smooth moves, priest. @kandyrezi - Tumblr Blog

Apr 21

First sight, first love

Sae x Fem!Reader 10.8k words

In which a weird girl falls into obsession with a celebrity from a billboard.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Porn with a LOT of plot, stalking, PIV sex, oral fem receiving, masturbation, very slight degrading, heavy praise, dacryphilia, blackmailing, dubcon but both are into it, reader is noted as not very experienced but not necessarily a virgin, reader is a bad person, Sae is weirdly into it though. Unrequited background lesbian love and a month of pain and suffering from the author. A little angsty but more of a black comedy Heed the warnings, and if you complain about the content you chose to read, I’ll block you so fast your head will spin

Special thanks to @kandyrezi for holding my ass accountable

Discovery

There’s a new billboard across the street from your apartment– something that you’d hardly notice if it weren’t for the fact that you were finally freed from the image of the old man with the wide smile from the dentistry a few blocks down.

Not that you particularly minded the image of the old man, but something about his eyes always was a bit off putting, like they could see into your soul. Needless to say, you kept your curtains closed most days, but now it seems there’s a reason to keep your curtains pulled apart.

It’s a new advertisement for some sort of cologne, something that you’re wholly uninterested in, at least when compared to the model on the advertisement.

He’s beautiful.

Dark red locks frame his slender pale face, his brows and brilliant green eyes working together to create an expression that shows nothing but faint apathy for the people taking the photo, despite the racey position of the photo showing him spread out on a chair, his white shirt deliciously unbuttoned all the way down to show a hint of his navel and the cologne bottle carelessly held in his hands.

He, to put it quite simply, is an exquisite work of art, and you can’t seem to take your eyes of him most days, tracing his figure over in your mind as you stare.

You aren’t sure what his name is at first, but you discover it soon enough after you type in the name of the cologne into your search engine and are rewarded with another couple of equally tantalizing pictures.

You flicker your eyes through them, scanning through the almost shirtless pictures of him, (the one where his sleeves are rolled up nearly has you nearly drooling, not to mention the one where his back is partially on display as he’s frozen in time pulling on his shirt) until you manage to remove your eyes to read his name.

Sae Itoshi.

It’s a name unfamiliar to you, but you can’t deny the way you pause when you hear it echo in your mind. How would it be, you wonder, to call out that name in bed? To whisper it like a secret or to call it like a prayer?

How would it be to be held in his arms? His muscular stature screamed strength, but how was his touch? Would he be kind, cruel, some sort of devilish mix of both?

(Though you can tell a bit from his expression in his photos that he might lean more towards calculating. How exquisite would it be to be torn apart so clinically? You could shiver at the thought.)

You don’t get enough time to ponder these thoughts though, as you find yourself rudely awakened by the chime of your alarm, signalling another grueling day of classes and homework. A soft sigh escapes you as you close out of all your tabs, moving to your desk to collect your things before you shoot one longing look at the billboard again, taking in the advertisement before heading off to class.

—

A few months later after you’ve seen that cursed advertisement and you’ve grown… let's say enamored, with the model (or rather professional football player) displayed.

It started off innocently enough, with you looking up a few photos and maybe a few interviews (the way he spoke was always blunt and to the point, he never shied away from being controversial, something that you admire about him) but eventually it expanded to you looking up every fancam you could of his and watching his games.

He’s funny, in a blunt kind of way and he exudes a confidence you could only hope to reach. On the field he’s dangerously hot, but also calculating and skilled. But you can also tell he’s got a small soft spot for children based off of fan interactions. He’s abrasive, but never overwhelmingly rude (like some people you know) and he’s… well, he’s the perfect man. Something right out of an otome and you find yourself wanting to pick his route.

You don’t have many friends to begin with, but the one that you do have finds it perplexing that you’ve taken to football out of nowhere.

(You sit on the steps outside of the campus cafeteria while your old roommate and now begrudging friend Mila taps away at her computer. You think its some paper about ancient technology, but you can’t quite remember, your eyes focused on your phone screen as you chew on your lip, studying his form as you watch the grainy image the cloth stretch over his body as he runs, thinking about another scenario where the imprint of his dick would stretch against–

“I never would have taken you for the sports type.” She murmurs, looking up from her laptop to glance at you, and you jolt slightly before looking at her.

It’s true, you aren’t, but you’re not about to get into the details with her, so instead you pull a smile, well try to, it looks more like a grimace, and you already know that as soon as the expression settles on your face. “What sort of type did you take me for?”

She scrutinizes you with a look. “Like the type of person who stays up masturbating to hentai.”

You almost choke at that, a flush staining your features. That is in fact the type of person you are, only in a worse way than she could ever imagine, but you swallow and shoot a glare her way.

“Not funny.” You murmur, looking at your phone again.

“I wasn’t trying to be.” Mila responds, and you can tell she’s not joking, but you put up with her for the same reason she puts up with you. Between a stick up the ass, rich girl, STEM major and a socially awkward, degen loser, no one else would bother with either of you.)

Still, you figure that nothing about this scenario is that problematic, even if you’d sooner die before anyone finds out about this. Yes, you’re being obsessive, but you aren’t really hurting anyone, if anything you might be starting a new goal of single handedly buying out all of La Reale’s merch stock, which is more of a plus than a minus for the economy (though your bank account is crying).

And sure, maybe it’s creepy that you’ve been using his face (and body, don’t forget body) as jack off material, but doesn’t everyone talk about celebrities that they’d fuck? You definitely aren’t the first person or the last to think about him in such a way, so you don’t think that you’ve crossed any lines, and you’re sure that you never will.

After all, you’re just looking, and there’s nothing wrong with looking.

Encounter

Rarely do you ever dress up, but today you find yourself ditching your oversized sweaters and baggy sweatpants to choose something a bit more classy (it’s a sweater and a pair of jeans, so not really that extravagant, but that’s the best you’re getting out of your closet). But you figure something's gotta give when you’re about to meet your idol that you’ve been obsessing over for over five months.

It’s a surprise to you that Mila has indulged in your little obsession, but you’re forever grateful when she suddenly out of nowhere offers you a ticket to a Re Al fan event.

(“What’s–” You pause, deciding that’s a dumb question before trying again. “I mean, how did you get this and why are you giving it to me?”

