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Summary
“That was me, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you say, flushing with shame.
She hums, contemplative, lifting one hand to smooth some hair out of your face. “Well, what do we say?” she prompts, leaning toward you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, after a moment, heart ticking up. Her hand still on your waist squeezes, as if to catch it before it runs off.
“Good girl,” she says, cupping your cheek in her cold hand, thumb on your bottom lip before she pulls back and steps into your father’s office.
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Or: the one where your father invites a guest over for business but she has a strange fascination with you. CARMILLA!AU