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kirencer · 2 years

Note

Would you write a one-shot where the girl is Spencer's student and somehow he hears a girl talk that she's a virgin (and also that she writes FICS about him), and something happen between them? I'd like her to be inexperienced, but not dumb about sex, nor bratty ❤️❤️ thank you so much for your fics btw, they're amazing

Fanfiction

A/N: Quick PSA: A real person might not be a fan of you writing fanfiction about them... But writing this was fun! It never crossed my mind to have one of Spencer's students write a FF about him.

Word count: 14.4K (it's a long one | That's what she said.)

CW: Smut, Fluff | Mentions of Age Gap/Sexual Experience/Fanfiction/academic pressure/financial struggles/Parents not supporting your dreams, Oral (F), Fingering, Masturbation, Virginity/Loss of virginity, Penetrative Sex (unprotected, creampie), Nicknames (Bunny, Daddy, Sweetheart, Good Girl)

**********

*picture does not describe the looks of the reader* **********

"The cold rain made the clothes cling to our bodies as we ran into the faculty building. I should've never agreed to interview my professor for the college paper. His class schedule was all over the place and I struggled for weeks to find a place in his calendar to do it.

Stupid stubbornness had made me insist on him taking time for me tonight, after classes. I had sat there through all his stomach-turning lectures and then waited for him to pack his stuff.

"Professor Collins, you said I was supposed to wait for you to find a day on which your schedule's free." I looked around the empty class. "Now seems to be the time."

"Miss Rivera, it is past eight and I'd like to go home now. Why don't you do the same and I'll send you a mail with dates that would be convenient for me."

Handsome but unattainable. He was known to be the most attractive professor on campus, clothed in secrecy and a need to keep his private life hidden. No wonder, a man working part-time as a teacher and part-time as an FBI agent needed to keep his secrets, I assume.

But tough luck. He'd been voted to be the most popular professor in our college and therefore, this man was going to, at least, give me something to write about him.

"With all due respect, Professor, I am running after you for weeks now. I need this interview."

A loud thunder interrupted his try to back out of it, making him brush a hand through his hair.

"It's starting to storm soon. I assume you're taking the subway, just like me. I'd like the come home at least semi-dry, don't you?"

He tried to push past me, his hand on the strap of his leather satchel. I stepped in his way, his firm jest bumping against mine. I hadn't realized he was so much taller than me.

Another thunder made me jump. "I- I have a car."

He nodded, taking a nervous step back. We had stood too close. "That- That is good for you. The streets and public transport aren't safe for a young woman alone at night."

"I can drive you," I offered without thinking. "Pardon?"

"You give me my interview and I'll drive you home. We don't even have to have the interview here. I can drive us to a cafe. You once mentioned you never turn down the chance for coffee."

He raised his eyebrow. "You're not going to stop bothering me with this interview, am I right?"

I shot him a smile. "My persistence is one of my greatest assets, Professor."

He sighed, nodding. "Okay."

Clapping my hands, I lead the way to my car. I searched for my keys.

Pockets, handbag, bookbag, jacket.

"Is everything okay?"

I nodded, shooting my professor another smile.

Now, where were my keys?

"Are you sure?" He asked me, making me hear a smile in his voice. "It seems like you can't find your keys."

"No- No- No, I know I put them in here somewhere," I rambled, going through my bookbag again.

That was when one of its straps snapped and sent my books flying.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, quickly sinking to my knees and picking my books up.

Of course, it wouldn't be my type of luck if I didn't also dump my handbag's contents in the same move. Perfect. Just, perfect.

"Here," Professor Collins handed me one of my books. He had kneeled down next to me, helping me pick up my things.

Okay, maybe I saw his appeal. He was good-looking, his hair long enough to run your fingers through it and play with his curls, and cheekbones that could cut glass. Kneeling down on the dirty floor for me, dirtying his always perfect suit, even when he detested everything that could suggest bacteria.

"Thank you."

As I took my book, our hands touched, and an electric shock ran straight through me. The sky opened and it began to pour. Right, Professor Collins had predicted that it would rain...

A stupid laugh escaped me at the sudden decision the universe had made to make all of this look like a stupid rom-com.

Stuffing all my things into the bags, not carrying what I put into which, I looked at his now wet hair.

"I assume my ride home is canceled?" He joked, and my face became hot.

"Right..." I mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

He waved me off, standing up and lending me a hand. By now, we were both soaked.

"Let's go to my office. Maybe you'll find keys once we're dry and in a well-lit environment."

I nodded. "Please.""

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

"Penelope, explain it again, please," I asked of her for the now third time.

My bubbly, blonde friend sighed. "A fanfiction, Reid. Or should I say, Professor Collins?"

The clear question mark on my face made Luke laugh. "Some girl from college has the hots for you and writes a fantasy world in which you both are an item."

"No," I shook my head. I did not need to hear that. "Not interested in hearing about that."

This would only make the relationship with my students more difficult than it already was. The young women in my classes, especially the ones auditing my classes, made me nervous. Their looks were inappropriate, to say the least. And now I was supposed to have a head for one of them writing erotica about me and her as well?

Where would this nonsense end?

"But you should. Its publishing level good. Like, I read this in one night and now I am constantly checking my phone to see if she updated her story," Penelope continued gushing. "And honestly, except for a few quirks and that he works for the FBI, Professor Collins does not sound like you at all. He's such a dreamboat. Seriously. A man written by a woman."

"Thanks," I spat, taking the hint at my undateablility. Of course, a real person couldn't compare with a completely made-up man. Written ones never truly struggled with their problems in a way that would ruin the romance.

"Oh, boy. I didn't mean it like that," Garcia said.

Luke stared up from Penelope's rhinestone-covered phone. "Honestly, that story is spicy. Hey, from man to man, do you like BDSM?"

What the hell? What was this lunatic writing about me?

Penelope looked at her phone and smiled. "Oh, that isn't even the best one. Right now there is this just hooking-up thing going on. The real fun starts once he falls for her and finally tries to have a real date with her."

Luke shook his head. "No chance. The alley scene where he tells her he can't touch her because it would be unethical and they still have this absolutely animalistic-"

"You are making me uncomfortable," I exclaimed before I could any more of this.

"Sorry, man, but that stuff is good. And the side plots? How Adriene becomes a journalist and they keep running into each other?"

Tara came in, coffee in her hand. "We talking about 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'?"

Ridiculous name. Stupid story. How old did I need to get and how many titles did I need, to finally be taken seriously?

"Please tell me you're not reading that garbage," I practically begged, but Tara started laughing. "That you call it garbage shows that you haven't read it. The author writes made-up cases that sound so real, I was convinced they were until I asked her on Tumblr."

Maybe I could ban auditing my classes, but what if this obsessive fan of mine was a student of mine? This story needed to vanish as promptly as it appeared.

Standing up, I fixed my tie and grabbed my satchel. "I'd be very thankful if you guys stop reading it. Penelope, please take the story down."

*****

Which one of them?

The classes this week had me spinning. Every single one of them could've been the one writing in these indecent ways about me.

I knew all their faces and remembered all their available information. I was able to figure out which one of them wrote this garbage.

"Professor Reid?" My head snapped up from my notes. "Yes?" I looked at [y/n], one of the thankfully normal students of mine. "I just wanted to bring you Mrs. Perkins's invitation to the charity library sale. We were sorting out the books when she realized she forgot to hand you yours."

The girl handed me my invitation and smiled as I studied it. The college's library hat previously got a lot of new editions donated and now sorted out its stock. The books no longer needed would be sold for a bargain and the money would be used to repair some of the old shelves.

I lacked the space for any more books, but how could I resist this feast? I made a mental note to ask Morgan to help me build another bookshelf for my apartment.

"Mrs. Perkins also told me to tell you that she would hold back some first editions for you."

I nodded thankfully. Helena Perkins was a little old lady in her eighties. The librarian and somebody I regularly brought tea and borrowed books from in my free time.

"Great. I can't wait," I smiled at [y/n] [y/l/n], who was one of the volunteers for this event. "Hv e you already got your eyes on something?"

This girl was almost as obsessed with books as I was, I often met her in the library. We never really talked, but we would smile at each other and then go on with our book hunt.

"Totally. I already have a box I'll have to figure out how to take home." I furrowed my brows. "The sale is two days away." She nodded. "That's the perk of helping organize it. I get to call dibs on the books I want."

I chuckled. "So that's why you helped." She shook her head, laughing. "No? I help because Mrs. Perkins ask me to. The books are literally just a sweet bonus and how she bribed me into helping."

"Yeah, she really knows how to bribe. I sponsor the buffet at the sale because of those first editions she's holding back."

"You know, since I started helping, I actually had to get rid of my dining table so I could fit in more books ins my apartment. I mean, I never have any visitors anyway, but still."

I nodded. "I'm having to ask a friend to build me a new shelf. By the about of books I own, I should really consider opening my own library."

Playing with her hoodie strings, [y/n] smiled. "See it as a positive thing. 'Doctor Spencer Reid's Library for the book addicted' has a nice ring to it."

"I might going to steal that name," I joked back, loving how she bit into the pillow of her bottom lip while laughing.

She waved me off, pulling the hood of her hoodie back over her head to while herself from the rain outside. "No need to steal, I gift it to you," she said sweetly. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now before Mrs. Perkins breaks her hip again, climbing around on those ladders."

"Have fun. Don't buy too many books," I called after her, hearing her yell back through the hallway, "You're not my boss!"

Silly girl. I liked her.

*****

""You are my student, Adriene!" He almost yelled, only seconds before, he'd taken me on his desk and now he shut me out again. "You can't seriously believe that this can be more than some random hook-ups."

I shouldn't have let it slip that I love him, but as he had looked into my eyes, it had been all I could think about.

I shook my head while fixing my disheveled clothes. "I- I am not your student. I am studying journalism. I only audit your class to-"

"You're still in my class," he insisted. "We can't meet anymore. This had been going on for too long anyway. You're having exams soon and they're more important than whatever this is anyway."

"But- It's not just a random hook-up for me," I admitted, feeling my heart sink as his face turned to stone.

"I'm sorry you caught feelings. I should've been more open about my intentions."

He didn't mean that. He couldn't. How were his intentions solely to fuck me? What a lie.

He could've done that and left, but he came back every time. He took me out to fancy dinners, watched movies with me, took me to bookstores and museums, and showered me with gifts and the stories of his past.

I thought there was more. There had to be more."

*****

God, that was a lot of drama.

Couldn't the two of them just finally get together and be happy? It wasn't that hard. Even if it was unethical at the moment, they only needed to wait a month. Adriene was soon going to finish college and get a job as a journalist.

I hated that I was able to understand where Zane came from, though.

She was so much younger. She had the chance to become a great journalist and see the world. Adriene deserved better than to have a boyfriend that would probably get shot on a case.

She would understand and be thankful that he tried pushing her away over and over again once she was older. But right now, she clearly loved and accepted Zane.

I would've loved to have someone like Adriene.

She was caring and funny. Addicted to books. Dreaming big, but always counting Zane in.

Fuck. I wasn't falling in love with a fictional character, now was I?

*****

""Do you have any idea how angry I am with you?" He growled, while I only nodded.

"I'm sorry," I whispered while he made me stop by the car and helped me out of my kevlar vest. He ran his hand over the bullet hole in it and withdrew his hand as though he burned his hand on fire.

"You could've died. Did you think even one second about that?" With anger, he tossed the vest into the backseat. "And this fucking vest is way too big for you."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, flinching at every single one of his words.

"How could you be so reckless? A stunt like this could've cost my team or me our lives, and worse, it could've cost yours. Are you aware of that?"

I nodded but that didn't seem to be enough.

"Adriene, I swear to god, you better answer me," he hissed, and I looked up at him, tears finally running down my face.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, making him sigh and look me up and down.

"Are you hurt?" I shook my head, my whole body still trembling.

That was when Zane pulled me into a hug. "Thank god.", he whispered. "Don't ever do that to me again. This story isn't worth your life.""

*****

She had daddy issues. Definitely.

The author was a girl with daddy issues that needed an outlet for her fantasies about an older man that could care for her.

She was most likely not in a relationship, if ever even been in a real one before.

I was nothing like Zane.

Just a little like him.

Okay, Zane was a carbon copy of most of my characteristics, even of my bad ones.

The author had a talent for analyzing me.

At least our names and my hair and eye color. Although that seemed to help very little to hide my identity. Penelope had caught up on it in a heartbeat.

*****

"No. I am sick of this cat and mouse game, Zane," I yelled between tears and sobs. "You keep pushing me away, saying I'm too young for you. Yet, you are the one always coming back and never making up your mind. I may be young, but you're the one of us acting like a child!"

"Addy, please just listen to me."

I wiped my tears away, trying not to scream and wake my neighbors. "No, I am done listening. That's all I did until now and it brought me nothing but heartache. It was always 'Come here, Sweetheart.', 'Stay away.', 'Please come back.', 'I love you'. I'm done."

Zane took a step towards me, hand running over his stubbles. "You have the chance to become a great journalist and see the world, Adriene. You deserved better than to have a husband that will probably get shot on a case."

"Then why are you always coming back?"

"Because I am selfish. I can't live without you."

I looked at him, his ocean blue eyes were filled with tears he refused to let out. Where did this confession leave us?

"Can I please come inside, Sweetheart?"

*****

Wait, that was it?

Where was the rest?

The fuck did the author mean by 'To be continued'?

No. No, it was good that there wasn't any more of this. I didn't like how the author portrayed me anyway.

Pulling out my phone, I called Penelope. It rang a fair share of times before she picked up.

"Hello?" She sounded like she had a mile sprint behind her just to get to her phone.

"Garcia, it's Reid. I need you to tell me which of my students wrote the story."

"Why? What are you planning?" She asked suspiciously. "I'll ask her to stop writing this and spare me from any more humiliation."

After a while of silence, Garcia answered simply, "No." "Why not?" "I'm not going to let you be mean to this talented girl!"

Was she for real?

"Penelope, if somebody's mean, then it's her. This is humiliating. She literally wrote about my dick and the many uses I seem to have for it in her fantasy," I told her with a hoarse, aggravated voice.

The call of reality seemed to have finally reached Garcia. I knew I was right and now, so did she. This girl was openly projection this picture she had of me on the internet. Openly displaying me being called 'Daddy', manhandling her like she was nothing more than my little toy.

I wasn't a man like that and I surely didn't need somebody to think I was.

"Okay, fine. Take away one of my hobbies and crush a girl's spirit," Penelope huffed annoyed. "Her name is [y/n] [y/l/n]."

"No, it's not," I replied almost instantly. "She- No. You're wrong."

"Genius boy, I am a lot of things. I am beautiful, sassy, a wonder woman, a natural talent in anything technology, but I am not, – and I can't stress this enough – never, ever wrong about something so simple as uncovering the person behind a username."

I thanked my friend and hung up.

[y/n]. I had already crossed her from my list of suspects. She was sweet, quiet, and a good student. She never starred at me like the other woman in class, she never seemed distracted or daydreamy.

She shared jokes with me and I liked her... This annoyed me. [y/n] was a wolf in sheep's clothing and I had fallen for it.

Why did it have to be one of my good students? One that even was respectful and well-behaved when coming to my office or wrote me a mail when she wouldn't be able to make it to my class.

Somehow it would've been less insulting if it would've been a girl auditing my lectures.

Shaking my head, I looked at [y/n]'s user profile.

Her username was 'SixofPomegranates', an innuendo to Hades and Persephone. The king of the underworld had made his wife eat six pomegranate seeds to ensure she'd have to return to his side for six months of the year.

Her profile picture was a digital drawing of a little jackalope bunny surrounded by flowers. The little bunny reminded me of her, sweet and innocent looking.

She had the same look on her face coming to my office one day, as it had rained, and she was soaked, freezing. After handing her the materials she had missed, I'd made her stay until the rain had stopped, giving her my jacket as she started her way home.

The next day the coat had been returned to my office, a coffee from Starbucks next to it, a little flower-shaped sticky note on it thanking me.

I had kept that stupid sticky note in my wallet. It still was in there. It had this stupid joke on it that always made me laugh.

"*knock knock* Who's there? Thank you! Thank you, who?

Thank you for lending me your coat! Enjoy your coffee! — [y/n] ♡"

If that had been the day she started fantasizing about me?

Even if it was, it didn't give her the right to post erotic stories about me online. Although I hated the feeling those scenes now gave me, knowing that it was her.

Her profile's bio solely held a quote:

"My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary."

Wuthering heights. Did she see the book as dramatic or romantic? Did she see Catherine and Heathcliff as star-crossed lovers and soulmates or as co-dependent fools that couldn't get over each other even after death?

Why did she have to write this fanfiction about me?

I kicked my desk like a disgruntled child. Now I could never ask her for an answer. Could never look at her again without thinking about her fantasies.

These lusting, needy fantasies I shouldn't relate to.

I never had any normal fans.

Seriously, was it me? Was I the problem?

*****

"Miss [y/l/n], can you stay behind, please? I'd like to have a word with you."

I had just excused the rest of my students, fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I couldn't seem to focus, my eyes always falling back to [y/n].

She had an astounding poker face. What was she thinking about while writing her little notes?

Was she thinking about me, asking her to stay behind after class?

About me, throwing her onto my table and fucking her on the assignments handed in by her classmates?

As she walked up to me, her side bag thrown over her shoulder, books clutched in her hands, she looked at me with a smirk.

"What is it, Professor Reid? I'm sorry to tell you but you're not getting the Wuthering Heights copy we both hunted for from me. I got that one fair and square." She bit her bottom lip.

The night I found out about her alter-ego 'SixofPomegranates' I had been at the charity sale before. We had both reached for the same book, her beating me in Rock-Paper-Scissors and having me back off from the copy.

The rest of the night I had thought of her fantasies, her being the subject of my desires, pulsing cock in my hand as I masturbates to the idea of playing those fantasies out with her.

The fact that I was mad at her had only fueled my longing for her before the feeling of post-orgasm clarity had brought me back to my senses.

I licked over my lips, checking if we truly were alone. "That's not what this is about. I-" I cleared my throat. "It had come to my attention that you wrote a little piece of... fanfiction about me. Us."

I hadn't thought it to be possible, but her eyes became even bigger. She looked at me like a frightened little bunny. Her big eyes filled with worry, and mortification was written all over her face, while I was able to hide mine quite well.

Looking down on her feet and back up at me, she played coy, "I- I'm sorry?"

"A little story called 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Sound familiar?"

She swallowed harshly, "I- I- I don't- I didn't..."