It’s not that you aren’t grateful, you are, a chance to see your– well, you’re not sure what to call him, idol? sure, you’ll go with that– idol is something that you could hardly imagine in your wildest dreams. It’s just, considering Mila’s… disposition, it seems out of place and a bit strange.

“The correct response is “thank you”, you’d know that if you didn’t live off of discord.” She says, eyeing you distastefully. “I just happened to get them off some gatorade lottery thing, and I’d rather bring you along than any other insufferable idiot.”

Later on you’d think it strange that she drank gatorade at all considering “it’s more sugar than electrolytes, such a waste” and you’d question why she didn’t simply just sell the tickets, but in the moment, the only thing you can think of is the visage the beautiful red haired man in your mind.

“Th– thank you so much!” You blurt out, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Now you’re overdoing it, just shut up.”)

Anyway, you and Mila find yourselves sitting in the seats provided (a few rows behind the seats of the paparazzi and various news outlets) and you take a second to notice how many more men there are in the room. You supposed it made sense considering sports demographics, but you also notice how… passionate they are too, their voices combining together in a clamorous racket that the desperate announcer tries to control with a microphone and will.

“Obnoxious.” Mila supplements under her breath, and you’d be inclined to agree with her if you didn’t feel your mind roaring in a similar way.

You were actually going to see him, in person, the Sae Itoshi, in all of his elegance sitting in front of you (granted, from 30 meters away, but beggars can’t be choosers) at the table, answering questions with his stoic and chilling voice. You can’t wait, and simultaneously you feel like you could throw up from the nerves of it all.

The chatter, which you previously thought as loud, erupts into a cacophonous roar as the Reale team begins to file in the entrance to take their seats at the conference table. You find yourself standing with everyone else (excluding Mila, who looks absolutely done with this) as you raise yourself on your tiptoes to spot the players.

You manage to spot a glimpse of red hair before the announcer practically begs everyone to sit down, and out of some slight sense of empathy you force yourself to sit again (though there is a small desperate part of you that wants nothing but to shove everyone out of the way in hopes of seeing him). A few other people sheepishly sit down as well, but it takes a few more minutes before everyone is seated again and the volume is back to at least a somewhat manageable level, though the flashes of the cameras still interrupt at various intervals.

It takes a monstrous effort on your part, but you manage not to faint at the sight of seeing him, your beloved idol, standing in front of you. He looks gorgeous, that's what you’ll start out with. His maroon hairstyle slicked back, different from his normal regular style and his usual uniform switched out for a suit, much like the one you saw in that billboard you first fell in love with, though unfortunately (or rather fortunately for your raging hormones) he’s not as exposed. He does however, still have that same sardonic look in his eyes, and it comforts you to see that key characteristic in those pools of emerald.

Still, seeing him at the press table with his fellow team members (their names you can hardly remember but try to, if only so that his voice echoing their names can ring in your ears) makes you giddy with excitement.

Mila snorts next to you, whispering to you with her hand covering her mouth. “How backwards is society; can you imagine dressing up to go to a conference because you’re getting paid to kick a ball?”

You feel a prickle of irritation in your skin, bubbling near the surface, because you won’t allow it to slip much further through. It’s like she doesn’t realize how important this is to you right now, how important he is.

Instead of retorting however, you just hum noncommittally, keeping your eyes trained forward, as if at any moment his face would disappear with the flash of a camera.

At this point the “fan oriented” press conference begins (fan oriented in quotations because it’s abundantly clear that this is a sort of pay to win system where seats are often bought out by paparazzi, rich people or people lucky or unlucky enough to have won a gatorade lottery).

The questions for the most part you tune out, finding their contents equally as boring as the people they are directed to, and you find yourself indulging slightly in the sarcastic remarks from Mila while you wait patiently for an interesting question to be posed.

Eventually, you perk up at the sound of one of the questions.

“Itoshi, you’ve made several valuable plays on the field, but fans are curious, what sort of strategies are you deploying in your love life?” A brave interviewer asks.

You exhale. Rookie mistake, after binging all of his interviews you already know that any speculation about his private life is met with a stink eye and a few choice words.

His eyes dart up to the reporter, his gaze lidded, as if he’s a large feline, blinking the sun away from a midmorning nap before he speaks, his voice smooth and low.

“Is the XS press so backlogged for drama that they have to create their own? I have no interest in discussing any personal affairs nor do I care what bullshit your sorry writers will churn up about me. That is all.”

You could swoon at his voice, but you manage to keep your face neutral as Mila snorts quietly.

For a moment, you imagine her and you mutually fangirling together, sharing merch and ideas, before she speaks again.

“What’s up with his hair? Imagine trying to draw that shit.”

Yeah, maybe the thought was too good to be true. Well, fine by you, that just meant more of him for yourself.

The conference continues on like that for a while, you mostly ignoring everyone else’s much more poised and collected answers and instead focusing on your idol’s blunt clipped responses, occasionally tuning in for Mila’s barbed whispers.

(Some notable responses include:

Q: “How are you feeling about the upcoming Champions League?”

A: “Am I supposed to feel a certain type of way about it? I’m planning on winning, and those are my feelings on the matter.”

Q: “Do you see yourself changing clubs in the future?”

A: “I’d consider if I got a better offer. Do you see yourself asking better questions in the future?”

Q: “What’s one thing you’d change if you could do everything over again?”

A: “I wouldn’t change anything. I’ve lived my life exactly how I wanted to, and I have no regrets.”)

At the end, you find your only regret that you would be just a little bit closer so that you could see the length of his bottom lashes from where you sit, to see the light bounce off the pupils in his eyes and into yours. And as the cameras flash, you find yourself fishing in your pocket for your phone, ready to commemorate this historical moment with a keepsake, only for the announcer to take stage again. You’re about to mentally cuss him out, all earlier sympathy leaving your body as he blocks your beautiful view when he starts to speak.

“Thank you all for coming to this event! Re Al would truly be nowhere without the support of the fans as you’re well aware, so we’ve decided to give back to all of you.” He starts out. “As such, we’ll be giving a select few fans the opportunity for a one on one meeting with a player of their choice! Please check your ticket numbers, those marked with green should follow me to the next room.”

You feel your heart skip a beat as you check your ticket, daring to hope with your ears ringing, and sure enough, there’s a green dot on the top.

