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friedbaekhyunandeggso · 3 months ago

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found you - ch. 6 (part I)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! smart! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), sexual themes, gruesome/violence, physical assault, there’s probably more but i can’t think of it all at the top of my head—just be warned & pls if there’s anything that makes u even slightly uncomfortable pls do not proceed truly

word count/plot: [15.7k!] ara catches gojo’s attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins…

a/n: hiii guys i'm back !!! as per usual sorry for taking so long to write/post this but once again writing is truly just a side hobby for me. i do try to write as much as i can whenever i get muse tho so there is that. anyway, i apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar or logistics errors. i did get most of my 'crime investigation' knowledge from tv shows so don't bop me in the head if ur an expert & ur like 'what is this writer on abt' regardless, ya'll r in for a ride. i'm going to try posting the second part of this either tomorrow or wednesday so keep an eye out (it was too much to fit in 1 post oop)

He walked off the stage, the cheers still loud after his speech. He glanced over at Ara's empty seat beside his.

He plopped onto his chair and glanced at her empty seat once more. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know her opinion on his speech. He'd managed to get their fellow classmates rather riled up, the complete opposite of her somewhat serious speech.

The vice principal standing nearby seemed to take notice of him glancing at Ara’s seat. She offered him a small smile before supplying,

“She went to the bathroom.”

“Oh, thanks.”

She merely nodded before facing Principal Yaga, who was currently speaking on the stage. He was now handing out the rest of their peers diplomas.

Gojo was bored out of his mind. He cheered as loud as he could for his friends but-Goddamn- were there really so many heads in their class? He never realized. But it was entertaining to see Toji turn red as a tomato when everyone cheered as loud as they could when he crossed the stage. The bastard finally graduated.

He cupped his hands and hollered, “TOJIIII LETSGOOOOO!”

Toji briefly shot him a middle finger as he passed.

Gojo grinned, lowering his hands from his face before glancing over at Ara beside him— she still wasn’t there.

His brows furrowed. She should be back by now.. he slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked her location. She was in the bathroom.

He texted her.

s: u good?

s: u missed toji crossing the stage

s: the whole entire school clapped for him

s: they were ready for his ass to LEAVE

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

10 minutes passed.

He pulled out his phone again and checked her location. She was still in the bathroom.

s: ara

s: ??

s: r u okay?

He contemplated going to the bathroom himself. It'd been too long. He then heard the next student's name.

“Tristan shin.”

Fuck. Shoko’s name was coming up. He'd check after Shoko crossed the stage. A few more names were said until finally,

“Ieiri Shoko.”

Gojo shot up, yelling and cheering like a hooligan. He reached underneath his seat for the confetti cannon and shot it in her direction.

Shoko locked eyes with him and let out a laugh. She was still laughing as she shook the principal’s hand before taking her diploma.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she passed the row he sat in. He grinned back.

Alright, now it was check on ara time. He peeped her location once more to see she was still in the bathroom before standing up. The vice principal glanced his way and he mouthed ‘bathroom’ before slipping away.

He walked past the rows of students to head towards the closest bathroom. Their graduation was outdoors so the nearest bathroom was the one close to the tennis field.

He walked to the bathroom, briefly glancing at the men’s door before walking right into the women’s bathroom.

“Ara?” he asked.

He glanced around before walking towards the stalls to see that none of the stalls were occupied.

His brows furrowed before he glanced down at her location on his phone to make sure her location was right. Yes, it was supposed to be this bathroom. She should be here-

He then grew more confused when he realized his texts never delivered. Then suddenly the dot over the map for her location disappeared.

He frowned before glancing up from his phone to immediately notice one of the sinks filled to the brim with water. He walked over to see her phone in the water.

He quickly pulled her phone out and tried to turn it on. The screen remained black.

Shit. Looks like she needs a new phone. He found it hard to believe she would leave her phone behind in a sink full of water by mistake. This also didn’t answer the big question of where the hell she was.

He glanced around the bathroom. Something felt off.

He entered each stall, searching thoroughly. Nothing. He glanced over the bathroom counter once more. Nothing.

Just as he was about to head out, he stopped. His eyes darted towards the trash bin before approaching it.

He froze for a millisecond.

He reached in and pulled out her rumpled dress. It was a dainty little Ralph Lauren dress from the early 2000s, an archived piece. He glanced within the trash to find her graduation cloak, cap and heels in there as well.

His jaw locked. His heart plummeting to his stomach. Did something happen to her?

Maybe she hadn’t been alone in the bathroom, it was for public use after all. Anyone could come in. Something cold settled within him at thought.

He stalked out of the bathroom, searching to see if there were cameras near the entrance. Fuck. There weren’t any at this bathroom.

He squeezed her dress in his hand.

I’m gonna find you, Ara, don’t worry

He was working with the police, but he wanted to choke them all out.

“What the fuck do you mean the academy doesn’t have any cameras on their outdoor campus?”

He spun on Principal Yaga, “The fuck am I paying 50k a year to this school for?”

The chief officer flinched while-as Mr.Yaga frowned, “Watch yourself, Satoru. We’ve never had a need for it. I still gave the police all the camera footage I had.”

Satoru’s gaze was sharper than razors but his attention redirected to the Chief Officer when he spoke,

“We've searched through the footage of the entrances and exits of the academy building that Mr.Yaga provided and we couldn’t find anyone that fit Ara’s profile.”

“Let me see the footage.” Gojo replied.

“I assure you our tech intel team ha—“

“I don't care. I want to see the footage myself.”

Principal Yaga eyed him for his tone as the Chief officer nodded once, “We can arrange that.”

Gojo stood in a tv screen covered room. Principal Yaga stood behind him as a cop beside him explained which screen was which.

“-and this camera is the main entrance of the school. All the footage is time stamped to start at 9:15 am. 30 minutes before the estimated time ara went to the bathroom. If you’d like to speed through you can just hit these buttons.”

“Sweet.” He placed his hand on the back of the cop’s chair and pulled the seat out for him, “I'm gonna take this seat.”

“Uh-“ the cop appeared flustered and he looked at the chief behind Gojo who nodded at him to comply. “sure.”

The cop stood up and Satoru didn’t waste any time slipping into his seat.

He pressed play.

“Satoru, you’ve looked through all the footage several times. It’s okay to admit you can’t find anything-“

He didn’t look away from the screen as he answered sharply, “If you want to go home then just go.”

Mr.Yaga stared at him for a moment before sighing. He stood up and left.

He stared at the camera footage of the main entrance, about 10 minutes after Ara supposedly went to the bathroom.

They’re were so many people. So many parents arriving late. Families reuniting and talking by the main lawn of the school. Some arriving in private cars others taking taxis, ubers or whatever the fuck.

The point was he couldn’t find her. He'd raked through the videos from each entrance/exit of their school about 20+ times. Meticulously checking each person and yet Ara was no where to be seen.

The cops had also returned from searching the campus. All they brought back was useless pictures of the women’s bathroom with her graduation cap, gown and heels in the trash and pointless interviews of the staff. They now had on record that the vice principal was the last person she spoke to, saying that she was going to the bathroom.

But he’d already known that.

Her phone was still getting fixed by the tech department. The water damage had thoroughly done its job. Had she done that on purpose? Or was it someone else?

Where are you, Ara?

He sat on the edge of his bed. His head in hands.

Cops swarmed his bedroom, taking pictures of every. little. thing. If he heard another camera snap he might lose his mind.

It had been one day without her. One day too long.

He was already losing it, dark voices whispered in the back of his mind-theorizing the worst of things. If something had happened to her..

No. No. Keep it together.

He sat up and walked towards the main detective on the case. Detective Rebecca, specialized in missing persons, quite experienced in her field. He already spoke to her several times. He'd answered question after question about Ara for her-Ara’s recent whereabouts, her daily routine, her schedule, her interests, her habits, her emotional variability, everything.

She was staring at Ara's side of the closet.

She glanced back at Gojo as he approached, “She had quite the collection of clothes, didn’t she?”

Ara's side of the closet was only half full. She had just started exploring her style. A pang went through him when he spotted her prom dress.

“Her collection was just starting.” he explained flatly.

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked.

“I mean she was just getting into figuring out her personal style,” he answered while rolling up the sleeves of his dress-shirt to his elbows, “She was into buying jewelry recently.”

He wandered over to the accessory table, glancing over the several Van Cleef, Vivienne Westwood, Chanel—Wait. His brows furrowed. Some of her Cartier and Bvlgari pieces were missing… and now that he looked at her jewelry overall, it seemed to be… a little underwhelming compared to what he’d seen before.

He knew he’d bought her more jewelry than this.

“20 Birkins, wow.” Detective Rebecca commented.

“24.” his eyes didn’t leave the jewelry display as he answered.

“What?”

“It should be 24.” he repeated before turning around. He mentally counted all the Birkins on her wall of purses. It was 20.

“4 are missing, as well as some of her jewelry.” he noted aloud.

Detective Rebecca gestured for some of the photographers to take pictures of the accessory counter and the Birkin wall.

“Could your house staff have stolen something?” she inquired.

He shook his head, “No, we haven’t had new staff in ten years. They are all legally bound, fingerprinted, background checked with no criminal records. They also get overcompensated for their jobs but Marin is the only maid allowed in my room.”

Rebecca scribbled things down in her notepad, “You allow me to speak to all your house staff?”

“Feel free.”

He knew Marin wouldn’t dare. She was loyal. The only possibility left—

“And what jewelry is missing?”

He rubbed his chin, “At first glance.. I see some of her bracelets aren’t here. She also has, like, 10 Pateks. I only see 8 here...”

“Is there any way you can provide me with a receipt of every piece of jewelry you’ve bought her since she moved in?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he examined her jewelry further, there was definitely more than he realized missing.

“Yes.” he answered.

22 Tiffany & co. and Graff bracelets. 17 Bvlgari and Cartier necklaces. 12 pairs of crystalline De Beers earrings. 8 diamond encrusted Chopard rings. 5 custom fitted dresses-all fresh off the runway from big fashion houses-4 Birkins and 2 Pateks were missing. Everything totaling up to a cool four million.

His house staff had all been interrogated and searched but nothing came of it—as he predicted. This was not his house staff’s doing.

And it was confirmed when the head of security at their academy reached out stating that a month prior to Ara’s disappearance she had momentarily been inside their security room.

She’d accused someone of stealing something of hers from Gojo’s car and wanted to watch the security footage of the academy parking lot-so they’d allowed her inside the security room to watch the camera footage—but she technically had been able to see all the screens of where the academy’s cameras were placed. He knew she was smart enough to take note of where cameras were lacking if she wanted to.

And she had.

That was why she was able to bypass the cameras on graduation.

She wanted to leave unnoticed. She’d miraculously sold four millions worth of his gifts and disappeared to god knows where.

Because she wanted to leave him.

He stared at her rumpled graduation dress in his hand. The material of it so thin that when rolled up it fit perfectly into his fist. He somehow managed to keep it on him wherever he went in the past few days that she’d been missing.

4 days. 96 hours. 5,760 minutes. 345,601 seconds…

without her.

His stomach lurched. He stepped out of his car, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t look to see if Ijichi caught the keys he tossed his way and stalked inside the estate.

He was squeezing her dress in his hand so hard that his fingernails dug into his palm-breaking skin.

He bounded up the steps, barely noticing the maid flinching when he suddenly made it to the top step just as she was about to descend. She quickly scurried out of his way.

He walked down the hallway before shoving the double doors of his room open.

His eyes naturally went to the bed first and for a moment he imagined it. Her sitting there, with a pretty little slip dress on and nothing else. She’d finally grown comfortable wearing slip dresses around the house.

He could picture her feet up in the air as she lay stomach down on the bed, Macbook open in front of her. Her face a mask of concentration.

He could almost feel the soft skin of her throat against his lips—he usually kissed her there first, in greeting. He liked to inhale her sweet yet sophisticated perfume—roses and warm cashmere, before capturing her lips and showing her just how much he missed her.

He blinked, finding himself standing right beside the bed. His hand on the sheets.

Ara nowhere to be seen.

He suddenly yanked the sheets off the bed, tossing it with enough strength that it managed to wrap itself around a lamp and hit the ground with it. The sound of a crash ensued.

He stared at the fallen lamp for a moment. He liked that, that sound. It was satisfying.

He suddenly grabbed the pillows, flinging them across the room, letting them hit anything and everything.

He kicked over a nightstand before spotting one of the loveseats he and Ara used to cuddle on. He picked it up and threw it across the room, hitting the TV and making it instantly fall from its place and crack as it hit the ground.

He spotted her macbook and threw that too. It'd already been thoroughly searched and it led to nothing. NOTHING .

He wasn’t aware of what he was doing, simply moving at will. Things were getting thrown-things were breaking, shattering, sprawling in pieces all over the floor. The sound of everything breaking fueled him and he didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t remember entering the closet but the next thing he knew he was yanking off her clothes from the hangers, shoving open her drawers with enough strength to break it from its hinges and throw it.

He grabbed her shoes and flung them before kicking down her shoe shelf, making the whole thing crumble and fall apart.

He punched the glass of her Birkin wall and threw a Birkin into her accessory stand, making everything spill out and shatter. The sound was deafening.

“Satoru!”

He froze, his whole body tensing for a moment before he closed his eyes—forcing himself to breathe.

“Satoru, what the fuck happened?”

He half-turned, suddenly chuckling rather dryly, “What didn’t happen.”

Geto stopped at his side, staring at the state of the room and closet in horror. He then faced him.

Geto eyed his bloody hands, “What happened?” he whispered.

Satoru glanced down, belatedly noticing his bloody hands himself.

“Answer me.” Geto demanded, “Is she okay?”

“I don't know and I don't care.”

Geto raised a brow, “What?”

He suddenly grabbed Geto’s collar, “She fucking left me, Suguru. She’s worthless.”

Geto shoved his hands off, “The fuck are you on about?”

“She planned this shit. All of it. She sold the gifts I bought her and dipped with the damn money.”

Geto’s eyes widened, “How-how do you know?”

“Detective Rebecca found listings of all her missing stuff on the black market. She posted the items from fake accounts and used different bank accounts for each. She transferred the money to e-gift cards, stocks, digital bank accounts, whole bunch of shit so it’s a fucking maze to track where she deposited the money to.”

He went on, “The fake identities she made to get on the black market all have their own bank accounts. She used their accounts to buy a shit-ton of plane tickets set to depart on the day of and day after graduation. Rebecca’s tryna trace the flights to see if they were used, sold or whatever the fuck but I think it’s all a shitty hoax.”

He seethed out, “She musta known that we were gonna find her fake identities—that’s why she booked so many fuckin’ flights. Tryna lead us on a fake trail while she probably used a whole ‘nother identity to take a flight somewhere else—that’s if she even took a flight.”

Geto was frozen, contemplating all of this.

“And her phone?” Geto asked, “Did you find anything on there?”

He shook his head, “Her phone is dead. They accessed her apple ID through another device but they found nothing. Bitch was thorough.”

Geto instinctively wanted to reprimand him for referring to her as a bitch but if this was all true… he was still too shocked by the revelation.

“She…planned this?”

“For months. right under my nose—fucking slutted herself out to me the entire time.”

He looked at Satoru’s enraged expression, he’d never seen his best friend look like this, even when he ranted about his uncle.

“Do you.. really think she would do all of this?” Geto asked.

“I-“ Gojo’s voice cracked, “It's not about what I think, it’s what she did.”

He slowly shook his head, a mirthless laugh leaving him, “Of course she’d be smart enough to use me.”

He felt like he was on the bad end of a really sick joke. He was so… angry, so angry it made his skin itch. None of the mess he created appeased how twisted he felt inside. It felt like his organs had been ripped out and haphazardly stuffed back in and yet, his mind was still attempting to make his body work despite bleeding out all over the place.

He wanted to make her bleed too. He wanted to make her just as angry—just as used—just as betrayed.

“I'm gonna find her.” he promised lowly.

Geto’s eyes widened at his tone.

“Should I kill her when I find her?” he asked, more to himself than Geto.

“Stop talking nonsense, Satoru. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Really?” he chuckled dryly, “I feel like this is the clearest I’ve thought in a while.”

He glanced down at his bloody hands, outstretching his long, scraped up fingers. He watched a dot of blood trail down his wrist from a cut. He didn’t feel any pain.

“How can you even say that, man. You’d melt like fucking putty if you saw her come running into your arms right now. You love that girl.”

Geto’s voice felt distant. He suddenly remembered a time when he and Ara had been messing around, horse-playing and she’d gotten so annoyed at him that she’d thrown a book at him.

If he’d been looking when she threw it, he definitely would’ve caught it but since he’d just turned around it hit his arm.

It was a paperback book so it wasn’t meant to cause any real damage but somehow the end of the thin plastic cover managed to strike a clean line across his forearm. It truly hadn’t hurt but it bled like it did. The blood almost looked like prop blood.

She’d immediately started apologizing, he wanted to laugh it off but she’d been completely serious when she ran off to get the first aid kit. She’d cleaned up his wound with such gentleness, it shocked him.

He’d just stared at her the entire time, in stupefied silence as she treated him as delicately as an infant, lightly dabbing the endless blood leaking from his wound with cotton balls.

She was focused but her concern was evident in the way her brows subtly furrowed. He could almost see why her father might’ve wanted her to be a doctor. Her jaw was clenched tight as she applied the larger band aid perfectly, covering each bit of the cut.

Once she was done, she sat on the bed beside him, completely still, silent and serious as ever.

“I'm sorry.” she mumbled.

He couldn’t help but crack a grin, “It doesn’t even hurt, baby.”

“Sh.” she shot him a look, “I still don’t like it.”

“Like what?"

“I don't like hurting you.” she snapped.

Something inside him softened.

Her eyes darted away, “Or anyone..” she muttered, correcting herself.

It didn’t matter. his gut had already done this funny little flip flop thing at her words. He grinned despite himself.

“Nah, I heard you the first time~”

You don’t like hurting me, huh? Then what is this?

What is THIS?

He swiveled around, fiercely kicking the remainder of her accessories on the ground. Sending beads, diamonds and broken gold in the air. A heftier one of her chain-link bracelets hit the mirror wall, instantly making it shatter. The sound catastrophic as pieces of glass sprawled across the floor.

The next thing he knew Geto was grabbing him, nearly picking him up as he tried to drag him out the closet. He was saying things but Gojo could barely hear him. His heartbeat too loud as he thrashed fiercely in his hold, still managing to kick his leg out to deliver another lethal blow to her things. More things shattered as he growled.

Geto shoved him out, before closing the closet doors behind them.

“That’s enough—”

“How dare she fucking leave me!” he got all the way up in Suguru’s face, “I gave her everything—everything!” he snarled.

“I gave her my fucking all cuz I love her! She knows I fucking love her. I can't eat, sleep or think without her. She knows it—she’s torturing me.”

