#pack: winter pines

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive��how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, hurt/no comfort, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[httpiastri]

this christmas – op81

ski slopes, mistletoes, and the guy you've been crushing on for years – what could be better?

genre: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers!au, smut (just one scene in the end, you can skip it if you want)

pairing: female leclerc!reader x oscar piastri

other characters: lando norris, charles leclerc, george russell & mundt, alex albon & lily muni he, pierre gasly & kika cerqueira gomes

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smut, not much more i think

word count: 13.8k (LMAO)

requested?: yes!!

author’s note: hello hello!! a lot to say about this one. first of all, thank you to @be-your-coffee-pot for this request, and i apologize for not getting to it earlier than now. for everyone’s knowledge, the request was sent in to me in august, so… yeah. i know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway <3

second of all, i feel pretty happy about some of these scenes, but some… not so much. some of the fillers have parts that i really despite, but i don’t really have time to rewrite since christmas is like 2 days away lol. also, my description of the reader’s relationship to charles is not my best work, idk why he barely even appears, and i’m also not sure why logan isn’t in this...

third of all, my red divider things make my posts disappear from the tags, so i didn’t put any in this time. it looks bad, i know, but idk how to fix it. if anyone does, please let me know. :)

and lastly: i only proofread this whole thing once yesterday, but tumblr was being a bitch and i got so frustrated that i do not have the energy to proofread it again. so please, if you happen to find any spelling or grammar mistakes, i would be very thankful if you let me know. <3

hope you all enjoy !!

december 12th, 2:11pm

oscar has always loved winter.

it started in his childhood; the holiday films he'd seen as a child, the way it always seemed to magically snow right on christmas eve really started something in him. it hadn't been common for him to get snow back home in australia when he was younger but once he moved to the england, he got to experience it quite a lot. playing, fighting and just existing in the snow was like an unfilled childhood need that stayed with him until his older years.

he loved spending christmas at home with his family, but ever since he got to experience real christmases with snow, trees and cozy darkness, he craved it more than he craved lying on the beach in his swimming trunks.

so when he was asked to come along to the swiss alps for a vacation during the winter break, he packed his bags right away. he and lando just happened to book the same flight, and they both arrived at the airport around noon, getting into a cab to take them to the accommodation together.

when they arrive outside the cottage, oscar is in shock; it is enormous. he had imagined just a tiny, cute little house – not that he was sure how seven drivers and a couple of girlfriends would fit in a "tiny" house – but he was far from right.

him and lando are the second pair to arrive, just about an hour after alex and lily, who are the self-proclaimed 'hosts' as they took care of all of the booking and planning.

"we thought that one would be lando's room," alex starts, pointing down the hallway. "since it's far away from everyone else, and i'm sure we all would prefer to actually get some sleep during the night time."

"oh, shut it..." lando mumbles, shoving his friend on his shoulder.

"this one can be yours, oscar," lily says, moving in the opposite direction and gesturing to another room. then, she points at the one right next to it. "and this one has two beds, so it's for charles and his sister."

oscar's ears perk up. "y/n is going to be here?" he speaks almost took quickly, making the other three turn to look at him.

"oh, i thought you knew..." lily has an apologetic look on her face.

"i must've forgotten," oscar answers, though he's completely sure no one told him about it. there's no way he would forget you. "don't worry, it's cool."

the hosts continue to move down the hallway, and the mclaren boys are just about to follow along when lando elbows oscar's side playfully. "it's cool?"

oscar raises an eyebrow, trying to keep calm. "what?"

"the youngest leclerc coming along?" a grin takes up lando's entire face. "it's just cool? is she cool, or-"

"goodbye, lando." oscar shakes his head, darting towards alex and lily again. he takes a few deep breaths, hoping the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks isn't too obvious.

unfortunately, lando didn't need to see the blush to know. he has caught his teammate staring at you too many times over the season, and he is fully aware of the way oscar always is suddenly interested in the conversation whenever you're the topic of discussion.

lando knows everything. and this christmas, he's going to be the best wingman the world has ever seen.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 12:53am

it's past midnight when you and charles arrive. your flight had been delayed, and then the gps had stopped working all of a sudden. and then, charles just refused to drive any faster than 30 km/h, saying it was too dangerous. as if he didn't drive cars in ten times that speed without even flinching.

you assume the whole house is sleeping already, so you and charles both sneak in as quietly as you can. someone – lily, assumably – has left you a note on the front door, guiding you to your shared room. it all goes smoothly – until charles trips over the doorframe, dropping his bag onto the floor as he tries not to fall down. the sound rattles through the hallway and you flinch, stopping in your tracks as you hope no one's woken up. but just a second later, the door opposite yours opens and a head sticks out.

oscar.

your heart softens and your shoulders relax when your gaze meets his. your soft smile is mirrored on his face, the sleepiness evident in his droopy eyes and the way strands of his bedhead point in every direction.

he looks like he's just about to say something when charles speaks up. "sorry, man! were you asleep?"

he walks up to the australian, giving him a firm handshake and a pat on the back. oscar shakes his head. "i was up reading," his huskey accent is like music to your ears. "i thought i heard some rustling out here, and then..." he nods his head toward the suitcase on the floor.

your brother laughs as he steps back, walking into the room with the "leclerc" sign. "well, i'll let you get back to that then," he says, picking up the bag from the floor and looking back one last time. "good night."

and then, you were just two.

you and oscar stand still for a moment, just watching each other. then, he opens up his arms, welcoming you into his embrace. you step forward and drape your arms around his shoulders as his wrap around your waist, and you let out a content sigh. he's warm, comfortable, and the way he squeezes your body has your mind spinning.

"it's been a while," he says when you part from the hug, a soft grin playing on his lips.

"like a month," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest.

"a month has never felt this long before."

you're not sure when your crush on him started forming.

as someone who's always been interested in racing, even in the series your brother isn't in, you've kept up with most results and championships – including oscar's seasons in f2 and f3. after seeing oscar, the unstoppable rookie who completely crushed his season in f3, you made sure to keep an eye at him in f2 the following year. and it's easy to say that you liked what you saw. especially in jeddah.

you'd meet him occasionally around the paddock the following year, just giving him a sweet smile and a quick greeting as if it was no big deal. but you always found yourself squealing on the inside and taking deep breaths to stay calm whenever you made eye contact with him.

then came 2023 and his debut in f1. yet again, he exceeded everyone's expectations, performing better than most drivers who'd been on the grid for years. with his permanent role on the grid, he was around more – and so were you. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to bump into each other, around the paddock or during media days or in afterparties, and now you tried not to shy away.

talking to oscar was always simple. he was easygoing, it all seemed effortless, and you felt more relaxed. before you knew it, you could chat about racing strategies and tyre management for twenty minutes before a member of the mclaren staff interrupted you, rushing oscar away somewhere. you got to know each other slowly throughout the season, though never really going further than some friendly conversations, but you felt happy knowing that you'd taken the first step towards getting closer to him.

"so..." he starts. "you've been good?"

you nod. "yeah, a lot of studying but it's been alright. you?"

"yeah."

and there it is again, that slightly awkward silence. it's natural, you haven't seen each other since that night in abu dhabi and you're both a little unsure of where you stand after it. the tension is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and you kind of want to escape the whole situation. but then he speaks up.

"hey, i just wanted to-"

he's interrupted by the call of your name, and when you turn around, charles is leaning against the doorframe, eyes hazy. "are you going to sleep tonight or what?" he asks, dragging a hand through his already messy hair.

you feel a weight lift off your shoulders – and at the same time, your stomach tightens in disappointment. you nod at your brother, looking back at oscar to give him a wave and a "sleep well", before joining charles in your shared room.

oscar stands still in the corridor for a moment, before sighing and slapping himself in his mind for being so awkward and messing up this opportunity. but on the other side of the door, you stand still too as you watch your brother jump onto his bed, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

you're just thankful the room is so dark that he can't see your ever-reddening cheeks.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 10:24am

despite the never-ending pitter-patter of your heart as you went to bed last night, you could fall asleep quite quickly, seeing as you were utterly exhausted from traveling. breakfast this morning feels like you and charles have just been reunited with your childhood friends after being kidnapped for years; not like you had just gone a few weeks without seeing each other. everyone runs around hugging, chatting about how much they've missed each other and how great this trip will be.

"did you get new highlights?" kika asks you, sliding into the seat next to you by the long table as you stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. the room is a combination of a kitchen and a dining hall, with a big cooking area and a glass wall giving the dining area a beautiful view of the mountains outside. in the middle stands a long table with enough seats for all of you, filled with fresh pastries and other breakfast goods to celebrate the first day of the trip. "or is it just the light?"

"just the light," you answer, shooting her a smile as you pick up your cup of coffee.

"oh my god, i almost forgot to ask you," lily starts and places her elbows on the table, her face resting in her hands. "what happened to that guy from raya you were talking to? did you end up going out?"

oscar is sitting a few seats down the table, pretending to be immersed in a conversation with some of the other drivers about the last few races of the season, while actually just doing his best to listen in on the conversation you're having. when he hears alex's girlfriend mention raya, his ears perk up and his breath gets caught in his throat. a million thoughts instantly crash into his mind.

she's seeing someone? how could i not know this? she's on raya? is she actively looking for a partner? who is this guy they're talking about?

he coughs and tries to act normal, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling passing through his body. he soon hears the sweet sound of your wholehearted laughter, and he almost smiles instinctively at it, before he can remind himself that lando's story about las vegas isn't exactly a smiley matter. "you're not going to believe this, i have the best story," you say in-between fits of giggles. "i met up with him for some drinks, and guess what he said? that he has a foot fetish and has dreamed about me caressing his face with my feet." all of the girls squeal and explode with laughter, making some of the boys flinch and look over to see what all the commotion is about. "so, safe to say, we never met up again. and i haven't wanted to go out with anyone else from there, either. i have a feeling they're all just creeps."

"hey, don't lose hope!" kika says while elbowing your side, but her actions are too soft, forcing you to fold over as an uncomfortable feeling spreads through your body. however, a burst of laughter spills past your lips. kika immediately holds her arm back, laughing along. "crap, i'm sorry! i totally forgot how ticklish you are."

you shake your head, your hand landing on her shoulder. "no worries," you tell her. "but, i haven't lost hope. i just don't think my soulmate is lurking around on raya with the foot fetishists."

oscar feels his shoulders relax again, feeling alright with focusing back on the boys' conversation now that he knows you in fact aren't seeing anyone.

maybe he has a shot, after all. as long as he doesn't talk too much about your feet.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 14th, 3:09pm

lando thinks he's so smart.

when he tells oscar to go ask if you'd like to have some of the gingerbread cookies he's bought, it's the third time today he has forced some kind of interaction between the two of you. he is sure that the more time that the two of you spend with each other, the more likely you will be to stop pining and just confess already.

but this time, oscar glares at the brit. "why don't you ask her yourself?"

"because you know what room she's in," lando hums back, reaching into the cupboard with some groceries. "i keep getting lost, the house is too big. plus, i'm busy." he motions to the half-empty grocery bag on the counter.

oscar lets out a sigh, but nods. "how can you memorize all tracks on the calendar, but you get lost in a cabin?" he asks rhetorically, whilst turning around and making his way down the hallway towards your room.

it's not that oscar doesn't enjoy 'accidentally' being forced into talking to you; it's the extreme lack of discretion lando is showing that makes him annoyed. it makes oscar seem like he's the one coming up with silly excuses to talk to you, and he doesn't like how it makes him look. he'd rather be seen as chill, laidback, someone who doesn't force things. he doesn't want you to catch on too early and reject him.

your voice echoes a 'come in' when he knocks on the door to your bedroom, and he pushes the door open just a little to reveal you sitting on the bed, a thick blanket wrapped over your shoulders. a grin spreads across your lips when you make eye contact with him. "hi," you say, placing the book you were reading on the bedside table.

"hey," he answers, stepping inside the room. "i... lando bought some gingerbread cookies, and we were going to make some hot chocolate, and..." his voice trails off as his eyes wander down your body, taking in the christmas sweater you're wearing and the fuzzy socks covering your feet. he smiles absentmindedly at the sight, loving how cozy you seem, and wishing he was sitting right there with you, sharing the blanket.

you nod, understanding him despite his lack of words. "i'll be right there."

oscar gives you a thumbs up – one he then facepalms himself for when he's left your room – before moving towards the kitchen again. but when he walks into it, he sees something hanging from a lamp. he stops in his tracks. "no way..."

festive cookies aren't the only thing lando bought when he went to the local supermarket. he also got the ultimate tool for securing his master plan – a mistletoe.

he doesn't know how, but he's planning to make sure you and oscar meet underneath it at least once before the holidays are over. there's no way you'll both be able to avoid it all week.

of course, lando isn't the only one rooting for the two of you. most of the other drivers know too – how can they not notice the glances you share and the way you light up when someone mentions the other in a conversation? – and most of them are in on his plans. charles is probably the only one in the house who's still oblivious to your and oscar's pining, and lando thinks that he might interfere with the matchmaking if he figures something out, so the brit keeps quiet.

oscar wants to pull the mistletoe down, rip it apart and throw it in the trash, but he refrains. something inside him tells him this might actually work out in his favor – and he decides to trust his gut this time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 15th, 2:01am

sleeping can be tricky, especially when your brother is snoring loudly in a bed just a few meters away from you.

who even decided to put him and you in the same room?

when you've been tossing and turning to no avail for about an hour, you decide it's time to do something, anything, to hopefully get a little tired again. a glass of warm milk never hurt anyone, did it?

you make your way to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of milk and put it in the microwave, before turning to look through the windows.

the view of the mountains is breathtaking. there is an untouched, thick layer of snow covering the area, with new flakes still falling. the sun set long ago, but the snow makes it all seem light. the lake below you is just barely visible by now, almost completely coated in snow.

it's completely serene, and you find yourself getting lost in the scenery. however, you're shaken out of your trance when you hear steps behind you. when you turn around, your eyes find someone standing just a few meters away, barely visible in the dark.

you jump in your place and clutch your chest in shock, not expecting anyone else to be up at this hour. when the person steps into the light of the little kitchen lap you had turned on, you relax instantly. "holy shit, oscar," you breathe. "you nearly scared me to death."

"i'm sorry," the australian chuckles. "i didn't know how to approach you without scaring you..."

"what even are you doing up?" you question, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter.

"i was just reading in my bed when i heard your door opening, and then footsteps, so..." he trails off when his eyes wander out towards the living room, seemingly just as taken by the sight as you were just moments ago. "i wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"well, everything is okay, so..."

there's some kind of awkwardness hanging in the air. it's not only because of the obvious uncertainty of what to say or do in this situation; it has more to do with the fact that this isn't the first time that the two of you have found yourselves this close with this much tension, all alone at night. sure, it's a lot like the night of your arrival here, but another memory springs to your mind, too.

just under a month ago, following the after-party in abu dhabi, oscar had accompanied you back to the hotel when you started getting too tipsy to keep yourself up on the dance floor. your brother had been nowhere in sight, so oscar took it upon himself to help you out, draping an arm across your waist before walking you all the way to your hotel room. and when you'd arrived in the dimly lit corridor, you'd turned up towards him to thank him, accidentally brushing your nose against his as you did. both of you had broken out in giggles, neither especially sober, but you stayed close – and when the laughter settled, you just watched each other. when his gaze had flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath hitched in your throat, the anticipation growing stronger. you had leaned in even closer, your eyes fluttering closed-

but just as your lips were about to brush his, you had been interrupted. a door a few meters away had opened and the two of you jumped apart, watching as your brother stepped out and exclaimed that he had been wondering where you ended up. oscar had wished you both a good night before hurrying off, the embarrassment of almost getting caught by his friend being too much for him to handle.

you just hoped oscar had been too drunk to remember it, because otherwise, things were bound to get quite awkward. you didn't want him to act differently around you just because you have feelings for him.

thankfully, he hasn't said or done anything to make you think he does remember it.

as you're thinking back to that night in abu dhabi, you nearly get your second heart attack when the microwave goes off with a loud beep. you scramble to turn it off and take out your milk, almost burning yourself on the hot glass in the meantime.

oscar watches you with an amused grin before he forces his gaze off you, eyes wandering over to the windows again. "quite the view, huh?"

you look over your shoulder at the blanketed mountains. "yeah, it's breathtaking," you reply, before growing quiet.

he pauses for a moment, too. "there's something magical about this place. makes everything seem simpler, quieter..."

you nod. "yeah, it does."

something about the moment makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, the awkwardness between you and oscar isn't as insurmountable as you once thought it would be. the shared quietude is comfortable, and you feel at ease. he hasn't brought up abu dhabi – he probably won't, you feel – and maybe you could both just put it behind you and focus on enjoying your trip.

when you eventually get back in your bed, it's with the same kind of pitter-patter of your heart as when you and charles arrived in the cabin a few days ago. needless to say, the glass of warm milk probably isn't going to help.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 16th, 9:02pm

the mistletoe has moved.

when you first noticed it the other day, it was hanging from a kitchen lamp. and now, it's in the doorframe leading into the living room.

you're planning on avoiding it at all costs, not wanting to slip up and accidentally get under it with the wrong person. or the right one, for that matter. the awkwardness of kissing your crush in front of friends and family would be too much to handle.

some others seem to have the exact opposite attitude towards the decoration, though. kika and pierre can be found by it about ten times per day, and alex and lily have no issues sharing a few kisses whenever they "accidentally" pass it.

no matter what, lando has a mischievous grin whenever anyone mentions it, or even walks near it.

his grin stays on when he decides to let himself be in charge of the outing you all have to the christmas tree farm nearby. the farm is too big and would take too long if everyone was going to look at every tree, so lando divides everyone into groups of two based on who they're standing next to as you walk past the gates.

what a coincidence that you're standing right next to oscar when he says this.

lando ushers the two of you off to the rows with quite tall, pre-decorated trees. "so," oscar starts as you both stop in front of a tree with white lights and ornaments hung all over it. "what do you think about this one?"

"well, it's lovely," you say, scanning it thoroughly. "but isn't the true test how well it fits into the living room?"

he nods, despite his confusion, and he shoots a curious glance your way. "and how do we determine that?"

with a playful grin, you hold up an imaginary measuring tape, pretending to size up the tree with a critical eye. "i'm trying to figure out if it fits this corner best, or..."

he follows your gaze, realizing the tease in your words. "i think maybe it's better in the other corner," he hums and points to the side as you turn a little.

"exactly."

lando never inserted himself into a group; he's too focused on watching the two of you share a lighthearted laugh at the situation. though his mistletoe back in the cabin might still have a trick or two up its metaphorical sleeve, he is already proud of his matchmaking antics.

and, he is sure you'll both crack. it is just a matter of time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 17th, 1:43pm

"i never thought skiing would be this hard," you groan as you step into a cottage, the warmth enveloping you and beginning to defrost you instantly.

oscar laughs at the exasperated tone in your voice. "this was just the kids' slope, you do remember that, right?" you stick your tongue out at him, slumping down on a bench by a table. "you just wait before you do some real skiing..."

you had never skied before today. oscar had, but he said it was too long ago and that he needed an easy start. plus, he couldn't just leave you all alone in the children's slope without an instructor.

you'd fallen over at least five times, despite the fact that the slope was practically flat. thankfully, oscar promised to buy you some hot chocolate in a cottage café to cheer you up.

when he comes back from the cashier carrying two big, steaming cups of chocolate, you've regained most of the feeling in your fingers again. the hot piece of ceramic almost burns your skin, but you think it's worth it; you need the sugar and you need it now.

"you know what the worst thing is?" you ask, bringing the cup up to your face with both hands. you start sipping on the drink and oscar glances at you with a questioning look as he slips down next to you on the bench. "carrying those goddamn skis with me. not only does it suck to actually ski, but dragging them all the way from the rental shop…"

"if it's that much of a bother, i can carry them for you."

"and carry your own too?" you scoff, watching him flinch as he burns his tongue on the drink. "you're not that strong."

he lets out a groan. "you're not even strong enough to carry your own, so you shouldn't say anything."

"i can carry them!" you protest, shooting him a glare. "i just don't want to. two very different things."

you both go silent momentarily, too busy focusing on how good it feels to no longer be frozen to the marrow. the cabin is filled with people; kids running in circles around the tables, soon to be tired again after the initial sugar shock from their afternoon snack; a group of older ladies gossiping and enjoying getting some rest just like you; and some young adults in the far corner are already busy dancing on the tables with their after-ski drinks in their hands.

"you know what? i changed my mind," you tell him, scooting away from him a little and placing your skiing boot on the bench. "these things. they're the worst."

you start to unclasp the boot, sighing in relief as you finally tug the shoe off your foot, throwing it onto the floor. you've only worn it for about an hour, but you can already feel the bruises beginning to form. you're just about to reach down to undo the other boot, too, when oscar reaches towards your foot.

your eyebrows shoot up as he takes it in his hands, pulling the foot into his lap. and then, his fingers begin to wander up and down your foot and ankle, giving you soft squeezes and pressing down on the spaces where he thinks the boot has squeezed you the most. you hold back a pleasured sound, seeing as it would sound way too inappropriate right now, but oscar subconsciously takes note of how you're getting flushed because he soon looks up at your face.

"is this okay?"

you swallow down the lump in your throat, nodding quickly. "y-yeah… just don't tickle me..."

when did things get so intimate? mere minutes ago, you couldn't think about anything other than how you were so cold your nose was going to fall off. but now, you can't stop your eyes from following his long, sleek fingers, thinking about how good they feel and imagining how good they would feel somewhere else-

"give me your other foot."

you're thankful that he interrupts your train of thought before your mind wanders too far.

compose yourself, woman.

"don't tell me you have a foot fetish, too," you tease, turning around so that you can place your other foot on the bench too. he lets out a hearty laugh, swiftly undoing your other boot before letting it drop to the ground.

"oh, shut it. do you want a massage or not?"

you shoot him pout, giving his shoulder a thankful pat before taking your cup in your hands again. you focus on the drink, watching how the steam rises and the marshmallows melt. you can't look over at him anymore, scared of your cheeks growing too red and your face giving away your feelings.

the bell by the door rings behind you, and you look towards it out of habit. and in comes alex, george, lily and carmen, laughing and chatting loudly about the black slope they just went down. oscar doesn't seem to notice, but you hastily pull your feet from his lap, sitting down properly – unfortunately making eye contact with alex as you do. he leans forward to lily, whispering something in her ear, and you watch as her eyes dart to you and a smirk grows on her lips.

shit.

the clicking of her boots against the stone floor meets your ears and oscar turns his head at the sound, suddenly realizing why you withdrew from him. "hey there," lily cheers, each of her hands landing your and oscar's shoulders. "what have you been up to?"

your eyes meet his briefly, before looking back up at lily. "just... drinking some chocolate..."

"oh, no skiing?"

"she crashed too much, i couldn't keep her out there and let her continue to embarrass me all day," oscar tells her and you shove his shoulder.

"do you mind if we join you guys?" george asks, coming around the table and not even giving you a second to think about it before he sets two cups of chocolate down on the table. the grin he's wearing only tells you one thing: alex told him already. carmen's lips show off a matching set.

"not at all..."

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 10:32am

you huff as you slump down on the living room couch, your mood not even getting brought up by watching the newly installed christmas tree in front of you. you hadn't even been out skiing that much yesterday, yet every single inch of your body aches. not only do you have big, blue bruises on both of your hips due to the many times you've fallen onto the hardly packed snow, but every muscle screams with pain as you drape a blanket over your body. needless to say, you decided to stay at home today instead of heading out with the others for another round.

"are you sure you don't wanna come along?" kika asks as she enters the room, her pretty pink sunglasses perched at the top of her nose. the pout on her lips almost makes you doubt staying in, but when you move to sit up more straight again, you know you've made the right decision.

you nod, giving her a weak smile. "yeah, sorry."

"but oscar promised to come along?"

you freeze, your cheeks growing red as you hear her words.

did she know? about your feelings for him? did the others already tell her about the incident in the cottage yesterday? did they really interpret the situation that way?

"w-what?"

"oh," she chuckles at your reaction. "i just meant that he was so bad yesterday, so i thought that seeing him fall over a couple of times would be worth the pain."

"we're gonna trick him into going down a black slope with us," says pierre who walks into the room, arms lacing around his girlfriend from behind. "we'll send some clips."

you let out a breath of relief as they leave the room. maybe they don't know. maybe your secret will stay secret for a little longer.

the group leaves in pairs or trios and you tell them all goodbye from your place underneath the many blankets. everyone has left by now except for oscar, which confounds you since the others seemed to have so many plans for him. your confusion only grows when he steps into the living room without any skiing gear on, just wearing an oversized, cozy hoodie and a pair of sweats.

"why aren't you out with the others?" you question, your eyebrows raised at him.

"well," he sighs, flopping down next to you on the couch. "i can't find my helmet." when you shoot him a doubting look, he raises his hands defensively. "what?"

"i don't believe it."

"you don't have to, but it's the truth."

"how do you even lose a helmet? it's so big?" you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i assumed you were used to keeping track of where your helmet is since if you don't have your helmet with you for races, then you can't race."

"i swear i put it on the drawer by the front door like half an hour ago. i don't understand what could've happened."

you have to give it to him; he is really doing his best to cover this up. you find it pretty obvious that he just doesn't want to ski because of what the others were planning to do to him. but maybe if kika and pierre hadn't spilled their plans already, you would've believed him.

"but hey," he says, bringing you out of your thoughts. "don't feel obligated to include me in whatever you were going to do here now that you finally have the house to yourself." he pushes himself off the couch, standing up and shooting you one last smile before turning to walk away. "i'll let you have some peace."

he takes a couple of steps towards the bedrooms, but then you get the idea. "oscar." he stops in his tracks, throwing a glance back at you. "i was planning on doing some baking, and…" you shuffle slightly in your seat. "it wouldn't hurt to have an extra helping hand."

"i'm a horrible baker, though."

"and i'm the best baker ever, so i guess we cancel each other out." you stand up from your seat, keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way toward the kitchen. "let's go make some mediocre cookies!"

oscar shakes his head, grinning to himself as he follows behind you. this was definitely not what he had planned, but he sure is liking the way it's going.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 8:14pm

oscar had not been kidding when he said he sucked at baking.

he put in twice the needed amount of flour, and only half of the sugar. and as if that wasn't enough, of course the mistletoe had moved to the kitchen, making the whole situation quite uncomfortable as you both had to take strange routes while navigating through the kitchen to avoid it. not even your baking skills could save the cookies.

as an apology, oscar promised to buy some fancy gingerbread cookies tonight at the christmas market you'd all planned to go to in a nearby city. he was strongly set on going through with his promise, despite how many times you told him that it was alright and that they wouldn't taste as good as homemade ones anyway.

you've all been at the market for almost two hours now, but it feels like you've only gone about ten meters. your friends, mainly lando, george and alex, are stopping at every single shop and stand, making sure to check out all products and buying at least one thing in every store, no matter how long the line to the cash register is.