You sit there for a moment stunned, before Mila elbows you in the side with a scoff. “Well, go already! I’m not waiting all day for you.”

Numbly, you nod, and follow the other lucky few people to the line where security starts to check everyone’s tickets, feeling like you’re floating through a dream as they let you pass.

One of the workers asks you who you’re going to see and you manage to stammer out a “Sae Itoshi” before they nod and inform you that you’ll be in for a ten minute wait while he finishes up with other fans.

You feel the momentous reality of the situation hit you as the time ticks by.

You’re about to meet him. You’re going to talk to him, hear his voice say words directed to you, words specifically chosen for you. You’re going to breathe in the remains of his own exhale, you’re going to smell him. You might– you might even touch him.

For a moment, you feel yourself growing a bit faint at the thought before you slowly make your way over to the table where he sits at, at the getsuring of the staff, looking rather bored as he glances at his phone.

He’s there, in front of you. His green eyes illuminated further by the glow of his phone, his fingers, long and slender wrapped around the object, and for a moment your tempted to consider how long his fingers could reach if–

And then you’re on the ground.

For a moment, you think you might have actually fainted from the thought of meeting him, until you realize you’ve tripped over a duffle bag, his duffle bag, you realize as you momentarily spot the familiar item of his jersey faintly illuminated by the overhead lights.

“Are you alright?” A voice asks, and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s Sae speaking to you as you stare up at him, blinking owlishly up at him for a moment as you lie there.

Immediately, it hits you, that you’re just staring up at him like an idiot before you scramble to your feet, your voice shaky as you respond. “Y–yeah– I’m fine. I just–”

You pause, having no idea what to say before you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “–am stupid.”

He quirks a brow at you, and you feel yourself melting into a puddle as you awkwardly take the seat in front of him, your face burning like the sun had made its home on earth. You swallow nervously as you feel him stare at you disinterestedly, trying not to make an even bigger fool out of yourself.

“...right. Well, what do you want signed?” He asks, and you have to resist from saying your body before you respond.

“Oh– uhm, I didn’t bring anything, I’m sorry.”

He looks at you for a moment before sighing and grabbing the notepad on the table, scribbling down his signature on the pad before looking up at you.

“Name?”

You stare at him a second too long before you squeak out a response. “(Name).”

He nods, asking you to spell it out before writing something that you make out to say “Thanks for your support (Name)”, before tearing it off the pad and handing it to you.

“Th–thank you.” You stammer, your mind mentally sorting through which questions you should ask him. Favorite color? Too basic. Favorite food? You already know. If you can have a strand of his hair? Too creepy.

The silence lapses on for a minute and he sighs, looking at you with an absolutely disdainful look. “Do you have anything to ask?”

“Uh– yes, uhm, you uhm, do you think you’re easy to draw?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re screaming internally, cursing out Mila in your mind.

He raises a brow at you, slow and deliberate. He might think you’re a moron; you’re hopelessly turned on by that. “What?”

“Nothing– that was stupid, I’m sorry.”

“...” He looks at you, his eyes flashing with something you can’t quite make out. “Okay… how about I ask the questions.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out as a statement, so you nod just to be polite.

“How long have you been a fan?” He questions, and you sheepishly reply, hoping he doesn’t remark on your lack of eye contact thus far.

“Oh, honestly, I only got into football recently.”

“And how exactly did you get into football?” He asks. His voice is somewhat dry and bland, as if he’s reading from a script.

“I saw your—“

You pause for a moment, you can’t very well say that you saw an advertisement and then you became obsessed with him and there by proxy slightly football, so your mind struggles to come up with an excuse.

“—your uhm, interviews, I thought they were interesting.”

“That so?” Sae asks, his eyes boring down on you. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” You ask, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. Hopefully he’d write it off as starstruck nerves (which, they were, in a sense).

“Mhm. Most people are put off, they say I’m too blunt.”

“I don’t mind it.” You respond automatically.

Sae raises a brow at you, and you’re backtracking, your eyes widening in horror. “I mean– not that you’re that blunt. I mean, it’s a refreshing sort of blunt. Like, a tasteful blunt.”

He snorts a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Tasteful?”

Shit. He definitely thinks you’re an idiot, and you can feel your cheeks burning, though not from shame. Instead, you find yourself entertaining the thought of possibly being a sort of jester for his viewing pleasure, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looks at you, and the idea of his eyes on you for longer than this time allocated–

“It seems time’s up.” His voice echos, snapping you out of your mini daydream, making you focus back on him before your eyes dart to the security who are tapping their feet impatiently.

“Ah– right, it’s nice meeting you– er– was, it was nice meeting you.” You stammer out.

His eyes fill with amusement as he responds, his words ringing in your ears long after you leave the area, outside the building till you take the taxi back with Mila, absentmindedly listening to her complain about something.

“Have a good day, (Name).”

–

Later on in your bedroom, you’re lying on your stomach contemplating the interaction with a racing heart and an overactive imagination, the signed note safely displayed on a frame on your desk.

Would he have just gotten home by now? Would he take off his jacket at the door and toss his duffel bag on the floor as he made his way to his bathroom? Strip himself sensually, dragging the clothes off his body though the sweat made them reluctant to part? How would it look as the water cascaded down his body, slowly trailing through every crevice of his abs to slip down the base of his shaft, trailing sinfully down his length till it dripped down?

You can feel yourself grow wetter at the thought, your thighs clenching together, and you slowly let your hand wander down, pretending that his hand is the one trailing down your body, catching on your breasts and the soft skin of your stomach. You gasp softly before stroking the skin of your navel.

He’d say something here, something about how pathetic you are, with that measured voice of his sounding like he’s reading out. Your back arches at the image, a whine leaving your lips.

It’s strange, usually you have to work yourself up more, but you can feel yourself almost dripping out of your shorts. He’s so hot, and you can practically see the way his eyes bore into you, and you find yourself on your back now, spreading your legs open for him to see.

“Sae–”

You let out the whine breathlessly, needily. And fuck do you need him, you need him to look at you so badly, a picture feels like it won’t even suffice compared to way his eyes looked, fixated on you. The shorts come off, quickly, but the underwear stays on, and you move your fingers down letting the damp fabric rub against your clit. You leak even more and you whimper.

He’d roll his eyes at you, but they would hold that heat he has when he's on the field.

