#when night hits it's all dim amber lights

[and-i-said-fewer]

all rooms cable a/c free coffee by the extra glenns is jaskier and yennefer To Me. maybe no else but to me it is

[archiveofvirtue]

ROUGH SEX WITH YOUR CO-STAR! ⸻ jensen ackles

content / jensen ackles x fem!reader, actor!jensen, actress!reader, age gap, 18+, mdni, dom!jensen, sub!reader, oral (male receiving), forced blow job, hair pulling, choking, p in v (unprotected), praise kink, just jensen being freaky asf, 3.8k words

summary / when the mixture of alcohol and forbidden attraction hits you, you are no longer sure how long you can deny the growing desire between you and Jensen

The sound of laughter and music filled the bar as you and cast of The Boys gathered around the table, enjoying a rare evening off after a whirlwind of interviews, conventions, and press events promoting the new season.

You sat near the edge of the group, a glass of wine in your hand as you watched the scene unfold. You’d been on the road with them for two weeks now, traveling from state to state to promote the show, and despite the exhausting schedule, nights like this made it all worth it.

Especially with your costar Jensen sitting just across the table, his smile lighting up the room, making everyone around him feel at ease. And despite your usual calm aura, he could tell you were taking it all in, probably still adjusting to the chaotic rhythm of show business.

You had joined the cast as the newest love interest for Soldier Boy, Jensen's character, and while you’d been nervous about working with such an established actor— he quickly made you feel comfortable. He was kind, funny, and despite being almost fifteen years older than you, he never treated you like the "new girl."

When you’d first started working together, Jensen was like a mentor to you but soon enough,m he found himself noticing more than just your talent. While you also found yourself noticing things about him—like the way he smiled at you when you two ran lines together or how his hand would linger just a little longer on your arm when you wrapped a scene.

And then, of course, there was the fact that you found him undeniably attractive. Everyone knew Jensen was good-looking, but up close? It was something else entirely. You’d kept it professional, though. He'd just come off a divorce, and the last thing you wanted was to complicate things for him or yourself.

Still, there was no denying the chemistry between you two, both on-screen and off. And Jensen wasn't oblivious to the tension that had developed between you over the last few weeks either..

"Hey, y/n," Jensen called from across the table, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was leaning forward, his voice cutting through the laughters around you. "You've been quiet tonight. Everything okay?"

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, just still getting used to it."

Jensen grinned, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "You sure? We've got drinks, great company. Seems like a perfect night to me."

You chuckled, sipping your wine to hide the fact that your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He'd been like this all night—talkative, laughing easily, and more physical than usual. His hand had brushed your arm more than once when you talked, and every time, your skin began to burn—in a good way.

As the night wore on, the group started to thin out. Some of the cast heading back to the hotel, but you, Jensen, and a few others stuck around, ordering another round of drinks. The bar was cozier now, quieter, and the low lighting gave it an intimate atmosphere.

So Jensen found himself talking to you more closely, the casual distance between you shrinking without you even realizing it.

"So, how are you feeling about everything?" He asked, his voice low as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "The show, all this traveling. It's a lot, huh?"

"Yeah," you admitted, meeting his gaze. "It's been amazing, though. A little surreal, honestly. Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here, working with you guys."

"Well, you're killing it," Jensen said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I mean it, y/n. You've been great this season."

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, trying to compose yourself. "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you."

"Don't downplay it. You're talented as hell. And...you're fun to work with. Really fun,"

he added, letting his words hang in the air. He hadn't meant for them to sound as loaded as they did, but now that he'd said it, he found himself holding your gaze a little longer, wondering if you’d caught the shift in his tone.

Your heart raced as you glanced up at him, trying to read his expression. Was he just being friendly? Or was there something more behind his words?

"I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say, or even if you should say anything at all. But it was hard to ignore the way he was looking at you, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle way his knee brushed against yours under the table.

"You know," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes never left yours, "I think we've spent more time together on this road trip than we did shooting the season."

You laughed softly, grateful for the slight change in topic. "Yeah, but the road trip's been fun. It's nice getting to see different places, meet fans, and, you know, bond with the cast."

Jensen's grin widened. "Bond, huh? Is that what we're calling it?"

You laughed, clearly trying to brush off the tension. "What else would you call it?"

"Something else entirely," he said, his voice low, a hint of challenge that sent a shiver through you.

Before you could respond though, Karl called over from the bar, breaking the moment. Jensen leaned back, laughing at something the others were saying, but his hand lingered on your lower arm, his thumb tracing a small, almost absent-minded circle against your skin. It was such a subtle gesture, but it sent a thrill through you.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on here than just casual flirting. There was tension between the two of you, a pull you couldn't ignore, and you were certain he felt it too.

But as much as you wanted to explore whatever this was, you knew you had to be careful. Still, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered every time he looked at you.

For now, you’d play it cool. But something told you that whatever was happening between you wasn't going away anytime soon.

Eventually, even the most fun nights had to end. The bar's lights dimmed and everyone decided it was time to call it a night. You all made your way back to the hotel, the cool night air helping to clear your mind, which had been buzzing with thoughts of Jensen all night.

When you finally reached your room, you kicked off your shoes and put on your silk pyjamas before flopping onto the bed with a long sigh. The events of the night played in your head—Jensen's teasing remarks, the way he'd stayed close to you, how his touch lingered just a bit too long. There was definitely something there, you could feel it.

But as your thoughts swirled, you suddenly realized something. Your phone. Where was your phone? You shot up, mentally retracing your steps. Then it hit you—you’d given it to Jensen earlier in the night to hold onto because you hadn't brought a purse with you.

"Dammit," you muttered, cursing yourself for forgetting. Now you’d have to go to his room and get it back. You groaned inwardly, knowing it would feel awkward after the way you’d been acting all night. But there was no way you could go to bed without your phone.

Reluctantly, you got up, slipped your shoes back on, and headed out of your room. You walked down the hallway, heart thumping a little faster than it should have. You told yourself it was just because you didn't want to bother him this late, but you knew the truth.

It was Jensen.

And the way he made you feel, had you on edge.

When you reached his door, you took a deep breath and knocked. No response. You frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. You were just about to turn and head back to your room when the door swung open.

And there stood Jensen, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, his hair wet and dripping from the shower. He looked at you with those piercing eyes, a playful smirk on his lips, completely unfazed by the fact that he was half-naked in front of you.

Your breath caught in your throat. God, he looked unbelievably sexy. His broad chest was still glistening with water, and your eyes instinctively trailed down over his abs to the towel hanging low on his hips.

You were completely overwhelmed, mind scrambling to find words, but all you could do was stand there, staring like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Uh... I—" you stammered, trying to get rid of any filthy thoughts that were coming to you. "I need my phone... I think you have it? I gave it to you earlier at the bar."

Jensen raised an eyebrow, amused by the way your cheeks flushed as he smirked. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," he said, his voice playful. "Come on in. I think I put it on the nightstand."

You hesitated for a split second, heart hammering in your chest, but you forced yourself to move, stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, cozy, and the scent of his sweet body wash hung in the air. You tried not to focus on how close he was standing to you as you made your way to the nightstand where your phone sat.

As you reached for it, you could feel his eyes on you, the tension between you almost palpable. You picked up the phone, your hand trembling slightly, and turned to face him.

He was leaning casually against the wall now, arms crossed, still wearing nothing but that damn towel. His demeanor was teasing, but there was something else in his gaze too—something that made your pulse race even faster.

"You know," Jensen said, his voice low and smooth, "you could've just called for it. Oh wait," he added with a smirk, "you didn't have your phone."

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. "Yeah, a little hard to call without it," you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but clearly nervous.

Jensen chuckled softly, pushing off the wall and walking toward you, stopping just a few feet away. He looked down at you with that same playful glint in his eyes, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

"You sure that's all you came for?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. He saw the hesitation in your eyes, the flicker of doubt, but also curiosity, maybe even a hint of longing.

Your breath hitched. You could feel the tension between you two, the way his gaze held yours, and for a brief second, you wondered what would happen if you just... leaned in.

But then reality came crashing back. Jensen had just gone through a divorce. He was vulnerable, and you didn't want to complicate things, not like this. Not now.

You forced yourself to smile, though your heart was still racing. "Yeah," you said, holding up your phone as if to prove your point. "Just needed this."

Jensen's eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he stepped back a little, his smirk softening. "Well, you've got it now."

"Thanks," you said quickly, eyes dropping down to the floor as you couldn't bare to look into his piercing green eyes, yet the pull too was strong, so that you raised your head again just seconds later.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you standing there, still holding onto your phone like a lifeline. The playful smirk never leaving his face, his voice low and laced with a teasing challenge.

"Yet you're still here."

The words hung in the air between you, thick with tension. You froze, the grip on your phone tightening.

Were you imagining things? Misreading him?

The way he had been so flirtatious all night, the casual touches, the lingering glances-it couldn't be nothing, could it?

Your mind was spinning, trying to make sense of the situation. You weren’t sure if you were overthinking or if you were too tipsy to trust your own judgment. But the way he looked at you now, like he was daring you to stay, made your pulse race.

He must have noticed the hesitation in your eyes because his expression shifted. He moved toward you, closing the distance, his hand finding your waist with an almost deliberate slowness. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you just a bit closer.

It was a bold move, one that made your heart skip a beat. You were taken aback, breath hitching in your chest as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours now, and the tension was so thick it was hard to breathe.

For a moment, your mind raced with mixed emotions. You knew this could complicate everything. And yet, the pull between you was undeniable.

Jensen's thumb gently brushed your side, his touch grounding you as the intensity of the moment swirled around you.

His green eyes bore into yours, and for a split second, you were unsure of what to do. But then, in the next heartbeat, your hesitation melted away. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a rush of heat and urgency.

The second your mouths touched, it was like a dam had broken. The tension that had been simmering between you all night finally erupted into something raw and electric.

Jensen responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you fully against him, eager to finally feel you, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

Your mind blurred with a heady mix of desire and disbelief, your hands instinctively finding their way to his bare chest, your fingers grazing his muscles still damp from the shower. You could taste the faint bitterness of alcohol on his lips, and the fact that you were both a little tipsy only seemed to add to the intensity of the moment.

His hands roamed up your sides, one slipping into your hair as the kiss deepened, his body pressing you gently but firmly against the edge of the bed. Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you softly plunged onto the soft mattress.

You unconsciously bit onto your lower lip as you looked up at him, unholy images replaying in your mind as your gaze fell onto his happy trail, wanting nothing more than to rip that damn towel off of him.

Jensen noticed how your eyes stuck to his body just a little too long, eliciting a chuckle out of him, "Go ahead, no need to be all shy now."

For a second, a small ounce of doubt crept into your mind—this was risky, so risky. You two were co-stars, and if anyone found out, it could lead to complications neither of you were ready for. But as Jensen's hand reached down to your chin, grabbing it with his big palm, that doubt vanished, replaced by desire.

You couldn't bare the need for him any longer, immediately getting to work by dropping onto your knees, the anticipation almost killing you as Jensen teasingly began to remove the towel from his hips.

His eyes never left yours as he pulled down the white cloth, revealing his already hard cock. The sight of him, made your breath catch in your throat, gulping as you saw how big he actually was.

You came face to face with his length, looking up at him through hooded eyes, "Come on, show me what that pretty mouth can do." He groaned, immediately sending tingles to your core, desperately pressing your thighs together.

With easy hands you held him in your soft palms, running your thumb over his tip and spreading the already leaking precum over it.

Pressing your lips together you gathered all your courage and inched closer, sticking out your tongue and licking a stripe all the way from his base to the tip. You repeated this action a few more times, then fully taking him in your mouth as far as you could go.

"Holy fuck, baby." Jensen growled, his head thrown back in pleasure as he couldn't believe how good your wet and warm mouth felt around him, only having imagined it before.

You began to swirl your tongue around his cock, jerking off what you couldn't get in your mouth, as he reached to grab a fist full of your hair, yanking you back a little so he could grab at your neck with his other hand.

"You wanna be a good girl for me, right?" He mumbled in between grunts, admiring your plump lips that were so desperately trying to get back to sucking him off. You nodded hastily, this man could literally do anything to you and you’d thank him after.

"Good then, open up wide, baby."

He instantly took advantage of your parted lips and plunged himself down your throat in a swift motion, your eyes widening as you had to gag at the force.

"Shhh, relax." Jensen cooed, his voice now softer as he gave you some time to get used to your mouth being full of him.

Once you gave him a small nod he began rolling his hips slowly into your mouth, your hands grabbing at his thighs to steady yourself. It was a weird feeling to have him down your throat so deep but as he continued his movements you began to like it, wanting him to go even harder.

You jerked your face closer to his abdomen, earning a deep and breathless chuckle from him. Realizing how eager you were lapping at his dick he picked up his pace, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again, driving you crazy.

The built up of saliva and precum that was dripping from the corner of your lips, helped Jensen even more to slide his cock in and out of your warm mouth.

His grunts became louder and his hands were gripping the back of your head as he fucked your throat, your moans sending vibrations throughout his body, and he knew that if he continued he wouldn't last any longer.

But cuming just in your mouth tonight wouldn't satisfy him, he needed more.

Pulling you off him by your hair you shot him a confused look, scared that he might've changed his mind and didn't want any of this, that it was just the alcohol on which behalf he was acting out, but his words quickly made all your doubts vanish.

"Need to finish inside you, y/n." He said, before pulling you back onto your feet and yanking your small frame onto the silky sheets.

Towering over you he ran his hands along the soft fabric of your pyjama shorts, pulling them down harshly as you freed yourself from the little top that was just barely covering your tits anyway.

By the way his eyes widened and the way he pulled some air in sharply, you could tell that he took notice of your dripping wet cunt, already leaking onto the sheets. "Jensen.." you whined, the urge to finally feel him inside taking over you.

"Patience, baby." He smirked up at you, eyes full of lust as he placed some teasing kisses onto the insides of your soft thighs, making you squirm in desperation.

Jensen jerked his still glistening cock for a few times, his one hand stayed at your chest, playing with your tit, as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Looking up at you for approval, you nodded which gave him the sign to proceed, his tip brushing over your clit and through your slick folds to lube himself up, before pushing into your needy cunt fast.

You gasped at the sudden fullness, his cock stretching out your walls so perfectly, making Jensen grunt as he burried himself completely inside you, as if you were made for him.

"Gosh, look how perfect your pretty cunt is sucking me in. Really needed me that bad, huh?"

Your eyes scrunched together, feeling yourself get wetter from his words alone. You rapidly nodded, breathing out a soft "mhm..shit..yes" as he chuckled, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck.

He was quick to go back to his previous action, rolling his hips smoothly against yours as he picked up his pace, soon slamming into you at an ungodly speed. The almost pornografic noises that came out of your mouth made him chuckle, clearly knowing that there might be some complaints by the morning, but he didn't care.

He kept on pounding into your eager pussy, your legs wrapped around his hips by now, making him hit much deeper, if that was even humanly possible.

"Fuck.. I'm gonna.." you cursed underneath your breath, feeling the familiar knot in your lower stomach screaming for release.

"Cum all over me, sweetheart." Jensen groaned into your ear, his hot breath making your skin prickle. His hand crept down, two of his digits rubbing circles at your clit, causing you to let out a loud, almost scream-like, moan as you released all over him, creaming his cock.

"Fucking shit.." he grunted, teeth pressing into his lower lip as he gave you a few more hard thrusts, pearls of sweat forming on his forehead as he chased his own high.

Groaning out loud you felt him twitch inside of you, cuming deep in your cunt, painting your slick walls white.

As both of you calmed down you still couldn't believe that this was actually real, even as Jensen pulled out of you and plopped onto the bed beside you.

"Shit y/n, that shower was hella pointless..definitely not complaining though." He laughed, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he wrapped one of his big arms around your waist, pulling you close.

"Well, screams for a round two then." You replied, stroking his muscular chest.

"You mean this or the shower?" He eyed you down, a smirk plastered on his face as he pointed in between you two.

You just shrugged, yet the devilish smile plastered on your lips gave it away.

wow this was a wild ride, and i am actually kinda proud of this one !!

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @nuemanfilms @hischrrypie @seasons-of-death @starkeysprincess @drewsarms @rubyvhs @deansenvy @supernatural-wolfie @sammyluvr @nxptvn @rafecameroninterlude @deansbite

[thehighladywrites]

— “it’ll be our little secret, professor”

☀︎ - pairing: eris vanserra x reader

☀︎ - summary: you hook up with this delicious older man for one fun night to forget your scummy ex, what do you do when the same man turns out to be your new professor?

☀︎ - warnings: smut, oral (m.receiving), hint of degradation, taboo relationships, student x professor, both are obviously old enough, i just want him so bad GOD

☀︎ - amara’s note: this is going to be a series where i’ll post text threads with prof eris, headcanons, just different things. I’m planning this series to be about 10 chapters, but I literally have no structure, I just write. also i hope you like this as much as I do. and if you see any mistakes, no you don’t

In the corner of the club, everything felt a bit fuzzy. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and different scents. Dim lights created a soft atmosphere, and the distant sounds of the crowd and music blended together. It was like time slowed down, and you were in your own world, just soaking in the low-key vibe of the club corner.

The earlier shots hit you, and now you're in a blissful, relaxed state. All you could focus on were the hands exploring your body, lips locking with yours, and captivating scent surrounding you.

In the heat of the night, you ended up kissing a stranger without a second thought. The risk of being alone with someone unfamiliar did register – you just didn't care. Discovering your boyfriend's cheating after a difficult three-year relationship, marked by numerous breakups and makeups, left you feeling free from a toxic situation.

Now, free from those shackles, you embraced the chance to breathe and have some carefree fun. You had gone out with your friends, planning to originally get black out drunk but you suppose there’s better ways to cope.

Coming up with the idea of harmless fun, you and Elain came up with new identities for everyone to play out. Providing a random name, you spun a fat lie of being an up-and-coming writer, in the middle of writing your latest novel. Falsely claiming to be older, you described a beautiful house situated on the outskirts of Prythian that you owned. It was all part of a lighthearted game, with no harm intended since you believed you'd never cross paths with the guy again. It was ridiculously easy to bag the man since he didn’t tell you anything about himself, only nodding when you talked about yourself.

The attractive stranger had dark copper hair, captivating amber eyes, and stood several inches taller than you. His eyes glistened in mirth mixed with hunger. His muscular build caught your attention, and you found yourself grabbing onto his strong arms.

If his looks didn't captivate you, his mouth certainly did. His wicked tongue unleashed clever comebacks and tantalizing dirty talk that sent shivers down your spine.

The best part? He was older, more mature, more confident and much more good-looking – just so much more than your ex. Comparisons might be wrong, but if you had to choose, the man in front of you was a no-brainer.

Because he wasn't some guy; he was a man who acted like a man, who spoke like a man and touched you like a real fucking man.

The man had been touching and kissing you for what felt like an eternity. You greedily wanted more from him. You didn't want to regret not taking the chance, and almost as if he could sense it, he invited you back to his place.

You nodded, excusing yourself to let your friends know about leaving. Approaching them, you shared your decision to go with him, and Gwyn, Nesta, Em and Elain cheered you on. However, Feyre, always the protective friend, expressed her concern.

“Go get some, but I swear I’ll hunt him down if anything happens, got it? And have your location on.”

Her words, while somewhat playful, held a genuine undertone of worry.

You nodded and promised her you’d be safe before hurriedly made your way outside to the handsome man.

“Still want to come with me, sweet thing?” he asked curiously, making sure it was still something you wanted.

“Mm, yeah, still wanna go. Unless you've changed your mind?” Stepping forward, you grabbed the man's tie, pulling it gently as you looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. A playful glint clouded your gaze as you cocked your head to the side, oozing confidence.

He smirked down at you with a wicked glint, clearly showing his mind was nowhere near changed. The man stepped forward, rubbing his clothed cock against your dress, making you feel his hard on through his pants

“Does it feel like I’ve changed my mind?”

The chemistry you had was unmatched, he was so clever and witty and you wanted to know more about him as he led you to his car, a sleek, black one, indicating money.

You’d blame your forwardness on the alcohol tomorrow when you remembered how you just blurted out the question.

“Hey, you rich or something?” you giggled.

The man opened up the backseat door for you and through the side of his eye gave you an amused smirk.

“Or something.” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grinning, as you hopped into the backseat, enjoying the warmth of his hands securing your seatbelt and closing the door.

But hold on, the backseat?

Weren't you supposed to sit upfront with him? Before you could ask, he opened the other backseat door and slid in beside you.

Maintaining eye contact, he grinned at your confusion and said, “Alden, please take us home.” A faint "yes sir" was heard, and the car started moving. Shocked, you realized he had a driver – clearly, he was quite wealthy.

You scanned the spacious car, realizing there was more than enough room for the fun activities on your mind. With a screen separating you from the driver, you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, straddling his lap.

His hands instinctively found your hips, guiding your movements over him. Lips on your neck, he left dark marks as your hands ventured lower, reaching his cock, which elicited a groan from him. Your eyes widened as you felt the size of him. The man simply flashed you a subtle smile and raised his eyebrows.

You unbuckled his belt, maintaining eye contact as you carefully watched his face show pleasure as you put your hand down his pants and stroked him. You gave him a few lazy strokes, eventually shuffling off his lap and kneeling infront of him, ready to put your mouth to use.

Time became irrelevant and all that was heard were the sinful, obscene noises mixed with his hisses of pleasure as you sloppily bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tounge around the head, running your finger over the slit.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Could use this slutty little mouth forever.” he rasped, hips bucking as his hands went to your hair, slightly pulling on it as you let out a muffled whimper.

Pre cum and spit dripped down your chin, slowly making it’s way to your chest and floor as you pushed your head down further and further, feeling satisfied at his sounds of pleasure.

Once, twice, you grip on the shaft and slap the tip on your tongue before sucking on the sensitive head.

With a quick twitch of his cock, he cums, experiencing euphoria in his buzzed state. He gasps and moans pitifully as his lips twitch between his teeth and his hips buck into your mouth against his better judgement. You pump your hand at the base of his cock where you are unable to fit, swallowing as much of the hot, sticky ropes that coat your mouth as you can. As he pours into you, the walls of your pussy clench around nothing, so badly wishing your were sitting on the cock that was currently on your tongue.

His cum was everywhere - your hair, your face, your tits. He slumped against the seat and moved his eyes down back to you, catching you licking of the sticky residue of your fingers.

Before either of you have a chance to say something, the car slows down to a halt signaling that you’re probably at his place. He tucks himself into his pants and doesn’t buckle them before he opens the door and grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder as you laugh. Your mind forgets about the fact that you’re covered in his cum and just blanks when you take a look at his so called house, a mansion or a fucking estate is more like it.

The lengthy driveway opened up to a stunning front yard adorned with red and orange-leaved trees, an unusual scene for the end of summer. A well-lit, ornate fountain with three tiers stood proudly infront of the house, enhancing the beauty of the surroundings. The massive Victorian mansion, with its beautiful windows and overgrown vines stunned you.

He set you down and held your hand as he led you into his room, and it overmet your expectations. Instead of a dark, edgy space, it was spacious with earthy tones and bathed in soft ambient lighting. The room exuded comfort, making you wish to stay longer. His bed, adorned with a large fluffy comforter and a million pillows, looked inviting.

Various trinkets and figurines adorned the room, but what captured your attention was a massive bookcase showcasing your favorite books. Intrigued, you dropped his hand and made your way over. Your eyes widened at seeing a book from your wishlist, yet to be released. Confused, you asked how he had it, and he explained that Sellyn Drake was an old family friend and had gifted it to him.

You decided to tease him about the book, saying, “You know, I've heard great many things about this book. How about you tell me what it's about? I heard it had some... exciting scenes.”

His eyes met yours, and with a subtle smile, he stepped closer and closer, “How about I show you instead?” The air seemed to thicken with a hint of tension, leaving you curious and captivated by the possibilities that lingered in his suggestion.

——

Your legs trembled as you hastily stood up, determined to make your exit. Having been fucked stupid all night, dawn was approaching, and the new semester was starting tomorrow, leaving you with a load of preparations. You located your dress, bag, and heels, putting the clothes on carefully. Quietly, you ordered a cab to avoid startling the man still asleep. Before leaving, your eyes lingered on his bookshelf. Tiptoeing closer, you took the book you'd eyed the night before and read the teaser on the back. Glancing between him and the book, grabbed it, and silently left his room and house.

——

Feyre, Elain, Nesta, Gwyn and Em, your friends and roomates, practically pulled you across campus to grab your schedule and check out the new students filling the cafeteria. The buzz of excited chatter and the aroma of coffee and sweet pastries filled the air as you scanned the room. After a few moments, you parted ways, each heading to your respective classrooms, the anticipation of a new semester buzzing in the atmosphere.

You wandered through the literature building, searching for classroom LE4, the place where Advanced Literature with Professor Beron awaited. Memories of your first year with him being an absolute ass lingered, so you hoped he'd calmed down over the summer, giving everyone a fucking break.