"lando-" you groan at the sight of the brit running into yet another store; this time, a shop filled with christmassy outfits for dogs. "he doesn't even have a pet…"

kika is grinning next to you, shaking her head. "he told me earlier today that he wanted to buy a present for roscoe if he got the chance," she says as most of the group joins lando. "makes more sense than when he bought that screwdriver thirty minutes ago just because it was green."

"the power of 'christmas colors', apparently," you hear oscar's voice from behind you, and you turn back to meet his eyes.

"well, i'm not surprised. just disappointed. and cold, and tired of standing still."

oscar points his head to the side, up the street. "i think i saw a stand a little further up that sells cookies, maybe they have some gingerbread ones."

you nod, a small smile entering your lips. "let's go check it out, then. kika, do you wanna come-"

you're cut off by the sound of pierre calling for his girlfriend, holding up a reindeer costume and blabbering on about how it would be perfect for her cousin's dog. "sorry guys," kika says before strutting off to her boyfriend.

you both shrug before walking down the street towards the stand oscar had spotted. the sugary scent of cookies meets your nose from far away, and your mouth waters at the mere thought of the sweets. when you arrive, a sweet old lady sitting behind the stand greets you and tells you all about the different cookies she's baked. gingerbread, sugar cookies with little candy canes, snowball cookies, and various traditional swiss cookies.

"would you like to have a taste, dears?" the lady asks, pointing her hand to a plate with samples. you and oscar take a gingerbread cookie each, popping it into your mouths.

"oh yeah, this is lovely," he says, looking like he's savoring every crumb.

"much better than ours," you answer, nudging his shoulder with yours. he gasps and places a hand on his chest, feigning offense.

you turn your attention back to the lady and telling her you'd love to buy a little box of cookies from her. oscar pays for them and she wraps the box in some pretty gift paper, handing it to you before you continue making your way down the street. the house walls and all trees are wrapped in christmas lights, some blinking in random colors and some with a soft glow of an elegant white. the streets are filled with people wearing santa hats, ugly christmas sweaters, and scarves so big half of their faces are covered. there's not a single frown in sight, the happiness and love so obvious you can almost see little hearts flowing above everyone's heads.

you glance into a couple of different stores as you stroll, stopping occasionally to check something out. when you reach a stand with different kinds of jewelry, something catches your eye: a golden necklace with a heart-shaped charm hanging from it. you carefully pick it up, your heart fluttering in your chest as you inspect it.

and when you look up at oscar from the necklace in your hands, he feels like the air is stolen from his lungs. your eyes are twinkling with happiness, outshining all lights in the entire christmas market. the excited smile on your lips is contagious, and suddenly, it's like the world around you has stopped and everyone else has disappeared. you're both just grinning at each other like two lovestruck fools, nothing in either of your minds other than the person in front of you. the sight of your rosy cheeks from the cold makes the butterflies in his stomach multiply by the second.

wow, he really is totally and fully whipped.

"really pretty," he finally gets out, unsure if he's talking about the necklace or the woman standing before him.

"pretty? it's gorgeous," you answer, eyes flickering back to the jewelry in your hand. "i adore it. how much is it?"

just as the guy in the booth is about to answer, you feel someone grab your free hand. "come on guys, they're closing down soon and we still have a bunch of shops to visit!" kika is pulling you along so fast you barely have time to put the necklace down.

lily notices the disappointment on your face and pats your shoulder. "we'll come back here sometime before christmas, don't worry."

lando shows you the christmas tree costume he bought as you wander down the market again, but oscar suddenly stops. "guys, i forgot my phone back at the cookie stand. keep walking, i'll catch up with you," he says, pointing behind him with his thumb and disappearing before anyone can say anything.

it's a good excuse, but you clearly see the outline of his phone in his back pocket as he hurries down the street.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 19th, 9:22pm

the days roll on with a gentle rhythm of shared glances and fleeting touches between you and oscar. unbeknownst to both of you, lando, ever the persistent wingman, continues his behind-the-scenes matchmaking efforts.

in some magical way, lando manages to get you and oscar paired up for pretty much anything. board game night? you and oscar just happen to get the exact role cards that make you teammates. time for some ornament decorating? you and oscar are the only ones who don't get a seat on the couch, having to sit on the floor together and share all your materials.

funnily enough, it never gets awkward between the two of you. even when you are left all alone, there is always something to talk about, some dumb thing lando has done that you can tease him about behind his back, or something you are curious about when it comes to his racing career so far. somehow, being with oscar started feeling comfortable, natural, unforced.

one specific night, alex comes up with the idea of playing card games, to which only a few of you are actually interested. some plan on going to bed early so they can hit the slopes first thing in the morning, while others just aren't in the mood. oscar said he would just finish wrapping some christmas presents and join you all later, and you catch yourself feeling disappointed that he's not on the couch next to you, helping you win (or taunting you to make you lose). it surprises you how much you're drawn to him, how it feels like something is missing when he isn't around, when you didn't feel this way just a few days ago.

you try to shake the feeling off, but it's still lingering even as you start playing with your friends. eventually, you excuse yourself to get a glass of water from the kitchen to take your mind off things. but-

just as you round the corner going into the kitchen, your head crashes into something hard. you shriek as you stumble, hands coming up to grab the person in front of you as you lose your balance, but a pair of hands wrap around your back, holding you up. when you look up, you're met with oscar's big brown eyes blinking down at you. "you okay there?"

you let out a relieved breath, nodding at him. "yeah, thanks to you. what were you doing coming around the corner that fast, though?"

he chuckles. "what were you doing not looking where you're going?"

"touché."

your hands are still holding on to the front of his hoodie, and you're about to let go of him and walk away when you notice something in the upper periphery of your vision. something is hanging above you. but, it can't be-

of course it is.

the mistletoe.

oscar looks up just as you do, jaw dropping slightly. "oh..."

"indeed..."

you both keep your vision pointed up, as if the mistletoe would disappear if you just keep on staring at it. oscar's hands slowly begin to slide off your back, and he's hoping you'll both just pretend like none of this ever happened. it would be the least awkward thing to do.

"maybe-" his breath hitches in his throat when you speak up. his gaze is on you again, but you're still looking at the plant. "maybe we should do it. just... for the christmas spirit, you know. i love christmas."

you don't even know what you're blabbering on about. you're trying to improvise a reason to kiss your brother's colleague that makes at least a little sense, but you're completely lost. you realize how dumb you sound, and you expect to see him staring at you like you actually are insane when you look back at him.

but what you don't know is that he thinks it's the best idea ever. he is just as into it as you are, if not more. he doesn't look at you like you're crazy; he's just dumbfounded, blinking at you as he tries to understand what's happening. did the girl he likes really just say they should kiss? because she loves christmas?

oscar gulps, but something in him gives him the courage to nod. "i mean," he starts, voice weak. "what's the harm? it's just... tradition."

"right. yeah, that's exactly what i was thinking."

the tension is higher than ever as your faces are already just inches apart. you aren't sure who should take the initiative and lean in, but before you can overthink it, you're both doing it subconsciously. your noses brush against each other briefly and a little giggle escapes past your lips, and this whole situation feels very familiar. this time, oscar can't hold back anymore, so he closes the gap and presses his mouth to yours.

the kiss is quick, not much longer than a peck, but something changes inside you. when you didn't know what it felt like to kiss oscar, you didn't think too much about it. but now that you have felt his lips on yours, you crave it.

he seems to feel the same way, because when you kiss him again, he's pressing against you instantly. your hands move from his chest to his shoulders as your lips move in sync, tilting your head to get a better angle. oscar's touch travels up and down your sides, fingers grazing the bare skin of your stomach when your sweater lifts.

oscar takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and you let out a hum, making him grin into the kiss. his tongue swipes between your lips before slipping into your mouth, exploring it for the first, but hopefully not last, time. you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, already growing hot as his hands move down to your butt.

kissing oscar is so easy, so comfortable. it's like you've done it so many times before, like it's what you were made to do.

you're so relaxed and so focused on the kiss that you don't even hear lando's footsteps right next to you, nor his snicker from a few meters away as he picks up his phone to snap a couple of pictures. you don't even hear him strutting away to the living room, nor his loud proclamation to the group: mission complete.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 8:35am

the rest of the days leading up to christmas consist of a lot of sneaking around.

the days are filled with secretive kisses when you're sure no one is watching, fleeting pecks or longer liplocks, hurriedly parting and acting like nothing happened when you hear approaching footsteps. they're filled with soft brushes as you pass each other in hallways, little squeezes of your waist or his arm when someone is around, conveying more than anyone could guess. and they're filled with giant, knowing smiles matching on your lips, with longing gazes and sly winks across the dinner table.

now, his hand is warm in yours despite the freezing temperatures of the air. when you said you forgot your mittens in the cabin, oscar had just smiled, taking off one of his own to give it to you. and to heat your other hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as you walked.

you'd slipped out of the house before anyone else had woken up, wishing for a peaceful moment for yourselves. the two of you haven't really had time to properly talk ever since your moment under the mistletoe, and even though it wasn't outspoken, you both knew there were things to be discussed.

you're halfway around the lake when he finally touches on the subject. "so..." he starts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you like me, huh?"

you snicker. "i have for quite some time now, actually."

his hand squeezes yours. "tell me about it."

and when he asks, you tell.

you tell him about seeing him all those years ago, thinking that he was just a pretty face, a good driver, and not much else. you tell him about getting to know him more and more in the last two years and realizing that shit, he's so much more than that. you tell him about the butterflies, about the sneaky glances, about falling for him.

and then, he tells you his side.

he tells you about knowing of you from your first appearances in the f1 paddock, the curiosity in him growing for every picture of you and charles he saw. he tells you about wanting to approach you but not knowing how, not wanting to come off too strong or clingy. he tells you about how nothing has ever been more disappointing to him than charles's timing back in abu dhabi. then, he tells you about how his fingers had secretly been crossed all trip, hoping that lando's attempts to pair the two of you up wouldn't fall through.

you share giggles and smiles as you tell your stories, and it all feels so natural even though it's so new. and you think to yourself that maybe, this won't be so hard to get used to.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 5:46pm

"how are things going with oscar?"

lily's voice makes your heart skip a beat. you had just walked into the kitchen to grab a gingerbread cookie, not expecting her to be doing the dishes this late in the evening – and especially not expecting her to ask you something like that. "what do you mean?" you ask back, trying to stay composed as you strut over to the cupboard, reaching into it for the box of cookies.

"are you going to be like... boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

the box slips out of your hands and crashes to the floor before you can catch it again. did you hear her correctly? your eyebrows shoot up and your mouth hangs open as you look at her again. she scoffs.

"oh please, the two of you aren't exactly sneaky," she says, looking back into the sink. "you know, lando took pictures of you under the mistletoe. and we all saw you coming back from your little trip to the lake earlier today."

"oh my god." you cover your face with your hands, letting out a groan. "oh my god. no way."

lily laughs, washing the last few plates under the tap before placing them on the side to drain. "don't worry, we were all in on it."

"and what does that mean?!"

"lando had a plan." of course he did. "we all agreed to help him out. except charles, he's still oblivious."

"what kind of plan?"

"well, just small things here and there, really." she wipes her hands on a towel before turning around and leaning against the counter. "hiding oscar's helmet so he'd have to stay here with you instead of skiing with us. walking really slowly in the market so you'd both get so tired of us that you'd stroll off alone. and the mistletoe, but that's obvious..."

as lily spills the details of lando's plan, you feel a mix of embarrassment and surprise, along with a hint of amusement. you're suddenly very aware of the collaboration that has taken place behind the scenes, and you take a deep breath as you slowly lower your hands from your face.

"so... lando really orchestrated all of this?" you exclaim, still trying to process the fact that your friends have been actively working to bring you and oscar closer together.

lily chuckles, nodding. "yes, and he's been loving every moment of it. we all figured you two needed a little push."

you shake your head in disbelief, a smile playing on your lips despite the initial shock. "what's the endgame here? is lando secretly a matchmaker or something?"

"he wishes," she says with a smirk. "i think he just enjoys playing cupid when he can." she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. "but hey, it worked out well, didn't it? you and oscar seem pretty cozy."

"yeah, i guess..." the mention of oscar brings a blush to your cheeks. "i just didn't expect to have a whole team of co-conspirators."

lily laughs, stepping forward to pat your shoulder. "it's all in good fun. besides, it's about time something happened between you two." you nod in agreement, smiling at her. "now, spill. how are you feeling about all of this? is he boyfriend material?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating your newfound dynamic with oscar. a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "yeah, maybe. we're figuring it out, i guess. it's all been... surprisingly nice."

she grins, satisfied with your response. "well, then, i'd say lando's plan was a success." she backs away, walking towards the kitchen exit. "just enjoy it, okay? and don't be too mad at us. we just wanted to see you both happy."

you nod and watch as she leaves, still processing the directed events that have led up to this moment. as you're left alone, you can't help but smile to yourself at the thought of everything that's happened – and everything that's yet to come.

suddenly, for the first time in your life, you feel thankful for something lando has done. you'll have to remember to thank him later.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 24th, 10:23pm

just a few hours ago, charles was challenged to a snowball fight with the rest of the twitch quartet. and how could he ever say no to them?

for you to fall asleep before he got back would just be stupid, because there's no way he will be able to keep quiet when he eventually he crashes into the room post-fight. so instead, you sit against the headboard of your bed, a thick blanket draped over your body and a good book in your hands as you enjoy the tranquility of the last few moments of christmas eve.

there's a soft knock on the door, one so low you could've just as well missed it. "come in," you call out, looking up from your book as the door creaks open. surprise paints your face as oscar enters the room, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of carrying out a secret mission.

in his hands, oscar holds a beautifully wrapped box, adorned with a crimson bow. "merry christmas."

"oscar, what are you up to?" you ask, laughter dancing in your eyes.

"giving you your present." he sits at your feet, holding out the present to you.

you place your book beside you on the bed, accepting the gift with a curious smile. you unwrap the present, and as you remove the lid of the box and your eyes are met with a necklace, your breath hitches in your throat.

the heart-shaped pendant is familiar – it's the exact necklace you'd eyed in the christmas market. you look up at oscar, a myriad of emotions playing on your face. "i didn't forget my phone," he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "i just really wanted to get it for you."

speechless, you delicately trace the edges of the pendant with your fingers. "oscar, i..."

"it's a christmas gift, but you can wear it whenever you want."

you hold the necklace up to him. "like now?"

he nods and takes it from you as you turn around, brushing away your hair so that he can secure the chain around your neck. when you turn back, you catch the glint of admiration in his eyes. "you look beautiful."

you hold the pendant between your thumb and pointer finger, a silent acknowledgment of the connection formed by the gift. "it's perfect, oscar. thank you." you tilt your head, smiling at him. "you're not getting your gift until tomorrow, though."

"just seeing you with this necklace is enough of a present for me. i don't need anything else."

‎‎ ‎‎‎

december 25th, 6:04pm

christmas day morning is for gift exchanges. you all sit around the tree in the living room, giving out presents and sharing the background stories behind the silly little things you've bought each other. you receive a ton of random objects that people had bought that day in the christmas market; objects they bought just to irritate you and oscar. now that you know, you find it quite funny – and seeing charles's confused face as you unwrapped a green screwdriver from lando is definitely one of your highlights of the day.

your present to oscar is, obviously, better planned than most other gifts. beneath the wrapper is a box titled "skiing survival kit" written in big, red letters. in it lies a pair of thick socks (with a note reading "to protect your feet from those horrible boots"), a bag of hot chocolate mix ("for moments when skiing feels too challenging; a little warmth to make everything better"), a bottle of peppermint-scented massaging oil ("you never know when you find yourself in need of a massage..."), and a handwritten letter about how you enjoyed your stay in the cottage much more than the actual skiing and a promise to stay in and warm his chair for him next time he's out "skiing".

then, midday rolls around. the chefs of the group, also known as the few people who don't burn everything they attempt to cook, take their time to make a good dinner. in the meantime, the rest of you prepare some games and competitions, including a trivia, a snow fort building competition, and a gingerbread house-decorating contest that ended in lando letting his competitiveness get the best of him. safe to say that no other gingerbread houses were still standing, other than lando's, meaning the brit won by default. his price: getting thrown in the snow in just his pyjamas.

and the evening? it's dedicated to a movie marathon, as per russell family traditions.

it has all been planned into the finest detail; the couch in the living room is decorated with blankets and pillows, nearly every bowl in the house is filled to the brim with snacks, and mattresses and pillows on the floor for those who don't fit on the couch. everyone was included of the vote of what movie you were going to see, though you had a feeling george had cheated when you were told the 'home alone' series won. especially since it's the one series he hasn't been able to stop talking about wanting to watch all trip.

you're settled on the edge of the couch, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders and your knees pulled up to your chest. you're laughing along with something kika has said from right next to you when you hear a beep from the kitchen, indicating that the last bag of popcorn was ready. you assumed lando would be getting up to fetch it, seeing as he was the one who insisted you needed one more bag, but when your eyes find him, he sits very contently and comfortably a few seats away. he looks back at you, eyebrows rising as you make eye contact.

"hey, you're the closest to the kitchen," he says, nodding his head in your direction. "go get them."

he isn't wrong, but he still makes no sense. "no way, norris."

he pouts. "please, be quick so we can start the movie already."

"you suck."

he sticks out his tongue at you but you've already walked off. when you return, a new bowl filled with popcorn in your arms, you aren't exactly surprised to see lando in the seat that used to be yours. you shoot him a glare, to which he answers, "i could barely see the tv from where i was sitting!"

"oh, but you think i'll be able to?" you scoff at the way he shrugs his shoulders, seemingly to say that it's now none of his business. and when you look at his old seat, you are even less surprised to see who's sitting right next to it.

oscar is looking up at you, confusion mixing into his features. he's been scrolling on his phone for the last few minutes and didn't notice when his teammate left him alone.

neither of you complain when you slip into lando's old spot, though. oscar immediately grabs the blanket in his lap and drapes it over you too. you shuffle closer to him as the movie turns on, the soft fabric of his pyjama pants brushing against yours. the bowl of popcorn is propped up on your lap, and when you reach into it to grab a handful, it touches something warm. you rip your eyes from the tv to see your hand brushing against oscar's. of course.

considering the other touches and kisses you've shared these last few days, it's not even a very intimate action. and yet, something about it leaves both of you giggling.

"so many clichés this trip, huh?" he says, eyes flickering between your hands and your face.

instead of answering, you grab his hand in yours. your fingers slip in between his easily, as they've done so many times these last few days, but you pull your hands underneath the blanket to keep them out of sight from everyone else.

it's a good movie, but it's easy for you to zone out when you feel oscar's hand squeeze yours. neither of you can really stay away from the other, inching closer as the movie progresses and stealing little cheek kisses when everyone is focused on the most exciting scenes. and when you start to grow a little tired, your head instinctively lands on his shoulder as you let out a little yawn. oscar desperately has to hold himself back from cooing at you, feeling so soft and prideful that you're leaning on him, and he settles for leaning his own head on you.

you both think you're being subtle, but everyone in the room understands what's going on. even charles, who has now been let in on what's happened between you and oscar after he walked in on lando telling alex about how cute the new couple in the house looked walking around the lake, can't take his eyes off the two of you. as your older brother, he feels like he should be doing something or saying something to protect you. he wonders what his role should be here – aren't brothers supposed to scare their sisters' boyfriends away?

but charles realizes that oscar isn't an enemy. in this moment, you look so peaceful, so content; like you've found the the long-lost puzzle piece to make you complete. how could he possibly interrupt that?

‎‎ ‎‎

december 25th, 11:28pm

charles is still fast asleep on the couch when you slip into oscar's room after the movie has ended, fingers intertwined and your laughter mixing as he pulls you along to his bed. his hands find your hips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, urging you to lower yourself onto his lap, and you happily oblige.

"look up," he says, and when you do, you're not surprised by what's hanging in the roof.

the mistletoe.

"oh," you start, looking back at him. last time you found yourself underneath the mistletoe with oscar, you had been more nervous than ever before. but this time, it isn't as scary. this time, you're able to shrug, a teasing grin forming on your lips. "i guess we should kiss, then. just for the christmas spirit, you know."

his lips are curved into a big smile. "oh, i do know." one of his hands comes up to tuck some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in his palm. "it's because you love christmas."

you can't hold back from giggling, and neither can he, both of you leaning in to seal your lips. your first encounter underneath the mistletoe was hesitant, but it feels like that was ages ago, in another lifetime. now, with his lips pressing against yours, it feels like it's all you've known.

he's so gentle with it, his kisses delicate and tender, and your heart flutters at the feeling. his hands land on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck, scooting in even closer. when your crotch brushes against him, he involuntarily lets out a moan into your mouth, and you stop for a moment to pull away. both your eyes and his are wide as you look at each other, and oscar doesn't know what to say. his mind is racing, not sure if you thought that was awkward or too soon or-

"that's so fucking hot," you say, and he finally exhales. you kiss him again, speaking against his lips. "wanna hear more."

he has no problems letting out more sounds when you keep up your actions, your hips rolling down on him rhythmically. his hands find the hem of your sweater and slip inside, instantly roaming your sides. his cold touch tickles, and when his fingers move along your waist, you can't help but giggle against his lips. he laughs along with you, but he only does it to match you. he's dumbfounded when you part from him and you grab his wrists to make him halt.

"you're too cold," you start, a bit breathless already. "it's-"

"are you really that ticklish?" he chuckles, fingers running up and down your sides again to test you, and his heart melts when you throw your head back, laughing. "oh come on, how am i supposed to do this if i can't touch you?"

"warm your fingers next time and we should be fine."

"next time, huh?" a combination of a smirk and a grin plays on his lips. "planning ahead?"

"well, it depends on how well you perform tonight." he sticks out his tongue at your taunting tone. "just take it off already, will you?"

oscar happily obliges, pulling the material off you before reaching for his own sweater, throwing them both onto the floor. his eyes stick to your chest, to the soft, red bed bra holding up your breasts, and he feels himself growing harder instantly, because this is so much better than he'd imagined. you can't exactly complain about what your eyes are met with, either; oscar's toned chest and his broad shoulders are basically calling out for you to come and press your lips to them. or sink your teeth in them. probably both.

he gives you a few quick kisses before his hands land on your hips and he flips you both around, laying you onto the covers. his lips meet the skin below your ear, and then travel down the side of your neck. he hears your breath hitch in your throat when he finds a spot you enjoy particularly much, making sure to memorize it for the future. and when his kisses trail even further down, they meet something hard and metallic. when he leans back, he realizes that you're wearing the necklace.

he didn't notice it until now, since he was too busy being mesmerized by your breasts earlier; but now, he can't take his eyes off it. the little heart charm rests just above your actual heart, and something about seeing it makes his heart flutter. the necklace he bought for you, the one that makes you think of him and only him. it's like you're already tagged as his.

"cute," he whispers to himself, placing a long kiss right on top of the heart. he can feel your real heart beating underneath his lips, fast but not really enough, and he can't wait to make you feel like it's pounding out of your chest.

he starts placing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his hands finding the waistband of your sweatpants.

"you okay with me taking these off?" he asks, parting from your skin to watch you nod your head. he pulls the material down your body, smiling when your underwear comes into sight. they're not a pair of lacy lingerie or victoria's secret-lookalikes, but just a regular pair of panties in a deep green color with little candy canes. his eyes flicker between your bra and your panties. "green and red, huh?"

"well, what can i say?" you smile. "i love christmas." he giggles, and so do you, as he leaves your pants somewhere on the floor before moving further down your body. when his hands near the fuzzy socks with little cartoon santas dressing your feet, you're quick to speak. "those stay on, though."

"oh, is that so?"

"gotta make sure you're not just doing this for that foot fetish you might or might not have." a laughter erupts from his chest. "i've had too much of that recently."

"well, i don't have one, so i don't mind you keeping them on." he moves up on the bed again, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear. "but i can take these off, right?"

"things would get kinda tricky otherwise, i'd say,” you tease, but oscar merely blinks up at you with raised eyebrows.

"tricky, yes. but not impossible."

you shake your head, a grin making its way onto your lips. "next time, oscar."

and there it is again. next time. the way you say it so casually, like there's no doubt in your mind that there will be another time, that you'll do all of this again.

yet again, instant boner.

your panties are off in a second, and he doesn't waste any time before pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. his hand takes care of your other thigh, thumb brushing up and down your skin, as your lips travel closer and closer to where you want him the most.

you suck in a breath when you feel his warm breath against your core. his tongue meets your clit and your eyes flutter closed, one of your hands reaching down to entangle in his hair. as his tongue draws circles around your bud, one of his hands leaves your thigh, a finger swiping along your wet folds before pushing slowly into you. you don't know which sensation to focus on, both growing stronger and pushing you closer to your limit every passing second. when he's pumped you a couple of times, he adds another finger and then another, pushing deep into you. his fingers curling inside of you makes you pull on his hair even harder, your mind growing hazy and your breaths shorter.

"o-oscar," you let out, subconsciously buckling your hips towards him in hopes of creating more friction. "i'm so clos-"

you're cut off by the combination of a moan and a whine that leaves your lips when his tongue flicking your clit speeds up. "come for me, sweetheart," he tells you, his voice sending vibrations against your core.

your legs shake around him as you completely let go, feeling the climax wash over you just moments after his order. your free arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes in your arm as you try to catch your breath. oscar continues lapping you up, helping you ride it out, also licking his fingers clean before letting his hands caress your sides soothingly. he's unsure whether his fingers are warm enough now to not tickle you, or if you're just too busy coming down from your high to even realize you should feel ticklish, but he smiles at the thought nonetheless.

"everything alright up here?" oscar asks as he moves up to your face again, one of his hands prying the arm off your face. you slowly open your eyes, your hazy gaze meeting his loving one and you can't help but to cup his face in your hands. you pull him down to your lips, lazily lacing them together. he pulls away just enough for his lips to still brush yours when he speaks. "i'll take that as a yes."

you're quick to nod, but even quicker to connect his lips with yours again, not wanting to be apart for even a second.

your hands slide down his neck and the front of his body, loving the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch. your fingers reach down to the edge of his pajama pants, and you let out a chuckle when you notice the ever-growing tent in them. "don't laugh at me," he starts, biting down on your bottom lip as a warning. "you're so hot, how could i not get this hard?"

"oh, shut it," you say, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. "just take them off, will you?"