“For you…”

You whisper out to him, though he can’t possibly hear you, and you pull the underwear down slowly before spreading your lips out, letting him see your dripping cunt. Fuck, you’re so horny it hurts, but you hold yourself open, feeling your juices drip onto the bed. Not until he lets you…

It might be hours, it could be a few minutes but you finally move slowly, sinking your fingers into yourself. You’re so wet, they slip in without much effort, and you try to imagine it's his fingers.

Try to, but your fingers aren't like his. They’re too small, too soft, not like his hands, calloused and rough, and big. You huff in frustration before yanking your fingers out and grabbing your pillow. You could just imagine something else.

Like that you’re grinding on his plush thigh, your weeping cunt making a mess on his pants. A whine leaves your lips and you ache for his touch, but he won’t touch you, he just makes you work for your orgasm, humping his leg like a dog.

You rock against the hard edge of the pillow, chasing the pleasure with animalistic abandon. Its for him, it’s all for him. Sae.

Sae. Sae. Sae, Sae, Sae, Sae

“Sae!”

Your orgasm hits you like a train, your eyes whiting and your toes clenching, and you feel yourself clench as you continue to rut against the pillow, drawing out your high. The oversensitivity is delicious and you rut until the high dies down before collapsing on your side with a soft breath.

It’s only after a while after you slowly feel your pulse come down that you allow yourself to open your phone.

And then clicking on the app you installed earlier and moving to the map function, eyes darting to where the pulsing blue dot lies on your screen, hovered over at the rich highrises and penthouses, your heartbeat racing as you zoom in on the location better.

You honestly didn’t think there was any use in bringing the tracker, as there was no possible way that you’d ever get close enough to him at this event, but you’re glad you followed your gut on this instinct, and glad you “tripped” over that bag.

Sure, it might be… bad. But you don’t think it’s horrible. You’re just… seeing where he might go, it’s not any different than the fans who stalk their idol’s instagram to see where they go next. In fact, this is a little less obtrusive, because you aren’t even going to bother him. You’ll just take a peak of him in his natural state…

It’s fine, right?

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you turn off your phone, settling into bed to sleep for the night.

Awareness

A few weeks after you’ve slipped the tracker into Sae’s bag, you find yourself gearing up again for taking a small look around his neighborhood. You’d been hesitating for a while before, nerves coursing through you as you lay awake at night terrified that he’d find the tracker and dispose of it, but it appears he hasn’t checked his bag since then, the glowing dot on your phone firmly stationed in the same place, occasionally moving with him to a training center.

It was definitely a bit nerve wracking the first few times, just deciding to actually scope out his area, and you felt your palms sweat at the idea. But… what's the use of the tracker if you’re just gonna sit at home and watch your screen? You had a rare opportunity in front of you, so you decided to get to it and do it.

And after a while, it became second nature. You didn’t go that often, just a few times by yourself to look around a bit, and you never saw him. Though this time, you decide to grab some mementos.

After a quick check of your items, a camera, polaroid to put in your scrap book, plastic bags, for items or keepsakes, a face mask, to make yourself a bit less recognizable, (not that you’d run into him or that he’d remember you) and finally a notepad, to jot down anything notable about the area, you feel somewhat ready to take on your task.

Somewhat.

Because obviously Mila has to show up at the worst time ever with three impatient knocks on the door. A huff of annoyance leaves your lips and you feel a surge of heat run through you, though this one isn’t pleasurable at all compared to the thought of Sae. You’re trying to be nice of course, but it seems like for whatever reason she’s gotten ten times more clingy since you’ve both gone to the event.

It’s not just hanging out at lunch now, it's like she’s somehow everywhere you are after class, at lunch, during dinners and now even at the door of your apartment. You gave her the address months ago, after she’d needed a place to study that was quiet and she decided your place was perfect (without your permission, though it was to be expected by her).

You take off the mask and your cap before shoving it in your bag to look less conspicuous and open the door.

“Hey–”

“Took you long enough, were you waiting for me to kick the door down or something?”

She pauses, raising a brow at your outfit and bag. The outfit isn’t anything new for you, since you decided to keep your usual hoodie and sweatpants combo, but the bag isn’t something you usually carry with you.

“You’re going out?”

You flush. The surprise in her tone is just as insulting as it is completely warranted. You haven’t been one to stick around campus, or… well anywhere really, but occasionally she does get under your skin, usually the moments when she’s not trying to be mean.

“What’s it to you?”

You ask defensively.

“...nothing. Where are you going?”

She asks, a flicker of something passes through her eyes but you don’t fixate on that, too busy being offended by her constant… nearness. She’s never usually been so clingy, so the switch up is irritating as is the timing of it.

“Why do you care? You’re the one saying I’m a shut-in all the time.”

You snap.

She looks mildly startled, which is ridiculous to you, did she think you wouldn’t ever get annoyed? Of course you got annoyed.

“What’s with you? You’ve been acting all weird and cagey since–”

Mila pauses before pushing into your room– without permission as usual– and walking over to the framed autograph, picking it up.

“Since this.”

She says quietly, before she turns to take in your room. Jerseys, posters, cards, caps and cutouts from fashion magazines. It's something you would have been a little more ashamed of earlier, but it's come to be something that you’re proud of. A testament to something beautiful and passionate, that hardly anyone could understand, let alone her.

“You’re insane.”

Mila says with a disbelieving laugh as she turns to look at you. You feel a faint prickle of something hot and flustered, but you shove it down. You won’t let her win, she’s always condescending down to you.

“This is why you’ve been so distant?

“It’s none of your business!”

You snap back, and you realize this is the first time in a while that you’ve raised your voice at someone. But it's annoying, she’s been annoying really.

“It’s none of my business?! Who else's business would it be? You don’t have anyone else to keep you in line!”

The words prickle uncomfortably at your skin, the way sand chafes against skin at Cádiz (where you recall he posted a picture of seagulls. It was the first thing he posted in a while). She doesn’t get it, she couldn’t possibly understand.

“I don’t need you to keep me in line, I’m perfectly fine!”

You snap.

“You’re just mad because for the first time in my life, I’ve found something that doesn’t have anything to do with you and you’re jealous!”

“I’m jealous? I’m jealous?! Of what? How deranged you are?!”

“You know what deranged is? Deranged is following me everywhere! Deranged is bothering me at every moment! I’m not deranged, you are! I might be a fan, but at least I’m not a stalker like you!”