As I, just like her, didn't know what to say, I decided to go with the truth. "See, I thought a lot about how I would handle this situation yesterday and I've frankly got to admit that I am in unknown water here. I never thought about the possibility of a student of mine falling for me and certainly didn't think about one writing erotica about me and sharing it online."

Our eyes met and I ignored the little infinite universes that formed between them.

"Listen, I would like to tell you that I feel flattered, but I don't. It is humiliating and makes me extremely uncomfortable. My colleagues at the FBI caught wind of it."

A frown popped up on the little bunny's face. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't think-"

I nodded, going for the kill of this crush. She shouldn't think of me in any other way than me being her teacher. "Yes, you didn't. And it's very apparent."

She raised her eyebrows, looking like she was building momentum to talk back at me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I snarled. "Nobody with at least the rarest bit of common sense would do something as stupid as this. Your little amateur work has the power of ruining my reputation on campus. Have you thought about what this weird little fantasy of yours could insinuate?"

"This is a little harsh, don't you think?" She asked, bottom lip shivering. "I changed enough that nobody would draw any connection-"

I interrupted her. "And yet it wasn't enough. Else neither my colleagues nor I would've realized your little obsession with me."

"Obsession?" She mumbled.

"I am asking you politely to remove your work from the internet and keep those fantasies in your diary – where they belong. Should I catch wind of something like this happening again, I'll need to report you to the dean. I cannot have my character ruined solely because of a horny young girl."

She nodded, "Okay. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I caused you, Professor. I didn't mean it."

I turned away so I wouldn't see her little bunny eyes. "Just don't let it happen again."

[y/n] nodded a couple of more times and hurried out of my class. Hopefully, I had been condescending enough to have her leave those feelings behind and be a normal student again.

Maybe then, I could pretend this whole ordeal never happened. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel like running after her and apologizing.

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

On an idiot-scale from 1 to 10, I definitely was a 14.

'Yeah, I am just going to write about my hot Criminology professor and all my kinks and post it online.'

'I just change names and hair colors. Nobody's gonna know."

"How will they know? Impossible."

Dumb, dumb idiot. Stupid. No brain.

I'd known that I would never have a chance with my professor and therefore had created a world in which we shared more than just a smile at the library.

What was wrong with me? Professor Reid wasn't even that handsome... I mean, yes he was, but he had been very clear about being uncomfortable because of me and somewhat called me a dummy.

Humiliated and on the verge of either throwing up or crying, I crawled into bed, ready to let the day end before I could embarrass myself any more.

But I still had to do something. I opened my notebook, opened my social media – the one I decided to use to embarrass myself and Professor Reid with – and opened 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'.

I'd really liked the story. Yes, I had thought about my professor when writing Zane Collins but after a while, the lines between fiction and reality had blurred so much that the story had developed a life of its own.

It had no longer been Professor Reid and I in my head, it had been Zane and Adriene. Two fictional characters I had made up and related to so much during their adventures, that it was therapeutic to write about them. It had become my comfort activity.

Well, either deleting this or kissing my academic career goodbye.

Such stupid bullshit.

My mouse cursor hovered over the delete button.

Yeah, no chance. I couldn't do it. Deleting it was so final. Such a waste.

Instead, I decided to just archive my story. I would be able to keep the comments I had gotten on it but it wouldn't be able to be viewed anymore. A good middle ground.

I just couldn't upload any more stories. Not even the ones without my crush in it. He would see it and think of me as a crazy stalker, a yandere that was obsessed with him... He probably already thought of me like that.

But okay, I wouldn't let that ruin my semester. Two more weeks until my finals, I would just not take criminology with Professor Reid as professor next semester.

Yes. That sounded sensible. I'd write my finals and then ditch.

I'd hope Professor Reid would forget about it but that guy had an eidetic memory. If asked, he'd probably be able to tell me what he had for breakfast ten years ago and what weather it was.

Well, no sympathy for dumbasses – That was me. I was the dumbass.

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

She'd taken it down. No more 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Yet, it didn't really feel like a win for me.

Now I would never find out if Adriene and Zane got back together. Penelope and Tara definitely had given me their peace of mind about it as well.

And [y/n] doesn't smile at me anymore. She stayed away. It was sensible thinking of what happened between us, but still. I missed the smiles and short conversations.

I wondered if the little bunny would return to my classes next semester. She had amazing grades. It would've been a shame, although I probably scared her far enough away to never see her again.

Maybe I should've just stayed quiet about the story.

The last couple of free days I spent in Vegas, visiting my aunt, and now sat there in the hotel's restaurant eating dinner. I had read a book, so I hadn't noticed it right from the beginning, but as I put it down when the waitress appeared to bring me my soda, I saw her.

[y/n] was sitting there, playing with her phone.

What was she doing here?

She was dressed in this tightfitting black dress, hair and makeup all dolled up. She was clearly dressed to impress somebody, yet she set alone. Just like me.

What a suspicious coincidence that she was at the same time in Las Vegas as I was, in the same hotel, eating dinner at the same time, and only a few tables away from me.

I didn't like the feeling in my gut. Not at all. Too often had I been the victim of insane women. I didn't want to – I couldn't – go through something like that again.

Sitting there and watching her for over ten minutes, she still set there on her own. Why get dressed up like that if you're all on your own? And even if clothes didn't matter, why didn't she already order?

No. That was it. I would confront her. I grabbed my phone and send her a mail.

***

"Miss [y/l/n],

I don't know what is going on inside your head, but following me to Vegas is surely not going to help you to get anything other from me than a restraining order.

– S.R."

***

I watched her looking at her phone, frowning. Then she looked around and her big eyes met mine, looking like a frightened bunny. She shook her head and typed something on her phone. Then mine rang.

***

"Professor Reid,

I can assure you that this is merely a coincidence. I wasn't aware that you'd be here.

– [y/n]

***

Shaking my head, I replied.

***

"[y/n],

Are you sure? Because this seems like a rather huge coincident, don't you think?

Almost seems a little too much like from a romance novel.

– S.R"

***

An angry sigh left her lips.

***

"Professor Reid,

I'm lacking the time, interest, money, and skills to stalk you.

Trust me, I won't pull an Annie Wilkes on you.

– [y/n]"

***

A reference to Stephen King's Misery. Macabre little thing. I missed her jokes.

***

"Adriene,

So you're trying to tell me you're not my number one fan?

– Zane"

***

I watched her roll her eyes and lick her lips.

***

"Very funny. I'll laugh next week.

Now please leave me alone. I am waiting for my date.

– [y/n]"

***

My fingers were faster than my common sense.

***

"Your next victim?"

***

An angry gaze now burned itself through my clothes. I seemed to have been crossing a line with my teasing. Only fair since I had pushed her away as far as I had and now seriously started to pull jokes.

***

"Dear ostentatious prick,

'He felt as he always did when he finished a book — queerly empty, let down, aware that for each little success he had paid a toll of absurdity.'

I liked you, I was crushing for you harder than I thought possible, and childishly wrote a story I didn't figure would hurt anybody because I know I'd never stand a chance with you.

I apologized for it and took it down, I am not going to visit another one of your classes ever again. I even planned that we'd never have to see each other again.

Tonight, that we met, is a coincidence since – surprise! – those happen to exist.

I now regret all the months I spent fantasizing about you and falling for you since I clearly was wrong about everything I thought about you. I feel silly, dumb, humiliated, and I'm clearly braindead.

Apparently, the only thing nice about you is your looks.

So now please leave me alone, as I told you before, I am waiting on my date. And no, it is not a man I needed to stalk, kidnap, drug, or anything else. It's somebody who I met online, who's interested in me, and asked me to come here to meet.

– [y/n] [y/l/n]"

***

Message gotten. Loud and clear. Great, now I felt like an asshole.

***

"Apologies, [y/n],

I did not intend to hurt your feelings. I'm well aware that you don't need to commit crimes to get men to be interested in you.

Have a nice evening.

– S.R."

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

Ten more minutes later, I still set there alone. Kyle hat clearly stood me up. I came all the way to freaking Las Vegas and he didn't even have the balls to write me a text.

If he would've I could've just... I don't know. I wasn't a big fan of Vegas. I had only come here because Kyle told me to.

I probably looked like a hooker waiting for a customer to approach and ask for my prize, dressed up like I was. I had been so sure he'd been interested in me.

This had been a waste of money, make-up, time, and shaving.

As my phone rang, I quickly looked at it, only sighing as I noticed that it was only my professor. He was probably thinking I made up my date so I had an excuse to stalk him.

***

"He stood you up, didn't he?"

***

I put my phone aside. I couldn't reply because I'd probably start crying. That's what I got for having expectations. Concentrating on my hands on the white tablecloths, I noticed a tear dropping onto one of them.

"Now don't cry because of that guy, little bunny." I looked up at my professor standing there with his drink. Little bunny? "It's his loss that he didn't show up."

He sat down across from me, telling a waitress to bring a lighter for the candle in the middle of the table.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. "I'm not in the mood to force you to write a novel right now."

He looked at me, sighing jokingly, "Don' be silly, you're the author of us both, [y/n]."

As the waitress returned, she lit the candle between us and Professor Reid ordered a bottle of wine.

"Seriously now, what are you doing?" I asked him again. "You were pretty clear about your opinion of me and I don't need a pity dinner with you."

"It's not a pity dinner. I just thought we'd both look less pathetic when not having to sit and eat alone."

"Aren't people in Vegas usually meeting up with escorts when they want company?" I asked sarcastic, starting at my phone and still hoping for a text.

Accepting the bottle of wine he ordered, the professor started to fill our glasses, chuckling, "Well, I am from Vegas and although lonely, I've never chosen that type of company."

I looked at the menu the waitress had brought and at the wine bottle. One glass of wine already cost enough, I couldn't even imagine how expensive an entire bottle was.

Shit, I definitely seemed like a hooker.

"The bottle looks expensive," I mumbled, staring at the shiny letters on the label.

Professor Reid nodded, chuckling, "I hope it does, it's a two-hundred-dollar bottle." My eyes went wide. "Two- Two. Hundred. Dollars?" He waved me off, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it."

Running a hand over my head, I sighed. "People will think I'm a hooker or your sugar baby."

A pretty smile spread on his lips, paired with his cheeks starting to become pink, "I- I didn't intend it to appear like that. I- I've been stood up more times than I can count and just thought-"

I laughed at the way he started to fidget with his fingers, trying to explain himself. "So we're lying now?"

"I- How am I lying?" "You have three PhDs, Professor," I reminded him. "I'm pretty sure you can count the times you've been stood up."

He nodded, smirking, "Yeah, true. I also don't date a lot so the number is so small, they would revoke my PhD in mathematics should I not be able to remember it."

Lifting his glass, my professor held it up.

"To your idiot of a date. If he would've shown up, I'd have to eat on my own."

He made it sound like a light-hearted joke, and I honestly believed there wasn't even an ill intent behind it. Still, it upset.

"I thought he liked me," I mumbled, lifting my glass as well and clinking our glasses together. While taking a big sip, I hid my disappointment and hurt face behind the glass.

"If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day," he replied, taking a sip as well.

"Quoting 'Wuthering Heights' to me does not make me feel better," I said, yet smiled because as we both had reached for the book weeks ago, things had still felt normal between us.

"Then what would?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Uhm... You're here to visit family?" "My Aunt and her husband," my professor answered. "What about you?"

"You already know about my date." His hazel eyes widened. "You really just came to Las Vegas for a man you've met online?"

"Wow. I wonder how you feel about that?" I snorted sarcastic, taking another sip of wine. Judgemental bitch.

He chuckled at my pout, "Come one, Bunny. Don't look at me like that." There it was again, this pet name. "What?" "Huh?" "You just called me 'Bunny'. And I'm very sure you called me 'little bunny' earlier," I confronted him.

Professor Reid began to blush, looking around to avoid my gaze.

"I- I- Uhm... Yeah. I did," he admitted stuttering and I nodded. "Okay?" I replied. Now, who seemed a little like Joe Goldberg?

"You remind me of one," he explained after taking a sip of wine. "A little bunny, I mean. Your profile picture was a jackalope bunny, since then I can't help but make that connection all the time."

He had seen my entire profile. No wonder he thought I was nuts. Still, I liked the nickname. I'd never been given one before and he said it with so much adoration I could almost think he liked me a little.

"I guess there are worse nicknames," I whispered, making him chuckle in reply. "Like ostentatious prick?" I nodded and deadpanned, "Among others."

Starting at the candle between us, I reached out for their flame, playing with it without burning myself as long as I stayed focused.

"Can I ask you a question about... what you read?" I asked, avoiding his eyes while my face burned as hot as the candle was bright.

"Of your works?" I nodded. "Well, I read all chapters of our little story. I didn't read your others though. Are you planning on becoming an author?"

"God, no," I snorted, self-deprecating. Looking at my phone, I repeated my parents' words, "Can't feed a family with childish dreams."

"Those are definitely not your words," my professor noted, and I frowned. "How'd you know?"

"Profiler. And your gaze went down to your phone while saying it. I assume your family is your screensaver?" I nodded. "What do they want you to be?"

Thinking of all the pressure on my shoulders making me shorter than I was and my dreams even duller, I started counting, "Doctor, nurse, lawyer, CEO... Do I need to go on?"

He shook his head. "So you're studying to please your parents?" "And make sure I'm in deep debt before ever even fully starting to live."

"Would you want to be an author if there wasn't all that pressure on you?"

That was the first time somebody asked me that

I shifted him a stupid grin. "Can you imagine holding a book in your hand and knowing that you're the one who wrote it and can live off of it? I mean, I wouldn't do it for the money or the fame of course, but it would be nice to not feel the urge to cry every time a bill arrives in my mail."

Professor Reid stopped my fingers from playing with the flame. Holding my hand instead. "If you're really serious about it, you should pursue this hobby and make it your job."

"And if I fail?" I asked him, my eyes probably giving away the feat of taking that risk.

"Stephen King is one of the best-selling authors of all time, with a net worth of 500 million dollars. Yet it took years of countless rejections before 'Carrie' was be published, and as it was made into a movie the following year, they didn't even write his name right in the credits."

But Stephen King didn't write fanfictions about his professor fucking him. I assumed. "So, I should risk becoming a writer because I could be the Stephen King of embarrassing, obsessive little stories I write, although they should stay in my diary?"

I pulled my hand away and wrapped it around my glass instead.

"I- [y/n], I needed to be harsh so you'd understand the troubles your fanfiction could cause us. It had nothing to do with your talent."

Why the hell was I doing here? I couldn't sit here any longer with the man I was head over heels for and listen to him giving me a pep talk about how my fanfiction wasn't as bad as he initially had said.

"I need-" I grabbed my phone and threw it in my purse. "I really should-"

I stopped trying to explain myself and stood up.

Professor Reid stood up as well, hand running through his curls. "Please don't leave. We haven't even ordered yet."

I shook my head. "I- I need to get a hotel room. It's getting late and- Yeah. I- Thanks for the wine."

As I bolted to the elevator, I could hear fast steps behind me.

"Hey, [y/n]. Wait," he called after me. "God your fast in those shoes." as he reached me while I frantically pushed the elevator's buttons, his hand touched my arms. "Hey, what did I do wrong?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I- I'm awkward, and you're nice to me, and telling me my writing didn't suck, and I really can't crush on you anymore. So I'm running."

The elevator doors opened and I quickly got in, pressing the button for the lobby and then the one closing the doors.

Just as I thought I had officially ended this strange meeting, Professor Reid reached between the doors, holding up the elevator and getting in with me.

He pressed the buttons again. What was he doing?

"What- I- Go back to the restaurant. Did you even pay? Oh my god, did we just dine and dash?"

He began laughing, shaking his head. "It's added to my bill, don't worry. I just..." "You just, what?" I asked before he could actually finish his sentence.

"Wanted to make sure you're not running off and... Do you really don't have a room?" I shook my head, watching the floor numbers go down. "I was planning to stay with Kyle," I admitted.

"You- Bunny, you didn't know that man. You can't just stay with a stranger from the internet. Even if you'd hit it off from second 1, this is rushing things and risking your health," the professor lectured me.

"Please don't call me Bunny," I mumbled, feeling like crap. As always when I got lectured. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

As we reached the lobby, I got out, Professor Reid grabbing my art again and sighing. "[y/n], I- This is going to sound so condescending, but I don't think you'll be able to afford a room here."

Yeah. Condescending was a fitting word. Like, I'm sorry I'm a broke student, but it's not like I can't afford the broom closet for the night?

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" "You said you want to cry when having to pay your bills and you almost threw up because of a two-hundred-dollar price tag on a bottle of wine. The cheapest rooms here cost 300$ and they're most likely all booked."

Oh. Okay. Yes, maybe he'd been right. 300$ was a lot of money in my world. I didn't even think my credit card would work at such a high price tag.

"Oh, okay. I- I'll just- I'll find a motel," I almost whispered to myself, grabbing my phone and opening a booking site.

I wasn't helpless. I was capable to take care of myself. Worst case, I would change my flight home and sleep at the airport.

Taking my phone from me, my professor sighed. "This is ridiculous, [y/n]. Please just come upstairs with me. I have a suit. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You have a suit?" I asked astounded.

This man had at least five COMME des GARÇONS cardigans, of course, he could afford a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and a suit here.

"I rarely travel, so I like to spoil myself every once in a while," he explained himself, and I nodded in broke-bitch. "Thank you, but I can't take you up on that offer. It's- I- This-"

Professor Reid interrupted me. "I promise I would never try anything indecent. I simply want to know you are safe."

The indecent had been exactly what my mind wanted. I thirsted over this man since I had first seen him table about stressors and aggressors. He was so passionate about everything he talked about. I liked that passion dangerously much.

Even though about how passionate he would be about sex, would he be with somebody that caught his interest and was worth his time.

But now he stood there, trying to ensure me that I was safe, almost like I was made from glass.

"The whole bunny thing, huh?" I asked, and he nodded. "Innocent, fragile, little thing. If you feel too uncomfortable to share the suit with me, I fully understand, but then at least let me pay for a separate room for you."

I shook my head, having to giggle. He was so oblivious. How was he so oblivious? It was kind of cute, to be honest.

"I think in general, we both have a very different impression about why I'd be uncomfortable sleeping in the same suit as you."

His lips formed a little o, "It's because of the crush?" "Obviously," I giggled.

"I- I'm sorry. Sometimes things like that fly right over my head." I nodded. "Yeah, noticed."

"I'd enjoy your company though, and maybe we could order room service and you'd tell me if Adriene decides to give Zane another chance?"

Rolling my eyes, I looked at him. "Now you're teasing me again." He shook his head. "No, I really want to know. See my invitation as a bribe."