Geto’s stoic expression fell. He hated seeing the pain in his eyes, “Sato—“

“She told me she loved me too,” he took a step back, his eyes suddenly distant.

“Was I not supposed to believe her?” he whispered.

He looked down at his reddened hands once more, droplets of blood hitting the floor as he raised them slightly.

It was crazy to think these hands had been on every corner and speck of her skin. Her hair. her lips. her throat, merely days ago. Touching her was as easy as breathing. Her presence was more comforting than being alone. Her eyes were his favorite mirrors.

and now she was just… gone.

He shook his head, “Played me right in front of my face.”

He thought he heard Geto’s voice but he could barely focus on it.

He merely clenched his hands into fists, letting more red droplets hit the ground-at the speed of pounding rain.

“How could she do this to me?” he muttered brokenly.

Finally he felt pain, a rush of it. The feeling of it simmered through his hands and crawled up his arms. Numbing him almost—to the emotional pain he felt inside, but he’d have to die to fully cleanse himself of his internal pain this way.

Suddenly Geto pushed him, drawing him out of his trance.

“Stop it!” Geto was fuming.

His shock transformed into something more cold, “Get out.”

“You need to get a nurs—“

“I SAID GET OUT.”

He never yelled at Geto before. In fact it was typically the opposite.

A tense silence hung in the air.

Geto’s heated glare didn’t budge from Gojo's piercing one. The ring of finality in Gojo’s words seemed to echo.

“Fine.” Geto spat.

He stalked out of the room without a glance back.

Out of the 107 flights she’d booked through her fake identities, 64 were not used, 38 were re-sold and 5 were cancelled.

Rebecca had tracked all of the flight tickets that had gotten re-sold and confirmed them. None of them were her.

Rebecca had informed him of this with regret laced in her tone—as if there was nothing else. No more leads.

But he refused to believe it was over.

It just wasn’t.

All of the flights she’d booked had been from LAX airport. He knew the chances were shit but he had to try. He had to do something—even if it was something as simple as walking around the airport for clues or maybe just to see what she might’ve seen if she’d been here.

The cops had already scoured the cameras of LAX for her but, of course, they found nothing. but he refused to let that stop him.

He entered the airport, the expected packed sight before him. He'd been here several times himself but he’d never entered through the main entrance. He was usually led through a private entrance straight to his jet.

Regardless, a little walk around couldn’t hurt.

He walked around slowly, taking his time to absorb his surroundings. It took him a good 6 hours to walk around the entire LAX in his nonchalant, detailed search.

After purchasing 5 candy bars, 2 coffees and one pack of oreos. He hadn’t found anything. nothing that could lead back to her.

The only places he hadn’t searched were obviously the employee only areas and the women’s bathrooms. The latter bothered him slightly but obviously it was not his place to enter those places.

He just wanted one damn clue. One lead. He needed to find her.

It was dark outside by the time he walked out of the entrance.

As he walked, a homeless man appeared in front of him.

“Please sir, spare some money. Even a dollar would do. Anything, please.”

Gojo was still for a moment. Taking in his reeking, tattered clothes and sad crusted eyes.

The complete opposite of all the people he’d seen within the airport—all the people in there dressed like they were off duty models, as if they had paparazzi waiting to take their airport photos.

He blinked, drawing himself out of his thoughts of the juxtaposition.

He fished a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills, all the cash he had. He didn’t usually carry cash on him so this guy truly caught him at the right time.

He handed the money to him. The homeless man’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, sir!”

Gojo waved him away, “Spend wisely.”

He nearly snickered at that-he should probably take his own advice.

“I will, I will!” the homeless man skipped away.

“That was nice of you, kid.”

He glanced over to see an officer leaning against a pole nearby. He was bald and appeared to be in his late twenties. His lighter flickered on as he took a puff of his cigarette.

The scent of cigarettes grew stronger the closer he walked to the cop.

“Thanks.” The cop looked just as tired as he felt. He decided a small conversation couldn’t hurt, “Are homeless people even supposed to be out here?”

“Not really but if I were to try stop em they’d just come back the next day. At this point as long as they keep to themselves, we don’t bother em.”

“hm..” Gojo eyed his cigarette curiously.

“But it’s definitely lessened a bit. I bet that guy you just gave cash won't be back. Another one of the regulars left a week ago,” he shook his head, “Lucky bastard found a goddamn diamond ring and planned on pawning it. He’s bound to get a pretty penny for it for sure.”

“Isn’t there some sort of policy against that?”

“I was gonna confiscate it and report him but he said some young girl gave it to him.” he shook his head, “Dunno, if it’s the truth but I decided to let him have it. He obviously needs it more than whoever left it.”

Gojo absentmindedly chewed at the inside of his cheek. He knew this was far fetched but-

He pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture of Ara’s promise ring.

“Did the ring look like this by any chance?”

The officer’s eyes widened in recognition, “Yeah! what the- how did y-“

Gojo's entire demeanor changed as he suddenly grabbed the cop by the collar, “Where’s that homeless man?”

“Hey-“ he tried to pull him off but Gojo was taller, stronger, “I-I just told you, I haven’t seen him in a week!”

Gojo manhandled him once more, shaking him, “Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Dunno-I’m assuming the nearest pawn shop? He's homeless so I doubt he’d go any farther than he has to.”

Gojo hastily let him go, glaring all the while. The wicked edge to his eyes capable of making anyone feel smaller than a speck of dust.

“You should be fired.” he said it with such certainty the cop almost felt like he’d gotten fired right then and there, but of course this boy wasn’t capable of that—

But he was. It slowly dawned on him.

He didn't need to know the boy to tell he was of worth and if the ring was related to this boy somehow, he knew he could get in trouble for letting the homeless man go with such a precious item. He could potentially lose his badge depending on how far this kid wanted to take it.

He cleared his throat, “Listen-“

“Do you remember if he said anything about the girl who gave it to him?”

He momentarily froze at being interrupted before shaking his head, “He didn’t say much about her other than that she looked high school aged. I assumed she’s just another rich chick that walks in and out of here on a daily.”

His jaw clenched. He nearly shoved his phone in the officer’s face to show him his lockscreen. It was a picture of her.

“You know this girl?”

He paused, his eyes flickering between Ara’s picture and him, “Yeah.. that’s the girl who’s missing.”

“She's my girlfriend and the owner of that ring.”

“What time was he here?” Detective Rebecca spoke beside him. She’d only allowed him to come with her if he kept his mouth shut—which he agreed to. If the terms would be kept, that was to be decided.

Out of the four pawn shops near the airport that they’d visited, this was the one that finally had what they were looking for. Her ring.

He couldn’t stop staring at it. They’d stored it in a small white cushioned box, much cheaper than the original box it came in.

He was only ever used to seeing it on her finger.

The owner finally stopped flipping through the binder in front of him, “He was here at 3:13 pm, last Tuesday.”

“May I see that?”

The owner turned the binder towards her. She looked it over, “He said his name was Tim Orson?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have any identification for that?”

The owner scratches the back of his bald head, “Not that I can remember..”

She takes a picture of the binder on her phone before turning the binder back to him.

“I'm going to need video footage of when he was here. Can you retrieve that?”

Gojo’s eyes flicker to the camera in the top right corner of the room.

“Yes, yes.” he nods. He glanced behind himself at his worker. He says something in Arabic before the middle school aged boy walks somewhere to the back.

“Is that your son?” she asks.

“My nephew.”

“Does he work here?”

He chuckles awkwardly, “He helps out with the shop sometimes. I never leave him here alone.”

She continues to jot things down on her notepad before saying, “Can you please tell me about your and Tim’s interaction? Did he seem any sort of way?”

The shop-owner scratched his beard, “Hmm.. he was pretty enthusiastic, which makes sense after I saw what he brought in. It took me a while to verify it because-” he laughs awkwardly as if realizing what he was about to say wasn’t quite right, “-I just wasn’t expecting him to have something like that but once I verified it, I gave him an offer and he accepted it right away.”

“How much did you offer?”

“5k.”

Gojo snorted.

Rebecca shot him a look.

“Please—you think that’s worth 5k?” he gestured towards the ring, “Anyone with a brain knows that ring is worth more than 15k off the rip. He undersold it.”

Gojo's gaze slid towards the shop-owner, “What a deal for you, eh?”

Embarrassment instantly sprawled across the shop-owner's face.

Christ. She rubbed her brow before her phone chimed.

She glanced at it, briefly reading it over before turning the phone towards the shop-owner.

“Is this what he looked like?”

Gojo glanced over to see it was an image of a fat man in his fifties.

He nodded, “Yes. That's him.”

“His name is actually Robert Starkey.” she informed him. “You really need to make sure your clients have a proper form of identification before making any sort of exchange with them.”

He avoided eye contact, nodding vigorously, “Y-yes ma’am.”

“Did he say anything about where he got the ring from?” she asked.

“No ma’am. All he said was that it was a gift from a kind young woman.”

Her and Gojo shared a glance before she asked, “Did he say when he received the gift?”

He shook his head.

“Did he say anything else about the girl that gave it to him?”

“He just said that people like her make him remember that they’re still good people in the world.”

Gojo’s brows furrowed as Rebecca further pressed, “Did he explain why?”

“No but… from the way he said it I assumed he was insinuating that whoever gave it to him gave it to him for free.”

Just then the boy reappeared with a cassette tape in hand. The shopkeeper took it from him and handed it to rebecca.

“Here is the footage of when he was here.”

She turned the cassette tape in her hand, “Wow, I haven’t seen these in a while.”

He nods as he mumbled, “We’re a little old school.”

“Is there anything else specific that you remember? Any detail helps.”

“That was all, really. He was barely here for five minutes.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” she handed him her business card, “If you remember anything else please feel free to reach out.”

“Of course.”

Just as she swiftly turned to exit, Gojo caught her arm.

“That's all?”

She blinked, “Yes.. it seems that airport security guy was able to identify our man. Now that we confirmed it, we'll be able to use the cctv’s to see where he went after he left this store. We can track him.”

She pulled her arm out of his, “We need to get back to the station.”

“Hold on.” he stepped towards the shopkeeper. His eyes dropped to the promise ring, “I'd like to purchase my ring back.”

He stood behind Rebecca and the intelligence officer that were seated before him. They all faced the screen.

The intelligence officer, Ray, showed the fast-forwarded footage of Robert walking out of the pawn shop. The CCTV footage was rather blurry but the pep in his step was obvious.

The sped up footage showed him walking for a while before he stopped in front of Hope Homeless shelter. He seemed to pause for a moment outside, as if deliberating whether or not to go in before ultimately going in.

Ray paused the footage, “He walked about an hour and half to get to Hope Homeless shelter. I couldn’t find any more footage of him on the CCTV’s beyond that. He might still be there.”

Rebecca’s brows furrowed, “Interesting. I wonder why he would go there when he has 5K in his pocket.”

“Maybe he owes someone?” Ray theorized.

“Or maybe there’s someone else he wants to share the money with.”

“I know the director of that shelter.” Gojo spoke.

“You do?” Rebecca questioned.

“Not personally but my father did–does. I can get us a meeting with her within the hour.”

Rebecca and Ray shared a look before she looked at him, “Very well.”

They sat in her office. It was rather sparse, minimally decorated, nothing name-brand. His father had donated to this institution plenty of times, as well as other local homeless shelters, but once his Uncle took over… it wasn’t a priority anymore.

As if she’d read his mind, Rebecca asked, “How does your Dad know her?”

He glanced over to see her eyeing the name-plate on the desk. Gabriela Hopkins. Director of Hope Homeless Shelter.

“He used to donate and occasionally volunteer here.”

“A philanthropist, hm?”

“Sort of.”

“Or was it all for show?”

His eyes cut to her. It was a bold accusation to make but not entirely misplaced. Politicians did many things just for the peoples’ eyes.

“No. My mother put him up to it.”

“Why?”

“She grew up poor but she was smart so she got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford.” A pang went through him–him and Ara were supposed to go there, “That’s where my Mom and Dad met.”

The door suddenly opened and Mrs.Hopkins entered. She appeared to be in her early forties. Her black hair was up in an unkempt bun. She held a coffee cup in her hand.

She outstretched her hand to Gojo as he stood, “Satoru Gojo, it’s nice to meet you. I haven’t seen your father in a while. He’s missed here.”

She went on as he shook her hand, “I trust he’s well?”

“Yeah, he’s great.”

Her eyes slid to Rebecca, “And who is this?”

Rebecca faced her, “Detective Rebecca.”

He watched them shake hands as Mrs.Hopkin’s introduced herself, “I’m Gabriela Hopkins.”

“We’re actually here for information. I would’ve reached out to you myself but I figured it might be more efficient to have our link reach out to you instead since-according to your website-you are overlooking all branches of Hope Shelters in Southern California. Is that correct?”

He leaned back in his seat, listening to the conversation despite tapping his foot on the ground incessantly. Rebecca told him she’d let him come along on the same condition-as long as he let her do all the talking. He supposed he couldn’t blame her since his restlessness was starting to show. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept well.

Mrs.Hopkins sat at her desk across from them, “That’s correct. I was recently promoted.”

“Congratulations. How’s that been?”

She lightly shook her coffee cup as she sighed, “Considering that this is my fifth coffee cup of the day, pretty insane.”

Rebecca smiles, “I feel you. Black coffee is my vice.”

Mrs.Hopkins glanced between the two of them, “So what information is it that you’re looking for?”

“Are you familiar with Robert Starkey?” Rebecca asks.

Her eyes lit up in recognition, “I am. He visits occasionally, he used to spend more nights here but not so much recently. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Can you tell me when he was here last?”

“Of course.” she turns to her computer and types in a few things, “He was here last Tuesday, for our dinner service.”

“Dinner service?”

“Some days we offer free dinner packets to the public. The event takes place in our courtyard.”

“Did he stay the night that night?”

“He did not.”

“Do you know how long he was here?”

She shakes her head, “We only jot down the attendees but there’s too many folks that come visit to try to track all of their timings. We do have outdoor surveillance that I could have my security look at.”

“Please do. That would be very helpful.” Rebecca then added, “Did he have any friends here? Anyone he was close to?”

“He used to have a girlfriend here, Vienna, but unfortunately she died of illness. She just didn’t have the means to get the medication she needed. She passed a few years ago.”

“Was he close to any of her friends?”

She shook her head, “Not that I’m aware. He usually keeps to himself. Vienna was the only one he used to speak to before she passed but last we spoke he told me he hangs around by the airport now. I advised him against it but… you know how they can be.”

“Does he have any family he speaks to? Any places he wants to go?”

“If he does, he’s never mentioned it.”

Rebecca nods, pursing her lips. “Well, the reason I ask is because he’s been missing for several days. We’re trying to find him because he might be related to another missing persons case as well.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh my. Has he done something?”

“That's what we’re trying to find out.”

“Well please feel free to look about. I’ll have my security officer provide you with any footage needed. Starkey doesn’t come here much after Vienna passed so there might not be a lot but-”

“That’s alright. Anything helps. Please let your residents and staff know that he is missing and if they know anything about him to let us know.”

“Will do.”

The security guard, Prince, pointed out the blurry man in the video. It was hard to see his face but from what he remembered it was the same clothes Robert Starkey was last seen wearing in the CCTV footage.

There’s a sandwich bag in his hand as he walks off the screen. It’s hard to tell what direction he walked towards with the darkened lighting due to it being night-time. They’d replayed the footage several times. Robert had just taken the sandwich bag from the worker and walked off–not a word to anyone. They’d tried to zoom in and decipher which way he walked towards but it was impossible to tell further than the street he crossed.

Prince stuffs a spoonful of apple sauce in his mouth before saying, “He crosses the street to Thorne St. but that’s just about all you see really.” He states gruffly.

Rebecca returns from her phone call, “Alright, I just told Ray to try retrieve the CCTV footage of Throne St. for that night but it might be a while before he recovers it.”

She raked a hand through her cropped hair before looking at both of them, “It’s safe to say that we are declaring Robert Starkey missing. Someone should come by to drop posters off tomorrow but… we’ll be starting the search for him now.”

“I’m joining the search.” Gojo stated.

“Gojo, I told you the meeting with Mrs.Hopkins was the last thing I’d take you along with. You’re not an investigator. The fact that you’re even here is a breach on my end–”

“An extra pair of eyes can’t hurt during a search.”

“Yes but-”

“Your department’s extra funds are coming from me, aren’t they?”

She stared at him, mouth partially open since he interrupted her.

“I want to see where my money’s going.”

The areas surrounding the homeless shelter were split into four zones. Zone A was where he and Rebecca would be searching-side by side-since Rebecca refused to leave him be. He didn’t understand her issue with him being around when he knew her Director had permissed it.

But she wanted him to go home, eat something and rest. Rest. Ha. Just the thought of it made him want to laugh.

How was he supposed to rest when his home was missing?

He eyed the nearby investigators as he walked. They were all wearing gloves examining things as little as crushed leaves on the ground. This part of town was rather dingy. Cars rarely drove past here. The stench of piss and dust came from a nearby dumpster.

The homes here looked as if they hadn’t been renovated for ages. The people within seemed scared to come out since so many cops were sprawling about. A cop had attempted to go door to door to gather information but it was quickly abandoned when folks refused to open their doors. He could only imagine the things the people living in this neighborhood had seen.

His gaze slid to Rebecca not too far ahead of him. From the tense set of her shoulders he could tell she was stressed. He knew she was anxious about the timing of it all. The last date anyone had any information on Robert was last tuesday. It’s been over a week since then. Any viable evidence hanging around would be hard to find… but not impossible.

It couldn’t be impossible.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that homeless rat had anything to do with Ara’s disappearance. Sure, Ara had planned to leave him but if he found out that rat did anything to her…

A flash of hot white anger piercing through him made him stiffen where he stood. He forced himself to exhale, slowly unclenching his fists in his pockets as he did so.

Relax. Relax. Relax.

It wasn’t working. He was still agitated. A normal person would get whiplash from how quickly anger came to him now. It was always a heartbeat away, ready to boil over and implode. He couldn’t remember if it’d always been like this or if it was just worsening now.

All he knew was that he needed her. He needed her right now.

Rebecca stopped walking mid-step when she noticed him not following her. She quickly turned around, concern etched in her features.

“You okay–”

Suddenly her walkie talkie flared. She quickly pulled it out from her belt to her lips.

“I’m here.”

He couldn’t overhear much due the discombobulated audio but from the way her brows were furrowing it couldn’t be good.

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

“What is it?” he demanded.

“They found him,” despite her words, she appeared disappointed, “In zone 4.”

It didn’t take him long to understand her disappointment.

The man seemed to be laying on the ground at a rather uncomfortable angle. One leg bent awkwardly underneath him, protruding in a way that wasn’t natural for the human body–unless a bone was broken, of course. The back of his head was caved in, he could see the white of his skull at some parts. His lips were cracked and bloody. His face swollen, the welts upon it a deep ugly purple. Something silver and sharp seemed to be poking out of his left eye as well.