"as you wish."

as he shuffles off the bed and pulls off his own pants, plus his boxers along with them, you take the time to reach behind you and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and off the bed. when he reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom, you raise your eyebrows. "oh, so you were planning this?"

he shakes his head as he climbs on top of you again. "i was hoping, not expecting. those are two very different things." he removes the wrapper and throws it onto the table, rolling the condom onto himself. "do you need anything? or-"

"just you."

oscar presses his smile to yours, kissing you like he has no rush in the world, like he just wants to savor this moment with you. "well then," he says against your lips, nudging his dick against your entrance. "i have to give the lady what she wants, don't i?"

you can't control the whine that slips into his mouth when he pushes into you. you thought you were ready for him, but he's so big and he stretches you out so perfectly. he pauses once he's slipped entirely into you, his lips finding a spot below your ear as he allows you to get used to him. your pussy is throbbing already, still sensitive from just minutes ago, and the little involuntary clenches around him make oscar grow more and more eager.

when he finally starts moving, you drape your arms around his shoulders for stability. his thrusts are slow but deep, and yet you desperately want more of him. you hook a leg over his hip, the other following soon after, and you gasp at the way he bottoms you out completely. one of his hands comes up to squeeze your breast, thumb flicking over the nipple as his pace speeds up. the sounds you make and the way your legs squeeze him close makes him feel like he could cum anytime, but he tries to hold back because he needs to see you fall apart beneath him for the second time tonight.

"oscar..." you cry out when his free hand slides down your body, a finger coming in contact with your clit again.

"just a little more, love." his thrusts have grown sloppy and his figures on your bud aren't exactly perfect, but it's good enough for your orgasm to hit.

your back arches off the bed, your chest pressing into his as you nuzzle your face into the side of his neck to hide your moans. when your walls tighten around him, he reaches his high too, his body shaking as he rides it out. your heart is about ready to jump out of your chest when he collapses onto you, both of you trying to catch your breaths. "holy fuck," oscar starts, his breath warm on your skin. "that was amazing. you feel amazing." you try to gather energy to speak, fingers getting lost in his curls. "you taste amazing, too. better than any christmas dinner."

you give him a weak slap to his shoulder. "shush."

"it's true!" he pushes himself back a bit, mouth hanging in mock offense. "this was the best present i could've ever wished for."

"the necklace is higher on my list, though."

oscar pauses for a moment. "i'm not sure if i should feel proud or offended."

you snicker. "i was hoping for the latter," you tease, but regret it the moment oscar's hands find your waist, fingers dancing along it and tickling you yet again. the squeal you let out does nothing to halt his actions, and he doesn't even budge when you try to push him away by his shoulders. "i was kidding!"

"apologize. now."

his fingers still working their way on your skin make it almost impossible for you to speak again, but you do your best to take a deep breath. "i'm- i'm sorry! oscar- stop it!"

he finally stops, and you finally get to breathe. "i'll go get a wet towel," oscar says, pulling away from you and giving you one last glance. he almost doesn't leave the bed when he looks at you, though – he finds the sight almost too good to be true. your rosy cheeks, the dreamy smile on your lips, your hair spread out on the pillows. he's scared that if he leaves you, maybe the spell will be broken and he'll realize all of this has just been a dream. because that's just how this all feels: surreal.

but it is real, and he can't wait to have you like this in his bed again.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 26th, 12:56pm

packing up after a good trip is always a bittersweet affair. realizing that you have the real world waiting for you, your actual lives with responsibilities and obligations, and that you can't just stay in this fairytale forever – this moment was definitely not something you looked forward to.

you and charles need to get back to monaco to celebrate christmas with your other brothers and your mother, before he needs to go away for pre-season work again. you're meticulously folding up your clothes, zipping up bags and exchanging smiles as you reminisce on memories of the week.

but, things are different this time. you know that the magic of this trip isn't going to stay here – in one way or another, you'll bring some of it with you back to your real life.

oscar.

you've already made plans to meet up after new years, and even when he's busy with work, you know that you'll at least see him during every race weekend. neither of you are ever more than a flight, or a call, away, and you just can't wait to see where this all takes you.

"so... oscar, huh?" charles's voice breaks the silence, his eyes glancing in the direction of your open door that lets in the sound of oscar's voice from the living room.

"hm? what about him?" you reply, trying to hold back the smile threatening to adorn your lips when you hear his name.

charles cocks an eyebrow at you. "you and him... kind of obvious." he gazes towards your bed. "besides, your bed is made. you didn't sleep here last night."

"well, i-" you start, but charles interrupts with a knowing chuckle.

"relax, i'm not going to be a police. just..." he shows off a sweet smile. "enjoy it."

with a nod and a shared understanding, you both continue packing, an unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air. the group gathers to bid you farewell by the front door, and gratitude fills your heart as you exchange goodbyes with your friends. you grow especially soft when lando pulls you into a hug, a cheeky grin on his lips. "thank you," you whisper, giving his cheek a quick peck to really convey how much you appreciate everything he's done this holiday. he just squeezes you back, telling you not to worry about it.

finally, as you turn to say your farewell to oscar, the atmosphere shifts and the group watches with amused anticipation. "until next time," you say, your eyes holding a promise that transcends the physical distance.

"until next time," he repeats, smiling as you engulf him in a tight hug.

you pull away just enough for your ear to brush against his ear, your voice low. "charles knows, by the way."

"w-what?" his eyes widen for a moment, flickering between you and your brother – but then realization dawns. "well, in that case..."

before you can react, oscar pulls you closer again. he presses a goodbye-kiss on your lips, right there in front of everyone, and the group erupts into cheers.

and the loudest of them all? lando, of course. "if i'm not the best man at your wedding, i'll never forgive you guys."

[asumofwords]

Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer. 

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you. 

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property. 

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked. 

They always were. 

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready. 

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here. 

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her. 

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view. 

But that time had been different. 

That time, something had changed. 

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire. 

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear. 

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong. 

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later. 

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes. 

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long. 

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss. 

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over. 

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took. 

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along. 

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire. 

It was almost smug. 

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right. 

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face. 

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages. 

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on. 

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end. 

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious. 

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage. 

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs. 

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again. 

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind. 

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed. 

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence. 

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day. 

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed. 

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers. 

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily. 

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl. 

Those messages, those calls. 

The ‘See you soon’ text. 

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit. 

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again. 

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce. 

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels. 

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue. 

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same. 

The same routine. 

The same walls, and floors, and rooms. 

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to. 

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her. 

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye. 

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions. 

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling. 

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were. 

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you. 

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism. 

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.” 

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper. 

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you. 

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy. 

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you. 

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

-

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?” 

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.” 

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs. 

Oh gods.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view. 

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips. 

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself. 

This wasn’t unusual. 

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare. 

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch. 

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back. 

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees. 

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you. 

They were right, winter had come early this year. 

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside. 

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake. 

The broadband must have blown it out. 

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark. 

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon. 

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods. 

It’s fine. 

It’s nothing. 

I’ve just worked myself up. 

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze. 

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house. 

Still dark. 

You groaned, and did it again. 

Again, nothing. 

No hum of the motor kicking back on. 

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks. 

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door. 

You needed a glass of wine. 

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you. 

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room. 

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat. 

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes. 

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?” 

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room. 

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it. 

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart. 

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!” 

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black. 

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you. 

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion. 

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core. 

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix. 

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help. 

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use. 

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him. 

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room. 

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips. 

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you. 

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame. 

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much. 

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter. 

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud. 

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down. 

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you. 

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish. 

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure. 

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over. 

You were so tired. 

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it. 

There was no point. 

No escape. 

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide. 

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to. 

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning. 

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man. 

Someone you didn’t even know. 

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine. 

You knew now what he was willing to do. 

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again. 

A wave of mourning crashed over you. 

Mourning your past. 

Mourning your future. 

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home. 

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness. 

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with. 

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

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[sungbeam]

𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

nonidol!eric sohn x gn!reader

you can't figure out why eric's been acting different, but maybe you had nothing to worry about in the first place.

8.2k words, bffs2l, college au, reader is incredibly oblivious, swearing, pining, flirting, kissing, mentions of organic chemistry (yuck), eric sohn, fluff, one really bad that's what he said joke (sorry it was chenle), mentions of alcohol

a/n: to @mosviqu !! (requests are closed) hope you like this one, beloved :')) thanks for waiting

A midnight pool party wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you told your friends that you had just gotten off of work. You'd thought they were just having a game night at another friend's house, but it turned out, they decided to utilize said friend's massive backyard space, including his heated pool lined with LED lights at the bottom.

"Who the hell has LED lights at the bottom of their pool?" You voiced aloud in the car.

Ningning's voice wrapped around you from the full volume of your phone's speaker, "My friend from middle school and the one who got us into Yangyang's party the other night—Zhong Chenle. You remember him, right? We went to high school with him, too."

You definitely remembered him. How could you not? He had the most subtly rich personality you'd ever come across. You once thought he was wearing a regular, white Hanes T-shirt from the store (the ones that came in a six pack from Costco), but it turned out that it was a two hundred dollar Balenciaga top.

It was literally just a white shirt.

"Yeah, so we're just here with him and some of his friends," Ningning continued on. You could hear the sounds of merriment in the background, including music and bodies crashing into the pool.

You pulled up to your apartment complex, and it took a second for you to gather your belongings and scramble out of the car. You squeezed your phone between your ear and shoulder as you bumped the car door closed with your hip. "Who's there again? I know you and Winter, but specifically…"

"Uhhh—besides Chenle, there's Renjun, Yangyang, Sungchan, and Eric."

As you let yourself into the apartment, you paused. “Wait, Eric's back?”

There was a commotion on the other side and for a moment, you didn't hear what Ningning said. Then she returned to the speaker with a giggle in her voice, “Yn! We're playing Monopoly soon, but I'm only playing if you're coming over—oh shit, did you say something just now?”

You chuckled, dumping your bag on the kitchen counter and just barely stopping yourself from slumping over like your work bag. “I just asked if Eric was back. I thought you just said he was there with you all.”

“Oh yeah! He said he got back from LA a few hours ago. I don't know how he's not severely jetlagged, but you know what? He brought booze.”

“Sounds like Eric,” you mused. You wondered why he hadn't told you he was back in town. You thought he wouldn't be taking off until tomorrow morning, so that was when you were expecting him.

“—so?”

“Hm?”

“You coming over?”

“Yeah, yeah give me a few.”

One cup of crappy coffee and a change of clothes later, you arrived in front of Chenle's house just a fifteen minute drive from your complex. It was gated and tucked away, which made sense as to why they were able to make so much noise. You could hear the music out from the driveway.

Ningning emerged from the shadows of the side entrance to the house. Her eyes lit up at the sight of you. "Ahh, Yn! I'm so glad you're finally here," she squealed and skipped over to you in her flip-flops, wrapping her arms around you in a big hug. Your friend was dressed in a pretty, bandeau bikini top and bottom, her inky black hair falling down her shoulders like the flow of a waterfall.

You laughed as she pulled away. "Glad I could make it. Are we just going through the side gate or something?"

She nodded and guided you through the foliage. "Yeah. How was work?"

You figured that after your long shift, you probably wouldn't have much energy to actually go swimming. You'd changed into a bathing suit anyway and threw a T-shirt and shorts over it in case, but had arrived with little more than your wallet, keys, and lip gloss.

You gave her a shrug in reply. "Eh. It's work," you said, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the sound of water splashing and high-pitched shrieks. "It was quiet, at least."

"That's good," she nodded with a soft smile thrown over her shoulder. "Thank god you're finally here. Chenle decided he didn't wanna get his limited edition Jade Rabbit Monopoly board wet—” She gave an indulgent eye roll, “—but his game, his decision, I guess.”

You chimed in your agreement just as you and Ningning emerged on the side of the backyard that hosted your friends and their midnight pool party. From your vantage, you could count the heads present, including one Yangyang making a splash into the pool and getting water all over Renjun.

“Yn!” Winter raised a hand from where she sat cross-legged on a lounge chair.

“Yo, what's up, Yn?” Sungchan hollered from the side of the pool where the speaker was. He was fiddling around with whoever's phone was connected to the aux cord.

You grinned, greeting everyone with a big wave. “Hey, guys. Have you been out here for long?”

“Yangyang, I swear to—” Renjun's swear cut through the music to the symphony of Yangyang's screeching of absolute delight. The former brushed his wet hair back, rubbing the pool water out of his eyes. It wasn't until afterward that he greeted you back as you neared where he had been dragged into the pool by his friend. “Hi, Yn. Did you just get here?”

“I did! Where's—”

The back door to the house slid open and Chenle emerged dragging out a massive cooler of what you assumed to be drinks. Carrying the back end was Eric in a pair of dampened board shorts with his wet bangs hanging in his eyes.

“Eric Sohn! You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow morning, you poser!” You shouted in his direction.

Chenle and Eric's heads both whipped over toward where you and Ningning were. Chenle said something to Eric with a wide-ass monkey grin, then proceeded to drag the cooler the rest of the way without Eric's help.

Eric cupped the back of his neck sheepishly as he approached you. He must have recently gotten out of the pool, because there was still water dripping down the lines of his chest and stomach. “In my defense, the airline offered me money if I took an earlier flight,” he said with a laugh.

“As your certified best friend,” you mused, “I'm offended I wasn't the first to know about this update.”

“Okay, best friend, let me hug you to make up for it.”

Your eyes widened, “Eric, you're wet—”

“That's what he said!” Chenle howled with laughter at his own joke, and Ningning groaned in anguish.

“Okay and?” Before you could protest any more, he trapped you in his arms, pressing his dampened skin against your perfectly dry outer garments. For good measure, he nuzzled his wet hair against the side of your face, too.

“You're like—like a dog,” you laughed, playfully pushing him away.

Eric beamed and placed his hands on his hips. “Golden retriever to your black cat. Now, do I have to dump you in that pool myself or are you going to like swimming tonight?”

Your face pressed into a deadpanning line, which drew an even brighter sound from him. You couldn't help but smile; it was nice to have him back. “You're so annoying sometimes. I'm sitting on the edge of the pool only, and you can suck it.”

As you began making your way over to the edge of the pool, Eric trailed after you with his head shaking and a laugh lingering on his tongue. “Missed you, Yn.”

It was a good thing you were facing away from him right then. A smile split your face like a slice of watermelon. “Missed you, too, Sohn.”

You didn't see your friends again until the following Friday evening. It wasn't late enough to call it “night” nor early enough to call it “afternoon.” It was a timestamp somewhere in the middle when the sun had yet to decide if it would hide behind the buildings or peer through the alleyways. It was also when the Korean BBQ place in the university district was relatively bare, and so you and your friends could get away with scoring the big table in the back on the raised platform.

“I feel like a king,” Chenle said with a smile on his face as he breathed in the smell of beef on the grill.

Sungchan flipped over one of the pieces of chicken with his tongs. “Wait, so Yn, they're for real making you work the Friday night closing shift?”

All eyes turned toward your end of the table where you sat with Eric on your right, and Ningning and Winter across from you.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked, your dominant hand pausing your chopstick movements. “Oh, uh, yeah… I mean,” you added with a shrug, “it's not so bad most of the time. I think I would rather have me working than one of the kids.” The store you worked at was relatively understaffed, and your manager oftentimes hired high schoolers from the nearby district to fill in the spaces. There were rare occasions where rowdy customers came in during the latter hours of the night, and you would rather your younger colleagues didn't have to worry about that. (Even if you yourself also worried about rowdy customers.)

“Do you at least get a closing shift bonus?” Winter asked, her cheek stuffed with her last bite. “When I worked part-time at the corner store last year, they at least incentivized closing.”

“Usually when I work alone, yeah,” you said.

Eric's left arm came to rest over the back of your chair as he leaned forward to transfer a slab of short rib to your bowl. “Are you working alone tonight?” He asked, reaching past you to grab a piece of cucumber from one of the metal bowls of side dishes.

You placed the cucumbers between the two of you temporarily so he could have easier access. “I think so,” you said. “Unless my manager recruited someone else, but yeah, I think it'll probably just be me.”

The rest of the table turned to their individual conversations, especially as one of the waiters brought over an additional platter of meats to grill.

Eric murmured to you, “What if I just happened to show up at your work tonight?”

You turned your body slightly to face him, mutual smiles curling onto both of your mouths. “What, need a new first aid kit or something?”

“And a little dose of Yn Ln,” he said before popping a slice of fish cake into his mouth. He was still leaning in close to you, the twinkle in his eyes like a secret only you two knew. You were trying to not let the skin peeking out of his tank top throw you off balance; it was definitely just the heat and steam that made it glisten.

Your eyebrows shot up at his remark. “You're getting plenty of me now.”

“I need to make up for when I was away,” he replied as easy as it was for him to drink water. “I told you, I missed you.”

It was the fire from the grill, the heat of the room, the smell of the food. It was not Eric Sohn making your skin hot or your heart trip—at least, that was what you told yourself. He was attractive, yes, and he was one of your best friends. He was flirty, double yes, but he was still just a friend. (Right?) “Did you breathe too much LA air?” You joked half-heartedly. “You're acting… different.”

He shoved his bite into his cheek and gave you a shrug. “I think I'm acting exactly how I should be,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrows, then tuning into whatever topic Renjun had brought up—something about a party at Han Jisung's house.

Your head tilted to the side in dumbfoundment, but you returned to the rest of the group even if your brain was rewinding that conversation over and over again in your head. What did he mean that he was acting exactly how he should be?

For a moment, you turned back to look at him. His head was so close to yours, his body scooted forward on his chair to close that distance between his legs and yours. You couldn't read him—could only see the mirth in his eyes from Chenle and Renjun going back and forth in Chinese, as if he could understand. You weren't sure what you were looking for.

He glanced over at you then to meet your eyes. It was a split second, but that was enough to alter your brain chemistry, that you were sure his eyes flickered down to your lips. Then his eyes were away from you, having never dared a look at all.

It was about three hours later that you found yourself stationed behind the front counter at the store you worked at. After six, usually the crowd dwindled down when everyone was out having dinner or curled up at home for the night.

That left you with a few options to occupy the time. With the aisles less than crowded, you could hook your phone up to the overhead speaker and bop your head while stocking up the aisles. While Wednesdays were the main inventory days, some of that work spilled into Thursdays and Fridays depending on how much was delivered and who was on the schedule.

You were sorting through the candy aisle checking for expired dates when you heard the jingle of the bell above the front door. “Hi, welcome in!” You hollered from over the aisle, then broke into a smile at the sight of a familiar Los Angeles Angels baseball cap.

Eric tracked your voice and joined you in the aisle you were in, his tank top from earlier swapped out for a dark colored T-shirt under a corduroy jacket. He must have not wanted to come in clothes that reeked of food. “Hey you,” he said, walking over to ruffle your hair.

“Aye,” you chided half-heartedly and reached up to smooth out the hair on top of your head. “I didn't think you were being serious about stopping by,” you mused. You squeezed your hand to reach for the bars of chocolate at the far back. When you examined them and determined that they had reached the shelf expiration date, you dumped them into the shopping basket at your feet to be logged later.

“Of course I was being serious,” he huffed while perusing the bags of gummy candies hanging in the section next to you.

“Those are pretty good.” You pointed out a brand of lesser known gummies shaped like whale sharks. They had adorable, little smiles, but when they got damaged or melted… it was less adorable and less smile-looking. But they were nice and snackable, nonetheless.

He hummed in consideration and plucked a bag off the hanger. “How many of these brands have you tried?”

“Like… five or six,” you said. “I just kind of mark it as a store expense, and then me and the other person on shift share it.”

He chuckled, a smile flitting over his lips after examining the back of the bag. “Wanna share these with me?”

“Sure, man.”

That was how you found yourself at the front counter across from Eric, a bag of whale shark gummies split open between you. You had the store's to-do list binder open and were checking off the items you'd completed, all the while popping a poor whale shark into your mouth. Eric had found interest in one of the celebrity magazines displayed on the rack by the door.

It had so far been a slow night with very few customers coming in to grab a last minute case of beer or condoms. All the usual shit. However, time flew past a lot faster with Eric keeping you company. Even though the conversation you'd had with him at dinner earlier lingered in the back of your mind, it was quickly forgotten as he filled your time talking about LA, plans for the summer, and whatever you were up to while he was gone.

As midnight fast approached, the gummy sharks were finished and you whipped out the broom to begin cleaning up.

Eric idly scrolled through your phone to choose a song, skipping one after the other. “Can I help clean up or anything?” He asked after settling on a Dominic Fike song.

“Just sit still and look pretty,” you teased as you swept some dust and debris into a dustpan.

He smiled to himself. “That should be your job.”

There went your heart again, but thank god you were turned away from him. “Unfortunately, I don't get paid for that.”

“How much do you want?”

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at him, and he sent you a cheeky grin. You laughed loud at the ridiculousness, then returned to sweeping the aisle you were in. “You’re so stupid,” you said playfully. You didn't mean it… sort of. He was stupidly smooth, stupidly pretty, stupidly—

Eric grabbed the dustpan to trail after you. “Damn, I call you pretty and you call me stupid?”

“What if stupid is a compliment?”

“When is it ever a compliment?”

Despite the banter, the two of you were both beaming at each other in the lowlight. In no time, you had the entire store swept clean (for the most part), and you went to tuck the broom and dustpan into the back room. The clock struck just about midnight, too, and you swung the ring of keys around your index finger, your bag hanging off your shoulder.

Eric glanced up from where he had his nose buried in his phone screen. “Ready?” He asked, perking up like a golden retriever.

“Yep.” You stopped behind the counter to clock out. “Thanks for keeping me company, Eric. I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, what are f—” His voice broke for a second, and you sent him a look. He cleared his throat, “What are friends for?”

You finished clocking out on the computer, then slipped out from behind the counter and moved toward where Eric was. “Is that what we are?” You jested in reply.

His eyes went wide for a second. “What?”

Your head cocked to the side quizzically. “Is that what we are? Friends?” You repeated. When he still looked dumbfounded, you grimaced, “Was that lame? Yeah, that was lame. Let's just forget about that.”

You stepped toward the front door, but Eric placed a hand on your upper arm to stop you.

“Wait, Yn—”

You stopped with a hum in your throat, head turned back toward him. The two of you stood slightly closer now. Beneath the dim fluorescents, between the cold medicine and magazine rack, you searched this man's eyes for an answer he wasn't giving you. You could measure the length of his eyelashes from this distance, and you saw the shine mark on his lips after his tongue darted out to wet it.

“Eric?” You voiced quietly after he hadn't said anything. “Everything okay?”

Something shuddered in his expression and you swore his cheeks darkened in shade. “Nothing,” he said swiftly. “Sorry, it's nothing.”

Eric sat down across from you with a pair of headphones hanging around his neck and his hood thrown over his head. He nudged his black-rimmed glasses up his nose as he powered his laptop on. “Hey,” he whispered to you, his eyes darting around to make sure no one around you was bothered by his speaking.

The two of you were situated in the upper levels of your university library to study for your upcoming final exams. Most of the libraries on campus had a system in place where lower levels were meant as collaborative spaces with each level getting quieter in general volume. You and Eric were on the top floor, but at one of the desks tucked into one of the bookshelves. There were a few people around you, but they were hidden by walls and shelves, for the most part.

“I think you're fine,” you whispered to him in amusement as you uncapped your highlighter to mark a specific passage in the text you were reading.

Eric got up and quietly moved his chair to sit adjacent to you, rather than across from you. “What're you working on?”

“Just some research for a paper,” you replied. “You?”

“O-chem,” he said, and his entire being flopped over his closed laptop, his face crumpled in anguish.

You cooed silently and gently patted his hoodie-covered head. “You poor thing.”

Oh, organic chemistry. The monster it was.

When he still didn't pick himself or his laptop screen up, you leaned over to lay on top of him. “This is comfortable,” you muttered into the back of his hoodie.

You heard him hum in agreement.

“Dude, I don't even know how you're keeping up with your classes during baseball season,” you whispered and began mindlessly drawing flowers on his back.

“I'm not.”

You had to bury your face into his back to suppress your snort. “That's valid.”

“Thanks.”

“Awwh,” you murmured and wrapped your arms around his back. “It's gonna be okay. I promise.” Out of the two of you, Eric was usually the one with the sunny disposition, but it didn't mean you wouldn't jump at the opportunity to help him feel better. He deserved just as much tender love and care.

For a moment, you stayed in that position with your body covering his and your arms wrapped around him. If you weren't careful, you might have fallen asleep like that.

Eventually, you peeled yourself off of him and coaxed him to sit up with you. “Study for an hour with me and then we can get a treat.”

“Your face is a treat,” he said groggily, rubbing his eye from behind his glasses while yawning.

You covered up any signs of being flustered with, “Is that how you pull girls, Sohn?”

“No, that's how I pull you.”

You didn't need to feel your skin to know your face was on fire. He didn't even glance over at you, only sleepily smacked his lips together and pulled his laptop lid up with robotic motions. Maybe that was a good thing though. You still weren't too sure how you felt about his flirty remarks as of late, and they had yet to cease.

But… you looked over at Eric and he was already getting to work—you could deal with it later. It wasn't like it meant anything, right? Surely, the quickening of your heart and continually flustered state because of him meant absolutely nothing, right? Of course. And they definitely weren't signs that you liked his increased lines. Definitely.

(Who the fuck were you trying to fool?)

As promised, after about an hour passed by, you and Eric packed up your things to head out to find something to munch on. With spring slowly fading out into a pretty summer, the sun gleamed from its perch in the sky to warm the day. The trees lining the walkway were beginning to lose their flower buds in exchange for rich, dark green leaves.

A few minutes out from the university's main campus, you and Eric walked into a bakery that was frequented by many of your peers. It wasn't a complete surprise to see that nearly all of the tables inside were occupied by people with headphones in, laptops on, and books out.

You and Eric hopped in line, nonetheless, your eyes darting from the display case to the room to scout for an open table. Your fingers drummed against the strap of your bag. “You know what you're getting?”

He hummed. “The almond croissant kind of sounds good right now. What about you?”

“Might get a sandwich, to be honest,” you said. You hadn't had a filling breakfast, so you might as well make up for it.

“Which sandwich?”

“You're not paying.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully with a purse of his lips. “That's what you think.”

He did not pay for your sandwich.

While there was not a single open table inside, there were plenty of them outside. Eric wrinkled his nose at you as you were just about to take a bite of your sandwich. You stopped short. “What? Don't tell me you're butthurt, Sohn.”

“That’s such a weird word,” he said, gently pulling a piece of the croissant apart for him to put into his mouth.

“What, butthurt?” You could agree with that. It was kind of funny. “True, but it describes you pretty well.”

