#but i find such a comfort in the familiarity of the trees and things here. it's like being a little kid going out to the bush shack again

[ehlnofay]

you should all come to australia. not because it's a particularly good place to visit it's just my place and I like it

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[etherealval]

༉‧₊˚✧

you and matt sit in the car, the engine turned off, parked in the driveway. the house is right there, porch light glowing softly, but neither of you make a move to get out. you had just came back from watching a movie together, but after a few hours of much needed time together. neither of you were ready to step out into the house just yet, where chris and nick, were probably waiting.

“they’re gonna start bugging us so much” you say with a soft laugh, glancing at matt. he’s slouched back in his seat, his head resting comfortably, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“yeah, they’re definitely gonna give us a hard time,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “they’ve been home all night. they’re probably bored out of their minds.”

you both know that once you walk inside, chris and nick will be ready with questions and playful teasing about your night out. but right now, it’s just the two of you in the car, and it feels like you’ve carved out this little pocket of peace for yourselves. there’s no rush, no pressure to go inside and face the noise.

matt shifts in his seat, turning slightly toward you. “we don’t have to go in yet,” he says, his voice low and soft, like it’s your little secret. “we can stay out here a bit longer.”

you smile, your heart warming at the suggestion. “i’m okay with that.”

the air in the car is calm, the only sounds being the occasional car passing by in the distance and the faint hum of crickets outside. the night is cool, the moon hanging low over the trees, but mostly, you’re focused on matt. his presence is comforting, grounding, and the way his hand slowly finds yours makes your heart skip a beat.

“tonight was fun,” he says quietly, his fingers gently intertwining with yours, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. it’s such a small, simple gesture, but it feels so intimate, so sweet.

“it really was,” you reply, leaning back in your seat, still holding his hand. “i don’t mind staying out here a little longer.”

matt chuckles softly, then shifts closer to you. his free hand reaches up, gently tucking a stray curl behind your ear. the way his eyes met yours, soft and full of warmth, made your heart flutter.

“they can wait,” he murmurs, his voice a little lower now. and before you can say anything, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, soft kiss.

the world outside fades away. it’s just the two of you now, wrapped up in each other. the kiss is gentle but filled with that familiar warmth that makes your chest flutter. you kiss him back, your hand squeezing his just a little tighter, wanting to stay in this moment for as long as you can.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing a little slower, content to stay close. the car, the house—it all feels distant, like the only thing that matters is this quiet space between you.

“we should do this more often,” you say softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, the warmth of him comforting.

“yeah,” he whispers, pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head. “we definitely should.”

for a while longer, you stay there, stealing a few more quiet moments before you both finally decide head inside.

taglist: taglist : @heartsforvin, @nativegirltapes , @sturncakez , @matts-myloverboy , @mattsbitchh , @zay-sturns ,@ilyttmatsa

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[clockwayswrites]

Die Screaming, Live Laughing

Danny/Tim, Cyan, Wind through tree branches/Windchimes @wisteriavines @darkstarsapocalypse (I saw you before you changed that! Twins!)

cw:bar parent fentons, more temporary character death, bones

The faint, mechanical whir under his fingertips as he spins the camera lens comforts Tim. The fiddling is familiar from the years of following Bats and crime across the city. The rooftops of Gotham are an environment that he’s far more familiar with than here. Here is nothing but endless trees and leaves.

Well, somewhere here is also the campgrounds and Bernard, Ives, Steph, and Cass; but that’s far out of sight and almost out of mind. It’s easy, as he listens to the wind rustle through the trees, to feel like nothing exists but the trees and Tim and his camera.

He spins the lens again.

Ostensibly, the four of them are in these woods to find Mothman. Which would be cool! But even Tim, who proposed this whole thing, knows that it’s just an excuse for the four of them to do something away from Gotham. To do something to make actual use of their summer between high school and college.

If Tim went to college, that is.

He’d been accepted, sure, but he… he just didn’t know if he wanted to. It felt like there were more important things to be doing than college. College was sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about a subject that Tim could crash course himself on with the right library access in a month. It also meant new people and new noises and maybe even a new home. None of that sounds great, really. Moving in with Bruce to Wayne Manor had been enough change, thank you very much.

Tim’s foot catches on something and he does a half step to keep his balance. He expects to see a tree root when he glances down. It’s bone instead. That’s not… unexpected. They had already seen deer in the woods, the creatures got stupidly close to the campsite. It would make sense that with the big rains the few weeks before, there could have been old remains uncovered. But there’s something…

The dirt brushes away easily from the surface of the bone and, with a little digging, Tim is able to pull it free of the earth.

This isn’t a deer bone.

Tim knows this shape.

This is human. A femur.

“You have to be careful where you’re walking out here.”

Tim stands and spins, the femur held like his staff would be.

The speaker is leaning against a tree several feet away. The golden, setting sun backlights them, making them look almost angelic with how they’re wreathed in light. They’re hard to look at.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says, plastering on a nervous smile that was only half for show. How did they sneak up on him? That should have been impossible with the leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor. “Do you run into animal skeletons a lot out here?”

“Not really,” they say with a shrug before they start forward towards Tim. Their steps are silent. “I don’t really get around. And also, that’s not an animal skeleton.”

“No?” Tim’s grip on the femur tightens. “How do you know that?”

“How? Well, that’s because it’s mine!”

Tim swings.

The femur goes right through the stranger.

“Sorry! Little intense, I get it!” They back up a step and raise their arms. The dappled sunlight shines right through their hand. Shines right through them like the stranger is just made out of gossamer. “I get it, but be careful with that, please? It’s my arm! Or leg? No, leg.”

“Leg, it’s a femur,” Tim says, his mouth running without him as his brain works.

“Leg. Ancients, I miss having legs. And arms… and, well, anything solid really,” the stranger sighs. “I am sorry for scaring you. Just… it’s hard not to get a little intense when someone is holding one of my bones, you know?”

“Oh shit! That’s right, sorry,” Tim stammers as he hurries to put the femur back down on the disturbed earth. “Do you— I mean, should I rebury it? Did the rains washing away the earth, um, wake you up?”

“Kinda?” They tilt their head as they crouch down next to Tim.

It’s clear now, as they move a bit out of the light, how transparent they are. It’s like in the shadow they lose tangency. Their hair is still just as blinding, being bright white in a way that’s really beautiful. They reach out to touch the femur but stop short.

“I’m tied to my bones. It’s why they dumped them all the way out here. After they killed me, I mean, all the way killed me, I haunted the fuck out of them. And yeah, sure, they could hurt this form of me too, but I always found a way out and then it all started again. Burying my bones was the only way to get rid of me, and those fuckers didn’t even scratch me a headstone in the tree or anything. Some parents, huh?”

“Holy— yeah,” Tim says. Looking back down at the other partially exposed bones he has to swallow back a wave of sadness. “Is that a yes to covering them up?”

“Actually… I’d like you to dig them up. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get justice or whatever, but I’d… I’d like to be somewhere proper and under my name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“Danny.”

“Okay, Danny,” Tim gives a little nod and starts digging. “My friends and I will get you somewhere you feel safe. I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Danny doesn’t help dig. He can’t, he explains as Tim and him talk. While his bones are buried, he’s not able to interact with them or else he would have gotten them out of there a long time ago. They learn together that as soon as the bones are free and set gently aside that Danny can touch them.

Tim never thought he’d see someone so emotional over a tibia, but Tim can’t blame the guy. Tim figures he’d be emotional over his own bones too.

The big bones are the easiest. The ribs Tim is extra careful with. The fingers are weirdly like peanut shells in his hand. (He’s not going to eat pb&j for weeks now.) Danny chats the whole time, asking Tim about the world. Tim feels wholly inadequate to catch someone up like that, but when conversation turns to technology Tim settles into a rhythm.

It also lets them figure out that while Danny died just shy of nineteen, he’s apparently spent almost two decades in the ground. He still looks just shy of nineteen. He looks like he should be in the forest for the same reason that Tim is, celebrating the end of one era and the start of the next. Danny should be looking to the future, not mourning it.

It makes Tim pause when he finally unearths Danny’s skull. What would it have been like to see Danny smile? To hear him laugh without that faint echoing quality that he has as a ghost? To touch him?

“I’m sorry,” Tim says and holds out the skull. Danny’s skull.

“Thank you,” Danny whispers. His hands tremble as he reaches out towards the skull. He crumples forward before he can touch it, a sob tearing through him.

“I’ll make sure you’re somewhere nice.

“Thank you.” Danny lets out a breath he doesn’t have and sags forward the last inch. His forehead bumps against the skull.

Then he keeps going forward.

The world explodes into light.

-

“Tim?!”

“Are you sure he’s still alive?”

“You can see him breathing, Bernard.”

“Pulse.”

“Tim!”

Tim gasps awake and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. His friends and sister stand clustered above him. It has gotten dark and their flashlights are blinding.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

“Ow.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Steph sighs. “Hey Tim, who the fuck is that?”

“Wha—” Fuck his head hurts. Who the fuck is who?

Oh, the person laying in his arms. The person who’s solid and warm and alive.

Tim starts laughing.

“Okay, maybe a little not okay,” Steph amends.

“Is he ever?” Tim hears Ives mutter.

“Guys,” Tim interrupts them discussing his status once he can breathe again. “This? This is Danny.”

“Being alive again hurts,” Danny mumbles against Tim’s neck and Tim can’t help it, he just starts laughing again.

Being alive does hurt, but fuck if that isn’t wonderful sometimes.

---

AN: So this one got away from me a little but, uh... tada? I was planing to have it all explained more, but once Danny didn't purposefully do it, that didn't fit. Basically all if his frankly absurd powers and as a ghost got jump started by his skull and Tim's lifeforce and tada? 100% pulled some from Tim's Gotham Knights character where he's an awkward little bean who is so not neurotpyical. Him and Bernard taking a vacation to hunt Mothman is from that too.

Anyways, stay delightful, darlings!

[pucked-bunnie]

un-offical ⎜j.hughes

pairings: jack hughes x reader genre: romance ⎜situationship to lovers ⎜christmas special ⎜ warnings: readers ex being a jerk ⎜ jack being a doberman boyfriend ⎜ this is honestly just short and sweet synopsis: things with jack are complicated at the best of times - but they're about to get even worse when he meets your ex boyfriend at your families annual christmas party word count: 3.9k authors note:  this was a combination of two requests i thought went really well together - I hope you all enjoy!! Happy Christmas season!

(unedited)

+

+

“Hon, there is someone at the door for you.” Your mum calls through the house, her voice casual yet carrying that sing-song lilt she used when she knew something was about to stir up excitement. You shoot to your feet, the soft rustle of your dress swishing against your ankles as you jog to the front door. You give her a quick nod of thanks as she drifts away, leaving you alone to handle the unexpected arrival. Standing in front of the door, you take a steadying breath, smoothing your dress and running a hand through your hair to make yourself look a bit more composed. Then, with a slight smile, you pull it open.

“Hey, didn’t think you’d make it,” you greet, the words sliding off your tongue with practiced ease. It’s a lie, of course. You’d been tracking his location on Find My Friends only minutes ago, and the little dot marking his presence had been slowly inching closer to your house, sending a flutter of nerves through your chest. But the moment Jack steps into view, all of those feelings morph into a warm kind of familiarity. There he stands, a neatly wrapped present in his hands, his white button-down pristine and tucked into tailored black slacks. His hair, as always, has that perfectly messy charm, and his grin is enough to light up even the frostiest winter night.

“Come in, come in, it’s freezing out there,” you say, stepping aside to usher him into the entryway. The air outside bites at your skin, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of your home, but Jack’s presence brings an added heat—an unspoken connection that’s been brewing for months.

“I managed to squeeze it into my schedule,” Jack jokes, his tone light but his eyes sincere. That, too, is a lie. You know it, and he knows it. The moment you had mentioned your family’s annual Christmas party weeks ago, he had cleared his calendar without a second thought. The idea of being here, of being with you in a space so intimate and familial, was something he couldn’t resist. “I…um, got this for you.” Jack says softly, handing over the small present. 

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air from the living room. “Is that Jack?” your younger cousin, Emily, calls out, poking her head around the corner. Her face lights up the moment she sees him, and Jack waves, his easy charm working its magic as always. You roll your eyes playfully but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s Jack,” you confirm, and she’s gone as quickly as she appeared, probably to alert the rest of the family of his arrival. Your stomach flips slightly at the thought. Having Jack here is already complicated enough, given the undefined nature of your relationship. Your family, however, has an uncanny way of reading between lines that don’t even exist yet.

"They're expecting a lot of photos tonight." You say with a chuckle - your hand reaching out to slip into his. “Don't say I didn't warn you,” you tease, leading him into the living room. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and freshly baked cookies fills the air, wrapping around the two of you like a comforting blanket. Jack’s eyes wander, taking in the twinkling lights on the tree, the garlands strung along the bannisters, and the small army of cousins bustling around in various stages of sugar highs.

Just as Jack is about to say something, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, cutting through the festive chatter like a needle scraping across a record. You freeze. For a moment, you think about ignoring it, but your mum’s voice rings out again. “Hon, could you get that?” she calls, and your stomach twists with a sense of foreboding.

You glance at Jack, who raises an eyebrow in curiosity but stays silent. With a sigh, you make your way back to the front door. The moment you open it, the air seems to drain from your lungs. Standing there, a crooked grin on his face and a bottle of wine in hand, is your ex-boyfriend.

“Surprise,” he says, his voice tinged with that familiar cocky confidence that used to charm you but now only makes your pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons. You’re too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to understand why he’s here.

“Tyler? What are you doing here?” you manage to ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Your mum invited me. Said it’d be nice to catch up.”

“Of course she did,” you mutter under your breath, stepping aside to let him in. He’s barely in the entryway when Jack appears, his presence filling the space and immediately shifting the dynamic. His warm smile fades slightly as his eyes dart from you to the man now standing too close for comfort.

“Jack, this is, uh…this is Tyler,” you say, the awkwardness of the introduction making your cheeks flush. “Tyler this is Jack.” Tyler extends a hand, his expression unreadable. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, though his tone suggests the opposite. Jack hesitates for only a fraction of a second before shaking his hand firmly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“Likewise,” Jack replies, his voice calm but his eyes sharp. The tension between them is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar,” Tyler says, his grin returning as he doesn’t wait for Jack to respond, immediately greeted by the rest of your family as he steps further into the house, leaving you and Jack standing by the door. Jack’s gaze lingers on Tyler’s retreating figure before he turns to you, his expression softening slightly.

“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Welcome to my life,” you reply, your tone half-joking but your heart pounding as you realise the evening is only just beginning.

Jack doesn’t say anything as the two of you move back toward the living room, but you can feel the shift in his energy. His easy-going demeanour has been replaced by a quiet alertness, his jaw tight, his hands slipping into his pockets as if to ground himself. You can’t blame him. Tyler has always had a way of commanding attention, whether or not it’s welcome.

And Jack? Well, Jack isn’t the type to back down from a challenge—even one that hasn’t been fully issued yet.

When you re-enter the living room, Tyler’s already making himself at home. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, chatting animatedly with your dad about some mutual interest in sports, the bottle of wine he brought resting on the coffee table like a trophy. The room buzzes with holiday cheer, but for you, the atmosphere is anything but jolly.

Jack hangs back slightly, his gaze fixed on Tyler. The subtle scrutiny in his eyes makes your stomach twist. You know Jack well enough to know he’s piecing things together, every detail adding fuel to the silent fire building between them.

You’re about to steer Jack toward the other side of the room when Tyler’s voice cuts through the conversation.

“Hold on a second,” he says, leaning back on the couch and pointing a finger in Jack’s direction. “Now I know where I’ve seen you before.”

The room goes quiet, all eyes flicking between the two men. Jack, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He merely raises an eyebrow, his posture calm but commanding.

“You’re Jack Hughes,” Tyler says, a slow grin spreading across his face as if he’s just uncovered some great secret

“New Jersey Devils, right? My buddies and I are huge fans.”

Jack offers a polite nod, his expression unreadable. “That’s me.”

Tyler lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in mock amazement. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d run into an NHL star at a Christmas party. Small world, huh?”

You feel Jack’s gaze flicker toward you for a moment, as if seeking reassurance. But before you can say anything, Tyler leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So, how do you two know each other?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes alight with something more probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but Jack beats you to it.

“We met through mutual friends,” he says smoothly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Been close ever since.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something deliberate—that makes your heart skip a beat. Tyler catches it too, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovers.

“Close, huh?” Tyler repeats, leaning back again. His gaze slides to you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s not the type to let things go easily, especially when it comes to you.

“Yup,” you say quickly, trying to defuse the tension. “Jack’s been a great friend.”

Jack’s eyes dart to you, and for a brief moment, you swear you see a flicker of something unspoken there—something that contradicts the word friend.

“Friend,” Tyler echoes, his tone light but with an edge that makes your skin crawl. He looks back at Jack, his smile widening. “Well, I guess that makes you one of the lucky ones. This family’s not exactly easy to crack into.”

Jack chuckles, the sound low and deliberate. “I guess I’ve got a knack for that.”

The subtle back-and-forth isn’t lost on anyone in the room. Your dad clears his throat and starts up a conversation with your aunt to break the tension, while your cousins exchange wide-eyed glances, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re standing on a tightrope, one wrong step away from sending the whole evening spiralling out of control.

As the night progresses, Tyler continues to insert himself into every interaction, his charm dialled up to maximum.

But Jack doesn’t back down. He’s there, steady and unshaken, his quiet confidence cutting through Tyler’s bravado in ways you’re sure only the two of them fully understand.

At one point, Tyler corners you in the kitchen under the guise of catching up. “So,” he says, his voice low as he leans casually against the counter. “Hughes seems…interesting. You two really just friends?”

You glare at him, your patience wearing thin. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Tyler says with a shrug, but the smirk tugging at his lips says otherwise. “Just curious. Guy like that, I’m sure he’s got plenty of options.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to take the bait. “Jack’s not like that.”

Tyler chuckles, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If you say so.” 

“Why are you even here, Tyler? What made you think it was a good idea to come to your ex-girlfriend’s families christmas party.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead lightly. 

“I told you, you’re mum invi—” 

“Forget the fucking invitation… A normal person would’ve said no.” You hiss, slapping his hand away as he reaches out to place it on your thigh. 

“Maybe I wanted to see if we could fix things - I miss you, baby.” Before you can respond, Jack appears in the doorway, his presence filling the small kitchen like a protective shield.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes locked on Tyler. The word ‘baby’ echoing around his head as his eyebrows furrow. You let out another long sigh, slapping at Tylers hand again as he tries to reach for you. 

“Peachy,” Tyler says, pushing off the counter and brushing past Jack with a pointed pat on the shoulder. “We’ll finish this later,” he adds, throwing the comment over his shoulder as he disappears back into the living room.

Jack watches him go, his jaw tight. Then he turns to you, his expression softening. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, though your voice wavers slightly. “He’s just…Tyler.” Jack doesn’t press further, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s not about to let Tyler ruin the night—or whatever it is the two of you have been carefully building.

As the evening winds down, the tension between Jack and Tyler remains unspoken but undeniable. And its as jack follows you around the kitchen helping place the dishes in the dishwasher at the end of the night, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of relief—like you’ve made it through a storm together.

“Thanks for coming,” you say softly, your breath visible in the cold night air.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Jack replies, his voice warm and steady. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world around you falling away. Then, with a small smile, Jack leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than they need to.

The night stretched on, the warmth of the party doing little to ease the nerves that Tyler’s presence had stirred up. He seemed determined to inject himself into every conversation, his charm dialled up for your family’s sake, but every so often, you’d catch his eyes lingering on you, his smirk creeping back like an unwanted shadow.

Jack, on the other hand, was the epitome of steady confidence. He stayed close but never possessive, moving easily among your family members, cracking jokes with your cousins, and even helping your mum carry dessert platters from the kitchen. But his watchful gaze never strayed far from you, especially when Tyler was nearby.

You did your best to avoid being caught alone with Tyler, but the tension was wearing you thin. By the time dessert had been served, you needed a moment to yourself. Slipping out the back door, you welcomed the sharp bite of the winter air, hoping it would clear your head.

The backyard was quiet, the snow glistening under the faint glow of the string lights your dad had hung along the patio railing. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cold biting through your sweater, when a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Tyler said, his tone smooth as he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed, your breath fogging in the cold. “What do you want, Tyler?”

“To talk,” he said, moving closer. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you replied sharply, backing away slightly. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Come on, babe,” he said, his grin widening. “You can’t tell me you don’t miss it. Us. The way we used to be.”

Your patience snapped. “You mean the way you used to lie and manipulate me? No, Tyler, I don’t miss that.”

His grin faltered, his eyes narrowing. “You’re being dramatic. You’re seriously going to let some hockey star replace me?” You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Tyler took another step closer, his voice dropping.

“I still love you. You know that, right? We could fix this. Just say the word.”

You froze, disgust bubbling up in your chest. “No, Tyler. There’s nothing to fix.”

He reached out, his hand brushing your arm, and you flinched away. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

“Everything okay out here?” Jack’s voice cut through the tension like a knife - for the second time that night. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on Tyler with a sharp, unreadable intensity.

Tyler dropped his hand, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just catching up,” he said casually, his tone dripping with false innocence.

Jack stepped down onto the patio, his calm demeanour doing nothing to hide the tension radiating from him. “Didn’t look like that to me.”

“Relax,” Tyler said, straightening. “We’re just talking. No need to get all territorial.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to you. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice wavered. “Tyler was just leaving.”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, really? You’re gonna let him speak for you now?”

Jack took another step forward, his posture unwavering. “She doesn’t need to explain herself to you. You heard her. Leave.”

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, and for a moment, you thought Tyler might actually swing.

But then he scoffed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’m out,” he said, brushing past Jack and bumping his shoulder in the process. “But don’t think this is over.”

As Tyler disappeared back inside, Jack turned to you, his concern evident. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest tightened as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Why did you bother stepping in, Jack? I could’ve handled it.”

Jack frowned, his expression hardening. “Because he wasn’t listening to you, and I wasn’t about to stand there and let him intimidate you.”

“I didn’t need you to play the hero,” you snapped, the adrenaline making your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.”

Jack froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something deeper—something hurt.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “You’re not. But I care about you. And I wasn’t going to let him treat you like that.”

The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, but your frustration hadn’t fully burned out. “I didn’t ask you to care, Jack. This was my problem to deal with.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m here anyway. Because I want to be. Because you deserve better than him.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the icy wind biting at your skin. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just…tired of all this.”

Jack’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm lightly. “I get it,” he said gently. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time that night, the tension in your chest began to ease. You looked up at him, your breath hitching as you met his gaze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Jack offered a small smile, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment longer before he pulled back. “Come on,” he said, his voice lightening. “Let’s get back inside before your mum starts sending out search parties.” You laughed softly, nodding as you followed him back toward the house. The warmth of the party enveloped you as you stepped inside, but the real comfort was the steady presence of the man beside you.

As the night wound down, the atmosphere in the house gradually shifted back to the cozy warmth you had hoped for. Tyler had left not long after his confrontation with Jack, throwing a half-hearted goodbye to the room before disappearing out the front door. His absence was a relief, like a storm cloud finally clearing, leaving the air lighter and easier to breathe.

Jack, ever the charmer, stayed grounded and helpful, seamlessly blending into the group. He helped your dad carry a stack of empty trays to the kitchen, indulged your youngest cousin in a surprisingly competitive game of charades, and even won over your aunt with a discussion about her favourite holiday baking show. But no matter how relaxed he seemed, his presence remained tethered to you, as though he was silently letting you know he was there, ready to step in if needed.

The evening began to quiet as guests filtered out, hugs and cheerful goodbyes exchanged at the front door. Your cousins had retreated upstairs to play video games, your parents were tidying up in the kitchen, and the glow of the fireplace bathed the living room in a soft, flickering light.

Jack stood near the mantle, inspecting one of the framed family photos with an amused smile. You watched him for a moment, your heart softening as the warmth of his presence settled over you.

“You’re really good with them, you know,” you said as you approached, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

He turned to you, tilting his head slightly. “With who?”

“My family,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I think my aunt is ready to adopt you. And my cousins… I haven’t seen them this hyped about charades in years.”

Jack chuckled, leaning casually against the mantle. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

A comfortable silence fell between you again, the crackle of the fire filling the space. You glanced around the room, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering in the air. Your gaze landed on a small sprig of mistletoe hanging above the archway leading into the foyer.

Jack followed your line of sight, his eyes landing on the mistletoe as well. A soft chuckle escaped him, and he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Really? You’re the one who leaves mistletoe up?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Blame my mum. She’s the one who insists on the ‘holiday charm.’”

Jack took a slow step forward, closing the small distance between you. His expression softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more sincere. “Holiday charm, huh?” You felt your pulse quicken as he stopped just a step away, the warmth of him radiating in the cool room. The mistletoe loomed above, a quiet reminder of the tradition it carried.

“It’s silly,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Maybe,” Jack said softly, his eyes locked on yours. “But I don’t think I mind.”

His gaze flickered briefly to your lips, and your breath hitched, the world around you fading into the background. The glow of the fire, the faint hum of holiday music from the other room—it all blurred into nothing as Jack leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you a chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and electric, a perfect blend of warmth and tenderness. Your hands found their way to his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt grounding you as the kiss deepened ever so slightly.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, a small smile curving his lips.

“If you call me your friend one more time I might throw myself off the roof,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You laughed softly, your cheeks flushing as you shook your head. “We’re not friends?.”

“Not even close.” Jack’s grin widened, and he leaned in to press another soft kiss to your lips before pulling back completely.

The sound of your mum’s voice carried from the kitchen, breaking the spell. “Hon, is Jack staying for hot chocolate before he leaves?” You exchanged a glance with Jack, both of you smiling as the moment settled between you like a secret.

“I think I’ve got time for a cup,” Jack said, his voice warm as he took your hand, leading you back toward the living room.

The night had been a whirlwind, full of tension and unexpected twists, but as you sat beside Jack on the couch, sipping hot chocolate and stealing glances at him, you couldn’t help but feel like it had all led to this—something new and quietly wonderful blossoming between you.

[sweetinsaniiity]

My Heart, I Surrender

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - intruder!san x virgin!reader ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜/𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 - smut with plot, age gap of 10 years (but both full adults), sociopathic tendencies but San is a !gentleman, suspense, somnophilia, fingering, hair-pulling, , corruption kink, breeding kink, oral sex (FL receiving), creampie, no protection (do NOT do this!), tit sucking, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, cum tasting ◄ ► 𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - MDNI, sexual assault, degrading name calling (slut, whore), heavy dubcon content , CNC, reluctance, gaslighting and manipulation to give in, fear play, loss of virginity ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 16.5K (goal was 14K but oh well) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - The most unforgettable night of your life happens when an intruder breaks in and steals your body, your innocence, and your heart. ◄

► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - If this is triggering to you, please do not continue. This is a work of fiction not meant to represent the members in real life. I DO NOT CONDONE THIS TYPE OF ENCOUNTER. This is not a go-signal for anyone to do this. This is a fantasy and IT SHOULD STAY THAT WAY. You have been warned. More notes towards the end. Join the taglist here. Title from I Prevail ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @ginger-mingi ◄

The pouring rain has always provided me with a sense of comfort I cannot even begin to explain. I wasn't sure if it was the sound of it hitting the pavement, or even the smell of it as it watered the meadow fields. Oh, the fresh scent of it when it hits my nose when I inhale brings serenity.

So here I stood under a dingy, little waiting shed where I sought shelter from the rain that I claimed to love.

I looked left and right hoping to see a bus coming while I rubbed my arms and my teeth chattered, but nothing. Even the waiting shed did absolutely nothing to shield me from the biting cold.

I sighed, instantly regretting not making it on time here for the other bus. With nothing better to do, I sat back down on the somewhat clean-ish seat that the shed provided and waited it out. If it wasn't for the rain, I would have been busy admiring the lush trees and the beautiful spring flowers that surrounded the area like I always usually did when I waited for the bus.

I perked when I saw headlights to my left through the haze, but I quickly became disappointed when I realized it wasn't my bus, it was just a car passing by.

"Damn," I deflated back onto my seat. dejected at the thought of staying in this shed for longer than I wanted to.

I stared at the oncoming car, suddenly wishing I could drive. I wouldn't be waiting if I knew how. It came faster and faster until I was able to make out its model and its colour - a sleek black.

And then it completely stopped in front of me.

I frowned, confused and then got frightened at what the owner possibly wanted. It could be anything, but the one that struck in my mind was some sick psycho that wanted to do things to me, a lone girl in a deserted area.

I cursed in my mind when I looked around and nobody was around to hear me scream for help just in case. I looked down suddenly, finding my shoes interesting, hoping that the driver would go away soon.

I bit my lip when I heard the distinct sound of a car window rolling down. Oh God, I thought nervously. Was I about to get kidnapped?

"Y/N?"

As if I wasn't nervous enough. My confusion grew not only because I heard my name out of nowhere, but that voice sounded a little too familiar.

I looked up and my heart stopped beating for a second or two. He was the kind of handsome that made me hold my breath and those chestnut eyes that stared already spoke to me before he even said a word.

"M-Mr. Choi!" I blurted out in mild surprise. I stood up and began to approach his car but quickly stumbled when I realized it was still raining. "W-What are you doing here?"

I blushed profusely when he smiled at me, it was heart-melting, especially when his dimples popped out from his cheeks. I mentally cursed myself for being this embarrassing in front of him.

"This is near my workplace," he replied. He slowly raked his eyes from my feet all the way to my face and his smile grew wider. "How long have you been waiting for the bus?" 

"Almost an hour," I replied truthfully.

His smile drops slightly and he clicks his tongue. He presses on something and I hear the click of something unlocking. "Get in," he cocked his head towards the passenger seat.

My face heats up even more if that was possible. "Oh," I squeak out. "I-I couldn't possibly impose on you, I'm fine, really."

"Please, I insist," he pauses to gauge my reaction. "I would feel awful if I just left you here stranded."

I was weighing my options, but the reality was, I was afraid he would hear how hard my heart was beating if I was to go into the same space as him, let alone something as intimate as a car.

He sighed when he saw me doubting. "We live in the same complex anyway, plus that bus won't be coming soon," he insisted.

I pursed my lips together, and it didn't escape his attention. He was right, I was the one being unreasonable. Plus, I knew him. I knew   he had pure intentions - to simply just take me home.

"Okay," I murmured, finally agreeing to his insistence.

I stopped breathing when he broke out into the widest grin. "Good," he beamed. 

I was about to move and get my stuff from the seat when Mr. Choi got out of the car and started to walk towards me through the rain. "You're going to get wet!" I tried to stop him.

"A little rain wouldn't hurt me," he shot me a wink and I almost fainted at the sight.

He passed me and I caught a whiff of his cologne, the smallest hint of it already transporting me into places I don't dare go in. He carried my stuff for me as he opened the umbrella I didn't even notice he had because I was busy looking at him.

"L-Let me carry the umbrella, at least," I offered like a decent human being. I made a move to grab the umbrella, but he quickly moved it away.

I glanced up at him and I was taken aback by the sharp and scathing look he gave me, but it was gone in less than a second. He opened the car door for me and I immediately forget about it. To his warm cologne and his even warmer actions, it was easy to like him.

"Cold?" he asked as he buckled his seatbelt. I nodded, not that I had a choice, I was literally shivering when I got in.

I murmured a small 'thank you' when he upped the heat in his car, and just like that, we drove away from that wretched waiting shed. I held in a satisfied exhale as I sank into the softest and most comfortable seat I've ever sat on.

"You said your workplace was near here?" I began to speak in hopes to fill in the awkward air. "May I ask what you do?"

"I have a startup company along with my friends downtown. You know that 7-Eleven by the corner?" I nodded slowly and he hummed. "It's near that area. I always pass this road to go home."

So that explains the aura he exuded - mature, well-put together. And, by God, the way he always dressed. Today, he wore a business suit that was tailored so well and emphasized his body. It made him look like he had power.

"You?" he continued. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, I just met up with a couple of my friends," I shrugged. "Got a little too carried away and missed my ride."

"No one offered to take you home?"

"They all live on the other side of the city, plus my complex is far. I don't mind riding the bus."

There was a moment of hesitation on his face. "I can drive for you from now on," he offered as he glanced at me side-eyed while he tried to focus on the road.

I watched him side-eyed as well, afraid to turn my head to stare at him head on. My mouth felt dry and I didn't know what to say, and there was a certain gentleness in his voice that made me want to reach out to him.

"N-No, I don't want to be a bother, Mr. Choi."

"San."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

In an instant, he turned and our eyes finally met. "Just call me San."

"I-I can't possibly do that," I muttered. I felt my heart lodge onto my throat, but I tried to play it cool. "You are my senior."

He put on the most inviting, volatile, and apathetic smirk. It was such the opposite expression to his usual gentleness. "Why?" San raised a mischievous brow. "Your boyfriend is going to get mad?"

I couldn't move, it felt like I would have to muster tremendous effort to do so, and my brain was lagging. I had to think and move well.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend," I finally uttered. His smirk grows bigger, though I chose to ignore it.

"That settles it, then," San chuckled more to himself, the sound of it so low that it brought shivers to my spine.

He noticed it and before I could turn away from him clearly flustered, a grin spread across his face and made him look even more handsome than he already was, if it was possible. I'm pretty sure my face was redder than a tomato right now.

"Are you going to be a dear and think about it, at least?" San looked left and right on the street before driving across the familiar intersection that led to the complex.

At that moment, I felt my body flush warm. I must have made a small sound of agreement because San let it go for now and finally concentrated on driving both of us. I'm not even sure, and I don't want to care right now.

It was silent, the only sound we could hear was the rain hitting the roof of the car and the heater whirring in the air. Outside there is no traffic and the light had finally gone, which might mean that it was almost nighttime. The fragile peace had taken over us, and it gave me moments to think.

Being in the car with the one and only Choi San definitely wasn't in my list of things to do today. He was well-known in the complex we lived at immediately after he moved in a couple of months ago. He wasn't my neighbour, not even close, but even he had caught my unassuming eye.

He was attractive - hot, to be frank. When he walked into the room, it seemed as if conversation stopped to sit in stunned silence, he had all of our attention and he knew it. He knew damn well we all found him attractive, yet he never let it all go into his head. He was the sweetest gentleman who always smiled and helped around without asking for something in return.

I couldn't help the admiration I felt for him, and it wasn't only me who held a high opinion of him, everyone I knew did so that automatically doesn't make my admiration anything special in itself.

Or maybe mine was something more. I quickly brushed the thought away from my mind because I knew that it was impossible. San might not even look or want somebody that was much younger than him. In this case, if I wasn't mistaken, I was a good ten years younger than him.

"You look like you want to say something," San suddenly spoke.

"Do you have a family?" I sputtered out before I could stop myself.

I was waiting for San to laugh or think I'm stupid, or perhaps make a snide remark of how nosy I was getting, but it never came.

"No, I currently don't," he replied, the gentleness he was known for back in his voice.

Which means that he's open to having one in the future.

"I see," I trailed off. I didn't know what else to say, I already got the answer to my question.

I choked on my next breath when I felt San's right hand grab my thigh. Almost robotically, my head slowly swivels to stare at him wide-eyed with unparalleled surprise. He stayed focused on the road, but I saw a ghost of a smirk grace his lips.

"Close your mouth, doll," San whispered, his voice dropping into a husky rasp. "Look away."

It took everything in me to do so and stare straight ahead on the unwinding road. The sudden grab made my heart pound so hard, the way his thumb would slowly caress my thighs left goosebumps in its wake.

"Mr. Choi," I began, trying very hard to keep my voice leveled, but we both knew that it sounded shakier than the sky right now.

He side-eyes me once more, his other hand still maneuvering the steering wheel, and raised a brow. "I told you," he griped. "It's San."

A shaky breath left my mouth when he squeezed my thigh. It was enough for me to feel it, but not enough for it to hurt - not even close. He let go momentarily and drummed his slender fingers on my thighs, instead. I swallowed as I stared at his sinful fingers, the things they could do...

"Say my name."

I snapped out of the indecent thoughts from my head before they could fully form. "Pardon?" I questioned.

He chuckled, this time, those dimples of his popped out again. I could have sworn my heart leapt out of my chest. "I said," San spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Say my name."