You finally entered the huge lecture hall and climbed the stairs, opting for a seat at the back, hoping to fly under the radar in case Professor Beron was in a bad mood.

A few rows down, you spotted your ex, Ilias, with a new girl on his lap. His sleazy smile and wandering hands were more icky than anything ever. Reflecting on why you ever went back to him so many times, you turned around, focused on bringing out your notebook and computer from your bag. As the doors opened, the click-clack of quality shoes echoed through the hall, accompanied by girly giggles and voices creating a murmur in the background.

A jolt of surprise froze you, and your heart seemed to pause for a moment as his voice unexpectedly filled the room. All your previous movement ceased, and a sudden hush fell over the surroundings, creating an atmosphere charged with unexpected tension. The shock of hearing someone you hoped thought to see again made time momentarily stand still.

“Hello. I'm Professor Eris, and I'll be taking over this class. My father used to teach it but has passed away, so I'll be filling his shoes. I anticipate a productive year together. If you doubt your ability to keep up with the rapid pace of this advanced class, I suggest you leave now and spare yourself, as well as me, the trouble.”

Panicking, your eyes scanned the room for any possible escape route. There was just no fucking way you could be in this class when your professor had fucked you against his bookshelf, or when you had his dick shoved down your throat. Sinking in your seat, you desperately opened your computer, using it as a shield, praying he wouldn't notice you. The need to escape intensified, but the fear of drawing attention kept you frozen in your seat.

As dread crept in, he pulled out an attendance list. The sinking feeling deepened as he insisted everyone state why they chose the course. Hiding behind your computer, you debated revealing your presence or attempting to stay under the radar.

"Ilias Smith?"

"Emma Wilson?"

"Jess Lennox?"

"Amanda Gomez?"

Each one confidently declared "here" and delved into passionate remarks about Hemingway, Austen, Kerouac, all the authors that made them choose this course or whatever. Your hands started sweating as Professor Eris called your name. When you hesitated, he repeated it louder, his gaze scanning until it locked onto you.

Anticipating an intense reaction, all you saw was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Well? Are you here, Y/N L/N?”

You mumbled a faint "yeah," and when he asked why you were there, your words fumbled, “Uh, I suppose because I like books. A huge fan. Yes.”

Your classmates chuckled at your less-than-impressive answers, and you sunk back into your chair, just observing for the rest of the lecture. A few rows ahead, a group of girls giggled, thinking they were discreet as they whispered about Professor Eris. Their discussions about their fantasies sparked a tiny irritation within you.

Like who the hell gossips about someone, so crudely in broad daylight and during a lecture, especially when it's about a professor? It wasn't jealousy, no, no definitely not.

You just found it… super unsettling.

——

After two suffocating hours, you hastily packed your bag, eager to escape. But just as you were about to disappear, your name echoed in the room.

“Miss L/N, do you mind staying behind? There seems to be a problem with your email,” Professor Eris announced, leaning against his desk with his massive arms crossed. He bid the remaining students goodbye and waited until they all left before locking the doors.

The moment those doors clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. The tension became so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

He turned back around and approached you, merely a few inches away, face a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Hello there, little liar. I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your cheeks heated and nervousness filled you at the memory of the depraved moments you'd shared, causing your gaze to involuntarily drop to his chest and wander downward, reliving those sensations.

However any nervousness vanished as you remembered that he was the one who came to your university. If anyone should’ve been surprised it should’ve been you. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you toyed with the idea of making his year more challenging. Testing how good of a man he really was became a tempting game.

After all, a man like him wouldn't indulge a student, right?

This could turn into a fun little project to spice up an otherwise dull year.

Lifting your chin up, you looked him square in the eyes as your lips twitched in anticipation.

“I could say the same, Professor Eris. You definitely don’t seem like the lecturer type.”

His eyes narrowed at you, jaw clenching as his intense gaze bore into yours. The intensity made you shift a little, almost causing you to lose some of your confidence.

“Do you think you're funny? I believe you understand the situation here. You lied and now you're here of all places. As my student. Well, this is an unexpected twist. One of us will have to quit and report this,” he stated, injecting a hint of playfulness into his serious tone.

Wait, quit? No, you really didn't want him to leave. This could turn into such a nice little distraction, and there was no way you were losing it now. The thought of him leaving added a layer of urgency to the situation, making you quickly reassess the potential consequences.

“Come on, professor. It doesn't have to be like this. I won't tell anyone. And who says we have to stay away from each other? I mean, what the dean doesn't know won't hurt him, right?” you suggested, a sly smile playing on your lips as you flirted with the idea of bending the rules.

Eris looked you up and down before throwing his head back and letting out a hearty laugh. Your brows furrowed as you twisted your lips, wondering if he was laughing at you. Was he not taking you seriously? Despite the uncertainty, the desire to keep playing this game with him intensified.

Eris seemed to notice your mood turning sour and promptly clamped his lips shut.

“I promise, sweet thing, I'm not laughing at you. I’m just amazed at your boldness.” he assured you with a more serious tone, attempting to dispel any misunderstanding.

“Promise?”

He stepped forward, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You both knew that under no circumstances should you be doing this. If anyone caught you, there would be hell to pay. Expulsion and blacklisting from any other Ivy League universities for you, and definitely prison or some sort of pesky law thingy for him.

Yet the mere thought of engaging in something so wrong and secretive made your stomach flip, a mix of thrill and anxiety churning within you.

Looking up through your lashes, you blushed, a deep crimson hue spreading across your cheeks as you once again grabbed his tie and pulled him closer.

“I promise I won't tell anyone, professor. It'll be our little secret,”you whispered, the words laden with a taboo excitement that sent a shiver down your spine.

A wicked gleam flashed in Eris's eyes, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Well then, miss L/N,”he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Let's see just how well we can keep our little secret.”

[rizlowwritessortof]

Take a Shot

Written for @artyandink 's Jensen-a-thon event!

Let's face it, his henley looks good on both of you...

Pairing: Dean x F. Reader

Word Count: 935

Warnings: Nothing but a little good old-fashioned sexual tension, no smut, but Dean being Dean is a warning in itself 🔥🔥🔥 (Dividers by the absolutely lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics )

The tile floor is cool on your bare feet as you walk down the hall, your mind focused on the banana pudding left in the fridge from earlier tonight. If you can’t fall asleep, you might as well eat, right?

It’s kind of nice in the bunker when everyone else is in bed, only the dim light from the night lights that are always on in all the common rooms, the quiet hum of some mysterious machinery in the background, whatever it is that keeps the power on in this place. You shiver a little, the air cool on your legs. Why bother with pants when nobody else is around, anyway?

You’re halfway through the library on your way to the kitchen when Dean’s voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin, your heart pounding hard as you whirl around to face him. He’s standing across the room, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand, his eyes shadowed in the half-dark. “Is that my shirt?”

“Damn it, Dean, you scared the living shit out of me!” you scold, your hand on your chest, trying to keep your heart from pounding its way free. “Why are you up? I thought you went to bed a couple of hours ago!”

An amused smile curves his lips. “Backatcha, sweetheart.”

“Well – I – I couldn’t go to sleep. So I wanted a snack.”

“Yeah, well, same here, and I wanted a drink. Mystery solved.” It’s slowly dawning on you that you’re half-dressed, and you feel the blush move up your neck, your cheeks warming as he stares you down. “You never answered me. Is that my shirt?”

You’re wearing a cream-colored henley that you may or may not have stolen – borrowed – when you were doing laundry last weekend. It’s so soft, and so big (because it’s his) and comfy, and yes, if you were being honest, you like wearing it because it belongs to him. It’s been against his skin. And you would deny that even under threat of torture.

“Yes, okay, I borrowed your shirt. And just for your information, I wouldn’t have come out here like this if I knew you were lurking around.”

“I’m not lurking. And just for your information, I don’t mind you coming out here like that.” In fact, he’s thoroughly enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. It’s soft, and it’s clinging just right to show every detail of the curves beneath – not to mention your perky nipples. No, he doesn’t really mind at all.

You can see his eyes sparkle even in the poor lighting, and you hope he can’t see your blush from where he’s standing. “Well, stop staring.” You turn your back and flounce from the room, heading to the kitchen and hoping with everything in you that the henley is covering your ass. You brush your hand back there, relieved that it is – barely – and walk resolutely to the fridge. Seriously, what the hell is he doing up, anyway?

You take the container and toss the lid into the sink, grabbing a spoon from the nearby drawer, and lean against the counter, taking a spoonful of the creamy treat and closing your eyes as it hits your tongue. So good. Totally worth a little embarrassment.

“So, you gonna share, or what?” You jump, startled again glaring up at him as he approaches.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, could you wear a bell or something?” A thoroughly devilish grin flashes for a second, but he manages to rein it in quickly. You scoop another spoonful of the pudding, but he takes your hand in his and steers it up towards his mouth. You watch as he takes it in, those sinful lips closing around it and his eyes blinking slowly as he savors it with a soft hum. You feel your legs wobble a little, and things are clenching that should not be clenching just from watching someone eat banana pudding.

“That’s good.” He lets go of your hand, and after a couple of seconds you actually remember to take it back. You force your eyes down, but now the view is his shoulders and chest underneath another henley from his collection, this one a midnight blue, and he’s wearing sweats and his feet are bare. And you are hopelessly screwed. “Thought you were hungry,” he teases as you stand there with the empty spoon in the air, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I am – I was,” you stammer.

“Then why aren’t you eating?” He laughs softly at your defiant frown.

“Because you’re distracting me.”

“You started it.” You stare up at him, your eyes wide.

“Since when do you get distracted by me? You barely even notice me.”

“Shows how much you know.” You still stare at him skeptically, and he gnaws a bit at that plush lower lip before he continues. “Every night I walk by your door and I picture in my head what you might be wearing to bed. Some nights… well, let’s just say I really wanna open that door.”

You set the container of pudding and the spoon on the counter beside you, never taking your eyes off him. “Then why haven’t you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll tell me to get lost.”

You’re starting to smile now. “You know what they say, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Dean steps up close, his hand moving to stroke over your shoulder and down, curling his fingers around your arm as he leans in, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Oh, sweetheart – I don’t miss.”

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 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies

[cheynovak]

A siren's call

Characters: Soldier boy x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:   After decades apart, Ben hears a voice in a smoky bar—a voice that draws him like a siren’s call. It belongs to Y/N, the woman he lost long ago. Unable to resist, he confronts her after her performance.

Warnings: soft sexual tension, not much

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The night was bitter, the wind slicing through the streets of New York like a razor. Ben adjusted his shirt and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The world had changed in the forty years since he was taken out of it, but some parts of the city still held a certain timelessness.

It was the smell of rain on the pavement, the occasional jazz note spilling from an open window, the flickering neon signs—things that reminded him of a time when he still thought he was invincible, when he thought he had it all. He paused in front of a bar, the sign above it old and cracked but still legible.

The Velvet Rose. A place he'd known once, back when jazz and blues were whispered rebellions in a world that forbade them. His boots crunched on the wet sidewalk as he debated moving on, but then he heard it—a voice so rich and sweet it stopped him cold. He turned toward the sound, his heart pounding like a war drum. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her.

The voice he hadn’t heard since the '70s, the one that haunted his dreams. Y/N. No. She would be long gone by now, her laugh a ghost, her memory as faded as an old Polaroid. But his feet betrayed him, carrying him toward the sound. He pushed the door open, the dim amber light spilling out to greet him like an old friend. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and nostalgia.

The clink of glasses and murmurs of conversation faded into the background as he found the staircase to the basement. His boots hit each step with the weight of disbelief. And there she was. The room was a time capsule, untouched by decades of change. The polished wood, the velvet curtains, the smoky haze—all of it could have been lifted straight from 1957.

But it was her who held his attention. She stood on the stage, bathed in the warm glow of a spotlight. Her red silk dress hugged her in all the ways he remembered, her every movement a melody in itself. She swayed with the music, her voice wrapping around the room like a velvet ribbon.

His chest tightened. She hadn’t aged a day. Men filled the room, transfixed, but for her, they were background noise. As her song reached its crescendo, her eyes swept across the room and landed on him. Just for a moment. To anyone else, it would have been nothing—a glance, a flicker of acknowledgment. But he saw it. Recognition.

Her voice faltered, just slightly, so imperceptibly no one else would have noticed. But he did. He saw the way her breath hitched, the way her grip on the microphone tightened. When the song ended, the room erupted into applause. She smiled, graceful as ever, and thanked the audience before disappearing behind the velvet curtain.

He didn’t think. He moved. Down a narrow hallway, past murmuring patrons and waitstaff, he found the door. A security guard stepped forward, the tension palpable. The man was no pushover, towering over Ben with arms like tree trunks. But Ben didn’t flinch, his steely gaze unwavering.

Before it could escalate, her voice rang out, rich and commanding. “It’s OK, Marcel. As much as I would like the see you two alfa's fight, you can let him in.” Marcel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped aside.

Ben pushed past him without a glance, his eyes locked on the door she had disappeared behind. Inside, the room was dimly lit, soft and intimate. She was there, seated at a vanity, her back to him. Her hands worked through her hair, undoing the intricate style. It cascaded down in waves, framing her shoulders and collarbone.

The sight was breathtaking, but it was the way she turned and smiled at him that sent a punch straight to his gut. “I thought I saw a familiar face in the crowd,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

“How?” was all Ben could manage, his voice raw. She stood, her red dress replaced by a long, luxurious robe trimmed with fur on the sleeves. Her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the room toward him. “Would you have believed me,” she began, tilting her head slightly, “if I told you back then you weren’t the only one?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. She huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Oh, Ben,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t.”

Before she could step away, his hand was behind her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her close, their bodies flush against each other, his breath warm against her face. Their eyes searched each other’s, a silent conversation passing between them. He began to lean in, his lips almost brushing hers, when she whispered, “Let me go, Ben.”

His body obeyed, his arms releasing her as though her words had taken away his will to resist. “So that’s it,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “You can manipulate people?”

Her eyes softened as she stepped back, wrapping the robe tighter around herself. “Men,” she admitted. “I’m a siren.” She moved to sit on the edge of the vanity, her elegance unshaken. Ben followed, standing behind her.

His eyes caught hers in the mirror, locking them in place. “Did you…” he began, his voice steady but his heart racing. “Did you use it on me?” She smiled, but it was a sad, wistful expression, her gaze dropping before she answered. “You wouldn’t have run to her if I did.”

The mention of her hit him like a slap. Crimson Countess. The woman he thought he loved. The woman who had betrayed him in every way that mattered. “Her,” Ben said, his voice thick with regret. “My biggest mistake.”

Y/N’s expression softened further, a mixture of understanding and sorrow. “You weren’t yourself, Ben. And maybe… if I had fought a little harder, gave you a little more of myself. But what’s done is done.” He wanted to argue, wanted to apologize, but the words caught in his throat.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he finally asked, his reflection pleading with hers. “Because I wanted it to be your choice, and you chose her.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Even if it meant losing you. I needed to be sure you loved me for me.”

The silence between them was heavy, filled with years of unspoken truths and what-ifs. Ben reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder in a tentative gesture.

"How is she?" her voice cracked as the words left her mouth, heavy with a mix of anger and grief. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “Dead.” Her lips parted, and she began to murmur, “I’m sor—” “Don’t.” His tone was sharp, cutting her off.

He stepped back, his hands balling into fists. “I killed her.” The words hung in the air, heavier than anything else he’d said. Y/N’s eyes searched his face, trying to gauge what lay beneath his hardened exterior. “Why?”

“Because she betrayed me.” She turned around, her gaze locking onto his. “Is that what you’re here to do, Ben? To kill me?” The question struck like a thunderclap.

Ben’s knees gave out, and he sank to the floor before her, his hands reaching for hers. “Never,” he said, his voice breaking. “Never you. I—I came to beg. For forgiveness, for leaving you. For everything.” Her fingers slid over his, trembling slightly. Slowly, she stood up before him, her hand finding its way to his face.

Her touch was light, but it burned into him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. “Get up, Ben,” she said softly. “This doesn’t suit you.” He let her guide him to his feet, the weight of his guilt still clinging to him like a second skin. “Besides,” she added, her lips curving into a faint smile, “it wasn’t me. It was the song. That’s what brought you back to me.”

Ben shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s not the song. It’s you. It’s always been you.” She hesitated, her hand still lingering against his chest. There was something in her eyes—doubt, maybe even fear, did he mean it? Could Ben be immune if he wanted to? But she couldn't find out, him leaving her again would break her heart.

She had heard tales of sirens losing the love of their life. Once their heart had been broken, their life song would end and slowly so would they. She had been scared to give Ben her heart, and it turned out she was right about it.

She turned toward the door, reaching for the handle to let him out. Before she could pull it open, Ben’s hand shot out, pushing it closed with a force that reverberated through the room. She gasped softly, caught between the door and his body, her back pressing into the wood.

His hands found her waist, holding her firmly but not harshly. His breath fanned against her skin as his face hovered just inches from hers. “Ben…”

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He kissed her, the kind of kiss that shattered walls and erased time. Hot and heavy, full of all the years they’d lost, the pain they’d endured, and the longing that had never died. At first, she froze, but then he felt it—the way her lips softened against his, the way her hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

And then he heard it, soft and sweet, the sound that had always undone him. “Ben…” she moaned, his name rolling off her tongue like honey. It was like a dam breaking.

Every memory of them came rushing back, flooding his senses. Nights spent tangled in silk sheets. Her laugh echoing in the quiet moments between battles. The way she’d once looked at him, as though he were the only thing in the world that mattered. His lips left hers, trailing down her jaw, her neck, before resting against her collarbone as he caught his breath.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. She lifted his chin, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him feel like he might drown. “Ben.” It wasn’t just a name. It was a promise. He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her, grounding himself in the reality that she was here, alive, and real. And this time, he wouldn’t let her slip away.

Ben's lips moved with desperate precision, tracing the curve of her neck, her shoulder, and down to her collarbone. Each kiss was a plea, a claim, a reminder that she was his, even after all these years.

"Again," he ordered, his voice low and rough against her skin. Her breath hitched as she whispered, “Oh, Ben…” His hands slid to the bow of her robe, tugging at it with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

The fabric loosened, falling open to reveal her to him. His gaze swept over her, filled with reverence and need. His hands roamed, not gentle but not cruel, driven by years of longing and regret. But then her voice came again, soft but firm, anchoring him.

“Ben…wait” His hands stilled, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. “I need you,” she said, her voice trembling but steady enough to pierce through the haze of his desire. “I need you too, baby,” he said quickly, leaning in, his lips brushing against hers again.

“No, Ben,” she murmured, her hands coming up to frame his face, stopping him. Her eyes locked onto his, filled with vulnerability, longing, and something deeper. “I need you… like I used to have you.”

He froze, her words sinking in. The raw emotion in her gaze tore through him, replacing the fire in his chest with something softer, something warmer. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

“Anything,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Anything you want. I promise.” She nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. This time, when their lips met, it wasn’t rushed or rough. It was slow, deliberate, filled with all the love and pain that had never really gone away.

He guided her back toward the large sofa in the room, his movements gentle now, reverent, as though she might disappear if he wasn’t careful. “Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make it right. I’ll give you everything. Just… tell me what you need.”

Her hands slid over his shoulders, pulling him closer, grounding him. “make love to me,” she said softly.

“I just need you.”

--

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[itsrheasgirl]

ONLY YOURS

VAMPIRE!RHEA X READER

ᴡᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ - ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜱᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇʟɪꜱꜱᴀ ᴄᴏᴍʙꜱ (ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ)

WORD COUNT: 11,042

SUMMARY: IT HAD BEEN DAYS SINCE RHEA HAD BEEN ABLE TO FEED. LUCKY FOR HER YOUR NIGHT OUT WITH YOUR SORORITY SISTERS WAS ABOUT TO BE THE ANSWER TO HER PROBLEM.

TW: Choking, Fingering, Rough Sex, Biting, Marking, Blood Consumption.

A new nightclub. With its dim lighting, dark corners and smoky atmosphere; it was easy to lurk unnoticed when needed. The perfect place to hide in the shadows and not have to acknowledge the people around you. But that wasn’t always the case; as Rhea was about to find out.

Callus fingers gripped tightly around the crystal that housed rich amber liquid as Rhea’s sapphire gaze scanned the vicinity of her table, her spine pressing firmly into the cushion of her booth as she exhaled a disgruntled sign from her nostrils. It had been days since she had fed, she hadn’t had a moment alone since getting on the plane to work a few days prior and things were getting desperate. The ache in her gums had become excruciating and she wasn’t entirely sure how she was keeping it together.

The bar was packed to the nines with belligerent men who’s only goal was to fuck anything that moved, the occasional sober loser who’d lost a bet and been deemed the designated driver and a hand full of bachelorette parties filled with overly drunk females just looking for an excuse to make out with a stranger. It wasn’t like she was short for something to snack on, but her shimmering hues traveled the entire perimeter of the bar and she saw nothing but a mass of unappetizing obstacles that stood in her way of feeding on what she truly desired.

You didn’t like going out in public; in fact you would much rather be at home with a book and a large glass of red wine than crammed into a tiny nightclub with a ocean of complete strangers and yet here you were. Standing in the smoke pit of the only decent place to drink in town as your best friend Hanna puffed grey smoke from her lips like a chimney.

“Look either you stop acting like I ruined your night, or you don’t, but either way we are getting shit faced. Got it? You owe me.”

Inhaling another long pull from the white stick perched within her fingers till her lungs were full, you waited patiently for the recoil of smoke to cloud the sky before you and for her to speak again. She wasn’t wrong, you did owe her but you didn’t ever expect her to cash in on it.

“I made out with half the girl’s in the sorority to get you in, so suck it up and show them that your were fucking worth it.”

An impish cackle parted Hanna lip’s as slender fingers moved forward to offer the cigarette in your direction, her perfectly manicured brows arch skyward as she gives you a swift up and down. You didn’t want to change yourself to fit in at school, but she was unfortunately right. If you wanted to fit in, you had to follow the rules.

Swallowing a small pool of saliva that had pooled on your tongue, you reach out and generously accept the cigarette into your own grasp. Just one puff, that's all you needed to do to prove yourself and after that you’d never have to smoke again. With a nervous palm, you press the small burning stick between your lips and inhale a violent breath. The heated smoke hitting the back of your throat as you instantly fought back the desire to cough.

“Fuck.”

You choke out as the gust of smog fell from your lips, the corners of cat eyed wings beginning to water as you swiftly handed back the worst decision you’d ever made. That was definitely the last time you’d do that. Giving yourself a few moments to regain your strength, you stand back upright and flash your best friend a concerned smile.

“Yeah, not a fan of that.”

You groaned before pressing your lips in a firm line, a strange tingle in your throat burning as if you’d swallowed hot coals. How was it that so many of your friends could smoke like a chimney and never suffer from such a burn? Not even ice water could soothe the fire in your throat.

You had always wished for Hanna’s confidence; ever since you were kids she had always been the social butterfly and you’d hidden yourself away indoors with your books and your stories. While boys had captivated her, fantasy had captivated you. Losing yourself in a world where anything was possible.

“And you made out with half the girl’s in the sorority because you wanted to, it had nothing to do with me and you know it.”

A small harmonious laugh parted your lips and you glanced down at the outfit you’d been forced into for the night. It hadn’t been your first choice; hell it wouldn’t have been your one hundredth choice but unfortunately, you didn’t get a choice in the matter.

“Did you have to pick something so–”

You pause for a moment, your slender fingers pulling at the hem in an attempt to make the dress seem longer, desperately trying to pull it past your knees.

“Sexy?”

Your best friend replied, not letting you finish your own sentence for fear of already knowing the answer. You’d put up a good fight as she basically painted it on you earlier that night, but you clearly weren't strong enough to save yourself from a night dressed like a dominatrix.

“I was going to say short.”

You snip, still attempting the impossible with the last two inches of your dress. You were already beginning to stress of the dribbling males that would be hanging off your every word and you hadn’t even stepped inside yet. Surely this was taking ‘you owe me one’ a little too far?

“You can’t complain, the dark red goes so well with your milky skin tone and your dark hair. You look like the damsel in distress from your vampire romance novel.”

A soft pink flush comes to your cheeks as your best friend brings up your secret shame that to this day you wish you hadn’t told her about, your heart rate dropping slightly as you compared the imagery in your head. In your mind, you looked nothing like the main female human within your stories. She was delicate like a flower, as sweet as honey and as beautiful as a sunset. You were none of those things.

“Are you done? I just want to get this over with.”

Darting your crystal gaze in the direction of the almost burn out stick, you raise your eyebrows in question and motion towards the nightclub entrance with an eager bob of your head.

“Let's go.”

- - - - -

The sweet smell of dry rose mixed with a delicate musk hit Rhea’s nostrils before you’d even set foot in the bar; the second the door opened she was drowned in your floral aroma. The small hairs that lay across her neck standing on end as her fingers tightened, the crystal glass beneath her fingertips creaking under the pressure. It was as if every smell that plagued the bar had disappeared and all that was left was you. You were tantalizing and she had to have you.

“Tequilaaaaa.”