The man had been brutalized, that much was clear. Especially with the dark red spot with pieces of skin and hair on the brick wall to their right. Someone had bashed his head repeatedly against it. It didn’t seem like one person did it either, not with the several footprints on the dusty ground surrounding the dark red pool of dried up, crusted blood around the body.

It was pretty clear—crystal fucking clear—that he’d been jumped, robbed and left to die for maggots to have a goddamned feast but where was his clarity? Where were the answers to his fucking questions?

How did you get her ring? Did she give it to you or did you take it from her? Did you ask her what she was doing at the airport? Did she say where she was going? Did she say who gave her that ring? How was she? Was she tearing up like she always is or was she happy—did she smile at you? Did she smile that little half-smile or did she smile with all her pretty pouty lips and teeth? Did you like what you saw? Did you like what she had on? Did you know every square inch of her skin belongs to me? Even the parts you don’t see–her soul, her body, her insides, their all mine—only mine—

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UPPPPP!”

He was shaking him-the dead man. He was so flimsy and smelled like absolute shit. He didn’t care if Robert’s dislocated jaw was swinging every which way or if the maggots on his stabbed eye were falling about. He needed answers. He needed them right. Now.

He was suddenly jostled upwards, his entire body being held back–with multiple hands on him. He thrashed wildly in the cops arms.

“Get the fuck off me and wake him up! WAKE HIM UP!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Rebecca’s shrill voice cut through the hot-blooded fog in his brain.

From the way the vein on her forehead seemed ready to burst, he could tell she’d been yelling for a while–he just couldn’t hear it.

Her derision was palpable, “Do you know what you just did? You messed up a crime scene—a crime scene. That’s tampering with evidence and that’s a felony–do you understand?”

He threw his head back, chuckling as he felt the oppressive California sunlight seep into his pores and make his simmering blood boil more. He shook his head as he faced her, an unprompted smile on his lips, “Am I supposed to care?”

He suddenly thrashed forward—sending the officers holding him back in a disarray as they strained to keep him in their grip, “He’s the last person to see her–who knows anything about her—who knows what he did? He should be glad he’s fuckin’ dead cuz I woulda’ done worse.”

He’d never seen a woman turn pale so fast. Her countenance aghast.

“You're done.” she looked past him, “Get him outta here. Now.”

Gojo was picking up one paper after the other, examining each image with as much care as he could. The image on the top right corner of the file seemed to blur but he quickly blinked it away. He stared at the image once-more, the girl looked nothing like Ara but he swore for a second he thought he saw her image there.

He rubbed his eyes. Am I hallucinating things now? Have I fully lost it?

Suddenly a knock resounded at the door and he glanced up. Suguru was leaning against the doorframe of his study with his arms crossed.

“You're finally home.”

Gojo set the file in his hand down, “I’ve been home.”

“What happened to living and breathing at the police station?”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, “I’m not allowed back there anymore.”

Suguru raised a brow before shaking his head, “I wonder why.”

Suguru stepped into the room, sauntering closer to his desk. His narrow eyes ran over the several boxes in the room before noticing the neatly organized files on his desk.

“What’s all this?”

Gojo leaned back in his seat, “They gave me busy work cuz I told them I still wanna be involved.”

Suguru picked up the file of the woman he’d been looking at earlier, “What’s the assignment?”

“Apparently, LAX has an average of 241,000 people taking flights daily, about 78,000 of them being women. Since it’s pretty much confirmed that Ara was there, they’re having me look at the 77,128 files of women who took flights on the day of our graduation. They want me to let em’ know if any of the girls look like her since according to their identification tech only a few of the girls match her features. They already traced them and confirmed their identities but I want to check for myself.”

Gojo raked his hands through his hair, “I know I could be wasting my time cuz she might’ve altered her ID photo to look nothing like her but…” his fingers tightened in his hair, “I have to do something.”

Suguru’s eyes widened as he noticed the few boxes that were closed up as if he’d already gone through them.

“How many files have you gone through?”

“6,455.”

“The hell?! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past few days?” Suguru demanded.

Gojo frowned–not even sure how long he’d been at this himself.

Suguru’s hand slammed his desk, “Are you sleeping at all?”

Gojo didn’t answer, merely staring at Ara’s promise ring that’d nearly fell off the desk.

“Damn it, Satoru. I hate seeing you like this, really–” he rubbed his brow, “How long are you gonna keep doing this to yourself?”

“As long as it takes.” he answered but he was zoned out—eyes fixed on the ring. It was her ring. He was undoubtedly sure of it. It was her exact size and it had their initials engraved within the band. He even reached out to the jeweler company to inquire if they’d sold that ring with the same customization to anyone else and they hadn’t. It was her ring—their promise.

And she’d just given it away?

“It’s about to be a month..” Suguru’s voice was low, “since she’s been missing.”

The words hit him like a knife slamming into his chest. 3 weeks and 2 days–he wanted to say, but he knew it was meaningless. Suguru was right.

It was almost a month… without her.

How did I let this happen?

“I know you miss her–”

He grit his teeth, “I don’t—”

“Just hear me out.”

He glanced over to see Suguru leaning against his desk, arms crossed, “I know you want to hate her but let’s be real, it’s more than that–and that’s okay. I.. I know how much she meant to you. What you guys had was different, everyone knows it.”

Suguru faced him, “I know you’re doing everything you can but this isn’t good for you. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “I am though–”

Suguru gestured towards the barely touched plate of food on his desk, “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping and you don’t leave the house. This isn’t you.”

He swallowed but his mouth still felt dry. For once, he didn’t know how to respond.

His hands tightened around the armrests of his chair before he glanced up at Suguru.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Suguru’s expression grew torn at the sight of him, “Let the police handle the rest.”

He shook his head, speaking fast, “They’re still going through the LAX surveillance footage. It’s been weeks and they haven’t got shit. It’s not enough—”

Suguru’s hand suddenly clasped his shoulder, “Stop, Satoru.”

His eyes widened as he stared at the sympathy in Suguru’s eyes.

“Stop torturing yourself like this.”

The words threw him off, leaving him confounded. He spoke slowly, “You think… I’ve lost it?”

He looked conflicted, “No but-”

“You think she’s dead?”

“No but I don’t think she wants to be found.”

His throat tightened. His words came out quiet, “So that’s it then? I should just let her go?”

He shook his head, “It’s out of your hands now. You need to stop living like this. It’s gonna eat you up alive.”

It already is. He wanted to say but he couldn’t find it in himself to speak. It hurt. His words hurt.

He knew she didn’t want to be found—she never wanted him in the first place, until she did. He knew she did. He felt it in the way she looked at him, her gaze had changed. Some part of her had fallen for him, he was sure of it and yet it felt like he was the only one who knew.

Why did you leave me, Ara? Why?

Do you really think you can forget me?

Only he knew how much opening up to him meant to her. Only he knew how much courage it took for her to come to his doorstep that night. Only he knew that relying on other people was a vulnerability to her and yet he’d got her to rely on him anyway. Only he knew that his lips had touched every mole she was insecure about on her body. Only he knew how badly she needed him to ease her after her nightmares in the dark.

Unraveling herself the way she did worked in the long game to outsmart him but some things could never be undone. She’d only gone to such lengths because she knew it too.

you can run, you can hide, but you can never escape being mine.

He barely felt Suguru squeeze his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s get In-n-Out with Shoko.”

He smiled halfheartedly, “Like old times?”

“Like old times.” Suguru repeated.

He looked at his reflection as he adjusted the collar of his suit. He didn’t bother to even try tame his hair.

He’d been dodging his Uncle’s invites to lame old people events the entire summer but he supposed his avoidance had hit its limit. He was required to come to this dinner party. It was commemorating the 70th somethin’ year anniversary of Gojo Industries.

His Uncle had booked out a venue. He knew there was bound to be tons of champagne, hand-shaking, speeches and all that shebang. His Uncle had told him to prepare a speech but he decided he’d just wing it. Everyone was enamored by him anyway.

He reached for his cologne only to freeze when his gaze caught the display stand. It was a two tier stand, the top was for his colognes, the bottom for her perfumes.

His row was completely stuffed with cologne bottles but hers only had a few. She had just started expanding her scent palate before she’d fallen in love with one perfume. He’d been in the store with her when she discovered it. He remembered how wide her eyes had gotten the second she took a whiff from the test strip. It’d been the cutest thing..

He snatched the perfume up faster than the human eye could follow. He threw off the cap and sprayed it in the air before him.

He closed his eyes.

He set the perfume down with a thunk as he laughed. His hands flattening against the bathroom counter as he faced downwards, shaking his head as he laughed uncontrollably.

He couldn’t stop laughing.

He felt like she was right there. He felt like she was right next to him.

He felt her pulse rapidly firing away against his lips. Her nails digging into his shoulders.

“sato—hnnnng—s-slow down. slow down! ngh!”

He nipped at her jaw, adding to the collection of hickeys on her neck. Her scent clouding his mind.

“you can take it.”

He gripped the edge of the bathroom counter as his mind spiraled.

He sucked at the skin in the crook of her shoulder and neck. He tasted her perfume on his tongue.

She shoved him back, “Satoru.”

Her worry evident as she stared up at him, “We’re in school.”

Her eyes darted down the hallway, checking either side before leaning back against the lockers they were hiding behind.

His hand slipped up the back of her thigh, squeezing her ass underneath her skirt uniform. It was just so cute and plump, he couldn’t resist.

She jumped as he kneaded the soft flesh.

He tilted his head, grinning, “Everyone’s in class, kitten~”

One of her hands pressed against his chest while the other pushed at his forearm, “Stop.” she chastised.

His fingers gripped the countertop so hard it hurt.

She squirmed, burying her face in his chest as he kissed a trail up her arm to her wrist, her scent wafting over him.

“That tickles.” her voice raspy with sleep, “I can’t sleep like this.”

He’d just scooped her up-bundled in the blanket and all-from the nearby couch onto his lap.

“You’ll be fine.” He teased.

And he was right because once he resumed reading the lengthy document on his computer, she’d passed out peacefully five minutes in.

He shook his head vigorously, his maniacal laughter subsiding as he raised his head and met his crazed expression in the mirror. His eyes had never looked this lost.

I’m losing my mind.

He pushed himself off the counter. His fingers cramped from how hard he’d been gripping it earlier.

His eyes landed on the perfume bottle once-more. Roses Vanille by Mancera. He was tempted to grab the bottle and throw it—maybe the sound of it breaking would be satisfying.

There wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t think of her.

His emotions always skewed from deep-rooted hatred to an insatiable ache when it came to her. It was always one or the other. Rarely a mix of both. It never got any less unnerving.

He picked up the perfume cap he’d thrown earlier and carefully screwed it back atop the bottle. He set the perfume back on the display.

Despite destroying most of her things in his rage several weeks ago, he’d told Marin to leave the rest of her unscathed stuff untouched.

He stared at himself in the mirror, schooling his emotions.

The one girl who outsmarted him, the only girl who could undo him so quickly.

Everyone thought he was doing better now, slowly coping with her loss—as if he could just become himself again and let her go. He’d answer calmly whenever she was brought up, never letting his facade crack, never letting his possessive thoughts show.

Enjoy yourself now, kitten. I’m never giving up on you.

Go on, keep thinking you got the last laugh.

When I get my hands on you I’m gonna show you just how far I can go.

As if on cue, his phone on the counter rang. Once he saw the contact name the equivalent of a thousand shards of broken glass fusing themselves back together occurred in his mind. Everything sharpened as if his mind had been dunked in ice-water.

A despicable grin spread along his lips, “Hi James~ I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“Uh-yes. Mr. Gojo, I’ve found a match for whom you're looking for.”

Whom? Who says that? A low chuckle slipped out of him as he ran a hand over mouth, “Go on.”

“She’s located in Memphis, Tennessee. She’s going to the University of Memphis in the fall and moved early into her dorm yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I’m sending you her information now.”

“Please do.”

He ended the call and scrolled through the information James sent. He deftly read her attributes before his eyes landed on her most recent ID photo—her University ID card. It looked… too accurate. It was Ara’s face. His Ara’s face.

Except she had light brown hair, eye-glasses and was majoring in geology? Was that another interest she’d kept hidden to herself?

He quickly called up his private jet’s operator. Once he heard the line pick-up he didn’t wait for him to speak, “Peter! Get ready.”

“Yes, sir. Where to?”

He loosened his tie before tossing it, “We’re goin’ to Memphis.”

The University of Memphis campus had quite a different vibe from all the colleges he’d toured. Of course, all the colleges he’d toured had been mainly Ivy leagues but the place piqued his interest nonetheless.

It was straightforward in its design. Brick buildings with white pillars. Blue tiger-print stripes everywhere to signify their mascot and school colors. Most buildings were walking distance from one another. It was nice.

He couldn’t help but wonder what could make Ara settle here of all places? Was it just because it was far away from him? Just so she could live on unrecognized? Or was there more to it?

He knew she didn’t have any family out here so that was out of the question.

He supposed he’d just have to ask her himself.

He sat on a bench near the university center, hands in his pockets. People watching. Students were already milling about. He could feel the anticipation in the air for school to start.

Suddenly his eyes skirted to a girl exiting the university center building, a few books clutched in her hand, tote bag over her shoulder. He briefly caught a glimpse of her face and recognized her. Penn Yves-her new identity. Ha.

Her hair covered her face as she bent down to search for something in her bag while walking. Had she seen him? It didn’t seem likely since she was still walking in his direction.

He got onto his feet and watched her slowly make her way towards him while shuffling through her bag.

Could she walk any slower?

Anticipation gathered in his veins with each step she took. His fingers aching with that familiar rush he hadn’t felt in so long.

He wanted to see her expression. He wanted to see her eyes dilate in fear?—yes, fear. It’d be back to how it was in their early days most likely. When she’d flinch against his touch and look at him with thinly veiled contempt. Or maybe she’d be so surprised she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Would she pass out? Ha. That would be funny. Or would she—

Her forehead bumped into chest and she gasped as she stepped back. One of the books in her hand instantly falling to the ground.

Her face raised upto his and he froze.

They had the same skin tone and eye-shape, her lashes were a bit shorter but their lips were also similar. Full and pouty. But his Ara didn’t have any freckles on her cheeks nor was her nose as upturned as this girls.

She pushed her glasses up to her forehead when the sun glared in their reflection and he confirmed it. It wasn’t her.

The anticipation in his gut dulled into something more tumultuous, something dark.

She blinked up at him, seemingly taken aback as she spoke softly, “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

That wasn’t her voice either.

He hid his callous expression by bending down to pick up her book. When he held it out to her he had a pleasant smile on his lips, “Don’t worry about it.”

She was still staring at him, an intrigue in her eyes that he’d seen plenty of times before. He was too in his head to find even a morsel of amusement from it.

She took the book from him, finally breaking eye-contact, “Do you go here?”

“No.”

Her brows drew together, “Oh.” The disappointment in her voice was evident.

That made him chuckle but it rang hollow. Everything felt hollow. He’d been foolish to think it would be that easy. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

Ara was a challenge in and of herself. James would need to do more than just a little homework to find her. If there was anything about Ara, she was thorough. Her escape had proven so.

If he’d known that his little fixation on her would lead him here would he do it all over again?

In a heartbeat.

It’d be easy to chat up this girl, take her out on a date then pretend that the girl before him was his new Ara. It would be so easy he wouldn’t even have to try.

But taking the easy way out was never his style, was it? He’d pick the thrill of the game every time—even if it consumed him in the end.

There was no settling. There was no quitting. There was just a challenge that he had to win.

Ara, when I find you just remember…you started this.

He reached out, touching a strand of her brown hair before speaking quietly, “Have a good semester.”

She watched her hair untwirl itself from his finger as he turned around.

Dublin, Ireland.

It’s been a while since he’d been here. The air always felt so crisp it was refreshing. The bakeries were spectacular too—especially alongside the River Liffey.

He crumpled up the wrapper of his strawberry pistachio tartlet from the Queen of Tarts—no sorry, il Valentino, the cafe rebranded apparently. Regardless, he’d devoured it in two bites. He regretted not getting a second.

He tossed the wrapper into a nearby trash can as he walked. It was his first time exploring the Dubh Linn gardens. It was rather gorgeous at sunset.

He slipped his hands in his pockets as a chill breeze swept past. He took his time with each step until he spotted her.

From the back it looked just like her. From her height, her waist length hair down to the shape of her hips—it looked exactly like her. He just needed to see her face.

Her phone was raised to take a picture of the Dublin Castle. He couldn’t blame her, it looked rather magnificent in the dark. It was even more impressive on the inside. Memories of his mother’s friend's wedding flashed through his mind. He remembered making fun of the old age paintings on the walls.

That felt so long ago..

Suddenly she was walking again, her back still to him.

The urge to see her face suddenly pulsed through him. His pace picked up, as well as his heart rate.

He quickly caught up to her and grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around. She turned with a gasp, instantly facing him.

Not her.

Her eyes were the same shape as hers, just slightly lighter in color. Her nose was the same but her lips were the subtlest bit smaller. Her brows were thicker as well.

The similarities were uncanny, but he knew this wasn’t his Ara.

“Who are you?” she asked slowly, a subtle Irish accent to her words.

He let go of her elbow, “Ah, sorry. You look like someone I know.”

She searched his face curiously, “You do too. Are you famous?”

He chuckled dryly, “Not really.”

She looked him up and down, “Do you model?”

“No.”

“You should.”

He gave her a halfhearted smile-trying to focus but his mind was elsewhere, “I’ll think about it.”

“Are you single?”

“No.” he answered-then frowned subtly. He answered almost too quickly, as if it were instinct.

She tilts her head, raising one brow, “You look confused.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “Heh, well.. we’re on a break.”

“Damn.” she bites her lower lip, seeming to contemplate something before saying, “I’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, “Is it supposed to be this rough?”

She smiles—it reminds him so much of Ara’s smile his heart began to ache. Ara was always so stingy with her smiles.

“Just be good and I’m sure she’ll take you back.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. It would take me forever to get a face like yours out of my head.”

He exhaled through his nose in humor, “I can’t get her out of my head.”

She hesitates before something seems to click in her eyes. “Do I… look like her?”

He nods.

She laughs, “So you thought I was her when you saw me?”

“..yeah.” he admits.

She laughs again, “Wow.”

Her hair rippled in the wind when a cool breeze passed. “She must be really pretty then.” she adds.

“She is.”

Her eyes twinkle with amusement, “So if I was her, what would you say?”

That was a great question, one that he hadn’t given much thought to just yet. He had a lot to say to her now that he was thinking about it—too much to say maybe, but it was impossible to tell the girl before him any of those things.

He’d save those words for the real deal.