I'd been willing to sleep at a stranger's place who I saw as a rebound for my crush on Professor Reid. I could might as well stay with the man I knew I wouldn't have gotten over in the first place.

"Kay. I'll get my bag."

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

Opening the suit's door with my key card, I stepped aside and let [y/n] come in first. She looked around, mouth open and astound.

I had judged her and called her obsessed, yet here I was, thinking about how I could spoil her with everything I had to give, just to see her in this state of awe some more times.

Stepping out of her heels, she shrunk a fair bit. She let her bag fall to the floor and began looking around. The view over Vegas had caught her interest.

She instantly walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked outside.

"Wow," she mumbled. Turning around to look at me, she asked, "Have you seen your view?" I nodded. "Since I came here a couple of days ago. If you like that, you're gonna love the bathroom."

Raising her brows, she darted away, only to storm to my side again.

"Holy shit. You have a jacuzzi bathtub. I- that thing is bigger than my bathroom." "Feel free to take a bath later on," I offered and she nodded. "Oh, don't mind if I do."

I took off my suit jacket and threw it over a chair. Grabbing the menu of the room service, I sat down on the couch.

"What would you like to eat?" I asked [y/n], jumping a little as she hopped over the couch's back to sit next to me.

*****

Dinner and dessert later, I found myself still captivated by this little bunny. She had been as always, herself, the girl that made me laugh with her sarcastic tone and bad jokes.

"You should publish that book after going over some of the changes again. It has potential," I now told her, making her shake her head and giggle. "You're just saying that because you enjoy the high praises you get throughout the story."

I nodded. "That's only a little true." I grabbed the bottle of champagne, pointing at her flute. "More champagne?"

Emptying her glass, she shrugged. "I already feel and look like a hooker, so sure. Hit me."

How often was she going to make that joke?

"Stop saying that. You're extremely beautiful," I told her, a sassy grin appearing on her face. "I didn't say I wasn't beautiful. I'm just saying that I am dressed extremely provocatively – more than I'd like to – and am drinking champagne in a hotel suit more expensive than my entire apartment's furniture, while sitting there with a man almost twice my age. These jokes write themselves."

"You can go change into your pajamas if you'd feel more comfortable," I offered her, rolling up my sleeves and opening the first few buttons of my dress shirt.

"Yeah..." she mumbled looking away and biting her lip.

Did she forget to pack them?

"You didn't bring clothes to sleep in? Seriously, what did you plan on- Oh." Realization set in my bones. She hadn't brought them because she'd planned on sleeping naked or in the clothes of this other man.

Clearing my throat and ignoring the picture of her naked in my bed, I offered, "If you want, I'll get you some of my clothes to sleep in?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to, I'll just sleep-" "Naked?" I interrupted her with a grin and she rolled her eyes correcting me. "In my dress."

I shamelessly stared down her figure and then snickered, "You have to admit that I wasn't that far off then."

"Prick." She hit my arm playfully, before laying down on the fuzzy carpet before us, staring at the ceiling full of gold accents.

She was so beautiful, eyes shining brighter than the Las Vegas strip.

"Can I ask something that will definitely cross the line?" I asked, making her look at me. "You read erotica I wrote fantasizing about you. I think we're long past crossing a line."

She said things with so much character, I always had to chuckle. "You came to Las Vegas to sleep with this guy, didn't you?"

Her intentions had been very obvious by now. An internet date that had made her come all the way to Vegas, dressed like a daydream, no pajamas. I didn't judge her, she was a young woman that had a right to explore her sexuality, but I also detested the thought of this man running his hand all over her.

He would've probably didn't even know what she liked.

Propping herself up, she looked a little surprised, proofing that I was right with my assumption.

"Huh, I was wrong. There's the line." She still spoke with humor in her voice, laying back down, hand in the air, following the folding drawings on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry. I just- I just really don't understand that. He's an asshole that didn't even care to cancel your plans and you flew out here, probably spending more money than you can afford, just to give him a night he would most likely not even know to appreciate," I explained myself, voice laced with envy.

"We talked for a while and got along. I think I was just getting sick of only ever fantasizing about things and thought he would do."

"You came to Vegas to give that guy your virginity?" I blurted out in disbelief, and she looked at me again.

"Virginity is a social construct made up by man," she told me, then shrugged. "But yeah, kinda."

"You-" My brain struggled to function a little. It surely didn't change my opinion of her but the way she had written, leaving these fantasies in my brain for weeks... "You write pretty well about sex for somebody you never had it before."

She nodded, a smile on her lips. "Well, I'm not stupid. Also, it's not like I have zero experience, and I read a lot too."

That loser had almost taken her virginity, absolutely undeserving of it.

Looking into my face, she giggled, "You look so shocked right now."

"N-Not shocked, just... really, really glad he didn't show up," I stuttered, making her raise her eyebrows. "Why?" "I- I don't know," I lied, and she saw right through it. Of course.

"Back with the lies again, Professor?" She smiled, and I was certain she knew I'd been envious.

The thing most interesting was that she didn't care about it. I wondered just how deep her feelings for me were.

Feeling the urge to join her on the floor, I backtracked. I didn't want to lay on the floor. This carpet was probably dirty.

I hid my longing to be close to her behind a topic-changing question. "How did you come up with Zane's backstory?"

She shrugged. "Made it up." "Yes, but how did you get inspired?" "I watched you and thought of why you do the things you do."

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "So you profiled me?" "The amateur version of it."

"Do it again. Tell me what you profiled," I urged, leaning onto my knees and watching her.

"Well, You have lots of PhDs and BAs. That made me think, why? Yes, having them is nice, but it seems more like you have to prove something.

"You're not talking about your parents, but you're very protective and respectful of the women around you, which made me think you're close to your mother and grew up in a very female-dominated household.

"Yet you're single and have no children, although having told us before that you're the godfather of your friends' children. Given these facts, I assume your father left you and you're mother, and since then you try proving to yourself and him that it's his loss and that you're worth sticking around. It's just hard believing it yourself at times and the thought of being too much like him messes with your love life because what if you run away too?"

I nodded, hiding behind my poker face how close she came. "Go on."

"You got very passive-aggressive as you saw me at the restaurant. You feared being stalked by me, which made me think of trauma a woman forced upon you since she was obsessed with you.

"You realized your reaction to me being here was too much and backtracked with awkward humor. You blush at times, which makes me think you're shy, were even shyer when you were younger and women, sex, and family became interesting for the first time when you were in your mid to late twenties.

"You're still nice to me, very sweet actually, which tells me that somehow I did not embarrass you as much with this story as I recognized you in a very weird way. You're just very caught up in norms and uncertainty about this situation so you do what you do best, and that is removing yourself from the situation."

So she saw me – just like Adriene saw Zane – and still, her pupils dilated and she was interested in me.

"You're good at that. Are you sure you didn't stalk me?" I joked, and she giggled. "I'm a writer. I can't even watch a movie without being able to predict the ending."

Maybe I would test that theory some time, and take her out for a movie. If she were up for the challenge, maybe even a Russian one.

"Want to even the square and profile me?" She offered. "I have an unfair advantage since your fanfiction let me into your head and what you already told me," I told her, but she shrugged. "It's okay."

Taking a deep breath, I started. "You're a young woman that clearly has a thing for older men. I'd say, growing up you were always more mature than the boys in your classes. Everyone else around you began dating, but you couldn't find the idea of those drama-ridden boys entertaining enough to do so too. Instead, you read, maybe even more adult books than somebody your age should've."

Her big eyes captivated me, and so I sunk to my knees, crawling towards her while continuing.

"It made you realize that once boys became men, meaning they no longer were as childish as to solely think of a woman's looks and were ready to take care of someone and be responsible, they become interesting to you."

Her breathing became heavier as I leaned over her, one arm holding myself up, the other's fingertips dancing on the skin of her upper arm.

"Dating men older than you is, however, difficult since most of those who use dating apps, are the same boys you didn't like in your teenhood, only older. Yet, you're somebody who depends on dating apps since you are too shy to ever see a man in public and just flirt. Some hard rejections while growing up, I assume.

"So you stopped looking for somebody for a while and when coming to my classes, you found the type of man that spoke to you. I was your professor and therefore off-limits, I also blame some insecurities for your thinking, but that didn't stop you from fantasizing about it, so you began writing about all the little what if's.

"The fantasies felt good because in them you could develop not only me in the way you wanted it, but could also write yourself to be the truest you there is. Adriene has a dream she can follow without struggle because she has the support of her family and the means to pursue it. [y/n] has a dream and talent, but your family has plans for you, and the academic pressure they put on you, keeps you from pursuing what you actually want.

"This fanfiction is actually a very genius form of self-therapy for you. Whenever Adriene or another character struggles, it's actually yourself and by resolving the struggle in your story and reading the comments that relate to it, you start to understand that you're not alone with them."

Now completely on top of here, I could see every micro reaction she had to me and my words. Had I crushed on her so badly myself before the fanfiction that I didn't realize how obviously she felt for me?

"I'm sorry I took that away from you," I whispered, knuckles brushing over her cheek and feeling the heat of embarrassment on them.

"You probably think I'm pathetic. Come on, say it. I can handle it," she urged for my rejection, but I wouldn't give it to her.

"I think you're the most real person I've ever met, [y/n]. People, including myself, hide their guilty pleasures away from everyone. We're taught who we can be, and how much we are allowed to dream by society, without feeling guilty.

"You just continued to dream with a username and a little jackalope bunny profile picture and decided to share your pleasures with others so they can dream as well. Without feeling guilt."

"You're romanticizing how weird our situation is," she mumbled, thinking I didn't notice her back arching so she'd be closer to me.

"It's a guilty pleasure of mine, then. Because I also enjoyed your fantasies more than I should've," I admitted, her eyes searching her face for a lie she wouldn't find.

"That almost sounds like you enjoyed reading about us being together," she whispered. "What if I did?" I exhorted.

She swallowed thickly, licking her beautiful lips. "Then you're really playing with my fantasies, right now."

I stood up, giving her her personal space back. I was not manipulating more of this situation. I knew my words and the effect they had on her. The next step had to come from her.

And if it wouldn't come, I would accept it as well.

Grabbing my jacket, I used it to hide away just how badly I wanted this situation to turn into more and walked to the bathroom.

After a cold shower that only barely helped, I dressed in my pajama pants and an old shirt, laying out my too-big, oversized hoodie out for her to wear.

If nothing else, hopefully, it would smell like her in the morning.

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," I told her, putting a blanket and pillow on the couch. Before she could protest, I told her, "It's only one night on the couch. No big deal. Take the bed."

She nodded, eyes gliding over my body. Goggling a little since she'd never seen me dressed in less and as casual as this.

"Okay, Uhm... Thank you for the food and drinks," she said, taking in one last look and leaving me alone in the living room.

*****

A quick shower later, I was dressed solely in panties and my professor's hoodie. It smelled like him, the bed as well, making me clench my thighs together.

I grabbed my phone, opened my emails, and began typing.

***

"Dear, Professor,

I think I've been wrong. You are a nice guy. Thanks for the shirt.

– [y/n]"

***

"Little bunny,

You should go to bed. And please call me Spencer, at least for the moment.

– Spencer"

***

My breath hitched at the pet name and the fact he called himself Spencer Insisting I should do the same.

I was so desperate for this man, I didn't think he was aware of what his innocent words did to me.

***

"Spencer,

I am already in bed. Are you sure you're comfortable on the couch?"

***

"Why? Would you let me sleep in the bed if I wouldn't be?" He called through the closed bedroom door.

"Of course, I would sleep on the couch instead," I called back, a laugh in my voice.

The ping of a message from an unknown number made me look back on my phone.

***

UNKNOWN: "Well, then I am perfectly fine here."

***

What the hell?

"How did you get my number?" I asked through the door, making Spencer chuckle. "FBI, Bunny."

He had used his advantages at work to get my number, but I was the one getting teased. Biting my bottom lip, I saved his number.

***

ME: "Now who's the obsessed stalker?"

SPENCER: "I am not obsessed. I am interested."

***

I was interested as well. More than I thought would've been allowed to be, yet he continued to play on the same page as me.

***

ME: "That does almost sound like you're flirting, Professor. Do I need to remind you that I humiliated you in front of your FBI colleagues?"

SPENCER: "That's right. Maybe I should humiliate you back."

ME: "By all the things you know about me that are embarrassing, you wouldn't even have to try."

***

I was getting hot. This conversation's undertones had me all over the place. Stripping off the hoodie, I threw it aside, the cold air making my nipple pucker which in return, egged on the heat between my legs.

***

SPENCER: "There's something I'd like to know about you."

ME: "What?"

SPENCER: "Are all the things in your story based on fantasies of yours?"

ME: "Wouldn't you like to know, Spencer?"

SPENCER: "Answer the question and I'll answer one of yours."

***

Through my humiliation, I gave him the answer he wanted. Only getting rewarded with wetness pooling between my legs.

***

ME: "Okay. Yes. My fantasies."

SPENCER: "Interesting. Go ahead, it's your turn to ask something."

ME: "Why did you want to know?"

SPENCER: "Because I want to know what going on inside your head."

ME: "Why?"

SPENCER: "My turn to ask a question. Is your obsession with calling Zane your Daddy based on your fantasies about men in general, or is it because he's a substitute for me?"

ME: "Are you asking me if I'd like to call you daddy?"

SPENCER: "Yes."

***

My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I sighed. Clasping the covers between my legs, I couldn't help but rock against them to ease some of the pressure I was feeling.

If I was going to answer him, I really needed to substitute his name.

***

ME: "I thought it was strange at first, but Zane has certain aspects of himself that make it hard not to want to call him daddy when thinking of sex with him."

SPENCER: "Do you often think about it?"

ME: "Counter question: Do you ever?"

SPENCER: "I'm afraid that this story of yours tapped into fantasies I didn't think I had."

ME: "That's no answer."

SPENCER: "Fine. At first, I was weirded out, but it finds its way into my head over and over again."

SPENCER: "Why that guy?"

***

In which universe could I have the luck of my professor being jealous over my choice to have sex with another man?

Grinding harder against the covers, I wondered if he felt like me, wanted it as badly.

***

ME: "I'm tired of waiting and romance clearly doesn't work since my taste in man is unattainable authority figures that are old enough to my father."

SPENCER: "I'm not unattainable."

ME: "You are. It would hurt your reputation to fuck one of your students."

SPENCER: "You're no longer my student though."

***

A whimper escaped my mouth and for a second I watched the door to make sure Spencer hadn't heard me.

He hadn't. Which made me cocky enough to kick the covers away and spread my legs. The cold air felt good on my hot body.

***

ME: "Did the idea of my date make you jealous?"

SPENCER: "I have no right to be jealous, little bunny."

ME: "I would like you to be."

SPENCER: "I'm afraid you're making me lose my mind if I let jealousy take over."

***

One hand wandered down into my underwear, if nothing else would happen tonight, I could at least indulge in this feeling.

***

ME: "Do you wanna sleep in your bed?"

SPENCER: "Don't tempt me like that."

ME: "Why not?"

SPENCER: "Because I'd take something from you that I have no right in having."

ME: "Isn't that for me to decide?"

***

I let this offer stay right there. I wanted him and I knew he knew it anyway. If he decided to act on it, I would be welcoming him.

As he didn't reply, however, I placed my phone on the nightstand and continued to rub my clit, now more eagerly since there was nothing to wait for then the glorious feeling of a so desperately needed orgasm washing over me.

My breathing became louder as I tried not to moan, hips lifting, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of Spencer and imagining him administrating those touches that lit me on fire.

"Does your offer still-" Spencer asked and immediately stopped in his tracks when coming in.

"Fuck," I gasped as I lay there in full display, quickly scrambling myself up, pulling my hand out of my panties, and covering my breasts.

Staring at me for a while, Spencer's eyes became darker, his breathing heavier.

"Now don't let me stop you from what you were doing, little bunny. You seemed to enjoy yourself," he told me predatorial, stepping closer with me caught in his gaze like a helpless bunny.

Crawling onto the bed, he made me realize the full extent of his pet name for me. "So that's what you're doing when you're all alone in bed?" He asked, and I let him back me down onto the mattress.

He grabbed my hand, forcing it to let go of the try to cover my breasts, and chuckled darkly as he inspected the wetness on my fingers.

Inhaling sharply, he brought them to his face and took them into his mouth, cleaning them from my arousal.

"Please," I whimpered as I thought I would die from excitement.

"You really want that?" He asked teasingly, and I began nodding.

"Since that stupid day, you borrowed me your jacket. I- I kept it on when I..." My words got caught in my through and another simpler left me.

An animalistic groan escaped Spencer as he growled, "You fucked yourself wearing my coat?"

"It smelled like you," I explained, hips trying to invite him to come closer. "I- I closed my eyes and imagined it to be you touching me."

"Can I kiss you?" He questioned, eyes carefully searching for my consent. I nodded eagerly. "You can do whatever you want to me."

The second his lips collided with mine, I thought I had died and gone straight to heaven. He was careful at first but it wasn't long until he couldn't hold back his lust anymore.

As his tongue swapped over my bottom lip, I allowed it into my mouth. Meanwhile, he gently pressed me against the mattress, one leg between mine, putting pressure exactly where I needed it so desperately.

"Oh my God," I whimpered into the kiss, and he backed away. His lips were flushed from our kisses, but that didn't stop the cocky smile of his to spread on them.

"And there I thought you'd just call me Daddy," he chuckled, moving a hand between my legs, touching me over my soaked through underwear. "Oh, wow. You're dripping, my little bunny. Is that all for me?"

I nodded rubbing myself against his hand. "All yours."

Spencer got off me, grabbing my underwear and waiting for me to lift my his and allow him to take it off. As I did, he pulled it down with such a hurried force, the flimsy material ripped, making us both laugh gently as he through it over his shoulder.

"Did you ever have somebody go down on you?" He asked, pressing a kiss onto my knee and lowering himself between my legs.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I shook my head. "You- You don't have to. I know it's a women's fantasy that-"

Spencer interrupted me, kissing my inner thigh, "Don't stop me unless you don't want me to touch you, okay?"

I nodded, letting him guide me back down. He began placing kisses on my inner thighs and his curls tickled between my legs.

The anticipation was driving me crazy, making a loud moan escape me as he finally dragged his flat tongue through my folds.

Liking my reaction, he did it again, and again. Then began focusing more on my swollen clit. Spencer's tongue played with it, drawing circles onto its sensitive skin that made my eyes roll back.

"That idiot would not have known what to do with a woman so gorgeous," he said, fingers moving towards my slit, coating themselves with my natural lubricant.