The words leave you in a rush, and it feels therapeutic to finally let your frustration out. Though, the look on Mila’s face makes you regret it.

She looks struck, her eyes welling up and her cheeks faintly flushed before she turns away from you. It’s silent for a moment. And then she sniffles before swiping at her face.

“Fine. Go jack off into a jersey, see if I care anymore. No one else will.”

She says, her voice thick with emotion before she walks out and slams the door behind her.

You exhale quietly before looking at the tracker on your phone. Still in the same spot.

Are you a hypocrite? You think not. Unlike Mila, you’d never bother Sae, he’s your idol after all, you’d never be so callous to go up to him and bother him. You’re just… watching. Just for a little bit. Besides, Mila would get over it, with the way she treats you, she’d be a hypocrite if she didn’t forgive you.

And if she didn’t…

That was fine too, you didn’t need her, not at all. Not as long as you had the image of his eyes watching you, mildly annoyed and stern, yet still boring into you alone. So you adjust your bag before heading out of the apartment, putting your cap on and your mask on.

It’s time to see your idol, and you find the lingering guilt melts away with the excitement of seeing his natural environment.

—

It’s nice. Much nicer than the shabby campus cafe with its clean white walls, and marble flooring, with the clean counters and windows so clean it’s like they’re not even there. Though if you’re being fair, it’s not really that the campus cafe is shabby, it's more like this cafe is far too elegant for you to even be at. Which is why you’re not inside. You’re sure you wouldn’t even be let in with your shabby appearance, or even if you would be, you still wouldn’t deign to enter.

This is a place for people like him, beautiful and pristine. Not for weird girls like you, who walk around in a face mask and cap and stare through the windows. Okay, maybe not stare, you were just… observing, from a reasonable distance, that definitely didn’t warrant the waitress confusedly asking if she could help you the first time.

Nope that definitely didn’t happen.

Still, looking around makes you realize again how outclassed you are, in the literal sense. And it's honestly kind of reassuring to you that your beloved idol is being well taken care of.

Also… it also functions as a sort of treasure hunt. You try to track down the places you’ve been before, located from his rare posts, or from the posts other celebrities post with him looking absolutely unamused (cute).

You find the aforementioned cafe that you tracked down from the style of the cup and tiles in the post and snap a picture of the establishment. The tiles are perfect for catching the reflection of his face. You write. There’s a park you’ve seen in a picture from his teammates where he was in the background sitting on a bench. You take a picture of the bench and then you sit there, trying to absorb the afterglow of his presence. I wonder if his skin cells might possibly be touching mine.

There’s more too, a place where a modelling gig was, you remember seeing his form against the water and you feel blessed that the same sun that touches him touches you too. I wish I could be a ray of sunshine to trace the lines of his abs. A ledge that his hand touched, not only photographed but also taking a chip of the wood. I get to have a part of him.

You keep on going, filling your bag with precious pictures and your notebook with rambling thoughts. You start planning the scrapbook with everything you have and the few keepsakes you have would be put in select jars. (No, not for that purpose, even you had standards.) It’s after noon turns to evening when you finally think about Mila again. There’s a part of you now that feels a small lingering guilt about the way you snapped at her and you sit on a bench to contemplate.

It's far enough outside of the classier area that you feel safe enough to peel off your mask and you throw it in the trash as you think it over. Well, you still felt justified in thinking she needed to give you space, but you didn’t word it quite right. You still didn’t think you were a hypocrite though. You’d never intrude on someone else’s life. Especially not Sae’s…

He was far too perfect for someone like you to even dare to breathe next to. And admiration from afar was seemingly the only proper way to worship him.

Something shifts beside you, but you don’t bother to look up until you hear a familiar voice.

“Stupid.”

You think you’re hallucinating for a moment when the voice sounds, measured and alarmingly monotone before you jerk up, shocked, flustered and awed.

He’s next to you. On the bench. Sitting on the same bench as you. Breathing the air you are. Sae Itoshi.

You misspoke before, you still feel like this is a hallucination, or a dream brought on by delusion.

“You– uhm, what?”

You get out eloquently. Though it’s hard to think when he’s in front of you, in a black henley and track pants, a baseball cap of some nondescript team perched on his perfectly disheveled auburn locks. You’ve seen him in casual clothes of course, there are plenty of companies who want a handsome celebrity to model their clothes. But this is different, this is something he picked out himself… and you of all people got to see it.

“It’s how you introduced yourself first.”

He says deadpan, and it takes you a moment to register before you blush. It was an embarrassing moment. But he remembered.

Wait.

Shit. He remembered, that’s not good, as giddy as it makes you feel. Did he know about the tracker? Did he see you taking pictures? Around his place? Gods you hoped not.

“I uh, you– remembered me?”

You weakly ask, trying to subtly probe for information.

“Hard not to, you ate shit in front of me.”

Another blow of embarrassment, but you try to ignore that, your hands focusing on fixing your hair awkwardly, remembering that it's no doubt messy and unkempt by now.

“R–right.”

You say with a nervous giggle, your voice pitching up.

“S–so uhm, what are you doing here?”

The words immediately make you want to crawl into a hole. They come off far too interrogative and you have no idea how to make them sound less suspicious.

“Not– not that you can’t be here.”

You amend. Surely that’s better. And you see a ghost of a smile on his lips that sends both a chill and a shiver down your spine.

“A walk. You?”

He asks simply.

You feel a drop of sweat drip down your neck and you nearly faint when you see his eyes trace the drop. He knows, you’re fucked and he knows.

“I uhm– also. A walk.”

You say. Honestly, a part of you expects that he’d just call you out right now, threaten you with police intervention and then, for the cherry on top spit on you in disgust. Which would… honestly be kind of hot. But jail is not hot. You’re not even sure if Mila would visit you.

He doesn’t say anything surprisingly after that though, and you both sit there in a small lapse of silence. You wonder if this is another attempt at him getting you to speak, but after a moment longer, when your heart decides to calm down a bit, you realize it’s just a coincidence.

…maybe you could get some of his hair?

No. Bad. Have self control. But surely he wouldn’t notice if you took a few follicles off the ground when he left…

“Do you like them?”

His voice suddenly sounds, and you nearly choke on your tongue, for a moment thinking he can hear your thoughts.