He laughed then, his eyes turning upward into pretty, little crescent moons. Since the two of you were forced to sit outside, the sunshine had an easier path to paint over your friend's face and make him look even more ethereal. A feeling worked its way into your chest at the sight of him like this. “Okay, honey. Whatever.”

You smiled around your bite, replying only after you'd swallowed it, “See? Butthurt.”

“I'm a good sport though.”

“Fine, I will admit that you're a good sport.”

His smile widened as if satisfied with that answer.

From within your bag, you could hear an aggressive vibration from your phone. You set your meal down to wipe your hands, then fished the device out.

At the sight of the text messages, your face morphed into one of mild amusement concealing a whole lot of “what the heck?”

Eric noticed your change in mood. “Something wrong?”

“Not necessarily?” You opened up the text chain that you had with Bae Sumin, one of your friends whom you met from a composition class you both shared in freshman year. “She's asking if you'd be interested in being set up for a date.”

You didn't know why there had been a spike of panic in your heart after reading it. It wasn't like you had any claim over Eric; that wouldn't be right to gatekeep him, especially when you didn't like him like… that, right?

His brows knitted together as he skimmed over the messages. When he was done he leaned away, his head already shaking. “I'm not really interested.”

“Really?” You asked curiously, withdrawing your phone back to your side of the table and mentally drafting a text message back. “Sieun's pretty nice.”

“I'm just—” he nudged his glasses up, letting out a breathy laugh, “—I’d rather figure that all out for myself, y'know? It's not like I don't think Sieun's a good person, but I…” He huffed, and it sounded almost frustrated.

You didn't know why you felt guilty all of a sudden. “You don't have to explain it to me, dude,” you said and began texting Sumin back. “If you don't want to, then you don't want to, y'know? It's better than leading her on.”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“So you're not interested in anyone then?” You asked, in an attempt to slowly bring the conversation away from matchmaking. “You know what? You don't have to say anything—we can talk about something else—”

“I'm interested in someone,” he cut in.

You paused, surprised. You felt your pulse leap. Who? You wanted to ask, but instead inquired, “Really?”

He avoided your eyes. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Well that would make sense why he didn't want to be set up with someone else. Why couldn't he just say that in the first place then?

You gnawed on your bottom lip and couldn't help but think about who Eric could be interested in. There was a jittery flutter in your stomach at the thought. You didn't want to pry, but you were also curious as to who he was interested in. “Well, uh, good for you! I think that's really great.”

That… sounded so insincere.

Eric lifted his gaze to yours, and you felt a jolt run down your spine at the look in his eyes. “Thanks, Yn. I don't really know what to do though, to be honest.”

You frowned, tucking your phone away. “About—about the person? Or about your feelings?”

“I guess,” he said with a helpless gesture of his hands, “both.”

You pressed your lips together. It had been awhile since you were remotely interested in anyone either. And even back then, you were never the sort of person to speak up about your feelings with the person first. But this was Eric, and you wanted to at least try to help him. “Is this person not someone you think you should have feelings for? I guess I’m just asking why you feel conflicted or helpless.”

“Kind of,” he said, tongue in cheek. “They’re—they’re one of my—” He stopped himself. “They’re one of the best people I know, I just don’t think they feel the same way.”

“And so you don’t want to risk losing them should you confess?” You finished for him. You felt your posture droop with sympathy, and maybe a bit of envy. Who could this be about?

Eric scratched the underside of his jaw. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, I mean, if they’re as good of a person as you say, I think that they wouldn’t hold it against you or your friendship if you confessed and they didn’t feel the same.” If you were in his situation, you wouldn’t want to lose Eric ei—wait, what? Why were you thinking of it like that? You shook yourself out of whatever delusional headspace you found yourself in. “And in any case, maybe you can flirt with them, or hint to them your feelings and see how they respond.”

His eyebrow arched high. “I’ve definitely done that.”

“And?”

He smirked, a chuckle falling out of his mouth. “They may be one of the best people I know, but they’re as oblivious as a rock sometimes.”

Your own brows lifted. “Damn.” And you knew exactly how blatant Eric’s flirting style was.

Eric’s eyes caught onto something behind you, and you sat up to see what he was looking at. Just on the other side of the outside seating area, you recognized Mark Lee and Kim Jungwoo from Eric’s baseball team strolling past.

Mark lifted a hand, his mouth widening into a grin. “Hey, man! What’s up?”

Eric greeted his teammates with his usual cheeriness, clasping his hand with theirs.

“Oh my gosh, is this the—”

“The best friend,” Eric interrupted, his eyes darting to you. Both Mark and Jungwoo did the same thing, so now you were worried about why they were looking at you like that. “Yeah, this is Yn, my best friend.”

Jungwoo grabbed Mark by his shoulder and extended a greeting fist bump toward you. “Nice to finally meet you, Yn. Eric’s told us a lot about you.”

“Oh?” You glanced over at Eric before reciprocating the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Hope he’s only said good things,” you jested. Partly.

“Oh, all the good things; don’t worry,” Mark chirped. “We’ll see you at practice later, Eric!”

Eric lifted his hand in a wave as they continued down the street. “See you then!”

Once you were sure they were out of earshot, you picked up your sandwich again. “So you talk about me to your teammates?”

“All good things—you heard Mark,” he said with a laugh, but for some reason, you thought you detected a hint of uncertainty there. “How could I not talk about you?”

“Careful there, you’re starting to sound like you’re obsessed with me.”

“Well, maybe I am,” he shot back at you. He brushed the crumbs from his finished croissant onto the plate, reaching for the small stack of napkins between you two. “But seriously, don’t worry about what those guys said. They just like to mess with me.”

You lifted a shoulder in a meager shrug. “No worries, man. I’m obsessed with you, too, so the feeling’s mutual.”

You relished in the way his countenance noticeably lifted, his expression brightened, the corners of his lips curling into the apples of his pinkened cheeks like twin divots. All of a sudden it was just you and Eric, and you could forget about everything and everyone else.

“He said the L word?” Vernon let out a melodramatic gasp, which made it all the more funny since he'd said it with the most monotonous tone. His eyes had gone wide enough to see the white of his eyes though, and you practically doubled over because of him.

Ningning, unaffected by Vernon's silliness, nodded vigorously. “He said he loved her first! Isn't that crazy?”

You plucked out one of your opened water bottles from the fridge. “I don't think it's that crazy. Is it weird that I don't think it's that crazy?”

Vernon sank deeper into the couch cushion he sat on, eyes already drifting closed. “It's Kim Sunwoo; I don't think it's that crazy either.”

“Am I the only person who was shocked by this?”

“Yes,” you and Vernon answered at once.

Ningning rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I guess I can see it, too. But it's just weird because he never gave any indication that he even liked her.”

“He was probably just suppressing it?” Vernon offered with a yawn. “Maybe he's just got a lot on his plate. My friend Seungcheol's a little emotionally constipated, too, but it's 'cause he's been slammed by his work stuff.”

“Isn't it crazy that people our age are telling other people they love them already? Like, love-love, and not some kind of primary-school-playground-love.” You moved yourself to join your friends in your micro living room. There was a gathering of laptops and papers scattered on the coffee table, but no one had touched them since they'd been brought out. Finals week burnout was real and tangible.

“One day,” Ningning sighed, less so lovey dovey, and more so exhausted as hell. She leaned her cheek against the back of her knuckles. “I don't know if I wanna get married though.”

“I think marriage is cool,” said Vernon. He had now taken on a coffin position with his arms crossed firmly over his chest and his face tilted up toward the ceiling. “As long as it's with the right person.”

“Yeah, stuff like that can't be rushed,” you agreed. You weren't sure what your plans for the future were; you just hoped you had your friends by your side, at the very least.

All this talk about partners and futures had your mind turning toward your conversation with Eric from lunch the other day. Did he see this crush of his as a potential life partner? He deserved that—someone who loved him as much as he no doubt loved them. Where would that leave you? Didn't you want something like that, too?

“Let's not talk about marriage anymore.” Ningning fwumped onto her side over the remainder of the sectional that Vernon wasn't lying on. She'd clearly given up on studying, same as Vernon. “How's Eric doing, Yn?”

Your head perked up. “Eric? What about Eric?”

“Oh, I dunno.” She held her phone screen directly above her face as she scrolled through social media, her lips pressed together. “Chenle said that Mark said that he's interested in somebody.”

It seemed news traveled fast, but then again, you didn't know how long Eric had been interested in this mystery person. You blinked, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Ah, yeah. He mentioned something about that to me, but he didn't tell me who it was.”

Ningning turned her head slightly to face you and her eyebrow was flicked up toward her hairline. “You're serious?”

“Well, yeah. I'm not gonna force it out of him.”

Vernon peeked one eye open. “Dude, you know that guy would do anything for you, right? If you asked one more time, he probably would have folded like a lawn chair.”

You sent him a pointed look. “I'm not about to force him to give away something sensitive like that. I admit that I'm curious, but…” It just wasn't your business.

He frowned at you, then went back to his half-conscious state.

Were you missing something?

Ningning rolled over completely onto her side. “How about this: how do you feel about Eric being interested in someone?”

Why was this the sudden topic of discussion? You pursed your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why would it be a trick question?”

You exhaled. “He said that the person he liked was one of the best people he knew, so I'm happy for him. Like I said earlier, it would be nice to know who it was, but I don't want to make him give up something if he's not ready to yet.” That would just be unfair.

Vernon opened his eyes again and turned to Ningning. “Doesn't this sound like an automated response?”

You deadpanned. “It is not an automated response. It's—y’know, why wouldn't I be happy for him?”

With a dead serious tone, your friends said simultaneously, “Because you're in love with him.”

That statement struck a match against your cheeks and set them ablaze. Your lips parted, words failing you. Because you're in love with him?

At your speechlessness, Ningning moved to sit up straight. “We think it's because you have feelings for him,” she rephrased, as if that was any better.

“I do not have feelings for him.”

“I think you do; you might be mistaking it as something else.”

You garbled with the words in your brain, but they slipped and fumbled and wouldn't line up correctly on your tongue. It was to the point that you had to put a pause on trying to come up with a retort, and rather, piece this together logically. There had to be a reason for why both Ningning and Vernon were on the same page with this.

It came to you then, slowly, like a train pulling into the station. It was every one of his flirtatious maneuvers to get you flustered, the bittersweetness you didn't want to acknowledge at the thought that he was interested in somebody else. It was that look in his eyes that you couldn't describe, the way he tripped over his words when it came to calling you a friend. The voice over the intercom was announcing the stop as the train came to a gradual halt.

“Oh.”

Ningning frowned slightly, her head nodding. Vernon was actually awake now. “Yeah.”

So what now?

You knew Eric just finished with his organic chemistry final when you found him passed out on your couch. You'd been out working for the majority of the day and passed him a set of spare keys to your apartment to let himself in whenever he was done so the two of you could start your long awaited movie marathon night. The sun had just set and you'd come with a bag of groceries to make dinner, but all you could think about was the guy snoozing on the couch, his tufts of hair sticking out of his hood.

Cute.

By the time he woke up, you had dinner fixed up, and the apartment was filled with divine aromatics. Some said the smell of food usually made chefs feel full, but you hadn't eaten properly since you left for your shift this morning.

The lump on the couch stirred as you turned off the stove and turned toward the sink to start washing the dishes. You didn't like washing dishes, but it was a necessary evil. Earlier, you’d found the evidence that Eric had helped himself to some of the instant noodles in your cabinets, leaving a note by the dishes in the sink: Sorry, I promise I'll wash these when I wake up!!

You knew he would have kept his word, but you also knew how hard he worked and stressed over that damn exam. It was no inconvenience toward you to wash just a couple extra things.

Eric rolled onto his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes fluttering to adjust to the warm lighting. “Hi,” he rasped, voice hoarse from his nap.

His chin found your shoulder. “I said I'd wash those,” he murmured, referring to the small pot you were washing now.

“I know. I thought I'd do it anyway.”

“You hate washing the dishes.”

Your movements paused for a second. The organ in your chest was galloping away again, but now you knew the reason. Your head shifted slightly as it bumped against his gently. “I know.”

He was quiet for a moment before his arms came around your form and settled across your stomach and waist. “Thanks. Sorry for the mess.”

“There was no mess, silly goose,” you told him.

“I'll wash the ones after dinner.”

You murmured, “It's okay, Eric. I know you're good for it.”

Eric let out a breath against your neck, his head tucking into the warmth there. “I love you.”

At once, you both froze. You felt his body tense up around you, and knew your movements had stopped completely. You'd both heard what he said crystal clear and even the volume of the sink faucet couldn't dismiss it as a trick of the ear.

“Shit.” He detached himself from you just as you finished washing. You reached for the dry towel next to you on the counter to dry your hands, then turned around to face him. His eyes were wide like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I didn't say that aloud, did I?”

You smiled through a small wince. “You kind of did.”

“What if I left and pretended I wasn't even here?—”

You stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. You gave him a little shake, the smile on your face sweetening. “Hey, Eric. I love you, too.”

His lips fell into a pout. “No, Yn. You—you don't get it. It's—I… I love you.”

“I know,” you said and moved your hands up to cup his face. There was a wobble in his eyes as you said this, that puppy pout deepening. “And I love you, too.”

Eric wrapped his arms around you tight then, a breath of air pushing out from his lips in utter relief. “Oh my god, you have,” he stammered, “no idea how—just—” He pulled away from you and pressed his lips to the side of your face.

You laughed, your hand coming up to cup the back of his head.

His face was split wide open by a massive grin and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, gleamed like a pair of twin stars beneath the dim kitchen lights. “Do you know how hard this has been for me?” He exclaimed while throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know how much pain I was in when you couldn't get the hint—”

“Hey! Normal people don't just assume that their best friend has feelings for them,” you stuttered out in your own defense.

Eric tilted his head up to the ceiling. “I have literally flirted at you, right to your face.”

“You have a flirty personality.”

“And you are oblivious.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your head cocking to the side. “Agree to disagree?”

He sighed and the sound was something happy and bright. “Agree to disagree,” he replied. He smiled at you again, but the corners were softer and mellower, the tenderness shining through like the glow of a lamp covered in a fabric shade. “I've been dying to tell you since I went to LA; I just didn't know how.”

“LA?” You parroted.

“I just couldn't stop thinking about wanting you there with me,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I'd be in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling with the stupidest smile on my face thinkin’ 'bout you, and then I'd realize I actually was in love with you. It would flip-flop between those two things all trip long.”

You chuckled as you imagined Eric's starkly different facial expressions for each version of himself. It was an amusing thought. “Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the strife I put you through.”

His hands warmed over the sides of your arms. “Hey, honey, it was all worth it in the end.”

“You know,” you said, playing with one of the strings of his hoodie, and his hands came to rest around your waist loosely, “if the comfort and—the warmth and the happiness I feel around you is love, then I think I've been in love with you since the day we met.”

Eric's lips pressed in a deep pout again. “Come on! You can't possibly say that and not expect me to wanna kiss you.”

“I'm not saying no,” you teased.

There was that smile again. He licked his lips once and leaned over to gently press his mouth against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let his softness consume you and ignite you all at once. It occurred to you that you were never scared of losing Eric as a friend—this was just what was next for you both.

When you both pulled away, your breaths still intermingling, his cheeks were a pretty, bubblegum pink color.

“Was that your first kiss?” You joked even though you knew full well it wasn't.

His laugh was low, but his expression brightened. “Might as well be,” he said, “it's the only one I wanna remember.”

Your tongue stuck out of the corner of your mouth as you carefully pulled the loops of ribbon through itself to create the perfect, matching bow to the one on the other side of your head. Chenle was hosting a start-of-summer party, and it was mandated that you and your friends attend (according to Ningning).

Through your mirror, your eyes caught a presence at your bedroom door. “Oh my god, you're so cute,” Eric groaned, turning to the side to melodramatically hit his head against the doorframe.

You melted into a smile. “Thanks. I wasn't really sure how they would look actually.”

“Well, they're perfect. You’re perfect. Please don't take them off.” He came over to join you were you sat on the floor in front of your body length mirror.

You wiggled around a strand of pink ribbon you had cut off earlier, but didn't end up using because it was way too long for a hair bow. “I've got an extra piece. Do you want it?”

He scoffed, a hand carding through his hair, “Of course, I want it.”

Very pleased with his response, you clambered onto your knees to decide where to put it. He was dressed casually with a loose tank top, board shorts, and a cap on backwards. You squinted one of your eyes closed. “I've got it.”

“You've got it?” He repeated with a chuckle, smile widening as you practically climbed into his lap. “Hi,” he said with your faces close to each other and his hands resting on either side of your waist.

“Calm down there, tiger,” you teased, “I'm just gonna tie it where everyone can see it.”

You looped the ribbon around his left bicep, his arm subtly flexing as you did so. You made sure the bow looked as perfect as you were capable of making it. With a little pat of your hand, you deemed that it was all set.

“Perfect,” he said with a nod of affirmation.

You nodded along with him. “I'd agree.”

“Hey.” He drew your attention over to him once more and his hands pulled you flush against him. There was a goofy grin on his lips as he gazed at you with wide, doe-like eyes that melted into pairs of molten chocolate. “Do you think…”

“Do I think?” You prompted, wrapping your arms around the back of his shoulders.

“Do you think that if I kissed you in front of our friends, they'd realize we were dating?”

A laugh fell from your mouth, and Eric had never seen something so pretty in his life. (There were few things worthy of being engraved on the backs of one's eyelids, but he thought he just found a view that was. He would chase your smile until the end of time.)

“What?” He beamed. “Good idea, right?”

“I thought we said we were soft launching,” you said, the smile yet to retreat.

“I guess,” he sighed dramatically and leaned back onto his hand to drape the other one across his forehead like a damsel in distress.

You went forward to kiss him. “You're cute.”

“Isn't that my line?” He teased. He licked his lips a little then, expression becoming thoughtful. “I know this is gonna be something different—this relationship—but at the same time, I feel like nothing's changed.”

Swoon. You went in for another kiss and lingered there a bit longer when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck. “It'll be different and the same,” you agreed. “Just better.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Definitely better.”

It was scary—this venture into new territory. It was something that both you and Eric would experience and discover together. But on the bright side, at least you were in love. Maybe that was all that mattered in the end.

a/n: everybody say 'thank god she expanded the plot'

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @moonyswolf @your-mirae @richasdiary

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 ✩࿐

pairings: kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, kissing, mutual pining, pocky game

summary: in which you convince your best friend to play the pocky game with you.

a/n: i don't know why i've suddenly developed an obsession with kissing. either way, please enjoy reading!

“I’m sorry. I must have heard you incorrectly,” KAZUHA says with a smile. A slight dusting of rose pink tints his cheeks a hue reminiscent of bygone sunsets as he shyly glances away from you. “But if I wasn’t mistaken, then I wouldn’t be opposed to your idea,” he whispers.

Your heart skips a beat.

Kazuha is charming beyond measure. His words flow like an autumn breeze, and the way he acts around you never fails to make your heart flutter.

“Then let’s play the Pocky game,” you repeat yourself.

Kazuha’s grin widens. “So my ears weren’t deceiving me,” he says, trailing off towards the end. He meets your gaze, and as you look into his eyes, you swear you can see molten ruby glints of adoration glittering in their depths. However, you don’t want to get your hopes up, so you brush it off as nothing more than your imagination playing tricks on you.

Kazuha gently reaches out for the pack of Pocky you’re holding and opens it. He takes one stick out and sets the rest of the pack down on a nearby table.

“Shall we?” he asks.

He lifts the Pocky up to your lips, and you bite down. You immediately notice that he ended up giving you the side that you prefer. It shocks you how well he remembers the little things. Even though you’re best friends, you didn’t expect Kazuha to recall such an obscure intricacy. It was just something you had offhandedly mentioned once, yet in Kazuha’s mind, it was a statement that remained vivid and bright, akin to the most picturesque of memories.

He must really care about you.

Kazuha bites the other end, and as he does, you feel your skin heating up. He’s so close. It feels like your brain is short-circuiting. Why does your best friend have to be so undeniably handsome? Up close, it is impossible for you to miss his snowy hair, reminiscent of dazzling glacial glimmers of winter, as well as eyes filled with flurries of autumn maple leaves dancing about, mingling with flecks of stardust.

The two of you nibble at your respective ends of the Pocky stick. To your slight dismay, Kazuha takes his time, savouring the moment instead of trying to rush things. You feel yourself getting more flustered by the second. While he had initially appeared slightly shy, he’s now completely calm and composed, and in stark contrast to him, you’re an absolute mess on the inside.

Before you know it, your lips are practically touching Kazuha’s. He’s so close. You can feel his breath fanning your face, and soft strands of platinum hair tickle your skin.

You freeze up. Now your brain has really stopped functioning. You can’t do anything while Kazuha is this close to you, and you doubt you’ll be able to make another move before Kazuha does something. Why did you think this was a good idea again?

Luckily for you, Kazuha takes the initiative of snapping you out of your trance by taking the last bite. Your lips meet for just a split second before both of you pull away, looking anywhere but each other as you immerse yourselves in the afterglow of your actions.

A silence hangs in the atmosphere for what feels like an eternity before Kazuha speaks.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit too bold with my advances,” Kazuha says apologetically. He manages to muster the courage to look at you, and as you scan his face, you notice a whole plethora of emotions swimming through his expression. Your best friend smiles at you sheepishly.

Your heart melts upon seeing his grin.

You shake your head. “No, don’t worry. I actually kind of enjoyed it, even the part where we kissed…” you admit shyly.

Kazuha breathes out a sigh of relief. He seems strangely happy.

“Then in that case, please allow me to request a favour,” Kazuha says. He waits for you to nod before continuing. “This may be a bit presumptuous of me, but please kiss me again — properly, this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” your best friend says without a hint of hesitation lacing his words. SCARAMOUCHE’s eyes narrow as he reciprocates your stare.

“But I am,” you reiterate.

He shakes his head and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Strands of hair spun of the midnight sky fall in front of his eyes as he moves, and his breath hitches for just a moment when he realizes you’re not kidding.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbles before he takes a packet of Pocky off his bedside table. With a few tugs, the silvery wrapping tears apart. He takes out a singular stick of the sweet treat.

“Will you shut up if I do this for you?” he asks.

“I will,” you promise, although you have no intention of adhering to your agreement.

Scaramouche always acts as if he’s irritated by you, but you know he enjoys your company. On occasions as rare as an appearance of the northern lights, he admits that he cares for you, making your heart glow up with all the colours of the brilliant Aurora Borealis.

You know him better than anyone, but what you’re not sure of is how he’ll react to playing the Pocky game with you. Most of the time, he’s quite stoic — apathetic despite the sentiments and colours of the world that flow on the wind.

But no one would be able to maintain a calm demeanour when they’re practically kissing their best friend, right?

It’s time to find out.

“You can have the side dipped in chocolate,” Scaramouche says. “And don’t you dare think I’m doing this for you. I just happen to hate sweets.”

You giggle. “Sure,” you say playfully. You know that Scaramouche is telling the truth, but it’s always fun to tease him because it elicits the best reactions.

However this time, Scaramouche just groans and holds up a stick of Pocky.

“Get to it before I change my mind,” he tells you.

Scaramouche lifts the treat up to his lips and sinks his teeth into the plain end. He stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to make a move. You bite down on your end, and you feel your face heat up. You’re too flustered by your proximity to your best friend to notice the sweet taste of chocolate bursting in your mouth.

Gradually, you nibble at the chocolate-coated snack while Scaramouche does the same. It seems like neither of you are feeling too bold at the moment; however, you still inch closer and closer with every passing second.

It’s painfully slow, and as time drags on, the rate of your heartbeat only starts increasing. Each excruciating second undergoes a metamorphosis into a century as your best friend’s blush-tinted face draws closer to your own.

And finally, when only a few centimetres remain between the two of you, he stops. You’re frozen in place too, and as you gaze into his eyes, everything around you becomes irrelevant — mere specks of fading supernovas in a galaxy of wonders.

Your breath hitches.

In all your years of knowing Scaramouche, he has never appeared this shy before. It’s endearing, heart-warming. Who knew that this adorable side to him existed?

One second…

Two seconds…

And three seconds pass.

Before Scaramouche finally decides to make a move. He leans in. Closer and closer.

You tense up, but at the same time, you feel yourself melt into an amalgamation of giddiness. You’re ready for whatever will happen next.

You feel the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, almost anticipating a kiss, but thankfully, your hopes aren’t too high. Because just when Scaramouche’s lips barely ghost yours, causing your heart to flutter like maple leaves in autumn wind, he pulls back, snapping off the last bit of Pocky.

“I win,” Scaramouche says after swallowing the final piece. His face is adorned with a smirk and a proud expression that you just know you’ll be seeing for the next few days.

“I guess so,” you sigh, admitting defeat. “But don’t act like you weren’t blushing like crazy a few seconds ago!”

Scaramouche freezes for a second before crossing his arms. “I did no such thing.”

“Oh, really?” you question.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans. He narrows his eyes at you, refusing to admit that he had allowed you to glimpse into his heart and learn the true nature of his feelings.

However, as your conversation continues, shades of sunset begin to dust his cheeks once more, dawning on his pale complexion like the most serene instances of carefree days bleeding into vivid nightfalls.

“This is foolish,” XIAO says bluntly, staring at you intently with eyes full of honeyed sunlight as you open a pack of Pocky.

He’s not impressed, and you can tell. However, you know that even though Xiao acts as though he’s unwilling to partake in the little game you proposed, he’s not actually against it. He’s your best friend, and after years of growing up together, you’re sure that he’ll do anything to make you happy, especially if it’s something as trivial as this.

“I know,” you respond nonchalantly. You’ve learned how to deal with Xiao’s tough-on-the-outside attitude by now. Deep down, you know that first of all, as a more reserved person, he doesn’t have the most profound understanding of others, so he might find some of their games rather absurd. Secondly, he’s not great at expressing his emotions, so even though he sounds angry or irritated at times, you understand him well enough to read him like a book.

Xiao merely sighs quietly in response. “Let’s get this over with.” He looks down at the ground, and for a second, you swear you can see the beginnings of a blush coming to life on his face.

You nod and take out a stick of Pocky. You put one end in your mouth and soon enough, Xiao follows your lead.

At first, he stares at you with uncertainty swimming within the daffodil hues of his irises. He’s a little confused, and you don’t blame him. Xiao isn’t someone who usually spends a lot of time with others, so he’s not familiar with things like the latest trends and popular games.

However, he quickly picks up on what he’s supposed to do when you take a bite of the chocolate-coated treat. Xiao follows in your lead, and although each nibble he takes seems slightly hesitant, you note that he’s still trying his best for you. It nearly makes your heart melt into an amalgamation of butterflies.

