#windows shared hosting

[klcweb]

Brute Force Attacks:- How to Prevent?

A brute force attacks is a hacking technique that involves trying many different passwords with the hope of eventually guessing the right one. The first step in any brute force attack is choosing a target therefore, the hackers start by scanning networks looking for open ports, then try to guess passwords. A hacker will try to log in if they think the correct password. They will have complete…

[agerasiaa]

I was thinking about a radiostatic au where they are still both alive and Vox is Alastor’s stalker and Alastor is still the same serial killer, but then I realized that sounds like a killing stalking au and now I’m deeply disturbed

[impossible-rat-babies]

obssessed with the suite eyrie has in radz-at/han that I’m building in my mind

[randomfanfics02]

Five times I whispered 'I love you.' Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Summary; Being Daphne's best friend had its perks, growing up alongside the Bridgerton family, going to the balls with them, and falling in love with her older brother.

Warning; shit tone of fluff, little smut, angst. Family death; readers mother passed away and Father is ill with similar traits as the King. Readers last name is Taylor.

Distractions.

"Y/n,"

You pause, looking through the mirror at Daphne, your fingers run through your curls, a simple lilac dress hugging your frame beautifully.

"Dear, why are you running?" You laugh, raising a questioning brow at the oldest Bridgerton daughter.

"I need your help, the Duke is on his way and I need a moment alone with him-"

"Out of wedlock," You turn around to face Daphne, with a gasp, you place a hand on your chest with a teasing smirk, "How scandalous."

Daphne whacks your shoulder, passing you to take a lipstick from her vanity, "No, I need you to go downstairs and distract Anthony for me, mother has taken the others to the market and you are my only help."

"It will cost you three new books-"

"Of course," Daphne beams, pressing a kiss on your cheek, "Thank you."

You hum in reply, the two of you quickly scurrying to window as the carriage arrives at the front of the house. You both share a look before the two of rush out her room and down the stairs, hands held together as you try not too trip over your dresses.

"Go quickly, I'll distract him," You gently push Daphne towards the door before rushing towards Anthony's office.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your dress and gently knock on his door. Hearing a faint, 'come in', you gently open the door, popping your head around the corner as he looks up from his desk.

"Lord Bridgerton," You greet with a smile, "I was wondering-"

"What are you up too?" Anthony frowns, placing down his work, "You have that look on your face-"

"I have no look upon my face-"

"You certainty do-"

"My face holds nothing but beauty,"

Anthony laughs, standing up as you smile teasingly at him, "You hold a lot of beauty, Lady Taylor."

You feel your cheeks blush as he gets himself a drink, he leans against his desk as he watches you. You hold his eyes for a moment before clearing your throat, "I was wondering if you wanted to walk with me in the gardens, Daphne is busy-"

"Of course," Anthony replies, taking his jacket from the back of his chair.

"Are you not busy?"

"Not for you," Anthony offers you his arm with a smile, "And I can't have my sisters dear friend wondering around alone."

You smile, taking his arm as the two of you head towards the gardens, you look over your shoulder catching Daphne followed by the Duke who gives you a cheeky wink to which you roll your eyes at playfully.

Anthony holds the door for you, and you head out into the gardens. Beautiful lines of flowers lead down the garden path towards the pond, where a tall white fountain sits in the middle of it.

"Its beautiful out here," You say, letting your fingertips run over tall pink flowers, "You should host a picnic."

Anthony hums in agreement, "And whom should attend?"

"Me," You raise a brow at him, making him tilt his head down towards yours with a smile on his own.

"You practically live here," He jokes, "But you are more than welcome."

Your hand falls from Anthony's arm as Hyacinth and Gregory come bounding towards the two of you, their nanny running close behind with bright red cheeks. You catch Hyacinth in your arms, placing the ten year old on you hip as she hugs you.

"Y/n," She beams, "Have you seen our new flowers, mother had them placed by the entrance, they are tall and purple and-"

"They are beautiful," You press a kiss on her cheek, Anthony watches with small smile, holding Gregory's hand in his own as the four of you continue your walk, "What are you two playing?"

"We were just running around," Gregory answers, gently swinging his and Anthony's hands.

"Sounds exhausting," You roll your eyes playfully as Hyacinth giggles at you.

"Anthony?" Gregory pauses, pointing over into the distance, "What is that?"

Your eyes go wide as Anthony looks over at you, then towards the carriage at the front of the house. Anthony races towards the entrance as you place down Hyacinth, taking hers and Gregory's hand as you follow behind him.

Reaching the entrance, the carriage is long gone, leaving Daphne stood at the doors with a small smile. Anthony skids to a stop, looking up at his sister with a questioning look. You stop beside Daphne, holding a cheeky smile as he glares at you, now knowing your true intentions for wanting to go for a walk.

"I best excuse myself," You press a kiss on the two youngest's head before pressing one on Daphne's kiss, who whispers a thank you. Making your way down the steps, you lean up to press a kiss on his cheek, "Have a lovely evening, Ant."

Anthony watches you walk away, fingertips brushing over his cheek as Daphne laughs, he glares up at her, "You are unable to question my love life if you are unable to sort out yours, brother."

Anthony watches as his sister ushers his little brother and sister inside the house before looking over his shoulder in the distance you had wondered off too.

2. Always.

"Lady Taylor,"

You jump in surprise as The Duke bursts into the room, eyes wide, breathing heavily, cloths in disarray. It was late a night, your home library only lit up by a few candles. You place down your book, heart pounding in your chest as catch onto the worry in his eyes.

"Daphne has gone into labour, Y/n," He hurries, offering you his hand as you rush with him through your house.

"What is happening?" Your father questions, stepping outside of his office.

"It's Daphne papa," You quickly explain, slipping on your shoes, "She has gone into labour."

"Wish her my best," You father smiles, looking over your shoulder at the Duke who takes your hand again gently pulling you along, "And you too son, you'll be a fine father."

The Duke smile quickly, closing the doors behind you before climbing into the carriage, "Are you alright?"

Simon nods, knee bobbing up and down, his face written with anxiety, "I am worried."

"Daphne is a strong woman, I have grown up alongside her and she will be a wonderful mother," You reassure him before teasingly adding, "So will you."

Simon laughs, "Thank you, Y/n. She asked for you, she needs you beside her."

"Always."

"As did the Viscount," Simon says, you open your mouth to reply but he beats you too it, "He trusts you, I have never seen Anthony so infatuated."

The rest of the carriage ride is sat in silence. Your heart pounding in your chest as you arrive, Simon rushes out before you, you quickly following as you rush towards Daphne's room. Reaching the hallway towards her room, The Duke runs past the siblings who sit scattered outside the in the hallway. Anthony pushes off the wall he was leaning on, quickly taking your hands as Daphne's scream echoes down the hall as Simon walks back into her room.

