#GRANDFATHER'S ESTATE

[bl-bam-beyond]

FLAVOR OF US (2024, THAILAND)

Trailer/Teaser Highlights

Premiere: Not Yet Available

Platform: Not Yet Available

Starring: KRIT SONGDECHAKRAIWUT as Naptang

PHANPEE RATCHATASAKORN as Meekhun

JIRAKITH HONGTHONG as Keeta

BENJAMIN BRASIER as Kan

AKKARADANAI PUTHAPOKASAB as Baimiang

WORANART RATTHANAPHAST as Phaiphat

THANET KHONPHIAN as Phaya

MDL SYNOPSIS: Meekhun is a famous food critic. Faced with an enormous debt his mother has amassed, he has no idea how he can possibly fix it. It's hard to see if it's a blessing or a curse when he suddenly finds himself the sole inheritor of his grandfather's restaurant. The restaurant is located on a small island quickly becoming a tourist spot. If he were to sell it, the money would be more than enough to pay off what his mother owes.

Nothing is ever so easy, however. There's a caveat. Meekhun will only be permitted to sell the restaurant and the land it sits on when he runs the business for 1 year.

Meekhun's biggest headache, however, is the restaurant's chef his grandfather specified in his will.

This brings BEN and DOME (not as a couple) back together since their roles on 2 MOONS 2 as they both have support roles and each has a boyfriend in this restaurant business.

Enemies to Lovers. A Returned Lover? And more.

No release date but expected this year 2024

@absolutebl @wanderlust-in-my-soul @kingofthereblog-boysloveed

[catominor]

c. martinus' impressive array of sons...

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

CRAZYYY (gen z noises) this one guy who cut himself in the past when he found out i was gay and had a gf MIGHT BE A NOT-SO DISTANT COUSIN AHSGSGAG bros from miles away, i'm starting to believe the joke my grandpa is zeus CRAZYYY (we're in a temporary band... whoaaaa)

[raymondshields]

Me: Oh neato, post about how to do transportation pre-trains. That's always useful for writing.

Me, three hours later at one-thirty in the morning: It doesn't make sense for Barok and Klint to be the 'main' branch of the van Zieks line. They live too close to London and they don't do enough governing of their own state and also they don't have court titles. They're second cousins at best of the van Zieks line.

[amatres]

i think the funniest part of arthur going to such elaborate means to take back the family estate is that, as far as im aware, women can't inherit titles like men in brevoy can. literally the only thing their grandfather could have given her was that house, but he wanted it too because of his father passing on the entitlement to everything that was once his grandfathers as his only 'true heir'

also fully a 'if i claim this land than i will be complete and the rejection i experienced as a child will finally become null' thing which it wouldnt, but the cycles do by cycling

[isa-ah]

he made a mistake!

[wolpertings]

Sometimes its like, i need to write, i have this burning energy stumbling through me and i need to get it out onto the page, but how do i do that?

And then i read some joan didion, and its like, oh. She knows

[iliketoseeeverythinginneon]

Instagram: iliketoseeeverythinginneon

[godslayer-jones]

MY FUCKING HOUSE??!?!??!

[dollypopup]

the absolute unbearable cruelty that the writers foisted upon Cressida

a woman taught from the beginning in her home, by her own mother, that she cannot trust any other women, who finally, FINALLY felt she had a friend- who didn't care for her much at all. a woman who grew up in a house that is more akin to a mausoleum, a woman dressed up as a doll and made to masquerade and sing and dance for the attention of a half decent man, never to be considered seriously. a woman who is foisted onto a man old enough to be her grandfather, who wants 4 children from her, and intends to keep her locked up in his estate with at most 1 social outing a month, who didn't believe in listening to music, or art.

a woman who goes to the only person she ever considered a friend, saying 'I need to save myself. Run with me. Write with me. Help me.' only for that friend to turn her back on her, and talked ill of her for the rest of her time in her society. a woman who tried to claw her way out of a horrible circumstance, only to be told she's too stupid to do so. a woman who's mother wrote the article that insulted her friend's family, an article she still regretted. a woman who tried to save herself and was then sent off to an aunt even less warm than the circumstances she'd grown up in.

what was Cressida meant to do? she had no one to turn to, and when she tried, she was turned away. she had no options left to her, she exhausted all of them. yes, blackmailing Penelope was harsh, but I would have done almost anything to save myself from sexual assault at the hands of a husband old enough to be my father twice over who was clearly intending on mistreating me, especially if I was dropped by the only person I ever considered a friend.

Cressida's story is so fucking tragic. My heart cracked clean in half for her

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader.

tw : suicide attempt, neglect, blood, etc.

erno etam

erno is a psychopath, or atleast— that's how you see him. at first, this guy pay no attention to you at all. but he doesn't neglected you (or atleast that's what your maids were saying to make you feel better). he still gives you whatever you want and needed, give you clothings, house and foods. but affection? nah, there's no way he will love someone boring as you.

erno sees everyone as chess pieces, and yes, unfortunately you were also one of those chess pieces. yes, you were an important piece because of your abilities when it comes on magic and military tactics. but it doesn't changed the fact that he can dispose of you whenever he wanted.

and maybe because of his treatment to you and how everyone ridicule you because of erno's treatment. became the last straw to make you do that thing. and damn, the maid who saw your half dead body laying on your research lab and with your slashed throat— got traumatized. to the point that after she saw you like that and called the doctor and the other members of the etam family, she resigned and unfortunately a year after become crazy.

but it wasn't the same for erno. because the time that he saw that sight— he became interested. he remembered when he saw you for the first time as a baby. how you held his finger as if it was your own way to say that you wants to live.

when you woken up, you were disappointed to see the face of your younger siblings as well as your grandfather who scolded you to the point that your ears were about to burst. but what caught your attention was erno who started acting like a proper father for the first time. and seeing that glint on his eyes, the excitement that you felt for the first time started to disappear when you realized that— ah, damn. this is another game for erno's perspective.