"B-But--"

"Say it."

I gasped when he squeezed my thigh with more pressure. It still didn't hurt, but something else of mine hurt. "Okay, okay," I sighed. "S-San."

His lips stretched into a satisfied grin and he finally let go and kept his hand to himself. "Good girl," he smiled.

The hair on my nape prickled at the way San's voice - deep, thick, and most of all, powerful - but that wasn't even the worst part. He was smiling, and that smile was something he reserved when he was being the sweetest, most precious gentleman everybody knew him to be.

What have I gotten myself into? Was he not who everybody, including me, thought he was? My chest was about to explode, my hands were getting clammy and I was close to hyperventilating as I leaned closer to the door to try and avoid him.

Soon enough, we reached the apartment complex and he had slowly stopped the car in front of my apartment. I don't know how he knew where I lived, but at this point, I was not even going to ask. I might hear something I was not ready to hear.

"T-Thank you," I mumbled and hurriedly grabbed my things so I could get the hell out of his car as fast as humanly possible. There was no way I was staying in it longer - it was suffocating.

I speedwalked immediately away and I was about to be completely out of his sight when he stopped me and called me back. "Y/N, wait."

I cursed under my breath and begrudgingly looked back at him with an expectant gaze. The tremors in my heart upped when I saw that beautiful smile I always found attractive on him.

"I'll see you later, doll," he said with hopeful vigor. Did I want to see him again?

"I highly doubt it," I nervously tucked a stray hair out of my face to avoid looking at him. At the end of the day, he was kind enough to take me home but it ended there. We had nothing in common and there was no way he would look at me like that.

He smirked, the dark look in his eyes made me shrink from where I stood. "You never know."

He definitely doesn't mean that. Right?

I didn't bother to watch his car drive off. I quickly ran into my apartment and straight into the shower in record time to take the grime off of my body and hopefully, relax.

That was wishful thinking on my part. There was absolutely no way I could erase that odd encounter with San from my brain in the next few weeks. 

I stood still in the shower and let all the water flow from my scalp all the way down to my toes. Heat filled my entire body when I stared at the section where San had squeezed my thighs. It was slightly pink from the pressure, something that would face away in a couple of minutes.

The way his personality would switch in a matter of seconds creeped the living hell out of me. He went from being so endearing to something else completely that went over my brain capacity.

I frowned, not fully able to comprehend how San was as a person. This is exactly why you should never take a person at face value - they might end up surprising you in ways you never thought was even possible.

I dried my hair, still in a daze. Usually I would spend some time with skin and body care, but tonight I didn't care enough to even make an effort, so after I was done with my hair, I put on my favourite silk nightgown.

I decided to sit down momentarily on the couch to do some deep thinking, but that ended up being a dud. Within moments, I was asleep.

I stirred awake in the middle of the night, I was confused, I was the type who slept like a log once I'm out - this means I usually never wake up in between my sleep, if not, at all. I tried to shake the confusion and moved my arm towards the bedside table to grab my phone.

'4:20 A.M.'

I groaned softly, frustrated at the fact that it's dead in the night and I was sentient. I had to work in a few hours and I never did well when my sleep pattern was disturbed. I willed myself to sleep and put the blanket over my head.

I opened my eyes, startled. Blanket?

I tried to make sense of what my mind was slowly realizing. I was in bed when I knew for a fact that I had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago.

My brain alerted me into panic and this time, I was fully awake. Maybe I had walked to my bed half asleep and I just didn't remember it? Impossible. I was a heavy sleeper, I would have definitely remembered if I got up unceremoniously. So the question was, how am I here, and how long have I been here?

I sat up, rubbing my eyes timidly to will the sleepiness away from me. Maybe I have just been stressed out at work and am blacking out sometimes, which was worrying if that really was the case.

I looked at the couch I was in and everything was fine, except for the dark figure sitting down on it. I stared for a few minutes before shaking my head.

"Definitely tired," I mumbled to myself, disoriented, before laying back down and trying to fall back asleep. I wonder what that was...

My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized what the hell I just saw and I opened my eyes once more, this time, the sleepiness was fading away. A dark figure sitting on my couch?

How long has it been here just watching me sleep? I stiffened, the energy in the room felt absolutely different. I stayed still, listening quietly if something would be moved or if I was really imagining things. 

But nothing. Just the thick, sinister silence that enveloped the room. With mild unease slowly creeping up to me, I chose to stay still in fear, hoping that this was only a dream and that thing was a figment of my imagination.

Except that I knew it wasn't. I knew it was a person. I saw that it was a man. He was sitting comfortably on my couch with his arms crossed, watching me sleep.

My worst fears came to life when I heard a shuffle and the distinct sound of somebody getting up from the couch. My heart started beating frantically when I felt the bed dip behind me. I tried not to flinch at the sudden intrusion, I tried not to breathe either.

Who was in my bed? How in the world did they even get in? I was a thousand percent sure I locked the door when I came home too, so how? Luckily, the only other entrance to my apartment - my window - was in my direct view, and my heart dropped when I saw that it was wide open.

'Please, go away, please,' I prayed inside my head, but things never really worked out like that, didn't they?

I felt a large hand touch my leg, its presence leaving a burning feeling upon my skin. It stayed there for what seemed like forever until it gently lifted the blanket up a bit so the hand could slide up my skin.

I tried to remain unmoved as my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening and I almost let out a whimper when I felt the rough hand slowly caress my skin and it wept higher until it stopped at my clothed thigh. His hand was dangerously close to my core and it was terrifying.

I shut my eyes as tightly as possible, the dread of waiting what he was going to do next making me want to pass out in extreme horror. 

He did the unexpected - he lifted his hand away from my thigh and I would have been relieved, but I felt the mattress dip even more and I can tell from the movement that he was trying to climb the bed and stay next to me.

Tears started to pool in my eyes, I was petrified in fear. I heard the man sigh softly as he slowly started to stroke my hair in the warmest and gentlest manner. I stopped breathing when his fingers slowly started to trace my face - my cheeks, lips, nose.

"I know you're awake," I heard him whisper, cutting through the dead silence.

I willed myself to open my eyes and it took a while for them to adjust, but the panic seeps into me nonetheless when I saw him. He was sitting tentatively beside me, and since he was against the light, I still couldn't see his face clearly.

But I can tell he was huge. There was no way I could fight him.

"Did you...move me to the bed?" I asked, my voice shaking as I fought the tears from falling from my eyes.

"Yes," he replied, and the sound of it sent shivers to my body. He had a deeper voice, it was unfortunately pleasant to my ears.

"What do you want from me?" I asked next, afraid of what the answer might be. He began to stroke my hair again. "Please, don't do that..."

He tensed, his hand stopping at my head and I was terrified that he would start grabbing my hair, but surprisingly, he does stop. "A lot of things," he cryptically replied.

I suppress a whimper when I feel him move. I was too terrified to move and the intruder took the opportunity to lean down my ear. 

I exhaled a terrified sigh when I felt his breath hit my ear. I finally let out a whimper when he blew softly in my ear and more goosebumps flared up on my skin. He chuckled softly, the closeness of his proximity emphasizing how menacing it was.

"For example," I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You, for one." 

My eyes go wide, the reality of the situation crashing down on me abruptly, and I realize what his intentions were with me - he was going to assault me. 

Tears started streaming down my face, and without thinking, I  pushed the blanket off me and quickly tried to roll to the edge of the bed, but I didn't make it too far when I felt my feet being grabbed.

I screamed bloody murder when I was dragged roughly back into the middle of the bed, my hands grabbing I could to stop myself, but it was no use.

I was flipped to my back and I cried harder when he grabbed my arms violently and pinned them above my head as he straddled me.

"Please don't hurt me," I cried, my own pitiful voice getting to me. I closed my eyes as tightly as possible as if that would make the man on top of me vanish.

I flinched when I felt fingers stroke my cheek gently. "Shh, breath," he hushes. "I need you to calm down."

I struggled momentarily underneath him. I gasped when he pushed the hand he was using to pin both of mine on the bed with a pressure that was almost painful. "Stay still," he said, his voice taut.

I tried my luck again but all that earned me was a growl from him. "Stay still," he reiterated coldly, the gentleness in his voice gone. "And shut up."

I listened and I stayed still for what seemed like hours, my position vulnerable. I was afraid of what he'd do if I disobeyed.

I gulped when I felt him leaning forward, gasping quietly when I felt his other hand cup my cheek and give it a gentle kiss, his lips lingering for a while before he started whispering the most soothing words I'd hear for a while.

"Just like that, doll, breathe in and out for me," he mumbled tenderly. He started to soothingly stroke my skin - my face, my neck, my arms. "I am not going to hurt you."

"I'm going to scream if you don't get off me," I spoke in an attempt to threaten him, and it came out sounding pathetic.

He hummed like a gentle parent comforting their child. "There's really no need, I said I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be scared."

"Y-You're scaring me," I gulped, my eyes still closed.

How can I not be scared? He was huge and I knew for a fact that even if I died trying, I don't have a chance of overpowering him.

He planted a small kiss on the top of my head and I caught a whiff of his cologne. I froze, that smelled extremely familiar.

"Am I?" I heard him sigh. "I'm sorry."

I can hear and feel the blood rushing to my ears. Now that my sight is blank, all my other senses are stronger and I am now slowly realizing how awfully familiar his voice was sounding. I just couldn't pinpoint who exactly it was.

"Do I...know you?" I slowly asked, my chest heaving up and down to due my breathlessness.

Unfortunately, he noticed it. My breath hitched when his free hand, the one not pinning mine down, lightly brushed my hardened nipples. I cursed mentally for not wearing a bra tonight.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" he mumbled before he stopped touching my breasts. I breathe a sigh of relief. A couple more seconds and I would have made a sound.

"Maybe you do," he continued. "Maybe you don't."

What a terrifying response. A stranger, an intruder, was in my home and basically holding me captive and I had no idea how far he would go tonight. 

I ignored him and my shaky voice sounded, "What do you intend to do to me?"

Fright constricted my chest when he leaned down and gave the soft skin on my neck little bites, pecks, and licks. "What do you want me to do to you?" his husky voice purrs into my ear.

Heat spreads all over my body at the involuntary pleasure I felt from the little of kisses, the small kissing sounds his lips were making against my skin loud in my ears and I ashamedly clenched my legs together. I felt him smile against my skin when my body betrayed me and I gasped a bit when he sucked on my skin.

"I'm going to make you feel good," he murmured, his free hand touching and squeezing my hips and sides, just stopping below my chest. 

I whined moving my head slightly in a poor attempt to get him off of me. It was extremely humiliating. "Don't," he warned, his voice rigid and gravely.

Tears started to form again in my eyes. It was so pathetic. Had I been stronger enough, I would have been out of here. I gasp when his hand kneads my breast, and he was doing it so tenderly as if he was afraid that I would burst if he wasn't careful enough.

"P-Please," I arched my back unwillingly towards his hand. I felt him groan deeply against my skin, the vibration sent shivers to my spine.

"Shh, I said stop moving," he held me tighter, more tensely. I got a bit frightened, he was so unpredictable that I didn't know how to act.

My brain can't properly wrap around the situation. He's an intruder, which I can only assume as someone who is never up to any good, but he is excruciatingly gentle, and the way he can make my body react to his touch was alarming.

"Ah!" I squealed when he suddenly pinched my nipple. He laughed huskily and he didn't do it again. My skin was on fire, I have never been more terrified in my life than right now.

"You feel so good, I can't wait to make you mine." he growled. "Not that you weren't yet."

It occurred to me that it must be a nightmare, perhaps I should just go with it, or maybe if she refused he would willingly leave. But that would never happen, he was here to take me.

I snapped back into reality when I heard the worst sound I could possibly hear all night - a zipper being undone.

I began thrashing and resisting again. "Wait, wait, please stop," I begged. "I-I'll give you anything you want, I have money---"

I screamed when his hand wrapped around my neck. "You're testing my patience, doll," he hissed, squeezing on the sides of my neck. 

I choked on little air, I was getting lightheaded before he let me go. I took big gulps of chair as I coughed, scared out of my wits. Oh God, I thought dreadfully. He's going to kill me!

"You move one more time," he whispered menacingly. "I am going to  shove my cock in you and fuck you like the little cumslut you are." I whined when he bit my shoulder painfully, I was pretty sure it drew blood. "You understand?"

When I didn't respond, he bit my shoulder harder. "Speak when told to," he growled.

"Yes! Yes! Okay, okay! Please," I cried like a wounded animal, - well, I am now - and he lets my shoulders go.

"Good. If you're a good girl, I won't do anything," he chuckled. He gave me soft kisses on the area he bit. "You poor thing..."

This was much worse than I thought. I hate this, I hate every single moment of this. I had noticed early on that if I did as he said, he would be fine, but the moment I acted up, he would get rougher.

"Anyway," he said sarcastically. "I don't want your money."

"Why not?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He laughed amusingly. He had an infuriatingly attractive laugh. If only it wasn't too dark, I could have seen his face too. "Because money can't get me what I want right now." 

I frowned. "I'm going to call the police on you," I stated, my voice shaking, hoping that he'd get intimidated enough.

"Cute," he chuckled lowly. 

"Please, don't do this," I begged loudly. 

"Why not?" he clicked his tongue. "I promise that I wouldn't do anything you don't want."

"I don't want you here," I sniffled.

"Don't say that," he replied tensely, his grip on my hands tightening as well.

There was nothing more I wished for right now than somebody to help me. My mind drifted to Mr. Choi. He would have helped me if I asked. I regretted not getting his number like everyone did.

Even with the odd encounter in the car with him, I knew him to be of moral standards and he would help. He was the only one I knew big and strong enough to take this stranger down.

He finally let my hands go and I tensed as I felt him moving in on top of me. I whimpered when his hands spread my legs so he could lay down on me in between them. I blushed both in anger and embarrassment. I had no underwear tonight and I can feel his erection straining through his pants.

His mouth found mine and my eyes flew open immediately. He gave me an open mouthed kiss before pulling away to grasp the back of my neck.

"Look at me," he demanded roughly. I shook my head aggressively and in rebellion and turned my head to the side in spite. He can honestly kiss my ass---

"Oh," I rasped when his hand started to massage and knead my inner thighs. I winced when his mouth started to attack my neck again. This time he roughly bit and sucked, his tongue swirled all over the sensitive parts of my skin as his hands slowly went higher and higher at a dangerous pace.

I was overwhelmed with the odd mixture of pain, fear, pleasure, and hopelessness. The way his hot breath hit my ears was so distracting too.

"Doll, look at me," he whispered against my ear in a tortured voice. "I want to see your beautiful face."

"Please, stop! I really don't want to," I gritted my teeth.

He chuckled. "We'll see."

He lifts my nightgown up to my hips and before I knew it, his nimble fingers grazed my pussy. I was petrified, heat ignited my whole being. I hear his shaky breaths against my ear and I fight off the urge to even breathe, myself.

"Stop it, please, stop," I begged through my broken cries.

He ignored my pleas as he played with little tufts of my hair down there. I didn't shave, yes, but I wasn't expecting this either. He traces my pussy lips with a finger, sliding up and down, and I couldn't stop the moan from my lips when he goes in between.

"That feel good?" he whispered, his voice taut. He groaned when my body shakes beneath him as he circled my swollen clit. "I can give you more than this."

"N-No, please, I-I think I'm good," my voice trembled from the sensation.

"Then look at me," he commanded, his voice back to its kind tone as he coaxed me. "Please, doll."

"I don't know you enough for that type of connection," I swallowed. "Just get this over with."

"But you do know me, have you forgotten?" he mused, his fingers slowing down. I tried to rack my brain for anything, but there was nothing. When I didn't reply, he sighed. "I guess not."

His form went from slight amusement to a detrimental, subtle disappointment. I can feel his despondent stare penetrate through myself, and it was then I realized that he was actually disappointed at my lack of response. 

"That man in the car earlier," he began. "Who's that?"

I was confused at first, then I remembered what he was referring to. Terror washed over me, he was watching me when San had taken me home?

"A friend," I curtly replied, making it short and hopefully he'll buy it.

He scoffed lightly and removed his hands from my aching cunt. I was pleasantly surprised when he actually got off me and sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned on me. I breathed a sigh of relief but not for long because he still seemed like he wanted to ask more and I was right.

"A friend, huh?" he scoffed again. "It didn't seem like it earlier. There was definitely a connection there."

I gulped. This man was dangerous. He was watching close enough to know the difference. I had to tell him the truth. "It wasn't like that," I bit my lip. "Mr. Choi has always been kind, he's a key figure in the complex."

His back tenses. "Why? You think you don't have a chance or something?"

"That thought never even crossed my mind," I sighed.

"Why?"

His voice was very strained. I paused, not knowing what to say. It was unnerving and the silence was making me sweat. I stared at his form and I almost gasped when I looked up at his face.

I couldn't see it but the shadows in his side profile blew my mind. This man was clearly handsome, not that it mattered since he was a creep, but I don't know. Maybe I was expecting a drunkard of an imp. Certainly not this one.

He clenched his jaw and I had to restrain the cynicism in my eyes. "Is it the age gap?"

My eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? San definitely didn't look that old from afar. That or I'm the one who looks old.

"W-Well, not necessarily," I stammered. "Though that is a huge factor, yes." I had this urge to tell him the truth, I don't know why. "Plus, there's no way Mr. Choi would look at me in that way."

"How would you know? You never once spared even a glance in my direction."

I was confused at what he was referring to. He did say that I knew him, but I certainly don't remember anyone that I was close with enough for me to look at them. The physical aspect too, this man is big and sturdy, I don't remember...

My brows furrowed in concentration as the man stood up from my bed and my breath halted. That was a lie, I did know someone who looked like this.

He stepped into the light and I audibly gasped. I'd always known he was incredibly good-looking but the light that the moon gave him did him justice. His jawline was exquisite, such a contrast to his cat-like features, and by God, his body. 

He stared at me with a seriousness I'd never seen him wear before as he took his grey suit off. He was left with a black turtleneck sweater that did nothing to hide his large biceps from me. 

"S-San?" I uttered his name before I could stop myself, sitting up so I could take a good look at him and determine if he was an apparition or not.

I couldn't help the shock and the dread that came over me. The one person, I had been putting up on a pedestal, the one man I had been thinking of asking for help in my dire situation was none other my intruder.

"I am deeply disappointed with you, Y/N. Truly," he shook his head in mock concern and crossed his arms over his chest.

San stared at me as I attempted to cover my almost naked body with my blanket and a couple of pillows. "That's not going to help your case," he smirked.

"I'm going to scream," I said indignantly. San raised a brow in amusement. "I mean it, please get out! I won't tell anyone---"

"Scream, if you must," he shrugged nonchalantly, walking closer to the bed again. "I paid the neighbours for vacation. They're probably halfway across the world now," he grinned sadistically.

I gasped when he put his arms on the bed, leaned on me, and whispered in my ear. "It's just you and me, doll. So go ahead, scream. It turns me on."

I pushed him away from me hastily and edged myself to the corner of my bed. "You're a monster!" I screamed.

San laughed loudly. "Finally," he mused. "I was so sick of playing nice with you. I like you like this. You look prettier."

The way he laughed out loud maniacally and sadistically scared me almost half to death. It was loud, deep, and menacing and it reminded me of how the devil would laugh if it existed.

I was alone, so screaming really wouldn't do anything. And I certainly wasn't going to knowingly do anything that was going to excite him. That was a terrifying thought.

The fact that it was the Choi San - the well-known gentleman, the man who was known to always smile despite everything, the one who drove me home without anything in return, at that time at least, and the person who was beloved by everybody from children to elderly people.

And the one I had admired from afar because of those qualities. I felt betrayed, and it hurt more than I'd like to admit.

We stared at each other for a moment, unmoving. San's icy glare was shrouded with the unmistakable fire of anger and lust, and I was afraid of how he would hurt me if he had become a little too unstable.

"You're a sociopath," I declared after the awkward silence. 

He raised his brows in a seemingly displeased manner, but at the same time, I knew he was amused. "Oh? Pray tell, my pretty doll," he mocks. "Enlighten me."

"I mean it," I declared, exasperated. "Y-You can't just break into my apartment like this and expect me to like you afterwards! You're sick in the head!"

He sighed, looking away from and staring at the window he broke into. For a second, I thought he was rethinking his actions, but no. He wasn't the Choi San I knew him to be anymore, I wasn't sure how far his instability would take me.

He side-eyes me, I looked back expectantly. "You can just give in to me or we can do this the hard way," San convinced, his tone calm but persuasive. He knew he had the charm and he was using it to his advantage.

"You took that option away from me when you forced your way in here and touched me in ways I didn't want," I scoffed. 

I was about to say more choice words, when San whipped his head towards me fast and I noticed his eye twitching slightly and the veins popping on his forehead while he looked at me long, too long, and hard. I gulped. He was angry.

I know I shouldn't, I know that I'm digging my own grave here by talking back at him but I can't help it. Whether it was the betrayal, one only I knew, or the adrenaline, I wasn't sure.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Y/N," he hid his annoyance with arrogance. It was the first time he said my name tonight and it dripped with venom. "Come hell or high water, I will make you mine."

The conviction in San's voice at his confession was nothing short of astounding and the way he's looking at me right now, I can't stand the intensity of it - he would rather take death than failure right now.

"And who do you think you are?" I was irked, really irked actually. It was the easiest way to hide my panic. "And if I say no?"

San smirked, darkness shrouding his features like he was waiting for me to screw up and say something stupid so he had an excuse to finally say what he's been wanting to say.

"I'm going to fuck you," San dared, no hint of amuse left in his tone. "The plan was to make you submit, but if it's impossible, then I'll just take you. The choice is yours."

I was taken aback. "You wouldn't," I whispered.

San cocked his head to the side. "Would you like to test that theory?"

I can tell he was serious, too. I haven't known him well, but tonight was not the night to test his integrity and if he was a man of his word.

"Can we just do this next time?" I begged. "I-I can come up with a better proposition for us--"

"No," he quickly cut off. "I already called out of your work earlier, anyway. We have all night and morning."

My face contorts in confusion. "What?" I apprehensively asked.

San started to stalk towards me until he was at the end of the bed. I gulped, the way his muscles rippled against his clothes emphasized just how big he was and how powerless I was. 

He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheeks as he looked down on me, literally and figuratively. He exuded a power that you can't touch, and honestly, it made me realize how truly dominant he was.

"I know everything about you, doll," he said as he took his wristwatch off and placed it on my bedside table. "I wanted you the moment I saw you for the first time."

I was tense and I watched him take his necklace out next while maintaining eye contact with me. "I kept asking around about you because for some reason, we never were in the same place together. You know what they said?"

I swallowed restlessly when he started to unbuckle his belt next. "You were the sweetest, kindest, and now that I'm up close and personal, the most innocent thing too."

His eyes darkened by the second and it reminded me of that sharp and scathing look I thought I saw on him earlier before I got in his car. It clicked; which one was the real San?  

"I know everything about you, my doll, except for one thing," he smirked before he took his turtleneck sweater off. "I don't know how you sound when I'm inside you, yet."

"You can't do this," I whimpered pathetically, trying not to look at how unfortunately beautiful his naked torso was.

His smirks widened. "You asked me in the car earlier if I had a family." Finally, his pants were off too. "I could give you one right now."

I didn't even have the time to look at his body - both in embarrassment and denial - and I let out a loud cry of protest when San grabbed my legs again and pulled me towards him. I kicked to try and stop him from having a good grip, but he was too strong.

"Hey, stop! Get off of me!" I screamed when he got on top of me and pinned me down on my back again. He secured me by pinning my legs as well with his knees. "Stop!"

His hand covers my mouth and my screams drowned into a muffled cry instead. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed. My eyes widened in terror at his threatening tone.

His eyes were so dark, fierce, intense, and domineering and it was then that it sunk in that he really was going to have his way with me. I groaned when he bucked his hip onto my stomach. I panicked, I could tell that it was going to tear me into two.

"Get off me, you bastard!" I growled when San took his hand off my mouth.

He laughed that attractive laugh of his again, the dimples that made me like him popping out once more. "You don't listen well, huh? I told you to shut up."

"And I told you to leave me alone!" I snapped back. His eyes twinkle in amusement. "So both of us are bad at listening then!"

In an adrenaline rush, I spit on him, and my saliva landed directly on the corner of his mouth. He was surprised for a second before he covered it up with annoyance. "You're getting on my nerves," he chuckled without humour.

Without breaking eye contact with me, he stuck his tongue out and slowly, sensually, licked my spit for him to swallow. I feel a gush of wetness between my legs and my cheeks burn in embarrassment while I whine in denial.

He raised a brow, pleased. "Don't fight on this. Your body knows what it wants."

"Go to hell," I growled in refutation.

His eyes narrowed into slits. "What's that?" San spat out in anger.

His hand hastily grabs the front of my nightgown with such force that the straps both broke. I gasped and then groaned in pain when his hand grabbed my exposed breasts painfully.

"Please," I croaked, my voice strained. "Don't hurt me."

A startled cry escaped from my lips when he bit down on my hardened nipple and tears formed from my eyes. He looked up at me and his eyes softened when he saw the pitiful state I was in.

"Be still," mumbled apologetically. "I won't hurt you."

I exhaled in relief but that relief quickly washed off of me at San's next words.

"If you listen to what I tell you, I won't hurt you."

"Please, I can't do--ah!" I yelped when he bit my nipple again.

"I wasn't asking," he hissed. His tone left me no chance to argue with him.

I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over at San's threats. But I was a virgin! It's not that I was a prude or I thought I was better than anyone else, no man has held my interest enough and most of them were after my body more than me as a person.

I bit my bottom lip hard when San's mouth started gently kissing my chest and then his mouth closed around my nipple while he played with other. 

"Wait," I whimpered when he started to gently suck, his tongue flicking out to lick them and then twirled it around his tongue. It was something new for me and I couldn't help but shake.

"Relax, doll," he murmured in between his sucks.

Tingles filled my whole body, and I felt something tickling down there. Pleasure radiated all over and body in ways I couldn't understand and I started to moan uncontrollably.

I looked down and saw San already looking up at me while he continued licking the sensitive bud. It was such an erotic sight and before I knew it, a wave of pleasure sent my body into shock and I began spasming against San's chest.

San held me in his arms and let go of my nipple with a small 'pop'.  I buried my face onto his chest in shame - I had just orgasmed with my nipples, alone.

San gently laid me back and we stared at each other wide-eyed, both of us clearly shocked at what just happened. Surprisingly, San doesn't comment on it. He leans in and gives me a kiss on my forehead.

"Good girl," he murmured. He put my arms around his neck and he buried his head on my neck and rocked my back and forth. "That's my good girl, just relax, okay? I got you..."

The way he was looking at me with such tender eyes and there was an expression in it that I couldn't exactly pinpoint. His soothing voice filled my ears and I let myself get lost in San for a moment.

"My pretty girl, oh, my Y/N..."

"Everything about you is so beautiful to me."

"I adore you so much, you know?"

"You are so perfect, and you are mine."

That hit me like a ton of bricks. I broke away from a confused San and my tears started to fall from my face. This was so wrong, what was I doing? But he felt so good with me...

"Baby doll, please don't cry," he pleaded.

"I can't do this," I started to try and get up. "Please get away from me..."

He releases a sigh and holds me in place. "Listen to me," his voice held an edge to it. I turned my head rebelliously and gasped when he held my jaw tightly and forced me to look at him. "Listen," he growled, eyes glazed in unparalleled anger.

I was having a small panic attack. "I just need a moment---"

San slapped my already aching jaw with a force enough for me to get out of it, but not enough for me to bawl in pain. "Listen to me," he snapped. "Silence. Not a sound from you."

I nodded my head quickly, afraid. "If you resist, I will punish you," he threatened. "And you know how I'm going to do it?"

I held in a whimper, truly afraid since San had this crazed manic expression on his face that I've never, ever seen him have. "Well," he smirked. "Let's hope you don't find out."

He gets up and quickly drags me using my arms to straddle him. "Wrap your hands around me," he demanded.

I did as asked and he grabbed my hips to immobilize me. San looked up at me with such intensity and I can't help but look away. I felt exposed and humiliated and I couldn't help but let out a small moan when I felt his hardness twitch underneath me.

"What was that?" he mocked. "What did I tell you about making a sound, you whore?"

I breathed hard and heavy, my exposed breasts moving about, but I didn't answer him back, scared that my response would trigger him.

"Answer me," he demanded.

"P-Punish," I stuttered pathetically.

"Correct," San grinned and it resembled a rabid animal who was ready to pounce on its unsuspecting victim. "Little sluts like you need to be dominated."

I was wide-eyed when he grabbed my hair and manually moved my head up and down. "That's right," he laughed sadistically. "Good girl."

San leaned in and put his lips against mine in a rough kiss. When I refused, he pulled the back of my hair again until I gasped in pain. His tongue plunged inside my mouth and I tried to turn but he painfully pulled my hair again as he moved away slightly.

"Stop it," he whispered against my lips. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He pushed my head and he kissed me again, this time, more gentle and more considerate. I tried to see what he was going to do if I moved, and true to my suspicions, I felt his hand tightening against my hair again.

Having no choice, I gave in to what he wanted. San groaned in my mouth and pressed his harder, playing with my tongue sensually as he massaged my tits. My skin began to feel warm and my heart began to beat faster and faster and I was pretty sure he felt it. Or was that his own heart beating with mine?

When San touched my cheek with frenzied motions, I hissed and I couldn't help but moan in protest. He pulled back and tenderly touched my face where a bruise was forming.

"What happened?" he asked softly. "Was it..?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, I-I mean, well, I barely felt the slap and you didn't even do it hard."

It was true. I don't mean to defend his actions, he's an asshole for that but even in a haze, I felt him repressing and it was only meant to break my panic attack.

"I'm sorry, doll, please tell me what happened," San murmured apologetically, his words somewhat loving.

I hesitated but the look in his eyes was so soft that I just had to. It was the gentle San that everyone knew him for when everyone would ask for his advice and wisdom. I bit my lip, remembering that there was a time where I almost went to him.

"Earlier in the car," I began muttering. "I didn't meet up with friends, I-I, uhm..."

"Go on," San assured me, tenderly rubbing my arms.

"I didn't meet up with my friends like I said I did," I revealed. "My ex called to try and get back with me. He got handsy when I-I said no."

His hands tighten on my arms and his eyes transform into a murderous glare. He pulls me into a hug and pulls away. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he cursed under his breath intensely.

"And you," he continued, putting my face in his hands. "You will never, ever interact with him ever again. You're going to tell me if he bothers you again, okay?"

I nodded apprehensively, unsure of what to say. "Good," San kissed my forehead. I bit back a cry of surprise when he laid me down on the bed and started to crawl his way down.

"W-Wait, what are you doing?" I panicked when he lifted the other half of my nightgown and lifted my legs to rest on his shoulders.

"I'm going to make you forget about that scum," he declared like he was telling me the weather. "Until you only know me."

I was still confused as he hadn't taken his boxers off, that is, until I finally got a good look at him. He was handsome, the type that can bring you to your knees. His dark hair was disheveled and when my eyes traveled down to his chest, I wasn't surprised to see that he was fit and the muscles on his abdominal area were very prominent.

The arms he used to leave my legs up were massive and I can tell he spent a lot on the gym working them out. However, it was nothing compared to the tent he had on his boxers. I'm not one to usually comment on it, but I can tell he was big. It's super cliche and honestly, it made me cringe to even think about, but I've only heard of that size in the novels I read. 

"You look so beautiful," he suddenly said. His stare was so intense and serious that I couldn't help but blush. "I mean it, Y/N. You're beautiful. I'm going to make you believe it."

Before I could say anything, I felt his fingers touch my slit. I bit my lip to stop the moan that threatened to pass my lips, but when San pressed on my clit, I had to let out a muffled mewl.

"Don't hold back on me now," he smirked, rubbing my nub gently at first. "I told you, you will forget everything but me."

My eyes widened when he licked his fingers and went back down there. The roughness of fingers added a new sensation I never thought I'd feel and it was bringing me such shame that I was even feeling this way.

"San, please," I mewled again when he added more pressure in his ministrations.

Suddenly, his fingers were gone and it was quickly replaced by his mouth. "San!" I screamed in surprise.

I felt him laugh and the vibration of it caused me to arch my back and accidentally rub myself in his mouth. San took advantage of this and dove his tongue between my folds, lapping at anything he could get his tongue on. 

"Just like that, doll, " he spoke in between his licking and sucking. 

I moaned loudly, my hands grabbing on the blankets in pleasure. He kissed my clit and gently suctioned on it, releasing it and doing it again and that tingling sensation from down there came back, but this one felt different; stronger.

"San, stop, it feels weird," I moaned and sighed, closing my eyes  involuntarily and shaking a bit against San's mouth.

"Quiet," he murmured, ignoring my plea and continuing on.

I choked on my breath when I felt his finger slip inside my pussy while he still licked. It hurt a bit, but nothing crazy. He pushed deeper and farther, until he stopped unexpectedly and quickly got up to look at my face with the most shocked expression I've ever seen him have.

"You're a virgin," he reeled in disbelief. "You're a virgin?"

I looked at him wide-eyed, embarrassed. My breath was quicker and it made me breathless. "I am," I admitted.

"B-But how? You're so beautiful," he stammered, clearly still in shock.

"I-I've been waiting for the right person."

He closed my legs, leaned his forehead on my knees, and a deep groan that was similar to a suffering soldier sounded at the back of his throat. He laid there for a moment until he got up from the bed and paced around my room.

I was left laying down on the bed as I watched him go through something akin to a midlife crisis. My virginity was the reason why my ex left me and why nobody stayed with me. I wanted someone true, someone I was sure I wanted to be with and vice versa.

San briskly walked around, stopping to face palm himself, then stayed in his spot to raise his head in frustration. He collected himself before he marched towards me with a stormy expression.

He leaned down and gave me a chaste kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled away and walked off to where his clothes were and started putting them on.

His gaze was steely when he looked at me. "I'm leaving," he said, voice tight.

I sat up slowly as I watched him put his sweater last and then his jewelry, a little surprised at the turn of events. "You are?" I couldn't help but ask, slightly confused. 

San nodded. "I am."

I wasn't complaining at all. This was a blessing in disguise. "I don't get it," I said as I covered my exposed chest with a blanket. "Why now?"

San exhaled a sharp breath, barely controlling himself. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and he opened them again, he looked so tortured.

"Y/N, I cannot touch you," he whispered. "I want you so fucking bad. I don't just want you. I need you."

I couldn't breath, my chest was so tight. He exhaled a sharp breath again. "I won't be able to stop myself right now if I don't leave. I want to fuck you so bad, stick my dick in you and fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."

"But not like this," he shook his head. "I don't want your first to be like this. I don't want to hurt you."

I was so stunned at his admission. "So we're...done here?" I asked softly, unsure of what was even happening.

"Yes. We are."

"What now, then? What's going to happen after this?"

San paused. "I don't know. I'll live my life, and you'll go back to ignoring me."

"Alright," I whispered. I was trembling as I tried to mend the straps of my nightgown enough for me to wear it temporarily so I wasn't too exposed in front of San. Not that it mattered, he's seen everything.

I stood up from my bed and San headed through the door to leave when he suddenly paused. He turned around and faced me hesitantly. "Have a good night," he said.

I nodded and turned to look at the damaged window where he came through earlier to break in my room. "How am I supposed to fix this?" I lamented.

He turned and marched towards the window and inspected it closely. I stared at the way he furrowed and unfurrowed his brows in concentration.

He stared me down and back at the window and he definitely got snappy. "I'll pay somebody to fix it tomorrow," he announced tensely.

"Why are you mad?" I asked.

He raised a brow. "I'm not," he denied.

I frowned but I let it go. "There's going to be a storm tomorrow," I sighed. "Nobody in their right mind will come down tomorrow."

"Can you call your parents right now?" San asked gruffly.

I shook my head. "They live abroad."

His brows raise in surprise and curiosity but he doesn't dwell on it. "Friends?"

"I didn't lie when I said they lived in the next city."

He ran his fingers on his hair with annoyance, his tongue poking his cheek with a scowl. "Doll, you can't stay here."

I smiled without humour in irony. I wanted to tell him that technically, this problem I'm having right now is his fault but I don't. I'm too tired to argue.