Your eyes stay onto his, squeezing his hand, "I have too-"

"I know," Anthony nods, pressing a gently kiss on your hands, "Be with her."

You walk past the siblings, pressing a quick kiss on Hyacinth's head as you pass. Anthony watches as you close the bedroom door behind you, before sighing, slumping back down beside Benedict.

"Are you ever going to come to your senses?"

Anthony frowns, looking at his brother, "Pardon?"

"Y/n, she has grown with us," Benedict leans his head back against the wall, "You don't look at her like how Colin and I do, you look at her as if she holds your world."

Anthony shakes his head, "I do not wish to burden Y/n with our family-"

"She is family."

Hours had past. Gregory and Hyacinth had gone to bed, the rest of the siblings fallen asleep in the hall. Benedict passes his brother a drink as he rubs his eyes tiredly.

"I believe it will be a boy," Benedict mumbles tiredly as Anthony hums in agreement.

Their heads shot up as you quietly come from the room, gently closing it behind you, you smile brightly, "It's a boy."

Anthony and Benedict share a laugh, as the other siblings startle awake. They celebrate together as Anthony walks towards you, gently wiping away the happy tear that rolled down your cheek. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead as you rest your hands on his chest as holds you close.

"Thank you, Y/n."

"Always, Anthony."

3. Take my hand.

Aubrey Hall looked stunning under the summer sun, the garden decorated with numerous tents, surrounding a platform for dancing, a band siting in the corner.

"It looks truly beautiful," Daphne mutters as you nod in agreement, watching as Lords and Ladies began to dance under the evening sky.

Anthony and Colin walk up to the two of you and Anthony takes a moment to take in how breath taking you look. A sheer black dress sat over a burgundy one with think straps, sheer black gloves reach over your elbows, dark hair curled and pulled into a perfect bun. He smiled gently as you thank him for the drink he passed you, the four of you stand on the steps watching down on the garden party.

"Is that Lord Elton your father is talking too?" Colin asks, squinting under the sun as the three of your follow Colin's gaze, "Why would your father be speaking to Lord Elton, the man that has been rumoured to be the biggest prick of the ton."

Anthony reaches behind you, smacking his brother around the back of his head, but none-the-less doesn't disagree.

"Why would your father be talking to Lord Elton?" Colin asks as Daphne and yourself share a worried expression.

"I will be back in a moment," You rush down the steps and hurry towards your father.

Anthony watches with a heavy feeling sat in his heart as you gently interrupt their conversation. His stare hardens as Lord Elton gently presses a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Stop glaring," Daphne gently nudges her older brothers arm.

"Lady Y/n looks beautiful tonight, I am sure he is hoping for much more,"

Anthony smacks his brother again as Daphne rolls her eyes at the two, "Anthony, you truly need to see that Y/n would be a fine wife for you."

"She is your closest friend, Daphne," Anthony replies, swallowing thickly as he watches you, "She is family-"

"She makes the world stop for you, doesn't she?" Daphne rhetorically asks, "She makes you happy and you make her happy too, I only wish for the two of you to be happy together."

Anthony looks down at his sister, mirroring her soft smile as he presses a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Colin chuckles, "In other words brother, be a man and tell her how you feel." Colin ducks before his older brother could smack him.

You pull your father to the side as Lord Elton walks away to get himself a drink. Your father was the only family you had after your mother's passing a few years ago. Recently, your father had been having these spells as your father calls it, moments where he forgot about the world around him and focused on the stars, believing your mother was calling him from the stars.

"Lord Elton is a good man-"

"Father, I understand you are worried but he is not a good man, I wouldn't be happy-"

"But you would be safe and have money, the children you have will be looked after," You father gently argues, cupping your face he brushes his thumb over your cheek, "If I can not remember you, my darling, I want to forget with you secure and with someone I trust."

"You trust him?" You ask, brows pinched together as you look at your father, "Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Lord Elton is hardly around, he is wealthy," You father answers, "You would have my inheritance-"

"That he would take, he is a wicked man-"

"You mustn't think the worst of people," Your father's gaze harden slightly as he sighs, shoulders dropping, "I don't know how long I have left and I need you to be safe when I pass."

"I will-"

"Lord Elton will provide for you, and he has enough to do so," You father finalizes, "I will be giving him my blessing."

Your father walks away as you watch with a sudden pit of anxiety sat in your stomach. Looking over your shoulder the Bridgeton siblings had disappeared which your thankful for as you rush up the stairs and into the house.

You rush further into the house, away from the garden party, you finally sob, pressing a gloved hand over your mouth as you slide down the wall, falling into tears.

Outside Anthony watches as you quickly walk away and into the house, passing his drink to Benedict before quickly following. He smiles politely as people greet him before rushing further into the house. Anthony frowns, falling beside you to bring you into a hug letting you sob into his chest.

"My father is ill," You whisper, as you wipe away your tears, moving to lean your head on his shoulder.

"I am sorry," Anthony replies, pressing a kiss on your head, "What is wrong?"

"He has these spells," You quietly say, "He believes he can hear my mother and she is telling him to meet him in the stars, he has fits and spells of anger where he locks himself in his office."

"What can be done?" Anthony take one of your gloves off, lacing your fingers together.

"Nothing," You reply, wiping another fallen tear, "He wants to marry me off to Lord Elton so he can pass knowing I am safe-"

"Lord Elton is a wicked man-"

"Please tell my father, Ant," You lean your chin on his shoulder as he peers down at you, "I don't want to marry him."

"I know," Anthony presses a kiss on your forehead, "I won't let it happen."

You breath a laugh, tightening your hand in his, "And how will you do that, my Lord?"

Anthony swallows thickly, before resting his forehead on yours, "Whatever to make sure you are happy."

4. Our final moment.

On a warm summers day, your father hosted a game of croquet, inviting the Bridgerton family, The Duke and Lord Elton for a friendly game. Taylor summer house was grand, your favourite home; tall tower like structures either side of the grand entrance, a library with bookcases from the floor to the ceiling and a garden that reached for miles, the house surrounded by trees. It was simply beautiful.

"May I say," Lord Elton says, pushing back his thick dark hair off the thin line of sweat, "This house would be magnificent to raise children in."

You share a look with Daphne after Lord Elton winked at you. Anthony glared at him as the Duke nudged him, raising a brow at him to which he rolled his eyes at. You gently tugged the sleeves of your lace sleeves over your knuckles as your father awkwardly chuckles, breaking the slight pause at the Lord's comment.