nevertheless, you still gave him what he wanted. a perfect oldest daughter who will never disappoint him. you showed him a façade that he wanted. and with the months where he acted like a proper and perfect father who adores his daughter. you realized one thing and you couldn't help but to scoff as your hand traced the bandage around your neck. this guy, he finds you interesting for the first time— he finds the fact that his daughter almost killed herself, he finds the sight of his daughter half dead and bleeding— interesting.

it makes your stomach churn, it was disgusting— he is disgusting. you couldn't help but to wonder why in the are you so desperate to have his attention before? damn it.

but since this is what he wanted, you couldn't help but to think— why can't you give what he wanted? the sight of you dying and bleeding to death? and that's how your suicide attempts started. at first, it was simple such as poisoning yourself, drowning, etc. at first you used the methods where you were sure that it wouldn't hurt you that much.

and erno doesn't know why— he only spent few months acting like a proper father to you. but the sight of you unconscious in your bed was enough to make his hand shook. was it because of fear? why is he scared in the first place?

he spent a week trying to think about the reason. but then, while he was on the palace— he got a message from home saying that you jumped from the castle inside the etam estate. and now, he realized why the hell is he scared. hurrying to get back home, the only thing that erno has inside his mind was his daughter.

those times you tried to impress him, those times that you tried to get his attention, those times that you crave for his affection. and those times when he carried you as a newborn for the first time. erno realized that he fucked up— to the point that he couldn't do anything to change it anymore.

and after once he got home, he was welcomed by the sight of his daughter— sitting down on her bed with bandage around your head and those lifeless eyes of yours. erno felt as if he wanted to cry. and by the time he heard that you got amnesia because of what happened. erno was delighted— delighted by the fact that he was given another chance to fix your relationship. a chance to redeem his self.

but maybe, because of what he did before— no matter what he do. you became obsessed on dying. and your how do we quote it? "turning in new leaf" father got scared that you might succeed in doing that.

and that was the time he resorted onto something that he knew will affect your life, but he doesn't care. you have him, he will take care of you— you don't have to worry. your father got your back.

the only thing that you remembered before erno broke your legs and arms was the series of apologies that he whispered on your ear. and now, you become dependent to him just like what he wanted. don't worry, your father won't disappoint you this time.

“ i know it hurts, little cupcake. but this is what happens when you don't listen to father's requests!"

[callmemickey]

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.” He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump. 

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

[blueballsracing]

the full carcar (carloscar) timeline (or, a carlos sainz and oscar piastri primer)

Oscar Jack Piastri 

He was born on April 6th, 2001, in a suburb of Melbourne close to Albert Park. He is the eldest sibling and has 3 younger sisters. His grandfathers were mechanics and his father co-founded HP Tuners, a tool used for tuning and modifying the performance of vehicles with electronic control units. His mom, Nicole Piastri (née Mcfadyen) is a naturopath who specializes in botanical medicine and natural birthing practices. The entire family is pretty private, but the family was well-off enough so that they could support Oscar’s motorsports career.

Left to Right: Hattie, Mae, Nicole, and Edie (3 of Oscar's sisters with his mom) (Photo by Kym Illman)

Unlike Carlos and a ton of other drivers where they started off pursuing a career in motorsports by karting, he started in remote-control racing. He started karting in 2011 at age 10, but it wasn't until three years later that he began taking the sport more seriously. His career then progressed rapidly; in 2016, he made his debut in single-seater racing. He moved to the United Kingdom to further his racing career in 2016, finishing sixth in the 2016 CIK-FIA World Junior Championship in Bahrain. The following year, he was the British Formula 4 vice champion, with his dad’s company HP Tuners sponsoring him.

In 2018, he participates in Formula Renault Eurocup and places 8th, spends one more year there, and places 1st. Through 2019-2021, he’s on a winning streak: he wins F3 and F2, and is Alpine’s reserve driver for the 2022 season.

British F4 Vice Champion (Photo by Jakob Ebrey) | F3 Champion (Photo by Joe Portlock)

In 2018, he participates in Formula Renault Eurocup and places 8th, spends one more year there, and places 1st. Through 2019-2021, he’s on a winning streak: he wins F3 and F2, and is Alpine’s reserve driver for the 2022 season. He is also available as a reserve driver for McLaren, and he participates in some test sessions throughout the 2022 season: he drives at COTA, Losail, and Silverstone.

In 2022, we also get the infamous tweet: Oscar saying that he will not be driving with Alpine for the next year. When Sebastian Vettel retires, he opens up a seat at Aston Martin, and reports emerge that Oscar is supposed to join Williams in 2023, and Alpine will keep Alonso and Ocon. Alpine then tweets Oscar will take Alonso’s place, and then Oscar rejects the claim. His contract announcement with McLaren comes out in September, saying he had signed with them July 2022, and the rest is history.

Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Virto Moreno de Aranda Don Per Urrielagoiria Pérez del Pulgar

He was born September 1st, 1994, in Madrid. He is the middle child to two other sisters, Ana and Blanca, and is son to Carlos Sainz Sr, a World Rally champion. His grandfather, Antonio Sainz, was in charge of the Bolivian honorary consul in Madrid, helping with generous financial contributions. Right before Carlos Jr. was born, his grandfather got into a serious scandal when he was found shooting and killing a man after he stole a bag from his wife. He was not charged but did turn himself in to the police. Carlos Sainz Sr’s sister buys a car for him at 11, and he becomes obsessed with racing, but wants to try to be the best at everything, and is a squash champion at 17. Antonio forces him to study law, and he gets through 2 terms, before debuting in rallies. He wins 2 world rally championships and becomes vice champion 4 times. His family is extremely rich, as compound surnames like “Vázquez de Castro” in Spain belong to nobility or at least, the upper class. Blanca, the eldest daughter, received a degree in Business Administration and even studied at Northeastern. Ana, the youngest daughter, also received a degree in Business Administration and Management but works within the real estate sector. They are all very close to Spanish royalty and nobility.