As he carefully entered me with one, I gasped. The instruction was new, filling me with excitement.

"Is that okay?" He asked cautious of my reactions, and I nodded while the gently began moving his digit in out of me at a slow pace.

Tongue back on my clit, he began moving his finger faster. The pleasure I received left me breathless, helplessly clawing my hands into Spencer's hair to make sure he'd stay right where I needed him the most.

As he added a second finger, my hips began moving more frantically, making him start to hold me down while eating me out. I moaned and cried in pleasure, trying to stay alert enough not to smother his head between my legs.

With a final swipe of Spencer's tongue, I came, crying out Spencer's name, deliciously humping aging his mouth as he fucked me through my high.

As my breathing became more normal again, he chuckled against my skin, sitting back on his knees and taking off his shirt.

I hurried myself up as well, hands quickly all over him. Wrapping his arms around me, he let himself fall onto the bed, pulling me with him.

As I lay partially on top of him, his hand moved under my chin, bringing me closer and kissing me softly. The faint taste of myself on his lips drove me to the rim of madness.

Greedily gripping the waistband of his pants, I tried to take off the final barrier keeping him from me. Spencer chuckled, helping me with it and catching me as I almost fell off the bed while throwing his clothes across the room.

"You, are so fucking eager," he laughed as I claimed onto him, straddling his lap.

Kissing him roughly, I rocked my his against his hard cock, feeling the precum rubbing itself between my folds and adding to the wetness there.

"Wa- Wait. We need a condom, [y/n]," Spencer spoke breathlessly. Arm wrapping around me so I couldn't move anymore and make his rationality sign out.

"I'm on birth control. We- We don't have to use one," I suggested, knowing I'd dreamed of this moment in so many facets, yet it was always raw with him claiming me.

Staring into my face, he became stern, lecturing almost. "I hope you didn't plan to be so reckless with the loser you wanted to fuck," he said almost like a question.

I quickly shook my head. No. Never. Only with him, I wanted it to be this way. "I have a whole box in my bag but- but I'd like..."

As embarrassment killed my voice, he nodded, placing kisses on my cheek and neck. "It's okay, Bunny. I know. I read it."

Before I could feel any embarrassment due to his words, he grabbed my face and pulled me into a rough kiss.

As he pulled away, he growled if a dangerous smirk, "Daddy's going to fucking come inside you, so you know who you belong to."

A high-pitched moan left my mouth. He'd just quoted my story and looked like it had been the greatest thing for him ever to say.

"You wanna stay on top?" He asked, and I thought for a second and nodded. "Yes, please," I said, lifting my hips.

Letting a hand glide between us, Spencer dragged his cock through my folds, coating it in my wetness. As his head then placed itself at my entrance, I felt an earlier nervousness rush through me.

I sank down on him, becoming too eager to think of how much I could actually take.

As he was completely inside me, I realized my mistake, the burning between my thighs making me inhale sharply and whimper, "Shit."

I hid my face in the crook of Spencer's neck. I would've jumped off him and rolled into a crying ball on the bed but I was too afraid to move. It burned.

"Are you okay, Sweetheart?" Spencer asked worriedly, and I sat back up properly, Hissing at the stinging feeling between my legs.

"Hurts," I mumbled. "Didn't think it would be so bad."

Wiping away a tear that had freed itself and ran down my cheek, he kissed me gently before resting his forehead against mine.

"It's different for every woman. We can stop if it's too much." I shook my head abruptly. "N-No. I wanted this for so long. I- I just need a second."

Spencer nodded. He moved one hand to my lower back and the other to my hair, holding me close. "It's okay. We have all the time in the world," he whispered softly. "Just try to relax. You're doing so well already."

The more time passed, the more the pain ebbed away. I became aware of his length and grid stretching me, how he pulsed within me, his head resting firmly against my cervix.

He was so close to me, stroking over my hair, kissing me, and letting me feel him.

I moved a little, bringing his hand down between my legs. His forehead rested against mine as he slowly started to rub my clit in circles.

"You like that?" He asked quietly, and I nodded breathlessly. "Uh-huh."

We smiled at each other softly, stupidly. And as the lust returned, the pain was nothing more than a gained memory that was already blurred.

I began slowly rocking my hips, his hand still working on me.

As I picked up more pace, Spencer searched for my eyes. "Does it still hurt?" He asked concerned, but I quickly shook my head. "So good."

Bouncing on him like a little bunny, my moans became unhinged, fed by his low grunts. I threw my head back, just to let it rush forward against his lips or his shoulder, kissing him roughly or nibbling on his skin, marking him with my bite marks.

"Keep your eyes on me, [y/n]. Eyes on me, Baby," he ordered after a while, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him while he began thrusting up into me.

"Is this what you thought it would be like?" He asked with a hoarse voice. I shook my head, squealing excitedly. "It's so much better."

With one swift motion, he turned us around, having me lay on the bed. As he began pounding into me, my delirious mind slipped up. "Fuck, Daddy," I moaned loudly, not knowing how he'd feel about it in all seriousness.

His hips staggered for a second, and he met my gaze with a praising smile. "Good girl. Such a good fuckin girl."

He growled deeply, arms caging me in underneath him as his pace picked up again, our skin slapping loudly against each other, my thighs hurting most deliciously due to the impact.

"Fuck, fuck," I cussed, rocking against him as I felt my second orgasm approaching. "Daddy, please, I-" I interrupted my own begging for release with loud moans.

Spencer's hand moved down between us, rubbing me again. "That's it, come for me, Bunny. Come for Daddy."

The crashing wave hit me suddenly with an unstoppable force. I threw my head back, arching into his final thrusts, as he came inside me.

Dropping to his elbows, he kissed me softly, and his thrusts came to a halt. His knuckles brushed over my cheek as he looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I let out a deep, satisfied sigh, "Fuck, that felt good."

He pulled out, laying down next to me. "I know virginity is just a social construct created by men, but thank you for letting it be me."

I nodded, deadpanning, "Charity work for the elderly."

He gasped in fake appeal. "What?" He asked, starting to tickle me. "What did you say?" He asked again, not stopping why I laughed. "I think I didn't hear you correctly."

"Stop it," I begged through my giggles."Stop, Spencer." As he finally stopped, he pressed another kiss on my lips.

"You wanna try out the jacuzzi tub?" I asked, and he sat up. "How many bubbles do you want, little bunny?" I pushed myself up m, declaring, "A lot."

*****

"How do you feel?" Spencer asked once we lay in the tub, me between his legs, his arms wrapped around me.

I shrugged. "Strangely enough, the same as before. Except that I now know how it feels to fuck you."

He leaned forward for a second to kiss my cheek, then made himself comfortable again.

"Are you mad at me for writing that story?" I then asked, not daring to look at him. Should his face give the answer away, I didn't want to see it.

"No," he sighed. "I was never mad. At first, I was extremely uncomfortable, not knowing how to react, but now, I'm actually glad for it."

"It's still weird though, right?" I asked, making him chuck and pull me closer. "Yeah," he admitted. "But I can live with a little weird. Normal would be boring."

I pressed the button on the side of the tub, turning the jacuzzi function on. Turning it up some more, I sighed relaxed, stretching. I was sore. A nice kind of sore.

For a while, we just let there, listening to the sounds of our own breathing.

"Should you ever decide to turn 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink' into a novel, I'd love to proofread it, do some of the jobs you'd need an editor for, or answer your questions about working for the FBI," Spencer spoke into the silence between us.

I chuckled, "You're not just being nice now because we had sex, right?"

I practically heard him shaking his head. "No. I- I guess, I just like your type of weird. The way you wrote about Zane and Adriene... If being with you is like being with Adriene, I'd like that."

"So you're crushing for the fictional character I created?" I asked, turning around. "I love how she loves Zane although he's an idiot at times. If you're anything like her, I need you."

The shit-eating smirk on his handsome face said it all. He knew it was a self-insert. He just wanted to play it cool. Dork.

"Who says I'd need a Zane, though?" I asked raising my eyebrows, and he shrugged. "Wishful thinking."

"Now wouldn't I just make an amazing profiler," I giggled. "What makes you think that?" Laying back against his chest, I simply said, "I was right about us fitting together."

"I'm in Vegas until Thursday. If you'd like, I'd want you to stay with me," Spencer offered. "We could go on a couple of dates, I show you around, and we'll test your hypothesis."

Okay. This was a permanent thing. No one-time thing. If I was dreaming, I definitely didn't want to wake up.

"I'd love that," I said, adding sassily, "But I don't get why people love coming to Vegas, though. So I hope you're not planning on taking me to a casino."

He was silent for a second, then reluctantly said, "I'm banned from casinos in Vegas. I- I might've pushed my luck when I became a young adult." "You counted the cards?" I snickered, hearing him snort behind me while trying to defend himself. "To my defense, it came naturally to me."

As our laughter ceased, he added, "I hope you're okay with boring museum and bookstore dates." He had read my story, so I answered, "You know I am."

Turning on the bubbles some more, I looked out the big bathroom window while Spencer figured out how to turn on the bathroom TV, putting on an old black and white movie with Marilyn Monroe.

He sighed happily handing me my water bottle since he insisted that I needed to stay hydrated. Taking the bottle from me, he kissed my cheek and cackled, "And all of this because of a fanfiction."

#kiram recs #omg i love this #dom spencer reid #professor spencer reid #HHHHH MY GODDDDDDDD #hot and well written #ong will be rereading later

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kirencer · 2 years

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go ahead talk about my current hyperfixation i won't be weird i promise

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kirencer · 2 years

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[Hawthorn: Chapter One]

Cedar

Summary: Cedar has always meant strength. Resilience. The ability to stand on your own for forever.

Word count: 2.1k

Relationship: Vampire! Spencer Reid x GN! Reader

Warnings: vampires, slight wet dream mention, abusive/neglectful parent, and “mild” vampire kink. NSFW SERIES 18+ ONLY

A/N: First chapter of a much-needed series. I, Kiram, the vampire Spencer king, present Hawthorn.

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

— — — — —

To say I was excited for the first day of the class would be an understatement. I was practically vibrating in my seat, eyes plastered to the board. Dracula: Intro to Slavic Folklore and Vampires was written in what one might call ‘Chicken Scratch’. It’s a course at UVA, and while it’s been taught by one professor since its start, this year, it’s to be taught by Doctor Spencer Reid.

I had vaguely heard of the name, upon further research I learned that he was an Ex FBI agent with the Behavior Analysis Unit, a genius, and he was hot. Though, from what was written about him, he didn't seem to be the kind of person qualified for teaching about Slavic folklore, an even deeper dive led me to believe that his eidetic memory and IQ alone qualified him for anything.

Plus, vampires just so happen to be my favorite thing ever. So, a pretty face talking about them wouldn't be too bad.

When he walked in, tawny curls floating around his head, shoulders pulled with confidence, and stubble coating his strong, set jaw, I realized that no matter how good of a Professor he was, I would always be unprepared.

See, I had thought that he was attractive at first, yes, but seeing him in person made me realize that the photo truly had no grasp on him. The photo from an article made him seem like … a pretty boy. What I had seen in front of me was a man, with the mirrored nose and eyes and lips of the picture, but set more purposefully. Like Doctor Reid was trying to show everyone how he could be seen; how he wanted to be seen.

What I was truly unprepared for, however, was how his eyes pierced me like a hunter bowing down a deer. My excitement grew as my knees shook instead of my body. For, at that moment, I could swear that the Professor's eyes showed red.

The rest of the hour and a half escaped me, I remember a blur of syllabuses being passed out, Professor Reid’s voice mentioning how the course would be divided into two units “The Lore” and “The Truth”, and also how this wasn’t just a Literature and Folklore class, but a Vampire class.

Before I knew it, I was back in my dorm and looking up everything I could on modern vampires and how they could relate to my Professor. There was something captivating about him - it had to be the subject he was teaching.

After all, I do love vampires. To what my grandmother said was an unhealthy extent. My father raised me as his father had raised him, a Vampire hunter, and had even warned me of them my entire life. Going as far as to train me every day of my life to kill vampires. Instead of fearing the blood-lusting creatures, I went the opposite way.

I fell into the Twilight and the Vampire Diaries frenzy, and my wet dreams very often consisted of teeth grazing my skin and red eyes. Though, this was hidden deep within me. Had my father ever learned of my turn from my training to hate everything no longer living as a human, he would destroy it. And me.

The next few days passed as quickly as the hour and a half and before I knew it, I was back in the classroom. A few minutes passed and I settled in as Professor Reid started his lecture.

“Now, who here has ever consumed any kind of media that had vampires? Or, at the very least, creatures like vampires?”

People around the room tentatively raised their hands, mine shot up as well. I wasn’t ashamed at all in my love - obsession - with vampires. The professor nodded. “Some of you are lying about having not. That's okay! If you’re in this room, you have consumed some kind of media or the other that sparked your interest.”

Oh, no. Oh God, no. Not only was Doctor Reid an attractive professor, but he was also a good one who had captivated me beyond what I deemed capable. When he said the word sparked, his hands pushed away from each other in a little motion as if to simulate an explosion. That little motion enamored me to no end. My brain tickled, as though it was searching for something missing.

“The vampires we will learn about will be associated with slavic lore. Many of these will then tie into how we currently view vampires as a collective culture, specifically within media,” Professor Reid leaned back on his desk with a confident smirk.

“It’s interesting, really, that we typically associate vampires with bats. The reason for that is actually more convoluted than one might think. You see, in Slavic folklore, vampires allegedly possessed the ability to transform into butterflies. Which, if you ignore most anatomical and biological classifications, butterflies and bats are sort of similar, no? One is certainly more ominous than the other, but who is to say which creature would be more appealing to the undead.”

My eyes fluttered as I scrawled down the words that flowed so elegantly from my professors’ lips. Every single word felt chosen with purpose and stride. There was confidence in his knowledge as he went through the first bits of pieces of information most of the people in the room with me would ever learn about the lore of vampires. Biting to change, dual souls (“hearts”), and so much more of the best things. True, a lot of my knowledge was from the militarian-like vampire hunter training my father instilled in me, but the rest was from my own late-night research on secure browsers - hidden from where my dad could find it.

Soon, just like the first: it was over in a flash. The lecture hall was practically empty before I had realized, scrawling down the last of Professor Reid’s notes and then, without my better judgment, decided to walk up to the Professor. He was skillfully and fleetingly moving his things to a brown leather side-satchel type bag. I was planning on waiting patiently for him to notice me, however, he turned around to face me as soon as I made my last step towards him.

There was this look on his face of curiosity, almost a hint of familiarity, and something that I truly could not place. Though the feeling must have been something I had seen before, as it almost made me bristle like a frightened tabby. It wasn't that I was frightened, but rather more so that I was startled. Every cell of my body scrambled for me to run but the small ache that spread from my legs begged me to stay.

“Do you have an urgent question …?” Professor Reid inquired softly, biting into the pillow of his lip before continuing, “Sorry. I do not believe I know your name.”

My mouth fell open and a squeak left it. I wasn’t the kind of person to be hyper aware of other people's teeth. I mean, good dental hygiene and tooth conditions were often highly restricted to higher classes in America, but I couldn’t help but stare at the pristine white that left imprints on his bottom lip for a split second before his tongue swiped over it. What I truly stared at though, were his incisors. They seemed … off .. as if they were a tag longer than what should be normal. It was not unheard of for a human, as I noticed they were not at all long enough to perhaps be the kind of lengths that vampires would have, but they were very noticeable.

“Um … Sorry.” I blurted out. My eyebrows furrowed as I promptly turned around to exit the room. My professor’s voice rang out from behind me.

“I didn’t catch your name!”

Yet I was already too far away, my head enamored with how my professor’s teeth would feel bared against my neck.

(i was lucky that he wasn’t a vampire! my heart sped up and even a civilized one would have pounced at the rush of blood in my veins, as highlighted by my pulse)

⟺

Or, I was the most unlucky person in the world. As I neared my dorm, the first thing my eyes caught onto was the flier taped to it with the word NOTICE plastered in big red font. Sticky dread flowed through my fingertips and into my toes as I skimmed the words.

I should have known. My dad was missing and the college funds he set up for me already drained. When the board fees hit, it didn’t pass through.

I was lucky enough to have a scholarship for my classes but it did not cover room and board. I had three days to either find my funds or move out. Well, with virtually no ability to make even a fraction of the needed amount, I would instead need to find a place to stay and hopefully for cheap - the small part time cafe job I had would be enough for a couple hundred a month of rent and groceries for me to live off of. With tips, I wouldn’t be too bad but it’d be cutting it tighter than I wanted.

I knew how to take care of myself, though. With my fathers profession of monster hunting, he would often disappear for months at a time on a job.

I wasn't able to focus too much on it, though, seeing as I had a shift in an hour and needed to make it to the small bakery and cafe not too far from campus.

Work wasn’t hard, per se, and the regulars were sweet, but it was just exhausting. I have always had a very good worth ethic. I just wasn’t in the proper mood today and the fear of losing my dorm. I don’t know what else I expected. My dad had never been the kind to care for others, especially caring about me. I had learned everything I ever needed. I never had a mom to teach me kindness or what my body was changing into – I had to pull myself up by my bootstraps. A mentality that only ever hurt me with every challenge I ever faced. I never asked for help in school and I never relied on anyone but myself.

Dad said he wouldn’t leave again. He lied, obviously. Lied and took the money we had saved together. Out chasing monsters that sometimes, I didn’t even think existed. Well, ones I wouldn’t think existed, had I not seen one when I was fourteen. My fathers quote unquote arch nemesis. A vampire so cunning that he blended seamlessly into the human world. I had only seen him once. I only remember the way his arms cradled me, his smell, and the red eyes. His smell must have been addictive – he smelt too good for my barely teen mind to comprehend, like sweet incense hinted with woods. Now, I know enough about pretty scents and cologne to know it would be reminiscent of Lavender Cedarwood, my favorite candle. That scent and that grip took over my teenage wet dreams. I could trace back my taste in men and most certainly, my love for vampires to the one specific creature deplored by my father the most.

I don’t remember why he held me – only that the last thing on my mind was fear. It was the first time I had been held in so long that I couldn’t remember the last time I felt safe and protected in another’s arms.

My shift passed quickly with my mind focused on the vampire of my dreams (quite literally) and before I knew it, it was over. I had accumulated a whopping 35 dollars in tips and compared to the impending debt over my head, it was pennies to a hundred bucks.

Then, just as I was passing the communal post board, I saw it. A flier with soft little butterflies.

“Roommate Wanted:

Cheap rent. Possibility for no rent, just provide your own groceries and help with water and gas. Looking for someone to make coming home less lonely.