"I think Lord Taylor and I will sit the rest of this out," Violet gently smiles, placing a comforting hand on your arm sensing your uneasiness.

"I agree, I grow tired quickly now I grow old," You father jokes, smiling gratefully as Benedict passes him a drink before he sits.

"You've been old for awhile, father," You press a quick kiss on his head as you pass, smiling as Anthony passes you a blue mallet. The sibling's yourself and the Duke, carry on with the game, walking down the garden hill to the next match.

"What a quick tongue," Lord Elton jokes, taking the yellow mallet from Anthony's hand, "I am sure we can fix that when you'll be mine."

"I am no object you can claim," You take the yellow mallet from his hands, passing it back to Anthony as you pass, "And I do not need to be fixed."

Anthony shares a smirk with Simon as Daphne and Eloise share a laugh hidden under their hands. Benedict pats your shoulder with a proud smile before you take your shot perfectly.

As the game continues, you stand beside Anthony and Daphne, laughing gently at Colin's misfortune and bad aim. Lord Elton follows on, whacking the ball and Anthony's out the way making Anthony's roll down the hill. Anthony glares as you roll your eyes at Lord Elton's smirk. Daphne goes next, sending a cheeky wink to her husband as she hits your ball, coincidently making it follow Anthony's.

"I guess we need to go for a hunt, Lord Bridgerton," You smile cheekily, taking Anthony's arm.

As Lord Elton goes to object, Anthony smiles, "We will catch up, continue."

Simon wraps an arm around Daphne's shoulders as the two share a knowing smile.

Anthony and yourself walk down the hill, your hand falls into his in a more intimate moment, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The two of you found your croquet balls stuck in mud at the edge of the tree line.

"Come on,"

Anthony watches as you walk into the mud, bunching your dress in one hand. You whack the ball out of the mud, before looking at Anthony with a raised brow. He chuckles before sighing as he steps into the mud, whacking the ball out of the mud and beside yours. Anthony takes a step out of the mud, sighing at his new black shoes now covered in mud.

"Anthony,"

Anthony looks over at you, who is struggling to get out of the mud, your mallet now fallen beside you as you try and pull your foot out. Anthony steps back into the mud, hand catching yours, as he gently pulls you into his arms.

Looking down at you, you hold onto his arms, tugging gently to try and free yourself, "May I lift you?"

"You may,"

Placing his hands on your waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he lifts you out of the mud. As he goes to walk out of the mud, he finds himself stuck making to two of you tumble forward. You back hits the mud first, his body falling on yours. The two of you gaze at each other, before breaking into a fit of laughter, your arms wrap around his shoulders, legs slotted together.

"Your covered in mud," Anthony murmurs as the laughter dies, bright smiles gracing your faces.

"My back and just your knees," You wink, "How scandalous."

Anthony laughs again, eyes searching yours as his cheeks blush pink, "A rumour that may save you from marriage."

"So that was your plan all along,"

"Possibly."

His eyes flickered over your face, before falling onto your lips, you barely tilted your head at him, raising your brows when you let your eyes level at his mouth, at those pink lips.

"Anthony," You breathlessly whispered.

His lips meet in the most romantic kiss, one full of passion and unspoken love. A muddied hand cupped your cheek as Anthony leaned down on his elbow beside your head, you hands fell to cup the back of his head, fingertips running down his nape as you pulled him, if possible, closer. You moaned into his mouth as the hand that once cupped your cheek gripped your hip tightly bunching your dress in his fist as instinctively hitch your leg over his hip.

The kisses turn more hungry and needy, his tongue dancing over yours as his hips press into yours. His hand runs over your ankle that sits on his hip, running his hand down the length of your smooth leg before resting it on your upper thigh.

"Lady Y/n! Anthony!"

The two of you quickly pull apart as Colin comes bounding down the hill. Scrambling to your feet, Anthony helps you out of the mud before picking up your mallet passing it to you before picking up his own. Colin stops, looking between the two of you with a wide cheeky grin.

"You have a little mud on your cheek," Colin points to your cheek making your eyes go wide as you quickly try brushing away the mud off your cheek.

"We will be there in a moment," Anthony tells his brother.

Colin nods, unable to take the smile off his face as he sends you a cheeky wink before walking back up the hill. Anthony takes his handkerchief from his pocket, standing in front of you as her cups your cheek, gently cleaning the mud from your cheek. His eyes never leave yours as he does. Shrugging out of his jacket, he wraps it around your shoulders, helping you slide your arms into his jacket.

"To hide the mud," He quietly jokes, making you blush.

"Thank you," Anthony smiles, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

5. 'I love you.'

Lord Elton held a ball in order to celebrate your engagement. Though it was a little beforehand as you had yet to be asked for your hand in marriage. The hall was decorated beautifully with white flowers, tall champagne towers and a band playing on a stage.

Anthony was unable to look away from you; a white dress with lace detailing and long sleeves that fell over your knuckles, flower embroidery decorating the skirt. You hair was long and curled, half of it pinned back with delicate pearls.

"You are staring again," Eloise nudged her brothers arm.

"I can not help it," Anthony admits, eyes meeting your as you look over your shoulder, you send him a kind smile though your eyes betray you true feelings.

"This is your last chance to tell her," Eloise tells him softly, taking a sip of her drink, "Or Lord Prick will marry her."

Anthony chuckles, looking down at his sister fondly, "Stop listening to Colin's foul language."

"I believe I learnt that from you, brother."

You grasp your father hand in your own as his began to shake. Lord Elton rambles on about something, but you pay no attention, focusing on your father.

"Lord, I hope you don't mind but I think my father has had enough for tonight," You smile gently at him, "I think its time to go home."

"Of course, I will accompany you-"

"That isn't necessary-"

"When you are mine, I will not let you out of my sight," Lord Elton pulling your father closing to him and out of your hand, "I will take him to the carriage, get whatever you need."

You watch helplessly as he takes you father away, worry sitting in the pit of your stomach as you gently push through the crowd. The announcement that the ball is over is shouted as you take Daphne's hand, gently pulling her aside.

Her worried eyes meet your own, "My father is about to have a spell and Lord Elton is coming with us, possibly to propose, what do I do?"

She squeezes your hand, "Talk to him, quickly. My brother loves you, go before it's too late."

You nod, quickly pressing a kiss on her cheek before quickly walking towards the eldest Bridgerton brother. He stands alone, waiting for his siblings and mother to collect themselves before getting into the carriage. His eyes widen as you approach meeting you halfway, placing his hand on your shoulders as his eyes meet your worried ones.

"What happened?"