Photo from Twitter

Carlos begins his career in karting in 2006. (Mind you, Oscar is 5 in 2006...) After competing in smaller series, he wins the Asia-Pacific KF3 title in 2008 and finishes runner-up in the Spanish Championship. In 2009, he secures the Junior Monaco Kart Cup and comes 2nd place in the European KF3 Championship. Carlos becomes a part of the Red Bull Junior Team in 2010. He makes the switch from carts to open-wheel cars in 2010, and although he competes in a variety of series, his most notable finish from 2010 and 2011 is 1st in Formula Renault 2.0. 2012-2014, he competed in F3, GP3, and Formula Renault 3.5. Before GP2 became F2, he never actually competed in it, skipping the series. He races in an F1 car for the first time in Silverstone in 2013, and at 20, he signs to race with Toro Rosso for the 2015 season. 

“Spanish youngster Carlos Sainz, whose father and namesake was a double world rally champion in the 1990s, will race in Formula One next season with Toro Rosso in the youngest line-up on the starting grid.” - Article by Eurosport

For a lot of his career, Carlos was always compared to his dad, living in his shadow. From the beginning of 2015 to the middle of 2017, Carlos races for Toro Rosso. He gets a new teammate in 2016, partnering with Daniil Kvyat after Max is promoted to the Red Bull senior team and Daniil is demoted. His results in the F1 world championship went from 15th to 12th to 9th.

In 2017, he leaves Toro Rosso for Renault. Helmut Marko spoke about his decision, saying “"It was his bad luck to get Max as a teammate. The atmosphere between the two [Sainz and Verstappen] at Toro Rosso was quite toxic.” He referred to both of their parents as being toxic and creating that toxic atmosphere, making their children hard to compete with each other.

“Sainz was a strong performer at Toro Rosso alongside Max Verstappen in their rookie 2015 season, matching him in qualifying. But his reputation never took off, and while he was always a promising young driver, clearly capable of some excellent performances, few seemed to believe Sainz was a prodigious talent. When Verstappen got promoted to Red Bull’s senior team a few races into 2016, Sainz was left at Toro Rosso. Though not in the same spotlight as Verstappen, he comprehensively outperformed the demoted Daniil Kvyat over the next 18 months. However, it had become clear to Sainz he lacked a path to the front with Red Bull. He always denied that Verstappen refused to be his team-mate again, but if it was not the young Dutchman’s preference it was almost certainly Red Bull’s, as the team did not want to pair Verstappen with Sainz.” - Article by The Race

He spends 1.5 years at Renault, then signs with McLaren. He was on loan from Renault to Red Bull, and he was unable to resign with them due to not being free from his contract early enough. Renault also conveniently decides to replace him with Daniel Ricciardo, who ultimately joins Renault in 2019, and Carlos goes on record saying he left Renault without any bad feelings. Ultimately he decides his Plan B is McLaren (as Alonso decides to retire at the end of 2018), and he signs with them, a “multi-year” contract.

He takes his first podium with McLaren at the 2019 Brazilian Grand Prix, finishes in 3rd place, and in 2020, he takes his second podium at Monza, finishing in 2nd place. He also takes 1 fastest lap at the 2020 Styrian Grand Prix. Ultimately, he had very successful seasons with McLaren, finishing 6th in the WDC back-to-back, and he is offered a 2 year contract by Ferrari to replace Sebastian Vettel for the upcoming 2021 season. Daniel Ricciardo, funny enough, replaces him at McLaren (they are swapping seats lol).

Photo from SkySports

From 2021-2024, he remains with Ferrari, scores 3 wins, a number of podiums, and stays close behind his teammate, Charles Leclerc. And now, we are here, the start of The Carcar Timeline.

The Carcar Timeline

Australia 2015 - A String of Invisible Fate

"Piastri shares another memory from the Australian GP Oscar Piastri has another memory from the Australian GP. Back in 2015, the Aussie was one of the grid kids for the event. Grid-kids were children who used to hold the flags of each driver’s nationality. Piastri was assigned Red Bull’s Daniil Kvyat. Unfortunately for young Oscar, he was unable to meet the Russian driver as Kvyat was unable to start after a transmission failure." - Article by The Sports Rush

He was standing not far from Carlos!!! THE FIRST CARCAR CRUMBS! Thank you @a-amvryllis for posting these photos!

Spa 2023 - The Story Begins with a DNF

Lewis Hamilton starts 3rd, Carlos Sainz starts 4th, and Oscar Piastri starts 5th

Lewis is fighting with Carlos going into turn 1, on the outside of Carlos

Carlos has a slight lock-up going into turn 1, and to avoid contact with Lewis, he has to turn inward

Oscar ultimately has to take the inside line to Carlos going into turn 1, and is squeezed into the wall by Carlos

They both DNF due to damage from the incident, deemed a “racing incident” by the FIA

In an interview, Oscar tells the media: “I had a pretty good launch, I was getting alongside Carlos and then he kind of jinked to the inside a bit and I obviously had to get out of the brakes to not get hit. My nose was kind of there and at that point, it was too late to try and back out, so unfortunately I ended up in contact. A shame to end so early."

Carlos, on the other hand, tells the media: “I was on the attack with Lewis into Turn 1 and I think I pretty much had the move done and then I received a bit of contact on my rear-right,” reckoned Sainz afterwards. “If you want my honest opinion, I think it was a bit of a mistake by Oscar trying to go through side-by-side into [Turn] 1. If you look at the last seven, eight years, everyone who has tried that move, it’s never really worked and has generated a bit of a crash when you look at the past races. So yeah, I don’t know if it was a bit of a lack of experience, a bit optimistic, but again a racing incident that cost us a race."