Xiao seems to be getting more and more flustered by the second. As you inch closer to him, you almost feel as though you can sense the rapid beating of his heart sending reverberations through the air, creating echoes that tell tales of unspoken emotions and unexplored sentiments.

And before you know it, his face is barely an inch away from yours. You can feel his breath tickling your skin and the heat radiating off his face.

The sight of Xiao acting endearingly shy is something you barely ever see. Sure he’s proven to you that he cares for you multiple times, but he’s never been this flustered before. Most of the time, you’re the one who ends up like that around him. Whether it’s a situation where Xiao walks by the side of the road, keeping you as far away from danger as possible whenever you go out for strolls or a scenario where he awkwardly hugs you after a bad day, you can’t help but blush in his presence.

This time, things are the same yet so, so, different. As always, your heart feels as though it’s reeling and on the verge of exploding due to your proximity to Xiao. The only thing that’s changed is the look on Xiao’s face — eyes shining with affection and cheeks tinted with a hue reminiscent of cherry blossoms in the spring divulge feelings that you have long been waiting to see.

The world around you freezes, and for a paradoxical second in a universe where time is infinite, Xiao is the only one in your thoughts, and you’re sure that it’s the same on his end. Everything is nonsensical for a moment, and you don’t know who makes the first move, but soon enough, your lips meet, shattering the perfect dimension you and Xiao have crafted.

For a brief flash of time, you feel yourself kissing Xiao. It’s everything you had imagined and more. Your heart skips a beat, and stars seem to illuminate your world as you relish in the soft feelings that spring from the contact. But to your dismay, the whole experience is over just as quickly as it had begun.

Both you and Xiao pull away when you realize what you’ve done. You both avoid eye contact, shyly averting your gazes so that you can’t see the other. For a few awkward moments, silence hangs in the air.

“Let’s never talk about this again,” you say, mustering up the courage to take a peek at Xiao.

He nods in agreement, looking back at you.

But deep down, the two of you know that there’s nothing you long for more than another kiss.

thank you for reading! i'm sorry if this wasn’t that good. i’ve been really busy with finals and assignments, so i don’t have quite as much time to write. please consider commenting/reblogging if you enjoyed this!

[draftdweller]

Chilled to the bone

More Logan x Reader fluff

Y/N and Logan mistakenly book the same cabin for a winter getaway, and their trip turns them into a very close pair after they're snowed in.

Warnings: Fluff, Light kissing, Grumpy!Reader, a hint of angst if you squint hard enough, tiny amount of sexual behaviors, MDNI

A break from all the chaos, A week by yourself in a cozy cabin, that was all that was on your mind as you packed your bags. You had booked this trip weeks ago after a particularly rough mission where nothing had gone according to plan.

Little did you know that upon your arrival, you wouldn't be by yourself at the cabin. Logan Had the same idea of getting away for a little while, and it seemed that the listing for the cabin on that week had not been changed. When you arrived and set your bags down, you noticed his belongings on the bed and your jaw drops to the floor. Everyone in the mansion knew your feelings for the man, how indifferent you were to him when everyone could see the two of you.

They had also noticed the look you gave him when you thought no one was around. The pining, longing glances that seemed to linger a bit too long until he looked at you. He would barely acknowledge you most days, seemingly uncaring. But you knew he had a past, and whatever that past was, it made him hard on the outer edges. Jagged even, just enough to cut deeply if you got too close.

When you had seen his belongings on the bed, you toed closer to the bathroom door, that was shut, giving a shy knock, and shortly after, the door swinging open. He looked just as surprised as you when he saw you standing there. His brows knit together, and he tilted his head. "Y/N, what on god's earth are you doing here?"

"I booked this place weeks ago, logan. The question is, why are you here?" Your words come out accusingly and curt, not actually caring why he was there, but more irritated that you weren't going to be alone after all it seemed.

"I booked here, almost three weeks ago, bub. Didn't realize I wasn't going to be alone." You shook your head and huffed, turning on your heel to walk away, you could hear the snowstorm outside picking up and the wind howling. You were almost tempted to leave, and he noticed it too. "Don't go out in that, I hear it's only supposed to get worse through the night." His voice was gruff, and his back turned to you.

"Well, I'm not sharing a bed with you logan." "Never said you have to. I can take the couch. If it picks up anymore, it could be dangerous to go anywhere." He was so nonchalant about the entire thing; it only irritated you further. You wanted a week away from him, from everyone. But from him mostly, so you could get over this stupid crush you seemed to have on him. "Well. Get your things off the bed. I might as well sleep then" As you spoke you noticed him already moving to do so, and as soon as his stuff was off the bed, you laid down, nestling under the blanket and closing your eyes before drifting off to a dreamless slumber.

By the time you woke up, it wasn't even morning, but you were laying there shivering. It was warm in here when you got here. You got up, and wrapped yourself in the comforter, walking to the living room area, and seeing a fire going in the fireplace, logan tending to it with candles lit around him. "Why is it so goddamned cold in here, logan?" "Lost power and heat. Come sit by the fire, I'll make some hot chocolate or something over it"

You rolled your eyes as you walked over to the window and looked outside. You couldn't see through the flurry of snow how bad it was, but you eventually turned back to face him and walked over to the fireplace, sitting on the floor in front of it. You didn't want the hot chocolate, but you took a pillow off the couch and laid in front of the fire, trying to warm your bones. You couldn't help the shivering, but eventually being by the fire warmed you enough you could fall back asleep.

By the time the morning came, the heat was still out, but the power was at least on now. The wind was still howling outside, but from the kitchenette you could smell bacon and eggs being cooked. Your stomach growled at the smell, and you got up, walking to the kitchen and rubbing your face with a groan.

"Well good morning to you too, sunshine" Logan drawled out, you didn't understand how he wasn't freezing his ass off right now, and didn't say anything. You just sat at the table, which had been set for two, and had a cup of coffee prepared just the way you liked it. You were never a morning person, and everyone knew it.

He looked over at you, sleep addled face, messy hair and wrapped in the blanket and chuckled. He knew you had to be cold, because you were still sitting there shivering, even as you drank the hot coffee. He set a plate down in front of you "Dig in. I know you like bacon, but I wasn't sure how you liked your eggs, so I scrambled them" "Scrambled works just fine, Logan." So does fertilized, you thought to yourself and quickly shook your head. Staying here with him was definitely not helping your crush, or the way you wanted to feel wrapped in his arms. You quickly dug into the food, and groaned at how good it was. He was a good cook to say the least. But you still needed to find another cabin to stay at, you didn't want to deal with the fact that every move around him made you just want to hide. You had a feeling he could sense your feelings for him but didn't say anything.

You felt his eyes on you while you ate, and as soon as you finished you got up and dug through your bag, and grabbed the warmest of your outfits. You walked into the bathroom and changed, before walking to the front door and opening it, attempting to leave. As soon as the door opened, you saw snow piled up over half the height of the door. You looked back to see Logan standing there with a glass of amber liquid and then turned your attention back to the door. You were stuck here with him, at least until the doorway was cleared. You sighed and looked at him "No heat, and no chance of me finding another place to enjoy the small vacation."

His lips quirk up slightly as you shut the door and walk back towards the couch, but before you could make it, he grabs your wrist gently. He pulled you to him, turning to cage you against the wall with his arms "Well, it's a good thing I enjoy your company then, isn't it, bub?" His voice was low and sultry as he spoke, and your eyes went wide "Logan, what, what are you doing?" You were tripping over your words as they came out, fast and rambling. "C'mon bub, you think I never caught you looking at me. You were never quick enough to look away before I caught it." Your cheeks were hot to the point you knew your entire face was red. Your eyes were gazing into his, and he leaned closer, your lips parting as your breath caught in your throat. This had to be a dream, there was no way he was doing this.

As if it couldn't be any more like a dream. He leaned in and kissed you. His hand coming up to catch your jaw in his fingers. You let all restraint go and kissed him back. You had to admit, he was a great kisser, his lips soft, tongue gently exploring your mouth. You could taste the alcohol on his breath. It was too soon when he pulled away and looked at you with hooded lids, his eyes glimmering softly and his thumb stroking your chin softly.

"I wanted to have a chance before you found someone to settle in with" You spoke softly and looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, fearing you'd never be enough for him.

"Hey, Y/N. I never wanted to settle in with anyone, as much as I did you. But I don't ever want to hurt you, and I know I'm more than capable of doing so."

A/N: This is going to be the beginning of a small series, let me know what you want in the next part!

[ro-is-struggling]

The Princess and The Wolf || PART 1 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: A look inside the complicated love story between the runaway princess and the lone wolf that saved her.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mutual pining, really bittersweet, heavy narration and not much dialogue, female reader (use of she/her pronouns//reader is a princess), mentions of blood and injuries (reader heals Geralt’s wounds), my shitty titles (I’m so bad at it, I’m so sorry)

English is not my first language

Word count: 5000

Notes: Look,  I was in the mood for writing something cute and fluffy and magical (but also it's Geralt so it as to be angsty). I know those are probably not the words that come to your mind when you think of Geralt, but let me change your mind! Also I love writing healers/nature witches. Can you tell my fav character as a kid was Flora from Winx Club? 

This is my first time writing something like this (as in this style of narrative and for this character in particular) so be gentle!

PART 2 || PART 3

Geralt was not used to feeling that way. In his many years of living on this earth, he had never missed anyone the way he missed her. He was a lone wolf who, despite having his pack, enjoyed traveling from town to town with his horse as his only companion. He enjoyed the silence and tranquility, and did not tend to miss home too much —finding that his annual visits in the winter were more than enough to catch up with his brothers while healing his wounds. 

However, he did miss her when he was traveling. He missed feeling the warm touch of her skilled hands on his wounds as she healed him. He missed waking up to the sound of her laughter, talking to her cat as she prepared breakfast. He even missed her scolding and the look of concern she gave him every time he arrived at the door of her cabin hidden in the forest, injured. She made him feel special, often occupying his thoughts and dreams. He knew what it was, but refused to call it by name —if he did, it became real and he didn't know if he was ready for that.

Such was his longing to see her that he was almost happy to be wounded in battle, finding the perfect excuse to show up at her door once again. His wounds were deep, the beast's venom slowly spreading through his system. Were it not for the fact that he was close to her home, Geralt was fairly certain he would not have reached her in time. His healing skills were limited and only served to make his journey to the hut more bearable. Yet, the closer he got to her, the less his body ached. The promise of her company alone was enough to cure his afflictions.

Geralt was weak when he arrived at her door. From the way her natural cheerful expression turned into a worried grimace when she saw him on the other side of the wood, it was safe to assume he was not looking good. She rushed him to bed, asking him a thousand questions as she paced back and forth, gathering the necessary herbs and potions to treat his wounds. He answered no more than necessary, giving her just enough information to treat him and sparing her the details of his journey. 

He was distracted, his mind clouded by the lack of blood and the poison spreading through his body, but also by the sweet floral scent that surrounded him. It was a perfume he could only describe as the very essence of her, a mixture of jasmine, roses and a hint of vanilla that followed her everywhere, leaving a special scent in the air that assaulted the witcher's nostrils, rendering him powerless. 

"Drink this," she told him as she offered him a vial of a pale green liquid. It was a potion that would help with the poison, she explained, though he needed no reason to obey her. Geralt trusted her completely and would have drank anything she offered without question. 

"Try to hold still, this might sting a little." She warned him, pushing his clothes aside so she could treat the deep gash in his chest. She smeared her fingers with a paste that had a peculiar odor, rubbing it over her hands to warm it before directing them to the wound. Geralt was met with a burning sensation that spread from his wound to the rest of his chest as soon as her fingers made contact with his skin. He let out a grunt, fighting the spasms of his muscles to allow her to work comfortably. However, the burning was soon replaced by a sensation of pleasant warmth as she uttered an incantation in the ancient tongue. 

He concentrated on the harmonious sound of her voice, letting the words transport him back to that first time they had found themselves in a similar situation. He had been hired by the king to assassinate the beast that had killed the princess. It was said that it prowled the forest after sunset, it was there that the young girl had met her fatal fate. Her love for nature and the long walks under the moonlight was what had ultimately made her an easy prey for that monster. Geralt did not retain the specific details of that story, only what was useful to analyze his enemy. Had he done so, he might have realized that there were strange things in the story that would make any Witcher suspicious. And perhaps then he would not have been so surprised when he found the princess very much alive and well, wandering through the forest alone.

"Please, don't make me go back there." She had begged him after explaining that she had taken advantage of the beast's convenient appearance to escape from her home. "There's nothing waiting for me back there, only a future of unhappiness and subjugation to a man that doesn't respect me."

"I was hired to kill a beast and that's all I intend to do." Was his reply. He was more than ready to continue on his way, to leave her behind to sort out her fate while he dealt with what he had been hired to do, but the princess did not give him the opportunity. She begged for his help to escape from there, she didn't care where he took her as long as he got her as far away from her kingdom as possible. Her escape had not been planned, but a last minute decision that had not allowed her to pack supplies or even steal a horse from the stable. Still, she had been able to travel a fairly long way on foot, but it was evident that she could not continue like this much longer.

"I can't pay you in coin," she told him. "But I can make sure you survive your battle."

Geralt felt sorry for the young woman and was going to help her without asking for anything in return. He really doubted that she had anything valuable to offer him. He was a Witcher, an assassin highly trained in both combat and the arts of magic, tools he used to keep himself alive in the high-risk situations he lived in on a regular basis. However, his mercy proved useful after the battle, when the young princess demonstrated her healing abilities.

His wounds were deep, he was tired and his skin was painted with the reddish sticky liquid that ran through the beast's veins. But still, he was able to crawl to safety where she waited for him with his horse Roach. When she saw him approaching on the horizon she jumped to her feet, hands full of herbs she had gathered in preparation for that moment. Geralt could see nothing but a halo of light in the distance, a figure of hope running towards him with hair flying in the wind as it called his name.

He collapsed against a tree trunk, his breath hitching as the world around him became blurry and dark. He was not unconscious, but neither was he able to process what was happening around him. His memories of that moment were blurry, like a dream slipping from his mind upon awakening. The only thing he remembered clearly was a sweet female voice calling him back to life as soft hands caressed his skin, spreading their comforting warmth inside him.

Geralt had felt peace for the first time in a long while as her hands worked their magic on him, just as he felt at this very moment as her fingers caressed his skin once again. It always happened, her touch alone flooded his insides with peace and tranquility. Maybe that was why he missed her so much, maybe that was why he found himself visiting her for the simplest injuries that even he could heal. Unlike other healers, she was the only one who could calm his tormented soul, the only one who could quiet his thoughts and remove all traces of bitter negativity from his heart. 

"Rest." He heard her whisper in his ear and as much as he wanted to, he didn't have the strength to open his eyes and look at her one more time. Geralt knew he was tired, but only now, in the quiet of her company and wrapped in the warmth of her body, did he realize just how much. 

When he opened his eyes again it was morning. The rays of sunlight streaming through the window touched his face in a warm caress. His pupils were forced to adjust to the light as he opened his eyes, narrowing to almost two slits identical to those of the black cat resting beside him. The animal meowed contentedly as he shifted between the sheets —letting out a grunt of pain at the heaviness of his muscles. He stroked the cat as it purred at him, scratching its head and behind its ears as he knew it liked, before making an effort to get out of bed. His body ached and he still felt tired, but given what he had been through, he was lucky to be alive. 

Geralt heard the sweet sound of the young woman's voice echoing down the hallway like a melodious murmur that filled his heart with joy. It came from the garden, so that was where he went. He found her having a conversation with Roach, brushing the horse's mane while complaining about him to the animal as if it could talk back. They were harmless comments that he knew she didn't mean, though he'd heard them in the past —complaints about his recklessness and lack of responsibility as a horse owner were never lacking. She was especially fond of animals, so she loved to talk to his horse as if he were a human being. She did it with her cat as well, and with any animal that crossed her path. Geralt found it entertaining, though a bit excessive —especially when they traveled together and she made him stop every so often to pet and chat with every rabbit and squirrel in their path.

"What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest!" She scolded him as soon as her eyes landed on him. As firm as her gaze was, he could see concern rather than anger or annoyance reflected in them.

"I would have stayed in bed if I hadn't felt the need to come out and defend my good name." He played along, the corner of his mouth curving ever so slightly upward in an almost imperceptible movement. "I can't have you filling Roach's head with lies about me."

"They are not lies!" She grumbled, folding her arms in exaggerated annoyance. "You are reckless and you don't give poor Roach enough attention." At her words, the animal thumped its front left paw against the ground as if it understood what she had said and agreed. Geralt huffed, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

"You already turned her against me." She laughed and it was like music to his ears, a melodious tone that awakened happiness within him. 

"I don't have to, she is a smart creature." She fired back, giving the horse a couple of gentle pets before setting aside what she was doing to focus her attention on him. "But seriously, you need to get back in bed."

"I'm fine." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the truth either. She looked at him steadily and Geralt knew she thought she looked intimidating, but with the way the light of the rising sun framed her figure and the gentle breeze moving her hair, he saw nothing more than a forest fairy. The most beautiful and innocent fairy he had ever seen. He was tempted to challenge her just to tease her and make her grumble. She looked adorable when she pointed an accusatory finger at him believing that something she did or said could intimidate the Witcher. In the end he decided not to do so and instead accompanied her back into the house, though he did not lie down again, but sat with her at the kitchen table. 

She insisted on preparing breakfast on her own, arguing that he was her guest and that he was badly injured, so Geralt had the opportunity to admire her as she moved about the room, humming under her breath melodies he did not recognize. It made him genuinely happy to see her acting so freely around him, thinking about how far their relationship had come. When he had first met her, she was far from the confident, free spirit she was now. She was quiet and reserved, barely asking him questions from time to time to fill the void of silence and always apologizing for everything.

It was more than mere distrust of a stranger, Geralt could see in her eyes that she was trapped inside herself, a cocoon of fears and insecurities that trapped in its intricate net the beautiful butterfly that lurked within. She would show her true colors from time to time, like when he would catch her talking to Roach when she thought he was sleeping, or when she would make them stop to help a wounded animal. But she always apologized immediately afterwards, as if she realized too late that she had done something wrong, something she wasn't supposed to do. It made Geralt wonder what kind of life she had left behind when she ran away from home. 

He was not a man of many words and was used to traveling alone and in silence, accompanied only by the chirping of birds and the crunching of dry leaves under Roach's hooves, but when it came to her he felt a strange need to hear her speak. Perhaps it was the harmonious tone of her voice, or maybe the fact that he could tell she needed to express herself, but he didn't mind when she rambled absentmindedly as they traveled, putting into words every thought that crossed her mind. 

"I was never meant to be a princess, no matter what my blood says." She had confessed to him one afternoon as they walked through the forest. "The traditions, the politics, the expectations... I was never good at any of that."

"Is that why you ran away?" His question took her by surprise. He barely spoke to her so she assumed he wasn't listening to her most of the time. When she turned to look at him she found his yellow eyes fixed on her, making her feel small under his intense gaze.

"I wanted to be free." She answered honestly. "I refused to live trapped inside a castle for another day, pretending to be someone I'm not, pleasing everybody but myself... I want to forge my own path, build my own destiny. I have no idea what I'm doing or if it will even work, but I owe it to myself to try."

Geralt admired her for that. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but she knew what she didn't want and had had the courage to do something about it. That was why he was so glad things were going well for her. She deserved her freedom, she deserved to have the space to find herself and live her life on her terms. Her bravery had been rewarded.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him as she set a plate of food in front of him, her voice bringing him out of his thoughts. 

"I'm fine."

"Are you? Or are you doing that thing you do all the time when you pretend not to need anyone's help?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, proud of herself for knowing him so well. 

Geralt sighed. "I'm a bit sore and tired, but I'll live." He finally confessed.

"That's normal, you were really hurt. I'm amazed that you got here in one piece." 

"You should have seen the other guy." He joked sarcastically and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm being serious, Geralt. The poison could have killed you."

"It didn't."

"Only because of your slow heartbeat, but what if next time you don't get so lucky?" The tone of the conversation suddenly changed as they looked into each other's eyes. The familiar heavy tension in the air, making it hard to breathe. 

It was her greatest fear. She feared there would come a day when Geralt's wounds would be so bad that even she wouldn't be able to heal them. She feared it almost as much as never opening the door again and finding him on the other side. The thought of him dying, at home or out on the battlefield, terrified her. She knew it was stupid since he was a Witcher, a being genetically modified to face the greatest dangers, whose purpose in life was to kill monsters. She knew the smart thing to do would have been to get away from him in time, before his absence hurt her as much as it did. She knew there was no point in worrying about someone who had made peace with the idea of dying in battle, but she did it anyway. She couldn't help but fear for his safety the moment he set foot outside her home, worrying until he would eventually show up there again.

"Just... be careful." She muttered after a few seconds of silence, swallowing her emotions as a lump formed in her throat.

Geralt could see the pain in her eyes, the fear and worry shining in them clearly. He felt the need to assure her that he would be all right, but they both knew that was a lie. In his line of work one could never be sure of anything. Things could change very quickly and even he could be surprised with the cold caress of death sooner than expected. The best he could do was to assure her that he would do everything in his power to get back to her.

"I will be." 

That wasn't enough to dissipate the young woman's fears, but it was enough to calm her worries for the moment. Instead of concentrating on things she couldn't control, she chose to turn her attention to the things she could. After breakfast she inspected Geralt's wounds once more to make sure they were healing properly. With the help of her magic and the speed with which the Witcher's body regenerated, the deep gash that adorned his chest was now no more than a scratch. The skin was still red and irritated, but it was in better condition than just a few hours ago. The same with the rest of the cuts and scratches that graced the rest of his body, some of which had already disappeared completely, leaving behind a slightly discolored line on the skin.

She sat beside him as she worked, rubbing a healing paste of her own creation over what was left of his wounds. She focused her energy on him, eyes glued to the skin of his chest as she let her fingers work their magic. She knew it probably wasn't necessary, given the rapid evolution of his cuts they would most likely be practically healed in a couple more hours. But she wanted to do it. She didn't like to see him hurt, even if it was something that happened regularly. He always came to her bruised and bloody, but even then she never got used to seeing him like that. She hated to see him suffer, so when he was with her she would go out of her way to heal all the wounds on his body no matter how small or insignificant. She wanted to make her home a sanctuary for him, a place free of pain and danger where they were safe to be together.

Geralt could feel her energy enveloping him, the warmth her body radiated caressing his skin delicately. The scent of her hair flooded his nostrils, filling his lungs with that sweet floral perfume that was so distinctive to him. It was intoxicating, a drug he couldn't quit. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment, enjoying the soft touch of her hands on his chest and shoulders as he admired her work. She was beautiful, like a flower full of color and life that only grew stronger with each of his visits. Her smile, a ray of sunshine that lit up the gray, cloudy sky that was his life. And her eyes... oh her eyes. Geralt could get lost in them for hours, reading in her reflection every little thought that went through her head. To him she was an open book, the most fascinating he had read in a long time.

She became slightly nervous when she looked up and met Geralt's intense gaze fixed on her. They were close, too close to each other for her not to feel intimidated under the watchful admiration of his amber orbs. And yet, she couldn't look away from him. She couldn't help but marvel at the sharp angles of his features, counting the small scars that adorned his skin as her eyes traveled down his face. Those were two traits that people normally found intimidating about him. He had the face of a reckless warrior, a lone wolf with no feelings that augured trouble. But she knew him better than that, she knew the man behind the rumors and knew there was much more to his story and his character. When she looked at him she saw more than the dangerous Witcher. She saw the man who had saved her from her terrible fate, the one she missed and longed for when he was far away, the only man who occupied her thoughts. 

Geralt's eyes strayed to her lips as she caressed them with her tongue. It was an innocent act but he felt it as a temptation, a challenge he had every intention of accepting. He leaned forward, feeling her warm, slightly quickened breath colliding and mingling with his own. He held still for a moment, waiting for her to pull back and move away. When she didn't, Geralt moved a little closer to her until he felt the tip of her nose brush against his. When he looked up one last time, he noticed that she was looking at him with half lidded eyes, completely at his mercy. She was in a trance, lost in the deep amber of his eyes, with no thought in her mind but him. It was the moment they had both been waiting for, the culmination of all the tension that had built up.

But before they could join their lips in the long-awaited kiss, the sound of the cat jumping on top of the table interrupted them. The animal's meow broke the trance and she realized what was about to happen. Embarrassed, she pulled away from Geralt immediately, mumbling something about feeding the cat as she disappeared from his vision. He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, still longing to feel her lips on his, but perhaps it was for the best. If he kissed her he would never want to stop or leave again, and he knew that wasn't possible. His place was out there on the road with his horse as his only companion. He was not meant to stay in one place for long, his profession had taken that privilege away from him long ago.

“Your wounds are almost healed.” She stated as she returned to the room, picking up the cat and setting it down off the table. It was an excuse so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye when talking, something to occupy herself so she wouldn't think about what had just happened.

"Guess I'll be leaving tonight then." He was in no hurry to leave, he would gladly stay another week there with her if he could, but he knew that wasn't wise. He could never stay too long with her since he always feared the effects it might have. The more time he spent with her, sharing moments of domestic intimacy, the harder it was for him to get back on the road. The last time he had been there he had ended up running away in the middle of the night, knowing he couldn't leave if he had to look her in the eye and say goodbye. And now he feared that nothing had changed, so he had to get out of there before it was too late.

"I would rather you stay one more night and rest here." She said in a soft tone, trying to hide the true meaning behind her words. She didn't want him to leave, not yet. "Your physical wounds might be healing fast but don't forget that you were poisoned and you almost died. Witcher or not, that's a lot." 

"I'll be fine."

"Maybe, but would it kill you to stay here one more night for my own sake? Because if you walk through that door now, I will spend the rest of my days worrying about you until I see you again." She finally worked up the courage to look at him, pleading with her eyes for him to listen to her. She knew that if he wanted to leave there was nothing she could do to stop him, so she hoped he would have mercy on her. "I just want to make sure that you're alright."

Geralt couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to, not when she was looking at him with big, bright eyes full of love. Not when her voice was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid he would hear her. He understood the feeling, the fear of admitting what he really felt. But it was easier that way. It was the best thing for both of them. Their lives were incompatible as were their personalities. 

She was a nice sunny summer afternoon and he was a harsh winter night. She was a ray of sunshine that with her warm touch awakened life in everything around her and he was the cold, cruel snow that buried everything under a layer of ice. Maybe that was why he felt this inexplicable attraction to her, as if they were connected by an invisible thread that pulled him to her every time he tried to walk away. Her warmth melted the ice around him, allowing new things to blossom in the fertile soil. Only he didn't know if there was anything left under the ice that could bloom. If so, he had to be careful because her warmth, though pleasant and comforting, could lead to his doom.