"I am taking my father home, he is unwell," You rush out, "Tell me you love me."

"Pardon-?"

"The prick will propose with my father's blessing in his state, he is playing a wicked game and I know it, so tell me you love me as I love you and be the man my father wants me to marry, be that man I feel safe with."

Anthony's brain pauses, his heart stopping as his hands fall from your shoulders. You heart hurts, taking his moment to mean rejection. You look over your shoulder as a butler calls your name, telling you a carriage has arrived.

Looking back at Anthony, he stares, eyes glazed over as you nod once before walking away, brushing past the Bridgerton siblings, ignoring Daphne as she calls your name.

"He missed his chance," Eloise sadly mutters, head falling onto Benedict's shoulder as he watches his older brother crumble.

---

Holding your father's hand tightly, you guide him through the house as he mutters quietly to himself. Taking him into the office, you sit him down into the chair before pulling the curtains closed, closing your father away from the heavy rain and sudden shout of thunder.

"What is happening?" Lord Elton asks as you father mutters to himself, head in hands as you kneel beside him.

"He is fine," You defensively dismiss him, "Thank you for your assistance but you may leave-"

"He is losing his mind," Lord Elton laughs, watching as your father gently rocks himself, looking up at the ceiling, muttering about your mother and the stars, "Look at the man."

"Don't you dare-"

"Do what?" Lord Elton rhetorically asks, taking a further step into the office, "You are simply a woman and he is a freak."

"You are simply a beast of a man, one that is cruel and heartless," You spit, clutching your father hands tighter in your own as a tear rolls down your cheek, "I will never except your hand in marriage."

Lord Elton glare down at you, before spitting horridly at yours and your fathers feet, "I wouldn't touch the Bridgerton's whore anyway."

"Leave before I write to the Queen herself, describing how much of a prick you truly are, and then no woman will want to touch you."

Lord Elton snarls before slamming every door on his way out. You turn to your father, letting go of one of his hands to gently cup his face, he tiredly blinks at you as you wipe away a tear.

"I am sorry," Your father quietly whispers, "I am so sorry, my dear."

"Do not apologise, you wanted what was best for me," You reply with a quick pained smile, "But I am afraid what I thought was best for me, doesn't want me."

"Anthony knows, he is just scared." Your father gently rests his forehead on yours, "Your mother was everything to me, when you where born you became everything as well, I want what is best for you and I got carried away in my own worries that you would be alone when I pass that I was unable to see how I was going to marry you with a man that was going to do more harm than happiness."

"You need to rest," You pull away, standing up to help him, "I will ask the cook to get you something warm to eat-"

"I can do that, darling," You father squeezes your hand, giving you a warm smile, "Go and find your happiness."

"I can not leave you like this-"

You father presses a kiss on the back of your hand, "I will be fine, now go."

---

"I froze, how could I be so stupid?"

Benedict sighs, sitting beside his brother, who holds his head in his hands, cheeks stained with tears. Daphne kneels in front of him, placing a hand on his knee as Violet sits the other side of him, placing a comforting hand on her son's back.

"Love makes us do stupid things," His mother gently whispers sadly.

"I have loved her for so long and Y/n tells me she loves me and I suddenly do not know how to reply," Anthony finally breaks, looking at his mother as a tear runs down his cheek, "I have lost her."

"No, no you have not," Violet brings her son in her arms, pressing a kiss on his head, "You can still go to her, tell her before it is too late."

"Lord Elton-"

"Do you honestly believe that Y/n would chose Lord Elton over the one she truly loves?"

Anthony looks down at his sister, who offers him a knowing smile. Benedict pats his brother's shoulder, mirroring Daphne's smile.

Violet nods, squeezing her son's hand tightly, "Go and get your happiness, Anthony."

---

The maids shout after you as you rush out of the house, hands gripping your dress tightly as you run through the rain. You hair sticks to your neck, the white dress ruined but you couldn't find yourself to care.

The Bridgerton siblings and Violet watch as Anthony rushes out of the house, smiling happily as they watch Anthony run down the street. Simon takes his wife's hand in his own, pressing a kiss on her head before gently taking his son out of her arms. Eloise beams as Colin wraps an arm around her shoulder as Benedict wraps his arms around the two youngest. Violet wipes the tear off her cheek as she finally watches her eldest son chase after the purest love.

Rounding the corner, the streets are empty, only lit up by the golden glow from the house windows. You suddenly stop as he does, standing opposite sides of the road. His hair sticks to his forehead, white skirt sticking to his arms as his blue waistcoat is soaked in rain.

Your chest heaves as your heart pounds in your chest, the two of you clash into a hug. His arms wrap around your waist as your wrap around his shoulders, holding you close to him, he presses a light kiss on your neck before pulling away slightly.

"I do, I do love you," Anthony breaths out, "I am sorry I froze, but hearing you tell me you love me, I- It was all I have ever wanted to hear."

You smile, gently pressing a hand to the back of his nape, resting his forehead to yours, "There are many reasons why I couldn't marry Lord Elton, not only because he was a prick but because I couldn't imagine marry anyone else but you."

"Then marry me," Anthony says, nose brushing against yours as he smiles, "Let me call you my wife, let me have children with you, grow old with you, let me kiss you when I want, let me love you."

You share a kiss under the stars, one full of spoken and knowing love, one of passion and understanding. His hand holds the back of your head as your hands slide down his shoulders, resting on his chest, his heart thumping under your touch. He holds onto desperately, kissing you with all his love, before gently pulling away, resting his forehead on yours with a love sick smile.

"I love you," Anthony whispered against your lips.

"I love you too."

[writingjourney]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭

Your betrothal period feels entirely too long. You and Benedict make the most of the wait, especially once you spend your days together at Aubrey Hall. Or: Five times you and Benedict have to restrain yourselves before your wedding and one time you don’t.

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

content: 6.5k words, regency romance, secret meetings, stolen kisses, smut (morning sex, v fingering, p in v), 18+ MDNI

Masterpost – Ao3 Link

���──── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ─────

1 Closet

“Ben–”

“Shhhhh.”

His mouth closes around your nipple, breasts spilled over your stay that he tugged at desperately mere seconds ago. You tip your head back, fingers tangled in messy brown curls. His tongue draws a soft moan from your lips, the kind you could not hold back if you tried.

Benedict removes himself with a pop and looks up, innocent eyes over pink, kiss-swollen lips. “They are going to hear us!”

His scandalised tone is what lures the giggle from you.

Benedict, alarmed but no less amused, brings a hand up to seal your treacherous lips. “Shhhh!”

An incredulous smile spreads across his face and you tug at his lapels, intent on kissing it away. His weight has you pressed against the shelf behind you, the hard edge biting into your lower back. You moan into his mouth with the combined vigour of pleasure and pain.