The Infamous Tweet that got Carlos slightly cancelled because he blamed Oscar 😭

Zandvoort 2023 - Big Yikes in Qualifying

During Q1, Carlos was exiting the pit lane behind Valtteri Bottas, and was unaware of Oscar's presence

Oscar was on a slow lap

As Carlos pulled across to take the natural racing line into turns 2 and 3, Oscar was forced off track and had to brake suddenly to avoid contact with Carlos

Carlos is ultimately given a 5000 Euro reprimand, as Ferrari did not warn Carlos about his proximity to Oscar until they were alongside each other

Monza 2023 - Free Practice 3 Inchident

At turn 1, Carlos and Oscar go side-by-side, and Carlos forces Oscar to go wide to avoid a collision

Carlos is shown the black-and-white flag for the incident

The commentators go on to say "it's always these two, isn't it?" (and it's true because sometimes you just beef with your younger enemy)

Yuki is also upset with Carlos too due to some congestion on track, and him getting in the way 😭

Abu Dhabi 2023 - More Free Practice Inchidents

Oscar is approaching a turn when Carlos is in the racing line on a slow lap

Oscar believed that Carlos had impeded him on his lap, accusing him of "dangerous driving"

Ultimately, nothing comes of the incident, except for the fact that we get our signature "Classic Carlos" moment

During qualifying, Carlos also is criticized by Daniel Ricciardo, saying he's "always the culprit" with impeding (thank you @scrappyracers for sending this)

Saudi Arabia 2024 - Minor Complaining

During FP2, Oscar is told that "Sainz is pushing" and slows down to the left side of the track, to let him pass

But then, Carlos doesn't think that this is sufficient, throws his right hand up and gestures at Oscar as he passes him like "what tf are u doing" and says the following radio message

The onboards can be found here, thank you @eightyonefour for posting!

Miami 2024 - When Carcar Went Mainstream

Through the middle of the race, around lap 34, Carlos attempted an overtake on Oscar

Oscar pushes Carlos wide to defend his position

Carlos then states that Oscar should give the position back for pushing him off the track

No penalties were given here, as Oscar was overtaking on the inside and his front tyres were ahead–therefore, this was a legal move

On lap 35, Carlos attempts another overtake on Oscar, and has a slight-lock-up

There is contact! The cars touch, but Carlos makes it past

Oscar tries to retake the position, but has a major lock-up, and has significant front-wing damage. He ends up replacing his front wing, falling from P4 to P13

Carlos is given a penalty after the race for causing the collision due to "losing control of his car" and he drops from P4 to P5

(it's worth noting Oscar literally has no radios of him even acknowledging this fight with Carlos, he just talks about the vibrations of the rear wing)

Monaco 2024 - The Soulbond is Acknowledged

We got this very funny moment of Oscar trying to offer Carlos the microphone but getting ignored

While Charles was on pole, Oscar was in 2nd and Carlos was in 3rd, and on the first lap, Oscar didn't get away as well as Carlos did so Carlos caught up to Oscar

They went side by side at the first corner and Carlos rubbed against Oscar's floor, leaving him with a front-left puncture

After the red flag, all the grid positions were restored, so they ended up racing each other all the way until the end of the race

At the press conference, Carlos was lying down first and then Oscar decided to come join him

Then, when starting the press conference, Carlos tried to offer his phone to Oscar (boyfriend behavior)

In the interview, Carlos goes on record saying:

"for some reason oscar and i, we seem to have a magnet recently between each other, for some reason that i don't understand because we get on well and everything is okay but we always seem to find each other on track" from here

They acknowledged the soul-bond

The Crusty White Dog

They both own crusty white dogs. Do you guys think they share it

Instagram Saga

Carlos does not follow Oscar on Instagram.

Oscar follows Carlos on Instagram.

Oscar has never once liked any of Carlos' posts (I can confirm. I have scrolled through the thousands of posts he has.)

this is the current timeline, let me know if i've missed anything! and i hope you enjoyed my little brief intros about the drivers too!

[yeagersss]

Sukuna who has defeated every sorcerer and rules at the top.

Sukuna who is utterly bored out of his mind now. His monotonous days pass with him sitting on his throne, listening to the pleas of humans to spare him, curses updating how far and wide his kingdom has stretched.

But none of that matters to him anymore.

He wants a challenge. He craves a challenge.

In comes you, a precious, little thing with a unique technique. A precious, little thing hidden away by your clan.

A clan who would rather let the technique die than let it be carried on in a woman's blood.

But your grandfather was a good man. He taught you the way of the sword. All the basics that helped you carry your own.

After all, you were the sole sorcerer left on this land. It was your duty to defeat the King of Curses.

But then your grandfather died and you were confined in your clan's estate.

But that didn't stop you. You were determined. You had a destiny that was calling to you.

And so, with your family's sword in hand, you ran away. You, a precious little thing, you had barely learned to control your technique and was new to handling a sword.

But you were determined and even Sukuna could see that when you stood before his throne.

His four eyes wandered across you. You were a pretty little thing. Looking at him defiantly with doe eyes while holding your sword firmly in your hands.

"Ryomen Sukuna, I-I have come to defeated you!"

And the King of Curses couldn't stop the maddening grin spreading across his face. A challenge. Even if it was from an utterly, weak thing like you... It was challenge.

His mind was reeling with what he could do with you.

He could toy with you. Play with you until he gets bored and finally silences you with a simple flick of his finger. He could make you think you were close to winning. See the joy on your face until he rips your heart out.

But when you charged towards him. Sukuna saw the potential in you. The potential to be strong.

The potential to be more than just a temporary plaything for him.

And that's when a thought popped up in his mind. He had all the time in the world. But the main thing was that he was bored enough to try something new.