I heard him sigh. "Get dressed," he said. "I have tools in my apartment that we can both grab so I can do it today, myself."

"Okay," I murmured.

San nodded. "I'll wait outside."

When I was done, I saw San leaning towards my doorway and I had to suppress staring at him. He looked good, but he looked aggravated when he saw me, and he reached down for my hand and he began walking us through the complex.

I breathlessly tried to keep up with him. This is going to be the first time I'm seeing where San's apartment is. His hand felt warm in mine and without pausing, he walked both of us to the furthest part of the complex.

"No wonder we barely saw each other," I couldn't help but state. "You live on the other side."

He didn't reply. He took one glance at me and continued walking. I followed him obediently without question.

I had an idea where he was leading me. The complex was split into three parts - the regular kind, the modernized kind, and the luxurious kind. I lived on the second one, and true to my suspicions, San lived on the third kind.

"You live here?" I asked in awe.

I was so fascinated with this area and the fact that San was known to everybody. People here barely interact with anybody, that would mean that San would go out of his way to go join and seek out the people in the regular part.

I was so taken aback by my own thoughts that I didn't realize that we were by his door.

"Yes, almost two years now," he replied flatly. "After you."

Unsurprisingly, the interior looked grand and deluxe, albeit a little empty. It made sense, San seemed like a minimalist person and it showed both in how he dressed and designed his home.

He tilted his head towards a door at the end of the hallway. "Tools should be over there," he said, not looking me in the eye. "Let's go."

It was obvious that this was his bedroom when we both went in. The room was large, there was a king sized bed in the middle of it and a couple of pictures hung all over the area. I went and inspected them closely and saw that he was with a couple of people.

"Family?" I asked.

He hummed in response while he took his suit off and hung them somewhere. "Sort of. They're lifelong friends."

He stepped towards the bedroom door, closed it slowly, and turned the lock before he faced me. I was confused, when he looked at me, his eyes were the darkest I have ever seen.

"Get on the bed," he commanded. "I'm going to fuck you."

I didn't fully understand what he said. I thought I heard him wrong, but he was dead serious. "W-What?"

His eyes never left me as he stalked towards me like a predator. "I said," his tone was grim. "Get on the bed."

My eyes widened and the wind was knocked out of my chest. "B-But you said you weren't going to touch me," I whimpered.

"I know what I said," he snapped, his jaw clenching hard. "I'm taking it back."

San stepped forward and stopped a couple of feet away from me. I stared at him wary and not knowing what to do. I'm sure my eyes held terror. "Don't do this," I pleaded.

I yelped when San pushed me on the bed. He stood by it and watched me scramble to get up. I was truly frightened at the person in front of me. He leaned over and placed his hands on the bed while he stared at me.

"You don't get it do you?" San grimaced. "There are no tools. At least, not in my bedroom."

My eyes widened in realization. His eyes narrowed in veiled anger as he continued. "Why would you come here with me? I broke into your apartment and almost took you against your will! Do I look like the safest person to be with right now?"

My chest fell and ragged breaths escaped me, but he wasn't done yet. "Don't you think with your brain?" San hissed. "You are at my mercy right now. If I want to take you, no one would know."

"Are you going to...?" I whispered.

His scowl deepened. "Yes."

It all happened too fast and I had no time to dispute him. My shirt and pants were off in less than a minute and he slammed me against the bed.

"San, wait---"

I gasped when he slid a finger inside me quickly and I was unable to stop the small whimper of pleasure I felt. That felt a little too good. I didn't even notice that his clothes were gone too, and I couldn't help but look down.

My suspicions were unfortunately right - he was not small. And he was hard. I may be a virgin, but of course I knew what dicks looked like. It was very imposing, it made my heart beat with hesitation and a little fear. 

I tensed when he got on top of me and I felt him kiss my forehead softly. "I'm sorry," I heard him whisper.

I subconsciously pressed my fingers on his shoulder, trying hard not to look up at him or even inhale. The scent of him, alone, was driving me mad. I felt him hot and hard, pressing against my hole, and he thrust in bit by bit.

"Oh God, San, I can't," I cried out. The pain was so intense that it brought hot tears to my eyes. I heard him groan when I clawed his back.

"I'm sorry, I'll be careful," San cooed as he gave me tiny, little kisses here and there.

A strangled cry was torn from me when I felt him move again. His pleasure filled moans hit my ears, the vibrations from his chest sending tingles to my spine. "San..."

"Just a bit more, baby," he whispered. "You can take it, I know you can..."

He made small, gentle thrusts and I couldn't help but applaud the patience he had for this. I can feel how he was dying to just thrust in one go. I groaned again, fully wrapping my arms around his neck, in pain. I knew it was painful for the first time, but this pain was a bit too much.

"Fuck," he hissed, looking down at me with lust in his eyes. "I'm sorry, are you alright?"

I nodded and he took it as his signal to push in a little more. When he  completely bottomed out, I couldn't help but moan loudly. The pain  felt like the good kind.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. "Your cunt was made for me."

He pressed a hot kiss on my shoulder. The dirty talk was making me dizzy and I felt warm tingles spread all over my skin. San stayed inside me, unmoving, for a while and we decided I've warmed up enough, he began thrusting.

"San, it hurts," I yelped in slight pain. If I was being honest, it felt unbelievably good.

"Just take it for now, baby, it's going to feel better soon, I promise," he pecked my lips before he buried head on my shoulders.

And he was right. I swallowed a moan when San began to pick up the pace a bit. I didn't realize that I was moving my hips to his pace until I heard San whisper the dirtiest things in my ear.

"Y/N, fuck, Y/N, Y/N," San moaned my name like a prayer with each vicious thrust of his hips. "Doll, please tell me I can go faster than this, please."

I moaned in response, not being able to formulate a single word. San goes from fully gentle to straight up rearranging my insides. "San, San, t-too fast!"

Each thrust of his cock sent shockwaves through my body and it didn't take too long for my laboured breathing to turn into wanton moans with the way he went in and out with his quick rhythm. I felt him twitching, pulsating, inside of me and I squeezed.

"Don't do that, baby," San groaned. "God, you feel so fucking good…”

He pushed onto me and took my mouth in a stormy, demanding kiss. I felt his hand reaching from my hip to my front and his fingers pressed up to my clit.

"You like this, doll?" San asked tentatively.

I nodded my head and kissed his neck. "I do, don't stop."

His fingers stroke me, his thrusts not slowing down. Tears from the slight pain and pleasure combined fell from my eyes and his speed built back up, slamming into me so hard, I screamed loudly over and over again.

"Just like, Y/N, come, yes, come for me," San bit my shoulder and it was over.

It was my first orgasm from fucking and my body spasmed against him so hard, San had to hold me down. 

"Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so fucking good," San's muffled moans felt intense against my skin. "You're mine, okay?"

"S-San, oh, San---"

I screamed when he grabbed my hair and bit my ear. "Say it," he growled. "Say you're fucking mine."

"San---"

"Say it, goddamn it, fucking say it!"

His thrusts got more brutal, ferocious, more ruthless. "Okay, okay!" I moaned. "I'm all yours!"

"Fuck," he got out and thrusted back in roughly. I saw stars then and there. "You're mine, you're mine, fuck.”

His thrust went even faster than before, the bed was squeaking very loud, and the slapping of skin against skin more obscene than before. It was agonizing as I was still sensitive and I felt another wave of pleasure come, but this time, there was no pain.

"S-San, f-fuck, I-I can't---"

"I want my cum in you," he abruptly cut off, slamming into me so hard I was afraid I would bruise just from his thrusts alone. "God, I want my fucking cum in you."

"Please," I cried. "I-I can't do this anymore---"

He shushed me gently, slowing his thrusts down, but it was worse because he was doing long, deep thrusts instead. "One more, baby," he murmured. "Give me one more and I'll stop."

He kissed me hard. "I'm going to fucking pump you full of cum, doll, I'm going to breed the fuck out of you, fuck, this body deserves to be filled up..."

His words did something to me and I just came without warning. I screamed, my body shaking, shuddering beneath him. I felt warm liquid gush inside me and San's deep groans hit my ears and it felt more intense than the last. 

"Good girl," San gave me a hot kiss on my neck and I shuddered.

I moaned when he pulled out, though it stung a bit. I felt his fingers dip back in there and when he put it up, we both groaned at the sight of his cum glistening and stringy against the light.

"Open up," he murmured. I hesitated but did as told anyway. 

He put his cum-stained fingers inside my mouth and I grimaced at the salty, bitter taste. "I don't like it," I complained. 

San laughed out loud and crashed on top of me, exhausted. I almost fell asleep when I felt him get up and leave the room. It hit me of what I have just done, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I groaned in protest when I felt something cold and wet down there and I opened my eyes to see it was San concentrating on cleaning me up like he was getting paid to do it with a damp towel gently and slowly. 

"Thanks," I murmured. "I...should get going."

He stares at me, all traces of roughness, maliciousness, and sociopathy gone on his face. He looked like the San I'd come to admire from afar before all of this happened. 

He titled his head. "Why?"

I frowned. "Isn't this customary? I'm not sure if you want me to stay. People will see, it's already morning."

"Let them see," he shrugged. "Of course I want you to stay. Plus, it's not like it's much of a secret, anyway."

That piqued my curiosity and all traces of sleep went away. "What do you mean?"

He finished cleaning me up, discarded the towel in the nearest bin, and tucked my legs back in the softest, most comfortable blanket I've ever laid down on. It probably cost more than my whole bed set.

I blushed when he smiled at me. It wasn't a fake or imposing one - it was genuine. "I'll be right back, okay? Then we'll talk."

True to his words, he went back, but this time, he had a glass full of water and two shirts. He guided me up to sit down and brought the glass to my mouth, the only thing I had to do was make an effort to swallow. I had to suppress a satisfied moan when the water hit the back of my throat. All the screaming before and after sex...

"Arms up," he coaxed. I was confused but did so anyway. He put what I assume was his shirt on me, and then put the other shirt on his own body.

I let him do what he wanted, the resistance felt so tiring to me. This was the man that violated me in every way possible, yet why do I feel this pull towards him?

I already knew the answer - there was always something there. Now that he had taken my virginity, the pull has increased tenfold, and the way he was so sweet to me was a mystery on its own.

"So, how many?" I asked when he laid down next to me and put my head against his chest.

"How many what?" San asked.

"You know," I gestured between the two of us. "How many girls have you done this to?"

I was referring to the break in. He frowned and shook his head. "I am deeply offended, but I understand so I can't be mad. The answer is zero."

"You expect me to believe that?" I deadpanned. "You were an expert in being a criminal."

"It's not that," he sighed. "I can't count the times I stayed awake in this very bed and pretended you were mine. That was enough practice on its own."

He kissed the top of my head. "And I told you," he continued. "It's not a secret."

"What do you mean, San?"

"I wasn't subtle about it, everyone literally knew I liked you," he chuckled. "No offense doll, but you're dense as fuck."

"Funny," I muttered, unimpressed.

San laughed. "No, seriously. I did everything to try and get your attention, I sent flowers to your doorstep every Friday, for God's sake."

My eyes widen and I look up at him. "That...was you?"

"Who did you think it was?"

I paused, hesitant, remembering his words earlier. "M-My ex..."

It was the reason why I even met up with him in the first place. I thought he was trying to win me back using his cheap ways. San stared at me, and I could see the anger slowly rising in his eyes, but alas, in the end he ignored it, thankfully.

"Hmm," he hummed. "If he tries something, tell me. I'm not just saying this just because of what happened between us, but as a human being concerned for another's well-being. What he did was wrong."

I nodded. That seemed fair for now. I tried to suppress the blush that was threatening to flare my cheeks up. His words make it difficult for me to hate him, for now.

"Having said that," he cleared his throat. "I tried to chauffeur you too, at the bus station."

"And I meant it when I said I didn't want to impose," I mumbled.

"The point is, anyone with two eyes can see it, doll. I always seeked you out of everyone," he sighed.

He cupped my face in his hands and looked straight into my eye. "I know you have feelings for me, and it's driving me crazy that you haven't realized it yet. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

"But what you did was wrong," I frowned, putting my small hands on his to push him away so he wouldn't see how distraught I was because he was telling the truth. "Just because I'm not putting up a fight, doesn't mean I'm happy. Why did you do it?"

San looked so crestfallen and I hesitated for a bit. "I...don't know," he admitted. "I'm so, so sorry, doll. Please don't push me away."

"You don't even know anything about me besides the basics" I sighed.

Held my hand tenderly. "Then let's try now," he smiled tightly, hopefully. "You said your parents were abroad, where?"

I stared at him, giving in eventually. "Yes. In London," I replied tentatively. It was a lie, but he won't know.

"Ah. Migrants?"

"No, I laughed a bit. "I was actually born there."

"So you have that accent?" San teased.

"Maybe, you tell me," I said with the said accent.

I reveled in his surprised face. "So why are you here, then?" San asked, genuinely interested.

"We went here for a vacation but I fell in love being here and yeah, I stayed," I chuckled. "It's probably why I caught your eye, because I moved differently."

San shook his head at me. "No," he said. "You would've caught my eye, regardless, United Kingdom or not."

He hesitated, pausing. "I know you're lying."

It was my turn to be surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Why you're here," he said. I was about to say something when he cut me off. "It's okay, you can tell me when you're ready."

I smiled at him. "Maybe one day."

"I'm just a little concerned about the age gap for now," he confessed. "And I know you are too."

"It's not that," I clarified. "Someone your age would prefer looking for someone your age, not someone ten years younger."

"Does it bother you?" San raised a brow.

"No, not in the slightest," I replied truthfully.

For the first time after we were done, San gave me a genuine smile. It was the type that reached his eyes; the type that reached a part of my heart I've been denying.

The next day, I woke up alone in San's bed on what seemed to be in the middle of the afternoon.

I couldn't suppress a hiss when I sat up. Besides my pussy, my entire body felt sore. I'm not surprised, we literally went straight into it. It made me realize that I was so out of shape and I needed to catch up.

When I felt the side of the bed, it was still relatively warm. San must've gotten up half an hour before me.

Which wasn't a bad thing. Now that I'm alone in my thoughts, I can focus on thinking about what to do from here not just for me and San, but for myself without him. I couldn't deny that the sex was mind blowing, but I had basically forfeited any real chance I had to erase myself from San's life and vice versa.

Giving in was a no-brainer. No matter how hard I tried, I knew all my efforts would have been proven futile in the grand scheme of things. I screwed myself up, however. And now, I want more.

After some more thinking, I decided to get up and talk to San. I put back on my underwear but I didn't bother wearing some pants, and San's shirt was large anyway. I just have to be careful not to bend over.

I was instantly hit with the smell of food when I got close to the kitchen, after much exploring, and my stomach began to rumble uncontrollably.

San was sitting by the kitchen island drinking a cup of coffee. He typed away on his laptop with furrowed brows. I watched the man I spent the night with - he wore a black shirt paired with black jeans yet he still managed to look good.

My heart palpitated when I realized he was wearing a pair of glasses. I've never seen him wear glasses before. He looked sophisticated, more chic, more attractive.

"Working?" I said out loud when he still didn't notice me.

San finally lifted his head up to look at me and his eyes slightly widen. I suddenly felt self-conscious when he started slowly taking in body slowly from head to toe until his eyes reached my face. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped.

"Morning, well, afternoon," he snapped out of his trance. "Come sit. I ordered some food for us."

"This is a lot," I murmured when I sat down and tried to pick what I was going to eat. "Why did you order this much?"

"I didn't know what you wanted," he shrugged. "And I didn't want to wake you up to ask, better safe than sorry. Coffee?"

I nodded awkwardly. It was harder to be normal around him than I thought. San seemingly wasn't affected at all - he was still the confident, undaunting, self-assured, and bold man I knew who I was always careful with even before all of this. 

He sat back down on his chair. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I cringed at how awkward I was acting. Not that I wasn't before, but I was more so now that we've far more things that normal acquaintances do. San smirked widely at my predicament, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me.

"I'm leaving in an hour," he said. "Something came up at work, but I'll be back before sunset."

He looked at me to gauge my reaction. "I would like it if you were still here when I come back, I'll take you out to dinner. If not, I understand." 

I had to stop the urge to smirk, myself. Wasn't dinner supposed to come first before the sex? This is going nowhere, I thought. It's either I talk to him now or I won't do it all. It was now or never.

"Uh, San," I cleared my throat. He looked at me expectantly and I almost backed out. "Can I talk to you?"

All the humour and mirth disappeared from his face and he became so rigid and tense right before my very eyes as if knew what I was going to say. In hindsight, we both knew he did.

"Okay," he mumbled.

I took a deep breath and laid it all out on him. "You don't need me to tell you again that taking me against my will whether or not we had sex was wrong."

San listened attentively. "You hurt my feelings," I croaked, my appetite suddenly going down. "You violated me, you couldn't approach me like a normal person? You could have knocked on my door."

Tears started to fall from my eyes but San looked twice as hurt as I did, if that was even possible. "Doll, please," he pleaded, reaching out to hold my hand but I didn't let him. He looked even more hurt. "I'm sorry, please don't say you're going to leave--"

"San, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it," I interjected rather harshly. "They way you went about this was so, so wrong. What were you even thinking?"

He didn't say anything for a while. "I don't know."

I saw red. "You don't know?" I scoffed. "What do you know?! Which one is the real San?"

"I know that my feelings for you are very, very strong," he answered without any hint of deception in his eyes. "You know who I am, Y/N."

"I wouldn't say that, you genuinely scared me last night."

He sighed before burying his face in his hands and groaning softly in frustration. "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry, my doll, I'm so, so sorry. I truly am. I don't want to lose you, not like this."

When he looked up at me again, I held back a gasp of surprise when I saw his eyes glistening with tears. "I was wrong, I know I'm a piece of shit," he sniffled. "I'm sorry for scaring you, you were right, I was sick in the head. I don't know why I did what I did, and I have absolutely no excuses for it."

I felt limp and San took that opportunity to hold my hand in his and repeatedly kissed it and my heart ached. I felt lighter though, I know the apology was shit compared to what I went through, but the acknowledgement was much appreciated on my side.

"I'll make it up to you, okay?" San guaranteed. "You said you were waiting for the right person?"

He gave my hand another hot kiss. "I'm going to prove I'm the right person for you, Y/N, I promise you," he assured with desperation. "Even if it takes a lifetime, please baby, just one chance..."

Call me a bitch, but I intended to make him stew a little bit. 

"One chance, San, just one," I whispered. "If you screw up, I'm going back to London."

I won't go back to London though, that was the last place I'd go, but it was just a just-in-case type of a thing if he does screw up.

San buried his face in my hand in an attempt to cover the silent cry he was pouring out of his system. "Thank you," he whispered. "Can I hug you?"

I shook my head firmly. "No," I denied. "You don't deserve anything."

San pouted, and damn it, it was cute. "Okay."

He wasn't the only one screwed anyway - I may honestly be more screwed than him. I've liked him for so long but I was always afraid that he wouldn't look at me. When he found out I was a virgin and he stopped, I fell for him a bit more. If only he didn't fuck me afterwards.

The fault wasn't his own though. I didn't push him away. For now, it was better this way so I can gauge his sincerity, especially about why I wasn't in London in the first place.

A couple of months passed since that fateful night, and true to his words, San did everything and anything possible to get into my good side.

We were the talk of the whole complex. San wasn't exactly the most private person when he was trying to show his affection. It was uncomfortable since the whole complex seemed to cheer when they found out San was trying to woo me, but I slowly got used to it.

Sometimes I would even look forward to it. I do feel a little bad sometimes because maybe I was power-tripping a little bit but the tiniest complaint from me and San would get into action.

"How was your meeting?" I asked when he entered my apartment.

He sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Terrible," he groaned. "Bastards are trying to haggle from us with at least 30% of the original price. It's ridiculous."

I never denied him of time either. I knew I liked him so it wasn't difficult at all for me, so we would hang out at each other's places, though more him in mine than vice versa. 

We were in an odd spot, we were technically together but not at the same time because we never got intimate or held hands or kissed. Not ever since that night.

"So what did you do?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Oh. I said yes."

I raised a brow in surprise. "You did? That's a huge percentage, San. "

"Don't worry," he brushed off with a smirk. "You know me, doll, I always have to get something in return. Wait here."

He went outside again and he was gone for approximately half an hour before he came back again, this time, he was carrying a box.

"What's that?" I asked out of curiosity when he set it down at the dining table.

"It's for you, my doll," he smiled. "Open it."

I hesitated, staring at him apprehensively, to which he laughed. "Seriously," San insisted. "You'll like it, I promise, there's no bugs in there or something."

I picked it up and turned it slightly. It was a lot heavier than I thought. I raised my eye to San, and he had this look that was a mixture of pride and fear of rejection. Carefully, I lifted the covers of the box and was surprised at what I saw.

"Yubari King!" I exclaimed in genuine surprise. I looked up at San and he beamed ear to ear at my expression. "San? How?"

"That 30% I was talking about earlier, I exchanged it for these babies," he carefully tapped the expensive melon. "Our client had Japanese connections, you'll get more of these soon."

When San asked if he could get me something, I mentioned these in passing because I know they were extremely difficult to find in Korea and are on the expensive side as well.

"Y-You didn't have to," I said, feeling extra guilty.

"I told you," he smiled, grabbing my hand to kiss me. "I meant it when I said I'll do anything for you."

"Thank you, San, I really appreciate it," I murmured, giving him a small hug. "You're going overboard, I'm telling you."

"I'm really not," he teased. "How about you slice that for us? I kinda wanna try it."

And that I did. The moment I bit into it, I couldn't help but moan out in satisfaction. It was so crunchy, the middle of it the sweetest I have ever tried, and it really put it into perspective why these were very expensive.

"Holy fuck," San exclaimed. "I can't believe this actually tastes good."

"What were you expecting anyway?" I teased.

"I was hoping they'd taste like shit so I couldn't justify the price," he rolled his eyes playfully.

"So thanks to you, we're eating good shit," I chuckled.

"Yeah?" San smiled. "Would it be possible to get a kiss, at least?"

I froze, my arms and legs becoming a bit rigid. San notices and visibly panics. "No, I'm sorry--"

"We agreed that I was going to do this on my own time?" I was frowning, trying very hard to keep my voice leveled, but I was shaking a bit. I put the last slice of the melon and chewed on it rather roughly.

"You're right, baby---"

"Don't call me that," I hissed.

San deflated, looking visibly upset. I felt so bad, but I can't help the way I felt. "Sorry," he whispered.

This wouldn't be the first time I had snapped at him. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I wasn't ready for any sort of intimacy with him even though I did want to give him a chance. Maybe it was the small trauma he inflicted.

Deep down, I knew it was because I was scared that once I let him in, he would stop because maybe he only wanted me for the thrill I gave him and my body.

"I'm going to take a nap," I sighed as I got up from the couch and tried to head to my room.

"Ba--Y/N, please, please, I didn't mean to make you mad," San pleaded. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

"San, I don't know, go pick some four-leaf clovers, or something," I spat, finally closing the door behind me.

When I laid down on my bed, I felt a bit lonely and cold. Today, San was supposed to sleep here. Yeah, for people not dating, we would sleep in the same bed. It was my sick way of dealing with my bad memories of him; so I can replace them with good ones.

At the far corner of my room, my eyes landed on the bouquet of the most beautiful jasmines I have been taking care of for weeks now. My eyes teared up, San gave them to me and I was floored. They were very rare where we lived.

I hit an all time low depressive state today. It had been two weeks since San and I started trying for each other and a week since I last saw even his shadow.

Oh, I was pissed alright. 

I sighed, I suppose I was right in not giving him a full chance because where was he? He literally disappeared, it was infuriating. It was one thing if he talked to me before and after, but no, absolutely nothing.

But behind all that anger, was sadness. I thought we were going to have something real despite the horrible start we had.

I sighed deeply and was about to go to my room and try to sleep everything out, but my doorbell suddenly rang. I was confused, I wasn't expecting anyone.

My eyes widened. Unless it was my parents. I got nervous, I wasn't ready to face them yet after running away.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, only to be face to face with someone I thought I'd never see again.

"San?"

He thrusted a bouquet of flowers in my hand. "Hi," he whispered.

"What the hell, Choi San?" I gritted my teeth. "You disappeared for a week without telling me where you were! I thought you left for good!"

"I'm sorry, doll, I really am," he frowned. "I didn't have service in Virginia."

"Virginia?" I raised my brow in genuine surprise. "What on God's green Earth were do you doing there?" 

He smiled widely, looking proud of himself. "I bought you your favourite flowers."

"What are you talking about? Those are---oh my God," I gasped audibly when I took a good look at the bouquet.

They were blue jasmines, a very uncommon species of flowers mostly found in the United States. My eyes started to tear up. "San," my lips quivered.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but you deserve the best," he assured, his smile growing bigger. "I told you I'd do anything for you."

I woke up all of a sudden, the pitter-patter of the rain hitting my windowsill loudly interrupting my nap. Suddenly, my mind went to San immediately.

I went out of my room to check if he was still here. I felt horrible for snapping at him and I intended to apologize. I was confused when I didn't see him because his jacket and phone were both still here.

"San?" I called out of nowhere while I tried to look at every nook and cranny in my room, but he was nowhere to be found.

I decided to go in my small backyard, knowing San wouldn't be there anyway, but my feet took me to my destination in my half asleep state.

I was about to leave after looking around, but my head quickly whipped back around to do a double-take. My jaw dropped instantly, I was wrong, San was here.

"Oh God," I whispered, horrified.

There he was, the big and strong man kneeling down the soaked grass searching for something in a way so concentrated, you would think he was looking for gold underneath the soil.

He was looking for a four-leaf clover. What have I done?  

Without thinking, I quickly ran towards him in the pouring rain, not caring if I wasn't wearing any slippers or carrying an umbrella, I just wanted to get him out of there.

"San, you idiot!" I screamed in frustration, quickly kneeling beside him to try and get him up. "Stop it!"

He was startled at first. "Doll, you're going to get sick," he frowned. "Go inside, I'm sorry I can't find any---"

"Forget it, I didn't mean it like that, please," I begged in exasperation. "I don't want you to get sick!"

We both stood in the middle of the grassy yard, not caring if the rain hit us. "You care about me?" San asked quietly.

"Of course I care about you!" I exclaimed, stomping my feet on the ground as if it would help me explain my thoughts. "I care about you a lot, you dummy."

He revealed a dimpled smile - a smile that was only reserved for me. "I'm glad," he spoke, grabbing me by the arm, then the head, and then leaned in to give me a kiss.

I kissed him back with equal desperation. It was everything I needed right now and the sparks that traveled through our bodies were intensifying the unspoken feelings between the two of us. Yeah, intense would be the word I'd use.

Before we both knew it, our clothes were gone and we were a mess trying to have each other on my bed, not caring if we were both wet from the rain. It might sound ridiculous, but there was no other way to describe what we were doing but making love.

"This is something you want, right?" San asked. "You'll have me, and you're going to want me to have you."

"More than anything in the world," I replied. 

"Y/N, I mean it," he kissed my lips. "I want all of you, not just your body."

"Show me," I whispered.

All our pretense and doubt went out and the world melted away into nothing. Everything was raw and intense, every breath fast and both our hearts were finally becoming into one. This was only our second time being this intimate, and maybe I was delusional, but this one felt better than the first. Maybe because I had feelings for San this time. Everything happened as quickly as it started.

"I won't let you down," San murmured, hugging me and giving me a tender kiss on my forehead once everything was said and done. "My feelings for you are deep."

"As mine are," I tilted my head to meet his lips. "Just don't break through my window again."

San laughed loudly. "I won't," he turned to the window he fixed up quite well. "On one condition."

"The audacity," I playfully rolled my eyes. "What is it?"

"Be my girlfriend?"

I frowned. "I thought that was a given?"

"Oh," he shrugged. "I wanted to ask anyway. Is that a yes?"

I nodded and was about to say something witty to him, when my phone rang loudly in the background. Without thinking nor looking at the screen, I answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, Y/N, it's about time you answered," my dad's irritated voice sounded from the phone.

I yelped in surprise and stared at a curious San. "Ah, D-Dad, can I c-call you back in a minute or two?" 

I hung up before my dad could even say no. I hit my forehead frustratedly with my fist while mentally how dumb I was.

"Doll? Is everything okay?" San asked, worried. "Why'd you hang up? This wouldn't be the first time either."

I peered at him cautiously. "You noticed, huh?"

"Is it related to why you don't want to go back to London?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I'll explain later, let's get dressed first."

I dressed hurriedly because knowing my father, he would call back if I was even a second or two late from the promised time. If San and I were going to be together, he needs to know why I'm here. It's just a shame that he had to find out this way.

"It's okay, doll, I'm here if anything," San assured while the phone rang. "Oh, he picked up."

I panicked a bit and positioned the front camera to my face and out of San's. "Dad!"

“I'm disappointed that my only daughter doesn't want to talk to me," my dad's face held a little sadness, but nothing crazy. "Mingi and mom say hi."

"Who's Mingi?" San hissed. He winced a bit when I kicked him on the leg.

"I'm sure my brother," I glared pointedly at San. "And mum is fine."

My dad rolled his eyes dramatically. I guess that's where I got 

my bratty attitude from. "They'd be better if you came back home," he sighed dejectedly. "Next time you don't answer your phone, I'm cutting off your allowance."

"Dad..."

"I'm serious, Y/N, I'm getting old," he began to say, and I got nervous because I knew what he was about to say next. "If you could just give my friend's son a chance, you might make a connection with him."

San's gaze went from curious to immediately pissed. He gave me a flat look of annoyance. "Don't say a word," I mouthed silently at him.

"Dad, you know I want to be with someone I truly liked," I sighed  exhaustedly. "And I want the relationship to be natural, not because we were matchmarked with one another."

"I didn't tell you to marry him on the spot, sweetie," he said with a frown. "I'm not going to force you, but all I ask is an initial meet up and see where it goes from there."

When I didn't answer, my dad continued his tirade. "And what do you do, you rebellious child? You run away when you know we can't reach you!"

I glanced at San with a tight smile and a mutual understanding passed between us. Now that the truth was out, San looked weary and I got extremely nervous.

"I've met him plenty of times, he's a great guy, Y/N. Very polite, intelligent, and easy on the eyes too."

"I'm sure he is, dad," I chuckled nervously when San glared hard at the phone. He glared at it so hard I'm surprised laser beams haven't shot out from his eyes yet.

"If only you gave him a chance," my dad hummed thoughtfully. "He's a bit older than you are, but I'm sure you'll be in good hands."

"You know I'm not into older men," I mumbled under my breath. San had the gall to look extremely offended.

I muted myself really quickly and lifted my phone up so my dad couldn't see my annoyed face. "I'm just making excuses, don't give that look," I hissed at San. He just rolled his eyes like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"He's not that old," another voice said from the background who wasn't my father. He must be out with his friends somewhere.

San raised a tentative brow and slowly sat up, but I ignored him.  He can stew for all I care. It's cute that he's jealous but this wasn't the right time, my dad might ask me to separate with San and I wasn't ready to get heartbroken yet, especially since we just made up.

"Ah, that's my friend, Cheol," my dad said. "Actually, it's his son that we were hoping to pair you up with---"

"Give me that shit, I can't take this anymore," San hissed and roughly grabbed the phone from my hands. I was about to protest loudly but when he gave me that especially terrifying glare of his, I sat back down.

"Please don't say anything stupid," I pleaded.

He raised a brow and rolled his eyes. He's really pissed, oh my. He cleared his throat and positioned the front camera properly towards his face. My dad must be so confused right now.

"Sir," San started with the most polite, but firm voice I've ever heard him speak. Spoken like a true business. "I'm your daughter's boyfriend and with all due respect, I really like---dad?"

I was so startled at San's voice but apparently so was he. It was like he saw a ghost with how pale and how wide his eyes have become. 

"San? San! Is that you?! Give me that real quick, Hyun Sok..."

I swiftly sat beside San so we were both in the camera. I was so surprised I couldn't even say a word. We heard quick shuffles from the other line and another man that looked just like San, but older, also had this shocked expression.

"That was your dad?" San looked at me.

"That was your dad?" I shot back.

"What are you doing in London, dad?" San managed to say despite the shock.

"Never mind me, son, what are you doing there?" his dad queried. I saw my dad shuffle in the camera and if it wasn't for the situation, I would have laughed at how priceless his shocked expression was.

"I knew that voice sounded familiar," San grumbled.

"Well, since it came to this," San sighed. He held my hand and brought it up to the camera for both our fathers to see. "Dad, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Doll, this is my father, Choi Jongcheol."

"Y/N? Is this true?" my dad inquired. I nodded in confirmation, afraid of his reaction, but instead me and San had the surprise of the lifetime when they started laughing loudly and chaotically.

"I gotta hand it to your son, Cheol, he sure gets the gold, know what I'm saying?"

"I taught him no less than that! Shit Sok, this was even better than we were hoping for!”

"Didn't even need to set them up for a dinner date, my God."

"Definitely went straight to dessert."

"Aye!"

"Okay," I spoke slowly and awkwardly. "Dad, what's going on?"

"Your boyfriend," he chuckled. "That's who I wanted you to meet a couple of years back!"

I was surprised, and so was San, with the new information. Now that I think about it, everything fit. The timeline of when San moved here, especially, and one time he did mention his father trying to set him up with someone but he also denied the offer.

"I thought you didn't want someone older?" my dad raised a brow mischievously.

"Some things change," I shrugged, trying hard to hide my blushing cheeks.

"How did you two meet?" Jongcheol asked curiously.

"You don't wanna know," San chuckled nervously. I blushed harder when he kissed my cheek in front of both our dads and both of them had this shit-eating grin on their faces.

"Well, we don't want to hold you guys," my dad said awkwardly and not making eye contact. I was confused until he said, "Your hair is messy, and San's shirt is on backwards."

I groaned in embarrassment and covered my face as I ducked away from the screen in order to save face. San chuckled softly at my demise.

"Well, be careful you two," San's dad teased and I heard my dad laughing in the background. "Use protection, Choi San, but not too much. We don't mind grandkids soon---"

"Dad! Ugh, so embarrassing!" San screamed and hung up.

He tossed the phone away somewhere on the bed as if it was the plague, itself. We both burst out laughing at the irony of the situation for ten minutes straight.

"Had I known it was you," I chuckled as I laid my head on his shoulder. "I'd have agreed immediately."

"We both didn't know, it's okay," San hummed. "We both ended up together anyway, didn't we?"

"True. The irony of it all, I can't believe this," I smiled. "Still, we could have met sooner."

"Sooner than that," he sighed. "Your brother has been trying to invite me to your house back then too. I just always said no because we were both busy trying to start the company."

I was startled. "You know my brother?"

I hadn't seen my brother, Mingi, for a while now. He was the reason why I was successful in moving here, though I never told him why. And my parents never told him either because I knew they didn't want to stress him out for his---

The realization hit me. Mingi was also ten years older than me, I was a happy accident, you see, and he was also trying to start a company with his friends here!

"Yes," San confirmed. "He's one of my best friends, didn't you see the photo by the doorway?"

I knew the photo he was referring to. It was the one that hung in his room, one of the very few decorations he had, that I was looking at where I thought it was his family at first and he said they were lifelong friends.

"I-I don't remember what it looked like," I admitted. San whipped out his phone and showed me the picture and my jaw hung open when I saw Mingi at the very top corner of the photo. "I've never seen Mingi with pink hair before, how was I supposed to know?!"

Needless to say, I was definitely going to call Mingi later. San laughed out loud at my expression and once again, we were laughing together.

"This fate thing is crazy," I giggled. "Do you regret anything?"

"Never," San shook his head. "I say we celebrate this new found information."

"And how do you propose we do that, Mr. Choi?" I teased.

I screamed when San got on top of me and he hovered over me with a playful smirk on his beautiful face. "I can think of a few ways," he pecked my lips. "What do you say?"

I giggled uncontrollably and nodded. We might not have started on the right track and some people might think I'm dumb for giving the man who forced me to his will a chance, but something tells me we're going to be fine.

By all means, San isn’t perfect and neither am I, but sometimes we need people who aren’t perfect to help us achieve what’s good for us, not what is right.