You made it eight steps. You’d been in the bar less than ten seconds and you already wanted to leave. Your nose crinkled as you lean away from the overly loud female, keeping your line of sight on the bar. The faster you got to the alcohol the better and at least you could still have your red wine.

Sliding your palms across the slick bar top; for a split second you forget what you're wearing and lean forward on the bar to gain the bartender's attention, the cool breeze of passers by alerting you of your exposed ass cheeks as you snap back up to standing position. To the naked eye, it would have been missed, gone unnoticed by everyone and you would have gotten away with it. But a split second for humans could be stretched for hours by a vampire; it was a skill that came hand in hand with their inhuman speed.

The whites of Rhea’s eyes darkened slightly as she stared at you from her booth in the corner of the night club, the tips of her fingers turning pure white as she gripped even tighter to the tumbler in her palm. The snow white mounds peeking out from beneath rich crimson fabric had Rhea’s desire for you to increase. There was something primal deep within her that flipped like a switch the second she’d layed eyes on you, the pain in her gums and the burning under her skin like thousands of tiny matches had been lit against her already sensitive flesh. The cheeky peek at what your body looked like out of your dress had Rhea’s plump lip rolling beneath blunt pearly whites, her free palm moving from the booth before her to drag back through slicked back jet black hair.

You were like a magnet; drawing Rhea in, captivating her every sense by doing nothing but exist in the same space as her. The stale smell of old beer and wet cigarettes no longer existed in her nostrils, all she could smell was rose; sweet and fresh. It was the most beautiful smell she’d ever come across and she couldn’t wait to get her teeth into it. Quite literally.

“I’ll have a glass of red, sixteen ounces please.”

“And four shots of tequila!”

Your bestie screamed as you attempted to order your drink, her entire form bumping into you as she crashed into your side with a loud groan. You’d had a few shots before leaving the sorority house and it was becoming very clear to you what kind of drunk you’d be looking after tonight, your forearm wrapping around the shorter female's waist swiftly in hopes to keep her upright.

“Two. And a glass of water please.”

You took a worried look over in your best friend's direction as she held onto your frame, returning your focus swiftly to the bartender as he too watched over your companion with concerned hues. You had more friend’s coming, you wouldn’t have to take care of her yourself all night, but what were you supposed to do before the other arrived?

Slender fingers winding around the stem of your wine glass, your glistening hues scanning around the vicinity as you took a seat at the bar with your inebriated counterpart in tow. Why had you agreed to come out tonight? Why couldn’t have been you washing your hair? Gently crossing one toned leg over the other, you leant back against the bar to rest upon the ledge. You didn’t intend to stay out all night, but a couple of hours out of the house couldn’t be that bad right? Maybe something exciting would happen to you for once.

Rhea’s grip around her beverage had yet to relax, her entire fingers starting to lose color as she continued to hold tightly onto the tumbler. The clear glass beneath her pressure had begun to crack, hairline fractures scattering across the smooth surface as she finally retracted her palm in enough time to save herself from shattered glass littering her flesh.

She couldn’t take her eyes off you, not even for a second. The way your dark curls fell about your shoulders, your exposed collarbones and the plunge of your perked breasts, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. You had her captivated in ways that she’d never experienced before and no matter how long it took, she was going to get a taste of you.

“Drink the water, please.”

Small whimpers fell from Hanna's lips as you tried to hold the tall glass of clear liquid against them, your manicured brows knitting together as she reluctantly sipped at the refreshing liquid you so desperately wanted her to drink. She just needed to balance out what she was consuming, one glass of water per alcoholic beverage and you'd have her back on her feet in no time.

“I wanna daaaance.”

Hanna whined, her face turning away from the glass as you lowered it back down to the bar top with a soft exhale of air. Of course she wanted to dance and of course she couldn’t wait for the remainder of your group to arrive. This was supposed to be a simple night out, but it seems that reality had other plans.

Gently taking hold of her wrist, you pull Hanna in your direction and force her to look at you, her glimmering emerald hues cloaked in a pleading expression as she pouted flush lips. You couldn’t say no to her; it was the reason you were out of the house to begin with, but you weren’t a great dancer and if you could avoid it you would.

“How about you finish your water first, huh?”

Another elongated whine fell from Hanna’s lips as her faux pout grew more dramatic, her head shaking side to side with enough gusto to have her long blonde curls hit you in the face. God she was annoying, but over the years you’d gotten used to her stubborn demeanor and her ability to get you on board with whatever she wanted. It didn’t come as a surprise when all she had to do was bat her lashes and everyone would be fawning over her within seconds.

Rolling your eyes counterclockwise as you finish off the last of your wine, you slide the empty glass back towards the bartender and push off your barstool with an exasperated groan. Dancing wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but having the entire bar’s watchful gaze on you as your shapely body moved in a dress that wouldn’t even fit a Malibu barbie was another thing. Pulling the hem of your dress down once more as you tried your best to cover more of your exposed flesh, you finally give up and grasp tightly around the fragile bones of Hanna’s wrists.

“Rule one. You stay upright.”

Yanking Hanna from her bar stool and on to her feet, you lock your crystal gaze with her own. Sure you were probably wasting your breath, but it didn’t hurt to try and get through to her.

“Rule two. Keep your hands off the strangers.”

You could see the excitement growing on Hanna’s face as she realized you were giving in to her request, her energy level practically boiling beneath her skin as she began to bounce in place. Maybe letting her burn off some energy before everyone else arrived would make your evening a little more bearable.

Loosening your hold on Hanna’s wrist only slightly so she didn’t run off towards the dance floor without you, you grasp at the half empty glass of water to have a final attempt at getting her to drink it.

“Finish your water and then we can dance, I promise.”

Watching you closely as you encouraged your friend to down the remainder of her water, Rhea couldn’t help the devilish smirk that claimed her full lips. Your statuesque physique continued to tempt her as she inhaled yet another full breath of your intoxicating scent, the sharp pain in her gums becoming unbearable as she licked a plump tongue across pearly whites. It was clear to her that you wouldn’t be alone any time soon, but she was willing to wait. You were the only person she saw in a sea of bodies and if meant waiting all night to satisfy herself with the rich elixir of your blood, then so be it.

The warmth of the dance floor was definitely off putting, hot and sweaty bodies writhing against each other as the heavy base of the music thumped in your ears. But as your body swayed back against Hanna’s and her lengthy fingers held tightly onto your hip bones, you had to admit to yourself that maybe you were having a good time. It wasn’t public knowledge that you preferred the touch of a beautiful woman to that of a dribbling puppy dog male, but as the delicate touches of Hanna’s fingertips danced against your flesh you couldn’t help the soft whimper that parted your lips.

The harmonious noise of your soft mews flooded Rhea’s earcannels; even with the heavy bass drop, your sounds were all she could hear as she continued to watch you from the corner booth, her darkened hues burning into your slender form as she carefully finished her stiff drink for the fractured glass. Selective hearing was a perk of being undead, focusing on what she wanted to hear and ignoring everything else around her like it didn’t exist. All she saw was you, all she heard was you and all she wanted was you.

“I’ll drink it really slow. Pleeease.”

Hanna whined as she rested her chin down against your shoulder, the warmth of her breath cascading across your skin as she begged you for yet another drink. Your milky flesh pimpling beneath the air that parted her lips as she gently trailed her fingertips up and down the length of your forearm, you let heavy lashes close for a few moments while you contemplated her question. It was no surprise to you that her touch was coursing such a reaction. How were you supposed to stay calm when a beautiful woman had her hands on you? Exuding a small sigh as you turn on stiletto clad feet, you open your eyes to look upon Hanna with a concerned expression.

You didn't want to be the reason she wasn’t having fun.

“Fine. But you drink it really slowly.”

Hanna squealed with excitement as once more she began to bounce in place, her slender fingers gripping tightly around your wrist as she dragged your statuesque form back in the direction of the bar with nothing but joy in her eyes.

You couldn’t begin to understand why girls loved drinking and being out in such crowded places while they did it. What was so appealing about the atmosphere the two of you currently found yourself in? Sweaty bodies, loud music and– A large lump formed in your throat and your mind went blank as your glistening gaze locked onto the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen leaning against the edge of the bar as you approached. Her jet black hair slicked back and away from her perfectly chiseled jaw, her plump lips coated in a burnt red paint, a midnight black suit hugging her muscular form perfectly and a litter of silver rings adorning her lengthy fingers as she stared intently at the bartender who stood motionless in front of her.

“Hi!”

Hanna yelled over the base of the music as the two of you reached the bar top, her emerald hues flitting over to the mysterious stranger as you stood in silence at her side. You weren’t one to talk to people you didn’t know; especially when they looked the way she did. Swatting at Hanna’s upper arm to gain her attention, you raise your brows in a concerned expression before shaking your head gently back and forth.

“Don’t bother people you don't know, Han. I’m sorry.”

Glancing over in the direction of the lady in black, you swallow nervously as her shimmering sapphire hues lock with your gaze. Her eyes were like crystal pools, instantly captivating you and pulling you into their hypnotic state with ease.

Leaning back only slightly on her stool as to peer around Hanna’s form to give you a un-noticeable up and down, Rhea licked her plump tongue slowly over her throbbing gums as an eat shit smirk claimed crimson lips.

“No complaints here.”

Rhea chortled softly. The pads of her fingers coiling around the new crystal glass of amber liquid as she slowly brought it up to her lips, not once breaking the hypnotic connection the two of you shared as she gulped back a mouthful of the burning liquor.

You could feel the color of your cheeks shift, even with the multicolored lights that flashed through the otherwise dimly lit bar you were certain Rhea noticed as she turned her attention back to the bartender who remained motionless in front of her. He hadn’t once looked away; as if he was in a trance, captivated by her movements.

“Glass of red and a fruity cocktail, am I right?”

You could see Rhea as she peeked over at you from her peripherals, the eat shit grin returning to her perfect lips as she took another long sip from her beverage. How did she know what you were drinking? Had she been watching you?

Bobbing your head in a slow motion, you couldn’t help the little smile that tugged the corners of your lips. You should be concerned, right? A complete stranger had been watching you, for how long you weren’t even sure and in any normal circumstance you’d be grabbing your things and heading for the door, but there was something about this woman that made you want to stay. Something about her that had your subconscious spinning and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“So what’s with the whole dark and mysterious look you’ve got going on, mysterious stranger? It’s kinda creepy.”

Your mouth fell agape at Hanna’s words, a sudden wave of panic washing over you as you tugged a few strands of her golden hair causing her to whine at the pain.

“What?”

She snipped, turning her gaze back towards you as she rubbed the sore spot on her scalp. She could be so obtuse sometimes and it often led to unwanted confrontation that you had to resolve. With a ‘what the fuck’ expression upon your features, you step around her petite frame to sandwich yourself between her and Rhea as concern once more claimed your face.

“I really am sorry about her.”

Turning your back on Hanna as she continued to rub at her scalp, you faced Rhea head on with an apologetic smile. You didn’t find her attire creep, in fact the darkness of her clothing and depth to her make up made her most captivating feature pop. Her sapphire gaze was truly the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, looking into her eyes brought a warmth to your demeanor that you only felt when you lost yourself in your books.

“She doesn’t have a filter and will find pretty much anything to keep herself entertained.”

Rhea didn’t say a word as she leant back on her stool to peek over at Hanna with a raised brow, a small chortle releasing from her chest as she sat back to rest her elbow against the bar.

“I can see.”

Your manicured brow arches in confusion as you take in Rhea’s words, turning back on high heels to find Hanna tongue deep in a complete stranger. The beverage she was supposed to drink ‘slowly’ empty on the bar top alongside two empty shot glasses. Expelling a soft gust of air from your nostrils, you roll your eyes counterclockwise and return your attention to Rhea as she sits sipping her liquor in silence.

“So much for girls' night.”

You grumble as slender fingers wind round the stem of your wine glass, slowly bringing the glass to your lips before swallowing a mouthful of the crimson liquid in one big gulp. You’d expected nothing less from Hanna, she was known for finding anyone or anything to make out with but you didn’t expect it to happen before you had other friends to keep your attention occupied.

Staring down at the last bit of wine as you swirled it round and round in the glass, you exhaled a small sigh before knocking your head back to consume the sweet liquid. The sound of Rhea clearing her throat pulling you back to reality as you placed the empty glass back onto the bartop. You hadn’t noticed her watching you, her dark gaze burning into your milky flesh as you’d dwelled in self pity over losing your friend to some random stranger with a skilled tongue.

“Can I get you another glass of wine?”

Your plush lips curved into an impish simper as your tongue played with each pitfall of your back teeth. You weren’t one to have drinks with a stranger, especially with someone as devilishly attractive as the female in your current company, but what harm would it do to be adventurous. Live on the wild side for once like the heroine in your new novel.

Sliding the empty glass in the direction of the awaiting bartender, you crinkle your nose in contemplation. Maybe you should order something other than wine. You were planning to live on the edge a little, so why not spice up every part of your evening?

“You know what, surprise me.”

- - - - -

The pad of Rhea’s finger danced softly against your neck as she swiped the loose strand of chestnut curls over your shoulder, your exposed flesh causing the heat in her esophagus to rage like wildfire. The steady thrum of your heartbeat like heavy drums in her ear canal as you sipped the fruity beverage she'd chosen for you, blissfully unaware of her staring once more. She could smell the sweetness of your blood as it moved through your veins, pulsing at the sweet spot in your throat like a beckon that kept drawing her in. She couldn’t help herself, everything about you was like torture.

It was a stupid idea for her to be this close to you when she hadn’t fed, one wrong move and she’d be left with quite the mess to clean up and compulsion wouldn’t be an option in a place this busy. She knew she was weak, the lack of human blood always led to dwindling power and one feed wouldn’t be enough to pull her back to full strength. But as Hanna had wandered off into the night with her new found plaything, Rhea had invited you back to her booth with open arms. She wanted to be alone with you, to not let anyone else have you. Your scent had intoxicated every fiber of her being and even with the fire that raged in her gums she couldn’t convince herself to walk away.

“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be, ya know, I've been writing for years but I'm still finding myself with too many sleepless nights when it comes to my current work.”

You weren’t sure why Rhea had become so invested in what it was you did outside of the four walls you both found yourselves in, but as you spoke about your current endeavors with school and the challenges they were bringing you; you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Most people found your creative writing to be boring and often changed the subject to something else whenever you brought them up, but Rhea was hanging off your every word like it was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard in her life. Her piercing gaze fixated on your lips as you spoke, her palm resting beside your thigh on the cushioned seat you shared and her plump lips curved into a devilish simper. She was eating up every single word that you said, which only encouraged you to keep going.

“Fantasy isn’t everyone's cup of tea and I often have to deal with immature frat boys calling me geeky names but when I open my mind up to the world of the supernatural, I can lose myself in a reality more exciting than my own.”

One of Rhea’s brows arched skyward at your mention of the supernatural, the corner of her lip inching into a playful smirk as she took a long sip from her crystal tumbler before setting it down beside your empty glass. So you were a girl who thrived on the suspicion of creatures that didn’t always take human form, how convenient for her.

In a move that would go unseen to the human eye, Rhea shifted her palm to rest down against the exposed flesh of your thigh. The tips of her fingers toying playfully with the hem of your tiny dress as she leant in to press the flush of her lower lip against your ear. She could hear the increase of your heartbeat before you could realize its speed, the pad of her thumb catching the sensitive part between your legs only causing the sound to grow louder.

“Supernatural you say.”

Rhea’s blunt teeth caught the shell of your ear as she spoke, her lips moving painfully slowly as she began to press a soft kiss to the crook of your neck. You’d never had someone make a move so quickly after nerding out about school, but the delicateness of Rhea’s actions had you melting under her touch. A soft mew parting your lips as you tried to remain focused on your breath. You couldn’t let on how desirable Rhea made you feel, you barely knew each other.

The blood pumping beneath Rhea’s lips had her free palm gripping tightly at her empty glass, her subconscious trying its best to focus on not ripping out your throat and not the strength she was using.

“Are you actually interested, Miss Ripley? Or are you just acting interested to get in my panties?”

Your head lulled to the side in attempts to beckon Rhea closer, your thighs parting only slightly to tempt her playful hands as her fingers continued to toy with your dress. This wasn’t you. Not normally, but there was something about Rhea that had your mind reeling. She made it hard for you to focus, it was like she had an aura that played with your senses and clouded your brain.

You felt Rhea’s lips morphe into an eat shit smirk against your skin as she nipped sharply against your pulse point, the strength behind each nip leaving purple marks in their wake. Your own lips pressing into a harsh line as you fought back a plethora of pleasurable moans that threatened to break free, your head tilting back against the cushioned wall behind you as your fingertips gripped the edge of the booth.

You were hidden away from eighty percent of the bar in your corner booth, the patrons all too focused on each other to pay your little endeavors any attention. You could whimper and moan all you wanted, the music was far too loud for anyone to hear. She could use you like a rag doll and no one would be the wiser.

“What if I said both?”

You could feel the flush of Rhea’s lips move against your collarbone as she spoke, the sharp nips against your flesh pausing for only a few seconds as she addressed your question, quickly resuming once she was done. You couldn’t begin to imagine what your throat looked like as Rhea’s skilled lips continued their magic, your fingers only gripping harder at the booths ledge as you held in your breath to calm your desire.

There was no way that you’d found someone who not only showed interest in you but also in your work. They weren’t often a thing that came hand in hand and a part of you was beginning to doubt yourself. This had to be a set up. Your friends were just playing some sick joke on you and Rhea was just attractive bait to lure you into a trap.

“Is it wrong for me to say I don’t believe you?”

You probably should have kept your mouth shut, but once you had an idea in your head, you had to act on it.

The burning sensation of Rhea’s kiss as they marked your skin stopped suddenly, her sapphire gaze retracting to meet your questioning own as the corners of her lips twitched into a devilish simper.

“Come now kitten, what kind of a woman do you take me for? Lying to you just so I can get you out of your dress? I should be offended.”

You couldn’t stop the sudden increase of your heart rate as Rhea’s little pet name caught you off guard, the plush of your lower lip rolling tightly between pearly whites as you kept your gaze locked with hers. You couldn’t think of what to say. She didn't seem offended, the unbelievably desirable smirk remained plastered on her lips as the pad of her thumb once more found itself dancing against the soft skin of your inner thigh. She wasn’t backing down, not even slightly and if she still wanted you, she could still have you.

You could feel the lump resurfacing in your throat as Rhea’s sapphire hues burnt into your own, the devilish glare within them pulling you further and further into her web as her plump tongue coaxed over her painted lips. She was staring at you like a hungry lioness stalking her prey and with each passing second your cravings for her lips back on your skin grew stronger. What had this woman done to you?

With a swift motion you barely noticed, Rhea’s fingertips from her free palm moved to sweep back the dark curls that clung to your shoulder, pushing them down your spine to reveal the soft curve of your shoulderbone to her wandering gaze. She’d not looked away from you for most of the night and yet there was so much more of your slender form she wanted to see.

Pressing her heated kiss back down against the hollow of your collarbone, you can’t help but expel the soft mews that had been clinging to your lungs. Even the slightest of touches; be it fingers or lips, had you reveling in desire. Every part of you screaming for her touch as you leant into the passion of her aura.

Without a word, your thighs parted once more. Your entire body was begging for her to take it as her own and the longer she made you wait, the harder it became to keep yourself contained. You didn’t usually beg for someone to be this close to you. On your usual Saturday nights, you were wrapped in a blanket with your laptop, writing your novel and wishing your life could be as exciting as the heroines you wrote about. Falling in love with supernatural beings, learning about a whole new world and chasing dreams that didn’t exist in a human’s reality.

Chewing at the plush of your lower lip, you let heavy lids fall closed. The sensations of Rhea’s lips moving effortlessly against your jugular vein had your heart racing, the heavy thrum like music as it played in her ears. The pain beneath her gums raged; growing more intense by the second as her fingertips pressed into the creamy flesh of your upper thigh. She wanted you and you wanted her, it was clear to you both where this night could end.

A small wince echoes from your chest as your blunt teeth punctured the top layer of skin upon your lower lip, the rich taste of copper coating your tongue as Rhea’s entire form went rigid. She could smell the blood as it pooled from the injury you inflicted on yourself, causing the depths of her gaze to darken. The smell flooded her nostrils as she held herself still against your neck, keeping her features away from your gaze as the tips of her canines began to ache. Her control was weak, the lack of human blood over the last few days had left her with no power left to curb her desires. She could feel the monstrous rage that came hand in hand with feeding off a fresh vein boiling under her skin, the tips of her fingers pressing into your thigh enough to leave purple blemishes beneath the tips.

“Rhea?”

Your tone was laced with question as you spoke her name, concern flooding your features as you pulled away from her heated lips that still held their place against your throat. Your head craning to the side in attempts to look upon her motionless form, you swallowed nervously as your gaze fell upon the unexpected. The depth of Rhea’s eyes caused the air in your lungs to catch, your throat growing tight as a lump in your windpipe kept you from breathing out even a single breath. Was it a trick of the lighting? Were the shadows playing tricks on you?

Sucking the blood that had pooled on your lower lip into your mouth, you force out a stammered breath. It had to be your mind, it was playing tricks on you. There was no way that what you were witnessing was true. It couldn’t be. But as your mind played back over the night's events, your heart rate began to increase once more; only this time you had other things on your mind.

You hadn’t seen Rhea once since entering the nightclub and yet all of a sudden, there she was. Making herself a part of your night without even trying. Her dark demeanor and captivating eyes, her beauty and enticing persona. It was as if she’d been written to be perfect by your own mind. You played back each and every moment of the night as Rhea simply watched you, the black glaze to her once sapphire hues somehow still so captivating as you pieced things together. The stranger that had caught Hanna’s attention so quickly, the speed behind some of Rhea’s actions along with the ones that seemed to go unnoticed until they didn’t, her obsession with the soft spot of your pulse point and her ability to bruise your flesh with almost no effort. She was strong and fast. It wasn’t real, It couldn’t be.

It would only take a moment for Rhea to make you compliant, to get what she truly needed from you, but as she watched the light in your eyes flicker with excitement— only for a second, she doubted herself. You didn’t seem scared, in fact the complete opposite. Why didn't you run? It was clear you knew something no one else did and yet you hadn’t made one move for the exit.

Stretching out your palm to trace a singular finger over the arch of Rhea’s perfectly chiseled cheekbone, you swallowed back the lump in your throat with one thing on your mind. If this was real, if you were sat in the presence of something no one else believed in, then you would dive into the reality with both feet. Watching as the depth of her gaze shifted back to the bight blue you’d fallen so deeply for, you drop your hold on her features and grasp tightly at Rhea’s palm that sat on the table beside her empty glass.

“Come with me, Mami and I'll give you what you need.”

Giving Rhea’s hand a gentle tug as you slid from the booth and encouraged her to follow, you couldn’t help the impish glimmer that flickered in your eyes. If this moment was going to play out how you imagined, you needed a little more privacy.

- - - - -

The arch of your spine slammed against the reflective glass of the full length bathroom mirror as Rhea pressed against your slender form with all she had, the heat of her kiss against your jugular once more as you pawed at her shoulders in attempt to remove the suit jacket that clung to her torso. You could feel the hunger resonating out of Rhea’s form, her blunt nails puncturing the soft flesh of your thigh as she pulled your leg up to her waist. She was starved and as the moment between you grew hotter and hotter, it became harder and harder for Rhea to remain focused. Your pounding heartbeat didn’t exactly help the situation either.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Rhea practically moaned as she wound her lengthy fingers into the mass of your chestnut curls, her palm tugging down to expose more of your milky throat for her to ravish with her purple marks.

“Because I know where this goes.”

You whine as Rhea scatters a brand new chain of bruises around your neck, her palm moving you head like a puppet as she moves from one side of your throat to the other.

“I’ve written this story.”

Rhea’s interest peaked as you unknowingly gave away a part of the story you had yet to talk about. The question being which supernatural it was you wrote about. Trailing the tip of her nose up the left side of your jugular, across the perfect angle of your jaw and slowly up to your right ear, she gently sucked the lobe between her devilish lips before whispering softly against your ear.

“Then tell me Kitten, how does our story go?”

Were you about to quote your own book?

Use lines you’d written with the intention of never truly being said.

The warmth of Rhea’s breath against your ear makes your lids flutter, your fingers moving to toy with the first button of her slightly opened shirt as you turn your head slightly to find her oceanic hues. They were your words, you had written them, so why couldn’t you speak them? Popping the first button of Rhea’s shirt and swiftly moving to the second one, you lick across your front teeth before using the tip of your nose to bump her chin enough for you to find her ear.

You needed the right inflection, to commit to the part if you wanted it to work out and fuck did you want it to work out. Pressing a scatter of heated kisses along the perfect angle of Rhea’s jawline, you nipped playfully at her earlobe for letting out your words in a whisper.

“Take my body as your own, sinking your teeth deep into my skin; show me no mercy.”

Your voice dripped with desire as you popped yet another button on Rhea’s shirt, the pads of your fingers dancing across the skin as you exposed it to your gaze. Taking to the next button as you pressed a warm kiss to the corner of her jaw.