So with each swing of your sword and each burst of curse energy, he huffed out brash comments your way.

"You call that an attack?"

"What is that? Even a child could do better."

"You're wasting my time, woman."

"Tsk. Slow. Sloppy. Useless."

It wasn't until after a desperate swing of your sword, did you find your chest pinned to the wall with one of his powerful hands with ease.

The curse had taken your sword and inspected the blade curiously. "Your form is pathetic. Who taught you to wield a blade?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to answer until he pressed you further against the concrete.

"M-My grandfather... taught me...!" You cried out. Your bones would break if he pressed you further.

He snorted. "It seems that your grandfather is a useless man."

Anger boiled within you. You wanted to scream at him for insulting the only family who had ever loved you but you were tossed to the ground as if you were nothing.

Your tired body hit the polished marble. You were a mess. Your long hair had came undone in the middle of the fight. Your kimono had slipped off your shoulders.

And Sukuna wouldn't lie when he let his eyes wander across your form. You were a pretty, little thing after all. Even better now that you were on his knees in front of him, looking absolutely defeated.

You had accepted your death. You were about to die. This cruel, selfish being will never spare you.

But then you felt the cold tip your blade against your chin as the King tilted your head up to make you look at him.

"Don't think that I'm done with you yet, little one."

"W-What do you want from me?" You choked out.

And a cruel grin stretched across his face. "I will take you under my wing. I will teach you how to harness your curse technique and how to use a blade."

It wasn't a request or a choice. It was a straight out order.

Your eyes widened at his words. "W-Why...?"

Why indeed? Because Ryomen Sukuna was a selfish and bored man. He wanted a challenge? Then he will mold you into his perfect sorceress. His perfect little killing machine. And when the time finally comes, you will give him a challenge of a lifetime.

[cupidkenji]

the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs

Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please! Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body. WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook) This fic is genuinely my baby. I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3

You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.

This house was fucking huge. 

You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments. 

Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly. 

You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit. 

The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.

The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there. 

It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind. 

You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome. 

—

It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.

You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.

Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin. 

–

“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.” 

You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.” 

“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence. 

“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.

“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her. 

“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight. 

You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of  peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box? 

You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?

“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger. 

“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.

You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee. 

“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon. 

“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure. 

You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven. 

“Tough shift?”

“Jesus!”

He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.

“You scared me, Spence.” 

He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”

You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.

“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”

He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.” 

Fuck. He had you there. 

You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”

“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”

You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.

“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”

You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence. 

“I got lucky with you, Reid.”

He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”

Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific. 

–

“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour. 

“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets. 

“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.” 

She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.

“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed. 

“I know.”

You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer. 

“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her. 

“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too. 

-

This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that. 

You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here. 

If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you. 

“Not at all.”

Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup. 

“Why are you alone in a corner?” 

“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself. 

“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy. 

“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.” 

You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.” 

You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”

The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours. 

“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.  

“Maybe you do.” 

–

Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants. 

Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started. 

Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present. 

“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely. 

“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.” 

“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”

Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”

“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.” 

You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.

Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t. 

Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26

Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home

Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?

You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus. 

There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.

–

“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility. 

“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.” 

“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”

“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.

“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost. 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.

“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.” 

“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.

“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you. 

The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?

Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.

– 

You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?

“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.

“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much. 

“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you. 

He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless. 

“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.

“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”

“Spence, I’m naked-”

“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed. 

“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?” 

He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.

“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved. 

“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic. 

“You should let me paint you like this more often.” 

“Is that right?”

“Mhm”

And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him. 

–

Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.

You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with. 

What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?

You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps  just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?

You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.

–

The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed. 

You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant. 

You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words. 

Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.

He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”

It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out. 

“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”

Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again. 

“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?

He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.

“How long ago-”

“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia. 

“So we’re soul mates?”

“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough. 

“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now. 

He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding. 

“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date. 

“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.

“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment. 

“Why can I see you now, then?”

He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.

“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”

“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.” 

His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”

“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life. 

“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”

You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give. 

Plenty more lives to live.

[smuttysabina]

A Month with Aespa (Ch 3): Salty and Sweet

(Giselle, Winter x Male Reader, 4k Words) Tags: Anal Sex, Some Frustration, Painal, Taking Your Frustrations Out On Idol Asshole, Awkward Dinner Conversations, Perhaps Regarding Anal Sex, Are You Seeing A Pattern Here?, Also You Technically Get Cucked, Some Writing Delays, Dramaaaaaa

Read Ch 1 Here! Read Ch 2 Here!

Rain whispers against the windows of the drafty corridor, silver droplets streaming down their clear surfaces until continuing on to puddle on the stones beneath. In eerie sympathy, another puddle spreads in the drafty hallway of your manor, steadily leaking from the crotch of the maid collapsed against the interior wall. Her plump breasts are utterly exposed, her nipples still raw and rigid from arousal; the tips oozing a faint trail of milk. The maids face is slack from exhaustion, but you can still make out the swelling of her mouth and cheeks from overuse; and smell the faintest hint of something heady... Mystery aside, it is obvious that she was to be the one who was supposed to have brought you breakfast, and soothed your morning's stiffness. With a resigned sigh, you briefly consider slaking your lusts upon her unconscious form, before deciding against it; it would be beneath you to use someone else's leavings (Not that you minded sharing, merely that you were looking for a more, attentive consort). Filled with a twined hunger, you stalk down to the warmth of the kitchens, where you will be able to find relief for both of your mortal needs. It seems that somebody has been enjoying your maids a bit too much...