Still, he ignored his brain's warnings, giving in to her pleas. They spent the day together and Geralt allowed himself to lose himself in the intimacy and domestic bliss of the moment. He indulged in the fantasy of a life by her side as he admired her dancing around the kitchen while cooking or moving among the plants as she tended to her garden, talking to the squirrels and birds that wandered by. He delighted in the sound of her voice as she called his name and enjoyed her melodious laughter. 

When the sun went down, she lay beside him on the bed, talking nonsense until her eyelids began to feel heavy. She denied being sleepy several times, assuring him that she was just resting her eyes. Geralt snorted, but said nothing, listening intently to the story she was telling him about a deer she had saved from death between masked yawns. She didn't get to finish the story, not consciously at least. She mumbled a couple of almost inaudible gibberish before falling asleep, fighting her last battle against her body's need for rest.

Geralt watched her sleep for a good while, his eyes admiring the peace on her face in the dim candlelight. She had never looked so ethereal, with her hair spread out on the pillow like a halo around her head, and her chest rising and falling slowly with her calm breathing. Her skin was soft under his touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of his fingers bruised from all the fighting and constant use of the sword. She was the most beautiful piece of art, a sculpture carved by the gods themselves. He almost felt unworthy to be by her side, the softness of her features reminding him once again how different they were, how wrong his feelings were. 

He got out of bed with a heavy heart, searching for his things while being very careful not to make a sound so as not to alert her. He couldn't stay there one more night, if he woke up in the morning with her by his side he would never want to leave and he knew very well that it wouldn't end well. So, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, just a brush of his lips against her skin as a farewell.

Geralt disappeared into the darkness of the night without leaving any trace of his presence. When she opened her eyes the next morning she was disappointed to find herself alone in bed. She didn't have to leave the room to know he was gone, she could feel his absence in the air. She felt lonely and cold again, already missing the warmth that filled her whenever he was around. Letting out a tired sigh, she dropped into a chair near the door. Her eyes were glued to the wood, her mind filled with thoughts of Geralt. She wondered if he was alright and if he was missing her as much as she was missing him. 

And just like that, the cycle continued, his departure leading the way to the stage of uncertainty and worry that grew in her with each passing day as she awaited his return. Her eyes remained glued to the door at all times, her ears attentive to the sounds waiting to hear Roach's footsteps approaching in the distance. She hated this moment. She hated not hearing from Geralt. She hated not being able to hear his low, raspy voice or feel the warmth of his body against hers. She hated the amount of energy she wasted worrying about him. But most of all, she hated knowing that all her suffering would be worth it the moment he came knocking on her door again.

I have more ideas for these two so if you guys like it let me know!

PART 2 HERE

[sweetarethediscords]

The Maiden of The Barren Rime

Winter Wind blows through the valley, pushes us into our homes.

Pleading she knocks at our windows, scorned she continues to roam.

Chapter 1: The Brambled Beauty

Mina quieted at the sound of unfamiliar voices on the wind.

“Are you sure this is the right cabin?” It was a feminine voice, on the younger side, with a slight Tinian accent, most likely from the North Coast judging from the way they dragged the “er” in “sure.”

“Of course this is the right cabin! It’s the only cabin in this damned forest!” A masculine voice spat back. Staunchly Lanholdian, Mina could almost feel the thick tension in their tongue behind her own teeth. The gravel of age and annoyance ground up from the back of their throat.

Mina picked up her pace, leaping up into the treetops, crossing miles in minutes towards the voices with no more sound than the rustle of wind through pine needles.

She stilled. The branch beneath her feet barely creaked.

They were outside her cabin. A young woman with thick glasses and even thicker curly hair checked the compass in her hand as the short, sturdy man beside her impatiently tapped his foot and picked at the split ends of his long, braided beard.

Mina placed a hand on the hilt of her sword as she watched them through the canopy. The man’s leather armor bore a crest depicting a mountain top and three diamonds, with glinting, well-polished stripes on his pauldron pronouncing his rank. Seven; a general of lauded stature. Why he traveled with the young woman was unclear.

She was clearly not a noble. The slight roll forward of her shoulders, the patterned bandanna holding her hair out of her eyes too weathered or wrinkled for even a disguised royal to wear, and a decent soldier would never keep their guard down as much as hers was in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps she had hired the knight as security on her journey.

A journey Mina would take no part in.

She shifted to sit easily and silently, making sure not to catch the beaver skins hanging from her pack beneath her. A few more minutes and they would leave, then she could prep the skins and start to smoke the meat in her satchel as planned.

“Well,” the woman stuffed her compass into her jacket pocket. “At least it’s a nice day out to wait. Sun’s still warm enough to cut the edge off the autumn chill.”

Annoyingly, she made her way to the porch of Mina’s cabin and took a seat on its rough wooden steps. Mina ground her teeth slightly. Maybe a splinter or two would poke her through her patchwork skirt and urge her away.

The man huffed and kicked at a tuft of crabgrass. “You think this chill has an edge? Just wait until you’re on the Peaks.” The tuft came loose, sending dirt and now homeless pill bugs scattering. “If we ever get to the fucking Peaks.”

Dammit, Mina thought. They were here for an expedition.

“Ya know, we could always go with another alpinist,” the woman offered. “Beto Lamar’s homestead is about a day’s ride west from here.”

“A day’s ride but three weeks past our deadline,” the man said. “This girl can bring us back to Lanholde in under a month.” He stomped over and stood on the steps, too proud to sit, but not proud enough to not lean on the railing for support. “She will get us there in a month.”

“Even if she’s already off on an expedition?”

“She’s not,” the man gestured over his shoulder. “The windows are open. And this cabin is too well maintained for its owner to just head off for two months with the windows left open.”

Mina thudded her head against the tree trunk. Of course. An observant and stubborn knight.

She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled, taking her frustration down a little, unclenching her jaw just a touch. She'd piss them off enough that they’d rather stand Lamar’s extra three weeks in the cold than put up with her, and if that didn’t work, ask for a ridiculous amount of gold to scare them off.

Three more weeks in the cold. Three more weeks to die. The unwilling thought made her teeth ache.

She climbed down from the pine she had perched in and moved soundlessly towards the drying rack staked beside her cabin. She removed one of the rungs filled with beaver skins from her pack. A loud and forceful snap echoed through the woods as she dropped it into place.

The trespassing pair jumped. The knight drew his sword as the woman bladed her feet into a wide stance, arms lifted, ready to perform some sort of cast.

So they were a magic wielder and a knight.

“Get off the porch,” Mina stated bluntly as she hung another rack.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knight’s jaw fall agape while the woman’s disposition relaxed. She straightened up out of her fighting stance, and Mina caught the faint sound of a cork squeaking back into a bottle on the wind.

“My apologies, miss. We’re looking for the alpinist that lives here,” she said. “Would that be you?”

“No,” Mina lied. “I’m a hunter. The alpinist lives to the west.”

The woman arched an eyebrow and looked to the knight. He flared his nostrils, puffed out his chest, and stomped over towards her.

“I am Sir Murmir Gargic, general-rank knight of the Lanholde Royal Army, proud servant to King Fritz Reinhardt.”

“Never heard of him,” she lied again.

The knight sputtered, whatever bullshit speech he had prepared dying on his tongue. “You never—”

“Sir Gargic,” the woman whispered behind him, calling his attention and allowing him a moment to regain his composure.

Annoying.

“Well, he’s heard of you, and has specifically recommended that we seek you out to lead us up the Fallow Peaks. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, so if you don’t mind talking terms so we can start the expedition today—”

“If that’s the case, then I guess your king expects you both to die,” Mina droned, mono-toned and matter-of-factly. “I’m a hunter, not an alpinist.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed as her jab at his ruler crawled under his skin. He inhaled deeply, a tirade building, when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How much would it cost for you to be an alpinist?” she asked.

Mina drifted her dull gaze over towards the woman, finding her with a smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye.

“Seven thousand gilt one way,” she answered. “The real alpinist to the west charges half that.”

“I’m sure.” The woman shrugged. “But the alpinist we’re looking for fits your description exactly. Female alpinist. Rough around the edges. Lives alone in a cabin deep in the Sandere Woods, five hundred paces off of the last bend in Woodgullet Road, heading northeast.” She rattled off the details as if she were reading them off a sheet of paper.

Mina blinked slowly, then repeated. “Seven thousand gilt one way.”

“Deal.”

Gods fucking dammit. An unfortunately familiar tug pulled at her spine.

Sir Gargic fished out a scroll from one of the pouches on his belt, while the woman brandished a quill and a bottle of ink. He scrawled something down on it, then turned the parchment in her direction: a contract of duty.

His thick, stubby finger pointed at the 7,000g written next to the terms of payment. “Seven-thousand gilt to be delivered direct from the Capitol’s treasury upon our safe arrival.” His finger traveled down the page to a long signature line. “All you need to do is sign here.”

She did, reluctantly. Her arm dragged by that damned tug.

“Mina,” the woman read her name aloud, standing on the tips of her toes to watch as she wrote it. “I’m Wera Alrust.”

Mina snapped the quill once she finished, dropped it to the ground, and headed into her cabin.

“Where are you going?” Sir Gargic barked behind her. “You’re under contract to—”

“Packing,” Mina answered. “Can’t climb a ten-thousand-foot cliff face with just a bow, a sword, and a can-do attitude.” She paused in the doorway. “Just two going up?”

“Five,” Wera answered. “Six if you count yourself.”

“I don’t.”

Last-minute trips up the Fallow Peaks were nothing new to Mina, as much as she loathed them. They were always inconvenient and pressing, which meant the travelers were stressed and distracted — which meant the death count was usually higher than the average one or two losses. Expeditions such as this were few and far between, at least. Most travelers knew to prepare well in advance for the perilous journey, contracting her months ahead of time instead of minutes.

She closed all the windows and locked the shutters, made sure her books and sheet music were lifted off the ground in case the fall rains caused the lake to flood, and tucked the more expensive of her instruments away as she filled the pack she kept by the door.

“Flint, whytewing leathers, tarp, rations, climbing axes…” she muttered to herself as she rifled through it — taking stock to make sure she had everything she needed — then picked up a fiddle and bow leaning against a hard wooden chair. She loosened up the strings a bit and unstrung the bow to keep the horse hairs from snapping, then shoved it in with the rest of her gear.

“Where are the other three?” she asked as she stepped back outside and locked the door.

“Back on the road, waiting with the wagon,” Wera replied.

“You can’t take a wagon up a mountain.”

“We don’t plan to.” She was, frustratingly, smiling at Mina when she turned around. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Gargic headed off, impatience and frustration bringing out the ill-manner child in him. With such thin skin, it wouldn’t be long before he broke their contract, or he died. Rabbet’s Pass most likely, which would be convenient. She could leave his corpse in the caves there, and they wouldn’t have too far of a walk back to Sandere afterwards.

After only a few wrong turns through the thick wood, the seldom-used road emerged. A simple covered wagon pulled off to the side let the four horses that drove it graze lazily, while two more members of their party hung around it: an old woman with her hair up in a tight bun, sitting on the ground making daisy chains out of dandelions, and a young man with a sharp haircut and a well-coiffed mustache scrawling in a notebook as he sat in the driver’s seat.

Sir Gargic’s spine straightened and chest puffed out as he put on a bit of bravado. “We’ve returned!” he cried, waving grandly.

The old woman and mustached man looked up from their work. The woman abandoned her dandelions and stood to meet them, while the young man looked them over and flipped to another page in his book; quill taking off in a fury.

“Ah! Are you the young lady who will be guiding us?” The old woman smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tanir and the boy on the cart is Enoch.” She turned over her shoulder and hollered, “Wave hello, Enoch!”

Enoch raised his hand partially, too engrossed in whatever he was writing to look away.

“Mina.” Mina met Tanir’s gaze, and the old woman’s brow furrowed. She was looking for the appropriate response, a sign of expression to source Mina’s first impression of her. Mina watched her bottom lip shift subtly, a minuscule pucker as her teeth bit behind it uneased to find nothing.  

Annoy the knight. Unnerve the old woman. Now she just had to find the others’ weaknesses.

“You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road. They’ll slow us down and will be hunted by the beasts of the Harrow.”

“Oh, uh—” Tanir swallowed. “That sounds like something you should discuss with Master Windenhofer. I’ll go get him for you.” She flashed another smile, this one fueled by nerves, and hurried off into the back of the wagon.

Enoch snapped his notebook shut and leaned over the side of the driver’s seat. He rested his chin on his hand dramatically, abandoning the fierce focus he held when writing to gaze at Mina with puppy dog eyes. “Did you know you are extremely beautiful for an alpinist?”

Sir Gargic sputtered with embarrassment. Wera shot Enoch a disgusted look.

Mina stared at him blankly.

“I know,” she said after a moment.

Enoch choked on his spit at her response. Wera burst out into a fit of laughter, drawing Mina’s attention.

Laughter wasn’t a response she was used to receiving.

“Don’t forget to write that one down,” Wera wheezed through her giggles. “‘My attempts at flirtation failed tremendously as usual.’ A good archivist doesn’t leave out any details!”

“Enough of that, Enoch!” Sir Gargic snipped, hitting him on the arm. “She comes highly recommended by The Crown of Lanholde, and you will address her with the respect that such a recommendation warrants!”

“S-sorry, M-mina,” Enoch stammered, still caught off guard by her curtness as he leaned back away from her, rubbing his injured arm.

“I hear we have a new face joining our motley crew!” a warm, deep voice cheered from inside the wagon. The cart bounced as a tall, lean man, with a wide smile and a thick shag haircut, stepped out of it, Tanir following behind.

“Hello, I am Sebastian Windenhofer. It is wonderful to meet you!” the man extended his hand out in greeting.

A soft breeze blew between them as Mina considered his outstretched hand. His fingers were long, as to be expected of someone of his height, and his palms were oddly covered with an even layer of callous.

She did not shake it.

“Mina,” she said to the hand, in the same bland manner that she had introduced herself to everyone else.

Sebastian seemed unbothered by his spurned handshake, and instead clasped his hands together and nodded his head softly, “Mina.” There was a slight hum to the ‘M’ as he said it. “Tanir mentioned that you wished to speak to me about something regarding the horses?”

Mina’s distant stare met his attentive gaze. Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“The woods are too thick for a wagon to fit through, and the mountains are too steep,” she answered. “The Harrowed Woods that border Sandere and the Peaks are filled with hungry monsters who will be lured by the thought of a four-course horse meal, too.”

“I see.” Sebastian brought his hand up and tapped his fingertips lightly against his lips as he thought. “Would it be better for the horses if we left the wagon and let them loose now as opposed to when we get closer?”

Mina paused, and tilted her head to the side, caught off guard by his question.

“Have I spoken out of turn?” his voice wavered.

“No, it’s just that I’ve never had someone ask to let the horses out early,” she replied, much more candidly than she intended. She straightened her head, collecting herself. “There’d be less chance of them being attacked. Not many monsters here in these woods.”

“That settles it, then.” Sebastian addressed his crew, “Gather your belongings, we will be continuing on foot from here. Wera and Sir Gargic, unhitch the horses and send them back down the road, please.”

“Ugh, my penmanship gets so poor when we’re walking,” Enoch groaned as he slid down from the driver’s seat.

“Guess you’ll have to save your sonnets for when we’re in Lanholde,” Wera remarked as she started unbuckling one of the horse’s bridles. “We’ve got nothing but walking ahead of us now.”

Sebastian returned his attention to Mina. “It should only take us a few minutes to get packed up. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a tea kettle and mug. Twirling the mug around his finger by its handle, he juggled the kettle with one hand and caught it by its base. Steam rose from its spout.

Not just a magic user. He was a wizard, capable enough to demonstrate his talents so casually.

Or cocky enough to make a big show over the few skills he did have.

“No,” Mina replied, tapping the canteen attached to her belt. “I have a canteen.”

She could have just left it at ‘no’.

“Of course.” He threw the tea set into the air as if he were throwing away a piece of paper over his shoulder and with a snap of his fingers they vanished.

Definitely a show-off.

“I have a few things to pack myself if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, smiling again, still wide as it shifted to a slightly different shape, then headed back into the covered wagon.

Mina watched him walk away.

If he wasn’t just a show-off, then maybe they’d make it a mile past Rabbet’s Pass.

🜁

“So, Mina, would you care to tell us a little about yourself?” Sebastian asked as they walked up the rest of the road. Considering how chatty they were while getting their shit together, Mina didn’t have any hope of a quiet walk to the Harrow’s beginning. “I’m sure there’s much more to you than living in these woods and leading expeditions through the Fallow Peaks.”

“That’s all there is to know,” she replied.

Sebastian chuckled, a rumble out from his chest that buzzed in Mina’s ears. “I’m sure that’s not true. What about ‘how you got started leading expeditions’? Doesn’t seem like a job someone just falls into.”

“It’s not.”

“Then how’d it happen for you?”

“Someone had to do it. So I did it.”

“And what did that entail?”

“Doing it.”

“Sebastian,” Tanir interjected, “perhaps it’d be best if we shared a little bit about ourselves first.” She smiled at Mina. Mina kept her gaze forward, praying that the treeline would take mercy on her and move closer on its own. “I’m the company medic, been working with Sebastian since he had a particularly rough encounter collecting basilisk venom a few summers back. Poor thing hobbled to my home half turned to stone, and insisted I travel with him on his adventures ever since.”

“You faced off against a basilisk?” Enoch piped up from the back of the pack. “When we rest for the evening, you’ll have to sit down with me and give me the full story. You too, Tanir. It should definitely be added to my records.”

“Are you volunteering to go next then, Enoch?” Sebastian asked.

“I— uh—” Enoch jogged up in front of them and turned to walk backwards as he spoke, “Well I met—”

“Don’t walk like that,” Mina interrupted. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to leave you behind, or I’ll have to kill you.”

His steps slowed as his eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“It’s quicker than the duskwolves tearing into your flesh and snapping your neck.” It was brutal imagery, but not entirely false.

“She’s kidding, Enoch,” Sebastian said.

Enoch’s voice hollowed. “H-how can you tell?”

“Because if you did break something, Tanir would gladly patch you up,” he reasoned.

“Though I’d give you a scolding while I did it for not listening to the expert,” Tanir added, drawing out the title expert to appease Mina’s non-existent good side. “So turn around and continue your story.”

“Right.” Enoch turned around quickly at her instruction, gathered his composure with a shudder of his shoulders, and turned his head slightly to the side to speak, “I met Sebastian on a truly fate-defining day. Wandering the Coast of Carvons, I was lost, looking for inspiration to strike.”

Wera groaned.

“And it did! As I sat on the beach, begging the great and powerful ocean to lend me some of its majesty, a geyser of sand erupted from underneath of me, sending me skyrocketing through the air. Whilst I fell from the heavens, I looked down at the ground below me. What once was a beach was now a golden temple! And upon the roof of this temple stood the great Sebastian Windenhofer, my new muse! Since that day, I have traveled alongside him, cataloging his adventures to tell the world of his greatness.”

“You know that the rest of us were on top of that temple too, right?” Wera chided before addressing Mina. “Please take his tales with a grain of salt. For an archivist, he seems to have a selective memory. I’m the cartographer. Sebastian was the first person to hire me out of school, and I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”

She looked back at Enoch and snickered, “See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Your turn, Sir Gargic.”

“Indeed.” Somehow, the knight puffed his swollen chest even bigger. “Unlike the rest of my compatriots, I am not under the employ of Master Windenhofer, but rather a liaison of The Crown of Lanholde. They’ve tasked the two of us with uncovering and collecting a few precious artifacts that The Crown has a vested interest in. We are on the last leg of this journey now.”

Everyone’s attention landed on Mina, heavy with expectation, a burdensome weight. They had offered their stories without her agreement. There was no need for her to respond. Responding would only embolden them to keep prying.

Sebastian broke the thick silence and turned to Tanir, “Did you really have to tell the basilisk story, Tani?”

“It’s one of my first and favorite memories of you,” she replied.

“You should’ve waited for winter,” Mina commented, against her better judgment. “Basilisks get sluggish and less alert in the cold. You can sneak up behind them and slice off their heads in one strike if your blade is sharp enough. Just make sure to cut about a foot below their jaw so that you don’t pierce the venom gland.”

Her unexpected advice, matter-of-fact and brutal, garnered shocked and confused expressions from everyone but the wizard. Maybe it was the right call, then. The more alien she seemed, the better off they all would be.

“Aha! You’re a hunter too!” Sebastian — frustratingly — cheered. “I knew there was more to you!”

 If Mina could meaningfully scowl, she would have. The sight of his smile stabbed at the corner of her eye as she kept her gaze forward. Wizards were known to be fascinated by curiously temperamental creatures, of course it would be harder to break him.

“Now, do you have any other comments, questions, concerns for our happy little troop? Perhaps some tips on how to deal with those duskwolves you—”

“You’re all loud,” she stated. “It’ll draw things to us, and cause trouble on the Peaks.”

“Why’s that?” Tanir asked.

“Avalanches.”

“Wait,” Enoch said. “There’s going to be snow on these mountains?”

“What did you think we bought all those cold weather clothes for?” Wera scoffed.

“Lanholde has a cooler climate. I just thought winter wear was the fashion there.”

Wera sent a pleading look Sebastian’s way. “Did you really have to hire him, ‘Bastian? We could have just left him stranded on that beach.”

“True,” Sebastian shrugged, “but we need entertainment on this journey, and watching the two of you bicker could rival some of the best traveling shows.”

As those around Mina talked, and laughed, and teased each other, the surrounding trees grew in number. Their trunks twisted, more gnarled and oddly shaped, their canopy so thick it shifted the shade of the lower leaves lighter from the lack of sunlight. The group came to a halt as the road ended at a wall of forest: the start of the Harrowed Wood.

“Right. Which of you can fight?” Mina asked as she headed to the front of the pack.

All of them raised their hands.

Wera and Sir Gargic she understood but the others… “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if we couldn’t hold our own, lass,” Sir Gargic said. “Trust me, I was wary myself when I first met them, but even Enoch is worthwhile in a scrap.”

“Hey!” Enoch whined.

“Cartographer, you’re with me at the front,” she instructed before they wasted more time chatting. “Medic and Archivist in the center. Wizard and Knight in the back. Listen more than you talk. Keep an eye out for anything moving that shouldn’t be. If you see something, say something. And if something does attack us, no matter what happens, stay behind me.”

Mina didn’t wait for them to finish pairing off before weaving her way through the trees. She didn’t even acknowledge Wera as she hustled to fall in place beside her.

“So,” Wera drawled after a few minutes of silence between them, “why’d you pick me for the front?”

“You’re a mapmaker,” Mina replied. She didn’t look at Wera as she spoke, her stare focused on surveying the forest in front of them. “If you make a map of the Harrow and the Peaks and take down the trail I use, I may never have to lead people through here again.”

If she had to suffer through another expedition, at least she could make this one of use.

“You seem a little young to retire,” Wera remarked. “And you need income to upkeep that cabin of yours, right? Though with seven thousand gilt an expedition, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself something a little sturdier to live in.”

She could feel the pressure of Wera studying her face, looking for something she’d never find.

“There are other ways to make money that don’t involve being bothered.” She changed the subject, “People think that there are just wolves, bears, various small-time magical beasts here. The Harrow is untouched. Nature and magic are uncontrolled and unforgiving.”

“Probably because of the runoff from the Peaks or some past geological event. I’ll make a note to have Enoch look into it.” Wera took out a small notepad and jotted something down. “If that’s the case then I’d bet there are many ways to cross over into parts of Elphyne here too, probably a bunch of fae circles, areas where the veil is thin. Would you be able to point them out when we pass them?”

“Just write down the trail taken and there’s no need to worry about any of that.”

She heard Wera’s pen skip on the page and a heavy exhale out of her nose.

There it was. She hated being talked down to.

Wera abandoned the topic and turned to basic questions about the flora and landmarks, easy enough that Mina could answer with little thought as she tuned one ear to the forest as best she could through the whispers of those walking a little too far behind her.

“Would you look at that,” Sir Gargic remarked, voice slightly muffled and strained. He talked out of the corner of his mouth in a bad attempt to be quiet. “She’s actually talking to Wera.”

“People do often talk to each other,” Sebastian said coolly, not feeding the knight’s judgment.

“Yes, but she’s so—”

“Are we talking about the Brambled Beauty?” Enoch whispered.

“The what?” Sebastian deadpanned.

“You don’t like it, sir? I’m trying to figure out the perfect way to describe such a terrifying and alluring creature.”

“Alluring?” Sir Gargic guffawed, “She’s so cold!”

“Yes! She’s cold!” Tanir added, voice peaking with a burst of realization.

Mina ground her teeth to keep from chewing them out. It was better that they didn’t know how well she could hear, and she had bore much harsher digs than their rude observations anyways.

“Just because she’s different than us doesn’t make her less of a person,” Sebastian chided. “And Tanir it’s unlike you to make assumptions about someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just—”

A low gurgle deep within the ground, quiet and out of place in the harmony of forest sounds, environmental interrogation, and gossiping whispers, stilled Mina’s stride. She barred her arm across Wera’s chest, stopping the preoccupied cartographer, and held her other hand up to halt those behind them.

Their footfalls and chitchat ceased abruptly. Mina turned her head to the side, putting a finger to her lips to signal them to stay silent and wait.

She drew forth the sword that rested on her hip and crept forward, listening, eyes fixated on the forest floor. The gurgle reached her ears once more, louder and more guttural; hungry. Mina stopped, bladed her feet, and whistled a line of bird song.

“A meadowlark?” Sebastian whispered.

For a fleeting moment, she noted how keen his ear was, then a massive maw erupted out of the earth, lunging at her. Wind at her heels, Mina leaped at it, rocketing towards the toothy mouth at incredible speed, and drove her blade down through its top lip. The beast let out a terrible, gargling roar, shaking off the actual dirt and plants from its mimicking hide to reveal an ornery terramawg.

With the momentum of her jump and the leverage of her impaled sword, Mina vaulted over the bulbous amphibian’s earthen hide. She snapped her hips around, pivoting midair to face the beast’s back, and drew forth her bow in the same fluid motion.

The air stilled as Mina ran her fingers from the grip of her bow to its string. The water in the air collected, crystallized under the brush of her fingertips, forming an arrow of pure ice. She aimed for the creature’s third, slitted eye, a weak point that rested on the nape of its neck, and fired. A roaring gust of wind shook the trees, following in her arrow’s wake as it soared through the air, embedding itself deep into the terramawg’s brain.

Mina kept her focus on the beast as she descended, landing on a nearby tree bough without a glance back. The terramawg seized, the frost from her arrow glaciating its mind, and collapsed into a blubbery heap, returning to the mass of earth and withering foliage it disguised itself as.

Mina secured her bow on her back and slid down the tree’s trunk.