Benedict breaks the kiss with some effort, brow furrowed in distress. “Do you want us to get caught?”

“It is too tight in here I rather think,” you bemoan and urge him to switch places with you. He has the height to his advantage. “Besides, we are already betrothed.”

“Betrothed, yes, but not wed.”

You ignore his complaint as you fix your state of undress, then wrap your arms around his neck to remedy the offending distance. A second of hesitation passes before he leans back in and resumes to bruise your lips. You wonder, sometimes, if the passion you share is of concerning strength.

As air becomes scarce he breaks away to attend to your exposed skin. His lips press to the round of your bosom, your clavicle, then softly venture forth to your sensitive neck. He lingers as long as he can get away with, then pauses by your ear. “How long have we been in here?”

“I should think a few more minutes will go unnoticed…” you whisper.

Benedict hums, the sound deep and warm against the shell of your ear. You rake your fingers through his hair and he bites your earlobe in turn. You are moderately concerned for your jewellery but then his nose tickles the inside of your ear. Another giggle escapes you as the tingle runs through your body and leaves you shivering in its wake.

Once again his hand moves to cover your mouth as his eyebrows rise in alarm. The warning look under his enviably long lashes is a sight you have grown rather fond of. The thrill of these stolen moments makes them all the more memorable, rare as they are.

You smile against his fingers before pressing an apologetic kiss to his palm. “I shall endeavour to be quiet from now on.”

His gaze softens with a twitch of his mouth. “One of these days Anthony will have my head…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss you yet again.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

2 Music

The music is unmistakably yours. The practiced tunes lure him from the sweltering heat of the gardens into the cooler corridors of Aubrey Hall where they arrived just yesterday morning. Anthony insisted on hosting the wedding here, of course, and how could Benedict not rejoice at finding himself under the same room as you at last?

He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The piano is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the ease with which you hold yourself.

He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.

You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.

When you look up he is already urging you to scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”

“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”

His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.

However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.

Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.

“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”

“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”

“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”

You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.

You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.

”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”

You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.

You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is wont to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.

“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”

“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”

“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”

He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

3 Painting

You see the corgi’s bottom disappear around the corner. The Viscountess runs after him to retrieve the pall mall ball he stole from the lawn, her mallet swinging from her side as the heated game between her, Anthony, Colin and some of your own relatives is interrupted. The laughter of little children accompanies your every step as you and Eloise take a turn about the house, exerting your legs for a stroll after the small luncheon you had earlier.

Perhaps mere intuition. You glance up to one of the windows upstairs just as it gets pushed open. The rolled up white sleeve and bare forearm disappear from view and you have to resort to using your parasol to hide the direction of your gaze as it lingers long after. A purposely given sign or mere coincidence, you are eager to find out.

“Excuse me, Eloise, I would like to… cool down inside for a moment,” you lie. “I am running quite hot in the sun.”

“Ah, yes, cool down,” she murmurs. “I am sure it is not at all because you cannot bear to spend even a minute without my insolent brother.”

She waves you off, her words mere teasing. You have no doubt she is rather glad to return to her books instead of parading around with you.

Thanks to the many diversions offered in the gardens you manage to slip back inside mostly unnoticed. Aubrey Hall, as grand as it is, is still more of a maze to you than a house and you wander around for longer than expected. A waste of your time with Benedict, certainly, but the manor more than makes up for it in beauty and family history at every turn.

When you reach the right corridor, you note that one of the doors stands ajar. With the window open you can feel the soft breeze carrying you towards the room, the mildly chemical smell of paint assuring you that you are correct.

Benedict is busy. He is seated on a wooden stool, wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest, suspenders sitting somewhat tight on his shoulders as he moves his brush across the canvas like it’s his sole purpose in life. Your stomach warms at the sight.

Everything he does inspires love, the way he holds the brush, the way his face is scrunched up in concentration, lips slightly parted and tongue wetting the corners of his mouth. When he spots you by the door his expression morphs into the crooked smile that never fails to have your heart aflutter.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” you echo and he cocks his head to the side.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mrs Bridgerton?”

“Not my name quite yet,” you correct. “Though I do rather like the sound of it.”

“Hm. So do I.”

He picks up more paint with his brush and you approach the easel, watching him work. The subject is a still life, for lack of better choices you assume. The fruit in the small basket has seen better days, though he omits the putrid details in his painting.

“I should have you sit for me,” he comments, noticing your doubtful gaze. “That way I might not get as much painting done but at least I would have something worthwhile to look at.”

“If we were to be left alone in a room for hours I doubt you would get any painting done.”

He chuckles, depositing some more of the red paint on the cheek of an apple. “Are they all distracted outside, then?”

“Mhm, your brother is busy ruining my family at pall mall,” you say. “He should give them a chance at winning or they might call off the engagement after all.”

“Are they quite ambitious?”

“Not as much as your brother and the Viscountess, I daresay.”

He sets his palette down to give you his undivided attention but before he can stand and seize control you’ve already wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. Without his waistcoat there is hardly a barrier between you now, the thin shirt allowing you to properly feel his shape underneath as you press against his back. Your lips find his cheek, your hands the opening of fabric at his shirt and you can’t help but pull at your gloves, desperate to feel his skin. The moment your warm palms connect with his chest the brush slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor.

“You must stay focus, remember?” you tease.

“What if I don’t want to?” he whispers, suddenly breathless.

“Then you can focus on me instead.”

He does. You crave more room so you slowly run your fingers up his suspenders and let them slip from his shoulders, one by one, until you can open his shirt even wider. You admire his bare torso, the freckles that litter his body like stars in a pale night sky, soft hair and even softer skin.

The kisses you press to his neck and shoulder are nothing short of reverent, the muse admiring the artist. Benedict gives you full access, one hand gently resting on your wrist and the other in his lap. Braver now, you run your thumb over his nipple and the deep moan he releases is nothing if not obscene. You smile to yourself, repeating the movement to which he reacts by letting his head fall back against your shoulder. His hand reaches for his knee in a tight grip.

“You are certain everyone is occupied outside?” he asks, voice strained.

“It seemed so,” you reply. “Though, if you keep making these noises, they will hear you through the open window and knowing your brother he will sense my presence up here.”

“Hm perhaps Anthony will challenge me to a duel if he finds us.”

“Don’t even joke about that. Besides, he would have to challenge me to a duel since I am currently dishonouring you.”

“And whatever would you duel in? Who can vex me more?”

“Do I vex you, dear?”

“You do, s-so much. Ah.”

“And how so?”