“What?”

You squeak out.

“The seagulls, you’ve been looking at them.”

Have you? You didn’t even realize since your thoughts were on him, but you blink at the seagull, currently choking on a fry.

“Oh uhm–”

You struggle before you say the first thing on your mind.

“They seem like jerks.”

Immediately you remember that he liked seagulls enough to post a picture of them, so you quickly blurt out something more positive, your voice cracking slightly.

“But they’re pretty!”

He doesn’t react for a moment, and you think you’ve fucked it up. But then something miraculous happens.

Sae smiles.

Your world stops for a moment, and you feel almost off balance, dizzy. It’s like the heavens have opened up to bless you with that curve of his lips and you wonder what great deed you’ve done in another life to have deserved this. The way his eyes soften has you wondering how anyone could function after seeing such a sight. Maybe that was the reason he seldom smiled, because its power was world shaking.

Blindly, your hand reaches for your bag almost unconsciously, to snap a picture of this perfect moment. Common sense slams into you the moment your hand touches the warm leather and you yank your hand back on instinct.

It’s like a horror movie, when your finger accidentally hooks against the strap of your bag, and you can only watch in horror as the bag slips from the bench and hits the ground, the open flap sending the photos tumbling onto the ground.

Reflex catches up after a moment of shock, and you immediately hop off the bench to gather the photos with a panicked noise. This is the worst possible scenario, and you feel yourself spiraling harder.

To your horror, he gets off the bench to help you before your pictures fly away in the wind, a kind gesture that you wish he wouldn’t do, despite the way it makes your heart dangerously flutter again.

If it was anyone else. Anyone else. The pictures would look harmless. Just places.

But he knows. And you know he knows when he pauses to look at the ones on the ground, and though you’re trying to shovel your pictures in the bag, his mind, raised on instinct, clicks the picture together.

“What,” He starts, and you feel your heart plummet as you freeze. “Is this?”

Consequence

You thought you would be in jail. Which you might still be going to. But you’ve somehow found yourself in his penthouse with him looking disapproving at you, with evidence of your tracker, your pictures and your phone on the table. A table that’s rather sparsely decorated from your point of view much like the rest of his house.

It’s honestly a little disappointing, you were hoping to snag something before you were led away in handcuffs, but the walls are bare and there’s hardly even a single knickknack in sight. The most decorative things you’d seen were a picture of him and his brother stuck to his fridge (which even you wouldn’t steal) and a salt and pepper shaker. The rest of the place is a modern beige nightmare with the only beautiful things in it being him and the view from his window.

Which is what you’re currently staring out of, since the view of Spain in the evening with the faint lights starting to flicker out of the buildings as the sun sets is a much easier sight to take in than the man burning a hole in your head for stalking him. Legally stalking him, you would argue, morally, you felt like you were only observing.

“How long are you going to look out that window?”

He says, his tone impatient yet almost gentle, like a disappointed teacher. It makes your heart lurch in your chest.

“...I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

You say back and then cringe. You’ve been apologizing all the way up to his room, trying to fumble out explanations, but he’s stayed silent, just dragging you into the elevator and up the stairs. Normally, you would be scared. But it’s Sae, and he could tie you up and stab you and you’d thank him.

“Stop apologizing and look at me.”

He says, which you figure is a fair point.

There’s a lingering question in your mind of what you’re even doing here, but you’re trying not to take this moment for granted. Hesitantly you turn to face him, your face red and you take in his face. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and your eyes long to trace his defined muscles but you catch yourself before you can.

“Finally.”

Sae murmurs under his breath before he fixes you with a look so severe you immediately straighten up like you’ve just been reprimanded. It’s… very attractive. But you’re really trying to be good here lest you end up in a prison with a roommate named Bubbles who chews concrete for breakfast.

“I had a feeling it might be you.”

He starts, his voice holding your attention like he’s pulling on a leash.

“The tracker was obvious. No one else but my manager had touched my bag, but you looked harmless enough. I figured I’d wait until you inevitably ran into me on “accident” before I confronted you.”

Sae’s eyes narrow.

“But you never did. You just looked. Always.”

You feel weirdly like you’re being scolded for not taking that initiative, but you have no idea why that would be the case.

“Instead… this.”

He says almost disdainfully, looking at the collection of pictures on his coffee table before picking up your notebook. You feel your cheeks burn as you fight the urge to yank it back. But surely he wouldn’t–

“The tiles are perfect for catching the reflection of his face, I wonder if his skin cells might possibly be touching mine.

He reads out, looking unimpressed as he flicks his eyes back to you. You’re not sure if you want to die or live in this moment forever.

“I wish I could be a ray of sunshine to–”

“I’m sorry!”

You blurt out, your eyes filling with pricks of tears that blur your vision of his perfect face. Mila was right, you were crazy and weird and you were going to die alone.

“I shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have followed you– or tracked you– but I wasn’t–”

You pause feeling foolish and stupid as you wipe your eyes. You don’t mean to cry but you can’t help the emotions welling up.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything– I just… I wanted to see you. I swear– it wasn’t like that–”

You babble, and you’re so busy trying not to look like you’re guilt tripping him, that you don’t notice the change in his posture. Or the way his eyes almost sharpen when he sees your tears.

“Quiet.”

Sae says, and you immediately shut up, trying to compose yourself, though you’re sure you look a mess with your frizzy hair, runny nose and glassy eyes. Though, you hardly think it matters anyway with the situation you’re in.

“You put a tracking device in my bag. You followed me to where I live.”

He says. And you’re both confused and flushed when he leans in instead of pulling away or calling the police, his hands on the table making forearms flex in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

“You don’t think you can just get away with this sort of behavior, do you?” He murmurs.

Blinking, you slowly shake your head, your heart skipping a beat.

He doesn’t smile, but you can still tell he’s pleased.

“Here’s how this is going to work.” He starts. “I want you on my bed, clothes off, or I’m going to turn you in to the police.”

The world stops for a moment as you blink up at him. He wanted… This is bad. Objectively bad. And you’re hopelessly turned on despite yourself. You can feel yourself clenching at his words, and you hitch over a gasp. There are too many emotions to process, so you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“O–on your bed?”

It seems obscene to you that you should be in the place where he sleeps, where he’s naked, where he probably grips the length of himself, stroking himself until–

Sae lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously amused and you squirm slightly.