“Keep moving,” she said to the group as she retrieved her sword from the terramawg’s corpse.

It was as if they too had been immobilized by her ice. Sir Gargic’s hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword. Tanir had pulled out a handaxe from somewhere. Three thin daggers were laced between Enoch’s fingers like claws. A swirl of inky liquid hovered over Wera’s palm, while her other hand rested on her chest. Sebastian’s hands were coated in flame.

All of their mouths hung agape.

A dull pang pushed against Mina’s chest at the sight.

“Great Gods. Save some for the rest of us next time, will ya?” Sir Gargic shuddered.

“It was quicker if I handled it,” she stated. “Now come on. There’s more ground to cover before nightfall.” Mina turned on her heels and walked away, stepping across the terramawg’s body and taking care to drive her heels in a little harder as she did so.

“Hey, wait up!” Wera ran after her, manipulating the ink back in its vial and pulling out her notebook once again.“How were you able to tell where it was?”

Tanir pulled a stupefied Enoch along, “Come on. You should be jumping with joy. Action like that is sure to make your book even more exciting.”

“Well,” Sir Gargic remarked to Sebastian with a heavy exhale, “I guess we know why she’s so cold now.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgment, nothing more. Nothing until moments later, when under his breath a murmured thought slipped out.

“The wind even changed direction.”

The reverence in his tone, unheard by everyone else, bristled against the back of Mina’s neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Maiden of the Barren Rime! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it.

To show my appreciation, here's a 50% off discount code you can use when ordering The Maiden of the Barren Rime E-Book off of my website: MBRTUMBLR50

The code expires on May 31st at 11:59pm so make sure to use it or share it with a friend by then!

[velvetm00light]

Snowed In

photos: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The entire BAU team decides to take a vacation to snowy Vermont. After a day of traveling together and being the last of the team to show up to the cabin, Spencer and y/n are exhausted and in need of quality time with their friends. When alcohol and games are mixed, Spencer decides to get y/n worked up before sneaking into her room that night to show her what can happen when the sexual tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: smut, choking, alcohol consumption, others in the house, teasing, sneaking into her room, fingering, oral (female receiving), sexual tension, games (Twister).

A/N: I know it's freshly November but that's close enough to Christmas for me. This idea has been plaguing my brain for literal days now so I just couldn't resist the itch to write this. I also don't want to keep a masterpiece away from you guys especially since I probably won't be able to write for a week after this :(. But, as always, I hope ya'll eat this tf up like I did while I was writing it. <3 Also, I think I like the 3 pic banner so much better than the gifs so I might start doing that :)

THE ICE THAT COATED the sidewalk became a mirror, the concrete beneath twisting into the twin of the gloomy, gray sky above. Y/n's frost-bitten fingers tremble against the ebony wool coat she was wearing tightly wrapped as close to her body as she could possibly pull it. The unrelenting wind bit at her cheeks, her skin raw and burning.

She and Spencer had decided to walk through the cabin's yard rather than risk slipping on the glassy ice, which proved rather asinine as both of their boots and luggage wheels caked in packed snow and mud the deeper into the yard they hiked, slowing their pace. She peered ahead at Spencer under her heavy hood. His chestnut boots a bit more worse for wear than hers, considering he's worn the same ones probably every day of his life.

One hand shoved into his pockets, the other gripped onto the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles blanched. His head dipped against the sharp wind. If she had any energy left by the time they finally reached the cabin's wooden front door, she was going to one hundred percent rub it in his face. They had a negligible argument prior to arriving at the cabin - Spencer completely hellbent on not needing a winter coat, and y/n explaining that Vermont's climate is completely paradoxical to Virginia's at most times of this year.

When they had left Virginia, the sky had been a meager blue, and the wind had grown a bite to it, indicating the impending winter but not intense enough to warrant them to avoid being outside at all costs yet. Temperatures had called for slacks and the usual sweater under a proper coat during their last few cases prior to their very welcomed vacation time. She just wanted to laugh in his face at how right she had been proven in the 5 minutes since they'd parked their rental car in the snow-packed driveway.

When they finally reach the cabin door, Spencer fumbles with the brass knob, his frozen fingers barely able to grasp it enough to twist and open. The door opens without difficulty and y/n almost slams into Spencer's back in an attempt to flee the harsh cold of Vermont.

Y/n hastily shut the door behind her. She and Spencer didn't bother unwrapping any scarves or unbuttoning any coats until they could feel their extremities again as they made their way into the expansive living room, leaving their suitcases by the door. A fresh pine tree lay decorated in lights and garland in the far right corner, the smell of pine welcome in her nose, a large window hiding behind it, climbing halfway up the logged wall before stopping and becoming more logs, with a smaller window on top, shaped to a slope to match the cabin's sloping ceiling.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope sit perched on the chocolate-colored couch to the left of the pine tree turned Christmas tree, wooly sweater sleeves pulled over their hands as they gently hold warm mugs of hot cocoa, most likely.

"You're finally here!" Penelope calls, setting her chipped mug gently on the coffee table just a leg lengths away from the couch. Emily and JJ copy Penelope's actions as they rush over to greet the two latecomers.

"We thought you guys might've gotten stuck or frozen to death or something," Emily explained, engulfing y/n in a hug so tight she thought her lungs might have to escape her body entirely to relieve the pressure.

"With the way Spencer drives, I think we almost got stuck like 4 times," y/n teased, resulting in a malicious side eye from Spencer but giggles from the women in front of her.

"To be fair, we only actually got stuck once. We made it in one piece so I don't see the issue."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the rest of her energy spent on the single ridicule, her mind unable to continue the back and forth.

"The rest of them are in the kitchen," JJ explains, leading them through an archway embellished with fake leaves and fairy lights.

Rossi's back is to them as he pulls a steaming mug from the microwave. When he finally turns to spot y/n and Spencer, the last two team members to make it through the treacherous countryside of Vermont, he places the mug on the kitchen island. "I was just making you guys some cups of cocoa, but it's the packet kind. I would've made it from scratch if I thought I could survive another trip outside."

The team erupted in chuckles, "Yeah, I wouldn't suggest going out there, Rossi. You might freeze on the spot," Morgan laughed.

"Hey, I'm old, but I'm not that old."

Spencer reached delicately for the mug resting on the kitchen island, sliding his fingers through the handle and carefully lifting it as to not spill it over his hand. He turns to y/n and holds out the cup for her.

"I'll take the next one," he smiles. She gives him a sweet smile back as she takes the hot cocoa from him, "Thanks, Spence."

Y/n rose to sit upon a marbled counter, her hot cocoa clutched into her hands, greedy for the warmth it brought to her numbed fingers. Her legs swung, feeling restless despite the exhaustion that weighed her entire body down.

Vacation had began to seem like a myth considering serial killers never cease to kill and each and every person in the kitchen with her had the same mindset when it came to their work. People need us. She can't remember the last time one of her coworkers had taken a vacation or even just a day off as if they were avoiding it like a contagious disease.

She had to admit, it did almost make her feel uncomfortable to think about taking a vacation. She didn't hold much trust in others to do their jobs for them. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to finally have some time to spend with her favorite people doing nothing but watching cheesy Christmas movies and playing board and card games like she was a child again.

With all her might, she pushed down the lingering guilt she always seemed to feel when she wasn't working towards catching a bad guy. Villains always need their heroes, and she didn't like the idea of letting the villains run rampant for too long.

Her internal battle must have shown on her face because Spencer laid a secretive hand over hers as he leaned against the countertop she sat upon. He tilted his face upwards to look at her, silently asking her, what are you thinking about? Spencer seemed to be the one person who could read her like a book, despite y/n keeping the book of her life and emotions locked, shut, and completely hidden away from everyone else.

She shrugged, not important. She diverted her gaze from his, the weight of his causing her mouth to part slightly, wanting to spill everything running through her mind - but she clamped her mouth shut because that is definitely not something she wanted to do in front of her entire team.

She could feel his gaze still on her, reading the emotions on her face like a book, as if he looked long and hard enough, her thoughts would display themselves above her head. "Stop profiling me, weirdo," she whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He rolled his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"How was the drive, Spence? It seems like you guys got the worst of this incoming storm," JJ stated, her mug had been retrieved from the living room coffee table and now rested in her cupped hands as she rested her elbows on the kitchen island.

"Dangerous," y/n muttered. Spencer playfully elbowed her. "Hey! You can't tell me you didn't fear for our lives at least once during that drive."

Spencer didn't bother responding, knowing she was right. The drive hadn't been the worst it could've been, but the snow had began flurrying as they arrived to the airport, y/n's hood pulled so far over her head she kept her eyes locked on Spencer's boots in front of her to lead her. The roads were slick with snow and ice, and the winding strip of road leading up to the isolated cabin had not been the easiest or safest to navigate.

"It's a good thing you guys got here before it got too bad, we might have to really get comfortable with each other considering we'll most likely be stuck here longer than we want," Emily suggested. The team nodding in agreement. Y/n was grateful she had remembered to bring every card and board game she could get her little hands on - Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity, even Twister. She couldn't wait to get the team drunk and convince them to play Twister.

"Speaking of, I think it's time we whip out the alcohol and the games," Emily smiled, as if reading the thought directly from y/n's mind, taking a bottle of top-shelf Tequila by the neck and wiggling it in the air.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Rossi stated.

Y/n and her team made their way into the living room, spiked hot cocoa in hand. She relaxed in the middle of the couch after grabbing her Cards Against Humanity box from her suitcase by the door, Spencer to her right and JJ to her left. Rossi and Hotch taking the two reclining chairs and pulling them forward to reach the table. Emily gracefully sitting on a pillow on the floor, Morgan settling for sitting directly on the carpet, and when Spencer attempts to offer Emily his spot, she dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a suggestive glance towards y/n.

Spencer repositioned himself again on the couch, the meaning of Emily's glance fully understood.

Y/n takes the liberty of pulling the cards out of their designated box and separating them into piles scattered across the coffee table, making sure every has access to a pile of white cards. As she finishes, the conversation about who goes first and random rules to add immediately sparks. Considering the instructions clearly read that whoever pooped most recently was to be the one to start.

The conversation turned argument continued on longer than any thought necessary, laughter filling the cabin to the brim. "Well if we're really trying to have a good time, all the losers each round have to drink."

Once in agreement, the team finally quieted as Hotch reluctantly grabbed the black card on the top of the stack in the middle of the table and read it aloud.

Y/n's head began buzzing as they were a fourth of the way through the stack of black cards, the game no where within bounds of stopping. Her limbs finally felt loose from being curled up in a plane and car seat for hours, trying to avoid looking at the snowy danger they had to travel through.

The entire team shed their worries, stresses, and found it in themselves to be in the moment. Everyone had equal amounts of pain lacing their chests and stomaches from laughing too hard at cards played and also equal amounts of disgusted faces and a little bit of gagging after the rules began to increase the more alcohol consumed - they had began ranking everyone's answers by the fourth time around, the person in first being exempt from drinking anything, the person coming in last being required to take a shot instead of a sip of their drink. Y/n seemed to be on a losing streak.

Luckily, her team was too engrossed in the game to notice when she took smaller shots than she was supposed to. She didn't want to be totally inebriated in the first few hours of her first vacation in God knows how long.

Spencer's arm was outstretched on the couch behind her, his other hand holding his cards secretively, knowing that y/n would a hundred percent be trying to take peeks now and then.

Once they had almost completely blown through most of the black stack, y/n ceased the opportunity. "I brought Twister!"

The entire room cheered, and she stumbled over to her suitcase to grab it out. It was quickly set up within a minute and to her distress, they decided to make teams and compete, obviously.

The girls split into a group and the boys into another. Emily and Hotch started first, Emily easily more flexible than Hotch, his leg unable to twist towards the red dot in the corner, resulting in him falling over and a chorus of laughter echoing off the logged walls.

"Spencer, Y/n, you guys should do it next!" Penelope gasped. "You're both so lanky, it'll be a close match."

Y/n's heart beat against her throat and she felt the rush of heat bloom in her neck and rise towards her still raw cheeks. She took a deep breath, not willing to show how much of a reaction she had at the thought of being tangled up with Spencer.

JJ and Rossi finish their round, JJ sneakily leaning into Rossi enough to knock him over, giving the girls a 2 point lead. Y/n and Spencer stroll leisurely towards the edges of the Twister map. An arched brow climbs her forehead, "I hope you're ready to lose."

"In your dreams," he smirks, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

As Penelope spins the pointer, she begins to call out body parts and colors. Within minutes, y/n and Spencer are a heap of tangled limbs, her back resting against Spencer's chest as she's bent over to reach her left hand to yellow, Spencer's hand next to hers on green. Her hair obstructs some of the view of the colored circles beneath them but the look of Spencer's flexed, muscular forearm on the side of her head does little to ease her rapidly beating heart. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck, coiling a heat in her middle she desperately attempts to push down.

"I think I enjoy you being under me," he whispers onto the skin of her neck, sending shivers rattling down her spine. As Penelope calls out left hand blue, she racks her gaze around the mat beneath them.

She can practically hear the rush of blood in her ears when she finally sees the blue between her strands of hair. The closet blue dot is down towards her legs, considering her right hand was already on the blue next to her left, requiring her to bend her hips upward. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand to the spot, her ass rising upward into Spencer's hips.

She can hear the catch of his breath as she tilts upward to get into her position. The next color is called too soon after, resulting in Spencer's right leg moving to the left side of y/n's body, their bodies no longer touching in the way that spooled heat further into her center. Their limbs fight for purchase on different colored spots as the game continues, their teammates shouting at both of them, the game obviously riveting from above, but completely distracting between the two players.

After a few more minutes of twisting her body in ways she never knew she could, her arms trembled as she reached towards a yellow. Refusing to let a man who probably weighed the same as her beat her in a game of Twister, she fought through the shaking of her body and painful stretch of muscles she probably haven't used in years.

She could feel Spencer's body tremble underneath her, placed in almost the same position as before, just on the opposite side this time. "I think I enjoy being on top better," she whispered in the same way Spencer did to her.

His body tensed under hers before he dropped to the floor, crowning y/n the winner of quite literally a battle to exhaustion in a drunk game of Twister.

The women on her team cheered and hugged each other before reaching out a hand to pull her from her spot on the ground in which she collapsed onto right after Spencer did. "That was probably the longest game of Twister in the history of Twister games," Penelope laughed.

Y/n and Spencer plopped onto the couch together, content to watch Penelope and Morgan go against each other from their comfortable spots on the couch. As Emily called out colors and body parts and the teams cheering on their teammates, Spencer leaned over to y/n's ear. "If you're gonna be on top of me I think it'd rather be able to see you."

Her pulse quickened, the heat that as been building inside her since the start of their Twister match is beginning to come to an edge. Get a grip, she chastised herself. They were on vacation with their entire team for crying out loud, now was not the time for flirtatious advancements or sexual tension.

"In your dreams," she murmured, trying to keep the want in her voice caged down, but with the way that Spencer's lips lifted in a smirk told her she didn't do a very good job at it.

"Certainly."

She couldn't get her eyes to leave his face, lowering them to his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying anything stupid.

He noticed her do this and his expression turned hungry as he watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth. It was one of the things that always set him off without her even realizing. Her nervous tic could be taken as flirtatious by someone who doesn't know her. Even though Spencer knows better, it still causes tension inside his pants every damn time she does it.

"If you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he growled lowly.

The sexual tension between y/n and Spencer was almost palpable as the team said their drunken goodnights and stumbled to their respective rooms. Y/n climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt atop her closer to her face. Her thoughts swam, unable to stop them from completely consuming her with thoughts of Spencer - of his body on hers, his breath on her neck, and god damn the stupid comments he made, knowing they were working her up and torturing the hell out of her all night as they continued to play other games with their friends.

Her thoughts fell away, like birds falling out of the sky, as she heard a low sound. She sat up in her bed, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness swallowing her room, in attempt to see what the noise was. Her door opened gently and a figure quietly stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them, obviously trying not to wake anyone up.

"Hello?" Y/n called out softly, at first she thought it was Penelope, coming to tell her some new gossip she overheard somewhere. But, it wouldn't make any sense of her to sneak in if she thought y/n was asleep. It most definitely wouldn't have been Hotch, Rossi, or Morgan and the only reasonable explanation for any of them to be in her room is if they mistook her door for a bathroom, but she doesn't believe they'd be that quiet about it. Emily was so inebriated she almost didn't make it to her bed by herself.

A nervousness began in her chest as the figure stalked closer to her bed and didn't answer her. Before she could react, lips met hers hungrily. She gasped into their mouth, an opening they took to their advantage as they slipped their tongue between her lips and battled hers for dominance. She supposed that if this was someone trying to kill her, they wouldn't have kissed her first and damn it was a good kiss.

She allowed the kiss to overtake her senses, small moans rising out of her throat as her bottom lip was taken in between teeth and tugged. When her bedroom intruder finally broke their kiss, they were both panting. "I did warn you I wouldn't be able to control myself," the voice growled. Oh.

"Spencer?" Y/n whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait for you to come to me," he murmured, dipping his head to her neck, trailing sloppy kisses downward to her collarbones. Her fingers tangled into his soft curls, a moan slipping from her lips as he teased her sensitive skin.

"Shh," he shushes her, his voice vibrating through her entire body. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"Spence..." she whimpered.

His fingers played with the hem of her tank top, only the thin fabric separating him from her breasts.

"I can't get you out of my head and it's been driving me insane," he muttered against her bare skin, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed lower abdomen, sending goosebumps over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around me, or the sound of your moans that I coax out of you in every possible way I can, or the sound of you screaming my name as you come."

Y/n feels breathless at his touch, the skin beneath his lips burning with heat. "Are you okay with this?" He asks after y/n's silence.

"Absolutely," she whimpers. "Don't stop, please."

As if that was his undoing, he tears her tank top from her skin, y/n almost unable to raise her arms up in time to get it over. As soon as her tank top is thrown to the floor, his lips latch onto her peaked nipple and a cry of pleasure gathers in her throat but she clamps her lips shut, not wanting to let anyone hear. He continues to work her nipple in his mouth, using tongue and teeth, mixing pain and pleasure.

Her fingers grip his hair tighter, her back arching to bring his mouth as close as it could possibly get to her exposed breasts. Without budging from her nipple, he removes her pants swiftly, gripping her hips with his hands to swing her under him.

Her eyes can just barely make out his face in the dark hovering above her, her body begging for more. She squirms underneath him, hardly able to contain the desire coursing through her blood. His smile turns feral as he realizes just how badly she wants him to keep going.

He lowers himself antagonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses along her naked body until he reaches her inner thighs. He settles himself comfortably in between her legs as she widens them to give him complete access.

He slides his tongue gracefully through her folds and she lets out a gasp. "I've been aching to taste you," he groans against her center, gliding his tongue from the bottom up again. "You taste fucking delicious."

His pace starts out tame as he saviors every whimper that leaves her mouth and the taste of her on his tongue. Another gasp escapes her as he slips a finger in, wasting no time in gently sliding it in and out, curling it upwards to hit her sweet spot just right. She bucks her hips, riding his tongue and finger as her pleasure builds in intensity, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, his tongue and finger abandon her and she lets out a whine of disappointment. "Someone's needy," he chuckles lowly. "I'd rather make you come with me buried deep inside you."

Spencer quickly undresses himself and gently lines up with her center. He slides the tip through her folds, making her arch her back towards him, her silent plea.

Without hesitation, he slips inside her and releases a groan. "You're so wet for me," he smirks. She can barely see his face, but she knows he has a smug look on it. It's as if he's known how crazy he makes her, how she has fantasized about this very moment before.

His thrust starts out delicate, like he's afraid he's going to break her apart. She wraps her legs around his waist, an attempt to pull him as deep as possible. "Careful," he growls against her neck as he teases her skin once more. "I don't want to let loose just yet and hurt you."

"What if I like it rough?"

"Tell me how you want it, then." A challenge.

"I want you to fuck me dumb."

"Your wish is my command," he smiles against her skin and immediately latches onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her delicate skin. His hands grip her waist to keep her steady as he pounds into her, the sound of his bare thighs hitting hers. He places a hand on her throat and gently squeezes, as if he knows exactly how she likes it.

"Fuck.." Spencer growls, unhooking her legs from his waist with his available hand and using his weight to lift her legs above her head and driving in deep. Y/n claps a hand over her mouth to keep her screams in, her other hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white. "You're taking me like such a good girl."

"Fuck, Spencer," she whimpers under her palm.

"Say my name again."

"Spencer..."

"Louder."

"Fuck, Spencer!" She cries as he hits home, her pleasure reaching it's breaking point hastily.

"Open your mouth," he demands. She releases her palm from over her mouth and opens wide, Spencer wasting no time in sticking two fingers on her tongue. She closes her lips around his fingers and slides her tongue over their length. He groans in pleasure as she continues to tease his fingers.

"Come for me."

Those words were her undoing as she falls over the edge, Spencer following her over and her body releasing the pent up desire. Her entire body trembles as ecstasy floods her.

He releases her legs but stays positioned inside her, face hovering just inches above hers. Their panting breaths tangle with each other in the air between them. "You took me like such a good girl," he coos, cupping her cheek gently and rubbing her heated skin with his thumb.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Y/n whispers, trying to control her wildly racing heart.

"Of course."

"I've thought the same things," she confesses, pulling him by the hair to meet her lips again. "And I hope you're not too tired for another round."

An animalistic smile grows on his face as he pauses their kiss, "I'm going to tear you apart."

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Jason Todd loves to travel to cozy forest cabin getaways with you

🍂 Especially in the middle of autumn/one the cusp of winter. A little strange, considering people usually prefer spring, summer or at least warmer months of autumn. You asked him about it once, he said it's the calmness of the forest that's preparing for winter.

Like everything's falling asleep. Calm, quiet, undisturbed by anything.

🍂 You have one place surrounded by mountains that you book year in advance and visit every year for a week. It's a long wooden hut made of layered logs with stone fireplace and terrace window overlooking nature. Nestled on the high slope right under the mountain, it offers a beautiful view of valley with river curling like a snake through the slopes and acres upon acres of ancient pine trees.

🍂 He makes sure you're stocked with everything you need. Even the things you don't need but he bought them because he knew you liked them. Your favorite coffee, dried fruits and nuts, his favorite beef jerky, soup cans, store bought dough for pizza, fresh buns and cinnamon buns, eggs for morning omelettes, pumkin spice and ingredients for simmer pot (you taught him to drink that pretty quickly).

🍂 It's that calm quiet routine he falls into wih you there that he loves the most. You wake up late, burried under the patterned blankets, to a cold autumn morning with golden-brown leaves falling behind your window. He doesn't want to let you go until you bribe him with fresh coffee. It another half an hour before you get out of bed, either talking or reading your respective books you brought with you. Then and only then, you get out of bed. Usually one makes breakfeast while other gets ready or sits at the dining table. You rarely use that table, usually taking the food either outside on the terrace, the couch or bed.

🍂 Your days are filled with hiking and walks through the wilderness. Each morning greets you with the soft light of dawn as you lace up your hiking boots, ready to explore the outdoors. The air is fresh and crisp, filled with the earthy scents of pine and wildflowers.

As you venture deeper into the wild, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees that sway gently in the breeze. You might encounter babbling brooks that meander through the landscape, their crystal-clear waters shimmering in the sunlight. With every step, you are greeted by the symphony of nature—the cheerful chirping of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, and the distant sounds of nature that fill the air with tranquility.

Each hike offers its own unique adventure: sometimes you climb to breathtaking vistas that reveal sprawling valleys below, while other times, you wander through serene glades where wild animals may cross your path. You take the time to pause and appreciate the beauty around you, capturing moments with photographs or simply soaking in the sights and sounds.

In the evenings, as the sun sets and casts a warm glow across the horizon, you reflect on the day’s explorations, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the connection you have with nature. Whether trekking through rugged mountain terrain or strolling along peaceful forest paths.

🍂 Unlike eating times, your walks are usually filled with peacefull silence, disturbed only by the sounds of rustling leaves, crunching of branches under your feet or animals. Speak of which, you were pretty nervous when you encountered bear or moose, but Jason assured you that as long as you don't bother them, they won't bother you. You didn't know that wolves are so much bigger that a dog until a pack of them was chilling early in the morning around your cabin.

🍂 You make sure to bring your beaten-down old camera on these trips. Because some of these breathtaking sights cannot be captured by a phone. You have tons of them with beautiful sighs of nature, that one time you decided to go up the mountain slope, and the little fox family you stumbled upon. There's also plenty of pictures of Jason, sometimes taken without his knowledge. It's a rare sight when you manage to see that expression of pure serenity on his face, let alone capture it on the camera. There's one you cherish the most. It was taken when you climbed up the hill to a clearing. The sunlight is still peeking over the mountains and is shining directly on his back. He looks to the side and light illuminates his face perfectly, tracing the lines of his face in light and shadow. Dark strands peek from underneath his beanie and his neck is buriend in the scarf you made him. A fog is rising from his lips and one green eye is cast in sunlight. In the background, a blurried out expanse of forest and mountaintops. A copy of this photo made its way to the Wayne manor.

🍂 In the evenings, you cook dinner together and then either play boardgames or, you guessed it, read some more. Jason always looks forward to cooking dinner with you. You blast music for your portable radio, you mess with each other by throwing bits of food and argue what toppings should or should not go on a pizza. You test out what board games would stand the trial on the game nights with his family and you always end with cards against humanity. Your always at disadvantage when playing Black Stories. It's not your fault you're not detective like someone.

🍂 Out of all activities, your absolute favorite undoubtedly has to be stargazing with Jason. There’s something truly magical about those nights spent together, standing under the open sky, clean of the polution of Gotham city.

In those quiet moments, as you both gaze up at the milions of twinkling lights, you feel a deep sense of peace and connection. The cool night air envelops you, and every sigh, every laugh, and every shared dream feels amplified against the backdrop of shimmering constellations. With Jason by your side, it’s not just about the beauty of the night's sky; it's about the warmth of his presence, the quiet conversations that stretch into the night, and the comfort of knowing that you’re sharing these moments with the person you love most. The stars don’t just fill the sky; they light up your hearts, creating a memories that feels timeless and everlasting.

[callsign-venus]

For the Love of Love | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader | Part I

Summary: You are dreading your grandparents' 60th anniversary. While you love them, along with the rest of your family, you're tired of being "the single one." So when your friend Bradley Bradshaw offers to accompany you to your grandparents' Tahoe cabin for the long weekend, your tipsy self agrees. The problem? Only that you're hopelessly in love with him.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: alcohol consumption, pining, fake dating, reader is supposed to be young, so age gap?

a/n: this is my first series, yay! Let me know if you'd like to join the taglist! I hope y'all enjoy x

The night before you were expected – along with the rest of your family – at your grandparents’ Tahoe cabin, you called up your childhood best friend to help you drown your sorrows at the Hard Deck. The air in the bar was dense with a steady throb of ‘80s music and the slur of dozens of drunken conversations. There were so many people that, even though you immediately shed your jacket, a bead of sweat rolled down your back before you even reached the bar. Still, the Hard Deck was like a second home to you, and its chaos enveloped you with all the warmth of a hug from a friend who was a little more drunk than they’d admit.