Instead he tilted his head, “I’d tell her I’m taking her home tonight.”

She blushed, a light feminine giggle escaping her lips.

She shook her head, “Nice try.”

He raised his hands to express his innocence, “Wasn’t trying anything, I swear.”

Her eyes narrowed and once-again he was reminded so much of her.

His grin faded, “If I saw her, I really would be taking her home.”

“Mhmm.”

He chuckled.

She had a coy look in her eyes when she took a step back, “Well good luck, with her.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

“Don’t go flirting with her lookalikes either.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She started flirting first but it felt pointless to say. It didn’t even matter because despite all of their similarities and her little flirtatious ways he wasn’t hard-not even in the slightest. He hadn’t gotten hard with the first lookalike either.

She playfully rolled her eyes before turning away. He watched her walk until she left through the garden exit and disappeared onto the street. A cold feeling settling in his gut.

Ara, where are you?

Gojo snaps his fingers, catching Geto’s attention.

Geto glances over, annoyed, “What?”

Gojo’s eyes remained planted on the laptop in front of him as he speedily typed away. “Can you give me my phone?”

He looks over at the charger plugged into the outlet beside him. He reached over and took Gojo’s phone out. His phone flashed open to his lockscreen.

The picture is difficult to make out due to the dim lighting but with enough squinting he’s able to make out that the pic was taken from Gojo’s chin down. Ara is lying comfortably atop his shoulder with her arm sprawled over his chest. She looks fast-asleep but since the blanket just barely covers her waist he can see the outline of her bare breasts pressed against Gojo’s chest.

He reddened before a few text messages notifications began to pop-up on his phone. The contact name for the messages simply one pie emoji.

Geto’s brow furrow, “You got a text.”

Gojo’s eyes don’t leave his laptop, “From who.”

“From pie?”

Gojo immediately snatched the phone out of his hand. He watched Gojo quickly unlock it and stare at his phone with even more focus than the assignment he was working on seconds ago.

“Who’s pie?” Geto asked, confused.

Gojo doesn’t answer, clearly fixed on whatever ‘pie’ was texting him.

“Pie..” Geto muttered to himself as he mulled it over.

Gojo isn’t the type to make someone’s contact name without any significance so he finds himself trying to decode it.

He’s frowning as he glances at Gojo typing away on his phone. He looks completely engrossed. He’d only ever seen him like that when he was texting..

“Is that your private investigator?” he snaps as it clicks.

Private Investigator = PI = pie emoji

Gojo shuts his laptop and slips it in his bag. He swings his backpack over one shoulder as he stands.

“I gotta go.”

“Where?”

He pushes his chair back under their study desk, “To London.”

“What?”

He grins but it doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Don’t you have an exam in 20 minutes?”

He shrugs, “I’ll make it up.”

“What?! Satoru—wait!”

“Shhh!” A nearby librarian scolds.

Gojo’s already booked it towards the exit, hastily waving his hand in goodbye as he goes.

She’s shuffling through the books in her cart, completely confused.

Where is it? It was just here.

She bends down to the bottom rack of the cart, deftly reading each title to no avail.

“Where are you?” she mutters to herself.

“Looking for this?” An attractive male voice resounded behind her. There was an American accent to his words.

Her back grazed his chest as she stood. She immediately turned around and backed up.

“Oh-“ she stops mid-sentence at the sight of him. She was already flustered but this… this made her heart rate go staccato.

He was tall—maybe 6’4 or 6’5. His hair was platinum but it didn’t look dyed at all, his light colored lashes proved so. It worked well with his even, pale skin and high cheekbones. But what was even more staggering was the color of his eyes.

They were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. It was almost alien how spellbinding they were.

But it wasn’t just her that was staring, he was staring too. He was searching her face in a way that didn’t seem sensual. There was a precision to his gaze—rather calculative, like he was studying her.

Then suddenly his gaze closed, all the curiosity coming to a quick abrupt end.

She blinked, taking another step back only to bump into her cart. Crap.

The corner of his lip curled subtly, “Aren’t you at least gonna take a look?”

She glanced down to see a book in his hands—exactly the book she was looking for.

She took it from him, “Thanks.”

She quickly moved further down the shelves to gain some distance from him. It was hard for her to function around pretty people—especially to the degree that he was at. It was already hard being bi and working in a bookstore-pretty girls were everywhere-and now this?

Bah! Get him out of here.

“Sorry I took it from your cart. It looked like an interesting read.”

She found the place in the shelf where the book belonged and shelved it.

“Yeah?” she responded noncommittally.

“Yeah.” he leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms as he glanced around, “This is a nice bookstore.”

“It is.” she muttered, avoiding eye-contact at all times as she grabbed another book and climbed the mini-ladder.

“Nerine.” he said slowly, “That’s a flower right?”

She turned around, immediately about to ask him how he knew her name until she remembered she had a name tag on. Please use your brain, Nerine.

But it was odd, not many people knew Nerine was a flower.

She eyed him warily as he ran his thumb over the sides of the pages of a book in his hand. He seemed somewhat entertained by how fast the pages flipped open at the action. That was also another book from her cart.

“That’s a new book.” she spoke more clipped than she intended.

He glanced up, eyes wide, “Oh, sorry. That’ll mess up the pages right?”

Not really. She was just being anal because she liked to treat her books with care but—she pressed her lips together before releasing a short breath.

“Never mind.”

He blinked. He looked like he was near her age. She doubted he was older than eighteen or nineteen.

Since he wasn’t leaving she decided to utilize him, “Can you give me that?” she pointed at another book on the cart.

“Sure!” he instantly set down his book and reached for the one she pointed at.

Suddenly she got the urge to mess with him. She wasn’t sure where it came from-maybe it was because he was so pretty that it was annoying but whatever.

Just as he picked the book up, she said, “Not that one.”

“Oh.” he pointed to the one behind it, “That one?”

“Nope.”

He pointed to the one after that, “This one?”

“Nope.”

He pointed at the book on the opposite end, “This one?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up the book and immediately seemed to notice that it had the same title as the first book he’d picked up. It was just another copy.

He handed it to her with a little smile, “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” she answered flatly as she snatched the book from him.

She wanted to laugh at the confusion on his face but it was then that she realized.. he had dark circles underneath his eyes. They were a dull light purplish shade that contrasted quite a bit with his pale skin. She was surprised she didn’t notice it earlier. Boy definitely needs some sleep.

“Do you like working here?” he asked randomly.

Does he really not have anyone else to talk to?

“Yeah.” she answered dryly.

“You probably read a lot, right?”

A lot would be an understatement.

He followed her down the aisle as she pushed her cart, “There’s this book I’m tryna find but I forgot the title-“

“Do you remember the author?”

“No but.. can I tell you what happens in the story and maybe you can help me find it?”

Odd request but “Sure.”

She might actually be able to help him find it with the amount of books she’d read. No genre was a stranger to her—except maybe self-help books. She wasn’t mature enough for that yet. Regardless, with his face she doubted he was reading anything too complicated. If it was a trendy book it’d be easy enough to find.

“So it’s about this girl that gets approached by one of her classmates, she doesn’t really like him that much in the beginning-dunno why-but they stop talking for a bit only for her to go to a party and they end up hooking up.”

This guy is reading a romance? She shoots him a curious glance before continuing to shelf her books.

“Then basically they start hooking up every day after that. She can’t really leave the house much so they mostly hang out at her house and school but sometime later he ends up finding out that her dad is abusive.”

He pauses, “And-erm-he kinda does something about it.”

She raises a brow, facing him, “Like?”

He smiles a bit awkwardly, “He nearly kills her Dad… in front of her.”

Damn! A dark romance? This guy is full of plot twists.

There must be something showing on her face because suddenly he scrambles to say, “But he makes up for it by getting her Dad to a hospital right away, covering the bill and all.”

“Does the Dad know they’re dating?” she asks.

“No but that’s cuz she hid their relationship from him. He’s strict so he doesn’t allow her to date or to go out or-anything really.” he huffed.

“So what happened next?”

“So..” he squints as if trying to remember, “So yeah, she breaks up with him—even though he was only trying to protect her but she’s still mad so.. they end up not talking for two months. Her dad heals up and they get back home from the hospital only for the same shit to happen again.”

She glances up at him again to see a tension defining his jaw that wasn’t there before. He catches her gaze, “Her Dad hits her again.”

“Damn.”

“It was really bad,” he mutters, staring off as if recounting it, “Her body was completely busted up.”

She watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “Anyway, she goes back to her ex cuz she doesn’t want to live with her Dad anymore. He lets her stay and they end up getting back together and doing a whole bunch of cute shit—even confessing their love. Well, the guy been told her he loved her but it took her a while to say it back, but she did end up saying back.“

She glances at him leaning forward in his seat. It seems he found a stool that was supposed to be used for people too short to reach the top shelves. Regardless, she can’t help but feel the stool looks too tiny for him.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Everything is all fine and dandy until graduation rolls around-“ he then quickly adds, “They’re seniors in high school by the way.”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, “And so on their high school graduation she goes missing.”

“Really?” she asks, shocked.

“For real.”

“Did her Dad kidnap her or something?”

His brows furrow, “Nah, not her Dad but listen-after she goes missing, a few things come out. During their relationship her boyfriend would gift her a lot of things and it turns out before she went missing she sold some of the gifts and raked up a couple million-“

“A couple million?” she questions, completely flabbergasted, “How?”

He pauses, his mouth partially open while he squints-as if unsure why that would be hard to grasp until he realizes, “Oh, her boyfriend’s rich so her gifts weren’t cheap. Birkins, Van cleef, you get it. Anywa-“

“Let me guess, he’s a millionaire.” she rolls her eyes.

He blinks, “Billionaire actually.”

“I hate dark romance books sometimes.” she shakes her head, “Go on.”

“So yeah, now the police concluded that she ran off with the money and disappeared without a trace.”

She watches him lean back in his seat and clasp his hands together in front of himself. He looks at her expectantly.

“Where did she go?” she asks.

He shrugged, “Nobody knows, but more importantly—why would she do that?”

“Do what?”

“Up and leave like that.”

“I..” her brows furrow, “I don’t know. You read the bloody book, not me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a girl. Why would a girl do that? Why would she leave everything behind?”

Her mind raced with possibilities as she mulled it over, “I don’t know.. it could be lots of things. She could’ve been unhappy-“

“But why would she be unhappy? She had her man right there, why didn’t she just tell him?”

“Well maybe she didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe she didn’t like him either.”

“But she did though, she did. She said she loved him.”

“People can say anything.”

He looked exhausted, “I know that but like—“ he pauses, as if seriously contemplating something, “She loves him. He knows it.”

She’s a bit taken aback by the intensity in his gaze but responds anyway, “But does she love him if she sold all his gifts for money?”

He looks at her knowingly, as if he’s already considered this but seems to await the rest of her answer anyway.

She stuffed another book onto the shelf, “Clearly something is bothering her. Generally speaking, girls don’t usually make drastic decisions like that without considering everything involved. She obviously knew what she was doing and who she was hurting in the process.”

He silently considers this for a moment before speaking tentatively, “So.. what do you think of her?”

“Well, she’s wrong for doing her boyfriend like that. He technically did nothing wrong but she used him anyway.”

She shakes her head, “But honestly that’s what makes the least sense in the story, if she really loved him-like your so insistent on-she wouldn’t do that unless she had to.”

“Why would she ever have to?”

“Maybe there was some private family drama she didn't want him to know?” she answers unsurely.

“Her Dad’s her only family.”

“Maybe she has a secret health condition?”

“They lived together for 6 months. He would know if she had a disease.”

She threw her hands up, “Then it’s probably some plot twist! I don’t know.”

He watched her frustration, amused, before continuing to press, “And what do you think would be a good plot twist?”

“If she was a spy that would be hot.”

He laughed.

She shelved another book, “But since it’s a dark romance, they usually keep the plot somewhat linear... I’d say her boyfriend isn't as innocent as he seems. You did say that she didn’t like him in the beginning right?”

“I did.”

“Was it like an enemies to lovers situation?”

“Enemies to lovers?” he questioned, before letting out a short laugh, “Kinda, I suppose.”

She nods, “He also does have a violent streak to almost kill her Dad. What-did he try to shoot him?”

“No, he beat the shit outta him.”

“So a few punches?”

“Pft, no. Damn near broke his jaw, his nose, cracked his skull. Dude almost became a cripple.” An airy chuckle left him, “If she didn’t stop him in time he woulda gouged her Dad’s eyes out with his thumbs.”

“Jesus.” she muttered, “That’s not normal.”

“He was defending her.”

“Yeah but to do all that with your bare hands? It’s giving anger issues.”

He blinked before quickly rebutting, “But if he didn’t jump in, her Dad would’ve hurt her.”

“Okay fine so he’s protective then.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe even overprotective?”

He looked at her intently for a moment before replying, “Maybe..”

She raised a brow, “What do you mean maybe? Was he or was he not?”

He appears resigned, “Yeah.”

She nodded once again, “Maybe that’s it. Maybe it was suffocating for her—maybe he was even violent towards her but she didn’t know what to do because she’s used to violence at home.”

His voice was crisp, “He would never hurt her.”

She shrugged, “He must’ve done something or else I can’t see why she’d leave her billionaire boyfriend alone. She’d be set for life-no, generations with that.”

She snapped her fingers, “She left for revenge. That would be a good plot twist.”

He raises a brow as if intrigued. A smirk seems to play at the end of his lips, “Revenge..” he says the word as if he were tasting it, “How so?”

“She’s getting revenge on all the overbearing men in her life. She left her Dad’s house, which is revenge in itself cuz that’s like a strict parents nightmare. Then she left her overprotective boyfriend, breaking his heart. Now she gets to live on being the cunt that she is.”

“Cunt?” he questions.

She smiles, “It’s a compliment.”

“So you support her then?”

“I support women’s rights and wrongs.” She freezes abruptly before looking at him with a frown, “Hold on, why are you pestering me about all of this? Don't you know why already? You read the book.”

“I left off at the part where she went missing.”

She stands, dusting off her pants as she realizes she completed shelving her cart during the time he took to explain that ‘story’.

“So you decide to fry my brain for theories about the plot?”

He smiles-rather brightly, “Basically.”

He stands up from the stool, “Thank you for the conversation. It was fun.”

“Fun?”

He nods.

She looks at him skeptically, “Well thanks for keeping me entertained while I cleared my cart.”

“Anytime.” he gives her a brief once-over before tilting his head as if realizing something.

“What?”

A slight chuckle escapes him, “I just realized you kinda look like her. The girl from the story.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, same hair and all.”

She’s not quite sure how to respond, “Hm, what a coincidence.”

“Right?”

Revenge.

He chews on the word, as if it’s a bitter candy that he despises the flavor of yet can’t seem to spit out.

It bothers him. It’s been bothering him ever since that girl brought it up.

The Ara he knows is more honest than that though, more straight-laced. She’s the type to think more out of necessity versus revenge.

But then again could he trust his judgment on her anymore? After she managed to manipulate him the way she did?

But was it really manipulation if he knew? He knew she wasn’t comfortable when she first stepped onto his doorstep, when she first slept in his bed. But he watched her, he watched her spread her wings and bloom.

He watched her accept his love and he saw her start to want it. He saw her need it in the way he did.

Which was all he ever wanted. The only fault in his plan was that she got away.

But then there was that stupid word, revenge.

The word that tempted his bleak anger, the roiling waves of betrayal deep in his soul. The word that triggered the voices in the back of his mind to remind him that she wanted him to suffer, wanted him to hurt.

It bothered him because if that was her goal, it was working. He was restless, constantly agitated and barely interested in anything anymore. Everything felt mechanical.

His temper was starting to run less hot—it started to feel cold. Like ice churning in his gut with every memory of her that crossed his mind. He felt it like a thin layer of snow settling on his skin, slowly accumulating overtime.

Is this what you want, Ara?

He tilted his chin up, facing the sky. It felt so close from this vantage point.

Everywhere he looked there was only the sky. The sun setting in the distance painted the vast canvas a multitude of colors. yellow, pale pink, orange, and yet they were all chased away by the indigo blue of night closing in like a veil gliding above the clouds.

A frigid current of air swiftly passed along his face, making his hair flip in the wind and his dress-shirt collar flutter against his neck. It was as if the night sky’s gravitational pull could be felt by him too.

He watched the yellow of the sun disappear, hiding to let noisy LA get bathed in darkness.

It was in darkness after all, where the city thrived the most.

His eyes jolted open when he heard a loud noise. It came from the garage, he was certain of it.

He grunted as he sat up on his bed. He rubbed his head while reaching over to grab his phone from the nightstand with the other. It was 2:05 am.

“Huh?” he exclaimed in confusion when he saw that all his house cameras were disabled. He hadn’t turned any of them off.

He refreshed his app and the results were the same. The cameras were ‘disconnected’.

Suddenly he heard a sound come from downstairs. He instantly shifted in his place on the bed, facing the hallway.

He swore he saw a shadow pass by. It was incredibly fast. He almost questioned if it was a hallucination.

He grabbed his cane and stood up. He’d developed a permanent limp after his altercation with the robber or whatever shit story Ara had told him had happened that night.

He pulled out his gun from his nightstand and limped over. Had that shitty robber decided to come back? He’d have a real nice surprise this time.

He held up the gun with a shaky hand as he entered the hallway.

“EYYY! Who the hell is in my house?” he bellowed, loud enough to echo in the entirety of the house.

He glanced around the hallway, it was empty but it was dark so his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the darker shadows at the ends of the hall.

Suddenly he heard the sound of something fall—in Ara’s room. His eyes widened.

He didn’t think, he lowered his gun and limped over.

He hadn’t entered her room in months but he didn’t hesitate to swing her door open now.

“Ara?” he questioned, his heart swelling with hope—only to feel something harder than steel slam into the side of his head.

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eluxcastar · 2 months ago

Note

HII, girl I'm LITERALLY OBSESSED W YOUR WRITING AND I'VE NEVER BEEN INTO DOTTORE TGIS MUCH, And I love you dadtore fics, if it's possible, can you make a fic where reader comes back from kindergarten and asks him when her bday is bc it was their friend's bday and poor Dottore doesn't know and tries to find reader's parents to ask them for their bday to find out it's in a few days?? THANK YOU SM AND I'M NOT FORCING BTWW!!!!