“Do you really have to ask, you little temptress? How am I expected to wait another week?”

His patience has run thin. Before you can react he has swivelled around. Two broad hands grab at your hips and he pulls you into his lap with a fluent turn of his upper body. The stool wobbles precariously under your combined weight but somehow, miraculously, Benedict manages to balance it out. His thumb feels wet when he swipes it over your cheekbone, drawing you in for a proper kiss.

Benedict has a tendency of getting carried away when you’re alone. You slow him down with a tug at his unruly hair. His tongue swipes across your lips and you allow him to lick against yours for but a moment. Somewhere in the back of your mind, prudence and common sense battle with the unhinged desire that his touch provokes at all times. You pull away with a regretful sigh.

“Do not think I am handling this any better than you,” you whisper.

His lust-filled expression has you doubting your own sanity. You are close to losing your composure at the way his lips curl in discontent when a childlike squeal outside reminds you that you are in fact not the only two people in the world. Benedict reluctantly eases his grip on you and you manage a safe distance.

“I shall let you get back to your painting,” you say. “I expect someone will be looking for me soon.”

“I will join you outside in a moment.”

You smile and make for the door before your senses leave you yet again. The corridor feels violently empty without his presence but you are not yet around the nearest corner when you are met with the broad frame of another Bridgerton. Anthony spots you with an expression that borders on disapproval but carries the same hint of perpetual fondness he cannot shake ever since marrying his wife.

“Has your… game ended, my lord?” you ask, trying to appear innocent.

“Hm, I see yours has as well. You should… wash your face.” He gestures to your cheek with a raised brow, brisk steps carrying him past you. “And I shall have a word with my dear brother.”

When you bring your fingers to your face you are met with the wet texture of undried oil paint, apple-red. You notice another stain by your hip soon after, fingerprint-shaped no less. Even though you will have to change into a different dress now you can’t bring yourself to regret your impromptu visit, not when Benedict’s taste still lingers on your lips. The shouting from the other room stays out so you assume his brother found mercy on him as well. No duel today after all.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

4 Picnic

The weather is most pleasant as you traverse the vivid green meadows with Benedict by your side, hand placed securely in the crook of his arm. It was decided that two days before the wedding the whole party would embark on a picnic to enjoy the outdoors. The chosen destination is a nearby lake and while the servants set up the location you are all taking an extensive walk across the countryside to see more of the surrounding lands of the Bridgerton’s ancestral home.

The walk is short in distance but with both of your family’s making the trip it is a rather time-consuming endeavour. Your relatives have decided to inspect every single tree and field on the way, complimenting the Viscount and his mother on the beautiful piece of land his family calls their home. The smaller children are meanwhile distracted by pebbles, sticks and the odd insect that crosses their path, particularly intrigued by the colourful butterflies that flutter excitedly over a plethora of blossoming weeds and flowers and refuse to be caught by their eager little hands.

You and Benedict use the time to focus on each other. You have fallen back just enough to speak freely and you count the amount of love-sick smiles you receive every time he lures a giggle from you. He is adorable when he’s with others, more adorable still when he is with you.

By the time you reach the lake you are at twelve smiles. The set-up is too lovely and serene, a shame to be disrupted by two dozen people swarming to it for refreshments. In the shade of high broadleafs and so close to the water the heat is much more bearable.

“Benedict, fetch your betrothed a lemonade, will you?”

You find Violet, as you are now allowed to call her, with her hand reaching for your gloved elbow. Benedict and her exchange looks that speak of their intimate knowledge of the other’s thoughts, his challenging and hers that of a mother who has to remind her son of his manners. You fight off a smile as he excuses himself. He never likes to leave you alone with his family.

“Will you sit with me, dear?” Violet asks. “It is rather difficult to catch either of you alone these days.”

“Forgive me, I know we are toying the line of propriety by spending so much time together already–”

“Oh, nonsense! I am sure neither Anthony nor your family mind. In fact we are rather excited to see you getting along so well.” She leads you to one of the blankets by the side of the picnic arrangements, littered with pillows of sky-blue embroidery that invite you to rest. “You must know that a love match is all I ever wanted for dear Benedict.”

You do your best to find a graceful sitting position on the uneven terrain, keeping your latest encounter with Anthony to yourself. “I daresay it is rare to find a love that is so genuine.”

She smiles at you, a motherly smile that is all the proof you need that you have long since been accepted into the family. “I am inclined to agree, my dear. It is rare indeed.”

For a moment you sit in comfortable silence as the breeze sweeps through the clearing, leafy-green canopy swaying and rustling to the rhythm of the cooling wind. You spot several ducks gliding across the lake, some more sitting in the gras by the shore. It is idyllic. If a life with Benedict means spending more time in this part of the country you know you will spend many a happy summer with him.

When you focus back on the party you notice your betrothed approaching the scene with a somewhat hesitant smile, still adorable in its crookedness. A reassuring look is exchanged and he slowly lowers himself to your level, hands occupied with refreshments.

“I shall take my leave,” Violet says. “I hear Daphne and sweet Augie require my presence.”

You are certain that they are alright on their own but you will not miss an opportunity to be alone with Benedict if she offers it so willingly. Once she is out of sight Benedict hands you the lemonade. The first sip is just what you need after the walk.

“And… since you are so fond of strawberries,” he says, “I secured you the last few before the children get their hands on them.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

He smiles genuinely now and you lean a bit closer. A comfortable silence settles between you, even though the party more than makes up for it in noise. The strawberries are sweet as they only come in June, picked ripe and fat with juice, staining your gloves red at your fingertips. You care not. Not when Benedict secured them for you, not when his eyes are fixed on your mouth with every bite you take as though he envies them every sinking of your teeth.

You offer him one but instead of taking it he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, sucking the juice from your lips.

“Ben–” you warn.

“Shhh.”

Another kiss before he pulls away. You glance around nervously but everyone seems too occupied to notice. On the blanket you place your hand next to his and toy with the ring on his pinkie, hooking your finger in his bigger one. Benedict looks at the strawberry still in your hand, then back to your eyes, a honey-sweet smile gracing his lips.

“Perhaps I would like one after all,” he says, “now that I know how delicious they are.”

He is a tease but you lift the fruit anyway, holding it up to his mouth. He takes his time to take a bite, eyes intensely glued to yours. Perhaps you are too far gone to care, perhaps it’s the way he commands all of your attention with a mere look, but the world around you blurs into nothingness. It is unfair, you think, how every freckle and dimple you discover on his face makes him even more beautiful.

