood up, starting to walk over to her purse to pull out a cigarette and place it between her teeth.

"You can't smoke in here, Y/N." Gerald's warning went in one ear to the girl and out the other, flicking her lighter. "Y/N."

"What, look at the shit we're in, I just got sent a fucking human finger from who-knows-who and you're asking me to keep my cool!? I can't! There's a crazy person out there sending me that shit with 'nice words'." The girl threw the lighter at who-knows-where, finding herself on the verge of an anxiety attack. "Don't fuck around and leave me alone to have a smoke, Gerald."

The group fell back into the same silence that surrounded them four hours ago, letting the cigarette smoke flood their nostrils.

They were desperate, they needed to get to the root of this.

Y/N knew it. Right now she was the eye of the hurricane, who that box and message were addressed to; the same person who had sent her that, had taken it upon himself to send her flowers and letters with the same nickname, "my sweet star."

At first she thought it was nice, of course it's nice when you get your favorite flowers along with letters of good cheer and best wishes, but it's not nice when you get a gift like today's.

But her attitude would get her nowhere, she was annoyed and exasperated, but they didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

"I'm sorry, but this is too much for me, I can't handle this alone and my attitude isn't helping anything. " Y/N commented, taking her eyes off her cigarette and looking at the people closest to her. "We should be in this together."

"I'm sorry, kid. I got upset that I couldn't help you, that you didn't know who sent you that." Tyler sighed, giving the girl a rueful smile.

"Don't worry about it, Ty. I'm really sorry, everyone."

The girl took another puff on her cigarette, letting the minty flavor cool her lungs.

"The FBI is here."

The announcement made everyone look at each other, taking their last breaths and letting Y/N finish what she was doing, the only thing keeping her sane at that moment.

"I'll see you downstairs, okay?" Felix left a kiss on the young woman's forehead, taking his leave to get on the elevator.

Y/N found herself alone in the room, again feeling disgust rise in her throat. She couldn't get the image of that package out of her mind, how was someone capable of writing those sweet words and sending something as grotesque as that.

The girl's hands gently stroked her cheeks, waking up and she shook her head. She would make one last stop to the bathroom before heading downstairs, so she could go more consciously for who-knows-what things would make her talk.

The BAU met up with a group of people who, thanks to the way Penelope was getting excited, could be sure it was Paradox.

All along the way, Spencer had listened to Garcia's theories and who it could have been. He loved listening to her talk, but his head was somewhere else, somewhere else but there.

Something inside him sensed something, something he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was his thoughts of the past that had been running through him since morning.

"Agent Prentiss, I'm Gerald Murphy, the manager of Paradox." The man shook hands with the woman, who was looking over his shoulder at three people. "These are the members of the band: Tyler, Shawn and Felix."

The three let out a wave into the air, giving them a smile of sorts.

Spencer knew they weren't entirely happy they were there, he read it in their body language.

"I understand there are four of you in the band, here I see three." Emily looked directly into Gerald's eyes.

"Yeah, Autumn, the vocalist, is upstairs finishing something. But she's coming down now, right?" Felix nodded, watching the FBI agents.

Felix crossed glances with Spencer, feeling that familiar air from somewhere.

Spencer felt that familiar air too, but maybe he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Please, let's go somewhere more private. That way we can talk more quietly."

Gerald motioned to the three men, who plunged inside the room, followed by everyone else.

The BAU settled down in front of the four people seated on the couches.

"If you like, we can wait for Miss Autumn." Emily glanced at the group, all of whom nodded.

"It's for the best, she's the most affected." Felix looked in the direction of Tyler and Shawn, who simply nodded in unison.

"You've never received anything like this before?" Luke directed his question at the group of people, causing Tyler to let out a sarcastic laugh.

"You think that's a normal thing to receive, a human finger? Please, be realistic."

"Tyler, shut up." Shawn motioned, slapping the young man's knee.

"That's a stupid question of his, since when is getting shit like that going to be normal?"

"Tyler!" Shawn gave him a stern look, turning his gaze back to Luke. "I'm sorry, we're touchy about this that just happened."

"My question was out of line, it's my fault." Luke admitted, turning to look at the rest.

"When is Autumn getting here?" Felix's question seemed to work magic, smelling her best friend's signature scent.

A strong smell of cherries and menthol tobacco made Spencer shake his head.

It wasn't time to remember Y/N, it wasn't time to focus on something like that.

It felt like his head was playing a joke on him, as if she was suddenly here. But the smell didn't go away, in fact, it intensified to the point that Spencer could feel his head hurting.

"Sorry I'm late."

Spencer felt his entire body freeze, as if he were turning into an ice cube.

The voice he thought he would never hear again.

The voice that escaped so much in his dreams.

He could hear it there, like an echo in his head.

His head turned, catching the figure that had just entered with some haste.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Autu-"

"Y/N."

The girl looked up, meeting Spencer's hazel eyes.

No way, Y/N thought.

Her heart stopped, as did the time around her.

Standing in front of her was a much older and mature Spencer Reid, but with that same lotion that made her dizzy.

The woman's mouth opened slightly, feeling the air in her lungs catch and no words came out of her mouth.

Her lip quivered, her pulse altered.

"Spencer."

Oh fate, how cruel did you have to be?

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