Dadtore sends his raccoon child to kindergarten

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: dadtore finally lets someone else watch his raccoon child for a while, except they accidentally learn birthdays exist, and then he's gotta figure out when theirs is

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, not proofread, details of reader's backstory are still a bit ambiguous (perhaps at the detriment of the story), again mentions reader being mute but you can ignore it and idk pretend they said something, can't promise it's in character I'm super rusty

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

THANK YOUUUU

this is like the perfect setup for him to join a pta or something LMAO

he probably should've tested this child for rabies, but anyway, enjoy this chaos. I finally got inspiration after playing minecraft on this modpack. a raccoon got into my chicken pen and chilled with the chickens until I put a tasmanian devil in there that killed the chickens and became besties with the raccoon. I saw those little guys together and was like "I have to make ocs out of this" then was like DOTTORE'S RACCOON CHILD, so here we are

You have never been fussed over quite so much as you are today. Dottore has been trying to get you ready to be watched by someone else for once. All you can focus on is how Omega stands in the back with his arms folded over his chest while he scoffs at the softness Dottore has adopted when he sits you down on the edge of the closest empty table to clean the crumbs off your face after you scarfed down a cookie Tartaglia snuck you earlier.

He won't allow you to go to such an unfamiliar place like kindergarten without wiping your dirty hands and pressing a cloth to your plushy little cheeks in hopes of making you at least somewhat presentable. You will never shake the lingering dirt under your fingernails or the habit of smearing everything across your fingers in an attempt to have fun with the messes you can make.

Perhaps you're too old for a place like kindergarten, but everyone has to start somewhere. Dottore is not ready to send you to school, a place he sees as a stressful commitment that will consume more and more of your time, which he's unwilling to relinquish.

As much as Dottore resists the depth of his affection for you, a part of him refuses to send you away for too long out of some unfamiliar feeling of...fear. It is awful. It is a battle he fights within himself between the factions that war against loving you and missing you. He is discovering the parental woes of attachment after months of taking your presence for granted as if you will always be lingering in his lab.

It will be quiet. Some of Dottore's segments might be happy you're not around to knock his tools on the floor or almost break glass jars whenever you put your hands up to implore him to let you help. Dottore will, unfortunately, miss it more than he'd like to admit.

You try to mask your nervousness with a facade of excitement as if you're eagerly anticipating the adventure of a new place, but the truth is, the nerves are gnawing at you just as they are at Dottore. Since coming here, you have seldom been away from him, and it was nice. His presence is comforting. You stand there, clapping your hands in a show of readiness, while Dottore helps you with your backpack, stealing your arms to guide them into the straps before settling it on your shoulders and ensuring you're all set.

Though Dottore can't feed himself for the life of him, he knows how to make you a sandwich to get you through the day and cut the crusts off as you'd silently asked by never eating them, only to present him your empty plate with nothing but the crusts. He cut them off this morning before packing your lunch into your backpack for you. He added some snacks, most of which were made by other people who were far better at cooking than him, like the small cakes Arlecchino gave him once the children at the House were done with them.

She worries for you too much, even when you've lived this long without facing more than a fever. Dottore panicked enough when you had that to scare him into wiping your hands and making you blow your nose. If you were going to be injured by anything, it would be the many possible weapons lying around his lab. His efforts to conceal those in the way he did when he reorganised the materials. The segments will leave those anywhere without regard for it, safe for the occasionally conscious few who worry enough about you to be a little more spacially aware.

Kindergarten was her idea once she discovered you had received no formal education.

Dottore can hear Omega walking away once he grows tired of watching him dote on you like a sentimental father. He finally takes your hand to lead you away, squeezing your little hand in his, marred by the fear you might suddenly disappear if he does not stay with you. The fear of losing you is a constant.

Getting you to stay at kindergarten in his absence was difficult when you couldn't stop snivelling and whimpering for him to remain, and he felt awkward. Having a Harbinger bring you to school was bad enough, but he was capable of making your caregivers nervous just by nervously nudging you into their arms. At least he knows you'll be treated well. She tried to get you to come to play with the other children and show you the various games and crafts, but you had none of it out of some deep-seated fear that Dottore might not return.

Coming home is easier as you are in his arms the moment you see him, swept off your feet with your eyes filled with joy. You hug him more tightly than you ever have before. He would kiss your head if only that paternal love for you felt real, but his fear of reciprocation keeps him from anything more than a tight squeeze until you kick your legs around to make him release you.

You greet him with crumbs on your face from a cake not quite like the one he sent you off with, inspecting it before he takes the handkerchief from his pocket, which he always uses to wipe your face. Dottore swipes the mess away.

"They wouldn't let me clean them up," the caregiver who had tried so very hard to calm you quickly attempts to excuse herself. "No touching," she adds. "That's dad's job, I take it?"

Dad's job. He supposes he is listed as being your father on the registration papers, and he arrived with you. You clung to him, teary-eyed and unwilling to leave his side for about ten minutes. Every child wants their parents to stay, she'd told him. To think you didn't like her touching you is strange to him when you have always been ok with him doing so—he practically threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes when he found you.

You didn't care before, but now you do, and he has no idea why. Dottore won't bother asking when you're too busy flicking your fingers against his earring, watching the liquid inside the vial slosh against the glass for entertainment as it sways back and forth.

"Where did it come from?" he questions, wondering what you'd put in your mouth for later if you wanted it again.

"Chocolate cake," she tells him. "One of the other children brought it in for her birthday."

Birthday? The thought of you having a birthday has never crossed his mind, but when he hears the word from the caregiver's mouth, his mind races as he realises he doesn't know your birthday in the first place. He pats his hand against the small of your back as you seem to once again settle into place in his arms like it's the comfiest place in the world.

The look you give him is more than enough to glean that you want to know the answer, too, and if you do have an answer, you want to know why he hasn't questioned it. He'd have to find your parents to discern that. He doesn't know almost anything about you that he didn't decide or contribute, save for your name, as you haphazardly wrote it down on a piece of paper you were scribbling all over.

But for a birthday...things are different.

He does not appreciate you blowing a party horn at him. You treat it like any child treats something that makes a loud noise, and you continue to blow it incessantly the whole way home. It drives him crazy to hear nothing but that loud, ear-grating sound.

"Where did you get that?" he finally asks. However, he won't take it away, seeing as it distracts you from your earlier fit. Your adventure has been quelled by a need to have someone in your life who can care for you the way you have become used to, but he almost doesn't mind the way you cling.

You blow the horn at him as an answer, even when it does not suffice. It is more noise than you've ever made in response to him, even if it comes through a party horn.

"I suppose you wonder about your birth, then?" he questions at last.

You blow the horn again. Dottore watches it unravel in a spiral and puffs with your breath as the sound rings out again in a rough, wavering blight to the silence. In a way, he almost likes it, endeared by it, if begrudgingly.

"There might not be an answer," he tells you honestly, unable to lie. He sees no point in it, not about this. He's not one for sugarcoating what he tells you, even if he suspects they'll upset you. You need to hear them all.

There's no horn in response to that. You're quiet. As the moments, then seconds, pass, you take the party horn from your mouth, now a touch grossly covered in a sheen of your saliva, and only nod as you usually do. It's a bit sombre, marred by the sting of disappointment Dottore sees in the depths of your eyes so fixed on the path ahead or the movement of your fingers as you play with your newest toy.

With a hand against your upper back, he pats you. "I'll search for one," he assures you despite that, and his hand slips away without another word.

He finds looking for answers difficult. He does most of it after you've drifted off to sleep, resting in the same place you always do beneath the coat that has long become yours as much as it is his.

Your party horn was confiscated by a segment who couldn't stand hearing you blow on it at all hours, thinking it was funny, but once it found the highest shelf far beyond your reach, you soon forgot it as you settled right back into your familiar place.

You spend long days far from where you feel safest, and much of it is spent...reasonably happy. You befriended the child whose birthday cake you got all over your face, and each day, you would return to him with her in tow. You grow inseparable from the girl until the very moment he returns you to this same lab you are so used to.

You busy yourself as you always have while Dottore tries to find traces of someone searching for a child of your rough age, first in the area where he met you and then further.

At a point, he grew desperate, the dwindling sources weighing on him as the sting of failure settled in despite his telling you that he may not find anything. He wanted to provide you with something after all the time he spent leaving you without answers, wondering. It was a simple pleasure.

He briefly considers lying but knows it would do you no good. He has rarely told you lies, but the thought of you never knowing a day when you smeared your own cake on your face is oddly sad.

Then he finds it.

It is only the whisper of a couple who searched for their child and then stopped, but one of his segments presents it all the same.

On the surface, the couple found who they were looking for and returned to their happy lives in the Snezhnayan countryside without incident, but nothing actually indicates that they found the child they were looking for—no thanks to the people who had helped look, no entries in local papers—only that the efforts abruptly ended.

Innocuously, Dottore presents a kamera to you and asks for a picture, not bothering to mention that he intends to show it to people he hopes with recognise your face.

So, Dottore travels back out to the little town where they had lived—personally this time—hoping to find answers without going through a chain of other people just to find hints. Doing all of that had been exhausting, but it's arguably worse for a Harbinger to walk through the streets of a town that had never known the presence of one, knocking on doors for a couple most claimed to have heard nothing from in months.

The quaint little cottage he approaches after a long day spent questioning a town filled with people who didn't want to be questioned belied the effort it took, a pillar of smoke rising from the chimney of a house much older than you, yet which you perhaps once resided in. Something about it carves a sinking pit into his stomach like it confirms his fears that you have a home waiting for you to return to it.

The door greets the beat of his hand with a firm knock, and the shuffle of feet, and a weathered old man appears in the doorway. At first, he seems indifferent to the sight, then his brows knit together in confusion before he pales at the realisation of who—or rather what—has found his doorstep.

"Did you find them?" the man blurts out before Dottore can even speak a word.

Within cautious seconds, Dottore pulls the picture he had taken of you from somewhere within his coat. The man's trembling fingers close around the edges of the picture, and Dottore finally notices one is poorly bandaged.

The man's thumb brushes across the image, tracing your smiling face with a familiar fondness and the gleam of tears threatening his eyes. He would not have seen you in months, if not a year. All of that time, you have lived with Dottore after he snatched you up and kept you from freezing to death in the middle of nowhere.

The man reluctantly invites him inside, offering him a chair at the cramped, cluttered table. He leaves his overcoat across the back of the chair, rejecting the offers of anything to drink or eat as he notices the old man's shuffled steps and unsteady feet.

"I hadn't expected a Harbinger to be looking for my grandchild," the man says. "But some surprises are pleasant. My daughter never had pictures of them to give out. People in these parts don't have fancy kameras like this. I thought nobody would ever find them."

He almost appears to treat that picture, the image of you, the only one he has, as a priceless treasure. Despite that evident love and affection, he frowns.

"My daughter is gone now," he continues. Dottore doesn't ask what that means, guessing enough to tell it's nothing good. The man's shaking hands still grasp that picture. "Can I keep this?" he asks.

"I have no further use for it," Dottore answers. The man only nods and sets it on the table in front of him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in a wry smile.

He looks up after a while. "Where have they been?" he asks. "They look well."

Dottore pauses, wondering if he should tell the truth. Hearing that your grandchild has been living in a stranger's lab, surrounded by dangers, would not be reassuring. More importantly, it might prompt him to ask for you back.

Despite knowing he should, he's not eager to give you back. "At the House of the Hearth," he replies.

"The Knave's orphanage," he nods in understanding, considering something. "Might they be able to stay there?" he asks.

It takes Dottore by surprise.

Dottore leaves with a simple book and a greater understanding of how you came to be where you were at the time you had—how he found you. When he returns to find you curled up with a younger segment in a blanket fort after playing in the lab for the evening. A day at kindergarten should've tired you out, but it seems you had a lot of energy to spare and spent it all as you do when he leaves someone else to care for you in his stead.

You pick the segments apart by now—you know they exist—but letting them pick you up never really seems like trouble to anyone else.

By morning, you are awake and darting about, getting into all the things you shouldn't and having all the fun you know you can here. You stand at the table's edge on your toes and look over the edge at what Dottore is doing. You take well to this life—this routine—and he can see as much.

"I found you something," he tells you. "Your grandfather."

You look at him curiously, eyes lighting in a way he has seen only a few times before.

"He was looking for you," he continues, his hand reaching across the table to slide you a largely inconsequential spare part to fiddle with, as you so often like to do. Your little hand takes it, and you disappear behind the edge of the table as you look at it. After a moment, you reappear, your arms draping over the table, the screw he gave you twiddled between your fingers. "He told me many things about you, including when you were born."

Dottore resists the urge to touch your hair, leaving you to your devices. He must remind himself that he is not your father, though he knows he shouldn't have to. Dottore should have returned you to your home the moment he found it or taken you to the House of the Hearth as he claimed he had.

He stills his hand before it reaches you. "Did chocolate cake become your favourite?"

You look up at him, nodding excitedly. You had made a new friend on her birthday, learned of your grandfather's search for you, and followed her in her affections for chocolate cake, as children do. If you would speak, he imagines you rambling off plenty about your little friend and all you do together. He's not quite sure what you do with her. He knows she makes you happy.

You are growing into this home well, even when this home was not made for you.

"Chocolate it is, then," he concludes.

#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — fluff.#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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moodymisty · 10 months ago

Note

*awkward cough*

Mother, I crave luna wolves smut.

(this is my first time sending someone a request *internal panic* so bare with me)

(I'm thinking about the luna wolves bullying a surf fic that you did and now have brainrot.)

Like, imagine being my height (5'1) and having a big "mean" astartes fully aware that I'm sooo horny I'm loosing my mind.

And something about space marines that I can't stop thinking about is how they smell. Like the amount of testosterone.. Their sent has to be immensely horny inducing for a female.

Like- damn. Gigantic, absolutely shredded, smug ass smile and, teasing comments, absolute bastard of a super human. Asking you to do stuff that requires a lot more physical closeness than normal. Getting absolutely wrecked by the astartes smell(TM).

Eventually deciding to "help each other out" hot and heavy Make outs, grinding, humping, neck kisses and neck bites, the absolute WETness, SERIOUS man handling..

Jeez sorry I'm so down bad. Feel free to ignore me lol.

Big fan of your writing, hope you're doing well.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: i am unhinged. Decided to make an actual Luna wolf oc for this one just cause. This idea is my fucking jam but for some reason I had a lot of trouble with this one, I think it's just because I'm getting a bit burnt out finishing the last of the requests. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationships: Artyom(Luna Wolf OC)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mild NSFW, Grinding, Groping, Some mild manhandling

“Careful.”

The Thunderhawk shakes as the air cools during its ascent, and Artyom puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you in your seat. You don’t have any risk for falling over, but he still does it anyways. You look up at him and give him a small nod in thanks.

The other refugees however are largely fending for themselves, grouped close together and muttering amongst themselves.

You don’t mind not being part of it. You barely know any of them; And throughout this entire ordeal, you've found yourself growing closer to Artyom than any of them. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if anything, seems to find it amusing. During the few times you’d see him wander through the base he’d always make a point to call you out, say hello before returning to his duties.

The other refugees found it odd. While Astartes are respected and admired, being in their attention isn’t seen as the most positive. They are mercurial and unpredictable on the best of days, intimating masses of muscle that can kill with ease; And enjoy doing so.

Artyom is an oddity among the Luna Wolves, to enjoy poking at a human. Even if it's only one, and he regains his stoic, almost sleepy expression when barking orders at any of the others.

Once the Thunderhawk docks into the landing bay of the battlebarge, everyone makes their way off. The Astartes leave silently other than an apothecary who ushers the refugees along to where they’ll stay before being placed. More than likely the first Imperium port they come across, where they'll become the Imperium Guard's logistical problem.

You move to follow along with them, assuming that will be your place, but Artyom grabs you before you have the chance. His hand claps your shoulder, nearly painfully heavy from the size and weight of his gauntlet.

“Come with me instead.”

You look up at him before following closely, halls rapidly becoming filled with only Astartes. They all look curiously at you, as if wondering what a baseline human is doing in this area. Clearly they're not used to them being here. You continue following Artyom anyways however and try to ignore the questioning gazes, until he pulls you inside a room filled with armoring equipment.

“Here. Hold this while I remove my armor.” He hands you his knife, while his bolter and rifle go on a rack made specifically for them. The knife clearly has more sentimental value, you assume.

“Why did you have me follow you?”

You say, holding the knife tight as machines slowly peel away plate after plate of ceramite. It's such an odd thing to see, watching him go slowly from a near machine in massive armor to something you would consider more human; Even if still very different.

“Those refugees are going into the serfs quarters until we pass by a human settled world. It will be a tight fit.”

The material of his black skinsuit is revealed bit by bit, until no armor remains. Your hands tighten around the handle of the large knife. The suit leaves nothing to the imagination as the name implies, stretching over his entire body other than his upper neck and face, and interface ports.

“So I won’t stay down there? Where will I sleep then?” You feel disrespectful for asking, you should be thankful his legion even bother to saved you. Artyom however seems to find no intentional disrespect, or at least doesn't point any out.

“You can stay in my quarters. Unless you would prefer the serfs.”

Slowly he starts to peel away his black skinsuit, revealing bare skin. The farther down it peels away- neck, collar bone, chest, hips- the farther down it drops the more you force your eyes to remain at strictly shoulder height and higher.

Once everything is removed, he pushes his shoulder blades together and they let out a crack, flexing his shoulders and chest. You swallow a knot in your throat, the knife being strangled in your hands.

“Hmm?”

Artyom hums, grabbing one of the sets of trousers and pulling them on. You shake your head and try to dispel thoughts you are sure would get you into an unspeakable amount of trouble away.

“Oh, nothing. I'm sorry.”

Now dressed you can worry less about your eyes wandering to places they shouldn't, but not completely; the waistline of his trousers exposing a good portion of his hips and lower stomach. You hope he didn't catch the way your eyes lingered on the v of his hips for a bit longer than they should have.

He walks closer, closer enough that you have to take a step back. He gives his neck a crack, and for a moment you wonder if the armor is that intensive on them; In it they never seem to mind, almost as if it's a second skin.

“Are you sure? Your heart is loud.”

He can hear it? You're throat tightens; You wonder what else he can hear. Can he hear your ragged breathing? The way your blood is thumping in your ears and downward between your legs.

“Oh, I just… A lot has happened. It's a lot to think about.” Artyom gives a gentle, sleepy smirk, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not worry. You are safe with me.”

Perhaps from physical dangers; but your mind is now a battleground between common sense and base instinct.

The way his shoulders make your body seem so frail, towering over you. The way his muscles stretch across his neck, his collarbone, the smooth taughtness of his stomach drifting into the v of his hips.

And perhaps he may not smell the nicest in first impression, there’s something underneath it that is oddly, not terrible. You find yourself swallowing a large knot in your throat as he looks down at you, his smirk shifting the taught skin of his facial scars. You skin feel like it's on fire, like you're boiling from the outside in, and you swear you've never felt this aroused in your entire life. The way you feel like your cunt has an actual heartbeat.

"You must still be quite unsettled, if your heart is still racing."

He steps closer, putting a hand on your shoulder; Though it's large enough that it pushes against the crook of your neck. He squeezes it just a bit, and you try to resist letting out an audible hitch in your breath.

"I'm fine, really. I thank you for your concern, though. It means a lot coming from you."