[xoxo-surfergirl]

the lady, the prince, & the sword

[in honor of spooky season]

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

abstract: over one hundred years after the dance, you grow up as a lady in the ruins of Harrenhal. One day, you get a little too curious about the prince and his dragon rumored to be rotting at the bottom of the lake, and awaken something beyond your understanding. 🕯️this fic is inspired by a post from @sapphirevhagar 🕯️ themes: spooky harrenhal, smut, ghost/undead aemond, aemond as a war criminal, forbidden romance if you squint, you are the lady of harrenhal, dark aemond (but like, he's a dark character so I just tried to stay true to who he is), piv & hand stuff

lucy's notes: ao3 link. I tried to make my characterization of aemond as true as I could, but I won't lie it was hard in this scenario!! I don't think he'd be the type to just fuck someone (but maybe he would...who knows), but for the purposes of this spooky halloween fic I tried to make it as realistic as I could. maybe he would if he was pussy starved for a century, so that's what I'm going for. ENJOY!

word count: 8.6k

The sun had struck its highest point in the sky, your very own guiding star to the lake below it. 

From this bluff above God’s Eye, you could see all of what you called home: a boundless land, resilient despite centuries of war that had left each tree as a tombstone watered with spilled blood. And yet, the land was more alive because of it, or perhaps despite it. You weren’t sure which, but you knew just as well as any other riverman that if you listened close enough, you could feel the breath of the land under your feet. 

The rolling evergreens murmured when the winds ran through their branches. Winter was coming, and soon the jeweled blue of God’s Eye would coalesce into bitter sheets of ice. But for now, the first light gusts coaxed the water’s surface into gentle catspaws, still forgiving enough on your skin to welcome you into the lake. There was no barrier between your toes and the grass. Your daily swims were the one time you went without boots, an activity of yours that the Lord of Harrenhal detested. Mud is unbecoming of a lady , your father would say. It was, but so was walking in squelching boots back to your chambers. 

The faint line of sand at your favorite lakeside spot had finally breached your toes. It was better than all of the rest. Much of the lake had no such comfortable entry as this: a large swath of sand perfectly divoted for entry. Silence was a familiar friend here. It was a true silence, unlike the faint drips and echoes that seeped through your walls. 

And so the last thing you were expecting was company. “And what finds my Lady at this cursed corner of God’s Eye?” 

“My good Patrek, I did not expect to see you here.” Hiding your fright was easier said than done. An old family friend of the less noble type, with a face worn by time and a voice weathered by wind. Onlookers were rare here, and you wondered if he had followed you all the way from the keep. 

“You should not be here, my Lady. You know the stories, educated as you are.” 

You did—of how the very burrows of sand that now welcomed your toes were dug by Daemon Targaryen’s dragon Caraxes in a death-crawl to shore after his rider and opponent had perished. Every riverman knew of the tale. 

“I swim here often. If there is a curse, I hope I have been spared it.” Brushing off a stubborn elder was something you were quite familiar with. 

“Then you know the dragon’s blood soaked into the soil, dying where you stand. The very ground you walk on is damned.” His voice gruffed against his throat, but there was no mistaking the concern there. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the power of such things—as a Lady of Harrenhal you knew very well from your own accord how often things are not always what they seemed. But even some tales were too far-fetched for your own belief.

 Besides, if you heeded every tale and story from your surrounding men, you’d hardly be able to leave your chambers. 

Telling an old riverman what to do was not a task you’d expected to find yourself involved in at this hour. The look in your eye did more talking than your words. “I appreciate your concern, Patrek. But I insist, I am more than alright.” 

With one last stare, he dismissed himself. Thank the gods. 

In front of you, fragile blades of grass dared to peek through the large sand trough. It was a perfect pathway to the water, gently sloping and kinder on your feet than the rocky mud surrounding the rest of the lake was. If this truly was Caraxes’ doing, he had carved such a fine entrance to the water. It had never regrown. Barren, unlike the greater parts of the rest of the lake—perhaps the agony of such a creature reshaping the dirt with its claws, belly dragging and wingless on one side, had scarred the land permanently. You could see it. 

The water lapped at your toes now. Dragons were a far away concept, from a land and world that no longer existed, yet you wondered if their deaths really were something so traitorous to the gods that the land could never fully be right again. 

Stepping further and further inside, the light billow of your dress danced in the water. There were times, like a moonlit night, where you would forgo your dress and let the lake feel you bare. Those moments were rare, and ladies hardly had enough privacy and virtue to spare to allow such brazen activities—but you indulged in them when the moon called. With a final push of your toes, you dove your hands ahead of you and released. For a second, you were flying, letting the water carry you before you pushed against it once more. Smiling came easy here. 

And yet Patrek’s words lingered. None of the information was new. Perhaps it was the graveness of his voice that haunted you. 

Words could melt in the water, and his were no exception. The water held you as your mother might have, or a lover—all over, bringing you a comfort you could find nowhere else. You ran your fingers and toes in the sand below you, feeling it sift in the weightlessness between them. 

The sun had sunk low in the sky when you emerged from the lake, mind and body calm in your daily ritual. 

A new day had brought with it new curiosities—it would be easier to say that getting the tales out of your head was a simple task, but over the course of the previous day, it had proved much more difficult than you’d hoped. 

Sleep had evaded you, and restlessness drew you to the library. Each book was half rotted away from moisture that settled between each page and binding stitch. The candle light in your hand fought a losing battle with the mist, surrendering to a low bruising blue. Even still, you had found what you came there for. 

It was readable despite the poor lighting.  Dragons in the Riverlands were a sore subject—it was not a surprise to find that many, if not all of the manuscripts on dragons were loathsome at best, and near traitorous to your Targaryen overlords at worst. 

Prince Daemon Targaryen and his dragon Caraxes dueled Prince Aemond Targaryen and his dragon Vhagar on the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 130 AC. Dragon shrieks rippled in the wind and dragonfire flamed into the sunset so bright that the sky itself was said to be alight. Prince Daemon is said to have leapt onto Vhagar, plunging the ancestral Targaryen Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister through his nephew’s good eye. Caraxes is believed to have crawled to shore before releasing a dying shriek. Prince Daemon, Prince Aemond and Vhagar’s bones are believed to remain at the bottom of the lake today. 

Portraits of the two men and their dragons had accompanied the passage, with sketches of the battle gathered from the artists and bards surrounding God’s Eye. Long platinum hair framed both men, though Daemon lacked Aemond’s youth and sapphire eye.

  What a peculiar thing, a sapphire eye. Imagining a dragon as large as Vhagar sunk deep beneath your nose was a strange thing, fitting for a strange man with a sapphire in his socket. Trying to imagine a creature, let alone a dragon as big as her, was incomprehensible. If she really was the size of a small keep, how could one command her? 

Aemond Targaryen had—and perhaps that made him one of the most god-like Targaryens of all Targaryens to exist. And now he was damned to spend his eternity bound to the dark blue dungeon that was the depths of God’s Eye. 

Your toes had found the water’s edge once again, among the supposed cursed grounds of Caraxes last breathing place. If one dragon’s death made the land cursed, then surely the death of two doubled it. 

Today was a different venture than you were used to. The sun was even more forgiving than usual, warming your skin before you ever touched the water. It was a compulsion that drew your limbs to swim further from shore, an unexplainable magnetic lord that your limbs gladly obliged. With a hefty suck of air, you submerged your head. The chamber of echoing silence took its hold of your ears as you sank deeper and with a blink, you opened your eyes. The sun rays refracted in planes off of the water’s surface, down to the awaiting bottom. Only on the most clear days were you able to see this far, and yet it still wasn’t far enough to reach its furthest depths. 

Arms and legs tugged on the water. You sank deeper, your hair and dress haloing your floating figure. Long tendrils of curly pondweed and brittle water nymph followed the soft current rippling through the lake. You could feel its light pull, but your limbs were much stronger than the fragile plants that lay there. Swimming forward into deeper territory, large rocks begin to take shape, with their own water thread and algae sprouting from aged cracks. 

It was so faint, you almost missed it. A sparkle or two in the darkness, a trap of sunlight where sunlight didn’t belong anymore, just out of your sight. Another pull of your arms and you were closer: close enough to almost see what could create such a glimmer. Your lungs were calling but you just needed to get one more look—

Despite the near fade to darkness, the shape was unmistakable: a silver pommel, jutting out from beyond the deep. The dragon wings at the hilt were frozen in flight. Realization laid its heavy hand upon your chest and the call of your lungs became too loud to ignore. Frantically swimming to the surface, the bubbles spilled from your lips as the water became warmer as the sun drew closer. Your rift of the surface was punctuated by the loud gasp of your aching chest. Save for your weak disruption, the top of the lake sat as tranquil and undisturbed as you had left it. 

If it’s what you thought it was—

A few more deep breaths later and you were down below the surface once again, heart thrumming with revelation. This time, you knew exactly how deep you needed to go. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but the glint was visible even near the surface. It was a distant sparkle in the underworld, as if it was capturing the blue essence of God’s Eye itself. Blood pumped through your ears in the chamber of the deep as your arms tugged, stomach threatening to turn despite your precious conservation of air. 

A sapphire and a sword, each a shining beacon of their own. The skull which held both tilted up towards the heavens. Beyond it, skeletal arms reached forward, nearly upward. Part of you knew that the same buoyancy which allowed you to float was the same that held him, but another part of you wondered if at the time of the prince’s death he was reaching towards the sky in hopeless defiance. His once royal leathers and armor were rusted and torn, ebbing like the eel grass that had taken root. Time submitted all to its will, even princes, leaving only rot behind. 

The incomprehensible became comprehensible with one look downwards: crumpled and black, you realized it was not depth, but dragon bones themselves that seemed to create the darkness of the water that surrounded him. Thick spires of obsidian bone curled around what you could only put together as a rib cage the size of a small keep. Her skull was far from her body, large eye sockets gaping and maw stretched with rows of dagger teeth. The very maw that was the last sight of many in the Riverlands. 

If you wanted to reach the surface, you needed to swim now. But for a few more moments, the urge to swim just a bit further was greater than your want for air. You don’t know what possessed you—it could have been the lack of oxygen, or that you were just fond of shiny things on occasion, but you reached for the bright pommel that was nearly offering itself out to you and pulled. The blade was heavier than you were anticipating, as much of a novice as you were, but you persisted. Drawing your arms tight into your chest and using your whole body to swim against it, you did your best to wrack it free from its hold in the prince’s skull. It felt almost wrong to pull so hard, but you persisted. Bubbles jutted from your mouth in the struggle until it wracked free. 

It was now the second time you surfaced, and your gasp was much louder than the last. The sword was heavy in your arms, wanting to drag you back down to the bottom with it and join the prince and his dragon. There was no particular reason for taking it—it was a beautiful thing, untouched by the same rot and ruin as the prince and his dragon below. A sneaky voice in your head reminded you that a relic like this could pay to fill Harrenhal’s coffers for half the year or more if returned to the Targaryens, yet that is not why you sought it. 

In fact, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know what you had taken, and made quick work to wrap it in your swimming dress on your way back to the castle. A large object wrapped in cloth was not subtle, but the impossibility of manning such a monstrosity of a castle worked in your favor. Taking careful steps and hiding in the many alcoves to weave your way back to your chambers without spectacle proved a successful effort. 

The afternoon had come and gone with little affair, besides a light dusting of rain. It rained at Harrenhal often. And often, you found it peaceful. The rain was a part of life, and the wetness with it. 

But as the late afternoon carried on to evening, it became no such rain. The sky had darkened hours before sundown, bright colors and pretty horizons forgotten behind the undulating turmoil above you. The thunder went beyond simple sounds to full-bodied vibrations, shaking you from the bottom of your feet through your ears. It was not a storm, but a wroth sky. You were certain that no castle for hundreds of miles was spared. 

The buckets meant to catch runaway leaks in the stones were overflowing from the violent rain. Wind raided every crevice it could weave through, whistling just to force itself through. Servants and your family alike had begun sheltering the most fragile of belongings: books, letters, artifacts, and wood sensitive to rot. The torches fought against the wind, a harsh back-and-forth that flickered all light around you into senselessness. 

Retiring early tended to suit you better in many storms, though you doubted you would be getting any meaningful sleep. Earlier, you had unfurled Dark Sister. A small bead of blood on your finger taught you that valyrian steel was as sharp as they say it is. The sword rested against your desk, tall and lethal, catching every strike of lightning as it came down through your window. 

Between each bout of thunder and battering of lightning, you managed to find moments of rest. Each time a strike would come down threatening to tear down the walls, you sat up, clutching your down quilt in your hands. And each time, Dark Sister was glinting in the corner, winged hilt spread like a pouncing bird of prey. 

And yet the greatest of your fears lay not with the presence of the ancestral Targaryen sword, but came in your winks of sleep: a figure, tall and eerie, in the corner of your chambers. Each time you had awoken, your eyes flashed across your room, fearing that you would find a creature of the night standing there. 

Luckily, it seemed the shadow had made its home in your head and not your chambers. When daybreak began to glow behind the clouds, your relief came with it. 

This day was much the same as the last, yet there were fewer and fewer channels for excess water to pour away from the hearths. There would be no swimming today, that much was certain; making the walk down to the lake alone would be enough to sink you into mud, never to be seen again. All were set to help the effort to keep what was able to be kept dry, lady or servant. 

“An omen, I fear,” said Mathilda, a favored handmaiden of yours, as she threw another bucket of water through the open window to the yard below. 

“An omen of what?” 

“Harrenhal hasn’t seen a storm like this in over a decade. It went against all folk predictions.” she breathed worriedly,  “A bad omen. Something isn’t right.” 

You had tucked the sword under your bed about halfway through the night when you realized that looking at it only made your stomach churn. There it lay still and waiting, inches from your two pairs of feet. 

But there was nothing you could do about it at this very moment. “Is there anything to do to protect against a bad omen?” 

“It depends on what’s happened. But for most of my knowledge, I am afraid not. The damage has already been done.” 

The pit in your stomach stirred. In the same evening, the thunder was just as fierce and lightning just as fiery. Regret compounded with every shake of thunder for the stolen sword. It was better left under the lake where it belonged—you knew that now. 

Purple cracked the sky in two from your chamber window, illuminating everything once more. Folktale or omen, bad tidings or tall whispers, on the morrow you would return it. 

And yet that was exactly what didn’t happen. 

Instead, it had happened like this: servants had been rushing around the keep all morning, doing their best to keep the rush of water from entering the hall of a hundred hearths and touching the rugs. Half soaked and boots trailing water already, you didn’t make it past the tower of dread before the guards crossed their swords and insisted that you shall not pass. Too much water could sweep you off your feet and carry you away, they had said, pushing you back to your chambers while you discreetly held a covered Dark Sister to your side. 

Tomorrow it was, then. Insistence would get you nowhere. A lady’s requests were either dutifully followed or carelessly ignored. It was imperative that the torrent stopped, or that you were able to more discreetly make your way to the lake. 

The sword could not be by your side any longer. Perhaps you could leak your secret to septa Scully—you knew her folkwoman heart still beat inside her somewhere, and it could drive her to help you. 

This night was no different from the last. Harrenhal and its eerie passageways and mangey essence had managed to frighten you as a girl, the darkest storms holding your fear hostage. It had been years since you had faced the same fear that licked at your erratic heart as it did now, tucked under your quilted down, thunder wracking itself outside. 

It was in your head—the uncontrolled storm, the tales in your ear—they had simply wormed their way deep in your mind. It was a weak consolation, but your heart finally began its slowing. 

A footstep in the darkness, outside your chambers, was enough to jolt it right back. 

Any sense of sleep had left you now, and all of your focus rushed to your ears. Digging yourself deeper in the covers, you exhaled as quietly as you could in wait. 

Just as you feared, there was another, and then another. 

No matter how hard your forced your eyes shut, the fright remained, each boot knocking on the stone outside, coming closer, and closer, until, 

The door creaked open softly, a rumble of storm to accompany it. Each finger, limb, and blink was frozen over. If you were still enough, perhaps whoever had opened the door would leave you behind. Each of your heart beats felt so loud it would give away your very existence. 

The cold voice that met you instead was nearly enough to get your heart to stop beating all together. “You have something of mine.” 

You dared not move, not even at the direct notice of your presence. 

Squelching wet footsteps punctuated in between his words, each one slowly creeping closer to your bedside. “I know you’re here, little lady of Harrenhal. No amount of stillness in the world would hide you from me.” 

With a swallow of fear, you scurried off of your bed to your night side table, hoping to distance yourself from the intruder. Sitting or laying felt too vulnerable for you to stay put. 

“I don’t understand.” Were the only words you managed to choke out to the shadowed figure in front of you. There was no weapon for you to reach, unless you reached under the bed and grabbed—

“How do you not know? You took it from me.” 

He lowered the hood of his cape. Platinum hair spilled down his shoulders over the black leather of his doublet that shined as if made from metal itself. His skin was pale as a soft moon, and a sapphire eye with a dash through his face—it was almost holy in nature, the beam of a celestial spell. Any thoughts of a common thief or crook left your mind. Even still, it did almost nothing to alleviate your fear, for you had recognized him. 

The pages in your books didn’t do him justice. Any gasp that may or may not have left your lips was drowned out by a whip of lightning.  “H-how?” 

“Give me back my sword.” He answered plainly. 

Shaky hands reached under the bed, eyes locked onto his fierce gaze as you gingerly felt for the hilt. Once in your grasp, you dragged it out, the weight even heavier in your arms than it had when you had pulled it to the surface. Your arm, lightly shaking, extended to his, the pommel and blade gleaming menacingly. His own palm lay over yours to reclaim the hilt. It was made of flesh, and warm—a mystery that evaded you. 

You figured he might strap the sword to whatever sheath was on his side and go back to wherever he had come from, but instead, he set it aside. In yet another movement of unpredictability, he stepped closer. 

“You must dive again and put it back yourself, I cannot do it for you.” His flesh eye studied you carefully, stepping forward to circle you. “But, you have given me reason to finally meet you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve had no one but you to keep me company for one hundred years” Now, he was at a distance where there was more familiarity and the details of his face became more prominent out of the shadows. “You swim in the lake almost every day.” 

You watched him attentively, attempting to understand what it was you were seeing. The fear of the unknown and absurd frightened you. It could be another dream, just like the one you had last night—but you were certain you were awake. 

He stepped even closer, daring to reach out his hand and brush it over your cheek, as if feeling the lifeblood that beat beneath it. “Who are you, one that swims in God’s Eye?” 

“I am a lady of Harrenhal” you paused, still trying to gauge his danger with your disbelief. “Who are you?” 

“You know who I am.” His sapphire was a burning blue ember in the night. 

Denial reared its unforgiving head into yours. Backing away, you tried to reason with yourself. “It’s a trick. Harrenhal plays tricks—I know this.” 

“I assure you, I am no illusion. Stop fighting it.” 

“I—” You let it sit for a moment. He stood in front of you, tall and enshadowed even in the faint candlelight. 

A deep exhale was all you could manage, closing your eyes in resignation. “Yes, my prince. Are you going to kill me?” 

“No, my lady. I’m not going to hurt you.” Watching the ground, you could see his black boots stepping towards you once more. “You did take my sword, but more than that, I simply wanted to meet the only one who dared swim down to me and Vhagar.” 

He tilted your chin up to meet his own eye. There was something curious there, almost soft. Aemond’s hand was so gentle it soothed your rabbit’s heart. “Now you see me, made of flesh.” 

Fear, though not absent, was no longer the only feeling that sent your blood pumping. The feeling of being wanted was something that you had coveted, yet always remained outside of your grasp. You imagined every movement of yours in the lake, how you had never been truly alone on your visits, even the ones in the deepest of summer where you shed your dress and embraced the lake with all of your bareness. 

Crafted in the image of the gods themselves or not, you knew it was impossible for every Targaryen to look the way he did; the beauty of him was something unique, you knew it. Another bolt fractured the sky outside, its flash illuminating both of you. It played a trick on your eyes, almost closing some of the distance between you with blinding light. 

“Are you scared of the storm?” Aemond loomed above you. 

“I’m of this land. Storms do not scare me.” 

“Did I frighten you?” 

He had to have known your answer, but you indulged him. “Yes, you did, my prince.” 

“You don’t need to be scared of me, my lady of God’s Eye.” He stepped closer, resting his left hand on your arm. His hair hung above your face now, a tilt of his head altering its course. “Does this frighten you?” 

You felt the soft weight of his palm, fearing breathing for the simple movement of it. “No, my prince.” With a careful pause, you continued. “My apologies for taking your sword. I didn’t know—” 

“You can repay me.” Aemond replied, his voice assured yet tender for your ears. “You have been tempting me in the lake for long enough.” 

You nodded lightly, delicately reaching out for your palm to meet his chest. There was a warmth coming from within, not cold like an undead body might be. The prince, real or not, was closer to you than any other man had ever been. He reached down, gently tugging you into a soft kiss. 

He was warm here too, and wet, much to your pleasure. Your lips opened to his own, mouths deftly sliding against one another. Aemond’s hand smoothed over your cheek, his palm nearly swallowing it whole. You moved together in a gentle sway, mouths delicately pressed together. In an act of boldness, you pressed your own body closer to his, your palm holding his side to steady yourself. 

The tempest outside your windows beat on. Your hands moved to crook in his neck. The skin there was soft like his mouth, and you wondered if the rest of him was just as welcoming. Aemond began walking forward, holding and kissing you through his guidance. Your lower back bumped against your mattress, and you broke your lips apart. 

It was perfection: the softness of this moment and the synergy of your movements against one another. 

Until it wasn’t. Perhaps it was the way the lightning had framed him, thunder dividing you two.  Within its roar came the cries of those he had forced to their knees in this very castle. The fall of wood as the huts of innocents burned to ash, Vhagar’s fire hot enough to meld armor and flesh to one. The scar he ripped across the belly of your homeland still hadn’t healed hundreds of years later, and you laid your lips on the man, or the entity of him, who had done it all. 

Your eyes must have given you away. 

“So you are frightened of me?” His subtle sultriness didn’t evade him, even in the light of the hell he had brought upon the earth. 

“You, Aemond Targaryen—reigned terror on this land,” you recoiled slightly, lifting yourself up onto your bed to inch away from him. 

He looked down, but any semblance of remorse was absent from his face. “I did. The fire that raged could be seen from the wall to Dorne.” 

History was a funny thing—something that becomes more intangible the longer it’s dead, fresh marks haunting only those who lived through it. But Aemond was tangible, here in front of you somehow. To him, did it happen yesterday or did it feel like a lifetime away?

Aemond paused, lifting his eye to meet yours, kneeling onto the floor, holding your gaze. “Let me atone for my sins then, my lady of Harrenhal.” 

Your breath hitched in your chest at the slight of his hands lifting your nightdress. 

Sitting up, you slowly pulled yourself away. “This is wrong. You’re—” 

“A monster?” 

Your lack of response was as much of an answer as anything else. 

“I am much more than that, I assure you.” You tried to pretend like the smoothing of his palm against your calf didn’t feel good. It was even harder to pretend that the man doing so wasn’t the most dashing man you’d ever seen, cursed by the gods or not. 

A lip bite was all he would get from you, uncertain of how to navigate your desire with your morality. 

“I can show you many things.” he hummed against your calf. 

You fell back onto the bed, whining lightly in frustration of the sexual kind. 

“If you only let me.” 

You closed your eyes. 

“Which would you rather do?” His princely voice was a seductor’s poison. 

“I can show you how deeply sorry I am for what I did to your home,” he said with a mocking sorrow as the featherlight warmth of his lips and tongue kissed the inside of your legs, up to the inside of your knee, and to the most sensitive skin on the inside of the meat of your thigh. Any resolve that you had was wafted away by the trace of his fingers. 

He pulled away, watching you carefully. “Or, you can show me how sorry you are for stealing my family’s sword. Which would you have it be?” 

Gods bless your ancestors. You prayed that they were not unlucky enough to bear witness to what you were about to say—the closest thing to treason you could commit. 

“I want to see your forgiveness, my prince.” You said, unsure of his next move but knowing somewhere within you that you would only indulge yourself further. 

Aemond smiled smugly. It suited him. “How about you feel it instead?” 

Hooking his fingers under your smallclothes, he rustled them off of you smoothly. You were exposed, cunt glistening and pooling wetness before him. Yes, definitely treason. 

You wondered what sins those long dead and buried beneath would have had to commit to be forced to hear your moan as one of his fingers entered your hole, ready and wanting. Aemond leaned over you, silver and knowing smile once more falling around your face. Using his thumb, he found your pearl so neatly in between your pillowy lips, touching you there lightly. 

“All wet, for me?” his smirk hung over you once more, satisfied by how quickly you dissolved under his hand. And what a joy it was to dissipate into a syrupy essence soaked mess. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, eye observing every rise and fall of your breasts. 

“Well—yes, but,” you whimpered, shame in your gaze. “I’ve never been touched by anyone else.” 

“A good, pretty maiden then.” He added another finger, your body sucking him in and oozing wetness in its own craving. Every brush of his thumb and curl of his digits left your mouth hanging open and eyes pleading at the man above you for more. 

Aemond could act as in control as he wanted, but you saw the embers of greed in his eye and felt his hardness at your hip. 

“I am so terribly sorry,” Aemond started in your ear, his fingers working their way inside of your honey soaked walls and thumb expertly toying with your swollen bud, “for absolutely nothing.” 

The words fell on ears too consumed by the talent of his hands to give a damn. Warmth in your belly bloomed as if he had planted the sun in there himself, your shining juices dripping the length of his palm. You had never been brought to the point of near blindness and incapacity by pleasure before, your own fingers too untrained. 

When the peak of your pleasure came, your arms wrapped around Aemond’s shoulders, moans breathy and full. Your walls throbbed and dripped around his fingers and your body flexed underneath his. Thunder was your friend, drowning out every noise that bubbled from your lips. 

Aemond Targaryen, or whatever was left of him, had been starved of a woman’s taste for over one hundred years. He savored every bead of syrupy sex that dripped from your cunt onto his hands while you panted in the final glimmers of ecstasy. 

It was difficult to help your eyelids from closing—the man had sent you to the hands of the gods and back. All you could do was savor the feel of him under your fingertips, rubbing lightly, until your sleep claimed you without your will or knowledge. 

The dawn broke and you were alone once more, nothing but disorder in your head and gleaming sword under your bed. 

Light thunder beat through the clouds, a solemn sun hidden behind them. The rain had eased a touch, but there had not been enough reprieve to make it any easier for the servants to clean up what was becoming a half-drowned castle. 

Yet the water navigating through the crack in the stones over your head took up the least amount of room in your head. It was real. You knew it was from the echoes of ease in your limbs from the pleasure he played you to. If that wasn’t evidence enough, your slippery juices coated the nestle of your thighs.  

It was wrong—you knew it. What had materialized between you and the prince was highly improper, not only as a lady, but as a lady of Harrenhal, the very castle in which he was partially responsible for the large number of roaming ghosts and of the land which he brought to ash out of his own anger. 

Aemond had said that you needed to return the sword to the God’s Eye yourself. Perhaps you had tampered with something greatly out of your knowledge, and restoration was imperative for your own good and the good of the castle. 

And yet the sword never moved from under your bed. Perhaps you had forgotten, or perhaps, you had conveniently discovered a hundred and one other tasks that needed your attention. And perhaps, the prince would come again. 

You could pray for forgiveness from the river people later. It was your own secret shame to have and to hold, for no one else’s eyes or ears. 

It was last light. Mathilda swept a dollop of water that landed on her forehead. “This storm won’t break.” 

“I was a girl the last time one like this hit.” Of all the many storms that wracked this land, few had the same unbroken rainfall and loud slaughter of thunder. 

There was apprehension and fright in her eyes. Mathilda’s movements were unnatural to anything you had seen her, to the point that it struck its own fear in you . 

“What is it, Mathilda?” 

“There’s only one storm I remember like this,” she started, worrying her hands with another bucket of water. “I didn't want to believe it yesterday. You were a girl, yes.” 

“And what of it?” 

“This land is old. A mass graveyard is what it is. Someone had tampered with something they shouldn’t have.” 

Your stomach sank, and your secret with it. “What happened?” 

“The man was never seen again. And there’s only one place around here people disappear to.” 

The lake. You remembered him, a guard in your father’s command, the storm that tore on, and his disappearance marking the end of it. Everyone had figured he got swept away in the storm, but it seemed that Mathilda, among others, believed something different. Still—there were plenty of cursed objects lying around, perhaps you had gotten a touch more lucky with your object of choosing. 

But perhaps it wasn’t such a dismissive endeavor, and you were more than a halfwit for thinking so. And yet, the night had fallen once more—leaving you with no other choice but to wait and see. 

The blade seemed to find a light of its own even in the blackness of the storm ridden night, peaking just under your bed. Finding a rhythm in between the bolts of lightning and thunder happened over time, but the past few nights had begun to give you practice. Your apprehension kept you from your sleep nonetheless. 

There was always something more beyond the surface, that much you knew was true, and life was no exception. Gods existed, you were sure of it, you just didn’t know how, or why, or where—but there was something about the thread of actions over the past handful of days that connected pieces together in a visceral way you had never fully encountered.

Through each beat of lightning, the truth of every tale that you had ever heard came into question: the cook turned white rat, forced to eat his own young; the children of the forest and the Green King of the Isle of Faces, Sharra the witch queen and her inability to die. Before now, you had not fully disbelieved, but rather doubted the ability of magic or the whims of the gods to make profound changes in an instant. 

“You did not return my sword.” 

His entrance was silent but interruption swift, or you had been so lost in your own head you failed to notice. There was little shock this time. You had been expecting him. He stood there for a moment in patience, your eyes and finding the details of his trench coat in the shadow. There was much less fright in you now than there had been at his first intrusion, and you swung your legs to sit at the edge of your bed. 

“You disobeyed my request,” Aemond said, “I do not take kindly to those who disobey me. Why didn’t you return it, my lady of God’s Eye?” 

It was a fool’s endeavor, a disregard of any consequences. Eyes wide and waiting, you could do nothing but speak your deepest truth. 

“I did not want to.” 

He crept forward, a creature of the shadows coming to enact its wrath. “Explain yourself.” 

With a swallow of the last inklings of your pride and dignity, you replied. “Because I want more of what you did to me last night.” 

He stood as a relic, everything from his hair and skin and coat shining from within, regarding you with an intensity you had never had anyone offer you before. Time existed nowhere in this room; past and present converged in the tides of thunder that swayed over your heads, and you wondered if the world outside of your door still stood or if there was nothingness. 

“Who would have thought a lady to be so lustful? A lady of the Riverlands, no less.” His boots were off now, making his way to you like an animal preys upon what it desires to snatch in its claws. 

You held your chin in an acceptance of his mockery and all that came with it. Because he was right, and because you didn’t care so long as no one knew of it. Aemond moved to stand in between your legs, and you tilted your head to meet his own eye. 

“I suppose I will make an exception to my usual punishment since you have been so honest,” he reached to hold your face in his hands as if he was holding a holy grail. “Do you promise to make such an exception worth my while?” 

“I promise.” You nodded as well as you could in his soft hold, eyes large and pleading. 

The kiss that followed was soft, just as every other first touch between you had been—but it quickly became emboldened; a drop of satisfaction in a lake of craving. His hands slid down your sides, past the sensitivity of your waist and moving to grip the full flesh that sat on your thighs. 

Chest to chest, you were pressed against him, feeling through every movement and flex of the muscle beneath his flesh. Moving once more, his hand slid down in between your thighs where your smallclothes sat pitifully between your bare skin and his fingers. 

He swallowed your whimper into his mouth as his hand moved once more to play with your bud. Skin holds memory, they say, and you knew yours did of him: his light touch was enough to have you squirming beneath him with little effort. 

“My own little harlot of the Riverlands.” Aemond pulled away, moving to untie the wrap of your nightdress. You watched him carefully, a twing of shyness slowing your movements. 

He took your timid hands into his, holding them to him as he moved his nose to meet yours. “And yet a maiden, all the same.” 

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his tenderness. Both your hands moved now to take away what lies between your modesty and bareness. 

“Do I please you?” softly you looked at him, hoping that your shyness was replaced by your attempt to be sultry despite your lack of practice. 

He looked at you as a man starved, deprived of warm fleshy skin to sink into for a century, and there was no pretending in his eye that he hadn’t prayed that you would not return Dark Sister to its rightful place. No matter how powerful the man, beyond swords and war and life and death, the soft skin of a lover would always be a weakness. There was no hiding the membrane of vulnerability and desperation at something so human: the touch and feel of another. 

Leaning down to offer you a kiss, in a near whisper he replied, “Very much so.” 

Hands and lips tenderly felt you everywhere, the blood underneath beating against the glide of his fingers. It was worship of the most holy, or perhaps the indulgence of a sin most foul. The lines blurred and you sank under his want, whether it be worship or sin, you did not care. 

Your hands searched for him, shrugging off his own clothing in the rapture. 

“Whatever it was you did to me yesterday, please, I need to feel it again.” it was more of a breathy whisper in between kisses than an affirmative request. 

“I’ll show you something even better.” Aemond sank to your hips as his right hand did, already weaving slow strokes against your bud. And yet he sank farther, until his head rested between your thighs.

He watched you carefully from there, sliding one finger into your hole. His rubbing continued, and your legs began to weaken once more. You had swung your head to rest your eyes on your ceiling, unexpecting the hot wetness that met your bud. 

It was unlike anything you had felt before—heat on heat, wetness on wetness, his tongue skillfully lapping your clit. 

You fell under his enchantment for him like a man dies gasping underwater: slowly with resistance, until want for release pushes you to frantically search for it all at once. All thoughts of doing anything but taking everything he had to give you had been locked away, perhaps only to be seen again once you had gotten your fill. And you weren’t sure if you could ever be satisfied. 

From this point forward, you would be damned by this memory: Aemond sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking on your sex, and pulling pleasure from you as if he was born a hundred years ago to do it. 

He was determined to feel every drop of your essence sliding down his throat, holding you to him with his hands clasped around your thighs.  Your orgasm came with his lips and tongue never ceasing their worship of you, even as your thighs shook and moans echoed through your walls. 

Even though heavy breaths and dazed eyes of the afterglow, you would not make the mistake of falling asleep so soon, not after the previous night. Your hands lazily reached for him, pulling him closer to you. 

Because you wanted more . There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. If anything, it had driven you further into a wanting animal, a ravenous direwolf seeking to tame its taste for blood. Maiden status be damned, if doing such things with a long dead prince even counted. 

“Eager, are we?” he drawled over you, hands rustling between your bodies. “Shh. Let me take care of you.” 

You felt him on you then, skin to skin, his hard manhood heavy on your stomach. Aemond’s eye met yours as he slid his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness there. 

It was just you two in this moment, one body and another, seeking something buried deep within one another’s skin. 

Face to ear, you whispered about your inexperience and novelty. He did nothing but pull your lips into another kiss, allowing your bodies to slip against each other’s warmth for moments to come. Aemond was a desiring man, or creature—you weren’t sure which, not that it fully mattered to you anymore—and you could feel his own lust for you seeping into each of your kisses and all of his touches, much more wanton than they had yet to be. 

“Let me take you,” he nearly whined in between kisses, “I need to feel you.” 

“I want you. Show me this.” 

Forehead to forehead, Aemond reached between your bodies to guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You knew why maidens and ladies got wet—it would be impossible to carry out the deed without such slipperiness. What hung between a man’s legs was far too large to fit without it. 

Even still, it was always a challenge at first—your own sex squeezing so hard, seemingly wanting to suck his cock deeper inside you and milk it within your walls. As he went to the hilt, moaning was all you had to cope, the noises blending with the creak of the castle. 

“Does it always feel like this?” you choked, more than happy to be full of him but surprised at the feeling.

With his forehead still against yours, his breath fanned in your mouth. “At first, and then it will feel even better.” 

As if to show you, he began long strokes, the head of his cock sliding against the vice of your juicy walls. And you felt it bloom—the deep ember of pleasure at your core, both satisfied and left wanting more by each thrust. 

Your moans and whimpers against his ear were compounded by the thrust of his hips, heavy against your own, pushing his cock to the hilt now in every stroke, the head of it brutally kissing the end of you every time. 

He sat up now, hands firmly on your hips to control the angle of you and the drive of his cock to be right where he wanted them. Moving between your bodies, his thumb danced on your bud again, sending you to reflexively grip him further out of the sheer ecstasy of it. “What would your rivermen think of you like this, moaning like a whore on my cock?” 