“Rip out everything mentally and let it explode physically.”

The whites of Rhea’s gaze began to grow dark as your words played with her hunger, tugging at the strings like torture. Your ravenous lips pressing another few kisses across her jawline.

“Grab hold of me, thrust and tear me chaotically, spilling your rage all over me.”

Finally reaching the last of the buttons on Rhea’s shirt, you pull the tails free from the leather belt that kept them at bay to expose her bare breasts to the air of the smoky bathroom.

“Hate me, love me, destroy me.”

Shifting your lips to peck repeatedly at Rhea’s own in hopes she would simply take you; there and then, you hike up your free leg to eagerly wind them both around her waist. Her weight against your form as you were pressed back into the mirror kept your bodyweight up, your hips grinding down against her own in attempts to get comfy.

Pulling at your hair and yanking your head back and away from her, you watch as Rhea’s lips morphed into a eat shit smirk. You watched in awe as the depth to her glazed eyes became darker, the grin upon her face peeling back to reveal elongated canines that almost glimmered in the bathroom lighting.

Vampire. Your subconscious screamed as you chewed playfully at your lower lip, your present mind not once thinking of the danger you could be in and ignoring the desire any normal human would have to run.

“Use me. Claim me.”

You uttered as your palms slid into the small of Rhea’s back, your slightly pointed nails pressing into her flesh as you slowly clawed them up her spine before winding them into her onyx tendrils. It took less than a second for Rhea’s palm that held tightly onto your thigh to snap up around your throat, her callus fingers tightening instantly to restrict the air escaping your lungs as she licked hungrily across her pointed fangs.

“Make me your plaything and fuck me, mia regina.”

(“ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ, ᴍʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ.”)

Rhea’s tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth as your fluent Italian flooded her ears, a shallow growl vibrating in her chest as she snapped her lips back against the shell of your ear.

“Oh dolce Gattino, ho intenzione di farlo.”

(“ᴏʜ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ, ɪ ᴘʟᴀɴ ᴛᴏ.”)

Each moment with Rhea was like you’d planned it, every detail of the night following that of your own imagination as she returned your foreign language without effort. Smoothing her thumb over the vein on your pulse point, she slacked off the hold she had on your throat just enough to allow you breath. Her heated breath washed over your ear as she continued to speak.

“Perché da ora in poi sei mio. Solo mio.”

(“ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ. ᴏɴʟʏ ᴍɪɴᴇ.”)

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as Rhea’s flawless Italian continued to drive itself into your consciousness, your heavy lids fluttering closed as her muscular form pulled you against her chest to relocate you to the sinks ledge. You couldn’t believe what was happening to you, about to be ravished beyond your wildest dreams by a walker of the night.

You couldn’t bring your gaze away from Rhea’s bare chest as her knee pushed itself between your own, driving your thighs apart enough for her to slide into the space she'd created with a devilish chortle. The darkness of her gaze continued to deepen, the vice-like grip around your throat tightening once more as she tilted your head back to have you look up at her with widened eyes. You could still breathe, but as Rhea’s fingertips pressed into the sides of your jugular you prayed to the heavens that she’d squeeze tighter. That she’d pull you into a new euphoria and heighten the desire that pooled between your legs.

“Only yours.”

You whimpered as the crushing sensation in your windpipe trapped the sound within its walls. Rhea was driving you crazy, each passing second pulling you further into a daydream as your palm moved to trace your fingertips over the wigs that spread over her sternum. Your blunt teeth gripping the flush of your lower lip as you took in every detail of the intricate tattoo, fracturing the delicate skin once more as the pressure became more intense. You could taste the blood as it bubbled to the surface once more, the coppery taste coating your taste buds as your fingers dropped from their soft touches to Rhea’s skin.

“I’m sor–”

You didn’t have the time to finish your apology before Rhea’s hunger found the soft plush of your lip, the heavy tug of her pulling the blood clean from the cut causing a delicate moan to vibrate from your chest as your fingertips gripped around the sinks ledge. She’d fought back every desire you’d thrown at her. Your scent, the heavy thrum of your heartbeat every time she’d touched you, but as the warm elixir of your life’s essence washed over her tongue, Rhea broke. She was done holding back, you’d given all the permission she needed to take you as her own and fuck was she about to take advantage of it.

The grip around your throat disappeared without you even realizing, both Rhea’s palms finding your hips to pull your ass forward. The hem of your crimson dress hitching higher up your thighs to expose more of your creamy flesh as Rhea’s darkened gaze simply watched in pleasure, her flush lips curving into her signature eat shit smirk as her tongue slid over elongated fangs. She wanted to taste every part of you, feel every part of you beneath her lips.

Tracing the pads of her fingers over the expanse of your soft thigh with one palm, Rhea craned your head slightly to press a scatter of kisses along your collarbone and up the column of your neck. The sharp points of her teeth catching your flesh every so often had you reeling, your legs twitching slightly as you felt the gentle touches of Rhea’s lengthy fingers trace between your thighs and ever closer to the heated core. The lace that shielded your wetness from her eager fingertips growing damper as Rhea’s released a deep moan against your earlobe.

“Take all of me Mami, please.”

You begged, swallowing a large ball of saliva as it pooled on your tongue.

“Take my body. My mind. My soul.”

You could feel the chuckle that parted Rhea’s lips as she moved her kiss back down your throat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what damage she’d done to your milky skin by this point, but as your flesh burned beneath each hungry kiss, you let your mind wonder.

The sensation of skilled fingertips pulling aside your soaked panties and sliding between your slick folds yanked you from your subconscious, an unexpected moan parting your lips as Rhea slowly circled your sensitive bundle of nerves with her thumb. Your spine slowly arching forward with each new sensation, you chewed at the uncut side of your lip to suppress your whimpers.

“Non nascondermi il tuo piacere, Gattina. Lascia che ti ascolti.”

(“ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜ.”)

Rhea uttered against your skin as she slowly swiped her finger up and down the slit of your folds, pressing the tip against your entrance as she dragged sharp points across your shoulder. She wanted to give you pleasure before she took some for herself, but as the heat behind her gums burned, she contemplated how much longer she could hold back before she’d be forced to line her esophagus with your sweet nectar.

“Sì, Mami.”

(“ʏᴇꜱ, ᴍᴀᴍɪ.”)

You whined as the tip of Rhea’s finger at your entrance caused your back to arch and your thighs to twitch, another heavy moan falling from your lips as she slowly began to insert her finger between your tight walls.

You still couldn’t believe what you were doing. Rhea could kill you if she so desired and yet you’d played into her web perfectly. She had you wound around her finger so tightly, in more than one sense and as she added an additional finger to the warmth of your core you couldn’t help yourself but call out her name.

Your thick lashes fluttered closed as Rhea’s palm cupped around the back of your neck, pulling your features forward to capture your lips with her own. A small wince echoing in your throat as her pointed teeth caught the small slice you’d caused but she didn’t seem to care as her tongue pushed past the barrier and began to explore your mouth, her fingers diving further into your wetness as she began to curl them against your sweet spot.

“Fuck.”

You purred, as Rhea’s kiss disappeared. Your lids snapping open as you felt the tips of her fangs drag against your pulse point. Was she about to feed off you? You were surprised that it hadn’t already happened. Vampires were written with a take what they want attitude, feed and move on. Rhea had already tasted your blood once and with that you’d expected her to rip into you like a wild animal, drain your life's essence and disappear into the night as if she never existed.

Tilting your head slightly to allow Rhea as much room as she needed for her feed, you close your eyes tightly. Would it hurt? You had no idea, but you had no intention of denying her. You could hear your heartbeat in your own ears and could only imagine what it was doing to her. The heavy thrum pounding out a perfect rhythm as you swallowed unknowingly out of nerves.

“Scared, Kitten?”

The dominance in Rhea’s voice had your fingertips gripping the countertop in seconds, your hips twitching forward against her palm as her two fingers continued to pump in and out of your slick walls without a sign of stopping. You weren’t scared, the complete opposite in fact; but you couldn’t bring yourself to form a sentence and instead a plethora of moans took the place of your words as her fingers curled perfectly against your sweet spot with each thrust. The chuckle that parted Rhea’s lips was almost evil as it vibrated in her throat, her heated kiss pressing once more against your jugular before her gaze pulled back to witness your tightly closed lids and monstrous grip upon the sink.

Slowing the rhythm of her thrusts only slightly with hopes of getting a reaction, Rhea’s painted lips curved into her signature smirk as your lashes fluttered and you lids peeled open. The darkness behind her gaze was still very present, the points of her teeth sharper than ever and yet she still hadn’t taken you as her latest blood bag. Why?

“I'm not scared of you.”

You stammered through labored breath.

“Prends-moi, brise-moi, s'il te plaît.”

(“ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴍᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ.”)

Once more Rhea’s lips peeled back in an almost demonic grin. Each time you saw the sharpness of her fangs it caused your heart to swoon, pulling you deeper and deeper into your own fantasies. Craving them to puncture your flesh and drag you into euphoria.

“As you wish”

Was all Rhea uttered as her rhythmic pulse against your core returned to its fast pace. You could feel the band in your abdomen tightening with each pump of her fingers, your head lulling back against the mirror as the fingertips from her free hand moved to sweep the hair back from your shoulders.

Was she about to give in? Were you finally about to experience what only the characters in your novel felt as an attractive female fed from you?

You could feel your peak approaching, each passing second Rhea pleasured your core pulling you closer and closer to the edge. You wanted her now, more than you had all night. Ever since the moment you realized what she was and what she could do to you, all you could think about was her sharp fangs plunging into your flesh and the euphoric state being connected with someone in such an intimate moment would bring.

Releasing the sink ledge and stretching out your palm in search of Rhea’s perfectly chiseled jawline, you traced your thumb against her smooth skin before cupping the nap of her neck. You didn’t want to be pushy, but you were losing your patience with the amount of time it was taking to feel her lips against your skin and with your pleasure soring, it was now or never.

Chewing at your punctured lip as you fought back the pleasured moans Rhea’s fingers pulled from your chest, your hips eagerly bucking against her. You couldn’t form words as she continued to bury her fingers third knuckle deep into your tight core, your chest beginning to rise and fall in labored pants as they forced their way out of your lungs.

“P-pl-please, Mami.”

You begged, your nails pressing into Rhea’s neck as you greedily rode her palm.

“Please.”

The word was barely air; let alone sound and would have gone unnoticed to anyone else. But as the sound of pleasured begging flooded Rhea’s eardrums, she followed your wordless request and leant forward to once more ravage your flesh. She could not only see the pleasure in your face, but feel it. She knew how to pull you over the edge and it wasn’t with her master finger skills.

Scrapping her sharp teeth over the pulsing point beneath your jugular, Rhea slowly wound her free palm around the length of your neck, her lengthy fingers coiling like a snake around the fragile column before snapping it to the left, exposing the long vein line to her aching gums. You’d begged her for it. For her to take you. Break you. Destroy you. Increasing the pace of her thrusts into your tight walls, you can't help but whimper as Rhea’s palm tightens around your neck and restricts your ability to breath.

“Last chance, Kitten. Sure you don’t want to run?”

Rhea uttered against your skin, the vibration of your pulse beneath her lips driving her insane as she licked the flat of her tongue across your jugular vein. You couldn’t answer her and she knew that, the constriction she had around your throat was almost cutting you dry and all you could manage was to gently bob your head in response to her question. You definitely didn’t want to run, you wanted to cum.

With a few more pulses of Rhea’s skilled fingers into your desperate core, you couldn’t hold back again longer. The band in your stomach wound so tight that you could feel tears behind your lids as you teetered on the edge of release. The sweet taste of your climax hitting like a tidal wave as the sudden sensation of pointed fangs punctured the supple flesh of your throat.

“Oh my… god… fuck!”

You panted as your own grip on Rhea’s neck tightened, your fingertips winding into onyx locks to hold her in place as your high crashed through you like a train. It was completely indescribable and yet it all felt right. You’d chosen to entertain Rhea in her little games all night long and your reward had been worth the wait.

As the warm elixir of your blood coated Rhea’s tongue and down her esophagus her entire form shifted, the energy she’d been lacking returning and her strength increasing ten fold.

Releasing your throat so as to not hurt you, Rhea’s palm slipped to your hip as you rode out your wave against her palm. The counter beneath you became slick with your wetness as she continued her pace with ease, pumping in and out to keep you on your high as long as possible. Feeding was euphoric on its own terms, but as your body trembled beneath her touch Rhea clued in to just how she was making you feel.

Your blood was rich and almost sweet, coating every inch of Rhea’s mouth as she continued to guzzle down the crimson liquid. Her eyes growing darker and darker with each mouth full. She’d never had a problem controlling herself when she was feeding, only inflicting injury on those who’d found themselves on the wrong end of a fight. But there was something about your life’s essence that caught her by surprise, her stomach filling but her desire only growing stronger.

“R-Rhea.”

You stammered. Your grip on her neck falling slack as your mind became fuzzy and your strength to hold on grew weak. The sensations you began to feel swirling in your subconscious as you contemplated letting her finish. ‘It will kill you!’ One side of your mind screamed. ‘But you don’t want to lose this feeling.’ Shouted the other, the two sides arguing causing the brain fog to expand as you whimpered softly. You’d never felt a sensation quite like having Rhea feed from you, the pull of blood leaving your body mixed with that of your mind clouding had you almost floating. Flying above everything as she suckled the life from within your form.

It was as if Rhea knew she needed to stop, the soft sting at your jugular disappearing instantly as she pulled free from your skin. A coat of crimson plastered over her smeared lips as she swallowed back her mouths contents to speak.

“Hey Kitten, talk to me. You doing okay?”

You could hear Rhea’s words and yet somehow still couldn’t answer her. Your high had already fallen, your mind clearing slightly as her muffled words fought to be heard, but with your vision still blurred and your mind still buzzing, you swallowed back with the little strength you had. A sharp wince pulling from your chest as the pain in your throat became noticeable.

“I’m fine.”

You slurred as the soft tips of Rhea’s fingers slid around your chin, her sapphire gaze returning once more as she pulled herself back to human looking status and turned your limp neck to have you face her. The pad of her thumb grazing over your cheekbone as she curiously examined your features. Physically you looked fine, her manicured brow becoming arched as she continued to search your expression.

“I’m fine.”

You repeated, this time a lot more assertive, as a cheeky grin claiming Rhea’s lips. Her palm still cradled around your chin and supporting your head, she couldn’t help the small chortle that vibrated in her chest.

“So it was just that good, huh?”

Rhea’s brow arched slightly as she licked her plush tongue over crimson stained lips, cleaning up every last drop of your blood that stained her kiss as you watched her closely. You could see the tiny shift in her ocean gaze as your blood cleansed her palate, your own lip rolling beneath your lips in you held in a small whimper.

“Better than the books.”

You uttered, a small laugh muffling in your mouth as you held your lips tightly with your teeth. Of course you had no idea what it would truly feel like, your imagination not even beginning to create such imagery as you’d written such a moment. Being with a vampire was supposed to be fantasy.

Rhea chuckled softly as she smoothed her thumb over the punctures left by her fangs, a small stinging sensation shooting up your spine as her pressure against the open wound increased slightly. Your lips falling lax as delicate moan pushed passed them, the same pleasure you’d felt as she fed from you bubbling to the surface.

“I’ve got one last treat for you, Kitten.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you begin to play off what else she could possibly do for you, hers sapphire hues keeping you very captivated as you hum a delicate tone.

“What else could you possibly have prepared for me, Mami?”

You purr as a singular finger lifting to trail over the perfect curve of Rhea’s jawline, your tongue coaxing over your lower lip as thick lashes flutter slightly. You’d known each other less than a few hours and yet somehow you’d found yourself willing to do anything in order to keep her around.

Watching you intently, Rhea’s lips curve into an impish smirk, her palm dropping from your cheek and moving to the supple plush of her lips in a fluid motion. The darkness in her gaze glimmering back to the surface, only for a few seconds as she ripped open the cluster of veins in her wrist.

“One, I can’t let you walk out of here with that.”

Rhea’s gaze flicked to the wound upon your neck and then swiftly back to her wrist as a small pool of blood formed against her skin. Sapphire pools rising up to meet your gaze with an almost protective smirk.

“And two, you're mine now, remember and I’m not done claiming you yet.”

Blood bonding. Was she serious? You didn’t expect to ever see Rhea again after tonight, but if you knew anything about the supposed existence of blood bonding between supernaturals you’d never be able to leave her side again. A sires bond, linked to each other no matter how far apart the world tried to pull you.

“You’re asking me to—”

Your words trail off quickly, your crystal gaze still locked with Rhea’s as your tongue pushes through your lips. You were definitely curious, did a vampire's blood taste different to your own? But could you take the risk of locking this woman into your life forever?

“No.”

The tone in Rhea’s voice dropped, the authoritative demeanor she now held making the words that fell from her lips a clear order.

“I’m telling you to.”

You swallow nervously, certain you’d obey her before you’d even fully processed the request as you sit up right on the sink ledge and adjust the hem of your dress. You didn’t even want to think what your hair looked like as you pulled a palm through the sweaty tangles, coughing lightly to clear your throat as you took one last moment to breathe.

“Do you trust me?”

It was strange to you how Rhea could almost play two completely different people, the dominance of her darker self and concern of her human form playing hand in hand as she spoke to you. The demanding attitude from before instantly replaced with protectiveness as she sensed your nerves.

Bringing both of your palms to hold them together in her lap as you looked down at twitching fingers, you inhaled one last breath before and focused on steadying your heart as you looked up in search of Rhea’s gaze. Looking into the depths of her eyes was calming, like looking out and the ocean and you knew if you could find her pools all would be okay.

The warmth behind Rhea’s gaze as you found it was the most comforting it had been all night, all the darkness within her almost melting away as she waited for your answer. She couldn’t let you leave the bathroom with such a disaster upon your throat, but she didn’t want to force anything on you unless she had too.

“I trust you.”

You finally uttered. Your words weren’t loud but they were loud enough for Rhea to hear as she took a small step closer to you, positioning herself perfectly between your thighs as her free palm cradled your neck.

You could almost smell the richness of Rhea’s blood as you wrapped both your palms around her wrist, your mouth unexpectedly flooding with saliva as you took in the sight before you. It was now or never, you wanted this moment to mean something. You wanted to show her that you’d felt something between you that you were willing to bond together and not have this moment be ruined by her forcing it all on you.

“Feed me and make me yours.”

You whisper, an impish grin claiming your lips as you coated blunt teeth with your tongue and lean gently against Rhea’s palm.

“Forever.”

- - - - -

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[unvsannvs]

Okay, I was hit with a wave of realization on my rewatch of this whole scene.

Intense House MD finale analysis below the cut!

House is pissed at Wilson, but then looks at his Vicodin in his hand, giving the most hurt, distraught face I’ve ever seen as he remembers the torture that he and Wilson endured, recalling his trembling hand easing that same pain medication into Wilson’s mouth; House remembered the whole night, and most likely that particular scene, as Wilson begs for morphine, yet could only be supplied those shitty pills. Ultimately, this harsh reminder makes House decide to let Wilson do what he wants; out of guilt, out of understanding, so be it (I’ll explain what I believe it is in a minute.)

On top of this, it transitions from House looking up with that face, sighing shakily, to Wilson, alone in his dim and hollow kitchen, clearly thinking about House as well. It transitions to House again, playing the piano, and glancing up, immediately going back to Wilson, to demonstrate how they are both overthinking their entire lives with each other at the same time. As Wilson goes to grab a drink, this reveals he is thinking of House in a bad light: he’s still pissed at House and he’s looking to repress it through drinking, just as House was pissed at him before making his decision in that recent clip with the Vicodin. But, seeing the Oreos, and being hit with a wave of fondness (his weakness), Wilson then decides to let House have what he wants.

Essentially, their parallel scenes here demonstrate both House and Wilson making their switch in choice to value the other persons needs above all else, and worst of all, they both are persuaded by the one thing that has defined and attracted their characters to each other from the start: House’s misery and recollection of his worst past time with Wilson from seeing his Vicodin persuades him to change his mind for Wilson’s sake, while Wilson’s fondness and recollection of his best past times with House from seeing the Oreos causes him to sacrifice his last decision for House’s sake.

Yeah, that casually slapped me in my noggin. I think I have a scar. Now, you can assume from this new angle of information what you will, but House could have changed his mind for countless reasons.

One idea is that Wilson making this life and death decision for House instead of himself causes House too much grief (House spent a whole episode about furniture trying to get Wilson to do something for himself, and Amber did the same; ‘female house’ doing this as well was a way to emphasize House’s belief that Wilson needs to be more independent and value his own personal wants over others when decision-making, let alone the one that decides his fate).

Maybe, House realizes that he feels incredibly understanding of what pain he let Wilson endure on his sofa - emotionally and physically - and ergo, is scared for Wilson, and can’t stand the thought of him going through that pain again, but in the one place Wilson begged not to be. As House looks at the Vicodin, he envisions Wilson become depressed and constantly in pain like he’d been on that couch, in an awful reflection of House himself from the one person he cares for the most, and all for the sake of House alone, given that in Wilson’s view, he has nothing else to live for.

Another could be that this reminder pushed House to feel a spark of need/love for Wilson’s presence, but more for his fuller, happier and guilt-free self for five months than the pitiful, unwanted version of Wilson in a hospital bed for an extra year.

It could easily be all the above, and most of them blend together anyway. I feel House changed his mind on account of all of these and many more (please let me know what you think it is! I love angsty stuff), but to summarize, this clip leaks way too much about House’s character development, showing the emotions that drive him to make the decision of letting Wilson be, and enjoying what they have left together, against all firm opinions he has well established throughout the show, as well as it demonstrates the climax of Wilson’s sacrificial and selfless behaviour being rejected and put to rest, as they both decide what’s best for each other rather than whatever their characters were full-force dedicated to before (Wilson’s selflessness and House’s selfishness).

[raspberryslxt]

Dean Winchester x Vampire!reader

-

warning: swearing, making out, slightly sugestive content

info: winchester brother meet you on a run, while u saved them from other vampires. They quickly grown to like you, some more than the others

-

It was another typical night for the Winchesters – hunting down a nest of vampires. Dean gripped his machete tighter, his eyes scanning the dark alley as he and Sam moved cautiously forward. They had received a tip about suspicious activities in this area, and knowing their luck, it was probably something supernatural.

As they rounded a corner, they were met with a sudden ambush. Vampires lunged out from the shadows, fangs bared and claws extended. The brothers fought with practiced precision, but the odds were against them. That is until a figure leaped into the fray, taking down vampires with speed and grace.

Dean's eyes widened as he watched the newcomer fight, admiring the way she moved – swift and deadly. He couldn't deny the rush of excitement coursing through him as they fought side by side. But as the last vampire fell, Dean's attention was drawn to her – the mysterious vampire hunter who had just saved their asses.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, his grip still tight on his machete.

The woman turned to face him, her features illuminated by the dim light. Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of amber, and Dean found himself momentarily lost in them. "I'm Y/N," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "And I'm guessing you're the Winchesters?"

Dean nodded, feeling a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "How'd you know?"

Y/N smirked. "Let's just say I've been keeping tabs on you boys for a while now."

Sam stepped forward, eyeing her with caution. "Why? What do you want?"

Y/N's smirk widened into a grin. "Relax, Sammy. I'm not here to cause trouble. In fact, I could use your help with something."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

Y/N glanced around, ensuring that they were alone before speaking in a hushed tone. "There's a powerful vampire coven in town, and they've been causing all sorts of chaos. I've been tracking them for weeks, but I could use some backup."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, silently communicating their decision. "Fine," he said. "We'll help you take down the coven. But don't think we're suddenly besties or anything."

Y/N chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it, Winchester."

And so, an unlikely alliance was formed as the three of them set out to hunt down the vampire coven. Over the next few days, they worked together, sharing information and strategizing their attack. Dean found himself drawn to Y/N, intrigued by her strength and determination.

But there was something else too – a tension that simmered beneath the surface whenever Sam and Y/N were together. Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he didn't like it one bit. He tried to brush it off, focusing instead on the task at hand

Finally, the night of the showdown arrived. They had tracked the coven to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Dean could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as they approached, his senses on high alert.

The battle that followed was intense, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. Dean fought with everything he had, his machete slicing through vampire flesh with ease. Beside him, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with, her movements fluid and deadly.

But in the midst of the chaos, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. He glanced over at Sam, who was fighting alongside Y/N, their movements perfectly synchronized. And that's when it hit him – jealousy.

Dean gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched them fight together. He didn't like the way Sam looked at Y/N, the way they seemed to share some unspoken connection. It made him feel... replaced.

But there was no time to dwell on his feelings as the battle raged on. They fought tooth and nail, pushing

[thosefuzzywordfeelings]

Coming Home To You (Full Version)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

cw; oral (f receiving), fingering, reader has a vagina, alcohol use (reader is fully able to consent), slight cum play?

Warm droplets of summer rain hit your skin as you stood just outside the bar, pay phone pressed to your ear as you spoke to your boyfriend. It was almost hard to hear him over the sound of the cars driving over the wet tarmac but you had to let him know you were safe.