You feel like you're beginning to sweat, and your lower body feels tight and hot. You squeeze your thighs together subtly and instantly you can tell you're getting wet.

Artyom takes a step closer, and you didn't realize how close you were to the wall until your back presses against it and you're near entirely consumed in shadow. The armoring room is quite small, you can only assume because the battlebarge lacks the size of their larger ships.

"You are not a good liar," He says, his smile changing form. "I can smell you."

His hand moves from your shoulder to around your waist, easily able to cover a significant portion with how large it is.

"It took me a bit, to realize what that smell was whenever you were around me."

You don't suppose that's surprising; Being an astartes is surely a secluded fate, without much room for fraternizing. And the smell of someone being so aroused is probably unique and quite subtle, not an easily explainable thing.

He pulls your body forcing you to arch your back towards him, shoulders still against the wall. Your hands press against his body, and you can feel the overwhelming stuffy heat of his skin. He's nearly naked with only his trousers, yet he still feels like he has the body heat of a man who's just run for miles and miles.

His other hand also wraps around your waist, and you feel his fingers pushing up against the bottom of your chest.

It's bit awkward for him to lean down closer to you with his size, but it's easier when he forces his knee between your legs, rising you to your tiptoes. The feeling sends jolts of sensation right up your spine, and your cunt throbs. It's a intentional, painful act to not grind yourself against his thigh like you were desperate, no matter how in reality it was true.

"You're so small," He jokes, shadowing you. "Do you think you could even help me remove and put on my armor with those little hands of yours?"

His lips ghost over yours, the bow of his lip brushing against yours as he teases you. You can't help the way your hips twitch forward slightly, ever so subtly grinding against him as he moves in to kiss you. During so, his hands slide down from your waist to your hips, and forces you to push down on his thigh harder, as well as raising his knee up against the wall just a bit more to force your weight even more on him. His leg is still barely bent however; He could easily take your feet all the way off the ground if he wanted.

His hands grip your hips tightly and force you to grind against his thigh, causing you to moan and whimper. Your hands grip his own body weakly, leaning forward into him and pressing your face into his collarbone. You can feel the heat and hardness of his cock against your leg, and your cunt keeps tensing around a disappointing emptiness at the thought.

You want it so unbelievably bad. You would do just about anything for it. You don't care who hears or who sees, you just want him inside of you and you'll be more than willing to beg and plead and cry for it.

His lips pull away from yours, lips swollen and well kissed. You feel your spit mixed with your own against them.

"Be my personal serf. It'll be a far better life than whatever a refugee's will be, where ever you and your fellow humans end up."

You can't deny what he says is true. But the lust-driven cloud fogging your mind is more than a significant contributor to the 'yes' that you utter to him. It makes his smirk wider, and his eyes darker.

"Would I, still stay in your quarters?" His hands still grip your hips tightly as you speak breathlessly, trying to whimper and grind yourself against him further.

"There's serf's quarters right next my own I can requisition just for you." His lips move from your mouth to your neck, pressing against the pulse point just below your right ear.

"But if you'd rather stay in my own, I won't complain."

#space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 9 months ago

Text

the last bit of us (prologue)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

A/N: Ya'll, I wrote a book, graduated from my MFA, became an English Professor and haven't written anything in two months...thank you to glen powell for pulling me from my rut. I can always count on you.

prologue / one / two / three

______________________________________________________________

He knew he would have to go back eventually. The getup that had been built onto his Ram could only withstand so much. Kate’s death march straight into an EF5 had nearly stripped the hydraulic drills and their continued research to suffocate tornadoes had brought the welded exoskeleton frame to the brink of crumbled chicken wire. His truck looked worse for wear and the Wranglers had been bugging him for weeks about taking it in for repairs.

“Listen man,” Boone said on bright day at the beginning of June. He seemed to appear out of nowhere and clapped Tyler on the back. It made the man jump, nearly cracked his skull on the underside of the hood. “I know you don’t want to take a trip to get ole Betty fixed up.”

“Not Betty,” Tyler replies with a grunt, turning back to fill the wiper fluid.

“It’s time to go home man,” Boone continues on, “With all the chasin’ we’re doin’, we need new equipment anyways. The truck isn’t supped enough to deal with the constant damage…you know that. And with everything happening with--” Boone makes a face toward Kate with a heavy wink. Tyler’s tempted to knock some sense into the man.

She’s only a few yards away, looking to the skies for any signs of shifting clouds. She looks incredible, sunglasses sitting atop her head. Her hair is so golden under the hot Oklahoma sun, not even sticking to her neck as she stares up absentmindedly at the horizon.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. You ain’t even listening to me, are ya?” Boone’s voice cuts through the air.

He’s loud enough that Kate peers over her shoulder to see the commotion. She smiles at him, scrunching her nose. Incredible.

Boone’s hands collide with Tyler’s shoulder, knocking him forward a little in the tall grass. Tyler grunts as he tries to keep his footing.

“Knock that shit out, you’re gettin’ on my last nerve today,” Tyler says. He pushes him back firmly. A warning shot.

“You need to get that sorted,” Boone says. He starts walking backwards, away from Tyler and toward the RV where the rest of the Wranglers are. Tyler doesn’t miss the word considered leave Boone’s mouth as he turns away. Boone’s not a frowning man, not normally the one who gets heated over this and that so the tension in his words squeeze at Tyler’s chest in a way he isn’t prepared to deal with.

The chain of his necklace tucked safe and discreet under his white shirt starts to burn against his skin. He scratches away at it when Kate appears behind him. Why is everyone sneaking up on him today?

“He alright?”

A grin appears on Tyler’s face. Her voice is playful and it’s soothing to his ears. “Is he ever?” Tyler jokes, turning to the pretty woman he’s been working beside for the last few months.

She laughs and brushes some hair out of her face. He wants to do it for her. He wants to hold her face, kiss her. He never seems to find the right opportunity, find the right moment between all the motel rooms and 100-mile winds blowing through towns. He’s intimated by her wit, her drive to do more for the community. It reminds him of someone else. And that thought normally makes him a little nauseous. He thought that would go away by now.

“He seemed annoyed,” Kate says, crossing her arms to look up at him.

“He was,” Tyler says. He pulls the dirty rag from the back pocket of his Levi’s and wipes the dirt from his palms. “He thinks I should take the truck into the shop.” “Well, Betty does need a tune up.”

Tyler groans. “Why is everyone calling it that?”

“Cause only a woman could go into storms as mighty and come out with ease,” Kate smirks. Tyler scoffs, staring at her with admiration.

“Cute,” he says and turns back to the truck to look over any other repairs he could make himself. Kate leans over the side of the car, staring down at the engine caked in dust and debris. She tilts her head with curiosity, blinking up at him.

“Seriously though, why not take it in? We can take a week off, maybe get some solid sleep and a good shower for once. There’s a shop only a few miles away from the motel,” Kate says, pointing in the direction.

The man shakes his head, not even looking at her. “That wouldn’t work.”

Kate raises a brow. “How come?”

“It’s a custom truck,” Tyler says. “There’s only one shop that can do the repairs.”

“…Okay, so let’s take it to the shop then,” she tries again.

He swallows his words the second he hears Dexter calling out for them, the promise of another storm halting anymore conversation about the truck and it’s repairs. But that’s only until they load up the new barrels and peel toward a growing storm. Tyler’s harness buckle jams as he revs at full speed toward the sucker and then Boone calls out that one of the rockets doesn’t deploy. When they push through the wall of wind and debris to anchor down into the dirt, drills start to grind against what he can only imagine is a hard rock. The sound of shredding steel makes his jaw clench. The one thing that goes right is the barrels deploying into the sky and drying out the tornado, the sky painting itself blue as the funnel evaporates.

“Are you guys alright? Come in,” Javi’s voice crackles over the radio.

Thank you for reading! Want to be tagged? Click here :)

#twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x oc #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #tyler owens imagines #tyler owens angst #the last bit of us fic

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toodelusionalforreality · 7 months ago

Text

Azriel x OC | Chapter 5

Relic

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Shadow

Word count: ~4.6k Warning: None [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. Going to pretend to be some big shot writer and dedicate this chapter to the ones who encouraged me to keep writing. And my favourite reader (you know who you are, hopefully).

The doorknob twisted under his fingers and Azriel gritted his teeth at the soft click. Mercifully, the door made no more sound. Darkness and quiet awaited him on the other side, while a haunting aura loomed behind him in the hallway under the fading sunlight. The hag was nowhere to be found.

Everyone except Ayla had known who he was, yet something changed after that day.

The last time he walked into the bar, Raya glared from across the room stopping him in his steps. She and Uri exchanged hissed whispers before the server led him out to the streets. He croaked out a “We’re closing soon anyway” with an apologetic smile and shut the rusty door in his face.

And, the hag—gone were the expectant eyes and the grateful smile when Azriel returned the next night. Instead, he faced a creature twice as large as him with knitting needles in one hand and jagged talons out in the other.

Nonetheless, it warmed his heart and calmed his mind that Ayla was cared for.

Grumbled curses seeped through the wall on his side. His shadows wound tight around him. Clapping his wings close, Azriel wedged through the gap and shut the door carefully, praying it didn’t alert the hag.

A second passed and another. Then, sweet silence embraced him.

‘We’re closed.’

Azriel whirled around.

The room seemed to stretch far and long in the darkness with thick curtains shielding the windows. Stacks of wooden trays, empty glasses, and filled crystal decanters piled on the counter. Behind it, Ayla reached on her toes and placed a bottle on the shelf. A lone lantern burned a muted golden above the bar illuminating her.

‘I really need a drink,’ he uttered the first words that came to his mind, cursing himself for the senseless fool he was.

Her hand went rigid. Ayla stilled, and time and space froze with her. If not for the wisps of hair fluttering with her every breath, Azriel would have believed so.

None of their previous encounters ended on a good note. After the last time, he needed to clarify himself. If his mate deemed him vile, Azriel preferred she hated him from close. But in her silence, it struck him. She could be the one behind her friends’ defence, commanding them to keep him away.

‘Lock the door.’ She said a moment later, adding another bottle to the display. ‘I don’t want anyone else to believe we’re open yet.’

Resisting a smile, Azriel tested the knob again. He and her, alone in the empty bar—dreams truly did come true.

Once he settled across from her, Ayla faced him. She looked at him, unblinking.

Azriel waited. So did she. He fumbled into his pockets and his fingers caught in the leather. His heart sank. He remembered stuffing a pouch with gold marks explicitly to bribe the hag if needed.

Ayla laughed, the sound echoing through the air, chasing away every thought from his mind. She had blessed him with her smiles before. But this, it was beautiful—more so than her melodies, like the chime of a willow.

‘I was expecting your order.’ Her shoulders shook as she picked a glass from the pile. ‘Spare your money. The bar is still closed, remember?’

Heat crept up his neck. Though Azriel smiled, he ducked his head low. His shadows swayed on his shoulders as if laughing along with her. Traitors.

Ayla pulled a decanter from under the counter, simpler than the ones above, and poured a mouthful for him.

Azriel took the first sip and her eyes never left his face.

A thick sweetness coated his mouth, the aftertaste lingering on his tongue. A drink was surely an excuse for his cause, but he expected a real one in a bar. He almost said so when his throat tightened. His vision clouded. Bitterness exploded along the back of his tongue before morphing into a burn that settled in his throat, and an undignified cough escaped his lips.

Amusement sparked in Ayla’s eyes. ‘I can find you something light if you’d like.’

‘It’s fine.’ Azriel cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse when he got the words out. ‘I didn’t expect. . .that. What is it?’

‘Poison. Didn’t your instincts warn you?’

His shadows danced along his back and wings, but they were quiet and calm. Azriel studied her blank face as he took a subtle sniff. It smelled quite like her—a jumble of spices and sweetness.

Ayla laughed again. ‘I’m not daft to kill you in my own bar. It’s something Raya and Uri have been experimenting with.’

‘So it could be poison.’ Azriel smiled and tested another sip. It tasted easy this time. When she paused to fill his glass, he gave her a nod.

Her eyes fixated on his shoulders. ‘And for your companions?’

The wavering darkness stilled.

One ever wondered what they did for him or could do for them. In five centuries, no one asked what they wanted. His shadows that sensed the insensible and expected the unexpected, skidded down his back as though her question had rendered them awed. Their whispers quieted, and in that eerie void, Azriel seemed to hear a word echo back to him. Far, far away. Ayla.

‘Nothing.’ He dropped his gaze to the drink, smiling. It only served right that his companions suffered his agony too.

Leaving the liquor beside him, Ayla tended to her shelf.

It was a cold, cruel world outside. A woman who hurt her and promised worse lurked beyond that room. A court wanted to whisk her away for a reason he knew nothing of. But Ayla had no worry. She drifted back and forth, shuffling the bottles in an innate pattern only she saw until the colours bled and blended into a seamless artwork, a mosaic of reds and browns and amber in the faelight.

How could she be so carefree with her life in danger?

She preferred the lonely, Uri had said. Even with Azriel mere feet away, she was alone, in her own world—getting her bar ready for the evening, and he was content watching her.

Cradling a bottle against her chest, Ayla leaned back against the counter.

If he set his glass down and reached a little, Azriel could trail a finger down the arch of her spine, feel the smooth curve of her waist under his palm. A little lower, her shirt crinkled, right above the swell of her— He tore his eyes away and cleared his throat.

‘You don’t have to act tough,’ she said. ‘No one shall know the big bad shadowsinger can’t drink. It will be our secret.’

Azriel looked up. Ayla moved down the bar, away from him, towards the unattended pile. A teasing smile tugged at her lips. And her face lacked the hatred he believed she felt for him.

Had he been wrong? The times he met with her, she was polite—ignoring her threat—and she talked without hesitance.

‘You were gone for a long time. Where were you?’

‘Shouldn’t you know that already?’ Ayla wiped the glasses, the rings on her bracelet clinking with her every move, and stacked them on the tray one by one.

‘I’m a spy,’ mumbled Azriel, ‘not a stalker.’

She chuckled, so light it was almost a breath. ‘Don’t the lines blur for you?’

Always a quick question thrown his way to draw the attention from her. Azriel was used to rudeness, anger, and even snark. But Ayla, she was something else. Her words were a weapon, sharp and precise, and always found their mark.

Shadows gathered over his shoulder, coiling and threading into dark ribbons, inching towards her. Ayla glanced at them and a smile curled her lips. With that, she shattered his resolve.

‘Drink with me,’ said Azriel.

Her hands froze and the smile faded. She peered at him.

‘Drink with me, Ayla.’ He said again, only gentler.

For a breath, she didn’t move, only assessing him. Then she abandoned the trays, glasses and bottles, and walked back to where he sat.

Snagging the drink from between his fingers, she took a sip. Her brows pulled together as she pressed the back of her fingers to her lips and gasped. Azriel grinned.

‘Gods, that’s horrible.’ The veins along her neck strained as she swallowed again. ‘They should not be making that.’

‘A bar owner who can’t handle a drink. It’ll be our secret.’ Azriel poured another glass.

‘Ah, so it begins. Is this how you interrogate your suspects? Get them drunk?’ Ayla crossed her arms on the bar. It brought her closer to him.

Azriel nodded. ‘Right after a meal of their choosing.’

‘Sure, sure. We don’t want to lose them to exhaustion. And when does the screaming begin?’

There were two kinds of women—ones who idolised him and ones who feared him. Neither cared who he was underneath his mask of Night Court’s Torturer. And they definitely did not joke about it.

Azriel chuckled under his breath.

Ayla drank again. ‘It’s still not my secret to share if that’s why you’re here.’

‘Not the part where you’re involved. That’s yours to tell.’

Her eyes didn’t waver. She observed him as though she could stir through his thoughts and pull them apart until she took what she wanted.

After a long minute, she muttered, ‘I’m starting to see why you’re a spymaster.’ She tucked a fist under her chin. ‘I’ll tell you what. You find out where Hamra is and I’ll give you—’

‘She just passed the borders of Winter. If she moves west in the next two days, she’s heading to Autumn.’

Ayla blinked twice. Her lips parted and closed. She shook her head and slowly, a smile made its way onto her face. ‘Not a stalker,’ she mumbled, brushing the loose strands away from her eyes. ‘I met her five years ago.’

Azriel brought the glass to his lips and hid his smirk behind it.

‘I had to stop at an inn on my way back from a trip. I never do because they are always loud and crowded. That place was no exception.’ Her brows furrowed, yet her smile remained. She stared at the wood between them, ‘I almost left until I saw her. She was cursing at three men who were trying to hold her down and she was soaked in blood. I couldn’t tell whose it was. But she was fighting back. And those who wished to help were afraid of her.’

‘You helped her.’

Ayla nodded once. ‘Not right away. I wasn’t sure if she was innocent. But, she was cornered and outmanned. One of them even had a rope to tie her down like a beast. It didn’t matter though. The next minute, she was waggling a knife at them. Almost took an eye out of one.’ She laughed, shaking her head. More hair spilt from her knot. ‘I still don’t know where she got it from. After I had her cleaned and fed, she offered me gold for my horse and promised to let me ride him if I offered her protection.’

Azriel grinned. He expected nothing less from the spitfire of a child. ‘Who was she running from?’

‘Her sire.’ Ayla hesitated for a beat, then sighed. ‘Hamra is a half-nymph. When she came of age, many coveted her for her beauty and suitors poured in from every court. Her sire is a lowly lord. After he married a high fae to keep his bloodline pure, her mother hid her birth from him. But news of her existence spread when she bore more resemblance to him than her mother. Since Hamra carries his blood and passes as a fae, like any arrogant male, he claims to the right to decide who she weds and beds to further his lordly dreams.’

Different courts, different times, but the same tale.

Anger coiled in Azriel’s gut. Hamra was a mere child. Almost as old as when Mor endured the same or Gwyn.

‘Who’s her father?’

‘I’ve spoken more than I promised.’

‘And the woman, is she here on his orders?’

Ayla stole the drink from him and took a long sip.

‘Tell me the child is safe to travel alone.’

She lifted her chin, her eyes scrutinising him. The glass hung from her fingers by the rim. ‘And why do you care?’

Azriel didn’t know what trick she was playing. How could one not care? The sight of Mor’s naked body, bloody and bruised, on the ground still haunted him. He couldn’t condemn another to the same fate. ‘Shouldn’t we when her life is in danger?’

Ayla sipped again. Another minute of silence passed before she smiled. ‘You’re kind.’

The words felt wrong even from her lips. If she knew his true intentions, that the fae had been a pawn to get closer to her, she wouldn’t feel the same.

Azriel looked away, ‘It’s not what people say about me.’

‘Maybe you’re listening to the wrong people.’

Her gaze was heavy on him. The urge to hide gnawed at his chest. But they were alone and his shadows had their own will around her. They peeled away leaving him exposed, bare and whole.

Aware of the little time he had before they were interrupted, Azriel took the drink from her. ‘Is that why you refuse to work for lords? For her safety?’