Your dearly departed grandfather had designed his estate with intimacy in mind. The long, windowed hallways around the perimeter encouraged the mansion's inhabitants to roam and frolic in the heat; whilst when things grew colder, they would force the people into the interior rooms to seek warmth. And what more intimate circumstances could there be, than cuddling together for warmth before a roaring fire? The locus of this heat was of course, the kitchen; centrally located, it provided an easy excuse for the members of the estate to congregate. So that was where you decided to head; to banish the cold, to slake your hunger, and perhaps (most definitely) find some company. Your measured pace leaves you vulnerable to the chill, you are still dressed only in a night robe, but you could hardly demean yourself by giving in to such petty discomforts. You languidly wave a concerned looking maid towards the site of her fellow employee's mess, calmly ordering her to clean things up. You start with surprise however when a bedraggled looking Ningning lurches around the corner to the stairwell, her eyes bloodshot and face pale. She responds to your somewhat hurried greetings with a disgruntled grunt, obviously suffering from some inner torment. Ningning slouches off with the barest hint of the grace she had shown before, perhaps she was simply not a morning person?

The sight of the haughty diva did remind you of your current dissatisfying position; it had been several days since you met Karina in the showers, and since then the rest of them had been... distant. Winter had only grown colder along with the weather, while if anything Giselle's tongue had grown even crueler than before. Karina kept herself entombed within her room, opening her door only to accept her meals, while Ningning had grown strangely airy and annoyed. While you were indulgent of Aespa's eccentricities, their conduct was starting to become a touch, ungrateful. Perhaps one of them had been behind the "assault" upon the poor maid outside your room. You truly did not mind your maids being interrupted and enjoyed, they often did it to one another (you can hardly be expected to satisfy them all can you?); what stuck in your craw was that your breakfast had been so rudely stolen. Well there was only one way to find out, and it would provide the perfect excuse to strike a conversation with each of the girls on your own terms. But first, breakfast.

The delectable scent of the kitchen has your mouth watering even before you enter its controlled chaos. Maids scurry to and fro, preparing meals for the entire house, chopping and sautéing and boiling and steaming and baking all manner of delicacies. The room was almost uncomfortably stuffy, and maids therefore had more than enough bare skin on display to titillate even a celibate. At one point, the old man had even decreed the ladies cooked garbed only in an apron; but that scheme had been shelved due safety concerns (there had also been delays to his penchant for bending the head cook over and making furious love to her while she attempted to make complicated meals. They had an odd relationship, but she did manage to make sure that Grandfather never ejaculated in the porridge). Amidst all the hubbub, you are intrigued to find your frosty little paramour, Winter; dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, seated at a table, steadily devouring a stack of waffles. Bemused, you join her on the stool across from her; motioning to the staff that you would also enjoy what she is currently having, before turning your full attention to the idol. Winter gives you a chilly glance, before forking another glistening bite into her mouth, chewing blandly as she studiously avoids your eyes. It would be quite the turn if she was the culprit behind the mystery, but you had seen innocent sorts before engaging in... degenerate behavior (you never could figure out how that maid managed to get her entire arm inside that man...).

It would be untoward to simply interrogate Winter however, what manner of host would that make you? A disgraceful one, Grandmother would say. So you start things off by making the most delicate of small talk, gently inquiring after her health, and her stay at your residence. Winter mostly responds with awkward chewing, but she does manage to slip some affirmatives and hesitant nods into her response. Soon enough, your own waffles arrive, slathered with syrup, which you dig into with gusto. All the while you continue to kindly press at the idol, but judging by her hesitant answers you can only assume that she was not the one who dealt with your maid; she is far too delicate and distant. Syrup slicks across Winter's petite lips from an over-ambitious bite of waffles, making them glisten in a most tantalizing fashion... Oh my. Winter coyly notices your sudden change in attention, slowly cleaning her mess up with her dainty little tongue. Meekly, she leans forward, arching her back to thrust out her posterior, as she gives you a permissive glance behind her. Your eyes widen in surprise at such a direct proposition from the demure idol, wondering if you had misjudged her icy demeanor after all... But no, though her face was an archetype of warmth and invitation, Winter's eyes remained as cool as her name.

Ignoring the lust suffusing your lower body, you inquire in a bemused fashion (that was quite admittedly strain at your manners) the source of such an, unexpected, invitation. Forking yet another bite into her mouth, you are forced to wait patiently until Winter is finished chewing (which was laudable on her part), before she gives you an answer. Realizing her simple deception had failed, she shrugs and gives you an honest response. Put simply, she had noticed your rising desire, and had sought to direct them in a way favorable to her; pointedly, she didn't want you to ejaculate in her mouth, or upon her waffles. You blink, giving her a dubious look, surely she could not think that you would do something so depraved... (well perhaps, it was a vaguely enticing idea) Maybe Winter took the first night's light play too harshly, but one would think that an idol such as herself would be used to such activities! Judging by her mannerisms however, you sense that the girl would more likely than not put the bare minimum of effort into any joining. Which would severely hamper your enjoyment, as you craved the heat of intimacy this cold and dreary morning; and Winter was evidently going to be as icy and distant as possible. What a cunning idol, to deflect you so.

With a soft sigh you refuse her kindly offer gracefully, thanking her profusely for such a generous suggestion; perhaps another time? Winter's expressive mouth quirks up at her victory, and she triumphantly devours another bite of her breakfast; this round to her then. Upon finishing your own meal, you bid her farewell, and still in a foul mood, decide to interrogate (politely inquire of) the other three idols abroad in your domicile. Back into the chill of the hallways you stride, robe held tight about you, gleaning from the passing maids where exactly your quarries were hiding. The dear ladies always seemed to have an innate sense of the comings (in some cases, literally) and goings in our residence, seamlessly gossiping information as they chance upon one another. So after a somewhat brief discussion (and a vigorous fingering) with the lusty maid stationed outside of Ningning's room, you politely knock on the idol's door. Pained curses can be heard as someone loudly stumbles towards the entryway, the brittle sound of abused glassware accompanying them. The door is wrenched open several inches, and the rather unhappy and haggard face of Ningning is shoved into the gap.