It was more of a suffocated squeal than words, chest heaving, not being able to help the way your body was in his hands, moving at the speed he set. “They would think me a traitor.” 

“But you just couldn’t help it, could you? You needed more of me, no matter what I’ve done.” 

Despite you both knowing the truth of it, hardly any shame could touch you now in the throes of your bodies. In between love bites on your ear and kisses on your neck as he took you, there was more than enough praise spilling from his lips: haughty whispers of you take my cock so well and your body is made for me. 

It was as intense as it was pleasurable. Aemond’s platinum tresses locked you into a cage where it was only him: only his body, his cock—nothing else. He was making you into a woman of his own liking, his spell on you binding you to desire and breaking every one of your senses to want nothing but him. 

There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. Reaching the peak of it, your cunt hardly willing to let his cock move inside you and pulsing and pleading for it to be even deeper, you cried out, your own howl into the night. Aemond fucked you through it, seeking his own peak within your walls and finding it in the vice you had him in, milking him for every drop of his own essence to spill in the hot syrupy tightness of your cunt.  

The sedation you felt in your after-pleasure was familiar to the first night—leaving you in a daze, the murky waters difficult to navigate. Fighting it was futile, but you kept yourself awake enough to feel him pull away, save for leaving a kiss on your fingers and hear his final words.

Visit me, my lady of God’s Eye

It would be a selfish thing—you knew—to keep the sword, no matter how badly you wanted to satiate your desire during the night. But the storm raged on, and it was only right to do what had to be done to prevent the entirety of Harrenhal from being consumed by the water raiding every corridor and sieging nearly all chambers and apartments, only the highest of rooms in each tower being spared. 

It was a difficult task, but you had managed. And not hours after the sword was back in the sheath it belonged in, the rain had ceased, to the relief of all in the castle except for one. 

You hadn’t forgotten his last words to you. Sometimes, you swam back to the remains of the dragon prince again, hoping the hallowed skeleton could see you in the angelic light only water could give.  

And sometimes, in the deepest chamber of the lake, you swore you heard whispers in the catches of the currents. 

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚ to kiss or kill.. a vampire?‧₊˚

you've been a vampire for as long as you can remember. you were going through your day, or night, routine as normal when a noise startles you. a man, katsuki bakugo to be exact, was standing at your door. though, he can't seem to remember whether he's supposed to kill or kiss you...

★pair. knight(?)katsuki x vampire!reader. tags. fem!reader, fantasy!au, vampire!au, amnesia trope, memories, kissing, hugging, dates kinda, blood, daggers, stakes. wc. 2k.

noteღ. i love the memory loss trope but its hard to write it in a way that doesn't seem like lazy(???) idk how to say it, also happy halloween to all who celebrate!

embedded deep in the forest, vines growing over the bark of the trees, the sun not visible from the impressive manor you called home.

a lake so deep you couldn't see the bottom, the moonlight the only thing reflecting off the darkness of the water.

it was quiet, quaint. only the animals as company for such a faraway place.

you roamed freely around your garden, tending to the black rose bushes and cutting the thorns to an appropriate length. feeding carrots you only grew for the deer and bunnies that had grown used to your presence, seeing the generations of them rest and birth, a consequence of being immortal.

your outfit was dark, camouflaging you against the night sky, the only time you were able to go out. you'd grown used to it, comforted by the night sky and sleeping critters around you.

but a crunch of grass snapped you out of your relaxation. the tuft of blond hair you'd spotted alarming you.

your pot of water was now splashed onto the floor, your red eyes were widened and pupils like a cat as you moved out of vision. vision of whoever was trampling into your long uncivilized manor.

it was a man, donning expensive yet ripped up fabrics and cloths, a beaten up satchel, and bright hair that stood out against the night sky.

you couldn't help but notice though, that he had red eyes just like yours.

he must be a vampire, you reasoned, moving closer to investigate the man who was unmoving at your door. you popped out from behind him. “who are you and why are you here?”

he jumped, seemingly not expecting you to be behind him. “i'm.. lost. i can't seem to find my way. or.. remember what i was doing here.” he turned to face you, his figure towering over yours, his eyes on you. “you don't remember anything? is it possible that you've been hit with a strong spell?”

you kept talking while looking over at his complete attire now, noting the royal emblem on his chest.

“it's possible.. i don't remember what i do exactly.” his red eyes kept boring into you, striking you with a sense of familiarity, though you couldn't place from where. “well, you can stay here for the night. i have spare rooms.”

his eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows raising. “really, you're inviting me in? what if i was a vampire?”

“well, no need to fear one of my own.”

his mouth went agape when he realized. “you're a vampire.”

“yes. does that change anything?”

“i.. guess not.” a hand went to the back of his neck, his eyes averting as he looked up in thought. “it's just surprising. i think.. i feel a connection to the word. to its meaning. i must have been- sorry be- a vampire. don't you agree?”

“let's talk more inside. if you are a vampire as you believe, we'll die if we're outside another hour...” you left it open ended as to ask for his name.

“katsuki. call me katsuki.”

“well katsuki. welcome in, don't suck my blood or something.” you joked.

as he followed you inside, he awed internally at the extravagance of your mansion. it definitely was the home of a vampire, as all the windows were closed and barricaded.

“i haven't had many guests over for a while.. so. excuse the mess.” he followed you as you showed him the different parts of your home. he passed by the kitchen, so gorgeous that he felt upset when you noted how you only used it to make food for the animals outside. you showed him your bedroom, which only housed a single, heavily padded coffin.

you went upstairs finally, your mansion was huge so he began to notice the ache in his feet. when you arrived in your lounge area though, he felt a pang in his head as he eyed a dagger. a silver one.

memories flooded into his head at once, making him hold his head in discomfort.

words. so many replayed in his mind though they were incoherent. sights of blood, of one of those very daggers in his hand, a stake in the other.

“ėřīdɯǎʌ ħ ʇ ľļ ʞ”

he couldn't understand it at all, the visions in his mind were playing and flashing right after another.

training, studying vitals, the word vampire. why did it seem so familiar?

“katsuki. are you okay?” your hands were on his shoulders now, your face of concern went unnoticed by him, his eyes were only laser focused on the sharp fangs of your mouth.

“i–. i– um. i don't know what the fuck happened to me.” he admitted, he still felt weak from the confusion revelations that had unfolded in his mind.

“maybe.. you should head to bed for the day. i have a bed for you in here.”

you took his hand, he almost pulled away, he didn't know why it still felt so bloody. why it felt like he was holding an unseen weapon in his palm. but he let you comfort him slightly anyways.

you laid a towel onto his forehead, closing the door with a, “goodnight.”

you left him resting with his thoughts as you continued your chores outside.

it was obvious he wasn't a vampire like he thought. he wasn't nocturnal like you. the sight of the blood bags you had left cooling in a safe him feel queasy, and he could touch metal just fine. he found himself tracing the details of the dagger in your living room mindlessly, enthralled with it. it felt just as familiar as your eyes did. he was sure it would feel just as right in his hand, he moved to pick it up when-

“what are you doing?” you asked sleepily. your attire from yesterday was gone, replaced with casual clothes that didn't seem to fit you. “..i just got curious.”

he stared at you. the crimson of his eyes confusing you to no end, but you let it go with a sigh. “well, stop messing with that stuff. like seriously.”

he took your warning. but the strange memories never went away. though, he noticed that they'd only really pop up around you.

he'd gotten to know you in the couple hours of the first day he spent with you. your favorite color, food before you turned, your true age, your favorite flower.

and you'd gotten to know the vague things he remembered about himself in exchange. how he grew up in a village, how he remembers training hard everyday to become a knight, how he grew up with the next in line for the throne.

you'd traveled around the forest with him, showing him some of your favorite spots. pointing to nearby towns and taverns, warning him to stay away from spots where werewolves would roam frequently.

you'd gotten him a new wardrobe of clothing that happened to match yours. black button downs and slacks with red accents, something that suited him perfectly, was what you had gifted him.

he tried to gift you things as well. it was unfortunate that his gift for cuisine went wasted on you, who couldn't eat food. he picked you flowers from different regions of the forest you wouldn't venture to. dandelions that he insisted you'd blow out together, red roses that paired perfectly with your black ones, and baby’s breath sprinkled tastefully in between.

the words grew less scrambled over the days of which he spent with you. it'd been a month of living with him at this point, and your life together had become routine. the pangs where he'd keel over for seconds in real time, but hours in his mind happened more frequently too. the same visions of blood on his hands, a dagger identical to the one displayed in your home would always be there. but additions of a torch in his hand and a dagger would change. the memory would change, which confused him.

he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the calm nature of your life together. the tranquil feeling of feeding the bunnies and deers alongside you, the rushing sound of the lake as you sat side by side admiring it.

the feeling of your skin, cold to the touch, on his body that seemed to run too hot.

your open-minded nature, the lingering loss of your presence he'd feel when you were gone.

though, he now could hear some parts of the sentence quite clearly.

“k– the vampire.”

as he laid around on one of the many couches of your manor, petting a black cat, he pondered on what the last word could be. he knew it could only be one of two words, he wasn't dumb.

to kiss or to kill. but what reason was he given to kill you? you'd been nothing but amazing to him, welcome and open when he was vulnerable. the only thing you'd been strange about– the only thing he felt he wanted.

was to hold the dagger in his hand.

he laid the cat onto the side of the couch before standing up. it was like an invisible force was leading him away, taking him right to his object of interest that he had been so hyper aware of since the day he arrived.

every step he took was like a piece of the puzzle being put into place.

he was hit by a memory loss potion while he was out on patrol.

patrol for the kingdom, where he served as a knight. however, after many vampire hunters had gone missing in this part of the forest..

he had been sent out here.

he opened his satchel that he'd thrown into the corner. affirming his thoughts, a dagger, identical to the one on the stand was in it.

next to it was a stake, and a torch with an ignition next to that.

he stood up, the final words given to him. but it didn't feel as good as he thought it would.

“kill the vampire.”

because the order was to hurt someone who'd grown so dear to him.

…

was it wrong for him to continue acting like nothing was wrong? maybe. but he couldn't help but still continue to be enamored by you, even if it was wrong.

the stereotypes, the horror stories he'd been fed of vampires. as he held you close to him in the comfort of your coffin, he didn't know what to do anymore.

as he guided you to the lake, he wasn't sure of what he would do. he had his satchel with him now, yet he still held your hand in his.

“are you leaving?” you asked, unknowing of the war taking place in his mind.

“no. i just, wanted to bring it along.”

“oh. okay.” you'd shrugged, unfazed by his words. he felt his heart bleed, bleed because you trusted him so much, but also tugged towards his sense of duty.

you'd sat together again, his body facing the same lake that had guided him to you. he felt your gaze on his face, he squeezed his palm into a fist.

“what's wrong?” you asked, your voice low, you held the long sleeves of your black outfit as your eyebrows scrunched in concern. “you've been acting weird.”

“i.. my memory. it came back.”

your eyes shot up, before a small smile came over your face. “really, that's great katsuki. so,

what were you doing out here?”

the words lingered in the air, his eye painstakingly moving to look at you. his mouth was held open for a second, seemingly speechless as he tried to tell you. he finally, just let it slip. “i was supposed to kill you, [name].”

you stilled, he continued to explain. “it all happened once i saw the dagger. it eyed me, and i eyed it. it seemed so familiar, your eyes did too. until it all came back.” he took a sharp breath and continued.

“men, vampire hunters of the kingdom specifically, went missing around these parts. i was sent here to find the vampire and kill them. but i was ambushed along the way by a witch who hit me with a spell.” his hand moved to his satchel, you stayed unmoving as you absorbed his words.

he held the stake and dagger in his hands respectively, the materials that would kill you if pierced glistening ominously in the moonlight. the same moonlight that encapsulated you two.

“i thought it over. a lot. thought about what i wanted, no. what i thought was right.” he gripped them tightly, holding them up.

you closed your eyes, as you heard the words, “goodbye.”

but death, the feeling of wood piercing your heart never came. the splash of the water was the only sound heart by you, who had tearfully looked to face him.

“what?” was all you could helplessly utter, as he kneeled to sit in front of you:

“..i don't want to kill you [name].” he moved to hold your hand, cold as ever, against the beating heart of his chest. “but i'd like to kiss you, honestly.”

you let out a shaky laugh, a tear falling down your face as you sighed in relief. “i think i'd like that too.”

as the last bubbles burst at the surface of the lake, he tilted your head forward, holding your chin in between his fingertips as he gently kissed you. only the grass between your bodies bore witness to the newly born relationship forged by trust ignited.

the full moon now faced you two. he held your hand tightly, encaging you with the broad of his body.

he saw the moon start to slip away and picked you up, taking you to the bedroom you'd gifted him and laying you by his side.

he'd turned practically nocturnal too from these past weeks, the desire to be by your side fueling him.

so as he laid with his eyes half lidded, looking at you in the dim candlelight of the room, he held you impossibly closer.

he wanted to spend an eternity with you. maybe he'd truly cast his old life aside and become a vampire alongside you.

that thought rocked him to sleep that night, your body like a puzzle piece next to his.

who knew all you'd have to do to kiss a vampire is cast your old life aside?

tags. @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @uy242c @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @kemziicore

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑨 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆*

Pairing: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Vampire!Minho, Biting, Slight Spanking, Slight pussy smack, Possessive Minho, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Alcohol and cheating mentions. Sorry for any mistakes or forgotten tags

A/N: I don’t know how I feel about this. I’ve never rewrote something so much. I really hope it’s alright I would appreciate any feedback on this one fr🥲

Find The Halloween Master List Here

-🎃

You watched as the trees passed seeing the familiar places you knew as a kid. You can’t believe you’re back here but under the circumstances you needed the familiarity. A 5 year relationship down the drain. You both were to be getting married next month but turns out love really does blind you. You let out a sigh as you pulled into your old home. Your parents left it for you after they moved to their dream home down the road. They were so excited to have you move back and so were your friends however everything was just so surreal.

You’ve been in a deep slump the last few weeks wondering round your house like a zombie. You worked on little things around the house when packing was all done. “Hmm I bet I could make the pathway look really good with some flowers” you said to yourself as you looked out onto the porch. As you wondered the shop, you couldn’t help but feel a bit at ease. It was so quiet and smelled so sweet. The arrangements that had been made splayed so nicely everywhere. You walked down the isles just basking in the prettiness of everything and that’s when he first noticed you.

Minho almost does a double take when he first sees you. You were stunning, but the smell of your soul was almost sour? Why? He looked at you, studding you like prey. You looked happy, why were you giving off such sadness? He watched you for a bit before you headed to the counter with a few plants. You smiled and waved at the man behind the counter before leaving with your stash. Minho walked over “so, do you know her?” He asked looking back outside as you got into your car. He nods “yeah why? You fancy her?” The man behind the counter says with a chuckle. Minho rolls his eyes “would you shut up and tell me who she is?” He asks.

The man laughs a bit more “hmm maybe if you can say please I will” he says with a smirk. “I hate you old man” Minho groans but the man’s not budging “uugh fine, fine please?” Minho says with the fakest smile possible. “Her names y/n, she lived here when she was younger and then moved away when she an adult. I hear she’s back because she caught her fiance cheating.” He gossiped.

“That explains the sourness to her scent” Minho said softly. “Yeah she’s been through a lot or so I hear. So if you’re gonna try and talk to her, you better not be an asshole” he said with a chuckle. He rolls his eyes again “I’m always pleasant” he says rolling his eyes once more. “Yeah yeah whatever, you still coming to the bar tonight or what?” The man asks. “Yeah, I’ll be there” he said taking a walk outside to gather some of his thoughts.

After doing some yard work and cooking dinner you laid in bed. You curled up as you let your body relax in the comfort. As you slept your window creeped open a figure leaning in looking around. He stumbled in trying not to disturb you “why must you riddle my mind?” He says softly. He looked over your sleeping figure wanting to touch your body. He breathed out trying to collect himself, his mind racing as he stared down at you. He had drank enough to kill a man but nothing could erase the way you floated through your mind.

He never entertained romantic feelings, rather being alone or having a casual hook up. He couldn’t remember the last time in the many years he’s been alive that he felt any sort of want for another person. It was like that for friends as well though, never making friends with others. Not really caring to bother to find bonds. He of course had his small group he’s been with for a millennia but anyone else was always brushed off. Why were you different? Why did you intrigue him so much? He couldn’t figure it out but it was driving him mad.

He watched as your body moved up in down with every breath. He wanted to kiss you wanted to bite you to taste everything of you. He could hear your blood moving through your veins the smell of it smelled sweet almost. He groaned at the thought of just pricking you a bit just to have a tiny taste. He knew though if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. He watched you sleep for a while before he heard the birds chirp. “Fuck- it’s already morning.” He said before walking to the window. He knew he had to have you soon because you were driving him crazy.

——

As the days passed so did the time Minho spent watching you. He watched you through out your day and watched you at night. He felt like a stalker but he just wanted to know everything about you he was so enamored by you.

On todays faithful night you were persuaded to go out with your friends them wanting to get you out of your coop. As you drank you started to feel a bit loser. Your friends brought you up to the floor to dance grinding on each other as you drank. Minho found himself watching you from the side, he didn’t expect to see you here. He thought you’d be at home sleeping like always. His eyes were glued to you as he watched your body. “You should make your move tonight” his friend said patting him on the back with a smile. Minho rolled his eyes but he thought about it as he watched you.

Minho turned to go to the bathroom and as he came out he stopped dead in his track. He watched as a man slinked his way in front of you “hey gorgeous, wanna dance?” The man said before you could answer he was pulling you towards him hands gripping at your hips. You didn’t know how to react the alcohol swirling in your mind. You leaned into the man before you knew it he was kissing you. His tongue slipping into yours as his hands roamed your body. Minho could only stand there and watch his ‘blood’ bowling at the sight.

Your friends pulled you from the guy not before he gave you his number. Your friends teased you the whole time as they drove you home. You made your way to your bed slumping into it with a giggle. You quickly fell asleep due to the alcohol. In the middle of the night like clock work Minho found himself in your room this time though on a mission. He slinked his way onto your bed before he pealed the covers off of you. He saw you only in your panties making him groan. He couldn’t stop himself this time he leaned in taking in all your scent before licking at your clothed core.

Your body moved a little but you didn’t wake. He moved your panties to the side before finally making contact with your heat. Long licks up your folds before quickly sucking at your clit. You moaned out eyes fluttering awake. You looked down seeing a man between your legs before you could push him away he pushed his fingers into you. He curled them inside you moving them at a fast pace as his tongue lapped at your clit. He started to suck harshly at your clit biting it softly as he saw you waking.

He quickened his pace adding another finger to your sopping cunt. He felt you clenching around him knowing you were close. He took his free hand pushing down on your lower stomach to make you feel him even more. He bit at your clit as he moved his hands watching your eyes roll back. You were moaning grabbing at his hair as your legs started to tighten around his head. The squeeze tightened as your orgasm came over you. Your legs shaking around his head as he kept going as he worked you through your high.

“Y/n you think that man at the bar could please you like I can?” He said his eyes red at the thought. He pushed his pants down quickly rubbing himself up and down your dripping folds before lending a string of spit coming down to his cock head. “Gonna show you the only cock you’ll ever need.” He spat before pushing into you. Your mind was gone, completely blank from all the pleasure. He started to fuck you at a fast pace, slapping your bass as he did so. He had your thighs pressed to your chest as he pounded into you.

His hand come up to grip at your face making you look at him. “I want you to look at me. Look at me as I fuck this perfect pussy” he growls out. Your eyes met his as you felt your heart pound. God was he hot, his facial features were beautiful almost non human like. His hand left your face coming down only with your clit. “Please!” You whined out not knowing what you were begging for only to get a smack to your clit. “You’ll get what I give you, understand?” He growled again. He moved his head down nipping at your neck.

“You think that guy could make you cum like this? Make you feel so good? Only I can. Only me.” He said his movements becoming harsh his cock kissing your cervix bullying your entrance as he bottoms out. “Fuck y/n I’ve waited so long for this. Why’d you have to make it- make it like this” he groaned out. “I wanted our first time to be loving” he said before leaning back to look at you. Your eyes pricked with tears hands digging into his back. “M’sorry.” You said softly making him slow his pace. The fact you were apologizing, made his body stutter. You technically didn’t know him, didn’t know anything he was really talking about. However you still apologized. “Y/n- y/n I love you” he blurted out seeing your eyes softening at him.

“I- but why- you don’t know me?” You said softly looking up at him. His movements have all but stopped as he stared down at you. “I do- I know a lot about you. I wanna show you what these dumb guys can’t. I wanna show you real love. How you should be treated.” He said before leaning down to kiss you. The kiss was loving sensual as he started to move his hips again this time a bit slower but super deep. He wrapped your legs around him pulling your body close to his. When he pulled away seeing you smile shyly up at him “y/n let me show you the love you deserve yeah?” He said smiling at you.

You nodded “I don’t got much to lose” you said softly making him chuckle a bit. He started to fuck into you more, more lovingly. He was focused on making you cum again, he wanted you to feel how he felt. Like pure bliss. He kissed you again pushing his tongue into your mouth. “H-hey” you said softly pulling away from the kiss. “Shouldn’t I know- know your name?” You said with a little smile. “I’m yours, but you can call me Minho” he joked making you both giggle. This was the kinda love making people dreamed of, being able to joke around and feel so comfortable with one another.

He started to play with your clit again his movements were becoming a bit sloppy but he needed to make you cum first. He leaned down towards your neck kissing it softly. “You’re gonna feel a pinch ok?” He warned you before sinking his teeth into you. The small bit of pain being replaced by pleasure. As all the thoughts and memories he had of you flooding into you. Seeing and feeling how he felt about you made your body quiver. In the matter of seconds everything flowed into you, he showed you everything about him. Showing you what he was but more importantly what he wanted to be with you. It was just pure love, nothing more pure.

You felt your orgasms wash over you before even realizing it. Your body clenching around him sucking him in. He pushed into you one last time before cumming deep inside of you. He pulled his fangs from you licking the wound making it heal over. Both of your body’s felt weak as you both clung to one another. “Y/n I’m sorry for flooding your mind with everything.” He said softly against your ear. You shook your head “no- don’t be I’m happy you did. It showed me how you really felt.” You said breathily.

“You really wanna be mine?” He asked again. You nodded quickly making him smile.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” He asked nervously.

“No. I’m fine. Just” you breathed “tired”

“Wanna go take a bath and we can sleep?” He offered. He was confused when you shook your head.

“Can.. can we go again? I wanna see how you were before” you said with a devilish smile.

He met your smile with one of his own “I should know you’d be a little freak.” He chuckled. “My little freak though, and what my baby wants she gets” he said before kissing you one last time.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Halloween Taglist: @ldysmfrst @kissesmellow21 @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan

[simonbrain]

part one

you awaken the next morning to the smell of something delicious, something familiar. like what your mother makes every morning.

you suddenly jolt up to find the bed empty, the thought of your family sending a wave of panic down your spine as you hastily pull the thick furs off of you and make a break for the front door, almost forgetting about the man who carried you home with him last night.

"oi, where are you off to?"

the deep voice from behind you causes you to yelp in surprise, and the arsehole has the audacity to chuckle.

you could only turn around and stare at him, unsure if you should run. he looks like he could snatch you up in a few strides, even if he gave you a head start. you glance back at the front door and remember just how long it took to come back here; there's no way you'll make it back home without getting lost.

"...my village. i— i need to go see my family, please." your voice breaks as you think about your loved ones, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. you try to blink them away, and the blank look on his face only makes you feel more helpless. he doesn't look bothered in the slightest.

"your village went up in flames—nothing but ashes now. no use going back." he says it so bluntly, moving past you to block your only exit and disregarding the dejected look on your face. you shouldn't be so ungrateful; he saved you from those beasts, didn't he? a poor thing like you would have been torn to shreds by them if they had found you crouched behind that tree. sweet little lamb wouldn't have been shown half the mercy simon showed you.

even if you did manage to escape them, what would be the point of walking around the endless forest in hopes of finding help? you wouldn't have made it. no, the pretty thing looking up at him with glossy eyes would have tripped over her own two feet.

"but— but i—"

your bottom lip quivers when he steps forward, crowding your personal space. he stares you down so intensely that you lose the ability to speak. go on, love, his eyes say. try me.

he huffs softly when you sniffle and look away. sensitive thing you are.

your stomach growls quietly, and that's simon's cue to place a rough hand on the nape of your neck so that he can guide you to the table.

he watches with quiet satisfaction as you eat breakfast, an even quieter interest bubbling in his stomach as he observes you. the sullen expression on your face almost makes him feel bad, but you'll just need to understand that this is for your own good.

as days pass, you find yourself growing more comfortable in your new home. simon (you've come to learn his name) is quite odd. he doesn't reveal much about himself, but he does listen when you ramble about your family, and he feeds you the most delicious things. it's quite a lot to eat, but you shouldn't be surprised; he's built like a damn bull, so it's no wonder he makes enough food to feed four people.

you try not to stare at his back too much when he's in the kitchen cooking, or at his arms when he's outside chopping up firewood, or at his hands when he absentmindedly places a paw on your leg.

however, simon—the mutt—is shameless. he drinks in the sight of you, with or without your knowledge, eyeing any exposed skin with a hunger he hasn't felt in years. he doesn't push you to do anything; he wasn't raised like that, but at the end of the day, simon is still a man. it's in his nature to go a little dumb in the presence of a sweet girl.

he quenches his thirst with a hand on your thigh during mealtimes. his palm against your back, slowly trailing down to rest on your ass as he teaches you self-defence outside. an arm wrapped tight around you as you both lay down for the night.

still, it's never enough.

then one day, when simon returns home after spending several days out, looking more rugged than usual with torn clothes and dried blood on him, he pulls you in for a hot kiss. he doesn't give you a chance to tear up at finally seeing him after so long or question him about what he did while he was away.

he only takes what's all his.

you let out a squeak, grasping at his hands, desperately trying to keep up with how he devours you on the spot, his greedy tongue licking into your mouth. the tension radiating from him is palpable, his itching fingers trailing down to squeeze at your hips, tugging you closer to him. simon swallows up your little noises before pulling away, humming in satisfaction at the dazed look on your face.

"even taste sweet," he muses quietly to himself, his thumb running over your bottom lip.

"you're injured." you frown, finally finding your voice. your face is still burning, but simon just chuckles softly, interlocking his hand with yours and leading you to the table. the quicker he patches himself up, the quicker he can get back to pulling more of those sweet sounds out of you.

[starlight-sev]

December 3: A Treat (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024)

Every time I try to write for other characters Alan has played, I find myself coming back to Severus over and over. He’s just so complex.

Enjoy this sweet lil awkward date :)

Getting Severus Snape to go on a date with you was hard enough.

Getting Severus Snape to go on a date with you in public? Near impossible.

Sure, it was nice hanging out with him in his office after work, sipping wine together and complaining about the latest student shenanigans of the week. But you found yourself wanting more.

How you finally managed to convince him to physically go out with you was like pulling teeth: it had taken countless evenings in either your office, or his office, along with countless glasses of wine, before he had finally (and rather reluctantly) agreed.

Now that the winter holidays were in full swing, and most of the students had gone home for a few weeks, you suggested going into Hogsmeade for the afternoon. And of course even then, Severus tried his best to manoeuvre as far away from the public as possible.

The two of you sat side by side on a fallen tree, overlooking the Shrieking Shack in the distance. You two were familiar with each other’s company — comfortable enough to sit with your shoulders touching, but not quite at the point where you could reach out and hold his hand without a second thought.

“Do you have any favourite places at Hogsmeade?” You asked after a brief moment of silence passed between the two of you. Severus glanced over at you with a slight frown.

“No, I can’t say I do. I don’t often come here.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He replied, burying his face a little further into his scarf. “Unless I’m on chaperone duty during a school trip.”

“Well,” you answered quietly, nudging his shoulder. Severus glanced at you quickly with a frown before softening when he realized your gesture was of a friendly nature. “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable as usual. “Of course.”

Your heart raced a little as another silence passed between the two of you. Why was being with Severus so damn hard this time around? Usually when you two were together, the conversation was effortless. Things flowed nicely. This time… it seemed neither of you knew quite how to break the ice.

A gust of wind rattled the trees around you, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. It was much too cold to be sitting out here the way you were, and you longed to be inside somewhere warm.

“What’s your favourite treat?” You found yourself blurting out suddenly. Severus looked at you as if you had just insulted him in another language.

“My… what?”

“Favourite treat. Do you have one?”

Severus blinked in surprise, lost for words for a moment.

“I don’t think I have one,” he admitted. He seemed to be tiptoeing around you, choosing his words carefully. “Do you?”

You nodded. “Hot chocolate… from Honeydukes specifically.”

Severus shook his head. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Are you serious? Let’s go, I’ll get you one.”

“That’s kind of you, but I don’t need one.”

“Well, I do.” You announced as you began walking. Anything to get out of the cold.

As you walked into Honeydukes, you were gently cocooned by a rush of warm sugary air, and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Severus stuck out like a sore thumb in the store, in his all-black attire. You noticed the way he hung back in the store, staying close to the wall as if not to be seen. He stayed rather still, but he kept glancing around at the small number of others browsing the shop. He seemed anxious.

Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you grabbed his hand gently and tugged him up to the front counter. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him visibly stiffen before slowly softening as he grew more familiar with your touch. His hands were surprisingly warm.

You ordered two hot chocolates, and just as you were about to pay, Severus stepped forward and silently took out a few Galleons from his pocket. He placed them on the counter quickly, beating you to the payment.

“Oh.” You murmured in faint surprise. “I was going to get it for you, you didn’t have to do that-”

“I insist.” Severus replied softly. His eyes were warm, and you caught the tiniest smile grace his lips for a split second. You nodded your head in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Hot chocolates now warming your hands, the two of you walked in silence and sat together in a small clearing, just around the corner from the main street. Severus took a small sip of his hot chocolate, and you caught the tiny gasp of surprise he made as he took in the flavour.

“What do you think?” You grinned, watching his reaction. He scrutinized the cup, deep in thought, before nodding slowly as he turned to smile at you.

“I see why you like this so much.”

You laughed and took a sip for yourself. “See? I told you it was good.”

The air felt much less awkward between the two of you, and more like how it was when you’d visit each other’s offices at Hogwarts. Now that you were out of public view for the most part, Severus seemed to have visibly relaxed.

You glanced over at him and had to bite back a smile. He had the smallest bit of chocolate just above his lip. You pressed your lips together to keep from saying anything, but Severus caught your expression. He frowned curiously.

“What is it?”

“You've got, um…” you tried to tap your mouth quickly to signal to him, but he didn’t quite get the right spot.

Oh, to hell with it.

“Um no, it’s a little lower…” you reached up quickly and swiped it away with a gentle touch. Severus kept his gaze on you the entire time. Dozens of emotions seemed to flash in his eyes all at once. You found it hard to look away. He looked beautiful in the winter light.

You leaned forward and pressed the tiniest kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your lips didn’t quite touch his, and as a result it was more of a cheek kiss really, but your heart was still racing nonetheless. Severus blinked curiously, observing every tiny movement and expression you made.

And then, after setting his hot chocolate down without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours softly.

You inhaled sharply, every sense suddenly running on overdrive. You tensed at first, but then Severus rested his hand gently on your leg, and you found yourself relaxing immediately. Your kisses were slow. Deliberate. As if you were testing the waters together.

You broke away, breathing a little more intensely than before. Severus looked at you as if to ask if that was okay, and you knew right there that he had fully captured your heart.

“Could I kiss you again, perhaps?”

You had to giggle at his question. You nodded, setting down your hot chocolate on the bench beside you so you could properly face him now.

“I’d really like that.”

Severus smiled, genuinely. It was a sight you knew you’d love to get used to seeing. He leaned in, kissing you again with much less hesitancy than the first time.

You’d never be able to look at hot chocolate the same way again.

[aleskie-hischier]

HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.” 

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him. 

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours. 

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back. 

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here. 

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but…what if…I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world. 

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now. 

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is. 

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall. 

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first. 

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside. 

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met. 

Everything falls exactly into place.

[charlottesbookclub]

i'm here (ser gwayne hightower x reader) 💚💚

Summary: you have a nightmare, but gwayne is there to comfort you 💚

Warnings/Tags: spouse!reader; gn!reader; established relationship (marriage); nightmares; angst/anxiety brought on by the nightmares; absolutely catastrophic levels of tooth-rotting fluff; let me know if I've missed anything! ☺️

Words: 2870

Author’s Note: as I mentioned in this post, gwayne hightower has absolutely consumed my life and I am down sooooooo bad for him rn, so voilá, this fic has emerged as a result of that! 💕 as I also say in that linked post, I'm not super familiar with hotd, so I'm sorry if any of the terms I use aren't canon-accurate (I watched game of thrones a few years ago and I tried my best to make it feel authentic to the world of canon, but something may have slipped through 😅). and I hope this feels in-character to gwayne! I've rewatched the scenes of his that I have access to many times for...... uhh ~Research Purposes~ but I haven't seen all his scenes yet, so I apologize if it feels ooc at all – I did my best to make it feel like him! 🥰

oh and this is key: we've all seen the necklace, right?? we know about the necklace, right????? that fucking necklace makes me absolutely feral so I've given it a backstory, because it truly has me foaming at the fucking mouth 😌 (also, if you haven't seen the necklace, may I please direct you to this incredible gifset so we can descend into madness over it together?)

as always, I hope you enjoy!! 🥰🥰 (also please feel free to share any gwayne thoughts you have – I'd love to scream about the precious man with y'all! ☺️💕)

            The memory was not yours, but in this moment, it felt like it was. Gwayne had only told you the story once, with hushed words and averted eyes. You had asked, and he could never find it in himself to keep anything from you, even if it made his chest seize with shame. He told you that the whole ordeal had been a result of foolishness on his part, something he would admit only to you. He said that he recalled the memory with great embarrassment now. But you felt nothing but terror.

            You stood on a large, grassy plain ringed with trees, a few wispy clouds scuddling across the blue sky above you. This was a place you had never seen, never been – but one thing was familiar. As you struggled to gain your bearings in the strange location, you saw a group of men on horseback just a short distance ahead. You recognized your lord husband instantly: the delicate silver interlace of his steed’s armor and the auburn glow of his hair in the sunlight were as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

            You called out to him, but he didn’t respond; he seemed to be in conversation with one of the other men. You ran toward the small group and cried his name again, but even at close range he appeared not to hear you. Panic grew in your chest by the moment as you hurried closer still, coming near enough that you could almost reach out and touch Gwayne’s mount. You stretched out your hand to do just that when your arm was stopped by some invisible force. There was nothing in front of you, just empty air that you should have been able to move through with no difficulty. But you were trapped mere feet from your beloved, unable to reach him.

            Something was terribly wrong. You screamed his name this time, desperation compressing your lungs with the force of your yell. But it was clear that he could not hear you, since neither he nor any of the gathered men so much as turned toward the sound of your cries. Real fear gripped you now, shooting ice through your veins as you cast about you for something – anything – that you could do. And that was when a new kind of fear crept over you, one so old and visceral you could feel it down to your very bones. Shudders wracked your body as you turned your eyes toward the sky, suddenly certain that you were being watched. But not just watched – no, you were being hunted.

            At a loss for what else you could do, you renewed your efforts to alert Gwayne to the danger that you could feel but not yet see. You screamed until your voice was hoarse, but you were forced to watch in horror as Gwayne continued his conversation as though nothing was wrong, even flashing that charming smile that you knew and loved so well. It was just then that the other man finally noticed that something was wrong. He cast his eyes toward the sky as you had mere moments before, saying something to the gathered men. A wave of fear seemed to run through the horses, as there was a flurry of shifting hooves and nervous snorts. You could only watch in terror as realization washed over Gwayne’s face, twisting his handsome features into a terrifying expression of horror.

            You screamed at him to run just as everything burst into motion, the horses tearing off across the plain toward the cover of the trees. You found yourself moving along with them, though you had no mount of your own. Instead, it was the same terrible invisible force, dragging you along, forcing you to watch as the scene unfolded before you.