‘I don’t find them reliable.’ She shrugged, ‘Most are entitled and self-aggrandising.’

‘Rhys isn’t like them.’ At the least, not after one knew him.

Ayla clicked her tongue. ‘Your High Lord must pay you well if you endorse him while drunk.’

Azriel chuckled. He itched to defend his brother and convince her that he wasn’t as evil as she believed him to be. But he wanted to stay with her more.

‘Why the bar?’ He asked instead. Her brows furrowed. ‘You make weapons and yet, own a bar.’

‘I liked the house.’ Azriel must have failed to mask his confusion because she added, ‘It’s in the middle of the city. I have a view of Sidra and the mountains from my balcony. And on solstices, I can see every celebration. The lights, the decorations, the music. For months, I tried to negotiate with the owner. But he wouldn’t sell it without the bar.’ She sighed, waving a hand between them. ‘You would know if you saw my house.’

His heart lurched at those words she uttered so nonchalantly.

‘Tell me this,’ she leaned forward on her arms. ‘Doesn’t it contradict your purpose if you declare yourself a spymaster?’

Azriel grinned. Of course, his mate would be bold enough to ridicule him. ‘I have others working for me. And everyone expects a shadowsinger to spy. There’s no point hiding it.’

Ayla rolled her eyes. ‘Excuses. Admit that you’re terrible at your job.’

’You don’t even know what I can do.’

‘You couldn’t find out where I was.’

‘But I found Hamra.’

‘She probably spotted you. Your shadows aren’t as subtle as they should be.’ She took the drink from him. The warmth of her skin grazed his fingers.

Darkness swarmed and writhed over his shoulders at the insult. A low chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Why the singing?’

Ayla frowned at the sudden shift. ‘You seem to be very curious about my life. Are you sure this isn’t an interrogation?’

‘You’re not screaming yet,’ teased Azriel.

She drew a breath and the corner of her lips twitched. ‘Among my people, women are supposed to be pretty things who do pretty things.’

Azriel waited for more. But she answered with silence.

Sire. Her people. Your High Lord. Her choice of words was strange for a commoner in the north, or even a lady. But she carried no markers of the southern courts. Even when she spoke of Hamra, she refrained from naming a place.

From the way she talked of her people, only two places came to his mind.

Azriel knew the chances were slim but, for someone whose every word was calculated, she was bound to correct him rather than reveal the truth herself. ‘Autumn?’

Ayla grinned, ‘Do I look like I’m from Autumn?’

Hewn City then. Azriel hid his smirk by taking a sip. ‘I didn’t know making swords was a craft fit for a lady.’

‘Spoken like a true man.’ She exacted her vengeance by snatching the glass from him. Her gaze lingered on his hands as she drank and his fingers twitched on their own.

He clenched his fists and turned away. He couldn’t bear that look from her—like he was that weak, helpless boy who cried for help, someone reduced to his past and ghosts.

‘We all have scars, shadowsinger.’ Her voice carried a note of tenderness. ‘You bear yours on your skin.’

When Azriel turned back, she was peering at his fists unfazed. She didn’t flinch away with disgust or cower when he caught her inspecting them.

Ayla opened her palms to him. ‘May I?’

The last time she touched his skin, Azriel was too lost in her to notice. This, he wasn’t prepared for, nor could he forget.

‘You can refuse me,’ she said. Her hands rested on the counter between them as a sign of reassurance that the choice was truly his.

Many had desired what Ayla asked of him. Even Mor at one time after she learnt the truth from Rhys. But it was Azriel who always chose who and when he touched, never the other way around. The only person he ever let feel his hands was his mother once the bandages were removed.

Slowly, he offered his hand to her. At the graze of her fingertips on his knuckles, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Ayla held his gaze, waiting, allowing him the chance to kill her curiosity. When Azriel didn’t resist, she comforted him with a smile before lowering her eyes.

For a long time, she only observed, taking in every ugly ridge and wrinkle on his skin. She held his hand in both of hers, her fingers barely touching him. Her thumbs weaved through his digits and stroked his palm, eliciting a jolt through his spine with each traversed path.

We all have scars.

What scars did she possess? Were they a reminder on her skin like his? That thought alone birthed a hunger in him to inflict pain onto the world.

How could anyone wish to hurt her? A woman whose eyes beheld compassion instead of pity for a cursed soul like him? The one who cradled his marred hand as a sacred relic deserving of her utmost care? The one whose face softened with a kind smile as she marked every inch of his scars with her smooth touch?

‘I wish,’ Ayla breathed, ‘they had treated you better.’

Azriel realised it then. Why Mother burdened him with a loveless life for five centuries. Why Mor didn’t accept him. Why Elain was never meant to be his.

So he could belong to Ayla. And he would endure the heartache again for eternity if Mother promised him one lifetime with her.

Her fingers stilled, hovering over his palm. ‘Did they pay for this?’

Ayla’s face was that of an ardent believer of forgiveness—warmth radiating from her every time a smile adorned her lips. She cared for Raya and Uri. She protected a child endangering herself. She sheltered a homeless hag.

But Azriel had also witnessed her choke a male defending a fae.

Which one was he—one worthy of her generosity or her wrath?

Was he the same innocent boy deserving of justice after the blood he spilt with his own hands? Or was he a sinner for how he punished his half-brothers? What would appease the woman in front of him cradling his hand with a gentleness that rivalled a mother’s touch—that they were forgiven and shown the path of kindness, or they were ripped to shreds by his own tortured hands like they deserved?

No, the word inched closer to the tip of his tongue, ready to satiate his mate with a simple lie. One to keep her from running away from him. ‘Yes.’

The corner of her lips curled up, ever so delicately, and she murmured. ‘Good.’

When a frown etched between her brows, he knew her next question well. He grappled at everything he learned of her to lead her elsewhere.

‘Can I see your dagger?’ She asked softly.

Azriel almost laughed. One minute, his heart ached with the weight of his past, and the next, with joy and need.

Her back arched over the counter and she leaned low. She narrowed her eyes, prodding at his palm and pinching his fingertips. ‘Do you need special hilts? For your hands, the grip on them should be interesting.’

Oh, Azriel would prove his grip all right.

His shadows buzzed by his ears sensing his insidious thoughts.

‘Maybe next time,’ he said, easing his hand out of her grip. What an idiot he was denying her the very thing he craved—her skin against his.

Her brow raised but she smiled. ‘Planning ahead, are we?’

It was neither a threat nor a refusal.

Refilling the glass, Azriel nodded at her wrist. ‘Did you make that?’

Ayla glanced at her bracelet before emptying their drink. ‘Orvin did. Leather and innovation are his specialities. I’m better with traditional weaponry.’ She poured another glass and Azriel grabbed it before she could. ‘I don’t carry weapons, so he made it for my travels.’

So close, the rings appeared more silver than gold but lacked the lustre of either. ‘What is it made of?’

‘It’s something I’m working on.’ Ayla threaded her third and fourth fingers through the rings and pulled, slowly revealing the cords. A trilling echoed in the air as they strummed from the strain. ‘See,’ she looked up at him, her eyes bright and eager. ‘It’s malleable under tension. It may not look like it, but it’s tougher than steel.’

She flexed her fingers and the rings whizzed back to the bracelet in a blink. Her smile widened.

Azriel set the glass down and reached for her wrist. Then, he stopped. When he turned to her, she nodded twice, extending her arm towards him.

His fingers were thicker than hers. The rings barely slipped past his nails. The heat from her skin still warmed the metal.

Ayla leaned close and Azriel held his breath. She curled his fingers, trapping the rings between his knuckles.

‘They are meant to be a little loose to manoeuvre them.’ She pointed at his half-closed fist, ‘You can’t get proper control if they’re snug. There’s also the danger of breaking your fingers during a fight.’

Azriel nodded and tested a little tug. His fingers trembled at the tension as though the cords fought back against him. Both times Ayla used it, she did so with an impressive ease that almost shamed his Illyrian strength.

She traced her fingers along the width of the bracelet. ‘Here’s where the tethers go. It remembers its form and reverts to it once you let go.’ Then she frowned, ‘But it’s not perfect yet. Leather gets worn out soon. We’re trying to replace it with metal but the slide and friction are hard to get around.’

Words tumbled out of her lips about metals and temperatures and mechanics. The more she talked, the further she edged towards him.

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

A smoky tendril teetered over her shoulder, one to the other. It coiled and wove itself with the loose ends of her hair, curving along her jaw carefully to not touch her skin. And as the rogue shadow nudged against her collar, swaying too close to her ear, he gritted his teeth.

Ayla looked up at his silence.

Azriel nodded, bringing his gaze back to her face. Or did she ask him something?

He stared at his hand, the rings still in his grasp. He coiled the cord around his fist like she did on that first night. She was right—he could tolerate the strain better. He tugged and her hand slipped on the table, almost knocking the glass off. She caught it before the liquor spilt on him.

‘Hey,’ she laughed—sweet and soothing. His shadows sighed at the sound. ‘Careful!’

Azriel released the rings, letting go of the tether, letting go of her.

But Ayla didn’t move back. She drank, smiling.

Lights hit the crystals on the shelf right and their glow echoed around her like a gentle halo—turning her into the ethereal being she was. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and her cheeks flushed warm. She licked the remnants of the liquor from her bottom lip as she emptied the bottle and nudged the drink towards him.

Azriel willed himself to breathe. Placing his finger on the rim, he turned the glass around. When he brought it to his lips, his tongue darted out to gather the wetness still stuck to it, where her lips had been not a moment ago. He took a long sip, savouring every drop of the burning nectar she offered.

Ayla stared at him—his parted lips, the column of his throat as he swallowed. Her inhaled breath stuck in her throat. As Azriel set the glass down, her eyes followed it before they flashed to his.

Far, his mind screamed, too fucking far.

But Azriel noticed the slight twitch of her lips before her gaze flicked to his side. A thread of shadow curled around his ear.

A lock clicked beyond the wall. Ayla looked over her shoulder at the closed office door, sinking her teeth into her lip.

Raya, his shadows announced.

‘That’s my bartender,’ her voice took on a lower note, more melodious than ever. She swallowed a breath and turned to him. ‘We’ll be opening soon.’

Azriel waited.

Ayla didn’t move.

He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers.

Metal clanked and scratched against the wood as her fingers splayed on the counter. When her lips moved with his, Azriel buried his other hand into her hair—her beautiful, silkened hair.

He swept his tongue against her lips, wide and hungry. Honeyed sweetness from their drink lingered on them, and beneath it, he tasted her. A shiver raked through him, every nerve in his body awakening at her kiss. When she gasped, he stole the little breath from between her lips. She didn’t resist.

Gods, not once did she resist.

Azriel kissed her.

He kissed her with every piece of his heart. He kissed her for the centuries he waited for her. He kissed her for the moments wasted between them, and the moments he would miss until next time.

Here.

Feet stomped close on the other side of the door.

Azriel pulled away, dropping his hands.

The door opened.

‘People generally rest in their bed,’ groaned Raya entering the room. Her mouth fell open when she spotted him, her wide eyes darting between him and Ayla.

Azriel only watched his mate. Her hair, ruined by his hands. Her cheeks aglow golden with a flush. Her lips pursed—wet, swollen, and all the more inviting.

But the light in her eyes, the playfulness, faded.

He stumbled back from the stool.

‘Thanks for the drink.’

And he left without looking back.

Next Chapter: History

#god's game #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar x oc #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses

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normshortfornormal · 5 months ago

Text

Steb x OC

"Firefish"

Steb x fem!OC (Vastaya)

Summary: Steb and Eiden, childhood friends turned lovers, serendipitously run into each other in Piltover after many years of having not seen each other. They decide to commemorate their reunion with a night of pleasure.

Word Count: 5594

Tags and Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Oral Sex, Aftercare, Alcohol, slight animal biology, they are in love, steb is such a romantic during sex, established relationship, established relationship and OC lore that isn’t all revealed in this one piece, NOT EDITED, Steb was born in Ionia and is not native to Piltover or Zaun, Steb and OC travelled around Runeterra before Piltover (but not always travelling together)

This is my first time writing smut! Please be kind. This is meant to be the first chapter of a series, so there’s a lot of information and lore that has yet to be revealed. I plan to post this on Ao3 once I have more written for it and once it’s more revised! Please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

(yes this is a repost bc tumblr hates whimsy and love)

Read below the cut!

Eiden decided to go to a different bar today. One where the wine was cheap and the music was quieter. Here, in this modest bar where everyone seemed to be friends and knew each other on a first name basis, the bass wasn’t so heavy that it made her feathers feel like they were going to fall off.

Sitting further in the bar was a stage hosting karaoke night. There was a pretty pair who were singing quite a horrible rendition of a popular love song. The girl was really carrying the whole song, she could actually sing and had a nice voice. The boy accompanied with harmonies that were somehow too sharp and too flat at the same time. Eiden watched from the bar that sat near the entrance, legs crossed and swirling a glass of red wine the same color as her dress. When the pair finished, everyone clapped and whistled, and the woman in charge of the music congratulated them for a sparkling performance. Eiden clapped along, too, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but she could blame the wine for that.

She downed her glass and beckoned for another one.

“Must’ve been a pretty tough week, huh?” The bartender grinned as he poured her another one.

“Quite the opposite, in fact. Thank you.” Eiden took the glass and sipped it. “Tonight calls for celebration.”

“Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“Celebration, of course. Celebrating for celebration’s sake—makes life a little livelier.”

The bartender chuckled. “Here’s to life, then.” He went off to help another customer, leaving Eiden to bounce her foot to the beat and watch the flow of people. Standing on the stage now was a man doing mumble rap. Despite the poor choice of music, people were dancing anyway. Eiden was tempted to join them, but she was quite comfortable where she was. She had a perfect view of the bar and all its activities.

There was a group of people who were playing foosball. There was only one woman amongst them. Every time someone scored a point, the loser had to take a shot and shuffle off for the next person. The reigning champion was a very pretty boy whom she’d been trying to catch the attention of since she laid eyes on him. Perhaps if he wasn’t so focused on the game, he would have spotted her by now, but alas, Eiden was left to sit at the bar, sipping wine and lamenting the lack of attention.

Others had noticed her—she was a new face in a bar that seemed intimately acquainted with their regulars—but they were not him, so she didn’t care.

She was on her fifth glass when he finally noticed her. He had lost to the woman—a young girl with short orange hair—and was forced to take a shot. He wiped his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning as the woman decimated her opponent, when one of the drunker men elbowed him and pointed her out. His eyes flicked over the bar and did a double-take when he saw her.

Eiden couldn’t help it. Her lips curved into a coy smile. She winked at him before turning away and sipping her wine. From where she sat and where he stood, he had a perfect view of her back, generously revealed by the backless dress she wore. He could see her feathers peeking from just above her tailbone, she knew.

She could hear his friends egging him on, encouraging to go say hello to her. She did not look in his direction, not even when his shadow graced the wooden countertop.

“Eiden.”

She loved the way he said her name. It made her wings ruffle and the tiny feathers on her cheeks twitch. More than that, it was refreshing to hear the familiar Vastayan dialect she had grown up with. She turned her head to face him. She did a very slow once-over of him, paying extra attention to his legs and chest and the blush on his face.

“How do you know my name, stranger?” she asked with round eyes and fluttering lashes.

“Just a feeling,” he said, looking equal parts exasperated and amused. “May I sit?”

“You may.”

He took his seat and Eiden eyed his friends in the back, all watching with unabashed eagerness. He leaned to the side, obstructing her view with his pretty face.

“Don’t be jealous, Steb,” Eiden teased. She swiveled in her seat so her body was towards him. “No one catches my eye like you do.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes. His gaze lingered on her lips, colored deep red with lipstick, and her plunging neckline that teased her stomach. Then he looked at her fingers, and that was what made his frills flicker across his cheeks.

“You’re adorable,” she said. Her fingers teased his knuckles, and he cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t aware you were in Piltover.”

“What a coincidence then, hm? Guess we’re fated to meet again and again.” Eiden smiled when Steb intertwined his fingers with her own. “So? What brings you here? To this bar, I mean.”

“A celebration. I passed my Enforcer exam.”

“Oho, congratulations. And I suppose those are…?”

“Colleagues that passed with me.”

Eiden hummed. “Have you had anything to drink? Apart from the one shot you had. Shame your winning streak had to come to an end.” Steb’s friends were playing without him, but they were watching the interaction at the bar, so they weren’t very focused.

“Not much.” Steb raised an eyebrow when Eiden pushed her half-full glass towards him with her finger. Clearly, he was not impressed by the cheap wine.

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” Eiden said. “Don’t you remember Bilgewater?”

Steb may have shaken his head and sighed, but he was wearing a smile and his eyes were soft under the low light of the bar. He finished Eiden’s glass.

Eiden called for two more drinks so they could celebrate Steb’s new place on the Enforcer team. She asked for gin, flashing Steb a knowing wink. They have known each other for too long for her to forget what his choice drink is.

They clinked their glasses together and downed the drink in celebration. Then Steb asked the bartender for water and nudged the glass to Eiden. She humored him, only because it was Steb and it had been so long since they’d seen each other.

They caught up on old times. Eiden traced his fingers and nudged his leg with her heels, while Steb admired her wine-red dress and the way it rode up her thigh. When the music turned soft and jazzy, Steb invited her for a dance, offering his hand and bowing because he’s a gentleman.

Eiden obliged him. Together, they headed to the dance floor. Steb twirled and spun her slowly, let her step on his feet and rested his hand on the small of her back in a way that was all too comfortable and familiar. He smiled as she laughed, and went willingly when she pulled him towards her. She spun twice and ended with her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her midsection. Eiden let her eyes drift shut as she lost herself in the music and the comfortable embrace. Like this, they swayed together.

Eiden didn’t realize they had danced for three songs until Steb’s friends rudely interrupted them. Some were more sober than others, but they were all at least a little tipsy. They crowded Steb’s space, oblivious to how his shoulders grew rigid and he shuffled away.

“He’s a gentleman,” they said, “a real nice guy. A little quiet, but he’ll treat you right.”

The only one who was respectful was the woman, who smiled at Eiden. She did not crowd their space and actually asked for Eiden’s name. She complimented her dress, so Eiden complimented her foosball skills.

The men were both human and men and didn’t notice how her wings and feathered ears kept twitching. Eiden suspected that even if they did notice, they wouldn’t care. It took both Steb wrapping an arm around Eiden’s waist and fixing them with a look, and the woman telling the men they should leave for everyone to finally clear off. They winked at them and flashed them knowing looks as they left the bar.

“Have a good time, you two!”

Eiden huffed, the feathers on her ears flaring a bit. “I see why you call them colleagues now,” she said.

Steb smiled apologetically and rubbed her arm. “Maddie’s nice.”

“Is that her name? She was the most pleasant of all of them. Are you two actually friends?”