(p.s. I am a man and I understand that might make some uncomfortable. I am open to you bringing a friend to meet and see the apartment with you. I am also open to first meeting in a common and safe area as well as ample talking on the phone. Comfort is important to me. :] )”

And like that, I had decided to try my luck. I mean, cheap or free rent? Genuinely, it sounded like an old man or someone planning to kidnap me … but desperate times called for desperate measures.

My fingers slid over the paper, snagging one of the perforated number slips at the bottom. For good measure, I snagged all of them. Better for competition!

I stared at the little slip of paper. It was a soft, baby pink. I brought the paper to my nose. I didn't know why. Just … I needed to. And well, there it was.

Sweet cedar.

[TAGLIST: @hotchandspencearedilfs @reidgraygubler]

[join this series taglist!]

#professor spencer reid #spencer reid #vampire spencer reid #kiram loves vampires #hawthorn spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid series #hawthorn series

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kirencer · 2 years

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Hawthorn (S.R.)

Series Content Warnings: Vampirism, Professor/Student, Sexual Content, Blood.

“depollute me pretty baby suck the rot right out of my bloodstream.”

- Leith Ross, “We’ll Never Have Sex.”

--------

For a creature like him, his skin is awfully warm. Professor Reid laughed at the remark, telling me that it is the fire of my life keeping him like this.

--------

[ Chapter One: Cedar ] Mon, May 23rd

Cedar has always meant strength. Resilience. The ability to stand on your own for forever.

[ Chapter Two: Willow ] Mon, May 30th

Willow is a new beginning, a new start, a new life. To be a Willow is to thrive even in challenging conditions.

Join the taglist!

[Updates Every OTHER Monday]

#spencer reid #vampire spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader

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kirencer · 2 years

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Mister Spencer (S.R.)

Summary: Reader has a crush on her kid’s teacher. Request: Spencer being a kindergarten teacher and your kid being a student his class, and wow what a beautiful teacher is he, maybe your kid is like is like mommy i found the perfect daddy for our family A/N: Note that, as with all of my works, the pictures above do not indicate the appearance of the Reader or Child! I hope you enjoy this fluffy little AU! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff Content Warning: Single Mother Reader Word Count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST

There was a special feeling in the air that night; the cool Virginia breeze carried with it a frantic, albeit happy, energy that was unmatched by any other. It was the evening where parents would brace with a strange mixture of fear, fun, love, and loathing.

It was the night of the annual concert at the local elementary school.

The parents herded their children into minivans and tried to find the willpower to sit through what would almost certainly be an off-key horror with an animal theme. I was doing very much the same.

But there was something odd about my son that night. Each time I would glance back at him, I’d find him staring vacantly out the window like he was missing something. Each time, I would glance over at the empty passenger’s seat and wonder if that was the presence he was missing.

“Are you excited to sing?” I asked.

In my peripherals, I saw him in the rear view, nodding his head in a reserved manner.

I’d thought that was going to be the only answer I got, but that little boy surprised me, as he so often did. In fact, he surprised me both by giving another answer, and the information it contained.

“I think you should sit next to Mister Spencer.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“He teaches the big kids,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Hm…” I hummed as I bought time to consider how sweet it’d been for him to be concerned about who his mother would sit with, if not his father. Then, once that moment had passed, I smiled to myself as I asked, “Is he cute?”

“Gross!” the young boy screeched before quickly correcting, “He’s not cute, he’s cool. Like the coolest person I’ve ever meeted. He knows everything.”

“He sounds pretty great,” I conceded with a sigh.

The lighthearted nature of the conversation would take a swift and painful exit, however. All it took was a mirrored sigh as my son returned to wistfully staring out the window.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I want him to be my dad.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach, and I winced just the same. I tried to keep in mind that he hadn’t considered the weight his words carried and took a deep breath to gather my wits once more after he’d knocked them all out of me.

“Wow. That’s some high praise, kiddo,” I laughed. It was an awkward, uncomfortable laugh, but he wouldn’t know that, nor would he care.

He was a brave, oblivious little boy. I’d raised him to speak his mind when things mattered to him. Of course, now that I’d seen the errors of my ways, I almost regret for teaching him to be so forward. But I was also proud. Proud to have a son that wanted his mom to be happy. But also, a little sad that he clearly missed having a father around.

That was why I forgave him when he urged, “Yeah. You should meet him.”

While eventually I would have to teach him about the oddness of his concern for my romantic life, particularly at his young age, I decided that was not a conversation for the packed elementary school parking lot.

So instead, I just turned and smiled at him. I took on that hushed whisper that denoted secrets of the highest importance, and I giggled with him when I said, “Well, he’d better come find me, then.”

I’d always considered myself to be fairly independent. My being single hadn’t ever bothered me nearly as much as it did that night. I couldn’t blame my son, though. Instead, I would blame the layout of the auditorium and the pesky habit of parents to insist on sitting as close to the stage as possible.

I’d wanted my son to be able to spot me, so I’d sat in a row on my own. It was not because I’d felt painfully inferior to the happy couples happily chatting away before the show began; let that be clear.

Not many people had filtered into the auditorium yet, and I suspected that many would wait to come until their children were ready to perform. So, for now, it was relatively peaceful as we all enjoyed the few, rare moments of peace on a weeknight.

But as the moments dragged on, I found myself scanning the crowd for someone I might be able to pass the time with. And for a second, I found myself wondering which of the men might be the one who’d captured my son’s attention. It was in that moment, looking through a sea of faces for my mystical Prince Charming, that someone caught my attention.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

How I hadn’t noticed the man walking down the aisle was a mystery, but there he stood in his impossible glory. His tall, lanky frame stood awkwardly as he swayed in place and awaited a response from the dumbfounded woman staring at him with a dropped jaw and wonder in her eyes.

“What?” I asked, only to process the question seconds later and nearly shout, “Oh, no, I-I’m alone! You can sit here.”

“Thanks,” he laughed, but I was the thankful one. Thankful that he had taken my odd behavior in stride and chosen to take the seat next to me even though I’d practically yelled him into it.

It was a bit strange, and perhaps a little bit uncomfortable, that he’d chosen the seat directly next to me rather than the others spanning the aisle. But at the same time, he was too adorable with his vintage glasses and scruffy beard that I couldn’t find it in me to suspect him of anything.

So, putting out of my mind what every true crime show I’d ever watched warned me about men like him, I settled comfortably into my seat. Every few seconds, I would glance over at him in my peripheral only to find that he was staring forward at the empty stage.

Until he wasn’t.

“You know,” he started as he glanced over to catch me staring at him with a wide-eyed fascination, “you’ve got the best seat in the house.”

I tried to giggle in response, but the jaded scoff that followed was anything but. The stranger smiled, a small tilt that crept over his cheeks with a healthy confusion. I could feel him trying to read me, and I hoped that he couldn’t tell my feigned skepticism was a front for my complete inability to flirt.

“Let me guess, it’s the best because… it’s next to you?”

Immediately after I said it, I knew it had been a mistake.

“Oh. Wow. No, but—" he started, but our voices turned into an overlapping chaos.

“I’m so sorry!” I shouted, muffling the sound with my hands clamped over my mouth.

“Don’t apologize!” he insisted, and I wouldn’t have believed him if he hadn’t been laughing, “I just — I… would you think that? That’s… That’s very flattering.”

Slowly, I raised my hands from my mouth to cover as much of my face as humanly possible. I stayed there, groaning in embarrassment and hoping that the handsome stranger would leave me alone to wallow in my misery.

But when I did finally find the courage to lower them, he was still staring at me with a warmth and fascination that stirred butterflies to life. Once I uncovered my eyes completely, I noticed for the first time just how pink his cheeks had turned during our catastrophic conversation.

He must’ve noticed my noticing, because it took him very little time to clear his throat and change the subject back to where it ought to be.

“I was going to say that this is where all the speakers converge, so it’s basically the perfect surround sound outside of headphones.”

That time, the blank stare I returned was fitting. Still, he didn’t seem to understand my deadpan until I explained, “… this concert is performed by a bunch of kindergarteners. You’ve just described the worst seat in the house.”

He laughed, a light and honeyed sound among the echoing chatter. Before I knew it, I couldn’t help but smile, no matter how hard I’d tried to keep my cool. The stranger seemed all too comfortable in that awkwardness. He didn’t shy away from it, and instead chose to throw himself into murkier waters in the hopes of finding something valuable at the bottom.

With a small nod towards the stage, he brought my attention to the kids sticking their heads out from behind the curtains. Nervous little eyes glancing for someone to hold onto, the same as I had moments before.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

And although my son wasn’t yet on the stage, I answered the only way I knew how.

“I am the very proud mother of the one dressed like a lion.”

To my surprise, it took him no time at all to understand what I’d meant.

“Oh, you’re (y/c/n)’s mom?”

On instinct, I answered his question with the more interesting question of, “How do you know my son?”

That odd, beautiful man held out his hand to me in the least inviting handshake I’d ever witnessed. I could see how his fingers shook and his eyes dropped to the floor in a different kind of bashfulness.

“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. But, uh, I’m sure your son knows me as—"

“Mister Spencer,” I finished. I could hear the lovesick dreaminess in my tone, but I did nothing to stop it. I also chose not to take his hand, and instead placed the tips of my fingers against his to usher him to lower them. I didn’t need to shake his hands to know exactly how they felt. Warm and soft, the same as his smile when he finally raised his eyes back to mine.

“So you do know me,” he confirmed in a hushed tone, like it was the answer he was hoping I’d give.

It all seemed so perfectly fairy tale in its timing that I found myself wondering if I’d been dreaming. Because every time our eyes met it felt like fate, and I had become jaded to such a thing long before that night.

So, I did what any good mother would do. I suspected my child.

“Did he ask you to come talk to me?” I blurted out.

But Spencer just tilted his head to the side. His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the stage for a moment when he heard the scurry of dozens of little feet.

“No,” he said slowly, unsure of what answer I’d been expecting. Then, with just as much caution he whispered, “Was he supposed to?”

“No, it’s just…” I started. I was going to explain it all away, but before the words could come to me, the lights had started to dim.

He wasn’t so ready to give up.

“What?” he asked.

And that time I smiled when I assured him, “Nothing.”

I guess it was just meant to be.

As the music came and went, I found myself fixated on the stage in the strangest way. That wasn’t to say that I was disappointed or surprised by the quality of the children’s performance, or that I hadn’t been giving him all the encouragement I could from my seat towards the back.

Rather, it was strange because I hadn’t forgotten the near-stranger beside me. In fact, every few moments, I could feel him watching me with a similar kind of longing that I’d felt before.

For the first time in forever, I hadn’t felt alone in the crowd of parents. For once, I’d had someone to share my joy with. Although I’m sure he could’ve dealt without my overdramatic flailing every time my son got a single word right, he didn’t ever do a thing to stop me from nudging or hitting him in my excitement.

Even when it had ended, and I watched a tiny hand wave goodbye to me before vanishing behind the curtain, I didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward in the slightest.

I felt... like my joy mattered.

It was a bold thing, to allow myself to fall for someone so quickly. But when I turned to look at him in the dim light, I realized that I had neglected myself for so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be desired.

So, when Spencer lifted a finger to direct me closer, I went without hesitation.

“You want to know a secret?” he whispered into my ear.

I fought the goosebumps that immediately broke out over every inch of my body, and I tried to focus on the fact that I was, in fact, still a mother at a school function and could not jump this man in the auditorium aisle.

“What?”

“I can get you backstage early to avoid the crowd.”

I giggled at the suggestion made in such a clandestine manner, only to mistakenly alert the others of the secrets happening in the back of the crowd. Once the others turned their attention back to the front, I turned to face Spencer.

Unfortunately for me, I had miscalculated just how close we’d been. Our faces were mere inches apart, and I could see each fleck of hazel eyes in such pristine clarity that it made my breath hitch.

After I recalibrated, I finally responded, “A man after my own heart.”

Although I could’ve written off his initial confusion for my vague non-answer, I’d chosen to believe that he was as distracted by our proximity as I was. But he was a quick learner, and so once he realized that I’d accepted his offer, he jumped into action.

His hand wrapped around mine so freely that I gasped at the contact. To think that he was the same man that had been so afraid to shake my hand only an hour before. An hour of quiet and chaos was all it had taken before the two of us had forgotten the awkwardness of it all.

He all but dragged me from my seat and down the aisle like clumsy, lovesick teenagers at their first movie date. That time, I knew that my incessant giggling would make the others stare — but I didn’t care.

Because it felt like my joy mattered, and for once I wanted to share it with someone else.

Spencer didn’t let go of my hand. As we barreled through familiar, brightly decorated hallways, he kept me close, and he kept me laughing. We didn’t pretend like what we were doing wasn’t silly; we just had fun, anyway.

It made me feel guilty that I’d almost been sad when I saw another teacher. I knew the night was coming to an end, but it didn’t make it any less disappointing when his hand finally left mine.

In a true gentlemanly manner, he stuck by me while I waited for the teacher to return with my little lion. The awkwardness slowly came crawling back into the space between us. But just before it took hold, I decided that I wasn’t going to let it.

Taking a bold step forward in honor of his courage all night, I smiled as I said, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” he answered. And unlike most men, I believed him.

“My son is a big fan of yours. He said you know everything.”

“I’m sure it seems that way to him,” he laughed with a humble shake of his head before adding on, “If you asked me, though, I’d say I’m pretty clueless.”

I laughed for two reasons. The first was because I deeply related to the imposter syndrome that was interacting with a toddler. The second was because he looked so damned cute with peach cheeks and a nervous smile that I couldn’t contain the happiness in my chest any longer.

Once the sound of our innocent infatuation started to die down, I felt comfortable telling him the conclusion I’d reached within minutes of meeting him. No matter how terrifying it was to be honest, to be vulnerable with someone I barely knew.

“Well. I wanted to say that… I’m a fan of yours, too.”

Because it felt like I’d known him forever. When his eyes softened in response, I swore I saw past lives swimming in the ponds of golden honey. I felt a warmth blossom in my heart until the space between us felt nonexistent.

For the second time that night, I found myself close enough to him that I knew he could feel my unsteady breath. But I wasn’t scared of the closeness; I craved it. And for a moment, I thought that something else might happen. I saw how he tilted his head and inched closer the same as I had.

But, alas, fairy tale things never happen the first night.

“Mommy!” A familiar voice rang through the hall. Its echoes hit me as hard as his tiny body crashing into my open arms at full speed. I only barely managed to not fall backwards, and instead used the inertia to lift him off the ground.

“Hey baby! Oh my gosh, you did so well!” I gushed into the soft fur of his costume. I poured every ounce of love I could into a crushing hug until the little boy started to squirm out of my hold, laughing all the while.

I placed him back down on his feet, which he immediately used to begin bouncing. I couldn’t blame him for being excited. Lord knew I was, too.

“Honestly, I’ve never heard better singing from a lion!” I said with a deathly seriousness, “And I’ve seen Lion King, you know.”

He laughed, and the love that I’d given him returned with full force at the sound. But that little rascal wasn’t done yet. Tiny paws took hold of my hands and tugged until I bent down to his height. From there, I watched him suspiciously eye the man now standing a few feet away.

“Did you sit next to Mister Spencer?” he asked in what I’d suspect he thought was a whisper.

“Yes, I did,” I answered much the same.

The excitement quickly overtook him, and we could no longer pretend like the conversation was private in any way.

“Isn’t he cool?!” he beamed.

I turned my attention to the man of the hour before I answered quietly but honestly, “Yes. He is very cool.”

Spencer raised a hand in a wave, but my son was more than happy to abandon me in order to steal a high-five, instead. I expected nothing different. What I didn’t expect, however, was the way my stomach started doing flips the second I’d seen them together.

“What’s up, bud? You did great out there!” he squeaked.

Just like he’d done to me, my son took his hands and pulled him close before he answered the man with the utmost enthusiasm, “I want you and my mom to get married!”

Time stopped for the both of us as we realized what the little boy had just announced.

We both looked down at him, and then up at each other. And then I panicked.

“Oh, god, okay, time to go!” I shrieked once time started again. I was already clambering to grab hold of the boy by the scruff of his mane as I shouted, “Say bye to Mister Spencer!”

But he held on just as tightly to his teacher’s hand as he continued to explain, “She has cooties, but you can still marry her if you want!”

Eventually, I got hold of him enough that I could clamp my hand over his mouth to dull the noise. I could still hear him trying to talk, as well as feel his tongue as he licked me in an attempt to get me to move my hand. But I was as relentless and stubborn as he, so I did not let go.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I blubbered to the man whose pink cheeks had turned beetroot red.

But in his curious way, he didn’t look to me when he responded. Instead, he turned to the boy who’d just wriggled free from my grip and burst into a maniacal set of giggles.

“For the record, it’s a very compelling offer,” Spencer assured us both, “But… I think you’ve got to let your mom choose who to marry.”

My heart was pounding loud enough that I swore it would bust out of my chest. Somehow, it stayed, though. Even when that man — no longer a stranger, but still overwhelmingly odd — flashed me the most breathtaking smile.

Even when he said with the fullest confidence, “Whoever it is, he would be a very lucky man.”

My arms relaxed. Clutching my son closer, I hid behind his courage and tried to find my own before the moment had passed. Luckily, though, my son was too much like me to let the moment go to waste.

Leaning forward in my arms and cupping a hand beside his mouth, he promised his teacher, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her more.”

Spencer and I both laughed, and we both tried to hide it. But it seemed silly in hindsight when we saw just how happy it made the little boy in my arms.

“Thanks, bud. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” Spencer offered to spare me any further humiliation.

Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought he was doing until he tacked on, “You can tell me all about it.”

That was enough for a hopeful child watching his mother fall headfirst in love with his hero. He accepted his win with a complete lack of grace, pumping his arms in the air in triumph as he shouted, “Okay! Bye, Mister Spencer!”

At first, I took off running at the first opportunity. I was too afraid to look back in the event that he wouldn’t be looking back. But after only a few steps, I felt that comfort and longing again. I could feel it like his hand still wrapped around mine. I could feel him almost like a memory.

I glanced over my shoulder to find honeyed eyes and a brilliant smile that had not waned in the slightest. I returned a flustered but flattered smile of my own before I continued on my way, hoping all the while that it wouldn’t be the last time that I’d get to feel so desired.

My son must’ve seen the yearning on my face that I’d recognized in him earlier that night, because I could see from the look that he gave me that he was already scheming.

“You guys are sooo gonna get married,” he snickered.