            And then you saw it: the dragon. It swooped down from the sky as though it had erupted into existence from nothing, filling the empty air with huge grey wings that seemed to blot out the sun. You screamed again, but this time without the intention of forming any coherent words – the noise that escaped your throat was an expression of the fear that was buried deep in your bones upon the sight of the creature. Its lean body shot across the plain toward the fleeing men with a kind of focus and intention that proved what you had thought from the beginning: the dragon was hunting. And worse than that, it was hunting Gwayne.

            Voice rubbed raw from screaming, and realizing your cries to him did nothing anyway, you watched in terrible silence as his steed thundered across the ground, its legs eating up the distance as fast as it could. And yet the dragon gained. If this was some cruel trick played by the gods, you couldn’t think what you could possibly have done to deserve this kind of torment. You could do nothing but watch, utterly powerless, as Gwayne – your Gwayne – fled for his life, his beautiful face contorted into an expression of fear that cut you to the core like a knife to the stomach. You held your breath, fearing each moment would be the one when you were forced to watch your love be consumed by dragonfire, ending both his life and yours in one swift blow of unimaginable anguish and heartbreak from which you knew you would never recover. Just as you had resolved to try calling to him one last time – if nothing else, to assure him of your love – the treeline broke around you and the horses cantered to a stop beneath the cover of the forest.

            The world was still again, but the fear lingered. You could sense the dragon above you, even hear its thin, unearthly cries as it searched for its hidden quarry. Your eyes instantly found Gwayne, needing to make sure he had survived the ordeal. Indeed, he still sat upon his steed, and you watched his chest heave as he attempted to steady his breathing. The fear that still permeated the forest remained etched on his face as well, changing his features from those of the man you had courted and married to those of a young boy, trembling and horror-struck and so helpless and small.

            You longed with every fiber of your being to run up to him and pull him into your arms, to feel his warm breath on your neck as he folded into your embrace. You ached to hold his face in your hands and wipe away the single lingering tear he likely didn’t even know was still glistening on his cheek. You yearned to kiss the terror away from his brow and his nose and his lips, to tell him he was safe – to tell him that you were here. 

            But you were trapped just feet from him, all these longings locked into your body as you pressed toward him as far as the strange invisible barrier would allow. You watched as the fear slowly faded from his face, his features once again becoming warm and familiar. You couldn’t help but smile as he seemed to return to himself somewhat. Turning to one of his companions, he opened his mouth to say something when both of their eyes snapped up to the sky, reacting to some sound you must not have heard. You followed their gaze, and didn’t even have a chance to scream as a column of fire descended from above, ready to devour you all.

            You woke with a gasp. Your heart was pounding loudly enough that you could hear it in your ears, and you pushed yourself up into a sitting position as you struggled to calm your ragged breathing. The darkness in the room was soft, and your eyes adjusted slowly to your surroundings, only to find them all comforting and familiar – this was your room, your home. Instantly, you turned to your side, and let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Gwayne sleeping peacefully next to you. He was here, he was home, he was safe – you both were.

            When your breathing had calmed back to a normal rate, you eased yourself back down under the covers, burrowing into his arms as he sleepily adjusted his position to accommodate you.

            “Hmmm—is everything… alright?” he muttered, blinking his eyes open.

            “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, “I just had a nightmare.”

            He seemed to waken a little more at your words, propping himself up slightly on one arm as he reached the other hand out to stroke your cheek.

            “Are you alright? Do you want to talk about it?” his voice was still thick with sleep, but you knew the questions were genuine.

            “It was about you,” you reached up to cup his hand that still rested on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours. “And the dragon,” you added, your words barely above a whisper. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, you were certain he was reliving the memory himself, and instantly regretted your words.

            “But it was nothing,” you hurried to assure him, “I just—I just wish I had been there. Or that I could have helped or—” you were distinctly aware that your jumbled words made very little sense, even to you. “I just felt so helpless,” you ended with a sigh. Gwayne watched you with soft eyes, his fingers squeezing yours in reassurance.

            “You were there, though,” he responded, smiling gently, “and you did help.” You just stared at him incredulously, wondering if he was the one who was dreaming now. He read the question in your eyes with a small chuckle and disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself up to sit. 

            Pressing a hand to his chest, his fingers found the chain of the necklace that he always wore. The charm was a delicate circle of beaten metal hanging from a simple coppery chain. You had bought it in the market one day when the two of you were still courting. The rich auburn sheen of the metal had reminded you of Gwayne’s hair, and you were determined to have it. The seller assured you that the little ring symbolized unending love and devotion – a never-ending cycle, an unbroken vow. You were doubtful that had been the original intention of the maker, but rather a ploy on the seller’s part to drive up the price after he realized you intended it as a gift for your beloved. Had it been that obvious how love-struck you were? 

            Regardless of whether it was intended or not, you liked the idea of the simple circle as a token of promise and loyalty, as well as a celebration of one of Gwayne’s most striking features. You had given it to him wrapped in a carefully-embroidered handkerchief when he had gallantly asked for your favor before a tourney. You cherished the memory of him asking you to help him put it on, and the fleeting touch of his skin and flaming hair you were able to steal as you clasped it around his neck. He won the tourney, and insisted that his victory was due at least in part to the precious charm you had given him, imbued with your affection and devotion. To your knowledge, he had never taken it off since.

            Now, in the dim light of your shared chambers, he held the little ring out for you to see. It was slightly more battered now than it had been, and though its original shine was gone, it still seemed to glow with a warm coppery light. Reaching out, you took the small circle in your fingers, feeling all the tiny knicks and ridges it had acquired over time, each one of them proof of Gwayne’s promise to always return to you – an unbroken vow.

            “See, you’re always with me, right here,” he gestured to the charm in your fingers. The feeling of the metal against your skin and the sweet memories that swirled through your mind caused tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, chasing away the lingering cobwebs of fear that the nightmare had spun. Gently, you released the ring and Gwayne’s fingers replaced yours on the circle, guiding it back to where it always sat on his chest, just above his heart. He pressed it there, emphasizing his words: “right here, right where you always have been – and always will be.”

            Ducking your head away, you tried to hide the tears that were now threatening to slide down your cheeks as his words. But before you could wipe them on the sheets, Gwayne’s hand caught your chin, gently pulling him back to you, the rough pad of his thumb banishing the tears from your face. His eyes sparkled with affection and mirth, and you found yourself unable to stop yourself from echoing his smile.

            “Hmmm… it’s more serious than I thought,” he said with mock-concern, tilting your face as though he was examining it, “you appear to be desperately and madly in love with me – a very serious condition indeed.”

            You couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of your mouth as you nudged him playfully, causing him to break into bright chuckles of his own. Your chest, which just moments ago had been compressed with terror, was now so full of love and happiness you were certain it might burst.

            “And tell me, Ser Gwayne, what is the cure for this most dire of conditions?” you matched his tone of feigned worry as your laughter subsided.

            “Hmmm,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, unable to hide the dimples forming on his cheeks, proof of his barely-suppressed smile, “perhaps marriage? I have heard many esteemed lords claim that the institution of matrimony is bound to cure an ailment such as yours.”

            “Oh, but I fear I’ve tried that,” you exclaimed, “and it has only made my condition worse.”

            “Then this is indeed one of the most serious cases I’ve ever seen.” He pondered for a moment, then his eyes lit up: “There is one more cure, but it’s risky. You could try true love’s kiss. One does read about those sorts of things working miracles after all.”

            “What’s the risk?”

            “The risk is that the kiss renders your condition utterly uncurable by any other means.” Gwayne’s lips tilted up into your favorite lopsided smile as he grinned at you, dimples glowing like twin suns, sending the delicate freckles on his face colliding into each other like falling stars.

            “That’s a risk I’m more than willing to take,” you breathed as he reached out to cup your face and bring it close to his. You closed your eyes as your lips met in a burst of warm sunlight that seemed to fill your whole body with its radiance. You weren’t sure how long you remained pressed against him, feeling his heartbeat against your skin, his auburn locks twisted in your fingers, his necklace hanging between your entwined forms. 

            “Did it work?” he whispered when he finally pulled away, his forehead still resting against yours.

            “No,” you responded happily, your fingers once again finding the thin metal of the little circular charm, “I fear I’m even more madly and desperately in love with you than before.” You met his eyes, finding them bright and soft and just as madly and desperately in love as you were certain yours were.

            “Well, I like to think of myself as chivalrous, but I don’t think I can find it in myself to regret your condition,” he whispered, a teasing smile on his face as he reached a hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

            “Nor can I,” you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

            He pulled you fully into his grasp then, maneuvering you both back under the covers without relinquishing his hold on you. You rested on his chest, head tucked under his chin as he wrapped both arms around you. Your fingers found his necklace, and you clasped it in your hand. He echoed your motion until both of your hands were intertwined around the metal circle, resting just above his heart. You could feel it beating against your skin, and you snuggled yourself even closer to him.

            “This is what I imagine,” Gwayne said softly to the darkness, “when I’m on the road without you, and all I have is this small charm to remind me of what it feels like to rest in your embrace. This is what I dream of.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and squeezed your hand where it entwined with his on the necklace. “You’re always right here.”

            “I’m always right here,” you echo, your words a promise, a vow.

            “But thank the gods I don’t have to imagine right now,” you felt his words as his lips moved against your forehead, “because I am right here.” Gwayne wrapped his arms even more tightly around you, and you gladly tucked yourself further into his warm embrace. You felt yourself drifting back into a pleasant sleep in the comfort and safety of his arms. You heard his words echo softly in the gentle quiet of the room:

            “I’m right here.”

[fioredeciliego]

Hell of a Ride (Wish there was a Car) - Karina x Fem!Reader

Be warned, there is smut 15k words

The jungle was thick with the midday sun, beads of sweat trailing down your neck as you trudged after Jimin. She seemed oddly serene, picking her way through dense vegetation with a kind of breezy confidence that only made you feel more uneasy. Each step away from any familiar landmark left you feeling more lost, yet Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. As she led the way, her hand brushed against a massive fern, sending droplets of morning dew sprinkling through the air.

“Are you really sure this is the right path?” you asked, trying to sound calm but unable to mask the tension in your voice. You’d lost track of how many times you’d already asked, but this time, you hoped she’d finally admit they might be heading in the wrong direction.

Jimin turned and flashed you her signature grin. “Totally sure. It’s just… a scenic route,” she said, her tone a little too carefree.

“A scenic route,” you repeated flatly, your eyes scanning the endless sea of green surrounding you. The air was thick and still, with only the occasional call of a distant bird breaking the silence. “You mean the path where we haven’t seen another soul in hours?”

“Exactly!” She laughed, nudging you with her elbow as if the whole thing was a harmless joke. “You’ll thank me later when we’re out of here with the best story to tell. How many people can say they’ve been ‘lost’ in the jungle? This is the kind of story people want to hear!”

An uncomfortable laugh escaped you, though it was more a reflex than actual amusement. “Lost isn’t exactly the word I’d use. We’re… stranded, Jimin.”

Jimin chuckled, apparently amused by your escalating nerves. “Stranded? That’s such a strong word! We’re just… wandering with a purpose. Besides, we’ve got food, water, even a little signal now and then. We’re fine.”

Frustration bubbled up in your chest, the tension reaching a breaking point. “Jimin, wandering with a purpose only works if you actually have a direction. We’re just walking aimlessly!”

She stopped, finally looking you in the eyes, her smile faltering as she registered the worry in your face. Her voice softened. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Worst case, we’ll just retrace our steps.”

“Retrace our steps? Do you even remember the way we came?” you pressed, crossing your arms as you took in the pathless jungle surrounding you both. “I don’t think ‘back’ is even a possibility anymore.”

Jimin hesitated, glancing over her shoulder with a thoughtful expression, and you could tell she was trying to play it off. But it was painfully clear she hadn’t been paying attention to the way they’d come. She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Well, it’s not like we’re out here without resources. We’ve got plenty of daylight, food, and I’ll get us back to where we started.”

You sighed, exasperation lacing your words. “Jimin, this isn’t a movie. We don’t have some magical compass that’s going to lead us to safety. This is real. And it’s dangerous.”

Jimin’s face softened, and for a second, she almost looked apologetic. She took a tentative step closer, reaching out as if she wanted to comfort you. “Hey, I get it. I do. But… maybe this could be a fun experience. Something we’ll laugh about later?” Her eyes sparkled, an optimistic light that seemed wildly out of place in the suffocating jungle.

“A fun experience?” you asked, unable to hide the mix of irritation and worry. “This isn’t a weekend trip to the beach. We’re in the jungle, miles from any kind of help.”

Jimin looked down at her feet, a sheepish expression crossing her face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I wasn’t… thinking it through. But look, we’re here now, and I’ll make sure we get back. Worst case, we’ll head in one direction and keep going until we find a trail.”

“Assuming that actually works,” you muttered, scanning the tangled undergrowth with skepticism. The sheer volume of plants and trees was overwhelming, every corner of the jungle looking like an endless mirror of the last.

Jimin reached out, gently brushing a leaf off your shoulder with a smile. “Hey, at least we’ve got a good view, right?” she joked, gesturing to the towering trees and vibrant green around you. “This isn’t just any regular adventure. It’s, like… a private jungle getaway. Just the two of us.”

“A private jungle getaway?” you repeated, the disbelief clear in your voice. “Are you seriously calling this a romantic outing? We’re lost, Jimin.”

She tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Come on, just go with it! Imagine it’s like… a spontaneous date, complete with the best ambiance nature has to offer. You and me, lost in paradise… don’t you think it’s kind of nice?”

You let out an exasperated huff, though you couldn’t deny the flicker of warmth her words stirred. “I don’t think you get it. This isn’t some fun little escapade, Jimin. We’re actually stuck, and there’s a good chance we won’t get out of here by nightfall.”

She held up her hands defensively, a guilty smile creeping onto her face. “Okay, fair point. Maybe I’m downplaying things a little. But hey, I’ve been camping before. I’ve got some survival skills,” she said, attempting a confident grin.

“Oh, great. So you know how to toast marshmallows? That’ll really save us,” you replied dryly, though her attempt at humor brought a reluctant smile to your face.

Jimin laughed, a genuine sound that cut through the tension for a moment. She reached out and ruffled your hair affectionately, a teasing smile on her lips. “I know, I know. I’ll be serious. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any sign of a trail. Just don’t worry too much. I’ve got you.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked away, the worry still a tight knot in your stomach, but her sincerity softened your anger a little. Jimin’s confidence might be misplaced, but it was hard to stay completely mad at her when she looked so earnest. Maybe she didn’t understand the full weight of the situation, but there was no denying she genuinely cared.

“Fine,” you said, giving in with a reluctant smile. “But no more detours, okay? We’re sticking to whatever you think is the straightest path out of here.”

She gave a little salute, her expression brightening. “Yes, ma’am. No more detours.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide a small smile as you followed her through the undergrowth, her confident strides taking her forward with a purpose you weren’t sure she actually had. Her energy was reassuring, even if misplaced.

--

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the jungle, transforming the trees into towering green pillars and the undergrowth into a vibrant tapestry. You and Jimin finally emerged into a small clearing, a brief break in the dense foliage that gave you both a moment to breathe. Though neither of you would admit it, you were both hoping it meant you were finally headed in the right direction.

Jimin, of course, was still trying to appear as confident as ever, even though you’d caught her glancing over her shoulder more than a few times as if she were second-guessing herself. She wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead, hands on her hips as she surveyed the area. “Alright,” she declared, as if she’d just led you on a great expedition, “I think we’re back on track.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. “You think we’re back on track?”

“Hey, I’m pretty sure,” Jimin replied, shrugging. She flashed you a lopsided grin, her confidence radiating even though it seemed clear she was mostly guessing. “Besides, you don’t see anyone else here with a map, right?”

“Yeah, because we don’t have a map,” you pointed out, unable to keep a small laugh from slipping out. Jimin’s misplaced confidence was somehow endearing, even though you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Ignoring your tone, Jimin gestured forward with a flourish, as if presenting a path only she could see. “Look, I know it seems like we’re lost, but trust me. We’re not,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

You glanced around the clearing, squinting into the dense underbrush, trying to find any indication of where you’d come from. “Okay, well, if you’re so sure, let’s try heading back the way we came, alright?”

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. “Easy! Just follow me.”

But as she took a confident step forward, her boot caught on an exposed root hidden beneath a layer of leaves. With a startled yelp, Jimin stumbled forward, reaching out instinctively for balance. Unfortunately, you happened to be right in her path, and before you could even react, she grabbed onto your arm, pulling you down with her.

You both hit the ground with a soft thud, leaves crunching beneath you. Jimin landed partially on top of you, her weight pinning you down for a moment. A shocked silence hung between you both as you registered the tangle of limbs, your faces just inches apart. She blinked, eyes wide with embarrassment, her cheeks flushing as she quickly scrambled off of you.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry!” she sputtered, cheeks flushed as she tried to brush the dirt off herself. “Are you okay?”

You groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you brushed a few stray leaves from your hair. “I think I’m fine. But maybe let’s leave the dramatic falls to the action movies, yeah?”

Jimin let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Guess I got a little overzealous there. Sorry for, you know, tackling you.”

Despite the dirt and the sting of impact, you found yourself laughing, the sound surprising both of you. Jimin looked at you, wide-eyed and slightly taken aback.

“Wait, are you… laughing at me?” she asked, her voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You shook your head, but the laughter only bubbled up more. “No, no, I’m just laughing at… the situation. Here we are, ‘retracing our steps,’ only to end up face-first in the dirt. It’s… fitting, somehow.”

Jimin’s lips curled into a reluctant smile, and soon she was laughing too, her soft giggles filling the clearing. “Alright, alright. So maybe I’m not the best at leading us through the jungle. But look, I’m keeping things interesting, aren’t I?”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” you replied, still smiling as you pushed yourself up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. “I mean, there’s never a dull moment with you around.”

She grinned, giving you a mock salute. “Glad to be of service. Now, let’s try this again… maybe without the acrobatics this time.”

Standing side by side in the clearing, you both took a moment to reassess your situation. Jimin straightened her shoulders, attempting to take on a serious, determined expression as she glanced around, as if searching for any sign of the way forward.

“So,” she began, looking around with a touch of genuine uncertainty, “since we’re clearly both experts in navigation, why don’t we try to divide up what we’re carrying? If we’re going to find our way back, we should at least make sure we’re both prepared for anything.”

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of planning. “Good idea. Let’s take stock of what we’ve got.” Together, you emptied out the few supplies you had between the two of you: a half-full water bottle, a granola bar, a small flashlight with a barely-charged battery, and a few other random items neither of you had expected to need in the middle of a jungle.

Jimin eyed the meager supplies, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “So, you carry the flashlight and water, and I’ll hold onto the snacks. That way, if we get tired, I can give you a pep talk with food,” she joked, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes but handed her the granola bar, trying not to let your growing worry show too much. “Just don’t eat it all yourself. We might need it if we’re still out here for a while.”

Her smile softened as she looked over at you, her expression unexpectedly gentle. “Hey, don’t worry too much. I promise I’ll get us out of here, okay? I might be a little clumsy, but I don’t give up easily.”

Something in her tone reassured you, a quiet conviction that made you feel a bit more grounded. You gave her a nod, tucking the flashlight into your bag. “Alright. Then lead the way, oh fearless one. Just… watch out for those roots this time.”

She chuckled, giving you a playful nudge as she started forward again, her gaze more focused as she scanned the ground in front of her. And as you followed her deeper into the jungle, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to lead you both out of there—without too many more bruises along the way.

--

The sky shifted from bright blue to soft hues of pink and orange, signaling the day’s end as you and Jimin continued trudging through the dense jungle. Despite her determination, both of you knew that walking aimlessly in the dark wouldn’t get you anywhere. Finally, you spotted a small, open area nestled between a few large trees.

“I think we should stop here,” you suggested, setting down your bag and glancing up at the streaks of fading sunlight poking through the canopy. “It’s going to be pitch-black soon, and we’ll just end up tripping over ourselves in the dark.”

Jimin glanced around, hands on her hips, then nodded. “Good call. I mean, it’s only one night, right?” She shot you a quick, slightly nervous grin as she looked around, already beginning to gather sticks and leaves in a valiant attempt to make a shelter.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her struggle with the basics of shelter-building, her clumsiness getting in the way. She tried stacking some larger sticks against a low-hanging tree branch, but they slid down almost immediately, leaving her standing in a defeated, tangled mess of branches and vines.

“Need a hand?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Jimin’s face turned slightly red, though she managed a lopsided grin. “What, you don’t think I know how to set up camp?”

You chuckled softly, reaching out to steady one of the sticks she was holding. “I’m just saying, if we leave it up to you, we might end up sleeping under a pile of leaves.”

Jimin laughed, scratching the back of her head as she stepped back, letting you take the lead. “Fine, fine. I’ll let the expert take over… for now.”

You started rearranging the sticks, weaving them together to make a sturdier frame. As you worked, you couldn’t help but feel her eyes on you, watching intently, as if she were genuinely impressed by your makeshift construction skills. When you looked up, you found her staring at you with a small smile, her expression softer than usual. Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the structure.

Jimin cleared her throat, taking a step closer as she bent down to help. “So… any camping trips in your past that I should know about?”

You shrugged, placing a handful of palm leaves on the frame to create a sort of roof. “My family used to go camping a lot when I was younger. I guess I picked up a few things along the way.”

“Ah, see, you’re full of surprises,” she said with a grin, carefully placing leaves beside yours. Her fingers brushed yours for a split second as she worked, sending a strange but pleasant jolt through you.

The sun dipped lower, and you continued working side by side, occasionally bumping elbows or reaching for the same spot, only to pull back with shy smiles. Eventually, you’d pieced together a small but sturdy shelter, just big enough to fit you both and keep the wind out.

Jimin stepped back to admire your work, her eyes shining with genuine pride. “Not bad! I guess we make a pretty good team.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you looked at her, noting the way her face lit up despite the dimming light around you. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

She settled down inside the shelter, patting the spot next to her with a playful grin. “Come on, don’t be shy! Your construction, your prime seat.”

Rolling your eyes, you crawled in beside her, grateful for the shelter you’d built together. With the last bit of daylight slipping away, an unfamiliar yet comfortable quiet fell over the two of you. The jungle sounds became more pronounced as night fell���crickets chirped, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at the hidden creatures nearby. You hugged your knees to your chest, glancing over at Jimin, who sat with her legs stretched out, leaning against the shelter frame with a relaxed smile on her face.

For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the world, the isolation of the jungle bringing a rare kind of intimacy. You turned to her, breaking the silence. “Do you think anyone’s noticed we’re gone?”

Jimin shrugged, glancing up at the now star-speckled sky. “Probably… though I doubt they’re panicking yet. They’ll figure out we’re missing by morning, I bet.”

“Guess that means we’re stuck here for the night, then,” you murmured, a touch of worry in your voice.

Jimin must have sensed your unease because she gave you a reassuring smile, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s kind of like an adventure, right? Just think of it as… our own little jungle getaway.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Right. The ideal vacation spot: stranded in the jungle with no food or water.”

She laughed softly, nudging you. “Well, maybe not ideal, but… hey, at least we’ve got each other.” Her eyes met yours, the soft light in them making your breath hitch for a moment.

You managed a small smile, leaning back against the frame of the shelter. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

A comfortable silence settled over you once more, broken only by the symphony of nighttime sounds. You felt Jimin’s shoulder brush against yours as she shifted slightly, leaning in closer as if to share warmth in the cool night air. Her presence, though often clumsy and exasperating, was undeniably comforting in this strange, lonely place.

After a while, she spoke up, her voice softer than usual. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever spent a night like this before. It’s… kind of nice.”

You glanced over at her, surprised by the sincerity in her tone. “Yeah? Even though we’re, you know, lost?”

She laughed quietly. “Yeah. Maybe it’s the whole survival thing, but I feel… I don’t know, alive. Like, really alive.”

You found yourself smiling at her words, understanding what she meant. There was something oddly exhilarating about the danger, the rawness of the situation you were in. And though you wouldn’t admit it, you were grateful for her company.

As you both settled into silence once more, your eyelids grew heavy, the sounds of the jungle lulling you into a surprisingly peaceful state. Just as you were on the edge of sleep, you heard Jimin mumble softly, almost to herself, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep us safe.”

--

The night air in the jungle quickly grew colder as the sky darkened, the warmth of the day fading into the cool embrace of the evening. You huddled closer to the shelter, pulling your jacket tighter around you, but the chill still seeped into your bones. You could feel the air turning brisker, the jungle’s nocturnal hum growing louder in contrast to the stillness that had settled between you and Jimin.

Jimin shifted next to you, clearly uncomfortable, her shoulders hunched as she wrapped her arms around herself. She glanced over at you, her lips curling into a mischievous smile as she attempted to break the tension.

“So, uh, is this… how you imagined our first night alone together?” she asked, her tone playful but laced with a nervous undertone. She gave a slight shrug as she shuffled closer, her eyes catching the moonlight, making her look almost ethereal. “I mean, I gotta say, this isn’t quite the cozy, romantic campfire I was picturing, but… maybe I’m just doing it wrong.”

You shot her a look, suppressing a grin at her antics. "Definitely not the romantic getaway I had in mind," you said dryly, though the teasing tone in your voice didn’t quite mask the warmth you were beginning to feel. It wasn’t just from the campfire; it was from being in such close quarters with her.

Jimin shifted again, now sitting much closer to you, though you hadn’t moved at all. She glanced over at you, her eyes softening for a moment before she broke the silence with another joke. “You cold?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because if you’re cold, I mean, you could always snuggle up to me. I’m pretty good at staying warm… you know, since I’m basically a walking heater.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her flirtatious remark, but something inside you stirred at her words. It was so casual, so effortless, yet you could feel the shift in the air around you. The closeness, the playful teasing—it made your heart race in a way you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though the words felt hollow as the chill gnawed at you once more. You pulled your legs up to your chest, trying to stay warm, but you couldn’t deny the sudden longing for her proximity, for her warmth.

Jimin noticed the small shiver that ran through you, and her teasing smile softened. “You sure? I can’t let my teammate freeze, you know. You’re kind of important.” She gently nudged your shoulder with hers, a little more sincerely now.

You let out a quiet, half-laugh. “I’m not going to freeze. I’ve been through worse.”

Jimin’s smile remained, but there was an underlying concern in her eyes. “Still, it’s not just about surviving, it’s about being comfortable, too.” Her voice dropped slightly, and you could hear the sincerity in it, which made your heart flutter a little.

She hesitated for a moment before sliding closer, her body warmth becoming more apparent as she sat beside you, a little closer than before. She tugged her jacket tighter around herself, but it was clear it wasn’t enough to keep her warm either. Her eyes met yours briefly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something unspoken in them.

“Come on, don’t make me beg for it,” she teased, her voice light again as she nudged you more insistently. “I’m just offering my body heat, not a lifetime commitment. Though, if you’re into that…” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically, and you couldn’t help but snort at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Jimin, you’re impossible,” you muttered, though you didn’t push her away. Instead, you found yourself unconsciously leaning into her, the warmth she offered starting to feel too tempting to resist.

“See? I knew you were secretly into it,” she teased softly, though her voice was warmer now, less cocky. She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you close in a comfortable embrace, the kind of closeness that felt both natural and slightly awkward at the same time.

You froze at first, a little startled by how easy it felt to just… fall into her. But then the warmth from her body enveloped you, and you sighed in relief, your tense shoulders loosening. The cold from before seemed to melt away, replaced by the undeniable warmth of her embrace.

Jimin leaned her head lightly against yours, her breath warm against your ear. “See? This isn’t so bad, right?”

You couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips, even as you tried to act nonchalant about the entire thing. “I guess not,” you muttered. You didn’t want to admit how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to her, especially with everything that had happened earlier. You weren’t sure why the touch of her skin against yours sent a flutter through your chest, but you weren’t ready to acknowledge it just yet.

There was another beat of silence between you two as you both just sat there, the only sound coming from the distant jungle creatures and your shared breaths. You felt Jimin’s hand slip just a little lower down your back, her fingers brushing against your waist, and your heart skipped.

She pulled away slightly, her voice soft but playful, a teasing edge still lingering. “Are you comfortable now? Or do I need to get even closer?” Her grin was mischievous, but you could tell she was still testing the waters, gauging how much you were willing to let her in.

Your face warmed at the suggestiveness in her voice, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning in closer, your head resting against her shoulder. “This is fine,” you said softly, though you could feel your heartbeat quicken.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, trying to break the tension, even though part of you didn’t want to. “You really like to joke around, don’t you?”

Jimin grinned, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Hey, I have to make the best out of our romantic jungle getaway, right? Just trying to keep the mood light.” She tilted her head, her voice taking on a more sincere note. “But seriously, I’ll keep you warm. I don’t mind.”

Something in her words—soft, but unspoken—made your heart race. You looked up at her then, her expression unreadable for a second before she nudged you with her shoulder, her grin returning. You couldn’t help but smile back, your feelings all tangled up in this strange, overwhelming mixture of warmth, laughter, and unexpected connection.

--

As the first rays of sunlight broke through the thick canopy above, you stirred awake, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The morning was calm, with the soft hum of the jungle waking up around you. Jimin was already up, fiddling with the last of your shared provisions to make some semblance of breakfast. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, her hands fumbling slightly as she tried to tear open a package of granola bars.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she greeted with a smirk as you sat up, blinking in the dawn light. “Just in time to join me for this… Michelin-star breakfast I’ve whipped up.” She raised an eyebrow, brandishing a half-crushed granola bar with mock grandeur.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Ah, yes. The classic ‘lost in the jungle with no real food’ breakfast. How gourmet of you.”

She grinned, delighted to have coaxed a laugh out of you. “Hey, I’ll have you know that in some cultures, this counts as a romantic adventure date,” she quipped, her voice light but with a mischievous edge.

You froze mid-reach for a water bottle, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry—adventure date?” You couldn’t help but scoff, though the corners of your mouth threatened to lift. “Are you seriously calling this a date?”

Jimin shrugged, her eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “Well, I mean, think about it: secluded location, scenic views, lots of quality alone time…” She raised her hands, gesturing at the sprawling jungle around you. “Besides, you don’t seem to be hating it as much as you let on.” She shot you a grin, clearly enjoying every second of teasing you.

You bit back a smile, trying to look as exasperated as possible. “Jimin, I think I’d prefer a less ‘lost and starving in the wilderness’ kind of date,” you said, though your tone was soft.

Jimin leaned in, nudging you with her shoulder. “Aw, come on. Think of the memories we’re making! Just imagine the stories we’ll have to tell… if we make it out, of course,” she added with a laugh.

You gave her a sidelong glance, but her enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. “Fine, but next time I get to choose the date spot. Preferably somewhere with less… potential for starving,” you replied, only half-joking.

Jimin put her hand to her chest in mock offense. “Noted! Though, I don’t know, you’ve been a pretty good sport about it all. You’re even smiling at my jokes now.” She leaned in a little closer, her tone dropping as she added, “See? I knew you’d come around to liking me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your cheeks. “I wouldn’t get too cocky just yet,” you muttered, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

She looked at you, something playful but genuine in her gaze. “Admit it—you’re having a little bit of fun,” she teased, tilting her head to try and catch your eye. “I know you can’t resist my charms forever.”

You shook your head, trying to hold back your grin. “Jimin, I’m just doing my best to survive out here with you. Let’s not read too much into it.”

But as you both started packing up to continue your trek, Jimin kept up her playful banter, her flirtation escalating in small, unexpected ways. Every so often, as you made your way through the thick jungle underbrush, she’d lean over, whispering dramatic “observations” about your surroundings as though narrating a romantic survival film.

“Oh, look over there,” she whispered in a hushed, faux-dramatic tone as she pointed to a patch of sunlight filtering through the leaves. “Nature has provided us with mood lighting for our romantic hike. It’s practically begging us to lean into the ‘lost lovers’ vibe.”

You gave her a disbelieving look, stifling a laugh. “You really know how to spin a narrative, don’t you?”

She flashed you a grin, proud of herself. “Hey, one of us has to lighten the mood. And, by the way, you’re welcome.” She glanced over, her eyes warm and inviting, and you couldn’t help but feel your defenses soften around her.

The path became a little trickier, with tangled roots and slick patches of mud, and Jimin offered you her hand to steady yourself more times than you’d care to admit. Each time, her hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary, and each time, you felt your resolve weaken just a little bit more.

“Jimin, I can handle myself, you know,” you protested lightly the fifth or sixth time she reached out to you, though you took her hand anyway. Her grip was warm and steady, a stark contrast to the damp chill that surrounded you.

“Sure, sure,” she said breezily, giving you a wink. “But where’s the fun in that? Besides,” she added, her voice dropping a little, “I like helping you. It’s nice to feel… needed.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced over at her, but her expression was soft and sincere. For a moment, the playful mask had dropped, and you saw something else there—something that made your heart skip.

“Well,” you said softly, unsure of how to respond but unable to look away, “thanks, I guess.”

She shrugged, her smile returning as she released your hand, but not before giving it a little squeeze. “Anytime. It’s what co-workers… and adventure dates… are for.”

You gave her an exasperated look, but this time, you didn’t bother hiding your smile. “I’m sure this is the most unconventional adventure date of all time.”

Jimin just laughed, her voice ringing out through the quiet jungle, her happiness infectious. As you both continued onward, her flirtations and teasing became a little bolder, a little more natural, as if she were testing the waters between you with each lighthearted quip.

--

The two of you had been walking for what felt like hours, cutting through thick vines and maneuvering over gnarled roots, Jimin’s lighthearted banter punctuating the stillness of the jungle. Despite the challenging terrain, the growing camaraderie between you made the journey less daunting, even fun. But then, as you stepped around a massive tree trunk, everything changed in an instant.

Jimin froze beside you, her arm instinctively reaching out to block your path. You followed her gaze, feeling your heart drop as you spotted a snake in the clearing ahead, coiled and motionless at first. Its thick, scaled body gleamed in the filtered sunlight, but its head was raised, alert—and pointed directly at you.

“Don’t move,” Jimin whispered, her voice low and tense, as if any sound could set it off.

“Jimin…” you breathed, feeling a chill run down your spine. The snake’s body tensed, its gaze fixed on both of you, and you instinctively took a small step back. The movement seemed to trigger it. In a flash, it uncoiled, darting forward with terrifying speed.

“Y/N, stay back!” Jimin yelled, reacting on instinct. Without a second thought, she grabbed you and spun you behind her, shielding you with her own body as she faced the snake, her stance defensive.

The snake reared up, striking out, and Jimin quickly grabbed a nearby branch to hold it back. You watched, wide-eyed and breathless, as she waved the branch, creating enough space to maneuver backward with you. Her gaze stayed fixed on the snake as it hissed and snapped, still pressing toward you both, its anger evident.

“Just… keep moving, slow and steady,” she whispered, her voice tight as she pushed you back. “We don’t want to make it angrier.”

You obeyed, retreating step by step, but your heart raced wildly. Despite the danger, the way Jimin stayed protectively between you and the snake left you speechless, your nerves twisting into a strange blend of fear and… something else. Her hand never left your arm, holding you close even as she guided you both away.

Just as you thought you were out of reach, Jimin stumbled over a stray root, her grip on the branch slipping. The snake lunged forward, its body a flash of movement, and you instinctively grabbed her, steadying her before it could strike. Heart pounding, she managed to pull you both further back, the distance finally enough to make the snake give up its chase. It hissed once more before slithering off into the underbrush.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands still clutching Jimin’s arm as your eyes met hers. For a few seconds, neither of you said a word, the intensity of the moment leaving you both frozen in place.

“Are… are you okay?” she asked softly, her own breathing heavy as she took you in, concern etched on her face.

“Am I okay?” you replied, a shaky laugh escaping as you felt a strange warmth flood your cheeks. “You’re the one who just took on a snake!”

Jimin chuckled, her shoulders relaxing as she slowly lowered the branch and dropped it to the ground. “Guess I just couldn’t let anything happen to my favorite jungle explorer,” she quipped, her tone trying to lighten the mood, though her gaze stayed focused, her eyes scanning your face as if to make sure you were truly unharmed.

You exhaled, still holding onto her arm as the reality of what had just happened settled in. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” she interrupted gently, squeezing your hand. “But I wanted to. Besides,” she added, trying to play it cool, “I couldn’t let you go running off without me, right?”