As he swallows you finally notice a few pairs of eyes on you. Heated cheeks have you sitting back, covering the worst with a press of the back of your hand. But before you can compromise yourself any further one of the children squeals in terror and the whole party shifts their focus to sweet Augie who has got too close to one of the ducks. The bird has spread its wings to run to safety, quacking in sudden irritation. The other ducks follow swiftly and soon the whole swarm flutters back to the lake in a whirlwind of feathers and chatter.

You use the distraction to grin at Benedict. His eyes are fixated on you as though the turmoil around you is of no significance to him, a soft, affectionate expression no doubt prompted by your flush. You dare to lean in once more, kissing the sweet strawberry juice form his lips. He looks down to your intertwined fingers, removing his in favour of fully grasping your hand.

You cannot bring yourself to care what it looks like to anyone else as you both let yourself fall back into the pillows, watching the fluffy white clouds travelling across the sky.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

5 Night

A sudden bang like thunder has you shooting bolt upright in bed. You are momentarily confused, the room not as familiar as your own quite yet. Bright moonlight, blue sheets, sheer curtains. Aubrey Hall.

It is the night before the wedding.

You can’t remember falling asleep, only the anxiety that kept you up all evening. Another, quieter bang and you realise that it is your door. Not a knock though. It sounds like someone is using their entire body to get it to open.

You think the whole house must have woken up but beside the ruckus at the entrance to your bedroom everything is eerily quiet. You’re entirely too trusting. Perhaps bringing a makeshift weapon would have been helpful but you approach the door in just your nightgown, barefoot, empty hands. Intruders would attempt to be quiet, would they not?

You are met with Benedict tumbling straight into you. His body is heavy with the lack of his own coordination to support it and you struggle to hold him upright. He recovers before you can fall, stemming a hand against the doorframe.

“Whatever are you doing here?” you yell-whisper, sleep still clinging to you in such a way that it seems absurd and almost dreamlike to find him in your room.

Benedict giggles. He does not laugh, he giggles. “I am here to see you, of course.”

His lull is evident and reality clicks into place. “I believe you are quite drunk!”

“I believe I am quite in love,” he corrects. “And is that not the same thing?”

Suddenly you feel very bare in your sheer, lace-trimmed nightgown with your hair undone and face still crusted with sleep. Benedict is hardly noticing your state, half-leaning on your shoulder, half-leaning in the doorframe. He smells of liquor and smoke.

“Where are you coming from?” you ask, trying to steady him with your hands. He is falling against you again, though you suppose he is doing it to be closer now and not for lack of balance.

“Spent the night with my bro‘ers,” he explains. “A ugh… tradition.”

“Getting drunk the night before our wedding? You are going to feel awful tomorrow!”

“I am not that drunk,” he argues, though his pupils appear wide in the relative darkness of the room. “Just enough to… calm the nerves. Now, do I get my goodnight kiss, pretty please?”

“You are too drunk for a kiss,” you argue, even though his exaggerated pout is rather convincing.

“I am not that drunk, love, I swear.”

“Too drunk to know that you should not be here. Have you lost your mind?”

Another pout, this time, unfairly so, combined with that pleading tone you can never resist. “I had to see you. Make sure you’re… still here.”

His words confuse you more than they enlighten you and you know that the noise combined with your talking might wake someone else any moment now. You cannot draw attention to the rather compromising position you find yourself in, no matter how soon the wedding takes place – if only to save face in front of your relatives.

He may not be too drunk to walk but his unsteadiness is concerning you enough to make an impromptu decision. “Let me take you to bed.”

He giggles again, clearly misunderstanding, and rubs his nose against your cheek. You stop, returning the clumsy embrace you find yourself in. He continues to nuzzle, inhaling deeply in a way that tickles your neck in all the sensitive spots and his hands wrap so tightly around you that he squeezes the very air from your lungs. Your heart swells. Being in his arms unties every tense knot in your body. It is the home you never knew you were missing.

“Oh Benedict,” you whisper, “whatever have you done to me?”

“To bed, hm?”

You gently push him off of you. “Yes, but not mine.”

He grunts but his complaints stay silent as you usher him back into the hallway. You can tell he is more coordinated now but when he uses you as his crutch you allow it anyway. To your dismay, you realise that it is going to take you forever to get to his room. His pace is sluggish, multiple times you have to shush him and he refuses to walk without touching you in some shape or form.

By the time you finally arrive at his bedroom, you are not sure if you’re sleepwalking or actually awake, the sudden rush of excitement upon waking up now slowly catching up with you. It is sheer luck that you enter without anyone taking notice. Benedict exhales a loud yawn that rivals the roar of a lion. You use the opportunity to undress him.

Perhaps it is for the greater good that you do not get further than his waistcoat. He rather suddenly drops himself onto his bed and drags you right with him. The impact has you tumbling across his body, landing in the soft sheets and pillows that are as yet untouched. Benedict pulls you close, eyes half-lidded and heavy. His hands roam your body but it is not sexual at all. He follows your curves as though it is the natural thing to do and with only your nightgown covering your skin his hands feel closer, warmer than ever. You raise a hand to brush back his curly hair, tracing the tired lines of his face, connecting each freckle like the stars in a constellation of your own making.

You think he must be falling asleep, lulled by your gentle caress, but then he suddenly furrows his brow. His eyes find yours as though he suddenly remembered something important.

“You won’t say no, will you?” he asks. “Leave me standing by the altar a fool?”

You smooth out the crease on his forehead. “Are you truly afraid that I would?”

“You must admit… this all rather feels like a dream.” His hand stops at the dip of your waist, resting in the natural valley underneath your ribcage. “A part of me is still waiting for the painful morning after when I wake up and realise that none of it was real.”

“It is real, so very real, Benedict.” You smile, reassuring him. “Though I daresay it is natural to be nervous the night before your wedding. Is this why you came to my room?”

He ignores you, fingers denting your flesh in insistence. “Tell me that you will say yes. Promise me.”

“Of course I will. I promise. There is nothing I want more than to marry you.”

He seems satisfied, eyes falling closed again. His lashes tickle his reddened cheeks. They feel hot underneath your thumb as you smooth it over his skin and you hope he won’t feel too exhausted tomorrow. Even now he is so very beautiful, so lovely, so yours.

“Don’t be scared, please,” you whisper, and then, because it feels right, “I love you.”

His eyes blink back open, the words, so explicit, a novum between the two of you. Your reward is the crooked smile you so adore and he presses his forehead to yours. “I love you.”

You decide that he earned his good night kiss now. It is soft, unexcited, but it lingers and he does his best to kiss back. You note a bitter hint to his taste but it does not bother you. When you break away Benedict is practically asleep and by the time you finally control your love-sick smile you can hear his quiet snores.