The idol blinks up at you, eyes bloodshot, looking as if she had recently risen from the grave rather than an extremely comfortable bed (you would certainly know). You are taken aback by her deathly appearance, but upon realizing who you are, Ningning opens the door more fully, revealing that she is wearing naught but a sheer and dainty shift. Her hand hurriedly attempts to straighten out her unkempt hair, as she politely asks for the reason for your untimely visit. After listening for a few moments though, her mood quickly sours once more, answering your questions with a terse negative before slamming the door in your face. Somewhat glum at this abrupt rejection, you cast an inquiring eye at the nearby maid; exactly how much has she drank? She politely informs you that every night a bottle of whiskey has been consumed since Ningning had taken up residence in her room. You scowl, an entire bottle? No wonder the girl had been so sickly, you would have been too after dealing with a hangover brought about by such drinking (especially since Grandfather's plonk was notoriously over-refined, he was certainly running low on taste-buds near the end). Ruling Ningning out as the culprit, since she was unlikely to have been conscious until very recently, you move on to dear Karina's room. The luminous debutante had been much subdued of late, so perhaps this could serve as an opportunity to make amends...

Karina seems extremely flustered upon answering the door, the lack of her ordinary poise is quite intriguing, and certainly the most suspicious so far. She awkwardly refuses your offer for brunch, flushing as she inches the door closed; apologizing profusely the entire time. How very odd. But her maid cheerfully informs you that her mistress had not left her room since returning from dinner, so you count Karina out, leaving only... Giselle, who is not in her room, but is instead for some bizarre reason prancing about in the theatre (Of course you have a theatre, what sort of cultured man of your station would not?). So you march courageously across the cold and drafty length of the mansion to reach the place where the noblest of arts is performed; as well as more gauche activities as well. Grandfather was an avid supporter of the more salacious plays, often done entirely in the nude. What was the point of romances if one could not watch the starring roles engaging in passionate lovemaking? Grandmother had not entirely approved of such voyeurism, being somewhat of a traditionalist, she had much preferred to be onstage herself!

And it is upon such a well-trodden (and stained) stage you find Giselle, idly twirling and writhing as her breath steams in the cold air. She gives you a teasing look as you take a seat in the front row, her eyes gleaming maliciously as she notes your gloomy mood. Giselle pouts at you, what sort of host would bring such a negative air to her performance? You scowl slightly, no doubt confirming her suspicions, and forego the usual niceties by inquiring if she stopped by your room earlier this morning. Giselle beams as she cheerfully informs you that she had, and that both your breakfast as well as your maid had been quite delicious. She covers her mouth in an entirely unconvincing act of shock; oh dear, had her little mistake enraged you so? Giselle had assumed that she was allowed to enjoy whatever she liked in this mansion, including your morning meal. After all, it was only fair after you had enjoyed the rest of Aespa to such a degree... You grimace, your already foul demeanor growing worse by the minute, Giselle was doing an excellent job of needling you, perhaps she required some... training. The minx's eyebrows raise, judging by your attitude, you had evidently not exerted yourself much this morning. Was Winter not your liking, did you not bend her over the table in the kitchens and ravish that adorably innocent girl? She is ever so complacent, did you use that to your advantage when you took her, forcing her to engage in all sorts of depraved acts?

You are certainly feeling a dangerous urge to force Giselle to engage in all sorts of depraved acts; a little forcefulness would be forgivable in some cases... So you bluntly order the idol to strip for you, now. Giselle blinks, before demurely complying, languidly stripping out of her clothes until her body is bared fully to the cool air of the theatre. Tan nipples harden upon her modest yet shapely breasts, as goosebumps ripple down her taut belly; her hands stray shyly over her exposed crotch, hiding her sex from view. Giselle's discomfort raises your spirits somewhat, and you generously indicate for her to continue dancing. While her earlier performance had been a touch erotic, now her movements were downright lascivious; flexing and spinning to show off every angle of her delectable body. She pauses, posterior upraised, holes on full display as she glances back at you knowingly. Giselle can tell that you're unable to control your lusts, that you're going to take her like some perverted beast. You're going to ravish and despoil her nubile body until she is left broken and sobbing! Your member bulges at the thought of inflicting such debased acts upon Giselle, she certainly did deserve it after all; the mincing little bitch. She had ruined your morning, and was unabashedly mocking you while impinging upon your hospitality; a little payback was surely warranted. And if you were a touch rough with her, then well, she did deserve it, afterwards you would make it up to her... Wait.

That devious idol was goading you on, spurring you to go too far, so that when she was left wailing with crocodile tears you would face an unendurable guilt. In such an enfeebled state of mind, no doubt Giselle's honeyed tongue would convince you to do nearly anything in an attempt to redeem yourself for your sins. Her guile was truly impressive, so similar to Karina's sacrificial attitude, yet far more sleazy in its nature. Cunning, so very cunning. Ah well, sometimes the best way to deal with deceit was with direct action; and to be completely fair, she was quite literally asking for it at this point. With Giselle's poisonous entreaties slithering through your ears, you promptly remove your pants, and approach her gently swaying butt. Her permissive vitriol only increases in vulgarity when you grasp her hips, as she freely insults you for being such an ignoble brute; all while daintily spreading a cheek in welcome. So you blithely decide to derail her nefarious seduction by simply shoving your manhood into her anus, lubricated only with sweat. Giselle throws her head back and screams, even for an experienced idol, having something suddenly forced up your asshole is quite the surprise. Now her curses are quite devoid of salacious intent, as she spits and yowls in pain.