In the least controlling way, Steve always asked you to call him whenever you went out at night, if it was to a bar or somewhere out of town; he’d sit by the landline, fiddling with the cord until he knew you were okay and what time you’d be back. Whenever he’d get home from grocery shopping or filling up the tank of his car, he’d slip a few quarters in your jacket pocket; knowing they’d be in there ready for your next night out. And so here you were, scrunched up next to the phone outside the only bar worth visiting. It was a little ways outside Hawkins so you’d let Steve know what time you got there and what time you were hoping to get home.

“I should be home in maybe, an hour? ‘Chelle just bought a whole other round of cocktails and I simply can’t afford to miss out. They have little tiny umbrellas in, Steve.” You said excitedly, briefly hearing him chuckle softly down the phone.

“That’s great baby. I’ll leave the light on, alright? Just…get home safe.” Steve said softly, smiling down the receiver as if you could see him before the two of you exchanged ‘love you’s and ‘byebyebye’s.

Walking back into the bar, the baseline to ‘West End Girls’ began to play, as you swayed back over to your friends, immediately sipping the cocktail that was placed in your hands. Wincing slightly, you looked at your friend.

“What is in this?” You giggled, carrying on sipping as your friend explained it had a gross but delicious mix of vodka, schnapps, some kind of fruit and more juice. Vodka? Good luck to Steve when you got home, you thought to yourself. Nonetheless, it was great and spending time with your friends was worth the sting of the headache you knew would spike in the morning. Since you'd all graduated and moved apart, it wasn't often you got to go out and meet with everyone at once. So the drinks were poured, the dancefloor was temporarily inhabited with you all and the bar tab was well used.

Time flew by and you checked the clock above the bar, noticing it said one a.m instead of midnight even though you'd sworn you'd just looked and it was eleven-thirty. Scrambling to get your coat and bag together, you made your way to the front door; tight hugs and cheek kisses exchanged as you said goodbye to your friends. "Steve needs me home." You yelled over the music. Now, there was no curfew on you, Steve would just want you home regardless, but the vodka and the homesickness churned through your veins; probing you to head home a little earlier than usual. The cab ride was fast, as you thanked the driver and got out, taking a big breath of fresh air as you looked up at the apartment building before you.

Steve hadn't taken his eyes off his book in a while, only to check the clock on the bedside table. No matter what, he'd wait up for you; wanting to see you tucked up under the sheets with a smile on your face before he'd even dream of closing his own eyes. The clock was now showing one-thirty a.m, and he knew it wouldn't be too long and you'd be back. As if by some sort of telekinesis, your keys would rattle in the doorway and you'd push the door open with a creak. Even though you knew he'd be up, you tried subtly to keep quiet. Putting your bag and coat down, you kicked off your shoes and headed towards the dim amber light illuminating the halllway.

"It's just me." You giggled as you pushed the bedroom door all the way open. And there he was. The most gorgeous man you'd ever seen, your boyfriend of almost two years although somehow everytime you saw him it was as if you'd stumbled upon a Greek god. Steve's eyes lit up from over the rim off the book, crinkling as he smiled up at you.

"Hi baby. Did you have a good night?" Steve spoke softly, sliding an old bookmark in the spine of his book and laying it on the bedside table. His hands folded up in his lap as he elant up against the headboard. Youd lean against the dresser, nodding with a sweet smile.

"Mhm..we danced and danced, and drank, then drank a little bit more. 'Chelle bought this round of, uh, like a fruity, bitter, sting-y, vodka cocktail and it was so good." You'd giggle, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as you tried to regain your composure a little bit, the alochol wearing off slightly as you found comfort in your safe space.

"Oh, so a very good night then, hm?" Steve replied with a smirk, sitting up a little straighter. Looking back down at him, you returned the smirk. Whenever you'd had cocktails, whether Steve was with you or not, you'd have had him within the hour of drinking and digesting them. Something about the spirits brought out a wild one within you, but also maybe it was the way his eyes darkened at you. Or the way his hair fell over his face a little. Right now, it was the peek of chest hair spilling out from the plain navy tee across his torso, the shadows of the lamplight against his freckled neck.

"Yeah…a good night…" You'd mumble, too focused on drinking in his features like you were dehydrated, his body the mirage of water in a hot desert. And boy, was he hot. You reached behind yourself, trying and failing to undo the zip of your dress. Steve reached out a hand, gesturing he'd help you with it. His eyes had a twinkle to them, a knowing of how turned on you'd become just from looking at him.

"Come here, baby. Let me do it." He spoke softly. His eyes too were raking over your body, watching the smoothness of your thighs as you knelt on the bed in front of him. Steve brought his hands up to your outer thighs, stroking them softly as they slid up to your hips, twisting them gently to get you to turn around. Spinning messily on your knees, you chuckled as you backed up and sat on them in front of him. His hand pulled your hair to one side, lips pressing against the curve of your neck and shoulder.

"Missed you." He whispered, fingers dragging down the zip of the dress as he pushed the straps down off your shoulders. With a sigh of relief, you spun round and crawled onto his lap. This was where you dreamed of coming home to, right here, sat on his thighs. Tangling your fingers in his hair, Steve stared up at you in awe - as he always did - fingertips digging into your waist.

"Missed you more." You giggled, as you finally let your lips press against his. Steve couldd taste the remnants of cocktail on your tongue, smiling into the kiss as he scrambled to push the bedsheets off of his legs and grip your body tighter to his. Within a split second, he had you laid out on the bed before him. You let your thighs drop open, needing him between them immediately as he looked down at you with that same smirk again. Leaning just above you, those chocolate irises would flicker over yours, taking in every furrow of your brow while his hands fumbled with the hem of your bunched up dress.

"Gonna show me how much you missed me?" Steve whispered against your lips, pulling your thighs up around his waist. You nodded sweetly, deepening the kiss and dragging him down closer to you. Something about the way Steve's demeanour changed when he needed you as much as you needed him made your body pulsate. It's like he could switch on this fiery, charged energy, mirroring yours.

"You know what I think, baby?" Steve asked, a saccharine sweet tone to his voice while his lips kissed small kisses along your jaw. Responding only with a light whimper, hips bucking up against Steve's, Steve would giggle at your neediness, his hands pinning your hips down against the bed. "I think - it's cute."

"What's cute?" A breathy whisper left your mouth as your hand knotted itself in the back of Steve's hair.

"When you walk through that door - all pretty - and desperate - " Steve mumbled between kisses, his lips parting as he let his tongue drag along the warm skin of your neck, " - just for me."

"Only you, Steve. Love coming back home to you."

His eyes darted up to yours whilst his mouth kept kissing down the crevice of your chest, tongue riding along your sternum as he smiled with a low "mhm". There it was again, the darkening of his eyes. Carnal brown, you've decided is the shade. A deep brown, bordering black, and it never left your own eyes even as he kissed along the inner of your thighs as they settled on his broad shoulders. Steve had your dress bunched up entirely around your waist, the top pulled down and crumpled as his hands flipped up the hem of the skirt.

"This is what I look forward to, you know that?" Steve mumbled against your bikini line, tracing the lace lining of your panties with his fingertips after he reached his arms around to settle on your hips. He knew this teasing would be worth it, he could see the dark dampness of your arousal glistening against the lace centimetres from his mouth.

"What?" You breathed out, leaning up on your elbows to watch him tease and touch you.

"Reminding you who's this is." Steve mumbled faux-sweetly, smiling kindly up at you before reaching his thumb down and running it over the swollen nub underneath your panties. A choked moan left your lips at the sudden contact, lip pulled between your teeth at this newfound confidence from your lover between your legs.

"Isn't it crazy?" He continued on, drawing small circles against your clit with the pad of his thumb, his eyes not leaving your face as he leant his head on your thigh cutely. God, he was beautiful. He didn't need you to respond, knowing your mind was too foggy with the faint sensations he was giving you. Steve could see it in your eyes, the way they were slightly glassy with lust as you stared down at him and his movements. The way your chest was heaving a little faster, subtly but noticeable enough to him.

"You're out there with your friends, dancing, sipping those fancy little cocktails - " Steve spoke lowly, his tone almost a sing-song as he hooked his fingers in the hem of your panties, adjusting himself up onto his knees so he could pull them down and off your legs. They were thrown somewhere in the room, you could care less, as you followed Steve's movement only.

"Dancing the night away on these pretty legs -" He carried on, settling on his stomach between your legs again as he kissed along your hipbones and along your mound gently. Hands coming to hold your hips down as he knew you'd buck up immediately, your cunt growing tired of the teasing. Steve could see your essence dripping down dangerously close to the sheets and he smirked, wetting his own lips with his tongue as he himself painfully held back from devouring you.

"And no matter who lays their fucking eyes on you, on this? It comes home to me. Hm?" Steve almost moaned as he watched your cunt spasm around nothing but the ownership that left his mouth. He couldn't help himself now, his tongue flattening against your slit as he licked a stripe up to your clit. When the bittersweet taste of your arousal finally hit his tastebuds, he couldn't hold back the feral moan that left his throat.

"God, you're all fucking mine. Beautiful, little pussy is all mine." He moaned almost as desperately as you had been as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he gave into his urges, giving you exactly what you let your mind wander off to when you were out with your friends; your boyfriends pretty tongue. Rutting your hips against it, guttural groans left your throat as Steve hummed contently against your clit.

"Steve, please - fuck -" You whimpered softly, letting your elbows drop and your head fall back against the bed. Your hands tug at his chestnut strands tightly, pulling out deeper moans from Steve's throat.

"Show me." He pulled back to say, bringing an arm around from your hips and underneath your thigh; his middle finger gliding through your glistening slit, before pushing inside gently and curling up to press against the spongy spot that left you breathless. "Show me it's mine."

You were speechless, his mouth immediately latching back onto your clit and sucking a little harder this time, combining with the finger beckoning inside you. You were tightening around his digit and he felt it.

"That's it. I can feel you honey. What if I press right -" Steve asked softly, his tone a stark contrast to his actions as he pushed a second finger inside and curved them both up against that one part that always brought you to the edge.

"Oh fuck - right there." You mewled, hips grinding down against his fingers as your eyes tried to focus; they were hazy as your soul tiptoed on the brink of cloud nine and earth.

"Yeah? What's gonna happen if I keep pressing right there baby?" Steve taunted, fucking his fingers a little faster into that spot as he kept his tongue playing with your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and closed, as you were barely holding on to the overwhelming sensation. "I'm gonna come - if - I'm - " You stutter softly, trying to lift your head to look at him, but you know if you caught a glimpse of him with his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers fucking into you, you'd be gone.

"You're gonna come? That's my pretty girl. Coming home to me, and coming all over my fingers. Just as she should." Steve moaned, setting his mind and only goal as making you come for him. He could feel you tightening around him, seconds away from release as he sped his fingers up, matching the pace as he flicked his tongue at the same time against the swell of your clit.

With one last vibrating moan against your cunt, you were gone. Numb everywhere else but your lower half; your clit throbbing against Steve's tongue as he sucked it into his mouth one more time, his fingers slowing down so he could relish in the rhythmic spasms around them. His spare arm held your hips as best it could, but Steve craved your squirming. His eyes travelled up your body as he watched you come, humming sweetly against you as he felt more of your essence coat his palm and his chin. Just how he liked it.

"You're so good to me, sweetheart." Steve whispered as he pressed his lips to the crook of your thighs and hips, kissing along your tummy and back up the route he came down not too long ago. Stilling his fingers for a moment as you recollected yourself and opened your eyes, his spare hand stroked the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. You smiled up at him dazily, post-orgasm bliss etched onto your face. Letting your tongue fall out against your lower lip, Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at your expression.

"What's this now?" He asked with a slight chuckle.

"Let me taste myself." You'd whisper, before resuming your expression. Steve's aching cock twitched in his pyjama pants as he gently slid his fingers from inside you and straight onto your tongue. He watched intently as you lapped up the clear dew from his fingers, feeling a deep need building. Instinctively, his hips ground down against yours as you wrapped your lips around them, sucking hard as you smiled and kept your gaze on his.

"Want me to really show you I'm yours?" You'd purr, letting your hand reach down to grip the stiff outline of his cock through his plaid pants. Steve's eyes fluttered shut at the contact, knowing you were going to ruin him and yet be the death of him simultaneously. Nonetheless, you were his.

[achaoticalien]

A Court of Deceit and Decay

Chapter Two- Nesta Archeron

“I will not go.” Nesta, even dragged across the Hewn City’s cold floors, did not regret her decision. The words spat in Rhysand’s face, a sneer on her own. He had simply turned to Morrigan and said, “Perhaps, Mor, we will go with your idea.”

After Nesta’s clear defiance, Feyre had simply cast her eyes down, shame and disgust wrinkled on her youthful face. Nesta had felt her gut sink into the lowest pits of her core, not even for how Morrigan barely hid her grin of pleasure at getting to order Cassian and Azriel to prepare to take Nesta to the Hewn City. But at Feyre’s face. How she didn’t have an ounce of so much as concern on her face. All of it, every inch of it, was just about how Nesta had embarrassed her. 

It filled her to the brim with such hot, heavy hatred, she didn’t even pull away when she felt large hands grip her arms and take her away. As Morrigan prepared to call for a gathering in the Hewn City. A public shaming. 

As she had been forcibly winnowed to the gates of the Hewn City. Cold frigid air whipping in her face from the outside. She turned to Morrigan, dressed in red and decorated with gold, she had a wild grin on her pretty face when she turned to Nesta. Giddy at the idea of getting too exact revenge for Nesta’s commentary on her dress, the Archeron sister supposed. 

“You enjoy this.” Nesta commented, voice as blank and numb as she felt. After the months of harassment from the entirety of the Inner Circle, she could honestly say, this was something she wasn’t surprised by. 

Morrigan smoothed over her expression with one of pity and sadness. Directing her eyes to Feyre, who looked back, Morrigan turned up the teary doe eyes, and the High Lady nodded, turning a sharp gaze to Nesta. For daring to upset her friend. 

Morrigan then leaned in, the perfect display of the humble, sympathetic ambassador. 

“Immensely.” She whispered, before standing straight up again, heels clicking as they entered the Hewn City. Masks on, the play began. 

She walked as best she could with much larger males pulling her along. She tripped and fell, they kept dragging her as per orders, Cassian let out a low scoff. Only Azriel turned an eye to her, lessening his grip, but turning away when she met his gaze. 

The Hewn City doors flung open with a bang, and she was brought before the throne. 

She hung her head, letting the numbness wash over her as her heartbeat picked up being in front of so many people. She hoped this would be over quickly. 

Nesta hoped she would feel nothing as she was thrown to her knees. 

But she did. It made her eyes snap up, like something in between her ribs had fluttered, had struck the nerve and caused electricity to snap up the side of her body. Quickly her eyes darted around. 

Then they landed on a moving shadow. 

Staring out from amongst the darkness of the corners, a pair of amber eyes gazed down on her. Widened, in the dim lighting, Nesta could make out an open mouth. Dressed in Night Court black, however golden jewellery rather than silver adored his ears and fingers. 

Eris, she thought. The male Azriel had choked for insulting Morrigan. 

Thinking back on that night, a tilt to her lips nearly escaped. 

She stared at him, at him and no one else. And he stared at her. Nothing else registered in her head. 

“After deeming yourself unworthy of serving amongst the Court, you are to stay within the restraints of the Hewn City. The Court of Nightmares will decide your place down here Until your High Lady has deemed you worthy of returning to the land above, you will serve as whatever you are appointed to.”

Nesta barely heard her own sentence, as the taste of ash and heat spread over her skin. A fire that spiked up in her gut. Bruising grips held her frail arms once more and she was being dragged out. 

The jeers suddenly hit her, they stabbed into her skin, into her body, like they were scarring her. It all felt real, like she had been snapped from a dream. As something seemed to tingle in the air, a trail that led back to a pair of flaming amber eyes. 

She managed to move her head as she began to pass the doors. And saw him there, their eyes locked once more, and something sparked, like wood catching alight. 

Nesta smelt smoke. 

Cassian and Azriel dropped her in a room, in a house she did not know.  A part of the cavernous tunnels. It looked like an office, hidden in the cracks of the Hewn City. 

Against her will, water peeked in her vision. She blinked them away as her vision became blurry. Looking up she saw Cassian, baring her fangs, she forced herself to her feet and dusted herself off. 

Cassian opened his mouth like he might try to say something, but ultimately, he just turned to Azriel and said, “Come on, Az, we have important work to do.”

It was to brush her aside. 

Important work, that isn’t you. He meant. 

Azriel nodded once, Cassian went out the door first, fists clenched but saying nothing else as his hulking frame disappeared into the darkness. 

Azriel, his hand caught the threshold, he sucked in a breath and looked over his shoulder, “You…

Nesta folded her arms neatly in front of her, as she tilted her head and watched him. 

“You could have just agreed.” He hissed, before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Nesta stared at the oak door, the hinges, the handle. She looked around. It was a large office. With a few chairs before a desk at the far side, walls lined with books of old, many of which were most likely older than her father. Possibly older than Rhysand. 

Would have been older than her father, she clarified in her own mind. 

She hummed. Taking in a breath, then another, then another shaking one. 

Nesta swallowed hard, she patted herself down. Trying to find something, anything, a distraction of any kind at all. 

The Archeron sister turned and saw a mirror. It was large and oval shaped, with a golden edging, real gold, pure and likely mined from before Rhysand was High lord. But Nesta did not focus on that. 

She stared at herself, at her dirty image. At the tattered cloak she wore, the thinness of her frame, the deep dark circles under her eyes, the oily slightly matted hair. And the points of her ears. 

She looked like back when they were in that cottage. Back in that weak body, back in those dirty clothes, back in that place that made sleeping, breathing, eating, thinking harder than it ever needed to be. 

Tears welled in her eyes. 

She became someone after that, when they were sent money, when they were given back their life originally taken from their father’s poor decisions. People knew her name, she was going to travel. She was going to finally see what a woman with money and a good name could do in this world. 

Now look at her, she lost everything again, and then some. 

Nesta shook. Tremors rippled through her body as tears on end poured from her eyes. She hugged herself as she fell hung over herself, falling to her knees. She cried and cried, putting a hand over her mouth as her wails became too loud to not be heard by outsiders. She sucked in harsh, short breaths that hurt her lungs and throat. A headache pounded, she felt herself go so weak. 

Everything was taken from her, stripped and destroyed. Her body was violated, broken, twisted and assaulted. Forced into something else. Tongue, teeth, eyes, all shredded, until there was nothing left to take. 

Those nights in taverns, out in clubs, it was high that reminded her of living. Reminded her body it was no longer destroyed, just different. 

But it embarrassed them. 

Nesta hugged herself tighter as her eyes squeezed closed, unable to stop herself from falling apart on the floor. 

The door creaked as it swung open. 

Netsa flung herself back, scrambling to stand, scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to hide her face. But then her eyes caught onto the intruder. 

Amber. It bore into her. 

Eris stood there, face caught in an array of emotions. The shock of seeing her catching him completely off guard. 

He blinked multiple times, quickly closing his mouth, and bowing his head, “Lady Nesta.”

[cryptidcircuswrites]

THE GHOST OF YOU

!- House x Wilson, canon divergent, s4 finale spoilers, dead!House, ghost!House, series, moderate angst

Doctor James Wilson is certain he is losing his mind.

His best friend and his girlfriend had been involved in a bus crash. The vehicle had flipped completely upside down.

House had, as usual, gone to a bar after work to drink away whatever emotions he wouldn't confront. Wilson hadn't been home when the phone rang, House once again asking his only friend to clean up his mess.

Amber had gone. Amber had ridden the bus with him in his place.

And the bus had flipped, and House had died instantly.

Doctor James Wilson, despite being surrounded by friends, family, and colleagues, had never felt so alone in his life. He feels guilty that staring down into the casket of a man who had been a complete ass at all hours of every day is the loneliest point in his life.

But it is.

Doctor Gregory House is dead.

And there's less than ten people who care enough to show up to the funeral.

Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, Amber, Thirteen, Taub, Kutner, and House's mother.

(His father had died shortly afterwards. House's mother blamed the grief. House would have scoffed at that.)

Well, maybe not less than ten. But still not that many.

Wilson isn't the one noticing, though. Wilson's too preoccupied with the sensation of hands on his shoulders, all comforting. He can't even decide which ones belong to who.

He can't think about that right now.

House's body lay there, right in front of him, as though asleep.

•••

Wilson wakes up in the middle of the night. He'd slept on the couch, making some excuse to Amber about his back. Wilson didn't have back problems, but Amber knew what he meant and didn't fight him on it.

He'd just lost his best friend of a decade and a half, after all.

It's expected that he has some weird reactions. Like deciding to sleep on the couch so Amber isn't woken up by his intermittent crying, or having intense flashbacks every time he closes his eyes to the funeral, or obsessing over old memories.

But James Wilson had some reactions he was sure weren’t normal, too.

How he could smell House- whiskey and faint sweat and sometimes cologne and the hospital and Head and Shoulders shampoo.

How he could hear House, near constant calls of Hey Wilson! and Jimmy and the stupid, immature jokes and comments he would have made if he'd been alive to take part in the conversations.

How he can still feel the comforting hands on his shoulders from when he had stood there, staring into the casket.

Yes, James Wilson is sure he's losing his mind.

Especially when he rolls over and sees a dead man standing in his living room.

In the dim light, House looks almost ominous. His deep-set eyes seem to almost glow, the rest of his wrinkled face cast in shadow.

"Wilson."

He swears he hears his name, whispered harshly from House's thin, dry lips. He swears if he reached out, he could touch the appartition.

Psychosis- an acute or chronic mental state marked by loss of contact with reality, disorganized speech and behavior, and often by hallucinations or delusions, seen in certain mental illnesses, such as schizophrenia and other medical disorders.

"I know you can hear me, Wilson."

Symptoms include hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thought or speech, disruptions in sleep, and social withdrawl.

"You know how I know? You're tracking my movements."

Wilson shuts his eyes tightly.

Treatment includes-

"Now you're just being an ass about it."

"You're not real," Wilson mutters. "You're not real. I'm losing my mind."

House frowns, swiping some trinket off a shelf. It shatters when it hits the floor. He continues, like a mischievous cat, until Wilson rolls over.

When he opens his eyes again, the mess is still on the floor.

So much for psychosis.

•••

House materializes back in his old office.

Cuddy had been quick to clear it out. Clear him out, he thought. Several years and several hundred cases, and he was gone in two days. He wondered briefly if anyone had thrown a party at his passing-- he knew of at least three people who hated him enough.

He'd seen Cuddy bury herself in her work, though. The way she obsessed over hiring his replacement, over handling the paperwork he'd never gotten a chance to do (not that he would have anyway), always referring to him as the open position.

Cuddy was distraught, he knew that much. And Wilson was...

House didn't think there was a word for the grief Wilson was experiencing.

He felt the smallest fraction of it as he looked around the now-empty office. Everything felt lifeless, like he'd never been there. His desk had been cleaned out, his guitar shipped off to his mom's house. All of his childish knicknacks, gone. His apartment had been similarly packaged, shipped to his mother, who'd probably lock it in a storage unit, forever...

House couldn't breathe, which made sense because he was dead. He had no lungs, no diaphragm, no esophagus. But he felt like he couldn't breathe, too--

Wilson had ignored him. Wilson! He'd rolled over on the couch, all of House's life was gone, any proof that he'd ever been, gone! And Wilson had rolled over.

Shut his eyes and turned his back.

Desperate to prove he's still here, House shatters the windows.

Apparently, ghosts can still have panic attacks. Apparently, ghosts can still feel agonizing physical pain when they refuse to process those big emotions.

Or at least, the late Doctor Gregory House can.

Apparently, ghosts can also pass out. Mercifully, House knows no more.

•••

Wilson isn't sure why he decided to go this route instead of calling a therapist. Maybe because he's afraid he's losing his mind, maybe because he's afraid he's overreacting, maybe because this is what House would've done instead of being a normal fucking person. It doesn't matter. He's already broken into the empty apartment.

He produces the novelty ouija board from its box, lighting a few candles. According to the movies, you needed those. Also according to the movies, he shouldn't have come alone if he wants to leave alive.

Wilson isn't sure he wants to leave alive. Maybe he'll try the therapist after all...

He circles the little plastic piece on the bigger plastic piece. All of it’s shitty plastic junk. This was a stupid idea. House is dead, and Wilson is crazy. There’s no reason-

Wilson shivers, losing his train of thought.

He’s about to brush it off, when House materializes in his old apartment, staring at a disheveled Doctor James Wilson.

[smallestapplin]

Be careful

Request : can I request a fic of Dracula where the reader gets injured and he thinks they are gone, but they aren’t and he takes care of them.

Cw : mentions of blood and injury, nothing severe or graphic, but a heads up! Mainly from Dracula view, so has a few of his worried thoughts of losing you. Fem reader is called wife.

(Also another repost from my now deleted side blog)

-

-

-

You’ve never wandered too far from the castle, it’s why Dracula has never had to worry, you never venture too far, and always stay where one of his minions can aid you.