And once we were out of earshot, I was quick to admit to my favorite little wingman, “God, I hope so.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

REMINDER: I DO NOT WRITE PART 2s.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fluff rec #kindergarten teacher reid #OKAY SO TO START!!#oh my god i love him #he is so perfect and sweet!! mister spencer supremacy #i loved how adamant the kid was about spencer and reader getting married #i want to kiss him so bad #kiss him and have him give the kid a little forehead kiss. from mister spencer to mister dad !!#im rambling #i love your writing #i will daydream about this fic 4ever #<3

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kirencer · 2 years

Text

neon nights | chip taylor [18+]

Summary: it was a rundown car, one of the tail lights hung incorrectly as if the repairman hadn’t been too knowledgeable on much but the fact that it was broken. the road was insubstantial, flickering out of existence like the “no” on the motel sign ahead of us. the red echoes off of his cheekbones and eyelids in hollow waves. chip whispered my name brokenly — my tongue ached to say his in return.

Relationship: Chip Taylor x He/Him AFAB! Reader

WC: 4.8k

A/N: Hi my loves! This fic is for Pom (@imagining-in-the-margins) Discord Servers 5th Fic Swap! I was lucky enough to write this fic for Rory (@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff)! And he wrote me an amazing fic as well, so check his out! The reader is He/Him AFAB and intended to be a gay trans man. No mentions of breasts or a chest area is mentioned in any way shape or form.

CW: Mild Dub-con (Sleepy griding), a little bit of cum swallowing, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, it’s honestly just yearning and pining and dumb gays

Prompt(s):

A: What about this makes you think you’re dreaming? B: I’ve dreamt about you before""

“do you think of me when you touch yourself?” “what else is there to think about?”

“Your hand feels much better than my own.”

Reader is very very wrong about his assumption of his best friend, Chip, being straight. Why? Chip keeps on saying Reader’s name while touching himself

NSFW 18+ ONLY

----------

(crush by richard siken:)

(you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. and you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.)

Tires couldn’t melt. Surely, if they could, then they would have already. The black pavement of the road drew any and all sunlight, stealing away that which should have helped to grow flowers or warm cheeks on cold days. However, Nevada’s desert didn’t have much in the way of plants besides the occasional cactus — so to the road, the light went. I knew if I stepped into it that the heat would sleep from the ground into my shoes.

It’s fickle like that, energy is. So very constantly moving and then spreading and staying and leaving. In a way it was almost like the boy sat next to me, with his hands gripped around the wheel, and his eyes glancing over at me in the few seconds when he could warrant looking away.

Not like there was much to look at besides me. The roads were the same in most places, black (or grayed with age), yellow and white lines, and the steering wheel beneath your fingertips. The whole world becomes this stretch of scenery that might never change. No energy would ever be the needed amount to change what is seen with the eyes of a traveler.

“It’s hot out,” Chip says simply, one of his hands moving to wipe away a bead of sweat that had started to slip down the side of his neck. My eyes followed the movement of his hands with mindless curiosity. Though to say my mind was completely out of the picture was wrong, I was thinking about how Chip’s hands would feel on me, in me.

Chip looked over at me, eyes of honey brown peering at me just because he wanted to look. I liked that about Chip, he never bothered himself with too much thought. Sure, he overthought at times, but Chip found his comfort in the life of complacency.

Truth be told, I had always wanted a man like him. Kind, comfortable, and loving, but also perfectly capable of wanting more. Chip could reach for the stars and then would be glad to land on a mountain top, as long as there were stars for his pretty eyes to look at.

“Should be a motel soon, we can stop there for the night,” I murmured. I didn’t bother to look away from the cut of his jaw as he peered out my window and through the distance, towards the horizon — eyes turning golden in the last few hints of sun that escaped the ever chasing sunset.

Somewhere, somehow, the road and time had both disappeared and left me with nothing but Chip. I didn’t care, he would always be enough for me.

If only there was a way that I would be enough for him — but Chip, my perfect man, Chip, didn’t like men. Or, so I thought.

That night, the only motel within a hundred miles was filled to the brim. No vacancies whatsoever, and the neon sign on the lot blinked without caring. It was what had made us decide to even try the motel, despite the copious amount of cars that sat in front of the building.

Luck was on our side, though, and the man at the counter said that we could sleep in our car in the lot. Which was better than the side of the road, albeit not exactly perfect.

The blanket we had stashed in the trunk worked fine.

It wasn’t too scratchy, and the soft yarn was broken in the right amount. Attached to the edge of the yellow and blue yarn-knit blanket was a hastily made tag. In large, scraggly letters, was written CT.

“Did … did you make this?” I asked, gracing a finger over the letters. I don’t know what pushed me to do so; I knew what it said, but I think I wanted to try and commit it to memory. This thing that Chip crafted so imperfectly in the best of ways. I wanted my brain to remember the smell of him on the blanket, and the sound of his voice paired with the plush as he answered my question with an embarrassed ‘yes.’

If in seven years — when my skin is wholeheartedly anew — I have come to lose the immortality of the brain's memory, my heart will forever remember the adoration I felt for him at that moment.

“A little granny needed a ride to her grandkids. She didn’t have much money, so she taught me how to.”

I practically melted. Chip was the most perfect man ever and I was so crazy to ever think that I had a chance. But, he hadn’t told me anything that made it seem like he wanted me gone. Plus, it always felt like he tried to stretch out our trip to milk it to the bone. A stop at a gas station that takes far too long than just for snacks, often full of laughter in the small aisles before getting eventually (and inevitably) kicked out.

“Chip this is … amazing.”

A bashful grin spread across his lips as he leaned back in his seat, the blanket stretched across the centre to fit both of us. “I’m glad you like it. There should be enough for both of us, but if I steal the covers, you can just steal it back from me or…”

Chip grew embarrassed, his eyes looked away from me, towards the blinking sign. “Or, you could just wake me up and sit in my lap so we can share.”

I nodded. I knew that I’d definitely not have the courage to do so but it was a nice thought. Especially considering it seemed like Chip wanted me to sit on his lap. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made the offer.

My cheek pressed against the leather of the seat as I prepared to go to sleep. The dash said it was almost 10 and I was tired. It wasn’t comfortable, though the closeness to Chip helped a lot. Drowsiness had come over me quickly, and with a mumbled G’night to Chip, I was asleep.

Sometime later, I was awoken by the blanket being suddenly pulled from me. I had gone to move and steal it back when I heard a whimper so sinful and heady with pleasure that I almost gasped in response.

See, while the tone was unfamiliar, I just knew it was Chip.

I hadn’t ever risked much in life. I was always the kid who did everything perfectly. I was never the perfect kid or the popular kid, but I was a good kid. The kind of kid that blends into the background and is content to do that. Yearbook club, a couple of friends, and A’s with one or two B’s. Never went to parties, never drank and drove, and never skipped.

But Chip was obviously taking a risk with what he was doing so close to me that I couldn’t not take the risk and open my eyes.

Fuck, was I glad that I did. Nothing would ever prepare me for what I saw there. Persephone, lips reddened with the juice of pomegranate would never compare to the sight in front of me. Chip’s eyes were pressed close, and his eyebrows twisted in pleasure. The light of the neon sign faded in and out, illuminating Chip’s eyelids, the curve of his open lips, his bobbing Adam's apple … My eyes dipped lower and followed every bit of the light. Till I saw the reason for the obscene sounds falling from Chip’s lips, not at all muddled despite the fact that he had bitten down into his bottom lip moments before.

His hand twisted down his cock. Thumb swiped over his leaking tip on the descent, rubbing his precum over his shaft.

Right away it was a blatant fact that Chip had a pretty dick. Soft looking skin flushed deep red with arousal, and softly curved towards his happy trail. Chips hand brushed his pubes at the base of his dick and held it there, I saw how his hand gripped down a bit holding himself as if to not cum so soon.

Chip released his swollen and pink bottom lip and his voice broke as my name escaped him. I froze for a half-second — afraid that Chip had discovered that I was awake and staring — luckily his eyes were still closed. Though, with two short and quick pumps, Chip came. His hand covered his head, hips bucking up. Chip’s red-illuminated hair fell back against the seat, another whine of my name crossing him, but it was softer now. My eyes slammed shut and I knew that he looked at me. The sign blinked red against the soft translucency of my lids.

I struggled to regulate my breathing as Chip’s finger touched my lips, a bead of his cum fell onto my lower lip. Chip hissed in a breath and said a low curse. I let my eyes blink open as if I was awoken from sleep. Chip’s hand had retreated from my face and I was glad to see that he had tucked himself back into his sweatpants.

My tongue swept over my lips and I saw Chip stiffen. I feigned curiosity and licked at my lips again. Deep down there was some part of me that liked Chip’s cum, but still would have rathered that I had tasted it on purpose.

“You stole the blanket,” I pouted. Sure, it was true but I had not exactly cared that much about it. Chip’s eyes held a galaxy of honey as he stared at me like I was going crazy. “What?”

The sign turned on, tilting his eyes cherry brown for a moment before back to his dim, night and lust darkened honey-treacle.

“Does anything … taste weird…?”

I shook my head no.

“Wait! Since you stole the blanket, does that mean I can sit on your lap?” I questioned — though I was already hooking my legs over the centre console and moving. Chip spluttered without indignance as my shins came to rest on either side of his thighs. I sat down and pressed my face to the crook of his neck.

“Do I get a say in this?” He said a bit jokingly, my lips felt the nervous thrum of his heartbeat. His hands came to rest softly around me and me even closer. His heartbeat sped. I was so glad for that little proof of life. Truth to that this wasn’t a dream. All I wished for was for my own heart to understand that lust can do a lot of things to someone’s mind — even for just a moment, make them say the name of the wrong person.

Still, my brain would forever remember the yearn and totality of longing that I felt when I wanted to say his name in return.

(i wanted to answer a call that only chip could have rung)

—————

Waking up in Chip’s arms was a blessing and a curse.

For one, his arms were strong as they wrapped around me. His hold on me did not falter as I awoke the next morning, some time after dawn had broken. Chip’s arms had always been fairly muscular from what I had seen but it was a different thing entirely to have them wrapped around you with the purpose of not letting go.

The curse, however, was that his arms weren’t just holding. No, they were moving. Chip was still asleep if his little even breaths against my neck had any say in it. So, what he was doing was subconscious. Chip was subconsciously using his arms to rock me against his erection.

Every few seconds his breathing would be cut off by a sleepy groan that ignited a fire in my belly akin to the voracious and tantalizing red light that had echoed against our skin the night before.

Chip’s lips dragged across my skin sleepily, lean-muscled arms holding me to his lap tightly. It was as if he knew in some deep-seated way that it was me in his arms like all he had ever wanted was to hold me. Chip settled back again with his lips — the ones that always seemed to be programmed into a perfect little pink country-boy pout — pressed to the hollow divot of my collarbone.

In one motion, Chip’s face is wrenched back from my skin and his arms loosen to pull away. What replaced the feel of him on me was the sudden heart-wrenching longing for his warmth, for his cheek to be back against the place where my shirt had fallen and skin was visible. It was scorching out already, though it couldn’t be too far past dawn. Still, a million suns could fall on me with their flames and it would never compare to the quenching warmth of Chip’s life. Or, possibly, a better analogy would be that I was a dehydrated man, and Chip was the most hydrating water there was. Hmm, no. Chip may be something the kind of man to hum in the background, but he would never let himself forget that he held a sting of poison.

Chip was better suited to be electricity. Like the gasses and spark that flitted through every single neon light in the whole world. Capable of both shocking and warming. I had hoped that Chip hadn’t pulled away to give me a taste of his bite, since he had already given me a mouthful of his warmth.

His cheeks were such a shade of red, one that not even the sign from the night could ever think of matching. A pretty candy apple color that reminded me of when we had been on a California beach and he forgot sunscreen.

“I - I think we should find a Hotel room tonight,” Chip made no move to push me away. I made no move to go away. Despite the fact that pressing against my ass was an erection that also wasn’t going away.

I nodded in agreement, though I truly wouldn’t mind sleeping in the car again. Chip was a pretty nice mattress and I quite enjoyed the show he put on last night. Even if he didn’t know he was putting one on.

Still, he had said my name and I was in the car, only a few feet from him. If anything he had wanted me to see, right?

Though, that would mean that he was not straight, which was an odd thought to think. He had only ever mentioned girlfriends and sometimes I noticed how he would talk to a girl he found pretty. Eyes tilted golden, words soft and not sure where to look. Chip’d flit all around her face and her legs and her chest. I hadn’t ever noticed him doing that to a man.

And, unless I was blind, he’d never done it to me either.

Three hours later, I was back in my seat and Chip was driving, per usual for our day. We were an hour from Las Vegas, and Chip remarked that he’d only seen the city in passing. He’d never taken the time to stop in Sin City. So, the most obvious option would of course be to have us spend the day there.

Chip wasn’t very lenient with money, he used it when needed but would rather not splurge. However, he always seemed to have a full wallet. That was fine, though. I had enough for the fairly small buy-in of some random game. Plus, I was fucking fantastic at gambling. It was one of the few times I allowed myself the chance to take risks. It was exhilarating, wondering whether or not you’d win big or leave empty-handed.

And, well, I never left with less than what I started with.

“Chip,” I called, a small grin forming over my lips. He looked over at me quickly, before bringing his eyes back to the road. His eyebrow quirked softly with a question. “Can you go faster? I want to do somethin’.”

He nodded at me with vigor and a big smile and we shot forward a bit. Chip’s tanned hands adjusted their grip on the wheel. I didn’t pay too much attention as I rolled down the window. Chip’s hair, which had grown to the bottoms of his ears in our trip, wildly flailed in the wind that flooded the car. I gripped the outside of the car as I slid to sit on the door, most of my body out of the car.

I saw Chip’s eyes grow as wide as dime plates as he grabbed my ankle with a hand — the knuckles of both of his hands went bone white as they gripped onto either the wheel or me.

A nervous but admiration filled laugh bubbled from Chip’s lips, though It really could have been passed off as a sigh. “You …” A look I couldn’t place fell into his eyes, “You’re crazy.”

I then let my head fall back a bit, relishing in the way the wind contrasted the warm sun against every inch of me. When I looked away from the desert horizon, I noticed how Chip’s gaze fell onto my legs and the few inches of midriff from where my shirt had been ridden up by the wind. His eyes slammed back to the road when I caught him, and his eyes widened a bit.

“In a good way, I hope,” I said while sliding back in the window. I saw Chip’s shoulders relax a bit, and his fingertips dragged up my shin a bit before he returned his hand. Shot it back so fast I might have burned him.

“In the best way,” he replied, lips stretching as if he was trying to stop from saying something. But there was still that lingering yank from when he had tugged his hand back. Did he know? Had he somehow realized that I feel deeply for him and didn’t want to even insinuate that we could be together?

At that moment I felt like I had ruined it all. Like I was free falling and there'd be no one to catch me and I was too close to the ground. I felt like I’d failed a class or killed someone.

Then Chip reaches out, and his eyes are full of the poetry I would croon to him if I could, his eyes are glowing honey red again and I must be on fire now. Nothing else could explain the painless burning that filled my chest when I touched his hand.

(love, my brain whispered, love could)

—————

I called his name as we lay on the fancy hotel bed, it had an attached casino that we had just returned from. Entered with three hundred, left with almost two grand. I had sat on Chip’s lap and called him my lucky charm, and he was. In murmurs, he spoke about his limited poker experience.

Now our knuckles brushed from how close we were on the sheets and I hadn’t needed to look over to know that he was looking at me. In a way, he always was. Eyes bright with their own hum of neon gold, bright little flecks of the sun, and lightning in his sea of clear brown. Almost like dirt. Strong, life-giving. Chip took a drag of his lit cigarette, the red-orange tip reminded me of the neon sign. Has it really just been last night? I had thought to myself.

“D’you ever think about stopping? Finding somewhere to stay, building a home?”

Chip shook his head, curls falling into their soft pattern as they air-dried and slightly damped the white sheets beneath his head. It was odd to me, seeing as Chip had always seemed like someone who was searching for his home. Through mile, after mile, his eyes were sharp with longing. The roll of every hill, every divot leading to a river, he always seemed like he wanted to stop. To stay. Chip would look at me, eyes clear and warm, and I would see the longing in his eyes and I knew that he wanted to be home. Wherever his home happened to be. A small puff of smoke fell from Chip’s lips. I had gotten us a smoking room.

“I am home,” Chip’s voice was soft but strong with the sureness of his own self. “I am with you.”

My lips froze on my words, my mind had been completely and utterly discombobulated by the man beside me.

Chip threw his cigarette butt into the trash and scooted closer to me, nuzzling under the covers. I followed his lead, still too stunned to think much past ohmygod ohmygod. Before long, I felt my mind slow and my eyes flutter close, the scent of soap and cigarette smoke on my mind.

Chip had used my body wash.

—————

When I opened my eyes, I half expected the sight of the car. Since, what I was hearing mirrored what had happened the night before. Except there was a desperation to the sound that hadn’t been there previously.

A sob of my name echoed from next to me. That was what had woken me up. Not covers being wrenched from me - in fact, I somehow had more covers on me than when I went to sleep. I was planning on just ignoring him, obviously, he wasn’t meaning to wake me up from his uhm, activities. But then his voice rang out softly, a sharp “No.”

I sat up quickly. The first thing I saw of Chip when I turned was how he reached for the blanket to pull it over himself. His hand didn’t make it that far, though. Before Chip had hidden his very obvious attempts of trying to get off, I had grabbed his wrist lightly.

“Chip. What are you doing?” I asked softly, curiosity and a flood of arousal pressed against my teeth, my tongue, and thrummed in my fingers. Everything of me was alight with the glow of what I was doing. I was giving myself a chance for risk, and I was taking it. Somehow, in the moments where Chip stuttered out an apology, I had become the neon light.

Suddenly, I wanted to stretch out and cover Chip fully. I wanted nothing more than to encapsulate him in my light, in me.

I moved as fast as I could, the covers falling off of me. Chips eyes were blinking in the quick pace of a faulty light, in the pace my heart surely must have also been beating. I used my grip on his wrist to guide him back to his own self.

“What are you doing?!” Chip exclaimed as I moved to straddle his thigh, not letting off my hold on his hand.

I let myself grind down on his leg for a moment, savoring the spark of friction it ignited in my tummy. There was stuff more important than that, though. “Last night and tonight, Chip. You’ve woken me up. Saying my name.” Chip’s eyes widened and a neon flush spread over his cheeks. I smiled a bit, so he really hadn’t intended on me knowing. His lips wrapped around soundless apologies. “Tell me, Chip: do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“What else is there to think about?”