He nodded. Then he held out his hand with a small smile, inviting her for one more dance.

“How can I say no to you?” she smiled.

The dance was too short for Eiden’s liking, but her heels were pinching her feet and her soles were sore. Steb offered to walk her home, so Eiden accepted his arm and they made the slow journey back to Eiden’s apartment. Part way through the walk, Eiden took off her heels so she could walk freely. Her feet were that of a bird’s. Had she been more sober, she would have perched on Steb’s shoulder or arm, just like they had in the past, but she liked holding onto his arm and leaning on his bicep. He offered to hold her shoes, and let them dangle from his fingers as they walked down the cobbled streets, dimly lit by the lanterns on the street.

Steb walked Eiden all the way to the door of her apartment. They stopped in front of her door and turned to each other. The way he looked at her actually made her shy. Her feathered ears ruffled and came down over her cheeks.

“Will you stay?” Eiden murmured, hiding behind her feathers. Steb shrugged. He lowered his head and moved her feathers out of her face. His touch was so tender as he traced her cheek, brushing just below the tiny feathers on her cheeks. He had the gentlest smile on his face. “I’m glad to see you again, too,” she said.

He entered Eiden’s apartment with her. The door clicked shut behind them and Eiden flicked on the lights. Steb placed Eiden’s shoes in the mess of shoes by the door, shooting her a chastising look as he did.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Eiden said. She sighed and stretched her arms into the air. She grinned at the way his eyes lingered on her back and wings before quickly darting away. “It’s not messy, it’s just organized my way.”

It was a nice apartment. Not nearly as nice as the more expensive apartments in the upper crust of the city, but still nice nonetheless. She had a nice kitchen that still had dirty dishes in the sink and a living room with a couch so plush it welcomed her body with a sigh. The apartment had two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was just her in the apartment, but she liked the extra space.

Steb brought her a glass of water while Eiden laid on the couch. Then, to Eiden’s amusement and endearment, he headed to the sink and started washing her dishes. Eiden watched him as she sipped her water.

How many years had it been since they’d seen each other? Twenty? Fifty? The years all blurred together after a while, but seeing him filled a hole in her she hadn’t even realized was there. No matter how many times it happened, she was always surprised by the way he completed her.

She finished her water and went to the bathroom. Then she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She sighed and toyed with the buttons of his shirt.

“How long will you be in Piltover for?” Eiden asked.

Steb shrugged. “What about you?”

Eiden hummed. “However long feels right. If you’re here, I might stay a little longer.” She was untucking his shirt now, but Steb was focused on the dishes. Eiden pouted. “If I wanted you to do my dishes, I would’ve asked you over during the day.”

Steb put the dishes down, wiped his hands with a towel tossed haphazardly on the countertop, and turned around. His smile was amused and exasperated.

“I have a morning shift tomorrow,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“We’ll make it quick, I promise.”

He shook his head and cupped her jaw. The tips of his fingers brushed the hair at the back of her head. He leaned in, his smile growing when Eiden stood on her tiptoes to catch his lips. He pulled away, smiling at Eiden’s pout. He ran his thumb across her cheek and rested his forehead against hers.

“Don’t lie.”

Eiden smiled into the kiss. Still on her tiptoes, she draped her arms over his shoulders, carding her fingers through his hair while she traced the ridge on his neck. He shuddered at her touch, his breath hitching as she drew her finger up and down the ridge. Steb cradled her face as he kissed her slow and deep. His lips curved into a smile as Eiden tucked his shirt and popped the buttons.

Eiden chased his lips when Steb pulled away again. He shushed and soothed her, pressing featherlight kisses to her cheeks. His hands trailed to her thighs.

“May I?” he murmured.

“Please.”

His grip was firm on the back of her thighs. Eiden gasped when he hoisted her up with ease, and placed her on the island behind her. Whatever Eiden wanted to say was swallowed up by Steb when he kissed her again.

His kisses were always so deep and intense, like he was worshipping her mouth with his soft lips and tongue. He swallowed every whimper Eiden made and dug his fingers into her thigh when she sucked on his tongue. He slid her dress further up her thigh and groaned against her lips when she pulled at his hair. He hardly gave her a moment to breathe, kissing her until she was trembling and had to tilt her head away to catch her breath.

Steb dragged his lips to her jaw and down her throat, mouthing at her shoulder and back up to her throat. Eiden slid his shirt off his body until it hit the floor. She pressed down on the ridge that trailed from his tailbone to the top of his neck, and Steb moaned into her skin. His hands roamed to her back, climbing up her skin until he traced the sensitive part of where her wings sprouted from her back. He rubbed underneath her wing and Eiden jolted, gasping and gripping his biceps.

“Mean,” she breathed. She felt Steb smile against her throat. He kissed back up to her mouth, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips before pulling back to stare at her.

His pupils were blown and his lips were wet and swollen. Her lipstick was smeared all over him, coloring his lips with a dark red tint. One of his teeth was stained too. Steb raised an eyebrow, ran his tongue across his teeth and cleaned the lipstick away. He dragged his thumb below his lip, slow and tantalizing as he stared at Eiden, and sucked away the lipstick he had smudged on his thumb.

“Open,” he whispered, and Eiden obeyed without a second thought. She opened her mouth and Steb slid his thumb in, watching with rapt attention as Eiden sucked on him, swirled her tongue around him while looking up at him through her long eyelashes. He pressed down on her tongue and his breath hitched when her eyes fluttered. He drew his thumb out and Eiden pressed a kiss to the tip, smiling when he smeared her own saliva across her bottom lip.

Eiden cradled his face, resting her forehead against his. He held her waist, and when they kissed again, he pulled her forward until she was sitting at the very edge of the counter, pressed flush against his torso. He nudged her fingers up to the frills below his eyes. She dragged her thumb across them, and delighted in the way he moaned into her mouth. His lips drifted to her jaw and down to her throat. He mouthed at her pulsepoint and teased under her wing until Eiden was trembling beneath him. She breathed his name and ran her fingers across the frills on his chest and sides, delighting in the way he hissed her name.

“Can I mark you?” Steb murmured against her throat, voice thick and wrought with arousal. He pressed light butterfly kisses to her skin, looking up at her with big eyes.

“Please…”

Eiden’s lashes fluttered against her cheeks as Steb sucked a pretty mark onto her neck. He ran his tongue over it and dragged his lips back to hers. His hand had trailed so far up her thigh that he was holding her ass now. He squeezed, digging his fingers into her flesh before touching her tail feathers. She jolted against him, the sensation heading straight to her core. It was difficult to breathe as he played with her. She buried her face into the crook of his neck as her body twisted and twitched, unsure if it wanted more or to get away from his touch.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he whispered into her ear.

“That one.” Eiden pointed to the door across the room. In a smooth motion, Steb swept her into his arms, holding her like a bride as he headed towards her room. Eiden laughed, her hands falling naturally onto his shoulders. “Such a prince.”

Steb smiled and kissed her cheek. He placed her on her bed so gently, making sure her head rested comfortably on the pillows, like she really was his princess.

The bed creaked with his weight as he crawled up her body. He pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, then her cheek and to her jaw, down her neck and to her shoulder.

“I like this dress,” he murmured, slipping the thin strap off her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” His hands roamed her body, searching for the zipper. Eiden helped guide him to the back of her dress.

“Then I’ll wear it more for you,” Eiden whispered, arching her back so Steb could unzip her dress.

“Just for me?”

Eiden’s breathy laugh melted into a sigh once Steb started planting kisses all over her exposed skin. “Don’t want anyone else seeing me in that dress, huh?”

Steb shook his head and slid the fabric off her body. “Tonight was enough.” He kissed her shoulder and then trailed his lips down to her chest. They locked eyes as Steb took her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the bud. Eiden’s sigh was blissful. Her eyes fluttered shut and she carded her fingers through his hair.

He flicked her nipple with his tongue and pulled at the other one with his hand. Eiden’s breathing grew more ragged, her body hotter beneath him as she arched her back, pressing her chest further into his mouth. She whispered his name like it was a secret just for the two of them.

Steb kissed down her body, taking his time to mark her skin while Eiden whined for him to hurry up. Steb looked up at her when she said his name, and smiled at the look on her face. He took her hand into his own and pressed gentle kisses all across her knuckles. Then he kissed her stomach, slow and sweet, and caressed her hip while staring at her with his pretty eyes.

Eiden’s lip quivered. She turned her head to the side, burying her face into the pillow. “You make me feel like it’s the first time.”

Steb chuckled against her skin and held her hand in his own as he drifted down, down until she could feel his breath against her clothed cunt. Her legs were trembling as she spread them. He pressed a soft kiss to her panties and looked up at her. She nodded, gripping his hand like a lifeline even though this was far from their first time ever having sex, but the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her body so reverently, brought back old shyness.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, licking and leaving his own private marks that only he would see. The way he kissed her, sucked marks into her skin while running his thumb across her fingers made her thighs tremble.

When he finally started to kiss her panties, Eiden breathed out a blissful thank you. He made out with her cunt through her panties, ignoring her pleas to take them off because he liked to hear how needy she got. When she was all but choking please and Steb and I want more, he generously pulled her panties to the side. He held them to the side with his thumb. He blew a light puff of air against her clit and the sensation made her flinch.

“Don’t tease,” Eiden whispered.

Steb breathed a laugh against her core. He pulled his hand from hers, leaving Eiden to grip the sheets as he used his hand to spread Eiden’s lips apart and lick a fat stripe from her ass to her clit. Eiden gasped, hips rocking against his face. He held her open, his long tongue diving into her entrance and pressing against her walls. Her slick coated his tongue and when he moaned, mouth pressed flush against her, the vibrations went straight to her pussy. Her body twitched each time his lips brushed against her clit as his tongue squirmed inside of her. When the hand holding her open moved up to her clit, fingers circling around it, Eiden’s hips lifted off the bed.

His thumb flicked her clit in quick motions. Eiden whined, high and needy as her head fell back onto the pillows, chest heaving as Steb ate her out like it was his last meal. He circled her clit, wringing out all sorts of noises from Eiden until all she could do was stammer his name and grip his hair, rocking her hips against his face. He moaned against her pussy, tongue deep inside of her as he circled her clit, and the combined pressure and pleasure had tears building at the edges of Eiden’s eyes.

She rode his face, rolling her hips until she came with a gasp and a shudder, choking on Steb’s name as he continued to flick and roll her clit beneath his thumb. She gripped his hair, back arched and toes curled as he worked her through her orgasm. When it became too much, her thighs squeezed over his head and she tried to push him away. She whined when Steb finally slid his tongue out of her, leaving her pussy to pulse and squeeze on nothing. Her back was still arched when he pressed a soft, tender kiss to her clit and slid her panties back over her pussy.

Her eyes fluttered shut, just starting to come down from her high when she felt Steb pull back her panties and release it with a loud snap. Eiden yelped, her clit stinging. She finally looked up at Steb, and he was looking at her with such ravenous lust that her stomach swooped.

Steb removed her panties in a quick motion, tossing them onto the floor before lowering his head between her legs again.

“Wh-what are you— oh!” Eiden’s head fell back, legs closing over Steb’s head as he licked her cunt again, swallowing up the slick and cum straight from her pussy. With one hand, he held a firm grip on her waist to keep her on the bed as his lips latched onto her clit. He sucked and flicked his tongue over her clit in rapid motions, drinking her shrieks and moans like he did the slick gushing from her pussy. With his other hand, he slipped two fingers easily into her entrance, giving her something to squeeze on while he sucked and licked at her clit.

He fingered her as his lips stayed latched onto her clit. She barely felt it when he added another finger, all pressed in to the knuckle. Steb never let up even for a second, his tongue rapidly flicking her clit as he fucked her on his fingers. His grip on her hip was too firm for her to squirm away, even as she writhed in place.

“S-Steb, Steb, it’s too much, please— please, I—!” Eiden gasped, keening between her teeth as Steb curled his fingers. The heat coiling in her gut was coming to a head. Tears were leaking out of her eyes now, overwhelmed as Steb continued to abuse her clit with his tongue and curl his long fingers inside her.

“C’mon, give me one more,” he muttered against her clit. “One more, you can do it.”

“I-I can’t, it–it’s too much, I can’t— I— Steb! Oh, fuck!” She squeezed her thighs tight over his head, words cutting off in a shriek as she came again. Her vision whited out, back arching as her legs and hips spasmed. Steb moaned against her cunt, drinking the cum straight from her pussy as she rode his face and tongue. From above the mound of her pussy, Eiden saw Steb’s eyes roll back into his head as she came all over his face.

He worked her through it until Eiden begged him to stop. He finally pushed himself up and crawled over Eiden’s body until his face was hovering above hers. His face was debauched. The lower half of his face was soaked, dripping with slick and cum. He had a pretty blue blush on his cheeks and he was panting, pupils blown and frills flaring.

He cupped her face, cradling her cheek with such tenderness that Eiden couldn’t help but melt into his hand. Steb leaned down and pressed a sweet, slow kiss to her lips. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, sliding it all the way to the back of her throat. Steb shuddered when Eiden choked and gagged on his tongue.

Steb leaned back. He rolled her nipples between his fingers as he asked, “do you still want more?”

“Yes, please,” Eiden whispered. “I want all of you.”

Steb smiled and unbuckled his belt. “So greedy,” he whispered, and Eiden swallowed. “You’re insatiable.”

He tossed his pants aside. There was a dark spot on his boxers, where the tip had spilled precum and stained the fabric. He stripped off his boxers and dropped them on the floor. The gills on his pelvis, fluttering with arousal, had opened to reveal his pretty dick. It was a pretty blue color, the tip purple and leaking with arousal, with frills and ridges on it.

Steb traced her legs, looking at her with a questioning look. Eiden nodded. It had been so long since they’d seen each other, since they basked in each other’s warmth and love, that Eiden didn’t want to do anything but missionary.

Steb grabbed her legs and spread them apart, resting her ankles on his shoulders. He stroked his dick a few times to spread the precum, and then he was lining up at her entrance. Her pussy throbbed when he brushed against her. He rubbed his dick up and down her dripping folds, and then he was pushing in.

Eiden was so wet and loose from her previous orgasms that Steb was able to push in with ease. He groaned, leaning over her body and burying his face into her neck. Instinctively, she threw one arm over his shoulder and tangled her other hand into his hair. They moaned in tandem when Steb bottomed out, her pussy throbbing and squeezing around him. He was panting heavy against her neck, mouthing at her skin and rolling his hips like he was trying to get even deeper.

“So good,” Eiden whispered, pressing featherlight kisses to his ears. He shuddered and whimpered against her skin. “Always so good for me.”

“Eiden,” he whispered. Steb rolled his hips, eyes and frills fluttering as he savored the feeling of her pussy. He rested his forehead against hers, a pretty divot between his eyebrows, and kissed her as he made love to her. Every rock of his hips was slow and reverent, like the way he kissed her. He smoothed the feathers on her ears and peppered her feathered cheeks with butterfly kisses.

They made out as they slowly fucked. Steb whimpered with each movement of his hips, his movements growing stronger and faster. It didn’t take long for Steb to lean his forehead against Eiden’s, moaning and whimpering as he snapped his hips hard and fast, hitting the deepest parts of Eiden’s pussy and carving it open with the ridges of his dick. Eiden felt like her pussy was on fire. Each snap of his hips left her clit throbbing and walls squeezing around him.

“So beautiful,” Steb whispered, his breathing heavy and thrusts growing erratic. “So gorgeous.”

He fucked her until her legs were trembling, toes curling as they slotted their lips together in a sloppy rendition of a kiss. Their kiss was more shared moans and sliding tongues than a real kiss, but it had Eiden clawing marks into Steb’s back anyway. He held her face with one hand, cradling her so tenderly, so gently, as his hand slid down to her swollen clit. Eiden shrieked when he started flicking and rolling it beneath his finger. She writhed in place, but Steb kept her body down with his shoulders pressed into her knees.

“Feels so good,” he murmured against her lips, drinking in her moans and sobs. The combined pleasure of Steb fucking her while he circled her swollen clit had Eiden crying, gripping Steb like he was her last lifeline. “You’re perfect.”

Eiden’s orgasm rushed through her, sudden and electric, lighting her entire body on fire as her back arched, eyes rolling back in her head and mouth open in a silent scream. Her nails dug into Steb’s skin, her body trembling beneath his as he fucked her through her third orgasm. It was too much. Her entire body felt oversensitive, tingling with the sensation and pleasure of her third release.

Steb moaned against her skin, whispering about how beautiful she was and how good she felt. He rolled his hips deep into her throbbing pussy, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own orgasm. When he finally came, it was so deep that Eiden swore she could feel it in her stomach. He moaned, frills fluttering euphorically against his cheek as he filled her with so much cum that she could feel it leak out of her and onto the sheets.

Steb cooed at her, kissing her tears away as he worked himself through his orgasm. Then captured Eiden’s lips in a deep kiss that carried the high for just a little longer. Steb sighed blissfully against her lips. When they pulled away, Steb sprinkled light kisses all over her face; on her forehead, her temples, her cheeks and the corner of her mouth. His hands rubbed her body, soothing her skin. They both groaned when he finally pulled out, and all the cum he pumped into her came spilling out onto the sheets.

Her body felt like jello. Tingling and weak, her nerves were spent. She didn’t have the energy to speak, so when Steb looked at her with a worried expression, she smiled and signed to him, don’t be sorry. I’m alright.

He stood up, and Eiden watched as he headed to the bathroom connected to the room. He returned with a towel, and he wiped up the pool of cum that had spilled out of Eiden. He set that towel aside, and then went back into the bathroom. This time, he returned with a cloth soaked with warm water. Gently, he ran the cloth across Eiden’s legs, cleaning the mess and warming her body.

She giggled when he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

I’ll get you some water, he signed. Eiden nodded, and he disappeared into the main room. He was quick to return with two glasses of water. He placed them both on the nightstand, and helped Eiden sit up. He rearranged the pillows to make sure she was comfortable, and then sat beside her. He handed her the glass of water, and Eiden downed it.

She sighed and leaned on his shoulder. Steb sipped at his water, entwining his fingers with hers. Eiden’s energy was slowly coming back to her.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her voice a little hoarse.

Steb smiled and brought her hand up to his mouth. He placed a soft kiss on her palm, his gaze so tender and adoring. He kissed down her arm and then back up to her palm, smiling at the way Eiden giggled.

He finished his water and placed both their glasses back on the nightstand.

Let me massage you, he signed. You’ll be sore in the morning. Eiden smiled, amused and endeared.

“After cuddles.”

Steb’s smile was just as amused. You never change. Still, he obliged her and settled next to her, pulling Eiden close to his chest. He pressed kisses to her hair, trailing his fingers up and down her back and smoothing the feathers on her wings. Eiden sighed in his embrace, letting herself relax in his arms.

How she had missed his warmth.

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