Which is why you not returning for dinner has him concerned, you didn’t mention going into town, or going out somewhere he was unaware of.

All you had mention was going on a walk, and that usually meant walking around the castle grounds.

So he does not wait another moment, anxiety already gripping his undead heart that something happened. He cannot lose you too.

The second he’s outside, the cold wind hits him, reminding him of how late in the night it is. You’ve never been out so late, at least not without him at your side.

His cloak flows behind him with the wind, black hair becoming a mess from it, but he does not care, only focusing on finding you.

In a moments notice, the night becomes still, giving the vampire an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

Until his smells something all to familiar.

His heart drops at the smell of human blood, moving so quickly to the source it was like he was a blur to the rest of the world.

Amber eyes darting around, trying to find you. Though he freezes when he does.

You look so beautiful as you always have, but you’re not moving. You lay limp on the ground, facing the sky, you outfit a little messy from the dirt.

Dracula is instantly at your side, hands shaking as he tries to calm himself down. Gently lifting you up, making sure to take great care to not jostle you too much.

He sighs loudly, and of relief once he sees your breathing, he can hear you heart beating, it’s such a beautiful sound he was almost afraid he wouldn’t hear it anymore.

Holding your head to his chest to protect it, he realizes that’s where the blood is coming from.

He wastes no time, teleporting to castle and rushing off to your shared bedroom.

Once you’re safely on the covers he gets to work. Being mindful to be careful with you, he takes great care to clean the wound on the back of your head, making sure no a speck of blood or dirty was covering it.

He nearly collapses in relief once he sees the cut is not that big, can feeling your skull was not hurt in the process. After patching you up, and satisfied at how you seem to be in less pain, he calls for one of his minions.

“I require a glass of water, and a cold pack, now.” He nearly growls, watching the guard rush off to go get exactly that.

Once everything was set, he light a few candles, just to offer some dim light for you. No doubt your head will be sore once you awake.

If you awake.

He sits by your bedside, refusing to move and leave you, even when the supplies he asks from arrive, he merely sets them on the night stand.

And stays right next to you.

His ears twitching at the smallest change in your heart beat. He can hardly focus on reading his book, waiting for you to wake up, when all he can focus on is your breathing.

You can’t help but groan, your head feels like it’s throbbing, and everything hurts. Your slowly open your eyes, cringing at just how sore you feel.

You move your arm sluggishly, as it feels like it’s made of lead, to wipe the sleep from your eyes.

“Oh thank goodness you’re awake.”

You cringe at the deep, gravelly voice speaking to you, only to hear him coo softly at you. Blinking a few times, your eyes finally focus onto the worried face of your beloved.

“Hey…” your throat hurts, as you sound hoarse.

Dracula reaches over, grabbing the glass of water, before gently helping you sit up, while bring the glass to your lips.

“You gave me quite the scare, dear.”

He chuckles at your soft whine. You lay back covering your eyes with your arm, while he sets the glass back on the night stand.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You move your arm, looking up at him as he leans over you. His cold to the touch hands cup your face, letting you melt into the welcoming touch.

You close your eyes, trying to think.

“I was walking, and I remember I wanted to check out the flowers in the court yard, but then I slip or must’ve tripped over something…”

You press your face further into his hands, trying to sooth your headache. Dracula strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, cooing softly to ease and comfort you.

“Worry not, just rest here. I’ll take care of you, my love.”

He cannot express the weight lifted off his shoulders, he wouldn’t know what he would’ve done had he lost you, undead heart aching at just the mere thought.

You’re his beloved wife, his beloved, he adores you so much, if anything worse had happen…

He shakes those thoughts from his mind.

You’re safe.

You’re in his arms, on your bed, talking to him just fine.

You’re okay.

Your warmth is still in his hands. Your heart beat still ringing in his ears, reminding him you’re alive, you’re still here.

You let out a confused hum, feeling his hands move from your cheeks, to wrapping around you and hugging you to his chest.

You bring your arms up and hold onto his cloak, burying your face into his shirt. The vampire buries his face into your neck, breathing shakily.

He won’t tell you, but you know, you can feel how worried and panicked he was or has been.

He doesn’t want to worry you.

But you know.

You nuzzle against his chest, sighing contently.

It wouldn’t hurt to stay like this for a few more minutes.

[cherryredstars]

1k Prompts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Consumption on Alcohol

Summary: Drinks and tosses.

A/N: Finally!!! The last 1K Prompt LMAO (It's been three months). Requested by @mothmothmothmothmothmoth

Word Count: 945 (Not Edited)

It’s more out of obligation than willingness.

Neither of you really wanted to go, that much was obvious by the way you stayed at your table the entire time. But it would be impolite to not attend a comrade’s wedding, especially when said comrade went out of his way to personally give the invitations to you. It wouldn’t look too good on either of you as higher ranked soldiers. Throughout the night, your only quote of motivation was: It’ll boost morale and camaraderie!

Your eyes slowly pull away from the newlywed couple’s first dance at the sound of ice hitting a glass as it was set on the table. Your head turns first, then your eyes as it falls to the amber liquid. You raise a brow as you look up, meeting Ghost’s eyes. For the occasion, he has decided to leave his mask and balaclava at home. In its place is a simple, black surgical mask. His hair is slightly ruffled from the amount of times he ran his hands through it, and his eyes yell about his tiredness. 

You turn back to the dancing couple, taking your own sip of your alcoholic drink that you’ve been nursing. Even with the dim lighting, you can see the way they cling on to each other. They’re lips are moving, whispering words they can only hear. They turn and the bride’s face is the only one visible to you. Her husband leans in, and she smiles widely as she snickers. 

It makes you want to smile a little bit, too. 

“How long do you think before they file for divorce?”

Or not.

You clear your throat as you set your drink down, turning to him with the unexpected question still hanging in the air. Ghost seems unbothered, drinking down his liquor as he watches the couple. You turn back to them just as the song fades away. People begin to clap as they pull away from each other, and the music changes to something more upbeat as the couple return to their table. Their best man begins to make a mini speech once they are seated.

“I give it… five months. One year max.”

You and Ghost both look towards the speaker, but the both of you aren’t listening. Your brows furrow and your eyes drift to the couple. They are hunched towards each other, talking and sharing small smiles. They look happy. 

“They seem happy. You can see that they love each other very much.” You reply back, picking up your drink once again for a sip. 

“They all do in the beginning.” Ghost grumbles as he sets his empty glass down. 

As far as you know, Ghost has never been married. You’re not even sure if he’s ever had a serious relationship before. This weird animosity he has towards weddings is… unsettling for a lack of a better word. You shift in your seat, sighing as you cross your leg over the other. 

“Isn’t there a rule against this type of thing during weddings? Are you allowed to talk about divorce at weddings or is that bad luck?” You tease him, turning subtly to him when the best man stops speaking. 

Ghost turns to you with a small smirk, “Not that I know of.” 

You hum, moving to stand up. Ghost’s eyes watch you, and you show him your empty glass. “Care to come with me for a refill?”

The bar isn’t busy, and the bartender is quick to refill your respective drinks. Both of you lean with your backs against the bar, people watching. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. It’s cozy, the wedding. You can tell how much time and effort was put into every detail. 

You’re pulled away from the scene by a blinding light flashing beside you. It catches both you and Ghost by surprise. When you turn, you see a hired photographer looking down at their new shot, not even glancing back at the two of you before walking away. You can feel your skin heat up, and you hope the picture doesn’t look bad. If it is, you hope your comrade doesn’t ever give you a copy of it. 

Commotion in the front draws your attention to the dance floor again. The bride and groom are preparing to do their respective, traditional tosses. The best man speaks into the microphone, calling all the singles to the dance floor. You have a small smile on your face as you watch friends drag each other onto the dance floor, setting your drink down on the bar counter to cross your arms. However, you tumble forward. You turn your head in shock, and Ghost smirks lazily at you. You’re about to scold him, but one of the other soldiers sees you, playfully dragging you with them to the crowd. You turn back to Ghost as you go, glaring at him. He simply shrugs as he sips his drink. 

You huff out as you face forward again, pressed between different bodies as they prepare to catch. You stand by idly, deciding you weren’t going to try and let the others have their fun. But, it seems like the world has other plans for you. You half pay attention as the object is tossed into the air, your eyes widening when it goes straight for you. It’s instinctual when you catch it, cheeks burning as the crowd hollers in excitement for you. Amongst the crowd, you can hear the groom laugh and yell out: Make sure to invite all of us to the wedding, Sarg!

Back over at the bar, Simon smiles around the rim of his glass. 

Maybe weddings aren’t so bad, after all.

[midnightsun-if]

There’s no way I can pass up, “i’m gonna remind them you’re mine” for my girl Scarlett please 🙏

You don’t know how you keep getting dragged into these things…

Sure, in the light of day, Aurelian Academy was the picture perfect institute for higher learning and a practical hub for possible connections within the supernatural, and even sometimes human, world, but at night? When the enchanted lights dimmed, when the professors turned in for the night in their wing, and the moon rose above the shimmering lake that made its home on Aurelian’s campus?

That’s when the real fun, as you’ve been told, begins. Parties, secret meetings, illicit affairs, and more all occurred under the cover of night within Aurelian, and you just happened to have been pulled into once such event— a party that Blake hadn’t stopped gushing about since he heard of it: It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the year! How could I possibly miss it? And, since you’re my best friend, I’ll need you by side when I attend. It won’t be as fun without you.

The fact that it’s barely into the second semester didn’t seem to matter to Blake in the slightest.

Seriously, who thought it’d be a good idea for both sirens and succubi to be housed in the same dorm? That’s only a recipe for disaster— added to the fact that the incubi dorm was a relatively short distance away, and you have a whole slew of potentially bad ideas.

Though nothing bad as my idea of actually attending, you gripe, hand tightening around the flimsy plastic solo cup, sloshing an almost luminescent blue drink over the brim. Blake has been lost in the sea of people, I’m not even sure what time it is, and I think I’m going to go deaf if this music doesn’t shift gears soon.

All in all? You weren’t having the best of times. Not that you minded parties, you’ve been to quite a few in your time, but this sort of thing hadn’t ever really been your scene. The air, intermingled with a variety of scents, is almost cloying in your nostrils, the beat of the bass thrumming your ear, and it’s only due to the privacy wards that you haven’t completely keeled over due to the sound. Your only saving grace is the fact that your girlfriend had agreed to come save you after a certain amount of time.

Getting the chance to see Scarlett, even if it’s in a throng of gyrating bodies and a dimly lit room, she’ll definitely be a sight for sore eyes. You just have to hold out long enough for her to arrive. And she’ll hopefully take me back to her room, you muse, taking a sip over the surprisingly sweet concoction in your cup. Which will lead to the actually exciting part of my night.

For now? You’re content with sticking to the sides of the party, the shadows wrapped around you in a comforting embrace, as you waited for your emerald green eyed savior to arrive.

“You’re not having fun are you?” The sudden voice causes you to flinch in surprise. Your attention immediately settling on the form of Isabel, an occupant of this very dorm, who had a charming smile stretched across full lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so miserable at one of these things.”

You shift. “I’m not miserable,” you reply, not wanting to seem rude. “This just isn’t usually something I go to.”

Isabel hums, amber eyes sparkling. “I can see that.” She tilts her head, slowly appraising you in a way that immediately sends alarm bells ringing in your head. “I can say, with quite a bit of certainty, that you haven’t ever been to one of my parties before?”

She’s right.

“Why do you say that?”

“I think I’d remember someone as beautiful as you attending,” she purrs, leaning closer, locks of raven black hair falling over her shoulder. “None of my sisters, or myself, have been able to take our eyes off you since you arrived with that incubus.”

Sisters. The realization hits you instantly. You’ve completely forgotten that Isabel was a Siren, a species that always traveled in pods, a group that grew as close as family. Who also happened to make a game out of who could get the most valuable prize by the end of their hunts. How do I keep getting into these situations?

Isabel’s smile only grows. “I must admit I’m surprised none of them have snatched you up yet.” Her hand trails down your arm, before you’re able to jerk it away. Something she doesn’t seem to take offense by. “It’s possible they’re too shy to.” She tilts her head, eyes flashing carnally. “Pity. But it only means more of you for myself.”

“Look I have a—”

“She’s already spoken for, Laurent.” A sharp voice interrupts your rebuttal, accent thicker than usual due to the agitation you detect laced within her tone. “You’ll have to take your games elsewhere.”

Isabel’s entire countenance shifts as your girlfriend finally comes into focus— Scarlett. Your eyes rove over her form, clad simply in a red-laced corset top, paired with a belt and tailored black pants, as well as her signature heels, she looks every part of the unflinching conquerer that roams the halls during the day. Not a single strand of dark auburn hair out of place, emerald eyes narrowed into slits as she takes a protective stance next to you, the only sign of her anger being the slightest clench of her jaw. Something anyone that wasn’t you could, and would, miss.

“Wasn’t aware she was yours, Voltaire.” The siren holds up her hands, clearly not wanting to get into an altercation with your girlfriend. “Maybe you shouldn’t let her wander off alone without you.”

Scarlett’s brow arches, an imperious look etched across her face. “I’d take that into consideration if your opinion mattered in the slightest to me.” She waves her hand, a flippant gesture of dismissal if you’ve ever seen one, and drawls. “Run along now. I do believe your time in our presence has run its course. No need to insist upon a place that doesn’t want nor need you.”

Amber eyes flash dangerously but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, giving you one last look, Isabel turns and disappears back into the throng of bodies, no doubt heading over to her sisters that stood near the open bar.

A gentle touch to your cheek pulls your focus towards Scarlett’s face, a bit more emotion now showcased— if the slightest downturn of her lips, and the darkened state of her gaze, was anything to go by.

“Why did you entertain her for so long, my heart?” It’s asked softly, no accusation in her tone. A question borne purely out of curiosity.

You rub the back of your neck. “I panicked and sort of froze.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrow at that. “Did she do anything to you?” A darkened gaze, that flashes obsidian, turns to look back at the room, in the direction that Isabel had disappear off to. “If she did all you have to do is tell me and I’ll handle it.”

“Honestly, I didn’t realize what was happening until it actually happened.” You shake your head, taking Scarlett’s hand, that had limply fallen back to her side, in a gentle hold. “She caught me when I was thinking of a fairly distracting topic.”

“Oh?” Dark auburn hair falls over Scarlett’s shoulder, reminiscent of Isabel’s earlier action, but somehow more elegant, and your girlfriend’s gaze darkens for an entirely different reason, the obsidian black telling of a completely different hunger. “And what would that be?”

Stepping closer, you wrap around arms loosely around Scarlett’s neck, tugging her closer until her body is flushed with yours. “You.” A satisfied purr rumbles out of Scarlett. Her head titling into the gentle touch of your fingers running through her hair. “Out of pure curiosity what were you going to do?” At her raised brow, you elaborate. “You said you would have handled it. How?”

There’s a beat of silence, wherein only the party surrounding you both intercepts it, but when Scarlett offers you a sultry smirk, you immediately felt the familiar swoop in your gut, heat building between you both. It’s of no surprise when Scarlett leans closer and places a hard kiss to your lips— somehow making it deep, passionate in a way that only she could, without ever introducing her tongue. “What would I do, my hear?” She purrs, tugging at your bottom lip with her teeth. “I’d remind them that you’re mine.”

She dips her head, placing an open-mouth kiss to your neck. Clearly delighting in the way you arch against her at the familiar action.

“I suppose I have a different course of action now.” Scarlett steps back, keeping your hands interlaced as she leads you towards the exit, hips swaying in a rhythmic fashion. “Something that’ll be far more rewarding.”

Your breath catches. “And that is?”

“Reminding you that you’re mine.”

[suguwu]

lover be good to me: part four

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: we are finally at the end. thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. this fic truly is dear to me and i can't believe it's finally done.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be”

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 12k

You settle into the farmhouse. 

It’s easier than you thought. Maybe it’s the way Yoshida is brusque but kind; she’s not careful with you. It’s a refreshing change of pace. 

You find yourself at her side most nights, chopping vegetables or marinating tofu as she tells you about growing up in the country. She spins stories like thread, weaving them together like the expert seamstress she is. Her son joins in some nights too.

You still get lost sometimes, though.

The early mornings are the worst. 

The birds sing you to wakefulness, their song high and trilling, and you press your face into the pillow with a groan. “Loud. Shut the window, Aoshi,” you mumble, shoving out at him. Your hand hits empty space and your brow scrunches. You push to your elbows and find a room that’s not your own, though you blearily recognize the suitcase tucked into the closet. 

You shift on the bed and realize it’s too small. A twin.

It all comes pouring back in. 

“Fuck,” you say, low and quiet. The tears pool in your eyes, burning hot, and you try to blink them back to no avail. You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead as you lie back down. 

You do not move for a very long time.

The world has gone blue when there’s a knock on your door, twilight settling in like the ocean tide, easing its way across the sky. You don’t answer. Another knock comes and then there’s Kita’s voice murmuring your name.

You almost ignore him. But there’s something in his voice you can’t resist, a melancholy thread woven in through the syllables of your name. You get to your feet and open the door.

Kita studies you for a moment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You blink. “Go where?”

“My place. I’m cookin’.” 

“Shinsuke—”

“I know.”

You bite at your lower lip. Kita meets your gaze steadily, his amber eyes darkened to a deep, sweet brown by the dim lighting. There’s a promise in them too. 

“Okay,” you say at last. “Let me get dressed.”

He waits downstairs as you throw on some clothes. You can hear him talking quietly to Yoshida. He gives you a little smile when you join him at the genkan. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

It’s true autumn now and the slight chill in the air proves it. The rice stalks are spun gold, swaying in the wind as the truck trundles down the road to Kita’s farm. You watch a stork wade carefully through the fields. It dips down with its long, elegant neck and disappears from sight. 

The radio is playing quietly. Kita hums along with it sometimes, mostly at the old, crooning ballads. You watch the countryside roll by, the farmhouses little ships in the night, their lit windows a beacon as dusk falls. 

He bundles you into the farmhouse when you arrive, handing you a pair of house slippers that have little radishes on them. You can’t help your smile. 

You follow him into the living room and settle at the kotatsu when he points you there. It’s close enough that you can see into the kitchen through the open archway; he rolls up his sleeves and starts gathering ingredients from the fridge and the pantry.

“Can I help?” you ask after a few minutes, getting to your feet and joining him.

“Sure,” he says, handing you a freshly-washed daikon. “Slice that real thin, please.”

You make a cut. “This thin enough?”

He peers over. “A little thinner,” he says. “Can I?”

You nod and he takes your hands briefly, guiding them to the thinness he wants and pressing down. His hands are warm, his fingers and palm rough with calluses that catch lightly against your skin. He curls his fingers around yours, his tendons going taut, and pushes down. The knife slides through the daikon and stops against the cutting board. 

“There,” he says. “Like that.” 

“Okay.”

He nods and heads back to his cutting board which is laden down with a bright medley of varying vegetables. “What’re you doin’ tomorrow?'' he asks.

“Nothing,” you say. “Why?”

You sound more defensive than you mean to. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sharp flicker of amber, but says nothing. 

“Was thinking you could come out to the fields with me.”

“I don’t know,” you say.

“It’d be good for you to get outside,” he says mildly. “Rather than being up in yer room all day.” 

Your knife thunks against the cutting board. Kita is unperturbed, only glancing your way briefly to make sure you’re not injured. He goes back to peeling carrots, his lean, strong hands moving quickly and with steady confidence. 

You study him for a moment, taking in the set of his lips and the soft furrow of his brow. You sigh.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll come.”

He flashes you a tiny quirk of his lips, a smile that’s as fleeting as a summer storm and just as warm. 

“Good.” 

He keeps cooking as he talks, pulling you from your thoughts when you get lost in them, when the fog starts to roll back in like a marine layer. It’s uncanny, how well he can tell when you’ve been set adrift. He’s a mooring you didn’t know you needed. 

Kita hums his thanks as you give him the daikon. He slips them into a pickling mix before handing you a cucumber. 

“Peel and cut thin?” you ask.

“Yup.” 

As you peel, you can’t help but watch as he moves about the kitchen. He moves as efficiently as ever, no wasted movement, but there’s something soft to it too. You can’t quite pin it down. 

“Yer staring.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

You shrug, starting to cut up the cucumber. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important,” you say, waving him off. “Tell me how Aran is doing, he and I haven’t talked for a while.” 

The rest of the cooking goes by quickly as you talk and soon you’re both settled at the kotatsu. It’s radiating warmth. You snuggle deeper into it; with the sun fully set, it’s grown even more chilly outside despite the heat of the day. Winter is still a ways off, but you can feel the first touch of it hidden in the autumn breeze that leaks in through the window Kita had left cracked to keep the kitchen from overheating. 

You glance over the food. Kita’s kept it simple but hearty. There’s steam curling through the air in little smoky wisps. You watch as it dissipates and then take the plate that Kita hands you with a small thank you.

It’s a good meal. The two of you talk through it with ease, never missing a beat and rarely with an awkward pause. When you lapse into silence, it’s comfortable. 

“I should go,” you say eventually, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to wake Yoshida when I come in.”

“Alright.” 

He drives you home, the headlights of his truck cutting through the night. The moon is out now; it bathes the fields with light until they practically shimmer. The crickets are calling, their song audible even over the low purr of the truck’s engine. 

When you pull up to Yoshida’s, there’s a light still on at the engawa, a soft glow to lead you home. It warms something in you.

Kita walks you to the door. 

“How early do I have to get up tomorrow?” you ask. “Do I even want to know?”

He laughs quietly. “Ya don’t need to keep my schedule,” he says. “I’ll come get you after lunch.” 

“Okay.”

He looks at you. His usual stoicness has faded into something warm and open; you take a deep breath. You bid him a quiet goodnight that he returns just as quietly, his amber eyes knowing. 

You go to sleep with your hand wrapped around your wedding rings. 

***

“Sunscreen,” Kita says, holding out the tube to you. 

“I know, I know,” you grouse, taking it from him. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“You forgot last time.”

“Point taken.” 

You apply the sunscreen as he gathers what he needs. He’s still rustling around when you finish. You turn your face up to the sun, letting the rays brush over your skin like a lover, a sweet kiss of heat. 

When you open your eyes again, Kita is watching you with a tiny smile, a crescent moon of a thing. Something in you pangs. 

You glance away from him and look to the rolling fields instead. In the bright sunlight, they’re Midas-touched, scorched gold with a hint of green at the bottom of each stem. It’s a sea of rice, rippling in the breeze like kelp caught in the ocean’s current, and it’s beautiful in a way that makes you feel small. 

Kita comes up beside you and gazes at his farm.

“It’s pretty,” you tell him.

“It’s gotta get cut,” he says.

“I know.”

He glances at you. You blink as he reaches out and smudges his thumb against your cheek. It’s gentle, his touch careful despite the rough calluses on the pad of his thumb. “Ya missed some sunscreen,” he says, rubbing it in with a light sweep. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.

“Oh. Thanks,” you say, biting at your lower lip as he turns away.

“C’mon,” Kita says. 

You follow him deep into the field, to a swath of already cleared land. The two of you settle at the edge of it. You watch as he lays out a woven bag with a label stamped on the front of it. He crouches down by the nearest stems of uncut rice and runs a hand over them, thumbing at the panicles with a deft movement. 

You don’t think he knows he’s smiling. 

“What do you want me to do?” you ask.

He glances back at you. “Can you lay out the bags? One at each pole should do.” 

You nod and set to work. He starts cutting at the rice. He makes it look easy, slicing through the stems as if they’re butter. The rice stalks start to pile up beside him as you make your way down the field with the bags. 

He’s made a significant dent by the time you’re back. He leans back on his heels as you approach again, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hair is clinging to him, dark with sweat, deepening the color to slate gray, like the winter sea. He smiles at you. 

“Can I try again?”

He’d taught you how to cut last time after you asked, citing the fact that you’ve been coming to the field with him for almost two weeks without trying. 

“Sure,” he says. He hands you a pair of gloves; you slip them on. “D’ya remember how to hold it?”

You kneel next to him, wrapping your fingers around a handful of stems. “Like this, yeah?”

“Thumb pointing up,” he says, reaching out and adjusting your grip. “And tighter.” 

He tightens his grip around your hand to show you, his strong fingers flexing. You copy him and he lets go when he’s satisfied with your grip. He hands you the knife—curved with a wicked edge—and sits back on his heels again.

“15 centimeters, yeah?” you ask, setting the edge of the knife against the stalks there.

“That’ll work.” 

You slice in a downward angle; the stalks part beneath the blade like silk. You hand off the rice to him to add to the pile. You keep working, feeling the sweat start to gather on your back, a few droplets rolling down before getting absorbed by your shirt.

“Good,” he says.

He lets you do a few more handfuls before he takes the knife back. You watch him work. He’s much quicker than you, moving with an easy grace.

“Why don’t ya head back to the truck,” he says, slicing through another handful of stalks. “I’m almost done.” 