“Who else’s?”

“B–but–”

He picks up his phone.

“Ah– yes sir!”

You blurt out before practically zooming towards his bedroom. He tracks you with his eyes, subtly amused, but you’re more turned on by the fact that he’s looking at you at all.

His bedroom is equally as sparse as the rest of his house, save for a desk and a chair with a laptop on it. Yet it still smells like him, an unmistakable masculine scent of cinnamon and cedar, and you feel your hands shake as you fumble with the buttons of your pants.

It’s no secret to anyone that you’re not… the most experienced. Still, experience aside, its different knowing that it’s him who will be looking at you. You naked. On his bed.

This is a dream and a nightmare.

The pants are shucked off before you pull off your hoodie and you hesitate before unclasping your bra. It’s terrifying as much as it is thrilling and you swallow before taking your underwear off, cringing when you see the string of slick stuck to your pair. Gods you’re gross. But you hesitantly seat yourself on his bed, your legs clamped shut and your hands over your chest that feels as hot as your face.

Sae takes his time coming in, and you feel a pulse run from your heart to your pussy when he walks in.

He looks at you but you don’t look at him until he averts his gaze before you hesitantly look up.

Sae is staring blankly at your clothes, that you neatly folded and put in the corner of his room so not to intrude on his space. You swear you see his lips twitch up before his eyes catch yours filled with an emotion that you can’t read, but still react to.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He says, but there’s a warmth that makes you squirm a little as he nears the bed, his hands resting on either side of your thighs and his face nearly touching yours.

“All that looking, but you can’t handle me doing the same?” His breath brushes against your forehead and you bite back a moan. “Hands off, (Name).”

The command isn't half as startling as the realization that he remembered your name and you find yourself slowly lowering your hands with a hitched breath feeling the air of the room gently brush against your sensitive skin.

You feel his gaze as a weight as his eyes dip to your chest, and you squeeze again helplessly, sparks shooting through you. His hand lifts from its station at your thigh and you let out a whimper when his hand, warm and calloused, settles on the fat of the curve of your right breast, his thumb brushing up slowly against your painfully stiff nipple making you mewl.

“Look at you.” He murmurs, and you shudder from the almost patronizing tone in his voice. You think it must be at least. “Hiding all of this behind those frumpy clothes, you must have known that you’d drive someone crazy.”

You choke on an embarrassed noise. You thought he’d be more harsh, that he would be the type to spit insults at you and throw you around, but this feels even more cruel, the way he’s putting you on the spot like a bug under a magnifying glass, burning under the heat of the sun.

“Mhm? Don’t believe me?”

He asks, more so rhetorically since you’re not in a state to respond yet and then he blows on your nipple, the sudden cool breath making you jolt up with a gasp.

“See? You’re so sensitive. Anyone could just ruin you.”

“T–that’s not–”

You attempt to protest, wanting to explain that no one has ever looked at you in such a way, but his thumb flicks your nipple and you squeak, cutting yourself off as you feel a rush of molten heat burn through you to coil between your thighs.

“No? I think you’re lying.” He murmurs before moving you from the edge of the bed to the center, and you feel yourself squirm as your oversensitive skin drags against the light sheets, his rough hands easily moving you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. “Your body is begging for more isn’t it? You desperate little thing.”

You shudder, your pupils blowing out slightly.

He smiles faintly.

“Even my words work you up. Aren’t you eager? I wonder what would happen if I…”

He trails off and before you can question him, he leans down further and lets his mouth latch onto your other neglected nipple, sucking it into the hot wet cavern of his mouth and you squeal, arching your back as your hands fist into the back of his shirt without thinking. You feel a sharp spark of pleasure that nearly pushes you into tears again. You’d let go after your mistake of touching him, or you planned to, but he sucks again before pulling back and blowing air on the spit.

Sae switches to your right again and you squirm as your hips try not to rut into the bed. You’re dangerously wet by now, and you know you’re leaving wet stains on his bed. The realization that sends a heat of mortification paired with his almost worshipful suckling are too much.

You let out a noise you’re sure you’ve never made before and he pulls back, a strand still sticking to his lips.

“You are a liar.” He says lowly. “You were made to be touched. And I’m going to touch you everywhere. Even where you’re most filthy.”

For a moment, the meaning is lost on you, but you understand soon enough when he grasps your thighs and wrenches your legs apart, a yelp leaving you as you’re suddenly exposed to his gaze as your back hits the bed. A mortified flush burns through you, though you already knew you were dripping on the bed because now he could see the way your slick dripped from your swollen lips through the thick bush of your slick hair and down towards your ass. You try to close your legs, but he holds them open with ease, a low sound of appreciation sounding through him.

“Fuck– you’re dripping.” He mutters under his breath, and his eyes sharpen as he sees your walls clench at his voice, slick squeezing out.

“That’s for me?”

He asks, and you don’t want to, but you nod anyway, embarrassed tears in your eyes.

He smiles at this. A real smile, but distinctly different from what you’d seen at the park.

“You little pervert.” He says, leaning in face first before taking a long inhale of your musk through his nose pressing against your bush. You jolt at that, a hopelessly embarrassed noise leaving you.

“St– no– it’s–”

He reaches out and flicks your clit, a loud yelp leaving your lips before you can finish your sentence from the almost stabbing pleasure that shoots through you.

“Don’t say useless things. This is mine, I’ll do what I want with it.”

You want to shake your head again, but he moves his face between your legs, his hot tongue pressing against the tight puckered entrance of your rear before he licks all the way up through the crevice through your folds and finally to your clit. You lurch off the bed, a strangled scream leaving your lips as your hands fist in the sheets.

“Waahh– Sae–!”

You try to protest, but he’s ravenous suddenly with just one taste and he delves into your folds with hungry lips, hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he starts to thrust his tongue into your folds. The wet from his saliva and the wet of your slick mix together, making the sounds more amplified by the way he noisily slurps and sucks. The sounds only make it feel more lewd, but you can’t let go of the sheets to cover your ears, to block out your own helpless noises.

“Ooohhh– wai– can’t–”

He doesn’t respond to your pleas, instead his finger moves to push into your plush walls which offer no resistance as they greedily suck him in, his lips focusing on sucking at your oversensitive engorged clit. His finger sinks deeper than yours ever did, hitting the gummy spot inside of you that has you crying again, tears slipping down from your eyes to your hairline.