A groan fell from my lips. I moved from his thigh and rested by his stomach, moving his hand with me so that I could still grip his wrist. Chip’s erection pressed against my ass. Again. “Chip, you don’t gotta just think. If you want, right now, I’ll give you something to feel.”

If I could describe how Chip looked in one word, it would be thunder-struck.

Though he was the electricity and the lightning, Chip was the one electrocuted. When he moved into motion, I expected him to push me away. Instead, his free hand rested on my cheek, his pinkie finger under my jaw, and his lips were moving for mine. If his lips against my throat were mind-numbing, then this … this was mind-melting. Any thoughts I could have had escaped me, and this warming field of electricity swallowed me whole.

Chip kissed like he wanted love, and cuddling under homemade pink blankets, and hand-holding, and everything good. Chip kissed me as though he loved me. And he did.

“Let me touch you, please,” His breath was warm against my lips. I nodded, using my free hand to unbutton my pants, then guiding Chip’s hand to my boxers. A gasp left his lips as his fingers slid over my wetness, Chip’s thumb moved up and rubbed a soft circle into my clit and my hips jerked against his hand, rutting against him a bit, a moan falling from his lips.

Chip dragged two of his fingers between my folds, and before I could grab his wrist again, he pulled his hand between my legs and pressed his fingers into his open mouth. I could see from the hollow of his cheeks that he was greedily sucking on them. Words tumbled from my lips before I could even think through what I was saying.

“I wanna fuck you.”

He pulled his fingers from his mouth, a bead of spit connecting them to his lips. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

I shoved myself out of my boxers, throwing them somewhere across the room. I wasn’t in any hurry, but in a way I was. Chip’s hand moved back to me, this time his finger pushed into me.

I was prepared, yes, but in a way, I also wasn’t.

There was this expression of pure adoration pressing into every curve, dimple, and freckle of Chip’s expression.

He got in a few pumps and curls of his finger before I was practically shaking with desperation. Chip went to add another but I stopped him, using his wrist to pull him out of me. Chip leaned back on his elbows as I grabbed him from behind me, his skin warm and flushed under my fingertips, giving it a few pumps before lining the head of his cock up to me.

“Your hand feels so much better than mine,” I could see Chip’s eyes struggling to stay open as I sunk down on him, a whine falling from my own lips. Despite the mild preparation, Chip was still bigger than I had expected. He wasn’t overly thick, but like his own stature, he was long.

Once our hips were flush, I spoke, “You can close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chip shook his head, “I’m afraid I’ll wake up from this dream.”

I rocked myself slightly on him, more of a grind than a thrust. I was still too tired to actually put much motion in, but I could feel that we were both already close enough for it to work.

“Oh, love, what about this makes you think you’re dreaming?”

It’s Chip that actually thrust up, hands sliding under the hem of my cotton shirt and settling against my hips. “I’ve dreamt about you before.”

“What exactly have you dreamed of?”

I knew what it was like to dream. Before I woke I was seeing a candy apple red sunset and a never-ending road, a home with two wheels, I was smelling honey soap and looking in honey brown eyes; watching as energy flickered there while a black hole overtook that sliver of sun in his eyes.

“Sometimes, I dream of fucking you,” Chip punctuated his words with a thrust into me, one of his hands moving to rub eager circles into me. His voice was then softer, more hesitant, a whisper. “Mostly, I dream of loving you.”

I press a sweet kiss to his lips and Chip sighs against me, sparking across my flesh. “Don’t dream, make it real.”

In one smooth motion, he flips us. One of my legs pressed up high, placed over his shoulder. “I love you,” Chip thrusts deeply, but gently. His hand snakes to hold mine. I press a kiss to his lips. Our bodies were entangled and entwined like yarn.

(in the morning, the mirror would show us both that it wasn’t a dream as his lips would leave bruises against my skin. but reality or not didn’t matter as we both whispered our affections. we reached the end of our journey together, and glowed brightly with neon love)

[END]

#chip taylor x reader #chip taylor 68 kill #chip taylor x male reader #bi chip taylor #chip taylor x he/him afab reader #mgg x reader #chip taylor #chip taylor x gay male reader #mgg #mgg smut #chip taylor smut #chip taylor fluff #mgg smut and fluff #mgg fluff #road trip #friends to lovers

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kirencer · 2 years

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Mythological Metaphorical (Spencer Reid x Reader) SMUT

Summary: Spencer receives an accidental submission from one of his college students, which reveals some hidden feelings. Unfortunately it also reveals that his student is aware that Spencer is a vampire.

AN: This was my entry to @imagining-in-the-margins‘ fic swap, this is for @kirencer! The excerpt of fanfiction used in this story is his, so make sure you check it out!

Content Warning: Vampire!AU (Spencer is a vampire), smut (MINORS DNI), biting, desk sex, mild dirty talk, student-teacher relationship, reader is AFAB and uses he/him pronouns

Masterlist // AO3

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#*incoherent sobbing noises*#THIS WAS WRITTEN FOR ME!! AND I LOVE IT #i would make out w rory that was so good OMFG #literally in love with it i am passing away #vampire spencer reid #kiram loves vampires

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kirencer · 3 years

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Rabbits and triangles🐇

#bun bun bun

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kirencer · 3 years

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What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.

I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see.

sandra cisneros; eleven

#im a whore for good prose

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kirencer · 3 years

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why does nobody talk about that adhd symptom where like Sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you failed. Did it need to end that way? Could something have been done to prevent the tragedy in the first place? Eighty-nine murders at the pig farm. The deaths of Mason and Lucas Turner and make 91 lives snuffed out. Kelly Shane will go home and try to recover, to reconnect with her family, but she'll never be a child again. William Hightower, who gave his leg for his country, gave the rest of himself to avenge his sister's murder. That makes 93 lives forever altered, not counting family and friends in the small town of Sarnia, Ontario, who thought that monsters didn't exist until they learned that they spent their lives with one. And what about my team? How many more times will they be able to look into the abyss, how many times before they won't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job takes? Like I said, sometimes there are no words. No clever quotes to neatly sum what's happened that day. Sometimes the day just..... ends.

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kirencer · 3 years

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Tantalizing Taste (Thorn Fic)

Summary: Vampire!AU. Reader finds Thorn in front of a Samhain altar for himself. A/N: My first Thorn fic and it's a vampire AU! Gotta love it. This is an entry for my Trick or Treat challenge! I'll also be adding it to my old Fantasy AU Masterlist. Couple: Thornton Adams/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Religious references (Wicca), blasphemy, vampires, blood sucking, biting, unprotected sex, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, divorce mention Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

——————————————————

The moon, in all her wonder, hung high in the sky that night. There was nothing off about her shade nor shape, but I could hardly see her from where I was. Still, a few beams of moonlight would reach through rustling leaves to find me in the detritus.

I hadn’t the slightest clue where I was going. Time felt fuzzy, or in the very least unimportant in my unknown quest. All I knew was that the branches seemed to part for me off the beat path. Almost like the earth itself was calling to me, beckoning me forward into the darkness. As much as I would like to pretend it was a noble thing, it felt mostly involuntary. Like if I stopped, I would be lost forever among the dead wood.

My feet got faster along with my heart. I felt the something calling to me until I could almost taste it among the iron in my lungs. I could see the clearing ahead of me, hear it as it shouted to me to come closer and closer and —

Suddenly, the universe fell silent. The pounding of my heart waned as if it had never spiked at all. The moonlight covered me like a sheet, but I still felt invisible and eerily calm. I peered around the place where the spirits had led me, moved by the beauty of the forests surrounding me but unable to understand what about it had been so urgent.

Then, I saw him.

Thorn stood alone in the clearing, with his hands resting palms up to the sky. His head, too, was lifted towards the moon. He soaked in her quiet splendor, and I watched from the sidelines with an equivalent fascination.

Eventually, though, the wind blew by and reminded me that the autumn nights were unforgiving to the mortal coil. Thorn hadn’t even moved; so lost in his meditation that I worried he might stay the whole night if I’d let him.

And then I realized why the universe had brought me to him.

��Thorn,” I called from across the way.

His whole body tensed, flat palms turning to fists before he slowly turned, almost as if he was expecting to find that I hadn’t really been there at all. He just stared, wide-eyed and filled with a mounting anxiety that made my chest tighten.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“What are you doing out here?” he answered in a rather unhelpful manner.

I tried to continue the trend, but he hadn’t laughed when I joked, “I asked you first.”

Thorn seemed horrified more than anything else. He maintained his distance, even to his own detriment. He stumbled back towards the shadows when I took a step forward.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said as though we were different enough to matter, “It’s not safe.”

“What are you talking abo—” I started, only for my throat to close around the word. The very second that I’d started to say it, my foot had caught in a convenient and cleverly placed tree root.

My falling face first into the dirt had certainly proved his point, but Thorn didn’t rub salt in the wound. If anything, he was quick to come to my side and lift me back to my feet. His hands moved without any apparent thought, brushing crisp leaves and dirt off of me until his eyes met mine again.

“Thanks,” I laughed to hide my own embarrassment, “I guess you were right.”

I could feel my cheeks flushing, and I swore he could feel the heat despite the distance between us. The more flustered I became, the closer he swayed. With glassed over eyes and slightly parted lips, Thorn had come almost close enough to kiss before I turned away. I bit down on my tongue, cursing myself for not accepting what might’ve been an advance out of fear it was nothing but a distraction.

It was a good thing I had, too, because it was that movement that alerted me to the second oddest thing to exist in the clearing.

“W-What’s that?” I stammered with a weak gesture towards the decorated table tucked between two trees near where he had been standing. “I thought we agreed to put our altars together to make it easier on the spirits.”

“Right… I…” he started, but the words faded with his eyes. I felt a strange barrier between us that only existed when he was at his worst. Those rare days when he had decided that solitude was better than company.

He wasn’t being himself, but I was willing to be patient. He turned to me with a silent plea for me not to make him finish. I didn’t offer him the out. I knew he would take it.

With a hard swallow he reluctantly finished, “I-I’m not worried about this spirit finding its way here.”

Something about the confidence behind his words made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. A chill unrelated to the biting wind shook me through to my core, and I couldn’t ignore every instinct in my body. Stepping past him, I ignored the way he reached a limp hand out to stop me. He hadn’t really wanted to. He could have if he did.

Thorn wanted me to find the altar in the middle of the woods. I just didn’t understand why until I had come close enough to recognize the vaguely familiar items burning between white, gold, and grey candles. The soft, flickering yellow light fed off the moon. It was gentle and calm, but when my hands got closer, I feared they might be burned by the fire the candles carried.

“How did you find your way here, actually?” Thorn asked from a safe and healthy distance.

But I was too distracted to answer. Too busy wondering what he was trying to heal from, what he needed strength for and protection from. Worst of all, I wondered why he felt the person whom the altar belonged to so desperately needed someone to cleanse the badness from them.

Then I looked down to find a carefully carved piece of his very first birdbath. I held the small stone with its sharp downturned beak and remembered all the times he’d explained why he related so much to the eagle. Not because of its majesty, but because of its persistence. Because an eagle is a symbol of a new beginning after persevering through the cold.

I wanted to call out to him. I wanted to ask him why the hell he’d built himself a Samhain altar when he was standing next to me in the flesh and blood. I clutched the rock with all my might like it might grant me an answer, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question.

And when he reached over to take it back from me, I let him. It hadn’t belonged to me, after all… and neither did he.

So then why did it feel like he’d wanted me to stop him somehow?

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered, the sound almost drowned out among whistling winds.

I didn’t bother asking why he hadn’t wanted me to see. I also didn’t bother wondering why he hadn’t stopped me if that were as true as he’d wanted it to be. Instead, I asked the only question I needed an answer to.

“Why do you have an altar for yourself?”

Thorn didn’t answer right away. He peered down at what I’d stolen from him and then back up at my eyes. I basked in the golden hue of twice reflected sunlight and waited for him to do the right thing. To not hide from the world for the millionth time. To recognize me as home and hearth for whatever fire was burning him alive inside.

“It’s a long story,” he conceded. “Can we sit?”

I’d agreed to sit, but Thorn took the scenic route to the conclusion. Hiding behind the purpose of the festival, he made sure that he joined me in front of the newly crafted bonfire at the last possible second.

Although it was obviously a ploy to put off the inevitable, I hadn’t minded. The gentle reminder of the reason for the celebration only bolstered my point that if he was ever going to be honest — it ought to be tonight. How fitting it was for it to be there, with the flames birthing soft sparks like stars and the strong scent of cedar smoke.

While I watched the dancing fire, though, he was staring at me. Sharp copper eyes tearing through me with a hunger I’d never seen before. It was all so powerful that I could hardly breathe through it all. It heightened further with each passing second until his knuckles were brushing over a run in the fabric of my skirt where something had pulled a thread loose.

“Are you alright, Thorn?”

His hand jerked away instantly. Everything about him changed, his body folding in on itself and trying as hard as it could to avoid acknowledging my proximity.

“I-I’m sorry. Sorry,” he mumbled into his hands.

I couldn’t handle the sight of him so forlorn. It hadn’t been anything out of our norm to touch, but something about it felt more precarious that night. He was so on edge and paranoid that I realized it would have to be me to make contact.

My fingers curled around his thumb gently, coaxing his hand from his cheek rather than resorting to force. As soon as I held him, I was struck by just how cold he was. His skin was reminiscent of ice, and in the same way I could feel his icy temperament thawing the longer I held him.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him with an equal amount of patience and understanding. And thankfully, it worked. Something in him shook loose and the feelings started to spill from his lips the same as the plumes of smoke chased the moonlight.

“When I first met Willow, I… thought we knew everything about each other. Most days when I held her, it felt like I was finally home,” he said with increasing difficulty. He choked on the words, but forced himself to continue, “But then one day things changed. She seemed so… distant. Like she had been replaced with a different person entirely.”

The pause that followed was much longer than before. Thorn wasn’t looking at me, but rather staring straight into the fire like he couldn’t feel the heat burning through sensitive eyes. The glassy wetness barely resembled tears, and I realized that it had been a long time since I’d seen him cry.

Suddenly and without warning, he began to speak again, albeit more rushed and chaotic.

“That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with her the way she is now. People grow, we make mistakes. Divorce isn’t always someone’s fault.”

“Raising a kid is hard. You’re right that it’s not your fault.”

Thorn laughed. A bitter sound filled with a pity that didn’t suit him well.

“It wasn’t just me wanting more children,” he explained before he released a sigh soaked in anger, “God it would be so much easier if that’s all it was.”

Then, under his breath and in a manner that made it clear I wasn’t meant to hear, he mumbled, “Not that it matters anyway. She took that choice away for the both of us.”

That secrecy only served to pique an already intense interest in the details. I had only just arrived at the coven when it had begun to fall apart. Many referred to me as part of the glue that had held it together, but I think we all realized it wouldn’t last until the two of them agreed to acknowledge their incompatibility.

But the two of them used to be so cordial. There was a respect that was clearly still there most days. It was the rare days where the resentment returned. The ones where Thorn would lock himself in his room for hours without a word, no matter how long I sat outside his door.

I feared I would always be an outsider to that part of him.

“What happened?” I begged him for an answer.

He was still so far away.

“I wanted so badly to please her. I wanted to fix everything so badly and I…”

My hand drifted from his hand to his wrist. I kept going, trying to breathe life into his tense and trembling figure. When I made it to his neck, he winced, but he didn’t move away. He just sat there, breathing heavily and waiting for my palm to rest against his cheek.

“You what?” I reminded him.

“I got lost,” he answered with a startling amount of saturnine honesty.

But Thorn, that odd and brilliant man in his own way, had gotten it wrong. He had strayed — just not in the way that he’d thought. It was not that he had taken the wrong path. Rather, he had wrongfully believed that he would be able to tell the difference. That the gods would ever lead him astray after a lifetime of nothing but beauty and grace from the man to my left.

I turned him to face me. I gazed deep into green flecked hazel and tried to be strong enough for the both of us. I poured my heart and soul into the words and prayed to whatever god might be watching to let him believe me.

His eyes fell to my lips for what felt like the millionth time. I bit down hard enough that I could almost taste iron. I wet the chapped and cracking skin and failed to see how it made him tense. I was foolhardy in my persistence, and blind to the reality unfolding around me.

“You aren’t lost, Thorn,” I begged him to believe me despite the rustling trees screaming at me to stop, “You are exactly where you are meant to be.”

I’ll never know for certain what it was that broke him. I could theorize for forever, but I would never get the answer I craved. All that I knew was that as soon as the words left my lips, I was covered with him.

Thorn lunged towards me with no warning. His lips hit mine with an intensity that couldn’t be ignored, a starved, animalistic display of power unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Desperate, greedy hands made fists in my hair, pulling me closer and pushing me away all at once.

Despite the fear of the feelings, I kissed him back. Not because I thought it would be best, but because I wanted to. I had wanted him for so long that it felt like a blessing from the universe to finally taste his passion that I only ever saw through impossibly obstinate barriers between us.

He was not nearly as gentle as I’d expected, but how could I blame him when I fed into the hunger just as much? How could I blame him for wanting to claim what I’d offered so readily?

There was no hesitance. No resistance and no regret. The air was filled with plentiful sounds of pleasure as my hands cradled the base of his skull that finally started to feel warm again.

Everything was as it should have been.

And then it happened.

A stabbing pain shot through me, and it took me too long to notice its exact place of origin. After all, sharp teeth buried in my bottom lip was hardly something I was familiar with.

I yelped from the offense but failed to move away from the source of my pain. That sound, although initially making Thorn’s body even more tense, still managed to break him free from whatever had a hold of him. His hands that had been keeping me close all but threw me back. Away from him.

Even that wasn’t enough, though. Without even looking at me, his hand flew over my mouth and clamped over the wound he’d just inflicted.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he ranted, “You weren’t supposed to see me like this!”

“See you like what?” I said. Although the words were muffled against his hand, he heard them loud and clear. He didn’t answer.

My mouth began to fill with the taste of blood as it pooled against once-white, now-pink teeth. I tried to swallow it but was unable to bear the way it felt. The toxic nature of the source — the unexplained self-hatred that was taking over him.

I watched him as carefully as I could. I tried to look into his eyes for some hint of the turmoil in his soul, but he closed them before I could pick the locks he’d set in place. With his hand still over my mouth now dripping bright red blood against his palm, I tried to beg him to explain.

I could hardly breathe with his hand over my mouth, but it was nothing compared to the way his chest heaved. The way that his nails dug into the side of my face like if he let go for even one second, everything would fall apart.