Nat was already at the bar. She had a beer in one hand, another waiting for you in front of the empty barstool next to her. You smiled. She must have put up quite a fight to keep that seat for you on such a busy night.

You hopped up on the barstool and snagged your beer, relishing in its coolness more than its taste. How long until Nat gave up on trying to get you to like IPAs? At least this one was potable, unlike the last one she tried to get you to drink.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Sorry, I was packing.” You had to yell over the clash of noise between you. “Do you know how hard it is to pack winter clothes? I have, like, three suitcases. Full.”

Nat laughed. “Excited much?”

You slammed your bottle of beer down on the counter like an inebriated judge making a ruling. “I’m actually not going to go.”

“To your grandparents’ 60th anniversary?” Nat arched her brows.

“Yes. Think about it.” You sat up straighter. “I’m alone with my family in the mountains. I’m the only grandchild not in a relationship. We’re all there to celebrate love. My grandma tells me fourteen times that she had two kids by my age. Auntie Marnie will get wine drunk and ask why I’m not dating anyone when I’m such a catch. All the cousins will bring their partners and they’ll hold hands and make googly eyes at each other and kiss each other in the kitchen. Everyone will be so in love, and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And I can’t even bring you with me because you’re working. Ugh, this is going to suck.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Nat took a swig of her beer.

“Didn’t I tell you about Sabrine’s wedding?” You knew you had. Your cousin’s wedding was sweet and intimate, and of course you were happy for her and Matt. But there were moments that sent you teetering toward something akin to an existential crisis. And the constant comments from your aunts, the snide remarks from your brother, and the oppressive sense of love in the air definitely did not help. Slightly buzzed in your aunt’s backyard the night before the ceremony, watching everyone declare their love in a thousand small ways (an easy brush of the hands, a fork of pasta held up like an offering, a future planned by spoken word), you couldn’t help but draw up your feet and stare at the stars like they had an answer for you.

Nat shrugged this off. “Then bring a date. There’s plenty of eligible bachelors in this bar right now.”

As if her words were a spell, a seaman tapped on her shoulder. Nat was in civilian clothes, so her high rank wasn’t visible to ward him off like on most other nights. She snapped around. Her teeth must have been barred because she sent him skittering into the crowd in record time.

“Oh yeah,” you sipped your drink, “plenty of eligible bachelors.”

“Shut up. I’m not the one leaving on a flight tomorrow morning, desperately lonely, heading for a fate as terrible as celebrating love.”

“Who’s celebrating love?” Jake appeared like a demon summoned straight from hell.

When Nat first introduced you to the Daggers, they had all been intimidating. But only Hangman had you on edge. You’d softened up to the guy in the years since, but you didn’t need him knowing about how “desperately lonely” you were. In fact, there was only one man in the world who you wanted to see less than Jake in that moment. And if Jake was there, it was only a matter of time before he was, too.

Nat tipped her beer toward you. “She doesn’t want to be the only single person at her grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary this weekend.”

God. There he was. Popped up right as you expected – and dreaded. His loud Hawaiin shirt poorly concealed his heavily muscled arms. His aviators hung off his undershirt, and they rattled against his chest as he laughed at your predicament. You couldn’t even look at his face.

“I just know my family’s going to give me a hard time,” you said in panicked defense. “Even if they don’t mean to.”

Bradley draped an arm over your shoulder. He’d done it so countless times in knowing you, like it never fazed him. It probably didn’t. He did it to Hangman and Phoenix and Bob, too. However, you had never gotten used to the feel of his skin against your own. Your face got hot, and you hoped he couldn’t feel the sweat spreading under your shirt

He brought his mouth close to your ear to ensure you heard him over the ruckus of the bar. “Whatever your family says about you, just know that they’re right.”

You wriggled out from under his arm, and he doubled over laughing. So did Hangman and Phoenix.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Nat said after collecting herself.

You rolled your eyes. He was already under your skin. Had been from the moment you first laid eyes on him. Spread like an itch that was always there, but one you could never scratch.

“C’mon, let’s play some pool.” Jake vanished into the crowd, knowing the three of you would follow.

You had never been so thankful to be around the pool table, even though some nights you dreaded it. Every one of the Daggers could outplay you in pool; you always felt bad for whoever was unlucky enough to be your partner. And normally, you felt a little awkward when the conversation turned to work. Fighter jets and naval bureaucracy were not things you were well versed in, but that night, you were grateful for the work conversation to overshadow the conversation about your lack of a love life.

Unfortunately, when you and Nat were down three-nothing, somehow your love life took center stage again.

Jake sank the cue ball – such a rare occurrence the four of you stood still against the wave of bar patrons for a solid five seconds before you and Nat cheered.

“Nice going, Seresin.” Nat patted you on the shoulder. “Set her up real nice.”

Jake scoffed.

Bradley winked at you as you set the cue ball on the table. He mouthed good luck, and you – along with your chances of winning – were a goner.

You had a perfect opportunity to sink the ruby red 7 ball. You lined up your shot, pulled back on your cue stick, took a shallow breath – that did not calm your nerves – and completely missed. The cue ball jumped around the table, smacking into solids and stripes alike. Everyone leaned in as it collided with the 8 ball, sending it hurtling toward the corner. By some small miracle, it missed the pocket by a breath. Both the 8 and cue balls rolled to an unceremonious stop.

“Well, that could have been worse.” Nat sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.

“Jesus,” Jake said. “No need to worry about your boy troubles if this is how you play pool after two years of practice with the best.”

Your cheeks warmed. Usually, you could at least hold your own. Your partner would have to do a lot of heavy lifting, but they could count on you to sink a few balls. At the very least, they could count on you not to do whatever the hell that just was. You could feel everyone staring, Jake’s mishap long forgotten. You could especially feel Bradley’s gaze on you. It was hotter in the bar than when you first arrived. You crossed your arms over your chest, rubbing a thumb against the sticky skin of your upper arm.

“Don’t you think she should just bring a date to the anniversary?” Nat asked the two other aviators as Bradley lined up his shot. “That would keep her family off her back.”

You dug your nails into your skin to keep from lunging at her over the pool table.

Hangman grinned, his teeth flashing against the neon lights. “Sure. Any luck with those dating apps?”

“Ha ha,” you said. “It’s no use. Besides the fact that they suck ass, my plane leaves at 8:30 tomorrow morning.”

Bradley sank two stripes in one shot. Before taking another, he gestured around the bar. “And these fine men don’t meet your standards? They are members of the American Armed Forces, after all.”

“I’m not taking a stranger on my grandparent’s 60th anniversary trip, thank you.”

Bradley shrugged. He missed the 15 ball.

Nat leaned over to take her shot. She looked up at the boys, flashed a smile at you, then said, “What if she took one of the Dagger boys?”

Your hands flew to the edge of the pool table for support, otherwise, you might have gone down.

“What, should she take Bob?” Jake’s voice was laced with alcohol and utter delight in your misery. “He’d have a heart attack trying to keep up a ruse like that.”

Jake and Bradley shared a good laugh, only to be quieted when Nat went on a run and sank four solids before finally missing.

She straightened and used her cue stick to point at them. “Y’know, I was kind thinking about one of you two.”

Your blood just about froze solid in your veins. What the hell was Nat thinking? You’d rather die than spend a long weekend at Jake’s side – you just couldn’t bear a constant barrage of snarky comments and showboating. And you’d actually rather die than have Bradley at your side, touching you in his casual way, his shit-eating grin dawning under his mustache, and god forbid his winking.

Jake smirked. “Surely there are easier ways to ask us out.”

“Yeah, we don’t bite.” Bradley laughed. “Before I consider the offer, how nice is this cabin?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m dying to go out with the both of you. How could you see right through me?”

You prayed that no one could see right through you. Especially as your heart rate quickened when Bradley’s gaze settled on you, clouded with thought.

“Assholes,” Nat grumbled as Jake sank the rest of the stripes and the 8 ball in three easy shots. You two were down four-nothing.

Your night of drinking with Nat was ruined. You half-hoped Bob would pop up, offer to be your date, and whisk you away for a respectful and very platonic weekend. Your heart sank like the 8 ball when you remembered he was deployed for three months somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Reality settled in and you figured you might as well get a good night’s sleep before braving the cold mountains and your family.

“I think I’m gonna head home.” You hugged Nat. “Sorry for being a shitty pool partner.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less of you.” She dropped her voice and whispered in your ear. “Sorry for pimping you out like that.”

You shook your head. As much as you had wanted the ground to swallow you, you appreciated her efforts to make your weekend less miserable. Even if she was a little out of line.

You said goodbye to the boys, gathered your purse and your jacket, and left. The noise of the bar melted into the cool, quiet night. You pulled out your phone and ordered yourself an Uber. A slight breeze chased away the sheen of sweat on your skin, and you allowed yourself a moment’s respite under the moonlight.

“Hey.”

You spun around. Bradley was standing there, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.” Your voice was a little too loud. You’d been yelling all night over the noise of the bar, after all. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I just wanted to say sorry.” He smiled. “For teasing you about the whole no date thing.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Goosebumps raised on your arms.

“Y’know, I’ve never been to Tahoe.”

“Oh really?” You started to struggle on your jacket to fight the chill. Bradley held a hand out, and you gave him your purse so you could slip your jacket on easier. “Thanks. You’ve never been to Tahoe?”

“Nope.” He handed your purse back.

“Thanks,” you said again. “That’s a bummer. It’s beautiful, especially at this time of the year. A late snowstorm just rolled through, it should be a winter wonderland up there.”

“Well,” he took a step closer to you. “I was thinking. I’ve never been to Tahoe, you still need a date, I enjoy your company…”

You swallowed hard. Were you dreaming? “Bradley, my flight leaves early tomorrow.”

“So? I’ve got leave. I’m used to early mornings.” His smile was nearly blinding in the full moonlight.

“Did Nat put you up to this?” You tried to catch a glance of her through the large windows, but the Hard Deck was just too packed.

“A little. But to be honest, I didn’t need a lot of convincing. I think it could be fun.”

You fiddled with a button of your jacket, unable to look at him. Before you could think of an excuse to reject his offer, you blurted, “Pick me up from my place?”

“Of course. That’s what a good boyfriend does.” He pulled you in for a quick hug. A completely platonic, pat-on the back, ends-quick-as-it-started type hug. So why did your heart almost stop?

“I’ll book your ticket,” you said over the jackhammering beat of your heart. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just be at my apartment at 6:00.” 

Your Uber pulled up to the curb.

“I’ve gotta go.” You edged toward the car. “But, just – thank you so much. I know this is weird, but I really appreciate it.”

He winked. “Anytime.”

As you settled in the back of the Toyota Camry, you took a deep breath. What the hell did you just get yourself into?

Read Part II here!

[mncxbe]

Come on, baby, don't you hurt me anymore

𝐀𝐤𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: light angst, fluff?, itty bitty smut, one bed trope, smoking, mutual pining, spoilers for s1// inspired by an ask i got from my beloved 🐑 anon

"I can feel you plotting something" said Aki, his gaze fixed on a distant spot outside the hotel room window. It was snowing so much that the buildings on the opposite side of the street appeared only as a blurry contour– blocks of dark grey punctuated by neon signs. Aki's voice carried an edge of annoyance which you shrugged off, huffing.

"I'm not plotting anything" you chuckled, shifting away from under the heavy blanket. "Whatever..." he groaned in response "Just stop moving around I'm trying to sleep"

You were grateful he couldn't see you rolling your eyes at his words. He was impossible. It's been a few months since you first started crushing on your partner and now that Makima sent you two to Kyōto on business it was the perfect opportunity to make a move. You were forced to share a room, a bed.

As you laid next to him, you wondered what would be the best way to confess your feelings– a direct approach might've worked, but Aki was too sleepy to engage in any conversation. You sighed, your gaze musing on the snowflakes outside and then it hit you... the perfect opportunity to get Aki to talk to you. Sliding out of bed you made your way towards the window, prying it open.

Your movements alerted the man beside you who groaned angrily. "Where are you going?".

"Just getting some air, relax. It's not like I'm gonna run off or something" you retorted "You should come too"

"Like hell. It's freezing". You couldn't help but laugh at his comment– for someone who grew up in a mountainous area he sure hated winter. "Suit yourself, but you'll have to do without your cigarettes" you giggled, dangling his pack in front of him as you disappeared outside on the fire escape platform. You could hear your partner's groans of protest as he called out your name but you didn't respond.

With an annoyed sigh, Aki got out of bed and slipped on his shoes, following you outside. He found you at the leaning against the metal railing, holding the pack in front of him– daring him to come get it. He wasn't in the mood for this; it's been an exhausting day, packed with meetings with the higher ups and honestly all he wanted to do was sleep but you wouldn't give him a break.

Stepping closer to you, Aki reached for the cigarettes but you quickly pulled your hand away, hiding it behind your back. "Come and get them if you want them so much, Hayakawa" you taunted. The mischevious smirk that played on your lips only irked him more. "Can you not?" he hissed, closing the distance between you as he tried to grab a hold of the pack. He was basically hugging you, his body pressing you further against the icy railing."I'm not joking, y/n. give them back it's cold out here" he whined and you pursed your lips, cooing at him. "I didn't know the great Aki Hayakawa was scared of a little cold"

You could see the shift in his expressing, his lips pressing in a thin line as he yanked the pack from your hands. "You're no fun, Aki" you sighed, content that the man was back to his alert self. "Well, I'm not in the mood for this" he answered mindlessly, taking a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it. The flame glowed red against the grey night. You stepped closer to him, the crisp snow melted under your bare skin, burning the soles of your feet but the sensation felt oddly comforting– a distraction from the heavy tension between you and Aki. Raising on your tippy-toes you gave him a knowing smile "Then what are you in the mood for?"

Aki's cheeks dusted pink at your question. He wasn't stupid, he was aware of your feelings for him but he'll be damned if he was going to give you the satisfaction. His gaze moved up and down your body– from the lace trimmed tank top and cushy pajama pants to your bare feet and he scowled. How were you not freezeing?"Get back inside, idiot. I don't want you catching a cold."

"Didn't know you cared so much about my well-being" you purred, stepping on the vamps of his boots. Your actions took him by surprise and he instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You were almost at the same level as him, so close he could see the fat snowflakes resting on your hair and lashes. God, you looked so pretty in the soft glow of the winter night. You seemed right out of an old pictures movie. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, averting his gaze.

"What, Hayakawa, you nervous?" you taunted, your voice dripping with amusement. Hooking a finger under his chin, you brought your lips closer to his ear"Am I making you nervous?" The man shivered– your breath was hot against his skin, the closeness warming up his insides.

"No" he said plainly, still not facing you. He's never been a good liar and he knew he wouldn't be able to hide his true feelings if he were to look you in the eyes. Of course, you were aware of that, but you were dead set on making his composure crumble. Your lips ghosted over the shell of his ear before making their way lower, tracing soft kisses along the expanse of his neck. "You sure, Aki?" you giggled, relishing the way he tensed up under your touch. He smelt well; of tobacco and fresh cologne, making your whole body heat up in anticipation.

Your kisses raised goosebumps in their wake, causing the man to shudder. Still, he made no attempt to stop you- he knew it would've been pointless. Instead, he squeezed your hip tighter, ashing his cigarette. "You know it won't work, right? A relationship I mean"

"Why not?" you asked, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck. You were perfectly modled in his embrace, as if you were made to fill his sharp, hollow edges with your soft curves. "Because it simply wouldn't work" he insisted, sighing. He didn't want to tell you that he only had at most two years left to live, that starting a relationship would be pointless since he wasn't going to watch it grow into something... more. So he simply remained silent.

As if reading his mind you pulled away from him, looking up to meet his eyes. "If it's about you dying soon, i know already" Aki raised a brow at your words and you shrugged, wrapping your arms around him "Denji told me" you clarified, watching the stern expression on his face melt into something softer.

"Look, Aki... do you really wanna go through life without living a little? Don't you want something more?"

Aki would've lied if he said that your words didn't take a toll on him. You were right, he wasn't allowing himself the comfort of normality– getting attached to you, caring. "I just don't want you to suffer. There's no point in you falling in love with me when I already have an expiration date"

You chuckled at his words, placing a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Be a little selfish, Aki. It's your life, don't let it go to waste. Plus, i'm a big girl I can take care of myself."

"You clearly can't" he commented, gesturing at the way you were clinging to him. Aki brushed a frozen strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "I like you too. i really do but... I don't think we should do this"

You looked up at him with those big doe eyes he so adored, blinking a few snowflakes away from your lashes "Okay, you don't think we should, but do you want to?" you asked in a soft voice that made him melt like a wax candle. "It's nothing wrong with letting yourself have the things you want. for once, think about what you want, not what you think is the right thing to do"

You were so goddamn adamant that you were making him give him, so stubborn– but also right. He never allowed himself the things he wanted most. Looking down at you his heart tightened in his chest; you were so beautifully present, so real and certain, unlike any other aspect in his life. He couldn't bring himself to say no to you. So maybe... just once he could have something good in his life.

Aki let out a low sigh. flicking the bud of his cigarette out on the street, he took a deep breath "And how would this work? Are we going to sneak around? You know Makima doesn't take relationships between colleagues too well" You hushed him, placing a finger on his lips "Don't worry about that, Aki. We'll figure out a way." you reassured him, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips and his heart skipped a beat. His arms tightened around you, squeezing you against him as his tongue slipped in your mouth, ripping a soft moan from you.

Aki's mind went blank, all his worries and doubts melting away as he held you close to him. You were far away from home, so he was going to make the most of the alone time you had together. You were right, he thought as he rushed back inside with you and slid under the puffy blanket, dragging you on top of him– you could figure things out. Give it a try at least. But for now he just wanted to give in, to spill all his want in you. So for once, he didn't hesitate when you kissed him, dipping his hand lower down your body to touch you where you needed him most. you hastly unclasped his belt, the sound of metal piercing through the silence of your room and he groaned at your touch, pulling you closer against him. Any trace of uncertainty was gone the moment you sunk low on him, moaning softly into the needy kiss you were sharing– he knew without a shred of doubt that this was right, you were good for him. And he wasn't planning to let you go.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Chilling

Masterlist

Pairing: Henry X Reader

Synopsis: You were in love with the blacksmith's boy since you were both children. One day, he stumbles into into the apothecary, covered in blood and wounds, asking for you. As the last survivor of the hunting party, you start to suspect what has changed him.

Tags: fluff, eventual smut, werewolves, friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, danger, some death, gore,

Chapter 1

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village into a shroud of cold shadows. In the dimly lit apothecary, you moved with purpose, tending to the sick under the warm glow of flickering candles.

The room smelled of herbs and remedies, a comforting scent that enveloped the two children and their mother nestled under thick furs. Your hands moved carefully, wrapping the children tightly as you spoke to them in a soothing tone.

"You see, this medicine is made from a special herb. It's like a little helper for your body," you explained, your eyes meeting the curious gaze of the youngest child.

"Why does it smell sour?" the girl asked.

You chuckled, “To me, it smells like oranges. Trust me, after a few sips, you'll feel much better and be playing with your siblings again."

Turning your attention to the reluctant boy, you's smile remained unwavering. "I know, it doesn't taste like your favourite sweets, but it is still good stuff. Drink up, and you'll be back to your adventures in no time."

The boy eyed the tea suspiciously and reluctantly took a sip.

As you comforted the children the mother's discomfort became apparent. Her forehead is damp with fever. You placed a damp cloth on her forehead and she sighed.

"You'll be alright," you assured before ushering the kids into another room, telling them to drink their tea.

Returning to the mother, you reassessed the situation. The bucket beside her bed was full, and she was wiping her mouth. A realisation dawned on you. You delicately asked, "Have you been intimate recently?"

The woman nodded, and understanding swept over. She was with child.

In that moment, the door creaked open, revealing the figure of Rebecca, the village healer, and your mentor.

Rebecca entered the apothecary, shaking off the snow from her cloak and depositing a basket of herbs and roots onto a table. "The cold has arrived sooner than expected this year," she sighed, eyeing the flickering candles that cast shadows on the walls.

Her gaze shifted to you, engaged with the now cleaned-up woman. A knowing smile played on Rebecca's lips as she assessed the situation. "Congratulations, Lucy. Wonderful news,"

As you helped Lucy with a wash basin, you made small talk about breaking the news to Michael, Lucy's husband. In the midst of their conversation, you couldn't resist asking, "How do you do that? Can you read minds?"

Rebecca snorted, not confirming or denying the accusation.

After everyone was cleaned up, children tucked back into bed, and Lucy given a herb to induce sleep, Rebecca noticed the weariness in your eyes. "The night has almost fallen. You should get some rest,"

"What about you?" You asked.

Rebecca dismissed you with a wave, "Don't worry about me. You've been working too hard. I can see it in your eyes. You shouldn't have to do the work of five people."

You chuckled, "Especially with winter colds."

The howling wind outside and the distant howl added an eerie soundtrack to their conversation.

"Sounded louder," Rebecca commented cryptically.

Perplexed, you asked, "What are you talking about?"

"The howling," Rebecca replied, your tone filled with a solemn warning. “One was louder than the rest…”

Oblivious to the ominous undertone, you shrugged and packed your things. "I haven't noticed. If you're okay here, i'll take that offer to go home."

As you opened the heavy wooden door, Rebecca cautioned behind you, "Be careful, y/n. No shortcuts."

With those words echoing in your mind, you donned your cloak and stepped into the biting night, leaving the apothecary behind, the wind carrying with it an unsettling howl.

As you ventured through the village on your walk home, the air grew colder, and darkness descended. Winter's biting cold pierced through your cloak, urging you to quicken your pace. The villagers had retreated indoors, leaving the streets eerily quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps echoing and the wind whooshing through the creaking, naked trees. The quietness was haunting, a stark contrast to the usual lively hum of the village.

Passing the dressmaker's shop, you glanced into the window, where a distorted reflection of a beautiful dress beckoned. You cast a brief glance down at your own worn garment. You've worn it almost every day for three years. The fabric clung tightly, showing your growth over the time.

A sudden snap to your right shattered the silence, and you spun. In the shadows, a pair of glowing eyes seemed to stare back at you. A gasp caught in your throat, and you broke into a run. The chilling wind whipped at your hair as you sprinted toward your brother's farmhouse at the edge of the village.

Reaching the safety of the familiar door, you stole a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding. There was nothing but the winter night. You hurriedly entered the house, shutting the door with a shiver, leaving the cold and the unsettling encounter outside.

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You closed the heavy wooden door behind yourself, and the warm glow of the farmhouse kitchen welcomed you. Your brother, his wife, and their three children sat around the sturdy wooden table, eating a hearty stew from a pot placed at the center.

Will, holding the twins and little Mary devouring your small bowl, greeted you with understanding smiles. "Sit, eat."

As you filled your plate, your brother's wife picked at the sleeve of your worn dress, the dirt from the day's work evident.

"Can you mend this for me, Sophie?" you asked her.

Sophie nodded, "Of course! Leave it with me tomorrow, and I'll have it done by the morning. Can you wear something else in its stead in case it takes me some time?"

You pondered your dress options while taking a scoop of the stew. "I have my festive dress, but there's also my grandmother's old work dress. It's a bit big, though."

Sophie grinned mischievously, "Festive dress it is, then. Remember the harvest festival? The butcher's boy couldn't take his eyes off you."

Blushing, you chuckled, gaze drifting to the window. Your mind lingered on Henry, the blacksmith's nephew. You secretly had a crush on him since you were both children

He lost both his parents and older brother to cholera. Had to grow up fast, becoming the first to apprentice at his uncle Jen’s smithy at the age of ten.

You, only seven years old at the time, found him captivating, though your friends didn't share the sentiment.

You were quite chubby as a child but harsh winters and harvests have made it difficult to stay that way. The same applied to him, although unlike you, who became thinner, Henry bulked. As the years passed, he transformed from a lanky, sickly boy into a broad and capable young man, drawing lots of attention from the village girls with his tall build, strong arms, constantly covered in veins and dirt from working at the smithy.

Despite the two of you being friendly enough, Henry hadn't seemed to notice you much, always engrossed in his important errands at the smithy.

Sophie's voice brought you back to the present. "The butcher's son is handsome and well-off. Perhaps think about it?"

"Perhaps." you considered.

As Sophie departed for bed, you cleared the table before removing your dress, leaving it for Sophie. You settled down on your bed in the kitchen in your night dress, covering yourself in a heavy wool blanket and turned your head to the side.

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In the midst of the night, you found yourself in a dream.

You wandered through a frost-covered forest, shadows dancing beneath the moonlight. Distant howls of wolves echoed, and Henry 's figure emerged from the mist.

As you approached, he turned, revealing the handsome face you often found herself dreaming of.

Henry 's deep brown eyes held a warmth.

"Y/n, my y/n" his words muffled in your dream but you still found your heart beating loudly.

"Yes, Henry." you gasped.

Henry 's arms enveloped you, pulling you closer in a tender embrace beneath the moonlight. He lifted your chin up to meet his lips in a soft, tender kiss that lingered minutes after he pulled apart and trailed kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, where he lingered, playfully nipping at your collarbone.

You gasped.

"I want to sink my teeth into you..." He whispered. You felt your cheeks burn, along with the rest of your body.

Suddenly, the dream shifted. The forest darkened, and the wolves' howls intensified. A giant figure, cloaked in shadows, appeared. Your heart raced as you recognized the glowing eyes from your earlier encounter.

"I want to sink my teeth into you." The figure whispered. Your pulse picked up as the dream twisted into a chaotic dance of uncertainty.

You woke up with a start.

The farmhouse was silent, bathed in the soft glow of the hearth. you lay in the quiet darkness, the dream fading.

Unable to shake off the disquieting feeling, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb your family, and donned your warmest attire. The creaking floorboards betrayed your departure, and as you stepped outside, the winter night embraced you once again.

The village slept peacefully, shrouded in a blanket of snow. Your breath formed visible clouds in the frigid air as you made your way to the apothecary. The flickering candlelight within revealed the familiar shelves of herbs and potions.

Rebecca, already awake, greeted you with a knowing smile. "The threads of fate weave a complex tapestry," Rebecca mused. "Your dreams may hold clues to the challenges ahead. Stay vigilant, you, and trust your instincts."