“Augh–” You sob out, crying as he continues to thrust his finger in and out, another thick one pushing in to join the first, the pressure only mildly uncomfortable until it’s forgotten under his clever tongue.

His fingers piston in and out, starting to pick up speed with a wet shlick every time he pulls them out only to plunge back in, the sensation making a warm coil pull taut within you. You’re going to cum. On his beautiful face. The thought makes you sob out loud. The sob makes him even more voracious as he starts to curl his fingers up.

The new sensation of him stroking that spot, timed with a tender suck, and you’re over the edge, your eyes rolling back and your mouth parting in a soundless scream as you come over his face. He doesn’t stop, but you can feel his smile as he continues his actions, making you ride out the heated feeling of getting absolutely wrung out. The oversensitivity is as delicious as it is painful and you’re letting out pitiful whimpers when he finally pulls back, having found your voice after the initial wave.

His face is covered in your juices, come and saliva dripping down his chin with eyes blown out, and as dazed as you are, you reach out to wipe the mess away from his face. Sae catches your hand before you reach his face, and he looks at you dead in the eyes before licking up a stripe from the palm of your hand to the tips of your fingers sucking them into his mouth. You clench before you can stop yourself from the way his tongue laves over your fingers and a helpless whine leaves you.

“Look at you.”

He says, his voice rough and low after he releases your fingers with a wet pop.

“Pretty thing, all fucked out.”

You hitch over a noise and he pulls his pants and boxers down without preamble, showing his impressive swollen length, angry red and dripping with precum, a bush of maroon above it like a crown, and you’re both awed and slightly disgruntled that he doesn’t realize how gorgeous his cock is. How important he is.

“Hypocrite.”

Sae says, and you don’t know what he’s talking about as you look up at him.

“You have a rotten personality.”

He murmurs, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the most exquisite way. You blink at him wide eyed from the whiplash of praise to insult.

“It keeps everyone away from you doesn’t it? Pushes them out? I’m glad.”

It’s an insult. It’s definitely an insult that pries at a hurt you’ve felt your entire life from being so unsettling. But from him, the way he molds the words with that edge of possessiveness at the end, it feels like the most earnest compliment you’ve ever heard in your life.

You let out a wounded noise, tears slipping down your face and you feel the way his dick twitches from the sound. But he doesn’t thrust into you. Instead he slowly hovers over you carefully brushing away your tears with his hands and rubbing himself against your entrance.

“Shhhh it’s okay.”

He soothes, moving to kiss your forehead in a move that has you sniffling again from the tenderness.

“My pretty pervert.”

He coos softly, and you finally just give in, moving to wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

“S–Sae–”

You blubber out, and he hums, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to your lips.

“I know, I’ll make you feel good.”

He murmurs before he finally pushes himself into you, achingly slow and painfully gentle. Pushing inch by inch, it almost seems like torture because you just want him in you as soon as possible. But he’s making it good. For you. Like no one else will.

You sob when he finally fills you up, feeling impossibly full and horribly aware of yourself in a spotlight that both passes you by and that you’ve been running from.

“I know.” He repeats slowly, a low moan leaving his lips before he slowly starts drawing back, and rocking back in. You clench around him in answer and he swears, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check as he continues his slow pace.

You fist in his shirt, this time without shame and abandon as he starts to speed up, the wet noises that seemed so unbearable to you soon melting into the background of breath moans and grunts, the only things you process being his eyes, warm and green and the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls and hitting that sweet spot over and over.

“Sae–”

You blubber his name again and again and each time he answers with a kiss or a soothing murmur. He goes faster, making you cry out with the snap of his hips against yours, but his lips find yours soon after, his tongue slipping into your mouth to plunder and claim, something that you let him take willingly, sucking his tongue back before letting him plunder you.

He thrusts and thrusts, and you feel like you’re dreaming or maybe somewhere between reality and death, the same tightening feeling starting to form again, and you wail as he starts driving you towards that peak. Over and over harder and harder– the slaps of skin on skin, the catch of his teeth on your lips, his eyes–

You let out a scream that doesn’t even sound like yours, the world blacking out for a long moment, even though you still feel the overstimulated thrusts as he chases his own high, swearing again as you squeeze him for all his worth.

He spills inside of you with a hiss, and a sudden distant part of you realizes he has no condom on and worries he might knock you up, but the worry melts into bliss as you feel his spent trickle out of you. He’d never be able to get rid of you then. And you’d feel worse about that thought if he didn’t let out a breathless laugh.

His eyes crinkle slightly as he looks down at you with an expression you’re learning to recognize as fond.

“Crazy girl. Thinking of babytrapping me?”

You hesitate, feeling him still inside of you, soft and yet still perfect.

You nod.

His dick twitches inside of you in answer, making you gasp.

“Stupid.”

He mutters under his breath and he pulls you into another kiss, this time more heat and tongue as you melt under him.

Beyond yourself, on the desk in his room, the laptop camera doesn’t flinch as it catches the shared passion, unrelenting in its stare as it stores the data.

Like he didn’t notice you before. The way you stammered when you first met him, the way you tried so sneakily to hide that tracker in such an obvious spot, the way you looked around his neighborhood with such reverence as you worshiped his traces. Sae isn’t normally so greedy, but when something as precious as you wanders into his area, offering yourself up like that he can’t hold back.

He finds it amusing that you think he would even give you the chance to leave.

kandyrezi

oh shit this was great from start to finish!!!!!!!! I was reading this as my bedtime story, so I hope I sound at least somewhat cohesive as I'm typing this lol. Your writing style has become somewhat recognizable to me as well, it nearly always has a bit of romantic poeticism, interrupted with abrupt dark humor. It's such a treat. The words flow smooth like honey, so it's very pleasing to read and easy to follow along and get lost in.

I love, love your reader character, btw!!! Morally-gray!reader is seriously underrated, so it was a treat to read them being a nasty little gremlin, to put it mildly (･ω<)☆ also, I love the descriptions of the world building. Kept me immersed all the way.

Great story! Can't wait to impose more deadlines on you in the foreseeable future! (^人<)〜☆

#stalker x 'victim who's as bad or worse actually' is such a great trope tbh #fic recs

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smooth moves, priest.