You listen to him, heading back to the truck and settling in the bed of it, swinging your feet off the edge. You lay back and turn your gaze up to the sky, watching as a flock of birds goes soaring past, their wings dark against the deep blue of the sky. 

Kita joins you after a bit. You’ve been watching a hawk circle, riding the current high above you, and you don’t bother to sit up when you hear him approaching. 

He climbs up into the truck bed. He settles next to you and then lays down beside you, staring up at the sky with you. 

The two of you are quiet. You watch as the hawk wheels and wheels overhead before it dives down, dropping like a shooting star through the sky. 

You turn towards him; he’s already looking at you. His amber eyes are soft and you suck in a breath, your stomach flipping. 

“Shinsuke,” you say gently. “You know I can’t give you what you want, right?”

“I’m not askin’ you for anything,” he says, just as gently.

“I know. I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, with Aoshi gone.”

He studies you for a moment. Then he smiles, warm and sweet and a little bit sad. 

“It’s always what you’re willing to give,” he says. “Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the only idea I have.”

You suck in a breath, fidgeting with your sleeve.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

You both go quiet again. 

Kita pushes up to his elbows; you peer up at him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get going.”

“‘Kay.” 

He hops down from the truck bed gracefully before holding out a hand to help you down. You hesitate. He waits patiently, looking up at you. You take his hand without a word, his calluses rough against your palm.

You’re both quiet on the drive back to Yoshida’s. You spend the time looking out the window, watching the fields roll by. There are other farmers still hard at work, their blades flashing in the last dregs of the sunlight, like a dance. It’s a sight you never tire of. 

The sun has almost set by the time Kita drops you off. You toe off your shoes in the genkan and find Yoshida in the kitchen, scrubbing down the counter. There’s something savory in the air, rich and thick, and you spot a pot bubbling away on the stovetop, steam curling up from it like smoke. 

She eyes you for a moment. You don’t know what she sees in your face, but she gestures you into a seat.

“The fields are doing ya some good,” she says, her eyes still on the soapy counter.

“Are they?”

She nods decisively. “Yer different. You’re coming back to the world.”

You bite at your lip, worrying the flesh between your teeth. It doesn’t feel like it to you; some days you think you’ll never be in step with the world again, destined to always be just a few paces behind. 

“It’s hard to see it in yerself,” Yoshida says. “But it’s there.” 

“If you say so.”

“I do.” 

You can’t help the smile. A smile blooms on her lips too, small but sure. 

“I need to weed tomorrow. Could use your help, unless Shin-chan is going to steal you away again.”

“I’ll help,” you say, ignoring the last bit.

She studies you with keen eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but the front door opens and her son calls out a greeting. 

The rest of the night is quiet and morning comes before you know it.

You stare up at the ceiling as the sun rises, watery light leaking in through the sheer curtains. For a moment, you consider rolling over and going back to bed, but you can hear Yoshida shuffling around in her room. You resign yourself to getting up for the day.

A light breakfast later, you’re on your knees in the garden. The soil is still wet with morning dew and it sticks to your skin. The scent of wet loam rises around you, like the earth is welcoming you home. You let it fill your lungs.

The garden is a beautiful one, lush with autumn vegetables. You weed around the fat, sunshine yellow squashes, each one brighter than the last. The carrots are just peeking above the soil, little suns creeping up over the horizon. Their greens sway gently in the breeze. 

You’ve forgone gardening gloves despite Yoshida’s offer. It feels good to sink your fingers into the dirt, to pinch the weeds’ roots and pull them up gently. 

You’re still working when Kita’s truck trundles up the driveway. You sit back on your haunches and wipe the sweat from your brow as he gets out and comes your way.

“Hi,” he says with a little smile. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Gotta earn my keep,” you say, earning a snort from Yoshida who is working just a garden bed over.

“You have time for a break?”

“Depends,” you say, glancing at the bag he’s carrying. “Are those snacks?”

“Yup.” 

“Then I do,” you say, pushing to your feet. “Let me go wash my hands.” 

You eat together on the engawa, gazing out into the farmland. The wind chimes rustle above you, clinking lightly, a crystalline symphony just for the two of you. You sit back on your hands as Kita unpacks what he’s brought. 

It’s onigiri. They’re still warm, steam curling up from them when you break one open. A little bit of the filling spills out but you’re quick to catch it on your thumb, popping it into your mouth. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “They’re good.”

“Yer welcome.” 

“You take care of me so well,” you say with a little laugh. 

“I try,” he says, utterly serious. 

You flinch. It’s tiny, but from the way his gaze finds you, a firefly flicker, he notices. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to take another bite of his onigiri. 

“Shin-chan,” Yoshida calls. “Come help an old woman with the watering.” 

You glance up to see that she’s heaving a full bucket of water towards the garden. Kita pushes to his feet immediately, crossing to her in a few easy strides. He takes the bucket without even pausing, lifting it with a single hand. 

“Granny,” he chides. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt.” 

She shrugs. He follows her to the garden beds, glancing back to send you a little smile. You watch him as he carefully waters the garden under Yoshida’s rigid instructions. The sun catches in his hair, bronzes his tanned skin. That same smile he’d flashed you lives on his lips, a quiet contentment tucked up secret into the corner of his mouth.

Kita comes back to you when he’s finished watering, settling at your side on the engawa once more. He eats the rest of his onigiri quickly. 

“I’ve gotta get back to the fields,” he tells you. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Go do your job.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it.

He leaves soon after. You watch him go, until all you can see of his truck is the cloud of dust being kicked up behind it, until the horizon swallows him. 

Yoshida stands next to you on the engawa, shading her eyes as she watches him go too. 

“He’s a good man,” she says casually.

You glance at her. 

“He is.” 

“You could do much worse in a man.”

“It’s not like that.”

She raises a brow.

“It’s not. It’s just…complicated,” you say, winding your fingers through your necklace’s chain. Your rings clink against each other softly, the sound lost in the myriad of wind chimes surrounding you. For a moment you drift, tears pricking at your eyes before you blink them away.

“‘Course it is,” she says. “Most things are. But ah, pay no mind to an old lady. Let’s go harvest some of the squash.” 

You spend the rest of the day in the garden, harvesting away. The first frost isn’t too far off and you need to make sure you don’t lose any of the vegetables to it. Yoshida tells you exactly what to pick and what to leave. 

Night falls and you cook the first of the squash, painting it with a sweetened miso glaze that gleams stickily as you serve it. Yoshida makes a few side dishes too, putting them in pretty kobachi dishes. They’re delicate things, the soft silver of the moon, and you find yourself thinking of Kita. 

You shake yourself free of the thought before it fully forms. Yoshida’s son pulls you into a conversation and you chatter the night away, until you’re yawning between sentences. You finally trudge up to your room. 

The window lets in the faintest hint of gossamer moonlight. You gaze out into the night, into the endless countryside. You can just barely make out the next farmhouse, a lighthouse in the sea of darkness, its lights glittering on the very edge of the horizon. 

It looks lonely. You think of Kita again, of the little island of his farmhouse, how it’s tucked between the paddies with no other home in sight. You think of him alone at the kotatsu, reading glasses perched on his nose, and feel something in your chest clench.

You pull the curtains shut and go to bed.

***

The rest of the week rolls by and so does the next. It grows colder each day, winter’s first kiss. The leaves are going orange, as if little fires are catching the edges. It sets the trees ablaze with color. You hop from leaf to leaf as you and Kita walk along the road, delighting in each little crunch. 

“Having fun?” he calls out.

You turn around to face him, shading your eyes with one hand. His more sedate pace has left him lagging, but he’s quickly catching up now that you’ve stopped. “Can’t you tell?”

His breath mists in the air, a marine layer, and his lips quirk up into a little smile. “I can,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah? There’s still some frost lingering.”

You hum an acknowledgement and stomp on your next leaf. He chuckles quietly and you fall back to walk with him, shoving your hands into your pockets to ward off the cold. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “You know my sabbatical is almost over, right?”

He nods. “I know.”

“I think I’m gonna go home midweek next week,” you say. “Just to give myself some time to settle before I have to go back to work.” 

“Makes sense,” he says. “Let me know the details and I’ll get you to the station.” 

The two of you keep walking, huddling into each other slightly when the wind picks up. Some of his hair wisps across your face, the touch like silk against your skin. You shiver with it and return your gaze to the countryside, to the rolling hills and the shorn paddies. 

One or two of the trees are already fully bare; they reach towards the sky with long-fingered branches. There’s a murmur of swallows nestled in the nearest one, so numerous it’s as if the tree has leaves again. As you watch, they take to the skies, undulating through the soft gray-blue of it. 

“I’ll miss it,” you say softly.

“Bein’ here?”

“Yeah.” 

“Ya can come back anytime, y’know. There’s always a place for you.” 

You glance at him. His stoic face has softened and you think of the thaw of a spring day. How the quiet warmth of it melts the chill away. 

“Thanks, Shinsuke.”

“Mhm.” 

The two of you walk together quietly before turning around to head back to Kita’s farm when the chilly breeze becomes a whistling wind. It whips through the fields to cut through your clothing and you press into Kita without thinking, seeking the warmth of his solid form. He unwinds his scarf and drapes it around your neck; you don’t bother to protest. He’s immovable about things like this. Instead, you burrow into the warmth of it. 

You all but tumble into the genkan of the farmhouse. Kita follows you at a more sedate pace. You toe off your shoes and slip on your usual pair of house slippers. He does the same and you watch as he puts his shoes away carefully, arranging them perfectly within the cubby. 

You both settle at the kotatsu, huddling under the thick down of the blanket. You trace a finger over one of the origami cranes patterned into it. They’re perfect, so different from the clumsy paper cranes you’d both made with some of the local children the other day. 

Kita turns on the kotatsu. It starts to warm almost immediately and you sink into the heat of it with a quiet sigh.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask him.

“You,” he says simply. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay,” you say. 

“D’ya want tea?” 

“Sure.”

He slips out from under the kotatsu and heads into the kitchen. You turn enough that you can still see him; you like watching him make tea. He’s careful and respectful of the process from beginning to end, but you like how it loosens his shoulders, how he unfurls, a night-blooming flower.

He rejoins you at the kotatsu once the tea is made, handing you a steaming cup. The scent of it billows through the air. When you sip at the tea, it settles warm in your chest, pushing out the autumn chill. 

“You’ll have to teach me how to make tea like this,” you tell Kita. 

He smiles into his cup. “It’s not hard.”

“Says you.”

“Might not have time to teach you before you go,” he says with a frown. “The farm—”

“You can teach me when you visit.” You pause. “You will visit, right?” 

“Of course.”

“Good,” you say, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You can teach me then.”

He agrees and the conversation flows until it’s late. You peer out into the darkness and see the moon—full-bellied with light—is beginning to set, sinking through the dark ocean of the sky like an anchor. 

“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“S’fine,” Kita says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know. Ugh, I’m gonna wake up Yoshida when I get in.”

“You can stay, y’know.” 

You glance at him. He meets your gaze steadily.

“I have a guest room,” he reminds you. 

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“You’ll have to get up early, though.”

“That’s fine.” 

He smiles softly. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish cleaning up.”

You clean up the kotatsu quickly; despite the late hour, Kita still takes the time to wash the dishes. He washes them with careful concentration and something in your chest pangs. 

“Go ahead to the guest room,” he says. “‘M almost done here. I’ll see if I can find you somethin’ to sleep in.” 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright.”

The guest room is homey, with a handmade quilt patterned with rice plants that almost look like they’re rippling in the wind. You trace a finger over one of them as you glance around the rest of the room, taking in the way the stark cleanliness is offset by the items scattered about: the fan patterned with cherry blossoms hanging on the wall; the plant at the window, lush despite the season; a paperweight on the desk, glass swirled through with blue and white, the ocean roiling within it. It’s not quite Kita, but you can sense him in it all the same. 

Kita knocks on the door frame. You turn to look at him. “Here,” he says, holding out a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thought you might need these.”

“Thanks,” you say, sending him a little smile. “Appreciate it.”

“‘Course.” 

“Night, Shinsuke.”

“G’night,” he says. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

He disappears into his room.

You get ready for bed and slide under the covers. The quilt is heavy and warmth builds quickly under it, like a banked fire. You turn your face into the pillow to hide from the moonlight slanting in through the window. The pillowcase smells vaguely like Kita and the simple detergent he uses. 

Sleep comes easily.

So easily that it feels like you’ve only been asleep for a second when Kita’s knocking on the guest room door to rouse you for the day. Blearily, you slip on your clothing before trudging into the kitchen. 

Kita glances up as you enter. His hair is still damp from the shower; it glistens like the gray winter sea beneath a bleak sun. 

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Hi,” you grumble.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.” 

You drowse on the ride back to Yoshida’s, just aware enough to hear the quiet hum of the radio as it fills the truck’s cab. The sun is starting to rise, the first fingers of light painting the horizon orange, like embers just beginning to catch. You turn away from it, curling into yourself in the front seat. 

The truck rumbling to a halt wakes you. You grouse and Kita laughs again. He doesn’t bother to dodge when you swat at him.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say with a yawn, one hand on the car door’s handle, already looking forward to crawling back into bed. 

“‘Course,” he says. “You always have a place with me.”

You pause. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile. 

“Go to work,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You hop out and head to the genkan. You hear the truck rumble to life behind you, the engine practically purring. By the time you make it to the genkan and look back, Kita is already down the road.

You watch until he’s gone from view.

***

This early, the train station is quiet.

The sun is still rising, casting pale golden rays across the parking lot. It haloes Kita in light as he pulls your suitcase from the truck bed, his muscles flexing with the movement. You take it from him and the two of you head towards the platform together.

“Travel safe, alright?” he says when you come to a halt just before the doors. 

“Shinsuke,” you say, “thank you for everything.” 

“Anytime.” 

“You’ll visit?”

“I’ll visit,” he confirms. “You?”

“I’ll come back,” you say. 

“Good.”

He smiles at you, a slow, sweet thing that makes you think of the sun’s rise. It’s steady and sure, unshakeable. 

You throw your arms around him in a hug. He stumbles for a second, caught off guard, but he catches himself quickly and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly. You bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like plain soap, fresh and clean, with the faintest kiss of lemon, a touch of sour citronella that you know he uses for the fields. 

When you pull away, the tips of his ears are pink. 

“Bye, Shinsuke,” you say.

“Bye,” he says softly. 

You head inside the station. When you glance back, you can just make out the silhouette of him, lean and strong. He must be able to see you, because he gives a little wave before he turns away. 

The train is almost empty when you board it and you settle in a window seat. You close your eyes and turn your face towards the sun, the gentle rays just barely starting to warm as they brush against your skin. 

You open your eyes when the train starts to move, peering out of the window as the countryside speeds by. The rice fields are shorn short now but the gold of them hasn’t faded. The remains of the stalks reach towards the great blue sky, two expanses meeting. Beyond the fields, even the hills are going golden, though they’re slower, with green patches scattered across them like lily pads in a pond. 

You think you might be leaving a part of yourself in the expanse of the country. That the fields have swallowed up some part of you, like the earth swallows a seed. It makes something in you pang.

Soon enough, the countryside melts away into the suburbs. Then come the neon lights of the city, streaking by like fireflies, little blips of color that blink to life here and there. 

You hadn’t realized how much you missed it. 

The house is quiet when you step into the genkan; only the musical clink of your keys fills the space. The greeting is on the tip of your tongue, but you catch it behind your teeth and swallow it back down. You take in a deep breath and set your suitcase down before brushing by the photos in the entryway, most of them facedown. 

It takes time to unpack. Most of your clothes are clean, but you run a load of laundry anyway, listening to the way the water swishes and spins, the low rumble of it filling the house. You text Kita to let him know you’ve arrived safely and then collapse onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

You don’t know how long you lie there before you hear the door to the house open. Muffled bickering floats to you from the genkan and you push yourself up just as Abe comes barreling around the corner. 

She skids to a stop just before the couch and grins down at you. 

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply. “Did you break in?”

“No,” Yoshikawa says, appearing from around the corner. She twirls something around her finger; it glints in the light. “Used the spare.”

“It’s funny,” you say. “I don’t remember inviting either of you over.”

She shrugs elegantly, her long hair swaying like kelp in a current. “Did you really think we were going to miss you coming home?”

“No,” you say with a little laugh. “I didn’t.”

“Good.” 

You exchange hugs with both of them, holding them tightly and yelping when Abe spins you in a circle. Yoshikawa is more sedate but her hug is strong and warm. You blink away the tears before they can fall.

The three of you settle into the living room. You catch up with each other easily, swapping stories and laughing together, the sound billowing through the room to fill even the darkest corners with joy. Your heart aches as Abe throws back her head and laughs, her dark hair shimmering in the light, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“You’re too easily entertained,” Yoshikawa informs her, but there’s a smile playing at her lips too, downy-soft and deeply pleased.

“Shut up,” Abe says, still giggling. 

For a moment, you just watch them, taking in their features, their smiles, the sound of them. You want to commit them to memory, parts of them that you’ve taken into yourself to treasure, to keep. Pieces never to be lost.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that your cheeks are hot and wet. You scrub a hand over your face as more tears fall. 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just really missed you.”

She hums, but doesn’t push you on it, sending Abe a look when she opens her mouth. “We missed you too,” she says. “Do you want us to spend the night?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, thinking of how empty the house was before they filled it. “That would be great.”

“Okay.” 

The conversation picks up again, only pausing when you order takeout as night falls. Though you’ve spoken consistently with them while you were in the country, there are still stories to tell. The three of you talk and talk, full of laughter and love, and it only feels a little bittersweet.

As the night deepens, Yoshikawa and Abe go to the genkan and grab the bags they’ve brought, much to your embarrassment. Abe pats you on the shoulder as you bury your face in your hands. Neither of them comment.

You tumble into bed with them in a mess of limbs. When the dust settles, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, almost pushed off the edge by Abe’s starfished limbs. You poke her in the stomach and she curls up with a groan. You reclaim the space quickly.

“Rude,” she tells you. 

“You were taking up the whole bed!”

She grumbles but doesn’t bother to argue. 

Quiet falls, only the gentle sound of breathing filling the room. You snuggle down into your comforter, pushing closer to Abe and relishing her warmth.

“I invited Shinsuke to visit,” you breathe.

Yoshikawa pushes up to her elbows behind Abe, peering down at you with her dark, knowing eyes. 

“Here?” she asks.

You nod, the pillowcase crinkling against your cheek.

She hums, low and sweet, a honeyed thunder. “You’ll let him stay at the house?”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of Takao, the way he’d been flayed open when he asked you to not bring Kita to the house. “Aoshi—”

“Isn’t here,” Yoshikawa says gently. “You don’t have to hold on to that promise if you don’t want to.”

You blink against the tears as they swell up, beading on your eyelashes like little diamonds. Abe reaches out and cups your cheek. 

“You’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “You don’t need to know now.” 

You close your eyes, a few more tears trickling down. The pillowcase is damp beneath your cheek. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re right.” 

“I always am,” she says, and then yelps when Yoshikawa pinches her. “Ow, Yocchan!”

Yoshikawa ignores her, settling back down onto the bed with a yawn.

It’s contagious; you find yourself yawning as well and snuggle down deeper into the comforter once more. Abe shifts closer, seeking heat.

You fall asleep with her pressed tight against your side.

It feels like coming home.

***

Fall fades away.

The trees lose their leaves entirely, leaving branches that reach into the sky with scraggly fingers. Frost creeps over the windows in icy whorls, a cobweb of winter, fanning out in intricate patterns that melt when you breathe on them. The winter sun glows in the softened blue of the sky, only to be replaced with gray clouds.

The first snow is falling when you go to pick up Kita.

The flakes are fat and fluffy, perfectly crystalline. They flutter through the air like butterflies, spinning in great, lazy arcs as they drift to the ground. They melt as soon as they hit the pavement. 

They catch in Kita’s hair as the two of you head into the house, little dew drops that make his gray hair shine. He’s cherry-cheeked with the cold, his face half-buried in his scarf. It’s cute. Something in you pangs when he sends you a little smile, only discernible by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges. 

The two of you peel off your outer layers in the genkan. Kita puts his away carefully, at odds with your slightly haphazard method of kicking your boots away to find later. 

“It’s future me’s problem,” you tell him and he just shakes his head, a small smile caught in the corner of his lips. 

You show him to the guest room, freshly made up for his visit, and linger in the hallway as he stores his suitcase. 

“Dinner?” you ask as he steps out into the hall again.

“That’d be great.”

“C’mon, I’ve got some things ready in the kitchen.” 

“Sounds good.”

He follows you into the kitchen and insists on helping. You direct him to the plates as you check on what you’ve made. There’s colorful tsukemono, each pickled vegetable bright in its own way, stained to watercolors by the pickling liquid. The curry is thick and bubbling, with chunks of heavily marbled meat and vegetables coated in the sauce. The rice is steaming lightly and so are the nikuman, each bun pinched shut perfectly. 

“Ya didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Kita says, eyeing the food as he sets the table. 

“Too late,” you say cheerfully. “Eat.” 

He smiles softly, shaking his head, but sits down when you gesture. You join him and the two of you start to fill your plates. 

You talk quietly as you eat, all easy chatter. Part of you can’t help but think of the beginning, when everything with him was stilted and careful. That’s changed through the years but it’s even easier now, the conversation flowing like a river, calm and unchanging. 

When you’re done eating, Kita collects the plates and brings them to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and turns the water on. You sigh but don’t bother to say anything. Instead, you settle in next to him with a dish towel in your hand. 

He’s radiating a soft, gentle heat. It takes conscious effort to not lean into him. 

He washes and you dry, falling into an effortless rhythm. 

“Are you seeing Aran while you’re here?” you ask.

“He’s away trainin’,” Kita says, handing you another dish. “So’s Atsumu. I’ll see Osamu, but you know I’m here to see you, right?”

Your cheeks heat. “I know,” you say. “But two birds, one stone, y’know?”

He hums, rinsing off the final dish and drying his hands. He leaves his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. For a moment, you watch the play of his muscles, the way they coil beneath his tanned skin as he picks up the dry dishes and brings them back to the cabinet. You look away when you realize what you’re doing.

You both go to bed early that night; Kita’s tired from his usual early wake-up and the travel. You try not to laugh as he bids you goodnight. It’s cute, the way he blinks sleepily, his amber eyes softened to a honeyed brown. 

You can hear him as you get ready for bed, the quiet little noises of another person’s presence. It soothes something in you. 

You glance at your wedding rings, ensconced in a little jewelry dish on your nightstand. They gleam in the light. You run your fingers over them, tracing the cool metal gently. 

You put them away in a drawer before you go to sleep.

***

The snowstorm hits on the last day of Kita’s visit. 

The wind whips between buildings, catching the snowflakes and tossing them about like ships on a stormy sea. The snow piles up into thick drifts, the silken white of it gone yellow beneath the glow of the street lights, like a melting pat of butter. 

You and Kita watch the storm from where you’re tucked under the kotatsu. You’d pulled it out when you’d heard the forecast, the two of you working together to get it set up. It still works, luckily, and the two of you sit next to each other and bask in the soothing warmth. 

The wind slows; you gaze at the snowflakes as they slow, drifting like dancers across the stage, each puffy flake a part of its own ballet. Everything has gone quiet, muffled at the edges. It’s like the world is waiting to take its next breath. 

“What are you thinking?” Kita asks softly.

When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice just as soft as his. “All sorts of things.”

He hums quietly.

The wind picks up again; the windows rattle with it. You shiver, snuggling further under the kotatsu. Kita shifts. His leg presses against yours, a line of warmth even under the heat of the kotatsu. 

You glance at him. He’s watching the storm. It reflects in his eyes, lightening them, taking them from amber to gold. You think of the rice fields at their peak, when they’re treasured gold, and can’t help the small smile that curls around your lips.

Perhaps he feels your gaze, because Kita turns to face you. In the low light, he’s softened at the edges, a watercolor being. His eyes are aglow, like sunlight pooling. He gives you a small smile. 

“What is it?”

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you say quietly, the words pouring from you like a waterfall, something unstoppable. 

He goes still for a breath, a statue of old. Then he softens again.

“You’ll always have me,” he says, and you used to hate how true it is. Now, though—now it feels different. Just a bit. 

“Thank you, Shinsuke,” you say. 

Something flickers over his face like heat lightning, too quick for you to comprehend. You think you might have disappointed him. 

You turn your gaze away. It lands on a picture frame placed face-down. You suck in a deep breath. Before you can stop them, the tears are burning behind your eyes, starting to trickle down your cheeks. You scrub at them with one hand.

“Sorry,” you say to Kita.

“S’alright,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, even as another tear trickles down to pool salty on your tongue.

He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between the two of you. He waits.

You nod.

He cups your cheek and sweeps his thumb under your eye. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise. You lean into his palm, keeping your eyes on his, your cheeks hot as he smiles at you sadly. 

He wipes away the tears before pulling back. You can see the gleam of them on his thumb. 

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Course.”

You scrub away the remains of the tears and then blow out a big breath. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Kita studies you for a moment. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he nods, giving you a soft smile. “Sure.”