It was in that chaotic melding of breath and blood that I saw it. A subtle flash of his open-mouthed panting, a glimmer of light as the moonlight touched something only it knew well.

The two sharpened fangs that had broken my skin so cleanly were pearl white once more, devoid of any of the red that he’d stolen. Made clean again by a greedy tongue that desperately sought more of the liquid now pooling against his palm.

Unable to scream or do much of anything at all, I threw myself backwards. I clambered to try to get away from him, but once his hand slipped in the blood now smeared across my cheek, he only became more afraid of letting me go.

“Please. Please don’t be afraid of me,” he begged with thready breath. I saw the restraint in his eyes as he stared at the mess on my face that matched the wound in his heart.

I still tried to get away. I could only imagine the pain that caused. What I couldn’t even begin to imagine, however, was the way that strong hands stopped me before I collapsed backwards into the thickets and thorn bushes. How he risked his own flesh before making it any more dangerous for me.

He must have seen the shock in my eyes because Thorn once again looked like he was on the brink of tears as he blubbered, “I would never, ever hurt you. I promise.”

Whether it was because of my faith in the universe or my lovesick heart making a mistake, I wanted to believe him. Worse yet, I wanted to heal him. I wanted to offer him a home. A safety and refuge from whatever terrors befell him.

I didn’t want to see him as a monster. Even if that’s what he was. It would be wrong to fail to notice how gingerly he held me. How he had held back from cleaning the blood soaking into my skin.

Still, the shock had overtaken me and consumed all my thoughts.

“You’re…” I whispered before he cut me off.

“Please don’t say it. It’s already hard enough for me right now, I…”

I followed his eyes to my cheek, and then raised a quick hand to clean away the temptation. In response, Thorn looked down at his dirtied hand and tried to resist the urge to clean it. He closed his eyes, sucking in deep breaths and whispering a prayer I could barely make out over the crackling fire.

It wasn’t worth it, though. The discomfort I would experience was nothing compared to the suffering I saw in him. So with two careful hands, I carried his palm to his lips and held it there until he allowed himself the simple pleasure of what he’d wanted to do.

At first, he hesitated. But then he was lost in his hunger, dragging the thick band of muscles over his own palm and eventually to the back of my hand where more old blood rested. Still harboring that resentment, Thorn managed not to bite me. I could still feel it in the way he held me, though. The way his mouth cleaned each finger in a way more akin to worship than greed.

“How long has it been since you…?” I thought aloud. I was unable to finish the sentence, but thankfully, he didn’t make me.

“Days,” he groaned against the sensitive skin. The pain rattled through fragile bones still hot with his breath. “It’s so hard to keep track of them.”

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Thorn held his breath between tight, flattened lips still pressed against my hand. The paralyzing guilt weighed so heavily on his soul that he broke down once more. But that time when he removed his lips from me, he did so slowly. He ghosted his lips down and over wrists with visible veins and continued up my arm until he could smell the blood behind my lip.

“You smell so… alive,” he whispered through a lustful haze. “I see you everywhere. Feel you… taste you…”

He swallowed before backing up again. His breath had only just started to even out again, his attention recaptured by the mesmerizing dance of the flames in front of us rather than the one shared between us.

“Would it… kill me?”

“I’m not doing that,” he said, cleverly avoiding the question. But then he continued, stammering and tripping over his explanation that became more complicated with every word uttered.

“I-I can’t do that. You’re… You’re too special to me. I’m sorry.”

Before I could protest, or even tell him that his feelings were shared — that those feelings were the exact reason why it should have been me — Thorn all but ran away. Abandoning any contact, he rushed away from the fire. Away from me.

“Thorn, wait!”

I chased him. There were no more cleverly placed tree roots. No obstacles in the way of us finding one another the same way that I’d stumbled upon him in the woods. None of it was a coincidence. It was destiny.

“I want you to do it!” I cried, but he did not listen. He ran straight to his altar, pressing both hands against the wood like he might find the strength he needed through the flickering candlelight.

For once, I wished that the universe would bend to my will. I wanted them to extinguish the flames that he was trying to manipulate into justifying his fear. But then I stepped closer. I felt the dread through the chill the further we got from the campfire, and I realized that I didn’t need the universe to do anything different.

I would make him see the truth as it was already displayed for him with perfect clarity.

“You’re punishing yourself for something that isn’t your fault, and I’m not going to let you!”

Perhaps Thorn hadn’t needed me to push him, though. Perhaps underneath his steely resistance, he had known the truth as well as I had. There was so much pent-up frustration that came through his hands when they gripped my arms. He threw me against the altar before pressing his own body just as hard against me.

Through my heavy breathing, I couldn’t say a word. But there was so much I needed to say if only he would grant me enough air to get the thoughts through. He could still feel them in my chest. He saw them on my tongue and tried to stop the inevitable once again.

“Please. Please shut up. I’m begging you.”

I refused.

“I love you.”

Dropping his forehead against mine, Thorn issued one, simple curse that told me everything I needed to know.

“Fuck.”

Just one syllable uttered with all the pain he carried in his heart. The very same suffering that I felt stuck in the space between us. Because I had always recognized his soul and felt it as my own. Words and explanations did not matter nearly as much to me as the way that we’d felt.

But clearly, he needed to hear it.

“I know how you feel, too,” I told him with a trembling voice, “Why do you think it never worked out with Willow, Thorn? Be honest with yourself.”

Because you weren’t right for one another. You just wanted to be.

“Why was I able to find you with no trail and no guidance?”

Because you needed me like I need you.

“Why was it me — the one person you didn’t want to come — why did the universe send me?”

Because you and I are of the same flame.

“Please, Thorn.”

The same as it had when I first arrived, the universe fell quiet. Rustling trees and bustling wildlife ceased just long enough for him to open his eyes. The moon and stars shifted to better light my face for him, and I accepted the blinding light as an excuse for why my eyes watered when he finally spoke again.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you.”

I recalled the moment perfectly. I allowed myself to feel that moment over and over again. How it was so clear from the first time our eyes met that we had known each other for many lifetimes before this one. The way our souls recognized each other without so much as a single word.

I kissed him then, to make up for the time already lost. I didn’t take offense when his tongue immediately wandered and lingered over old wounds. I shuddered at the feeling of him cleaning the impurities from me that would grant him life.

But he pulled away too soon and issued one final warning.

“The second that I taste you, really taste you… I won’t be able to control myself anymore. Do you understand?”

And while I understood the immediate dangers, I also recognized something else in the question. A desire to be freed from his last remaining inhibition.

“Ask me the question you’re afraid to ask,” I dared with hushed breath, “Ask me the real question.”

As if to punctuate my point, noise returned to the universe. Candlelight grew rather than faded from the burst of oxygen that also filled our already weary lungs.

Thorn cupped my cheek with one hand while the other rested on the small of my back. He pulled me forward and away from harsh, unforgiving wood. My hands came to cradle his head once more, savoring the feeling of energy pulsing from crown to root. I could feel the way his throat shook when he whispered his wish into my ear.

“Bear my child.”

It would be impossible to describe the flood of emotions that came over me. The realization that over a year of manifesting had finally produced something beautiful. The knowledge that I hadn’t been wrong when I’d seen him watching me with that longing in his eyes, the same that I looked at him with his son.

I didn’t realize I’d said nothing in response until his hand started to slip through the gap between my clothes. He spread his hand over my stomach with an unparalleled tenderness that bled through the ache in his voice.

“Please,” he begged, “You’re right, I’m afraid… I’m scared this is the only night I can.”

“I’ll do it,” I said as soon as possible without interrupting the vulnerability. I laced my fingers through his hair, and I held tightly enough that he could feel the way I’d meant it when I clarified, “I want to do it.”

There was no need to say anything more because Thorn was already satisfied by my answer. His hands were quickly working to bunch my skirt high enough that when he helped hoist me onto the wooden table that served as his altar, my inner thighs were bare and open before him.

The slew of emotions, all good and filled with glory, made me laugh when he lifted my shirt over my head. I hadn’t even minded the chill anymore. It was nothing but exhilarating to feel the contrast of friction and wind. But all that delicious hurry immediately halted as soon as I spoke again.

“I want to give you a child,” I said with a gasp when his hand on my thigh began to slide up when he stood.

The reminder of what we were about to do made the energy shift again. Instead of ravenous hunger, I felt a softness return to his lips when he kissed me. It was slow and torturous pleasure the way that he took his time creating a trail of saliva down my neck.

“Your body gives me life,” he rumbled against my collarbones, no doubt enjoying the way that goosebumps erupted all around his mouth. “And in exchange I will worship you with whatever life I have left.”

I had no doubt in his ability to worship. I had witnessed his dedication to divinity on numerous occasions. Even worse still, I had often dreamed of what it might be for him to turn that power onto me.

He answered those dreams with a voracious fervor. His lips claimed every inch of skin he craved, littering my breasts with uneven kaleidoscope patches of broken blood vessels. When he took one pebbled peak into his mouth, I felt his fangs draw gentle surface-level scratches into the skin. The sharpness drove my hands deeper through mousy brown locks until I was gasping and writhing from the pleasure his mouth provided.

“Bite me,” I pleaded, as I was unable to comprehend how I could feel pleasure so powerful with such little stimulation. I was young and filled with hubris; a desire to have the entirety of his energy and worship directed at me for one blissful moment.

Thorn could feel that naiveté and I dare to say that it only made him want me more. To sink his teeth into innocent flesh and experience that sweetness once again. But he didn’t.

“Not yet,” he chuckled just to make me shiver again. Then, with his fingers hooked gently under the band of my underwear, he explained with an unusually sultry timbre, “I want to taste other parts of you first.”

There was no protest, no fear of inadequacy nor room for insecurity. As he dragged my underwear down already bare legs, I only felt the ungodly burning fire of lust. My body recognized his, sought out his touch and his devotion.

My back arched forward when I felt his breath breeze over skin so hot that it almost felt cold. With my hands still in his hair, I didn’t dare pull him closer until he was ready. It didn’t take long, anyway.

I gasped the same second his tongue dipped between slick folds. I used all my strength to keep myself from falling backwards into fire or further into him. I teetered on the edge of the table and sanity, focusing as much as I could on how his tongue traced the edge of every fold.

“Gods, you taste divine,” he groaned. The vibrations reverberated through me and resulted in a whine loud enough to rival the coyotes crying to the woman hung in the sky. My cry was met with his own, and his moans drove me into oblivion. All I could feel was him, soft and warm and wet as depraved sounds of pleasure echoed through the forest.

I was rocking against his tongue with reckless abandon. I chased after the peak of pleasure, greedily pulling him closer when his tongue flattened against the bundle of nerves that made my vision go white.

As I rocked in tandem with long, languid strokes, I breathlessly begged, “Please, don’t stop.”

And for a moment, he didn’t. Thorn continued to lavish me and drink in the pleasurable wetness that he had been deprived of for so long. That other kind of life blood that would help him to produce another heir. The anticipation heightened the second I thought of it. I was mere seconds away from collapsing in on myself entirely when Thorn somehow moved his mouth away despite the crushing force of my thighs against his cheeks.

Then he did as he’d promised, though not as expected. His sharp fangs sunk into my thigh with no warning, and I was torn was the throes of passion and thrown into a new, exciting world of pleasurable pain.

The moment was brief, but it felt like a lifetime. I sat with my jaw dropped and my eyes watering as I felt him feed off me just enough that he could see clearly again. He released me before I was ready, leaving me unsatisfied in yet another way. But it was so hard to be mad at him when he lapped at the mess he’d made like a good, dutiful man.

The time and care he’d given the act allowed me a chance to come back down to a more manageable state. The coldness began to creep back over me and reminding me of the exact trail he’d kissed down my body.

I became restless again immediately after he raised to meet my eyes. I tried to pull him closer still, tried to drown in the pleasure of him before he’d even had time to breathe. Thorn resisted, although not because he was deprived of oxygen.

“Harness that energy. Don’t let it go yet,” he instructed. I almost felt embarrassed by how easily I’d forgotten the principal tenet of sex magick, but he didn’t seem to mind holding my hand. Again, if anything, he seemed excited by my green nature.

If it was innocence that he was chasing, however, he would be disappointed. Because with my eyes locked on his and my hips inching closer to the edge of the table, I spoke a damnable affirmative against his blood-soaked lips.

“Yes, my lord.”

A darkness filled him so suddenly that I didn’t have time to miss golden fire irises before they were swallowed. With his pupils dilated to a near demonic state and his nails digging into my hips like they, too, sought the blood, Thorn was angry and lecherous all at once.

“That’s blasphemy,” he reminded through a devilish smirk.

That was what it felt like. A clandestine deal with the devil. A gamble with the gods to create something that ought not to exist. A melding of souls that should have, by all means, been severed some time ago. But they would forgive me. Because he was there. He was with me, offering me the fate that something else had ripped from us.

“Tonight, you are my god,” I corrected with a gentle hand to combat the sinful words, “and I will worship at your altar.”

Overcome by the debauchery and desire, Thorn brought his lips to mine again. As he’d promised, I could feel him losing control the longer the moon hung over us. I could feel time slipping away but hadn’t wanted to let him go yet.

He dragged his mouth over my jaw and let out a startled groan when I pressed a firm palm against the bulge beneath his robe. The feeling must have been too much to bear because he was struggling to try to open the tie of his robe faster. But nothing would be fast enough to combat the mounting frustration, it seemed.

Again, without warning, one fang cut through the soft tissue of my earlobe. He’d forced himself to bite somewhere small, somewhere that would allow him to imagine but not let him lose control. The same couldn’t be said for me, however. Not when he’d started to suckle on the wound like he could pull more from me.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” he finally admitted. He abandoned the fruitless effort and switched his attention back to my dreamy, delirious stare. His hand fell from my hair to my heart, and he pressed the back of his hand against the hard-beating organ before he whispered, “I can hear your heartbeat…”

“We never needed magic for that,” I chuckled. He did, too. The anxiety started to wane again, leaving more room for the sexual crescendo to continue. With his reminder that I should be using the moment to call for something greater, I placed one hand over his on my heart. I took in a deep breath of autumn air and sighed.

“Take me, my lord. Let me be your offering.”

True to his word, Thorn listened to the way my heart shifted rhythm when he’d started to move. I was thrilled and happy and…

“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured me just as the word finally came to me. “I’m not going to kill you, I promise.”

I knew it was a silly concern, anyway.

“I know. Your soul recognizes mine too well to let me go.”

We were made from the same stardust. We have been one long before this moment.

I chanted his name over and over in my head while I waited. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms over his shoulders and I prayed that the gods would allow blasphemy just this once.

The internal monologue started to slip and slur as soon as he began breaching my entrance. Despite recognizing his soul immediately, it still took time to accommodate him. I tried to relax, tried to focus only on the heat that he, the candles, and the moon provided.

“Fuck. You feel so…” he groaned. His control had begun to slip, and he entered me faster and with more force. It continued to rise until he all but slammed into me, shaking the items on the altar, and extinguishing at least one candle from the disturbance.

“You feel so…” he repeated with another thrust, trying to locate the word among the madness. His eyes locked onto mine and he found it immediately. “Alive.”

Any mercy or discipline dissipated with the epiphany. His nails were practically shredding the cloth bundled at my hips, and I cried out with both pain and unending pleasure with each ruthless meeting of our hips.

“Your heart is beating so fast…” he thought aloud.

“Thorn…” I reached out to him only to find the animal within speaking for him, instead.

“You are so fragile… so vulnerable…” he growled, and I hadn’t minded that dark timbre in place of his pacifism.

I wondered if that was wrong. I decided I hadn’t cared, regardless. I only wanted more.

So did he. It almost frightened me how quickly his mouth had drifted to my jaw. It would have been so easy for him to give in to the temptation, to soak in my downfall before the end had time to manifest.

“Gods, I want to take you forever,” he said through clenched teeth that I had to find a way to release.

“Not yet, my love,” I urged him. I knew he wanted to listen, but he was finding it so impossibly hard.

So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I took his hand and forced it to splay over my lower stomach. I pressed his hand hard against where my womb rested, and I forced him to remember what could still be because I was alive.

“I’m not finished with this life yet,” I said.

Thorn listened. Reluctantly, he chose to nibble gently at my bottom lip instead of further destroying the temple that would feed his future. But even with that brief reprieve, he struggled enough to admit in a small, defeated voice, “I-I can’t… I can’t resist you any longer.”

I recognized the man I loved in the sound. The epitome of gentleness. The one who wanted nothing more than to bring and nourish life anew. I held him as tenderly as I could while he continued to ravage me. His name on my tongue turned to a silent prayer to the universe.

Please, I begged, he is all that I want.

If it meant my downfall, I would forgive the universe as I hoped it would forgive me. Just as he had grown tired of waiting, so had I. Waiting until he was fully inside of me, I dropped my hands down and opened my chest to him. He watched heaving breasts and trembling muscles and he saw me as I was.

Alive.

When he grabbed a fistful of hair, I let him. My head rolled to the side with no resistance. I allowed him to gaze at that image, of my fullest submission and my offering to take me and use me as he pleased.

Thorn pressed one final chaste kiss against swollen, bruised lips. He showed me sweetness and softness once more before and implicitly promised that it would return.

Then, for one final time that night, he cut through my flesh. Still fully inside of me, Thorn filled my body with even more of himself. I felt the surge of power, the ungodly pressure against my throat that slowly turned to pleasure.

I could barely focus on his hips when they’d started again. I took full but thready breaths, clung to him with muscles that drained of life so quickly. But they remained there long enough to feel it coming at long last. The ending, my oblivion, nearly bursting at my seams.

Still, as my body started to close around him, drawing out whatever he had to offer and promising life in return, I felt fire in my chest. My legs around him tensed one more time, pulsing and pounding around him as he continued to fuck me with ever-increasing strength that he’d stolen from my body.

A halo appeared around the moon. The darkness of the navy sky turned black and started swallowing the stars one by one until it was all almost gone.

It was only then, mere seconds from darkness, that Thorn tore himself away from me one last time. I saw his visage, blood-soaked and sated for the first time in forever. We both let out a final, weary cry after lifetimes of waiting to find each other once again. As we both reached the peak of euphoria, as we rolled among the cosmic waves of existence, Thorn’s lips found mine once again.

And when the iron from my veins touched my tongue, I found it tasted so much sweeter on his lips.

——————————————————

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#kiram loves vampires #hi yes im kiram and im in love with vamp mgg characters #i want him to bite me claim me MAKE ME HIS #i am a weck #i love how the first thig we get is abt the moon and then we learn abt how reader and thorn were pulled together almsot unexplainably-#-moon and tide things methinks #kiram recs

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