Giselle's anus feels absolutely delicious, devouring every inch of your manhood with ease, while still gripping you so tight it's almost agonizing. Though to say your thrusting was accomplished without difficulty would be a disservice to the lady in question, for her there was undoubtedly a great deal of discomfort as her entrance dragged along your length. She lets out a pained whine as she claws at the floor, unable to escape from her deserved punishment; her petite cheeks suffused with a rosy glow from the force of your coupling. Giselle was not the only one making noise however, your own groans of pleasure nearly matched her shrieks in volume. Her ass was amongst the tightest you had ever felt, far tighter than even Karina's pussy had been, and it's coils massaged your member in a most licentious manner. If you had not been so pent up, perhaps you would have lasted longer, but having gone for such a time without release, and subjected to such an intoxicating sensation, could you be blamed for finishing so soon? With a mighty growl you haul the teasing idol against your crotch, your balls emptying themselves into Giselle's guts as she writhes at the sudden warmth filling her belly. Every mighty spurt of your seed causes her to gasp anew, simpering and sobbing as her hips buck and shake. She moans pitifully in despair, no doubt still believing that you were under her devious spell; working overtime to shower you with guilt in your most vulnerable moment of triumph.

You slide your manhood out of the warm confines of Giselle's hole, as she continues to prattle on in a most woeful manner; your seed already starting to bubble out of her used ass. She looks back at you, expecting to see you wracked with despair at what you had wrought; only to find you staring back at her with bemusement. Giselle blinks, before rolling her eyes and letting out an annoyed sigh, "Well it was worth a try, and would you mind warning me before fucking my asshole? I would hate to make a mess all over the floor..." She lets out an awkward cough as she clambers to her feet, pointedly glancing at the door to the theatre; expecting a prompt dismissal now that her plan had failed so dismally. But one bad turn deserves another, and having Giselle endure a little painal was nowhere near enough to satisfy your bruised ego. So you politely ask her to clean you off, but the look of absolute disgust she gives you warns that she would not be gentle should she be forced to follow your instructions. Ah well, you would have to experience the heavenly bliss of Giselle's pussy some other time then; back into her rear you go.

The idol scowls as you motion her to get back onto the cold floor, laying flat on her stomach and kicking her feet in irritation. This time your entrance into her ass is much smoother, her hole well lubricated with cloying remains of your last visit. But unlike last time, Giselle isn't bothering to pretend that she is in distress, instead treating you with sassy indifference. Where once her pained squeals of pleasure serenaded you ears (accompanied by some truly titillating, if abusive, wordplay), now she simply acts as if your cock is not buried to the hilt in her guts. Giselle shoots you smug glances, yawning exaggeratingly and proclaiming how bored she is; and of course, insulting your love-making skills. The meaty slap of your sex grows louder as you put more force into your thrusts, her taught butt jiggling as you put your weight into it; driving your cock deeper inside of her. Your previous load froths out around your shaft, splattering onto your balls and coating her thighs with sticky droplets. Your still sensitive cock throbs with sensation as it explores the deeper reaches of Giselle's ass; it is difficult to simply not give in to your lusts and breed it endlessly. The increased violence of your coupling seems to have quieted Giselle's bitchy abuse however, who now seems more focused upon gasping for air as you push your entire weight onto her to steady your wildly pumping hips.

Giselle's pained breathing grows more shrill as you approach the crescendo, mechanically pounding away at her asshole as if it were a cheap toy. You howl as you climax, each thrust slamming deep into her guts as you spew ropes of semen inside of her. Giselle squirms beneath you, letting out a surprised squeak at the sudden heat pouring into her belly. Hot liquid paints your sack as they smack against her unused pussy, your balls pulsating as they empty themselves mindlessly into the infertile warmth of Giselle's ass. You collapse onto the idol, the both of you panting for air from the fierceness of your sex; the chill of the room now long banished by your exertions. After several minutes, you have composed yourself enough to unmount Giselle, allowing the distinctly squished-looking member of Aespa to stagger upright. She scowls at you as she rubs at her tender backside, "Ugh your seed feels absolutely revolting inside of me, couldn't you have just spent yourself in one of your maids instead? Asshole." Sniffing disdainfully, Giselle stalks (gingerly) out of the room, not bothering to collect her discarded clothes; and pointedly ignoring the fact that her asshole was burping semen down her thighs with every step.

With a tired groan you haul yourself into one of the chairs in the front-row, now thoroughly exhausted and drained, yet quite satisfied with yourself. You eye the puddle spreading across the stage balefully, the heady stink of it remarkably familiar to you... You wearily call for your maids to come in and help clean up the mess; resting your head back and closing your eyes as you hear them puttering around... One of them lets out a discrete cough as she approaches, causing you to blink awake; you had not even realized you had dozed off for a time. The maid courtesies, before politely inquiring if you required any cleaning. You wave in acquiesce, untroubled by the fact that the maid seems to be intent on using her sopping cunt to wash your cock off. She would no doubt suck you clean after she had doused it with her own juices; an indulgence which a good master could hardly complain about. And to be honest, having someone else put the work in was rather appreciated; and who doesn't enjoy having quivering breasts shoved into one's face? (Well I imagine that some degenerates would not, but their inferior opinions are hardly worth your attention)

That night around the dinner table, Aespa are far more animated than they had been before. Karina seemed almost her old self, Ningning had softened a bit, even Winter's attitude had perked up a bit, and Giselle was as gregarious as always. Though she spent much of the evening squirming in her chair, much to the curious glances of her groupmates. In a sociable mood, you playfully ask after her health, fully expecting an innuendo-laced retort from her. Instead, Giselle blandly replies, "But of course I am a bit uncomfortable, after you spent all morning violating my asshole." There is a moment of awkward silence before utter chaos descends upon the table; with Karina looking absolutely outraged, Ningning glaring furiously at Giselle, and Winter appearing quite relieved.

Giselle sends you a devious smirk, before mouthing, "Asshole"

Perhaps she was still a touch salty?

A/N Jesus this one took forever to write, it took me forever to properly write that anal scene, it just wasted away in my drafts. RIP. Well hopefully it was worth the wait lol!