Her words sparked something inside you, and the reality of her protectiveness, her quick instinct to shield you, left you speechless. “Jimin…” you whispered, not quite sure how to express what you were feeling. Your gratitude, your surprise, the slight flutter in your chest—it was all tangled up.

Jimin’s expression softened as she took a small step closer, her hand lifting to brush a stray leaf from your shoulder. “You look really flustered,” she said with a teasing smirk, trying to ease the tension with humor, but her voice held an unmistakable warmth. “Was it the snake, or was it me?”

You scoffed, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Just... I wasn’t expecting my trip partner to go full survival mode on me,” you muttered, your gaze dropping to the ground as you tried to process the overwhelming moment.

She tilted her head, a soft chuckle escaping. “Guess I surprised you, huh?” she whispered, her fingers tracing an absentminded pattern along your arm, her touch grounding you.

“You did,” you admitted, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “Thank you, though. Seriously.”

Her gaze softened further, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, and for a moment, it was as if the two of you were in your own little world, the jungle fading into the background. “Anytime,” she murmured, giving you a playful smile. “Now, come on. Let’s try not to make any more angry friends out here, yeah?”

And with that, she took your hand in hers, leading you onward, her grip steady and reassuring as you walked deeper into the jungle.

--

You and Jimin finally find a small stream after hours of trudging through dense foliage. The soft trickle of water over rocks is a relief, and you both settle down on a smooth boulder near the bank, grateful for the brief reprieve.

You take off your shoes and dip your feet into the cool water, sighing as the chill soothes the soreness from walking. Jimin follows suit, gingerly lowering her feet beside yours. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a moment, just listening to the sounds of the forest and the gentle stream.

“Honestly… I didn’t expect the jungle to be this intense,” Jimin says with a small laugh, breaking the quiet. “Or for us to end up lost like this.”

You smile, the tension of the day beginning to ease. “Maybe next time, we leave the navigating to someone who doesn’t have a talent for getting us into trouble.”

She grins, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Fair point. Though, I don’t know, it makes things interesting, don’t you think?”

“Interesting, maybe,” you reply, glancing at her with a small smile. “But it’s not exactly the ideal place to get lost.”

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s a momentary flicker in her gaze as she looks away, her fingers lightly trailing over the water’s surface. The joking air between you both fades a little, and she seems to fall quiet, a pensive look crossing her face. She dips her head, absently tracing small circles in the water.

You give her a sidelong glance, sensing something she isn’t saying. “Hey, you okay?”

She hesitates, then smiles, but it’s a quieter smile than usual, lacking its usual spark. “I’m fine, yeah. Just thinking, I guess. You know… I joke around a lot, but it’s probably annoying sometimes, huh?”

The comment catches you off guard. You shake your head. “No, it’s not annoying. You’ve actually been keeping things… less terrible. Besides, that’s just who you are, right?”

“I guess.” She pauses, her fingers trailing over the rock beside her. “It’s funny, though. It’s like… if I didn’t make people laugh, they wouldn’t even notice I was there. And sometimes… I wonder if that’s all people see.”

Her voice drops, a vulnerability in her words that you’d never heard before. She’s looking down, her fingers absently playing with the edge of her shirt, and for once, the usual spark in her eyes has dimmed.

You hesitate, wanting to say the right thing. “Jimin, I know you’re funny and lighthearted, but I think that’s only one part of you. You’re… a lot more than that.”

She looks up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. You can be… thoughtful, too,” you say, glancing at her with a small smile. “You’re protective, like with that snake earlier. And you’re just… real. You’re not just hiding behind some persona.”

Jimin’s expression softens, and she smiles, a shy, almost relieved look crossing her face. “I guess I’ve just never thought of it like that,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping again.

There’s a quiet moment between you as she lets those words linger in the air. Something in your chest aches for her, for this hidden vulnerability she usually covers up so well. You reach over, your hand brushing hers, a comforting squeeze to let her know she’s not alone.

“I… care about both sides of you, Jimin. The funny, playful side, and the thoughtful side, too,” you say softly. “You don’t have to hide anything.”

Jimin turns to you, her expression unreadable for a moment, but then her eyes soften, a teasing glint appearing once again. “So, you do care about me after all, huh?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but a smile sneaks onto your face as you do. “Well, maybe a little bit,” you admit, your tone light, though there’s a warmth in your words that’s unmistakable.

Jimin grins, her confidence returning in that familiar, infectious way. “I knew it. Knew you’d come around eventually.”

You shake your head, amused but undeniably touched by the way she’s trusting you enough to let her guard down. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She laughs, the sound echoing over the stream, but there’s a softness in her gaze as she looks at you, a gratitude that needs no words.

--

The steady flow of the stream had guided you both along as the day stretched on, the warm sun hanging in the sky. After hours of trekking through the dense jungle, you and Jimin stumbled upon a small, secluded cave hidden behind a waterfall. The perfect spot to rest for a while.

Jimin, ever the optimist, was quick to suggest a little fun, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "What do you say we jump into the waterfall, clothes and all?" she asked, grinning at you. You raised an eyebrow, skeptical at first, but the heat of the jungle and the lure of the cool water soon won you over.

You both stripped off your outer layers and leapt into the waterfall, laughing as the cold water hit your skin, splashing around in the flow of the rushing water. It was a strange freedom, something raw and invigorating, and for a few moments, you forgot about being lost in the jungle. But all too soon, the playful atmosphere shifted when you noticed the darkening sky.

"Uh-oh," Jimin said, squinting upwards. "That doesn't look good."

The rain began as a light drizzle, but it quickly turned into a downpour. Cold water, mixed with the chill of the air, hit your skin like little needles, and you both scrambled out of the waterfall, soaked to the bone. You rushed to the cave you’d spotted earlier, dripping wet as you sought refuge from the increasingly heavy rain.

Inside the cave, Jimin let out a loud, exaggerated groan as she shook her hair, spraying droplets everywhere. “Well, this is fun. I don’t think we planned for a jungle rainstorm.”

You glanced back at her, your teeth chattering. The temperature had dropped significantly, and it was clear you both needed to find a way to warm up. You quickly scanned the cave. “At least we’re out of the rain now,” you said. “Let’s get a fire going.”

Jimin nodded eagerly, and while you went about gathering some leaves and kindling for a makeshift bed and warmth, she started fiddling with a pile of sticks, trying to get a fire started. You both worked together in silence, each of you grateful for the brief respite. The rain continued to pound against the cave’s entrance, but you were safe for the moment.

As Jimin finally managed to start a fire, the warmth from the crackling flames began to feel like a blessing against the chill of the rain. You huddled near the fire, your clothes drenched and your body still shivering.

Jimin, clearly cold but still determined to keep up her playful attitude, shot you a mischievous grin. "So, what now? Should we just sit here and freeze, or...?"

You gave her a dry look. "I don’t know, Jimin. What do you suggest?"

Her grin widened, and she quickly looked around the cave. "Well, you mentioned getting warm earlier, right?" She raised an eyebrow at you, a glint of humor in her eyes. "How about we take off these wet clothes, let them dry by the fire, and maybe... cuddle to keep each other warm?"

Your breath hitched at her words, a mixture of surprise and something else fluttering in your chest. She was joking, right?

But Jimin, ever confident, started tugging at the hem of her shirt as if it was the most casual thing in the world. You blinked, flustered, unsure of what to do. "Wait—what are you doing?" you asked, voice coming out a little higher than you intended.

Jimin paused and glanced at you, confusion crossing her features. "What? You said we should get warm." She shrugged, unfazed, and continued to pull her wet shirt over her head. "Might as well make it efficient, right?"

Your eyes widened. "But... I—" You quickly averted your gaze, suddenly embarrassed. You hadn't expected her to take your suggestion so seriously. Still, as you glanced back, you couldn't help but notice how her well-defined back muscles flexed as she stripped off her shirt, leaving her in just her soaked pants.

Your heart was racing. You felt your cheeks flush as you awkwardly looked around the cave, trying to avoid looking directly at her. "Are you—uh—sure about this?" you asked, unsure of what was happening.

Jimin, now only in her underwear, was looking at you with a playful smirk, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Come on, you’re acting like this is something weird," she teased, her voice light and flirtatious. "We’re stranded in the jungle, remember? Might as well make the most of it."

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with thoughts of how ridiculous this situation was, but then again, you had to admit that you were both soaked and freezing. And... well... the idea of getting warm didn't seem all that terrible.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for the hem of your own wet shirt, deciding to go along with it. As you pulled it over your head and joined her in your underwear, you could feel your face burning hotter.

When you were both down to your underwear, Jimin laid down next to the makeshift bed you had put together with the leaves. The warmth of the fire cast a soft glow over the cave, making everything feel more intimate.

"Come on," Jimin said softly, patting the space next to her. "It's more comfortable here. Let’s just rest for a bit, yeah?"

You stared at her for a moment, trying to keep your composure, but there was something in her gaze that made your heart flutter. The silence between you felt charged, the space around you suddenly too small.

You slowly lowered yourself next to her, lying on your side, your eyes never leaving hers. The tension in the air was thick, the distance between you both a mere inch or two.

Jimin’s hand reached over to gently touch your waist, her fingertips grazing your skin. You inhaled sharply at the contact, a shiver running through you, though not from the cold. Her touch was warm, and it sent a jolt of heat through your body.

Without thinking, your hand moved to her cheek, brushing a loose strand of wet hair behind her ear. Her breath caught slightly at the soft gesture, and the closeness between you grew undeniable.

"Hi," she whispered softly, her voice barely more than a breath. You couldn't help but smile, your heart racing.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice trembling just a little.

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, neither of you daring to move. But then, Jimin’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, drawing you even closer. Your hand instinctively found its way to the side of her face, your fingers lightly tracing her jaw.

And then, without a word, your lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss. The feeling of her lips against yours, warm and tender, made everything else disappear. The fire crackled behind you, but in this small, cozy cave, with the rain still pouring outside, all that mattered was the shared breath and the connection between you.

It was slow at first, a testing kiss, but the warmth between you grew with each passing second. You could feel her hand gently pressing at your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, and the tension that had been building for so long finally began to unravel.

She pushed you into your back, getting on top of you, her hands gripped your waist tighter, while yours moved from her cheeks to grip her hair, tugging it as you moaned into her mouth. She took the opportunity and slipped her tongue, rubbing it against yours.

Jimin pulled away, breathing heavily as she looked into your eyes. “Is this ok?” She panted. You nodded, pulling her back into a bruising kiss. Her hands moved down to your thighs, making your legs wrap around her waist, and moved her head down, leaving open, wet kisses on your neck and collarbones. She reached up, making you arch your back so that she could unfasten your bra, and you did the same as well. With one hand, she played with one of your breasts, while she took the other into her mouth, sucking and biting your nipple.

You whined, arching your back again and pulling her even closer to you. Jimin’s other hand moved downwards once more, playing with the strap of your panties. She looked up at you with hooded eyes, asking for permission. You whimpered and nodded, making her move your panties down. She kissed down the valley of your breasts and stomach, stopping at your chore.

Jimin breathed in and moaned. “You smell so good.” She whispered, and gave your clit a quick swipe with her tongue, making you let out a loud moan, with one hand you gripped her hair, while the other grabbed at whatever you could find in the ground.

Without wasting more time, Jimin dived in, eating you out as if you were her last meal. Her tongue moved in and out of your pussy while simultaneously sucking on your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Jimin!” You screamed out, feeling in cloud nine. She hummed into your core, making you shudder with pleasure. Your moans sounded louder and louder each time, but when Jimin shoved in two fingers, you let out a gasp turned moan. She was good. Too good.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Jimin.” You whimpered out, feeling your orgasm building up. She pulled away for a second, still having two fingers inside you while her thumb circled the 8 figure on your clit.

“Come for me, baby. Show me how good you feel.” She encouraged. Your back arched once more, letting out a pornographic moan as you felt the tightening on your stomach snap, and you came.

You only saw white for a minute, trying to calm down your breathing, twitching from time to time as Jimin cleaned you up with her tongue.

Jimin sat up on her legs for a second, looking at you. She thought you looked beautiful like that. Your eyes that were half closed in euphoria, your chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath, your body in a thin sheet of sweat, that glistened with the light of the fire. You looked stunning in her eyes.

After seeing that you had managed to catch your breath, Jimin grabbed one of your legs, putting it up on her shoulder, she slotted the other between hers, both your clits touching. Both of you moaned at the feeling, and she started to grind against you. The feeling of your cores together made you let out the loudest moan again.

“Hmm, does that feel good?” Jimin teased, a smirk on her face as she looked you in the eyes. You nodded, blushing as you put a hand over your eyes. She had an intense look in her eyes making you shy. “Come on now, darling. Don’t hide that beautiful face from me.” She cooed, her hand that wasn’t gripping your ankle moved to grab your wrist. “Be a good girl for me and keep those eyes open, ok?”

You were sure that the moan you let out shook all the animals outside from how loud it was. You looked at her, the way her well defined abdomen flexed everytime she thrusted forwards, how her eyebrows furrowed with concentration, how hot the small grunts that left her lips were. God.

“I’m-I’m coming again, Jimin.” You managed to whine out, but she shook her head in disagreement.

“Wait for me, my love. Let’s come together.” She panted out, grinding against you even faster. You nodded and your eyes closed in concentration, trying not to come just by the nickname. “I’m so close, baby, so so close.”

You sobbed in pleasure, not knowing how much longer you could hold on to. “Please, Jimin. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Come baby, come for me.” She moaned, and grinded even harder. With a last moan, you let go, Jimin close behind you. Your mind was in a haze, you couldn’t even think. Jimin rode both of you out of your orgasms. Once you whined from sensitivity, she let go of you leg gently and looked down at the mess.

With her two middle fingers, she reached down and cooped up some of your mixed juices, putting them in her mouth while looking you in the eyes. She let out a moan at the taste. “Stick your tongue out.” She demanded.

Once you did, she leaned down and took it into her mouth, sucking it. You moaned at the lingering taste of both your cums combined. Once she pulled away she kissed your forehead. 

“Tired?” She asked you, her hand running through your messy hair. You nodded, feeling your eyelids get heavier at the feeling. “Ok, let’s sleep.”

The sound of rain falling and thunder lulled both of you to sleep, with your head on her chest and her arms around your waist in a protective manner.

--

The morning after the storm was damp and heavy, the jungle floor slick with mud and puddles, making every step feel like a chore. You and Jimin trudged along the barely-there path, both of you weary from the days spent navigating this unyielding wilderness, definitely not from last night. For a while, the only sounds were the soft squelch of mud beneath your shoes and the distant calls of unseen birds echoing through the trees.

Jimin, as always, was beside you, humming to herself, seemingly unfazed by the worsening situation. It was beginning to wear on you—the endless walking, the uncertainty of your location, the dampness of your clothes clinging to you—and the fact that despite your efforts, you still had no idea how to get out of the jungle. The sun was sinking lower, casting an orange glow across the trees, and there was no sign of civilization in sight.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, pushing your hair out of your face in frustration. "This is ridiculous."

Jimin shot you a playful glance. "What’s up? Did the jungle get to you?" she teased, stepping over a fallen branch as though it were nothing.

"It's not funny, Jimin," you snapped, your temper fraying at the edges. "We’ve been walking for hours and have no clue where we are. You keep getting distracted and we’re still nowhere closer to finding a way out!"

Her smile faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, it’s like Jumanji. If we make it to the top and scream ‘Jumanji,’ I’m sure we’ll be out of here in no time!" she joked, her voice light.

You stared at her, exasperated. "This isn’t a joke, Jimin. This is real. We’re lost. We don’t have food. It’s starting to get dark. And you—" You paused, your frustration taking over. "You keep acting like everything’s fine when it’s not."

The air between you thickened. Jimin didn’t respond immediately, her eyes flicking away from yours. You knew she was trying to deflect the tension, but it wasn’t working. She had always been like this—clumsy, absent-minded, carefree, but in moments like these, it just seemed like she wasn’t taking things seriously enough. The pressure of being stuck here, in this place that felt so endless and uncertain, was wearing you thin.

For a moment, Jimin remained quiet, and the teasing, playful energy around her slowly faded. You didn’t know why it felt like such a weight, but it did. Then, Jimin’s voice broke the silence, softer than usual.

"I’m sorry," she said, her tone uncharacteristically serious. "I know you’re frustrated. I’ve just been trying to make it fun, y’know? But... I guess I’ve been making it worse."

You looked at her, surprised by the shift in her attitude. There was no usual wink, no teasing smile, just a genuine sadness in her eyes.

She met your gaze, her expression unreadable. "I didn’t mean to make it harder for you. I know you’re trying to stay calm and figure things out. I’m... I’m sorry."

Your chest tightened, the anger you’d felt slipping away as quickly as it had come. You took a deep breath, realizing that, maybe, you were just as much to blame for the tension between you two. You hadn’t meant to snap at her like that. She was trying, in her own way, and it had been a long, exhausting day for both of you.

You sighed, your gaze softening. "No, Jimin, it’s not just you," you admitted. "I’m just... really frustrated. And scared, honestly. I don’t want to be lost here forever. I’m just... worried, okay?"

Jimin stayed quiet for a long time, her eyes searching your face. The tension in the air seemed to melt, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable. She gently nudged your arm with her shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You know, if I had to be stuck with anyone in the jungle, I’m glad it’s you," you said, your voice quieter, more sincere. "I might be mad at the situation, but... I’m glad it’s you here with me."

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened with warmth. "I’m glad it’s you too," she murmured, her voice small but genuine.

You hesitated, then spoke again, a little more quietly this time. "I was... worried last night didn’t mean anything to you," she confessed, her voice a little shaky. "I was just so scared of—well, you know, how things could change after that."

Your heart skipped a beat, and your cheeks heated up. You hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not like this. You had your own fears, your own doubts. You thought she might have been joking, but hearing her voice crack like that made everything feel too real, too vulnerable.

"I don’t think you’re stupid for thinking that," you said softly, glancing down at your feet. "It did mean something to me. A lot, actually."

Jimin’s eyes searched your face, as if looking for any hint of truth. When she didn’t find any signs of you lying, she relaxed a little, her shoulders dropping as if a weight had been lifted. You could see her visibly exhale, the tension that had been in her body fading.

"I just—" You felt a lump form in your throat. "I’m just scared of not being found, you know? Not knowing if we’ll ever get out of here... It’s overwhelming."

Jimin’s gaze softened, her lips curling into a small smile. "I get it. I’m scared too. But hey," she said, nudging your shoulder with hers again, "we’re together. And I’m not leaving you."

You met her eyes, the sincerity in them reaching deep into your chest. "Thanks, Jimin," you murmured, feeling your heart swell with something more than just gratitude.

She smiled again, a little more teasing now, but the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable. "Of course," she said, "I’m your jungle guide, remember?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and you grabbed her hand, interlocking fingers. Both of you walked onward, a little closer, a little more at peace with the chaos around you.

--

As dusk fell, the jungle’s colors softened, bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun. Jimin crouched beside a small, flickering fire, carefully arranging a modest “feast” she’d put together from whatever she’d managed to gather that day. She’d scoured nearby bushes for a handful of berries, found a few edible roots, and portioned out the last bits of snacks left from their supply. Despite the meager offerings, she presented them with a proud little smile.

You sat nearby, watching her in silence, and noticed the nervous flicker in her gaze when she glanced your way. She was clearly trying her best, and for a moment, the effort she’d gone to melted away some of your lingering frustrations from the day.

“Alright,” she announced, brushing her hands off and setting her makeshift ‘spread’ in front of you, “it’s not exactly a gourmet meal, but I’d say it’s a fitting peace offering. What do you think?”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips. The gesture was sweet, in the end. “I think it’s… perfect,” you said with a chuckle, letting a bit of warmth slip into your tone. “As far as jungle dining goes, you really went all out.”

Jimin sat down across from you, her expression softening. “I know I’m not the easiest to be around sometimes,” she admitted, scratching the back of her head, “and I definitely didn’t make things easier by getting us lost out here. So… I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for real.”

You met her gaze, and something about the sincerity in her eyes stirred something in you—a tug of warmth, a release of the tension that had been building between you both.

“Jimin… thank you,” you murmured, looking down at the ‘feast’ she’d prepared. “Honestly, even though you can drive me up a wall… I’m glad you’re here. I’m not sure I’d be handling all this as well on my own.”

Her face lit up at your words, and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I knew it,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. “You like having me around, admit it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Fine,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “Maybe you’re not completely unbearable.”

She chuckled, reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair from your face, her fingers lingering against your cheek just a second longer than necessary. Her smile softened.

The silence stretched, comfortable yet charged. You could feel her gaze locked onto you, tracing the gentle lines of your face, and your breath hitched slightly as her hand slowly dropped from your cheek. She leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours, and you found yourself drawn closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of her breath.

Under the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the trees, her lips met yours, gentle at first. You leaned in, your hands coming up to rest on her shoulders, pulling her just a bit closer. She responded, her lips pressing more firmly against yours as the kiss deepened, the world around you melting into the quiet hum of the night.

When you finally pulled back, your faces still inches apart, you found yourself smiling, cheeks flushed. Jimin’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her playful expression gone, replaced by something tender.

“Well…” she whispered, breathless and smiling. “Guess it’s official—you’re stuck with me.”

--

The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the makeshift camp as night settled in. You and Jimin sat close to the flames, the night air cool but comfortable. The silence between you was soft, contemplative, as if both of you sensed there was more to say but weren’t sure where to begin.

Jimin leaned back, stretching her legs toward the fire, her shoulder brushing against yours. She let out a deep sigh and glanced over at you, her expression thoughtful. “You know… there aren’t many people I’d want to be stuck with out here,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But I think… I’m pretty lucky it’s you.”

You felt your cheeks warm as she looked at you, her gaze steady and sincere. “Really?” you murmured, tilting your head as you studied her face. “I thought I was the one lucky to be stuck with you.”

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head. “I know I joke around a lot, and I know I’m kind of… well, clumsy and all over the place. It’s hard to be serious about stuff. But with you… I feel like I don’t have to pretend to be anything else. I can just be… me.”

Her words settled around you, stirring something warm in your chest. “I get that,” you admitted softly, surprised at how natural it felt to open up to her. “I think I’ve always been so focused on keeping it together, on being the responsible one… I sometimes forget to let my guard down.” You looked down, feeling a little exposed but relieved to finally voice what you’d held back.

Jimin nodded, a sympathetic look crossing her face. She reached out, brushing her fingers gently over the back of your hand. Her touch was light, but it sent a soft shiver down your spine, a reminder of how much closer you both had become over the past few days. “Then maybe we’re both learning how to be ourselves a little better,” she murmured. “Together.”

Without thinking, you slid your hand over hers, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. Jimin looked down at your hand covering hers, a small smile spreading across her face. “Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?” she said, leaning into you a little.

You nodded, your voice quiet but sure. “Yeah… we do.”

The conversation drifted on, each of you sharing small pieces of yourselves, moments and memories that you hadn’t told anyone else. The firelight flickered, illuminating the soft expressions on both your faces, the shared laughter, and the subtle way Jimin’s hand remained in yours, never breaking contact.

As the night grew late and the fire burned low, Jimin let out a small yawn, stretching her arms overhead before lying back on the ground beside you. She looked up at you, patting the spot next to her, and you lay down as well, feeling her warmth radiate beside you as the cool night air settled in.

Without a word, Jimin draped her arm over you, pulling you close as you shifted into her embrace. Her fingers brushed softly over your back, a soothing rhythm that matched the steady beat of her heart against yours. “This okay?” she whispered, her voice soft.

You nodded, leaning your forehead against her shoulder. “Yeah,” you murmured, your own arm slipping around her waist. “This is perfect.”

Jimin’s fingers traced lazy circles along your back as you lay together, her touch warm and comforting. The night sounds of the jungle surrounded you both, but for the first time since you’d arrived, you felt completely safe, anchored by her presence. The quiet grew deeper, words fading away as you settled into the warmth of her embrace, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

For a moment, Jimin pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you felt her arms tighten around you, as if she were trying to keep you close even in sleep. A small smile tugged at your lips as you relaxed into her touch, letting the sense of comfort and understanding wash over you.

And in that moment, there was no fear, no frustration—only the steady warmth of her arms around you as sleep gently pulled you both into its embrace.

--

The sun was barely filtering through the dense canopy as you and Jimin carefully trekked deeper into the jungle, pushing past vines and thick vegetation that seemed to cling to every step. After the peaceful closeness of last night, the silence between you was comfortable, each of you sharing the occasional smile as you moved along. But as the hours stretched on, an uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of your stomach. It was quieter than usual, the normal jungle sounds muffled, and every shadow seemed to stretch just a little longer than before.

You slowed down, glancing nervously over at Jimin, who seemed oblivious as she hummed a tune under her breath, her usual upbeat self. “Do you hear that?” you whispered, stopping in your tracks. Jimin halted beside you, looking around as she tilted her head. “Hear what?”

But before you could answer, a low, growling sound rumbled from somewhere close by. You both froze, every muscle tensing as the growl echoed through the dense trees. Slowly, you turned toward the direction of the sound, and there, partially hidden in the shadows, was a large, sleek figure—a wild cat, its intense eyes fixed right on the two of you.

“Jimin,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. She instinctively moved in front of you, her arm stretched protectively, her body suddenly rigid with tension. “Stay behind me,” she murmured, never taking her eyes off the wildcat.

Without warning, the animal lunged. Your stomach dropped as you both scrambled to dodge it, stumbling backward. “Run!” Jimin yelled, grabbing your hand and pulling you along the jungle path as you both broke into a desperate sprint. You could hear the wildcat’s low growls and snapping branches behind you, its chase relentless as it closed in, and a surge of pure terror shot through you.

Jimin kept a tight hold on your hand, leading you down a narrow path through the trees. But in her haste, she tripped over a root, sending you both sprawling forward. You hit the ground hard, leaves and dirt scraping against your skin as you fought to stand, the wildcat’s growls now terrifyingly close. Just as you struggled up, you felt its claws brush past your leg, inches from grabbing hold. Heart pounding, you staggered back, feeling yourself shake from the close call.

In a surge of determination, Jimin grabbed a large branch off the ground and turned to face the animal, her eyes fierce despite the fear evident in them. “Come on, you overgrown housecat!” she shouted, her voice wavering slightly. She swung the branch as the wildcat lunged again, managing to hit it hard across the side. The animal yelped in pain and backed off, momentarily stunned but still watching you both with menacing eyes.

With a quick glance back at you, Jimin picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it with all her strength, catching the wildcat square on the nose. The animal growled and hissed, finally retreating into the shadows, its eyes glinting as it slinked back into the dense jungle.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, both breathing hard as you processed what just happened. Your body was shaking, your hands scraped and sore, but the sight of Jimin, fiercely protective and standing between you and the wildcat, grounded you.

“Are you okay?” she asked, turning to you, her eyes softening in concern as she took in your frightened expression and the small cuts on your arms and legs.

You managed a shaky nod, trying to keep the trembling in your voice under control. “I—I think so,” you said, exhaling deeply. “But that was too close.”

Jimin’s shoulders dropped in relief, her face breaking into a small, reassuring smile as she reached over, gently brushing a stray leaf out of your hair. “Good… I thought I was going to lose you back there,” she admitted softly, her tone far more serious than usual.

“I thought I was a goner,” you replied, half-laughing as the tension finally started to ease. “And here I was thinking you’d be the one I’d need to protect.”

Jimin chuckled, her gaze warm as she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Guess I just couldn’t let anything happen to my favorite jungle companion,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Annoying as I am, I like having you around.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I don’t know how to say this,” you began, your tone half-teasing, “but I’m actually… impressed.”

“Is that so?” she smirked, her playful demeanor returning as she leaned in close, her eyes searching yours. “Then let’s call it even—today, you get to be the damsel in distress, and I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You were clumsy the entire way, and yet here we are. So maybe I do need you around after all.”

Jimin’s expression softened, and she brushed her fingers across your cheek. “Well, good, because I’m not planning on going anywhere without you.”

--

The jungle was surprisingly quiet that night, the hum of insects and occasional rustle of leaves blending into a gentle symphony that seemed to wrap you and Jimin in its embrace. The fire crackled low between you, casting soft shadows over her face as you both settled into a rare moment of calm after the chaos of the past few days. You glanced at Jimin, who was lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the flames. She looked different in this quiet moment, more grounded, and something in your chest tightened at the sight.

The words lingered on the edge of your mind, hesitant to be spoken, but you found yourself breaking the silence. "Jimin," you began, voice soft but steady. She looked up, her eyes meeting yours, and the warmth in her gaze somehow made you bolder. "I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but... I’ve actually grown to like being around you."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Really now?" she said, her voice soft but playful. She shifted a bit closer, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent a small thrill up your spine. “Are you saying I’ve somehow charmed you with all my clumsiness and terrible sense of direction?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming under her amused stare. “I guess that’s one way to put it,” you mumbled, struggling to maintain your composure. “It’s… been nice to have you around, I guess. Even if you almost got us killed a few times.”

She laughed, the sound rich and comforting. “I like having you around too,” she said, her voice softening. Her fingers lingered over yours, almost testing the waters, and then she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "And for the record, if I got us lost just so we’d end up on this little adventure together, I think it was worth it.”

You snorted, unable to hide your smile. “Oh, so this was all part of your elaborate plan, was it?”

“Absolutely.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a glint of sincerity in her eyes that caught you off guard. She shifted even closer, her eyes never leaving yours. “So… does that mean I’ve earned a second date after all?”

You felt a jolt run through you at her words, warmth pooling in your stomach as you tried to hold back a smile. “A second date?” you echoed, the words a bit flustered as you met her gaze. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a first date, Jimin.”

She tilted her head, grinning mischievously. “Well, if it was, then I’d say it was pretty memorable.” Her gaze grew a bit more intense, and she leaned in, her face mere inches from yours. “But if you don’t see it that way, maybe I should’ve taken it slower with you. Didn’t know you were the type to jump right to…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

You felt your cheeks heat up, caught completely off guard by her boldness. “That was… different,” you stammered, struggling to keep your cool under her teasing gaze. “I don’t usually… it’s not…”

Jimin chuckled softly, her hand tightening around yours. “Relax,” she whispered, her tone gentler now. “I’m just messing with you.” She brushed her thumb over your knuckles, her eyes soft as she studied your face. “But, for what it’s worth… I’m glad we ended up here together.”

The vulnerability in her voice made you pause, your heart skipping a beat as you took in the expression on her face—open, genuine, and maybe even a little bit nervous. The same feeling settled in your own chest, the realization that you didn’t just enjoy Jimin’s company; you genuinely liked her, maybe more than you’d admitted to yourself.

For a long moment, the two of you sat there in silence, your hands still intertwined. The air felt heavy with unsaid words, the jungle around you somehow amplifying the weight of the moment. Slowly, you leaned forward, your face so close to hers that you could see the faint rise and fall of her breathing.

And then, with a soft, nervous laugh, you whispered, “So… maybe a second date wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Jimin’s eyes sparkled, her smile widening as she brought your hand to her lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmured, her voice filled with warmth

--

The morning light cut through the dense canopy, its warmth a reminder that you had somehow survived yet another night in the wild. Every muscle in your body ached, and a strange, bittersweet quiet hung between you and Jimin as you packed up the small camp. Last night had been a whirlwind of relief, confessions, and laughter—and though you hadn’t said it out loud, part of you dreaded leaving the small, strange world the two of you had created here.

As you pushed forward, both of you moving slower than the past days, Jimin kept glancing back at you. You caught her eye more than once, and each time she’d flash you a small, encouraging smile, the kind that made your heart race no matter how many times you saw it. The silence between you was comfortable, weighted only by the feeling that you were nearing the end of something beautiful and rare.

Just as you were beginning to think the forest would stretch on forever, you heard it. A distant, rhythmic thump. Jimin stopped mid-step, her eyes widening as she turned to you, her face a mixture of disbelief and hope.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You strained to listen, feeling the pulse of the sound reverberate through the trees. And then it hit you—a helicopter. A real, tangible reminder that the world beyond the jungle hadn’t forgotten you. Relief flooded your chest, and Jimin let out a breathless laugh, her eyes shining as she grabbed your hand.

“Come on!” she exclaimed, pulling you toward an open clearing she’d spotted nearby.

You stumbled together, tripping over roots and branches in your haste until you both broke free from the tree cover. Together, you waved your arms, shouting and hoping with all your heart that the search team would see you. The helicopter seemed to pause, and then it began circling lower. Jimin’s face broke into a grin, and she tightened her grip on your hand, shaking it slightly as if you were sharing a private celebration.

"We’re going home," she whispered, her voice full of awe and gratitude. But as the sound of the helicopter grew louder, the realization hit you both that this—this strange, shared adventure—was about to become a memory.

Jimin’s smile softened, and her eyes met yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through you. She looked at you like she was memorizing every detail, every freckle, and every line. “Guess this is it,” she murmured, a note of wistfulness in her voice. “Our little jungle getaway is officially over.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Yeah… guess we’re going back to reality.” It sounded strange to say it out loud, as if speaking it made the end more real.

She lifted her hand to your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart twist. “Reality isn’t so bad, though, is it?” she murmured, a teasing glint breaking through her serious expression. “Besides… I think we still owe each other a real first date. You know, with less mud and maybe a shower?”

You laughed, a small, shaky sound that was half relief, half longing. “Deal,” you said, voice soft but sure. “But no jungle hikes, please.”

Jimin let out a small laugh, her gaze never leaving yours. “No jungle hikes,” she promised, though her smirk suggested that she’d find another way to keep you on your toes. She held onto your hand a moment longer, thumb brushing over your knuckles as if she, too, was reluctant to let go. So she didn’t, she pulled you closer and kissed you hard and deep, full of emotions. She beamed at you once you both pulled away, making you break out in a grin of your own, happy evident in both your eyes.

The helicopter hovered just overhead, its blades kicking up a fierce wind that whipped through the trees and pulled you both back to the present. The rescue crew lowered a ladder, and one of them gestured for you to climb. Jimin gave your hand a final squeeze, releasing you with a soft smile.

“After you,” she said, a hint of playfulness slipping back into her voice, but her eyes were full of something deeper—something that made your heart skip a beat.

Climbing the ladder, you stole a glance down to see her watching you with a wistful smile, her gaze filled with promises. And as she climbed up behind you, the roar of the helicopter above you and the rush of wind around you, you felt a pang of something bittersweet. It was over. No more snakes, no more wildcats, no more berries; for a while at least.

By the time you settled into the helicopter, you were both quiet, letting the weight of everything that had happened sink in. Jimin’s hand found yours again as the helicopter lifted, squeezing it with a gentle reassurance. As the jungle began to shrink below you, you realized that even though you were leaving it behind, the closeness you’d found here wouldn’t fade.

Jimin turned to you as you neared the edge of the jungle, her voice barely audible over the helicopter's hum. "Maybe reality can be our next adventure," she said, her eyes bright with that familiar spark.

--

The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, the steady buzz filling the otherwise quiet lab as you wrapped up your final tasks of the day. The sterile, clinical atmosphere seemed like a lifetime away from the jungle you’d left behind only a week ago. Your heart still carried the echoes of that wild, exhausting adventure—the adrenaline of survival, the closeness you’d shared with Jimin, and the overwhelming emotions that came with it. It was all so vivid in your mind, impossible to erase, and sometimes, it felt like you could still hear the rustling leaves, feel the humidity on your skin, and even catch a glimpse of Jimin’s teasing smile.

“Hey, got a minute?” Jimin’s voice broke through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. You looked up to find her leaning casually against the doorframe, her usual confidence on display, but with an unmistakable softness in her eyes. She was wearing her usual jeans and t-shirt, but somehow she seemed different—less like the clumsy, adventurous woman you had gotten to know in the jungle, and more like the person who had somehow wormed her way under your skin.

You smiled at the sight of her, your pulse picking up despite your best efforts to remain composed. “Yeah, what’s up?” You didn’t need to ask—it was obvious that she was here for something, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was on her mind. After everything that had happened, things felt... different between the two of you.

Jimin stepped further into the lab, her hands slipping into her pockets as she walked toward you. “I was just thinking…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to the floor for a moment as she scratched the back of her neck. “You know, we never actually got around to that second date.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Second date?” The idea felt almost surreal, considering everything that had happened. But here she was, standing before you, asking for something as normal as dinner. You tried not to think too much about how quickly your heart began to race.

She nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah. I mean, I know we were kind of busy—what with all the, you know, being stuck in the jungle and running from wildcats—but I figured since we’re back to regular life now, we should give this whole ‘date’ thing another shot. A real one this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her suggestion. “You’re sure you’re not just trying to make up for all the times you almost got us both killed in the jungle?”

Jimin made an exaggerated offended face, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. “Hey, that’s unfair. I was—” She paused, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “—a brave and fearless leader. You were the one who didn’t trust me with the map.”

“Trust you? You were reading the map upside down!” you shot back, unable to keep the grin off your face. There was something about her that made it impossible to stay annoyed for long. Even now, when things were back to normal, the memory of her teasing and her warmth still lingered in the air.

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point,” Jimin said, shaking her head with a grin. “But seriously. What do you think? How about that second date? No wild animals, no getting lost—just you and me, a nice dinner, and the chance to actually talk without worrying about survival.”

You felt your heart flutter in your chest, an unfamiliar but welcome feeling. You’d spent so many days feeling frustrated and confused about how close you’d gotten to Jimin, how you felt drawn to her despite the clashing parts of your personalities. But here she was, asking for something real. You couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your stomach as you thought about it.

You leaned back against the desk, trying to appear nonchalant despite the growing warmth in your chest. “You really think dinner’s going to make up for the chaos of the past week?” you teased, but there was a softness to your tone that betrayed how much you appreciated her persistence. Despite all the joking, despite how annoyed you’d gotten at times, there was a part of you that had found solace in her presence. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much you wanted to explore this, whatever it was between you.

Jimin’s eyes sparkled. “Well, we don’t have to call it a ‘makeup’ dinner, but yeah… I’d really like to see you outside of that jungle madness. Just us. No distractions. No dangerous animals.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering. “Maybe… just a quiet evening with a little less chaos?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and despite the playful tone, you could sense the sincerity behind them. Jimin had a way of making everything seem lighthearted, even when it mattered most. It wasn’t that she was just carefree; she had this way of carrying the weight of the world lightly, as though nothing could truly bring her down. And you admired that. But there was also something else there, something deeper, hidden behind that playful façade.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended, the simple word feeling like it carried so much more weight than it should. “A second date. I think that sounds… nice.”

Jimin’s eyes lit up in delight, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She seemed genuinely happy, her face breaking into a grin that made your heart skip a beat. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, as if savoring the moment, before her expression softened and she took a step closer.

“So, dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her voice laced with that same playful tone. But this time, there was something more vulnerable about it. Something quieter, more uncertain, as if she wasn’t quite sure what you’d say next.

You nodded, your heart thumping in your chest. “Yeah,” you said, swallowing back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “Dinner tomorrow. Sounds perfect.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, both unsure of what to say next. It felt like there was a new energy between you, an unspoken understanding that things were changing. The jungle was behind you, but the feelings you’d shared in those wild days hadn’t gone away. If anything, they were growing stronger.

Then, without warning, Jimin took a small step closer, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch was light but steady, her fingers grazing yours in a way that felt so familiar and yet so new. You felt your breath catch in your throat as she looked at you with those soft, dark eyes of hers.

“I didn’t think I’d miss getting lost in the jungle,” she said softly, her gaze never leaving yours. “But I kind of do.”

You felt a laugh bubble up from your chest, but it was soft, a little breathless. “Yeah, it wasn’t so bad after all,” you replied, the words feeling lighter now that the tension had broken. You felt more at ease, more certain about what you wanted.

You didn’t give yourself a chance to second-guess. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, closing the space between you. Her lips were soft, warm against yours, and the kiss was everything you hadn’t known you needed. It was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters, unsure of how to move forward. But as you kissed her again, deeper this time, there was a sweetness to it that made everything feel right. The world outside the lab, outside of everything that had happened, faded into the background.

When you pulled away, you were both breathless, smiles lingering on your lips.

“So… tomorrow, yeah?” Jimin asked again, her voice soft, almost shy now, as if the kiss had made her feel just as vulnerable as you.

You smiled, a little unsure of yourself but more than ready for whatever this new chapter was going to be. “It’s a date,” you whispered.

a/n: tried a new writing style!

[tallulah477]

Feral

Survive The Night Day 2: Predator/Prey

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Chasing, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Creampie, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Restraining Holds (i.e pinning/holding reader down), Fear Kink (?), Alien Genitalia (not really the focus, but its there), Knotting, Belly Bulge

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: Based off a dream I had where Neteyam chased me through my house and I was running for my fucking life. Why didn't I let him catch me, you ask? Cause dream Talie is stupid.

Summary: You never understood why the Na'vi don't use this particular plant in their healing practices. It's a miracle plant for the humans - cutting healing times nearly in half when used as a topical paste. You would think it would have some similar benefits to the Na'vi. You would be wrong.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Kehe rikx - Don't move

Rutxe ftang - Please stop

Kehe - No

Even considering he’s a nine foot tall blue alien, Neteyam Sully still looks extremely out of place standing on the clean, white tiled floor of the lab. 

His siblings don’t look so out of place when they visit - comfortable and familiar enough within the confines of the lab to make themselves at home among the multitude of beakers, whirling machines, and thick observation glass that make up your day-to-day workplace. Their large bodies twisting and contorting with ease when necessary to accommodate for the smaller space. 

Neteyam isn’t so lucky. He doesn’t like the human facilities, opting to follow in his mother’s footsteps and stay as far away from the skypeople as he can. He’s only here because he was ordered to be, sent by his father to fix his broken throat comm before they head out with the hunting party on a three day hunting trip.

He looks uncomfortable as he stands behind you, back stiff and arms crossed across his broad chest as he watches you tinker with the comm. Repairing tech has never been your strong suit, so it’s taking you a bit longer to figure out than it probably should have, but since you're currently the only person left in this half of the base, the responsibility has unintentionally fallen to you. 

You should be out there too. The thought forms bitterly in your head as you poke at the small opened compartment of the comm with your tweezers. Your favorite part of research is going out into the world and finding the specimens. The lab is great, a fine place for breaking ground and learning new things, gathering knowledge and data about a flora and fauna in a way that no other humans had ever had the opportunity to do before. Pandora is your home, where you grew up and lived your whole life - and yet, it’s still a mystery, and you learn something new and beautiful about it everyday. 

But the real fun is outside the lab. It’s when you're out there, in the thick of it, stepping over breaching roots and feeling the moss of the ground between your toes when you take off your shoes during a rest break. It’s feeling the gentle breeze of air along your skin and hearing the trees rustle in the canopy above you as a result, and pretending that - just for a minute - you can feel the breeze of alien air brush against your face instead of your mask.

Usually one of the older scientists, Alice, offers to stay behind at the lab to run tests and be on call for the Omatikaya should human tech ever be needed. But she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to locating the elusive and seasonally grown plant that’s come to be known as the Rust Plant. 

So, that leaves you here, on your ass and pouting while everyone else gets to go off and have their fun. 

As far as you know, the plant doesn’t have any special properties or spiritual significance to the Na’vi. But when the red dust-like powder is collected from the center and manipulated into a liquid, the result is a miracle paste that significantly reduces healing time with human injuries. You asked about it once - why the Na’vi don’t try to make the paste for themselves to see if it will work on them - but the only answer you got back was that it had some ‘unintended consequences’ when used by the clan, so they stay away from the plant altogether. 

You don’t think about that when Neteyam walks in. 

The plant mixture, once rust red, is now a beautiful glowing purple inside the beaker - a reaction from the solution added to the powder to form the liquid base. It’s been on the hot plate for a while now, but it’s only just starting to heat up enough to provide small spirals of smoke inside the clear glass. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear Neteyam sniff slightly behind you. You don’t turn around, ignoring the little puffs of air that somehow sound like bullet shots in the silence, but a part of you is instantly insecure. What is he smelling? It can't be the mixture in the beaker. Despite the smoke, it doesn’t give off any kind of smell. Subtly, you press your chin to your chest, trying to see if you can smell yourself to find out if maybe it’s you giving off some kind of stench that his overly sensitive nose is picking up on, but you don’t smell anything off about you either. 

The purple liquid is still thin inside the container, needing several more minutes of constant heat in order to bubble and thicken slightly before it can be considered a usable product, but you pause your tinkering on the comm to note the time for the smoke in a small notebook. 

Neteyam lets out a loud sigh when you drop the tweezers to grab a pencil, the annoyed huff nearly ear piercing in the quiet of the lab. This time you can’t help but glance towards the harsh noise, a slight tilt of your head towards the large Na’vi and your eyes meet amber for just a second before they drop again to the paper as you scribble. 

A part of you wants to be snobby, ask a prissy ‘can I help you?’ just because you feel like he’s being so unnecessarily rude when you're just trying to help, but you keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn’t. 

“Are you nearly done?” He grunts, accented tone pitched with agitation as his feet shuffle on the tile. 

“Yes, just a few more minutes,” You say, picking the tweezers back up. “Be patient.”

You think you’ve almost got the comm fixed, just a minor replacement to the tiny inside panel, and you're thankful that’s all it is. It shouldn’t take too long. You’ve nearly got the replacement piece in place now, so all you should have to do is solder it in and it should be fine. Which is good because the sooner you can get this fixed, the sooner you can get the huffy, oversized, unfortunately very handsome despite being an incredible dick of a Na’vi out of the lab so you don’t have to feel him breathing down your neck anymore. 

It only takes another couple minutes for the smoke to consume the rest of the empty space in the beaker, thick white wisps swirling inside of the glass and spiraling out of the top. You drop the tweezers again, cutting the power off to the hot plate and grab the pencil again to log the time. 

Neteyam sniffs again, this time audibly louder and longer, before it sounds like his breath gets caught in his lungs. 

Immediately, your head spins around to stare at him wide eyed, surprise and concern flooding your chest when you notice he’s backed up a few steps. He’s staring at the bubbling beaker, yellow eyes set with suspicion and what almost looks like distress. 

“Are you o–”

“What is that?” He interrupts, voice gruff as his three fingered hand points to the beaker. 

“It’s… the mixture for our healing paste,” You reply, confused. 

“No! What is it?”

“The Rust Plant? The one that grows on the sides of river b–”

You’re cut off again by a sharp hiss, and you have just a second to register Neteyam’s dagger-like teeth as he stalks forward, spitting out a frustrated “You stupid–” before he’s jerking back, hand immediately covering his nose as if to stop himself from breathing.

He looks wild, eyes frantic as he stares at the beaker, and every muscle in his body looks tense, stung up tight like a bow ready to shoot. You’re a scientist, you’re meant to be observant, so you don’t know why you didn’t see it before. But it’s clear as anything now. The smoke doesn’t have any kind of smell to you, but to him - with the way he’s backing away and covering his nose to keep from breathing it in - it must be horrible. 

His tail is trashing behind him, so upset that you think you can almost hear a swish from it cutting through the air like a whip. 

“I need to leave,” He says suddenly. Instinctively, you back up into the desk at the sight of the large and angry Na’vi coming at you again, but he just grabs the still broken comm and turns around to storm out. 

He’s big though, too much for the small space of the lab, and his frantic tail is still thrashing as he turns. The thin appendage accidentally snaps against the side of the still smoking beaker, sending it flying off the desk and onto the ground. 

The glass shatters against the tile, glowing purple spreading across the white floor in a large puddle as the smoke spirals up into the air. Neteyam’s hand instinctively drops from his nose to grip onto his tail, holding the end of it close to him as if to keep it from swinging and smacking into anything else. But you watch, shocked and frozen in your spot as he takes one shuddering breath, and then another, tense back muscles shifting under his cobalt skin with each inhale and exhale of air. 

“Neteyam?” You ask, timidly. Dread shoots through your chest and you have the feeling that something very serious just happened, but you don’t even know what. 

He’s just standing there now, back towards you, but he’s not moving towards the door anymore. It’s like something is keeping him from moving, some unseen force that exploded out of the glass container when it burst and wrapped its tendrils around him before he could take another step. 

Whatever he was smelling from the beaker wasn’t good for him, and now it's in the air, invisible signatures swirling through the small space of the lab, and it's affecting him - the ‘unintended consequences’ of the Rust Plant on the Na’vi.

Your every instinct is telling you to stay away from him, that he’s dangerous. But he’s one of the Omatikaya, and regardless of how he views humans, you know he would never hurt you and disobey his father like that. 

“Hey,” You say, gently. You force yourself away from the desk, slowly moving around him to try to not startle him as you attempt to make your way to the airlock door. “Just relax, okay? Let’s try to air this pl–”

His deep growl has you frozen again, cold ice shoots through your veins at the predatory sound. It’s not a normal growl - not a low, quick sound made in anger or frustration. It sounds dark, a deep dangerous rumbling that came from his chest. A warning. 

You watch in horror as he slowly tilts his head towards you, the pointed tips of his sharp teeth visible under the snarled curl of his lips, glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the lab. Your brain screams at you to run - danger, danger, danger, it shouts, but you can’t move. The realization hits hard: he’s not Neteyam anymore. The Na’vi in front of you is not the same human-indifferent, scoffing, fearless warrior son of Toruk Makto.

He’s an animal. A predator. 

Feral. 

His golden eyes are now just a thin band of dark honey encircling two endless black holes. And in their reflection you see yourself - tiny and weak. Scared.

Prey.

His body shifts slightly, just the most minuscule movements as he angles himself towards you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had your survival instincts not been ringing alarm bells in your brain. Without thinking, you grab the hot plate, gripping it tightly at its base and holding it in front of you as your only form of weapon.

“Neteyam Sully!” You shout, and you can’t even believe how out of your mind you are to try to use his full name like an upset mother. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you stop it right now!”

There’s not even a second after the words leave your mouth, not a beat or breath or anything before he’s coming at you. 

Your body registers his sudden movement before your brain does, the roaring snarl bouncing off the walls of the lab as he lunges at you. The hot plate is out of your hands in an instant, the hard base of the plate smacking into his face with a loud cuh-thunk. His snarl is interrupted with a grunt from the hit, body jerking back a step from the impact, and you don’t wait around to see the way his eyes zero in on your retreating form again in rage. 

You can’t think - your body is moving without your brain telling it what to do. Pure panic mixed with raw survival instincts is what drives you through the door behind you, nearly smacking into the wall as you barrel down the main hallway. You hear Neteyam’s footsteps close behind, bare feet smacking against the tile. 

It’s a sound you never thought you would find terrifying. You think of little Mae, the daughter of the staff nurse and one of the science guys, and how the sound of her tiny footsteps stomping on these same tiles floors always brought a smile to your face. You could always hear her coming before you saw her, just a few seconds before she rounded the corner with unsteady steps ready to cause havoc as she tries to run from her exhausted and overstimulated mother. 

These ones are louder though. Heavier, but somehow more quiet as they rush at you from across the unobstructed hall. Your body doesn’t wait for your mind to catch up, and that’s probably a good thing considering you have no idea how the fuck you knew to take the split second turn to your right the exact moment Neteyam tried to pounce. 

You hear his snarl of anger as he rights himself, loud and echoing through the hallway. You’ve managed to best him for a second, but he’s still on your ass - gaining ground on you with his long Na’vi legs despite the cramped human-sized halls. 

Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding with fear, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you going. You can’t breathe - shallow, panicked, quick puffs of air rip from you as you run, your high pitched gasps sounding against the hall walls as a foil to Neteyam’s predatory growls. 

“HELP!” You scream, voice cracking with how loud you're trying to scream. The desperation and pure terror are evident in your voice and you know if someone were around they would hear you for sure. Someone has to be around. They have to be. “SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!”

No one responds. No one steps in to intervene. No one even opens their door to try to take a little bit of a peek. No one to run to for help even though it feels like you're about to get mauled to death by a Thanator. 

You’re truly alone. And that thought makes you somehow even more desperate. 

Most people have a tendency to close the doors of their bedrooms, trying to keep as much privacy as they can in the small base. Norm has no such desires, often too excited or too focused on getting to his studies that he outright forgets to close his door. 

It’s a god send now that you’re sprinting through the residency part of the outpost. Your room is one of the last down the hall. You won’t make it. Not with the way you’re shaking right now, body feeling like it's somehow both freezing over with ice and lighting on fire as the fear and adrenaline fight for dominance for your immediate attention. Neteyam’s right behind you, long stride more than twice the size of yours cutting any distance you gained through your miracle of a move back down to barely anything at all. 

He’s going to catch you. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Throwing yourself at a random door is dangerous. Just the extra second it takes to turn the knob and push the door open could almost certainly be the difference between life and death if you even still have a chance at life at all. And even then you run the risk of it being locked. Your eye catches on Norm’s door - open and shining like a beacon of hope amongst the fluorescently lit hallway. 

You don’t have another choice. 

You turn. 

As soon as you make it through the threshold, you slam the door behind you as fast as you can. 

You don’t know what you expected, naively hoping that the door would somehow succeed in protecting you and keeping Neteyam out. It’s not even locked. 

You scream as the door explodes under Neteyam’s weight, the wood splintering as it bursts apart, smaller bits of fragmented wood spraying towards you as the feral Na’vi shoulders his way in. The bathroom to your left is the only option, and you lunge for it just as Neteyam lunges for you. The tears pouring down your cheeks burn your eyes and blur your vision, your loud hyperventilating cries make your throat raw. Another door just barely slammed in his face and your back presses against the opposite door, your panicked hand trying to jiggle the knob but your brain not reminding you how to twist it. This other door hasn’t been used in years - the bathroom that once connected these two rooms together is just used by Norm now since Mary had her baby and her and her husband moved into a larger room to accommodate the crib. It’s locked, and your fingers are struggling to twist the mechanism up to unlock it when Neteyam breaks through. 

Even through your blurred vision, you see it clearly. His arm reaches through the hole his shoulder has made, and the bathroom is too small, too fucking small because that arm looks like its reaching across the entire length of it, fingers splayed out like if he can just get one of the tips to brush you, he’ll snatch you up. 

“HELP!” You scream again. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to fucking die. “HELP ME!”

You watch the door in horror as Neteyam pulls his arm back, head dropping to glare at you through the opening, and your veins fill with ice. 

He looks murderous - pupils blown so wide you can’t see the golden ring wrapped around them at all. You want to drop to the ground under that stare, beg for mercy even though the look in his eyes makes it clear there won’t be any. 

“N-Neteyam,” You stutter. Your heart is pounding so fast, blood sounding like it’s rushing in your ears so fast you don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack yet. “P-please s-stop. P-please.”

His eyes stay locked on yours through the hole in the door, dark and glaring but for some reason he’s paused his attacks. A part of you wonders if your begging is making it through to the non-animalistic part of his brain. Whatever the smoke from the mixture of the Rust Plant did to him, it has to be only temporary. He’s still Neteyam. Neteyam is still in there somewhere. 

“Please,” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

He leans forward, one hand curling around the broken wood from the open hole in the door. When he speaks, you don’t know if you’re relieved to hear that he can despite the overwhelming feral actions, or if you’re horrified at how his voice comes out. 

He doesn’t sound like himself at all. His words are clipped, short words made sentences that you don’t understand as both the gravely and growled way he says them as well as overall meaning. 

“Tawtute,” He growls. “Mine.”

“Wha— I-I don’t understand,”

You scream when he hisses at you, long canines and sharp teeth on display through the damaged opening and you have a front row seat to the show as your back presses harder against the door behind you. The hand wrapped around the edge of the hole pulls back suddenly, taking with it a huge chunk of the center and the loud crack and snap of wood snaps your body back into gear. You twist the small lock on the door behind you, unlocking it and wrenching it open when Neteyam throws his body against the opposite door again. You’re out the door and into the next room, slamming the door shut behind you just as you hear the telltale crash of the wild Na’vi breaking through the other barrier. Without thinking, you round the side of the bookshelf that stands on the side of the doorframe. You push with all your might, tipping the bookshelf on its side so that it falls diagonally across the door. A dresser sits just on the opposite side of the door, the bookshelf catching on the edge of the dresser so that it blocks a good portion of the bathroom door. 

Any other time you’d be heartbroken to see the books that fall off the bookshelf in your mishandling scatter along the floor and at your feet like they were nothing more than trash. Today, though, you can’t give a shit about that. 

Your hands grip your hair in frustration as you hear Neteyam’s body barrel into the door, hot tears racing down your face as you waste valuable seconds staring at the bending wood behind the tipped bookcase. It won’t keep him back for long. He could probably easily push it out of his way, but it's something. Your only hope now is that it keeps him long enough for you to get away and that his instinct driven brain doesn’t realize he can just go back the way he came to get around the obstacle. 

Turning on your heel, you sprint out the bedroom door, heading back down the hallway towards the lab. The sound of the loud crash echoing through the empty hall makes you run impossibly faster. Was it the door finally giving way under his weight? Or was it the bookshelf being tossed to the side like it was nothing and he’s about to barrel down the hallway to finish the job that you’ve somehow managed to postpone until now?

You make it back to the lab, foot smacking against the forgotten hotplate still laying on the ground in your haste to get to the airlock. Your hand smacks against the button on the side wall, fingers practically choking the heavy handle as you go to yank it open. The oxygen masks lay forgotten on the shelf next to the door. You don’t care about them, don’t care about breathing right now because what’s good about breathing when Neteyam could end your need for it in just seconds if he catches you. 

The airlock door hisses as the seal breaks and for a split second you think you’ve done it - have somehow managed to survive this deadly game of cat and mouse you’ve inadvertently been forced to play. You can grab a mask and slip inside the airlock. Keep Neteyam locked up here in the lab while you sit safely outside until the others get back or he comes to his senses enough to remember how to open the airlock door himself. 

But no sooner than the thought crosses your mind, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you from your death grip on the thick metal door. 

You scream as you’re tossed to the floor, body pressed against the cold tile as Neteyam straddles you. His hips pin your legs down, leaving them useless and unable to buck or kick under his massive weight. You beat at his chest with your fists as hard as you can, trying to ignore how they hurt from your balled up fists trying to hit against pure solid muscle. 

Panic manifests in your desperate cries and you aim for his face too, trying to hit or slap or scratch - anything to get him off of you. You feel like an injured animal caught in a trap. And you suppose you are. 

“Get off!” You cry. “Get off me, Neteyam!”

He snarls as one of your hits lands too close next to his eye and he grabs your hands tightly in one of his, pinning them above your head.

Your screams stop, catching in your throat when the bright fluorescent lights of the lab catch on the knife on his hip. The light caresses the blade as he pulls it from its sheath, the sharp tip sparkling as he brings it to press against the base of your throat.

His face is in front of yours in an instant, so close you feel like you can barely breathe in the wake of the knife resting at your throat and the way his huge eyes feel like twin black holes threatening to suck you into their depths if you move even a single centimeter. 

“Kehe rikx,” His words are hardly more than a whispered breath against your face, but their translation rings loudly in your ears. 

Don’t move. 

The point of the knife drags against your neck, scratching lightly as he draws it down your collarbone. It pulls at the fabric at the neck of your t-shirt as he moves it down your chest, stretching and bunching it down as he scrapes the tip through the valley of your breasts. Your heart pounds under the deadly tip of the weapon and your body wants to fight, keep fighting for your life that you know could be taken from you with just a quick movement of his hand, but your fear keeps you frozen. 

Something hard presses against your trapped thighs and your eyes automatically rip themselves from the knife down to the space between your bodies, and your breathing catches in your throat again for a whole other reason. 

Neteyam’s cock is hard in his loincloth, having escaped its sheath and filling out under the thin material enough to raise a sizable tent inside it. 

He doesn’t give you time to react as his head bends down and latches onto the swell of your breast through your shirt, sharp teeth digging into it just enough for marks to surely be left even through the layers of shirt and bra. You yelp, back arching instinctively against the pain, and your body unfreezes as his teeth scrape against your breast before digging into the material of your shirt and ripping.

The loud sound of tearing fabric rips through the room and Neteyam releases the torn fabric from his mouth just to grip it with his hands instead, pulling up and out and exposing your bra clad torso to his darkened crazed eyes. The knife is still in his hand, but the blade is pointed sideways now as he uses the fingers around it to rip your shirt apart. It’s not smart, not a smart idea at all to try your hand at smacking at him again, but you have to do something. 

You don’t know what he wants anymore. What did that mixture do to him? He was chasing you through these halls, growling and snarling like a predator on the hunt for its next meal, and now he’s on top of you - hard and tearing your clothes off like he wants to fuck you. 

You only get a couple smacks in before the knife is back at your chest and you’re forced still again. Neteyam’s eyes are locked onto your chest, following the tip of the knife as he slides it under the band of your bra directly between your breasts. It cuts easily under the pressure of the sharp knife and the covering falls on either side of your chest, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. 

There’s a mark on your breast from where his teeth had dug into it and he pauses to stare at it greedily. 

“N-Netayam,” You say, slowly. He seems a little calmer now that he has you trapped under him. You need to talk him to his senses. He’s still in there somewhere. He has to be. He’s not all animal. He can be reasoned with. “You don’t wanna do this. Plea–”

Your plea is cut off as he rises off of you, crouching back just enough to give himself room to flip you roughly over on your stomach. You grunt as your bare chest hits the cold tile, arms splayed uselessly on either side of you as you try to get your bearings from the quick movement before he’s using his knife to cut through the denim of your shorts. 

“Neteyam! Rutxe ftang! Kehe!” 

You don’t know why you think pleading in Na’vi will be any different than English, but desperation punches the frantic words out of you before you can even think about deciding to say them. Your hands finally find purchase on the ground beneath you and you try to push yourself up in hopes of crawling away, but Neteyam’s dropping the knife and taking hold of your hips before you can. 

High pitched squeaking sounds hit your ears as he drags your body across the tile. Your hands scramble frantically against the floor as you’re pulled backwards, but there’s nothing to hold onto. They just slide uselessly, voicing their protest in the way the tile screams under your grasping fingertips as you’re hoisted up with your lower half in the air. 

Your back arches against Neteyam’s hold, legs kicking in the air but doing no harm despite their efforts. The hole he’s created in your shorts is enough to have your pussy on display for him, and you can feel his breath on it - hot puffs are the only warning you get before his mouth is on you. Your voice is raw from all the screaming you’ve done, the sound crackling and almost pained as you shout again - shout for him to stop and to let you go as you kick and squirm and beg. 

You want to cry more, any drying tears of fear you have still tracked on your cheeks are replaced with tears of humiliation. Your clit pulses under his relentless tongue, pussy subconsciously clenching around nothing as he licks and sucks over the puffy folds. 

You’re wet. 

You’re so wet already, body confusing the adrenaline caused by fear and desperation and flooding it with the adrenaline that comes with arousal instead. His textured tongue slips across your sticky cunt, licking up your wetness, and a reluctant moan escapes your lips at the rough feel on your sensitive parts. 

A gleam to your right catches your attention and a flicker of hope rushes through you at the sight. Neteyam’s knife is laying on the ground next to you, scattered just far enough when he dropped it that it's a stretch for you to grab it, but not impossible. He’s distracted by your cunt, chest rumbling in what you can only describe as a more aggressive type of purr and your face contorts in unwanted pleasure as the vibrations pulse against your clit. 

You reach for the knife, using one hand pressed against the tile to gain any kind of leverage you can while your other arm stretches out towards the forgotten blade. You're not even sure what you’re going to do with it when it’s in your hand. Would you just threaten him with it? Tell him to back off and that you’ll use it if he doesn’t? Would you cut him a little to show that you’re serious? 

Would you stab him if it came to it?

Your fingers graze along the hilt of the knife, fingertips brushing along the part that it can touch and curling in, trying to coax the knife just a bit closer so you can grab it. Neteyam growls into your cunt, and you let out a gasping curse when his foot lands on your wrist, pinning it to the tile before you can work your hand around the knife. 

“You son of a bitch!” You yell, anger burning through your desperation, but all Neteyam does is push his face deeper into your pussy. His large hands rip at the back of your shorts more, fingers digging into the exposed curves of your ass to spread you apart. 

The pressure in your belly intensifies as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his lips around it in what feels like an almost pleasured punishment. 

You’re going to cum. Fuck fuck you’re going to cum on the tongue of the practically feral Na’vi who just chased you through the halls of your own home and made you think he was going to rip you to shreds and leave you to die on the floor for your coworkers to find. It feels so good, so so good and you wail as your pussy spasms against his relentless tongue, contracting against the wet muscle as the coil in your belly bursts in an explosion of uncontrolled pleasure. 

Neteyam groans against your core, lapping up everything you have to offer as you whine and shake. Your legs, still suspended in the air, are becoming numb - the tingling sensation of your limbs losing their life combining with the dramatic pulsing over your oversensitive cunt. 

You grunt as he drops you to the ground, his foot lifting off your wrist as he crouches back up, and you pull it to your chest, cradling it there and quickly checking for any injury as your body automatically tries to curl up in a protective ball. 

His hands are back on your hips in an instant, pulling you back again across the floor until your ass is pressed up against his front. Your blood runs cold when your bare ass meets bare skin. The bulge that was once blocked by the thin layer of his loincloth is now free - large, dominant, and demanding of attention as it presses tightly against you. 

Demanding of your attention. 

The hand on the back of your neck is uncaring as it pushes you down, forcing your face against the white tiled floor as he lines himself up with your entrance. 

“Neteyam, no! Please!” You beg, even as your back is forced to arch from the exposed position he has you in.

And maybe if this was a different situation, a different circumstance, he would have used this opportunity to tease you. Tell you to stop fussing and stay still. To be a good girl for him while he fucks your tight cunt and maybe if you’re good enough, he would let you cum again. You would let him. Neteyam is beautiful, more handsome than any other Na’vi you’ve ever seen. If he would have been kind to you and shown interest in you like that, you would have agreed to fuck him in a heartbeat. 

But he’s not himself. Doesn’t even have his mind enough to acknowledge your pleas with anything more than agitated snarls and frustrated growls. 

His cock feels monstrous as he rubs it between your soaked folds. Thick and hard as the wetness of his own slick mixes with the sticky mess you have already between your thighs. The head of his cock rubs against your tender clit and you can feel how the sheer size of it forces your pussy lips apart.

You can’t take it inside you. Fuck. You can’t. You can’t. 

You whimper when the tip makes its way back to your entrance, nudging against it before the blunt tip presses forward. Your hands press into the tile on either side of your head, mouth falling open in a silent scream even as he presses your cheek further into the floor as he pushes his cock further into you. You feel every thick inch of it as it spears you open, and you expect it to hurt. It should hurt, especially with the way you’re clamping down around him, body automatically trying to keep it out even as it bullies its way deeper inside you.

There’s pressure, so much pressure. He’s too big, large alien cock way too much for your tiny human body to take, but somehow it is. Your brain is trying to tell you to panic, that the pressure is pain and you should scream and cry and try to wiggle away from it. But it's not. He’s stretching you so much, filling you up - but it doesn’t. hurt.

And that realization hurts you more than the cock currently rearranging your guts ever could.

You know it’s the slick. Despite never being with a Na’vi yourself, you know that the wetness that coats a male’s cock to aid it with slipping out of its protective sheath has something in it that eases the pain of penetration. It’s a good thing. Inherently helpful for any relationship, especially for those between a human and a Na’vi to curb the extra struggle of the size difference. 

You always thought it was sweet. A way for Eywa to reward the loyalty of the good sky people who are lucky enough to find everlasting bonds with her own children. 

Now, the idea of it leaves a bad taste in your mouth as the cock inside you pulls out only to thrust in harder. The texture on his cock scrapes against your slick walls as he starts to fuck you, the bumps and barbs rubbing and pressing against the sensitive spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had. 

A waterfall of moans and whines rip from your throat as he moves faster, your higher pitched pathetic sounds a stark contrast to his deep guttural grunts. His hand is off the back of your neck now, instead finding a place at the side of your face as he keeps you pinned to the floor. It’s so big compared to your head that it spans the entirety of it, thumb hooking just under the edge of your jaw while his fingers curl around the top of your head as he holds you down. 

Your thighs shake underneath you as he pounds into you, thick cock so far inside you that you know there has to be a bulge in your belly. There is, you can feel it. The way the head of his cock pushes against your lower abdomen roughly with each thrust and you know that if you could move your hands from the death grip press they have on the tile, you could feel it disappear and reappear under your palm. 

He adjusts behind you, both feet planted on the ground as he crouches behind you to try to push in deeper. Pleasure soaks into your brain as you subconsciously push back against him, pussy clenching and squeezing around him trying to suck him in. 

“N-Neteyam,” And you have more to say, you do. But you can’t form thoughts anymore. Nothing else will come out other than little punched out breathless gasps. 

It takes you a long time to realize that he’s speaking, and even longer for your fucked up and fucked out raddled brain to register what he’s saying. It’s not normal sentences, it’s not even English. His words are still animalistic, growled through gritted teeth as he spits out broken Na’vi between his groans of pleasure. You grew up with the language, but you’re so distracted, so overwhelmed by him and the cock inside you that your brain can’t seem to latch on to what he’s saying. 

You think you hear the word for ‘whore’, maybe ‘take it’, something ‘baby’ but you can’t be sure. 

And then he’s leaning forward, body curving overtop yours as he covers you completely. It’s only then you feel what you’ve been too distracted to notice. The thick knot at the base of his cock, fully engorged now as it prods at your entrance. 

Your hands finally leave their place pressed against the floor as you throw them behind you in newfound panic. One hand pushes against his abdomen as best as it can, trying to slow his thrusts while the other grabs at his wrist in an effort to pull his hand away from your face. The hand on his abdomen doesn’t do anything to slow his relentless pace, but the hand on the side of your head moves to tangle in your hair, gripping it in his fist close to your scalp just hard enough to burn a little as he yanks your head back. 

You gasp at the sharp sting and your gasp quickly turns into a whimper as his knot presses tighter against your soaking hole. He’s unforgiving as he digs it against you, holding your hair tight and forcing your back to arch as you stretch even further around it. You’re too wet, pussy too wet and almost greedy and it takes him in, determined despite the obscene size of the engorged ball of tissue.

“Please!” You squeal. Please stop. Please more. “Neteyam, fuck!”

Your eyes roll back into your head when the knot slips inside you, sheathing itself within your heat with another solid push of Neteyam’s hips against your ass. His cock hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, your vision whiting out and there feels like there’s cotton in your ears as you cum around him, squeezing him tightly as you soak his length in your juices. Your breath catches in your lungs when you feel his cock pulse inside you, twitching and feeling like it’s expanding even bigger as his own orgasm hits him. 

He holds you close, keeping you pinned and still underneath him with the savage hand in your hair and the firm grip he has on your hip - fierce and unmoving as if to keep you from running away.

As if you even could with the knot locked inside you. 

His growl of pleasure reverberates off the walls as he paints yours. Long, thick ropes of release coating your insides and it's so much, so so much that you feel like you can’t fit anymore. Like if he cums anymore, you’ll burst. The knot is still lodged inside you, locked in and refusing to let you free, but there’s no space left inside you, no space, and you feel the excess cum seep out of your hole from around his knot to trail down the insides of your thighs. 

You don’t remember blacking out, and you’re not sure when Neteyam was able to pull free from you or when he passed out next to you either. But when you wake up next, it’s to voices.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Y/N!”

“What the fuck happened?”

The bright florescent lights of the lab are blinding when you try to open your eyes. Exhaustion seeps from every pore of your body and fuck, you feel so sore. 

Norm’s shocked face is looking down at you when your eyes finally adjust to the light, Max and a few of the other scientists are behind him, faces an equal mixture of shock and horror as they stare at you with wide eyes. 

It takes you a moment to remember what happened - why you’re here, waking up on the cold floor of the lab. Naked. You scramble up, hands clutching at your chest as you desperately try to cover yourself. A deep groan to your right steals your attention from your group of onlookers, and your eyes fall on Neteyam, just waking up from his own sleep.

His eyes are back to their normal gold as they open, groggy at first and then alert in a heartbeat as it registers where he is. He’s up in a crouch in an instant, looking ready to fight but not really sure what he’s supposed to be fighting. Those golden eyes catch on the group, confusion twisting on his face and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to figure out what’s going on. 

Then his eyes meet yours, taking in your torn clothes and near nakedness, and you sit in horror as it clicks for him what must have happened. 

And you watch as the horror in your eyes becomes mirrored in his. 

**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!

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