“Great,” you say, pushing to your feet. “You choose.”

“If you want,” he says, standing as well and heading towards the living room. “No complaining, though.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute,” you call after him, leaning down to turn off the kotatsu. You tuck the comforter in, tidying it up lightly. You nod to yourself. When you turn around, you pause for a moment, your gaze settling on the face-down picture frame.

It’s a photo you know well, one of you and Takao on the beach, the ocean a vast expanse behind you, glittering with the searing blue of the tropics. You’re caught mid-laugh as Takao plants a kiss on your cheek. It’s always been a favorite.

Before you leave the room, you stand the picture frame back up. 

***

You drop Kita off at the train station early the next day. You breathe him in as you hug him goodbye, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He tightens his grip around you with a little laugh. 

“I’ll come to the farm in spring,” you tell him. “I promise.” 

“Good.”

You wave goodbye as he enters the train station; he glances back right before he disappears through the doors. Something warm blooms in you. It settles in your stomach and flutters there.

When you’ve made it home, you pull out your phone. You settle onto the edge of the couch as it rings, your shoulders stiff. 

It rings until the voicemail clicks on and Takao’s voice floods your ears. You close your eyes as his voicemail message plays, letting his voice wash over you like a summer storm, a warm, sweet rain. You listen to Takao talk, relearning the cadence of his voice, the way it rises and falls, the way his tongue curls around words. You hadn’t realized how much of it you’d forgotten. 

“Hi,” you say when the tone beeps. “I miss you.”

You’re quiet for a moment; the line carries on, reflecting you breathing back to yourself.

“Shinsuke just left,” you say. “Aoshi—I think I like him. More than I ever thought I could. Is that alright?”

The line is silent.

“I didn’t mean to like him,” you say. “I really didn’t. But he’s good, Aoshi. He’s so good.” 

You sniffle.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to leave you behind. But I think—I think he’s okay with that. I just—it feels like giving in. Like our choice, the one we made over and over again, was for nothing.” 

You take in a deep, steadying breath. 

“I know that’s not true. I know that our choice was for everything. That it never really was a choice in the first place, not for me.”

“I just—I really think I like him, Aoshi. Is that alright? Please tell me it’s alright.” 

The voicemail beeps; you’ve hit the end of the time you can record. You hang up and bury your face in your hands. 

“Fuck. Fuck!”

You lay back on the couch, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. You curl in on yourself. 

You grab your phone and dial again.

“Hi.”

“Natsumi.”

“Oh, shit, no nickname, that’s not a good sign.” 

“I think I like Shinsuke.” 

She pauses. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks gently. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“It just—”

“Feels like giving in?”

“...Yeah. Was this always going to happen?” 

“Maybe,” she says. “But maybe not. You don’t have to be with him, you know. If you don’t want to, that is.” 

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I think you do,” she says gently.

“I don’t, Nat-chan.” 

“Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way: is your only issue with Kita the fact that he’s your soulmate?”

“He’s not Aoshi.”

“No one is going to be Aoshi. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Liking Kita isn’t giving up on Aoshi. It’s not leaving him behind. It’s just moving forward. You’ll bring him with you no matter what, no matter how far forward you move,” she says, and you bite at your bottom lip until you can taste blood.

“I don’t want to be with my soulmate just because they’re my soulmate.”

“Do you really think you might like Kita just because he’s your soulmate?”

“...No.” 

“It’s not bad to like him,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re not bad for liking him because of who he is.” 

“I don’t even know if I really like him.”

“Sweetheart,” Abe says, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.” 

You go quiet. As her words settle in, you glance out the window. The snow on the ground is still pristine; it glimmers under the bleak winter sunlight. The neighborhood children are starting to stomp through it. They’re bundled up tight, practically waddling as they play. You take a deep breath.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say. 

“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I always am before you believe me.”

“You’re wrong way too much for me to believe that.” 

“Don’t be mean!”

You smile. “Thanks, Nat-chan,” you say softly.

“Any time,” she says. “You’ll figure it out.”

As you hang up, you know that you will. 

***

Winter melts into spring.

The snow gives way to crocuses, which bloom like bruises, deep purple with stamen peeking shyly out of the center. The trees come to life, budding quickly, little specks of green dotted along the branches like stars. 

And on the farm, there are ducklings, tiny and fluffy, their down pollen-yellow. 

“Oh, Shin,” you say as he hands you one, dropping it carefully into your hands. It peeps its protest before snuggling up in your palm like a tiny sun. “I love them.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I thought you might. Do you wanna name ‘em?”

“Really? You’ll let me?”

“Course.” 

“I’ll have to think of good ones,” you say. “Can I have a few days?”

“Take as much time as you need,” he says. “They’re not going anywhere.”

You nuzzle up against the one in your hand; it peeps again, as if grumbling at you. When you glance at Kita, he has a fond smile playing on his lips.

He takes you around on some of his other chores. There are seedlings in the garden, tiny little things just barely poking out of the ground, a promise of green growth. You water them carefully, wary of their thin, delicate stems.

Finally, you find yourself back in Kita’s genkan. Your boots—a pair of his, really, laced tightly to keep them on—are muddy, so you stop just inside the door. You’re leaning down to untie the boots when Kita kneels before you. 

“Shin…” you say and he glances back up at you with mischief in his smile. You decide it’s not worth it to try and stop him. 

He makes quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. You watch his bent head quietly, taking in the thunderstorm gray of it, edged with blackened clouds. You catch yourself before you run your fingers through it. 

“Up,” he says. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you step out of first boot; he wraps his hand around your wrist. 

It’s not long before both boots are off. Before you can even start to move, Kita has your house slippers in hand. He takes your ankle in his big hand, waiting for you to lift your foot so he can slip on the first slipper.

You almost balk. But he looks up at you with his keen amber eyes and you can’t help yourself. You lift your foot and he slides the slipper into place. He does the same thing with the second slipper. 

“Thanks,” you say, cheeks hot.

He nods. He pushes to his feet, a graceful ripple of motion, and tilts his head at you. “Lunch?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.” 

You cook together with ease. You know his kitchen by heart now, able to pull pans from their place without looking, knowing which of his fresh herbs to clip without double-checking with him. 

It makes something in you ache. 

Kita returns to the fields after lunch. You choose to not go with him, deciding instead to curl up on the engawa with a book. You settle into place with your book on your lap and stare out into the countryside. 

It’s just beginning to go green with the flooded paddies glinting in the sun, a false ocean. The water glimmers with movement as the breeze rolls over you. A stork prowls through the paddies, long and elegant, moving with slow precision. Its beak flashes as it darts down to snap up some little creature. It takes off after that, spreading its wings wide and soaring into the blue expanse of the sky. You watch until it’s no more than a dot in the vastness. 

You curl up and start reading and don’t notice when evening starts to fall. That’s where Kita finds you when he comes home from the fields. You hadn’t even noticed his truck trundling up the driveway. 

“Hi,” you say as he comes up on the engawa, marking your place and getting to your feet.

“Hi,” he replies. “Have you been here all afternoon?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a guess.” 

You eye him, trying to figure out what’s given you away. Kita stays stoic, as if carved from stone, and you huff. 

You follow him inside, kicking off your outside shoes before he can even try to kneel, and hop up from the genkan. As usual he goes to shower, ready to rinse off the fields. You keep reading.

He comes padding back into the kitchen a while later with a towel wound around his neck. His hair is still damp and you can see a cowlick curling at the back of his head. His tan skin glistens. 

“Dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “What do you want to make?”

You discuss your options in front of the fridge, crowded in next to each other to see what he has. He’s still warm from the shower. You press closer to him and see him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, soft and sweet, and turns his attention back to the fridge. 

Eventually, you finally decide. Kita hands you a handful of carrots and you start to julienne them thinly, your knife—perfectly sharp, the most well-maintained kitchen knife you’ve ever seen—flashing in the light. 

He starts halving baby bok choy, little gems of green and white. The pan hisses when he drops them in, giving it a good toss before he moves on to his next task. 

“Is it really okay for me to be here during such a busy season?” you ask.

He glances at you. “I wouldn’t invite ya if it wasn’t a good time.” 

“True.”

“Besides, I told you there was always a place here for you, and I meant it.” 

Your cheeks heat. “I know.” 

“Good.”

Quiet falls, broken only by the sound of your knife against the board and the hiss of the pan as Kita stirs it again. It’s comfortable, though, and you feel no need to fill the air. The two of you cook away, moving around each other easily in his small kitchen, as if it’s a dance you’ve always known. 

It’s comforting in a way you’d almost forgotten.

You take a deep breath, your stomach churning a bit, and Kita glances over at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”

He smiles softly. “If you wanna go to bed early, I don’t mind.” 

“We’ll see,” you tell him. “Now finish up, I’m hungry.” 

He laughs, but the two of you are done cooking not long after. You settle down to eat. You tell him some ideas you’ve had to name the ducks (“Duck is a perfectly good name, Shin!” “If ya say so.”) and he tells you about his day. It’s peaceful. Easy. 

You’ve just finished eating when you reach out and cover Kita’s hand with your own. “Shin,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Fer what?”

You shrug, unable to put the jumble inside you into words.

He turns his hand over under yours and laces your fingers together. You don’t pull away.

“Yer always thankin’ me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to.” 

“I do, though.”

“You don’t.” 

You look at him. He meets your gaze easily, amber eyes gone whiskey-dark. He gives your hand a little squeeze. 

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says.

You squeeze back. “I will, though.” 

He sighs but doesn’t argue. 

For another moment, you both sit there, hands intertwined. You watch each other. You can feel the strength in his fingers and the hint of sweat on his palm. It’s warm and solid and real. Something in your chest stirs. 

You’re the one that pulls back first, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kita lets you go without a word. 

The rest of dinner is quiet; you both go to your rooms early, influenced by Kita’s schedule. You murmur a soft goodnight in the hallway. You can still hear him when you’re in the guest room, listening to him rustling around before it all goes silent.

You gaze out the guest room window, taking in the rising moon. It’s waxing, almost full-bellied with light, pouring over the fields. It reflects off the water of the flooded paddies, a distorted mirror of itself. Under the moonlight, the fields go silvery, delicate and gossamer as they start to come to life. It’s beautiful in a foreign way. 

You curl up on the bed with your book, texting Yoshikawa and Abe here and there as your phone lights up. When the moon is high in the sky, you finally get ready for bed. 

You fall asleep thinking about the weight of Kita’s hand in your own. 

***

Something shifts between you.

It’s slow like a dune in the wind, the sand taking on a new shape, but neither of you have mentioned it. Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it’s all said in each fleeting glance, a language written in the amber of Kita’s gaze. 

The days pass in a flicker of quiet moments. You spend a morning naming the ducklings, tucked in close to Kita’s side so he can see which one you’re pointing to. You repeat yourself as he takes them in, his brow furrowed as he notes the name for each nearly-identical duckling. 

Some days you join him in the fields, kneeling down into the muck to sow a shoot into place. He guides you with careful hands, his warm fingers wrapped firmly around yours. You eat lunch in the bed of his truck, mud flaking off of your boots, and bask in the spring sun. 

It’s easy. It’s terrifying. 

You think of the taste of ozone, how it crackles on your tongue. The slow, sharp bite of it. 

You know something will give. That the storm will break over you and change everything in its path. 

You think you might finally be ready for it. 

***

You come awake with a jolt. 

The sheets stick to you, caught in the layer of sweat accumulating on you. You sit up and press a hand to your heart, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings. 

Once you’ve regained your breath, you stumble over to the window and pull it open. The countryside breeze billows inside. It still carries the sharp bite of winter, but it’s mellowed under spring’s tender bloom. You close your eyes and let it flow over you. 

The breeze cools you, your sweat going tacky before it dries down completely. The dream rolls over you again and you shudder.

You find yourself padding down the hallway without realizing it. You stop just in front of the door. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth before taking a deep breath.

You knock gently on the door and then open it. 

“Shin?” you whisper.

The lump on the bed stirs. Kita pushes up onto his elbows. He’s bathed in moonlight, his hair haloed silver, the dark tips a moon’s eclipse. He’s bleary-eyed but he focuses on you instantly.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate. 

“That bad?”

You shake your head. “I just…can I lay with you for a bit? Is that okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. You need to know he’s still here. That he’s real. 

His eyes widen before they go soft. He pulls back the covers and scoots over to give you more room. You’re across the room in an instant, slipping onto the futon. It’s still warm with his body heat and you shiver, goosebumps dancing across your skin. 

You keep a small distance between you when you lay down, but you let your head turn towards him. He’s still up on one elbow, the muscles in his bicep bunched with it, and he’s studying you carefully. 

He’s handsome, you realize, not for the first time. He’s sleep-rumpled, his hair messy and ruffled and his shirt wrinkled and bunched up just enough to show off a silver of his paler belly. The moonlight plays over him like a lover, lingering on the arch of his cheekbones and the dusting of freckles sprayed over his nose. His thick lashes flutter as he blinks, showcasing eyes gone golden, and you almost sigh.

He lies back down when you don’t move. The space between the two of you is small but it feels massive, a gulf between your two bodies, separating the shores of you. 

“You okay?” he asks again.

You shake your head. 

He reaches out and hesitates halfway, his big hand hovering in the air. In the moonlight, the constellation of his scars is more visible, little nicks and cuts that gleam bone-white in the light. 

“Can I?” he asks.

Your nod is tiny; the sheets crinkle with it.

He cups your cheek. His palm is rough against your skin but he’s careful with it, touches you as if you’re made of glass. It’s almost reverent. He sweeps his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“What did you dream of?” he breathes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I couldn’t find you,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I looked and looked, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now.”

You hum.

“I’m here now,” he says again and it sounds like a promise.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You are.” 

You shift on the futon. The sheets smell of him, of the faintest hint of the salt of his skin and his soap, and you close your eyes to let it envelop you. You nestle down into the pillow with a little yawn. 

“Go back to bed,” Kita murmurs, caressing your cheek with careful fingers. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”

You stir under his touch, opening one eye. He’s watching you, his amber eyes unbearably fond, and something in you pangs. You press closer to him; he radiates a gentle warmth and you relax into it.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask quietly. “Please?” 

You pretend to not hear the way his breath catches. 

“You sure?” he asks.

You press closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna regret it when my alarm goes off at dawn,” Kita says, a smile written in his sleep-rough voice. 

“I won’t,” you say. “Promise.”

He hums skeptically.

“Maybe you’ll regret it,” you whisper into the salt of his skin. “You might.”

He stills, and then he’s coaxing you up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim, a flash of amber, of the richness of the earth. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. 

“No,” he says. “I could never regret you.”

He always hears what you can’t quite bring yourself to say. 

“Never?” 

He nudges his nose against yours.

“Never.”

His breath stirs against your lips, and you take it in, make it your own. You sway closer, undulating like kelp, half-dizzy with it, and then you sway closer still.

He waits for you.

(He always has.)

When you kiss him, it’s simple. It feels right. 

Kita sighs into it, one big hand coming up to cup your face, his rough palm reverent against your skin. There’s no urgency to him; he’s honey-slow with it, melting into you under the cover of night. 

You kiss him again, and again, like the tide against the shore, lapping at the edges of him until you’re etched into his skin. He meets you each time, sweet and steady. 

You kiss him until he is all you know, and then you kiss him once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone.

You part your lips, and he presses a little kiss against them before he pulls back. In the dim, his amber eyes have gone whiskey-dark, deep and heady. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain.” 

You press your face into the warm crook of his neck again. He smells of plain soap and a lingering hint of citronella from the fields, sweet and stinging. You breathe him in, let the scent of him settle into you, a part of him to carry always. 

Kita curls a gentle arm around you. 

“Go to sleep,” he breathes, and you pull back to look at him. He watches you, his vulpine eyes unbearably fond, and he smiles against your lips when you kiss him again.

He cups your cheek and pulls you into a deeper kiss before he backs away. He sweeps his lips against yours in a chaste peck and says again, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” you murmur. You curl up into him as his breath starts to even out. You listen to the tide of it, the ebb and flow, a balm against a bruise you’ll always have, and close your eyes knowing that he’s right there.

You wake to the quiet beep of his alarm clock. He rises from bed with quicksilver ease, the thick muscles of his back rippling under his sleep shirt. It’s barely dawn; wan light filters in through the curtains like an azure sea, outlining him faintly as he moves around the room. He looks like something out of a painting, sketched out in broad strokes of soft shadows.

He looks too good to be true. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs as you shift on the futon. His sheets are well-worn, the type of broken in that comes with years of use and careful care. “It’s early.”

Instead, you get up with him, slipping out from beneath the warmth of the comforter with a soft sigh. Kita gives you a little smile, a crescent moon tilt of his lips, and your cheeks heat. You glance away and hear him huff out a laugh.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you make up the futon, smoothing your hands over the wrinkles until they disappear. 

By the time he pads into the kitchen, the old coffeemaker is hissing and gurgling, spitting out a steady drip of liquid. He brushes by you to get a mug, his hand warm on your lower back as he sidles past. The heat of him lingers. 

The two of you eat breakfast in a comfortable silence. He slides his portion of your favorite onto your plate without a word; you push your share of pickled daikon into one of his small kobachi dishes. He says nothing,, but his lips quirk at the edges, the faintest hint of a sweet smile. 

He gets up when you’re both finished, pushing to his feet in one fluid movement. His muscles coil with it, going taut beneath his tanned skin. It’s more distracting than you thought it would be.

You peer at him from the corner of your eyes as he starts to clear the table. He moves with careful intent, his big hands steady against the delicate porcelain. 

You want to kiss him again.

Instead, you get to your feet and finish clearing the table, handing him dishes when he gestures for them. You wash the dishes together. Over the whisper of the running water, you talk about your upcoming day, trying to decide if you’ll be able to eat lunch together as well. You can’t quite keep the smile from your lips. 

When the dishes are put away, you walk with him onto the engawa. He cups your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone, and smiles. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. 

“I’ll be here,” you say, soft and full of promise, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.

You watch from the engawa as he disappears into the distance, into the paddies, swallowed up by the verdant world he’s created with his own hands. He glances back at you once, just before he disappears from sight. 

You raise your face to the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

It’s a new day.

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Satoru and his moon

hey guys I hope you all enjoy this little kidfic I whipped together. for clarification Satoru and Suguru are around ten here. If you enjoy leave a rb,like or comment and lmk if you want this to become a series

here's the shawty who wanted to be tagged @biscuitsngravie

Once upon a time, there was a boy who fell in love with the moon. A lonely boy, just shy of five years old and cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. The little god who shifted the plates of jujutsu society and paid for it in solitude. Satoru Gojo. The bearer of six eyes and limitless, the cure to the world’s poison, the start of a new era. Satoru was many things, but mainly; he was lonely. He had no siblings, being a male and the bearer of such precious techniques, his mother’s job was considered done. In the world of the clans she had hit the jackpot by giving birth to him and was given the freedom to do what she pleased. What seemed to please her most was leaving and forgetting her son had ever existed. Satoru doesn’t even know what she looked like.

The jealous women of the estate liked to talk and it turned out his mother was nothing but a common whore. Satoru didn’t know what a whore was, but the way they laughed and teased him when no one was looking, it couldn’t be anything nice. He didn’t try to ask his father, the man was too busy to answer unimportant questions. Satoru didn’t see his father often, but he didn’t mind. His cursed energy felt weird and made Satoru nauseous. He didn’t need a mother or father anyways when he had Hina-chan. She was technically his nursemaid, but was more of a mother to him than anyone. She’s the first face he sees in the morning and the last before he goes to bed. She was also the one to get him out of trouble before his father could find out. 

“Gojo-sama”she would chide gently, plucking him out of the muddy puddle he had taken residence in. “You’re all dirty now”

But one flash of that dimpled smile and he was usually off the hook. He used that to his advantage. Yes, Satoru was lonely. Hina-chan had other duties besides running after him and he wasn’t allowed to play with the other children on the estate lest they corrupt him. The only interactions he really got were from teachers,trainers and Hina-chan, but for someone so lonely he was constantly surrounded by glaring eyes and envious glances. People wanted him dead. He knew the taste of poison and it was much too dangerous for him to go beyond the estates grounds. Coddled and neglected. Like fine china, sat up on a shelf but not used even once. Around the age of six he learned the fine art of sneaking from his bedroom to sit in the garden and by the age of ten he had mastered it. It was quiet then. The pond rippled,the sun’s blinding gaze was put to rest and the cloying cursed energy had dulled to a hum. Peaceful it was to just sit and not be watched. He found comfort sitting and watching the moon, sometimes talking, sometimes not. It was all well and good, he finally had peace. Until one day something peculiar happened. The moon was dim. The stars still shone bright, but the moon had lost its shine. The night was dark, and Satoru didn’t fear the dark. He didn’t fear anything, but he was a bit disappointed. Climbing from his window proved to be a bit difficult without any light, but it wasn’t impossible. His bare feet hit the soft grass and a melodic voice spoke to him.

“So you came”it said, full of mirth. 

“I always come here,”he frowned, crossing his arms. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

The boy let out a soft laugh that sounded like bells. “And here I thought we had become good friends, Satoru-kun”

“It’s gojo-sama to you”the young boy huffed, puffing out his chest. “Now, who are you?”

The cursed energy glowed around him bright enough to shine light on the strange boy. He had long black hair and amber eyes, a kimono made of silk that glittered under the light and sparkled like stardust. He also appeared to be around Satoru’s age but had a strange aura about him.

“I am the moon,”the boy said evenly. 

“You’re the…moon?”Satoru said slowly.

“Yes”the boy laughed, “your people call me Tsukuyomi no mikoto, but I think you may be too young to know that yet”

Satoru huffed. “I’m not a child”

“But you are”the boy smiled and…it didn’t sound malicious. It didn’t sound angry. It was confusing, it made him angry. The cursed energy within him boiled and his eyes glowed. To be shown impudence was to be disrespected. He was the bearer of six eyes and limitless, the heir to the gojo clan. He would not sit here and be disrespected.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”he spat. “Coming to my estate to sit here and tell me lies! I could have you killed for this, do you know that? Are you aware of who I am? You should be bowing before me--”

“You are an angry one,”the boy interrupted with a slight chuckle. “But I have not deceived you, Satoru-kun. I am who I said I was”

“The moon?”Satoru scoffed.

“Yes I am,”the boy said, “the moon and a god, one in the same. I reign over the moon of this planet”

“I-”

“And I do know who you are, Satoru-kun”the boy continued, “the  night you were born caused quite the fuss”

Satoru’s headspun. “W-well if you’re a god, then why are you a child!”

The boy threw his head back and let out a full belly laugh. “Even gods are children once, Satoru”

Satoru stared at him.

“And my mother is human,”the boy amended.

“Aha!”he cried, pointing his finger accusingly. “So you’re only half a god!”

The boy tilted his head. “Why half? I’m fully god and fully human”

“I..I don’t know”Satoru said. He’d never thought of it like that before. “Well, before I just believe you’re a god you have to prove it!”

The boy nodded, “alright, if you wish”

The boy clenched his fist and slowly opened it to reveal a bright orb in its place. It glowed silver and rotated slowly in his palm.

“Is that…”

“A star?”the boy smiled, “it is.”

The boy really was a god. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re so small,”Satoru frowned, “if you’re half god, shouldn’t you be bigger?”

“I am bigger when i’m at home”the boy said, “but when i come to earth i take on my human form and walk as a mortal”

Satoru’s heart stopped beating for a second. “So…you could die as a human?” The boy nodded. “I’m assuming so”

Satoru didn’t like the sound of that. The thought of losing his only friend made his stomach hurt.

“Well, whenever you’re here i’ll watch you!”he declared, “I am the strongest after all”

“The strongest with no manners”the boy laughed. “You haven’t even asked my name”

Satoru’s cheeks turned pink and he frowned, punching the boy's shoulder. “I was getting to that!”

“Sure you were,”the boy teased, but he was still smiling.

“Well what is it”he grumbled.

“Geto Suguru”the boy said. Satoru’s eyes widened.

“You have a japanese name!?”

“That’s what surprises you?”Suguru said, rolling his eyes“I told you, my mom is human…and we’re speaking Japanese right now”

“It could have been a coincidence!” “Mhm”Suguru said, giving him a look, “it’s okay to be wrong sometimes”

“Nope”Satoru said, shaking his head, “Not me, i’m never wrong”

“Right”Suguru smiled, “Oh great Gojo-sama is never wrong”

Satoru frowned and punched his shoulder again.

“Ow”

“Don’t call me that”Satoru grumbled.

“What? gojo-sama?”Suguru teased and successfully dodged the next punch thrown his way.

“Quit it!”Satoru groaned, “We..we’re friends, you don’t have to call me that okay? It’s weird”

“I was just teasing,”Suguru amended, patting the white haired boy’s shoulder. “I won’t call you that anymore”

“Good,”Satoru said, quickly returning to his cheeky smile. “As long as I can call you Suguru-kun”

Suguru-kun. The dark-haired boy smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes you can”

Satoru’s grin broadened. “Well Suguru-kun, have you ever played digimon?”