You slip from his bed on the empty side and bring your hands to your lips, touching them as though you just kissed him for the very first time. The way back to your room feels like a dream in itself. But you know, you are so perfectly sure, that you will wake up to the happiest day of your life.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

+1 Wed

Mornings start with a soft press of his lips to your shoulder.

No matter which position you find yourself waking up in, it is always the first thing you feel. The kiss is so soft that it tickles and you can never pretend that you are asleep for much longer. Benedict won’t let you because the first kiss is always followed by another and another and another. So many kisses that you can’t hold back your giggles, not when he reaches the ticklish spot by your ear.

You think it is the very reason he does it.

A heavy freckled arm wraps around your front, dragging you across the mattress until you are met with the solid chest of your husband. He is warm against your back, familiar, welcome.

Benedict hums, a hand closing around your breast and squeezing. His lips return to your neck but they are less soft now. If you do not pay attention you have to walk around with your silk scarf again. Paying attention, however, is hampered by his other hand sneaking down your belly and dipping between your legs.

“Good morning,” he whispers, “my beautiful wife.”

“Good morning,” you echo, still quite hazy with sleep.

The bright light streaming in through the curtained windows tells you it is rather late already. However, your eyes flutter closed the moment his fingers slide between your folds. He rubs you gently, waking up your body with the tingles of carefully built pleasure. You can feel his hips shifting forward as well, his cock growing hard against the small of your back, and suddenly getting up is the last thing on your mind.

By now you are customarily late for breakfast.

For the past few days he has done nothing but explore the previously unknown land that is your body, map out its hills and valleys and find the sweetest spots to linger. No matter how much information you thought you had clandestinely gathered, nothing truly prepared you for what it means to love someone, to lean into your passions so freely. But then perhaps Benedict makes it easy.

You gasp when his finger probes further down, slipping into you effortlessly. He adds a second digit soon after. Even so he remains unhurried, taking his time to gift you the sweetest strokes, the gradual build-up of warmth and desire you now know is the most rewarding. The rhythm of your bodies is slow like a dance to one of your ballads but soon your moans grow louder and you roll your hips into his hand with impatience. Your peak draws near and his other hand knowingly rolls your nipple between his fingers, lips pressed firmly to your neck. The touch is enough to take you to the release you so crave. You keen and shiver in his arms as it tears through you, one hand grasping at his biceps and the other buried in the sheets.

“Ben–” you whisper and he chuckles at your breathless voice.

It is evident that he enjoys showing you how good he can make you feel. That it pleases him to worship you whenever an opportunity arises. Mornings in bed are drawn-out, nights short and sleepless, slow hours during the day filled with spying for empty rooms and available surfaces. You wonder if you could extend your honeymoon indefinitely, to spend your days like this forever.

Benedict gives you a mere moment to breathe before his hand releases your breast and cradles your cheek instead. He gently turns your head, thumb pressed to the tender underside of your jaw, and then his lips descent with an impatient hunger. You bury your hand in his soft hair, one of your favourite things to do, and he groans when you tug at his strands. His body has become familiar to you as well, your own map of him ever-expanding.

Slow as your mornings begin, they quickly turn sensual and needy. His other hand grabs your thigh and opens you for him, spreading you apart. You can feel his cock hard against your wet cunt, an anticipatory whimper leaving your throat. Benedict slowly pushes into you, making sure to avoid any discomfort you might feel before he finds a more satisfying pace. Your limbs are still tangled in the sheets, every movement bringing forth a symphony of rustling of fabric and the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin.

Kisses deepen, lips swell and your bodies move in practiced sync. You feel the warm tingles spreading into every corner of your insides, his softer moans and your higher ones drowning out the world around you until all you know is him. You are still tender and when you come the pleasure feels like liquid fire in your veins. You hiccup as he picks up his pace with you still tight around him, prolonging the sensation. Then he rather suddenly stills, smothering a deep moan with an uncoordinated kiss. You feel his release warm inside of you and smile.

As the world comes back into view, you begin to stroke his hair and lace your fingers with his. He laughs, satisfied, then kisses you again with less insistence. His arm once again wraps around your middle, pulling you close while his lips stay firmly planted on yours. His chest is damp and your own body feels hot as well. You’re grateful for cool sheets and silken pillows.

“I don’t think we should rise today,” you decide, eyeing the window.

“Mhm, I don’t think we should either.”

───── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ─────

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlists || my Ao3 || Join my tag list

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

The Northern Winds

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Warnings: mention of blood & (domestic) violence, mature NSFW content (18+), mention of sexist and misogynistic medieval notions on women, arranged marriage

A/N: The story is set a few years before the Dance of the Dragons and somewhat inspired by Cregan's first marriage from the book. Many of the characters are fictional of my own imagination but I tried to keep some and the setting as close to Martin’s universe as possible – with some changes here and there for the sake of the plot.

Plot: Arranged marriage between the Lord of Winterfell and a lady from a minor house

Words: 18k

MASTERLIST

***

Letters of more and more wildling invasions of the Wall, reports of their hosts gathering even south of the Wall reached the halls of Winterfell on a weekly basis in the past months. When young Lord Stark rightfully took his father’s seat from his usurper uncle, he also pushed the wildlings back north. However that was some years ago and winter was knocking on the door. The wildlings have become bolder even.

Lord Stark was working with Maester Bennard, his most trusted advisor, on letters of diplomacy and matters that needed the noble seal of the Warden of the North. The solar where the Lord of Winterfell worked was located in Rodrick’s Tower, the largest of all of Winterfell’s towers. A smaller tower grew from its western wall a few hundred years ago where the Lords Stark carried on their duty to their people as masters of Winterfell.

A fire was lit in Lord Stark’s solar and many more candles to light the spacious chamber. The stone walls were lined with scrolls of parchment and important letters, which arrived from both the north and the south, along with some books containing lineages and retellings of the great events of Westeros. There was a great oaken desk in the middle of the solar and yet close enough to the window to allow for some more light. Behind it sat Lord Cregan Stark in the company of his maester, who handed him the most recent letters of the lords closest to the Wall, who were all asking for aid in the fight against the wildlings.

Maester Bennard hesitated as the matters of the day came to an end. “There was another letter, my lord.” Lord Stark pressed his seal into the hot wax. “From Whytefort.” Lord Stark’s hard grey eyes rose to meet his maester’s. Although Cregan Stark was a young man, he was much his father’s son; much a Stark. While his face displayed youth on the one hand, he was a man of solemn expression and of a formidable build. The Wolf of the North commanded respect in his subjects and was regarded as an honourable man and a great warrior. Unlike the Lord of Whytefort.

“Apparently Lord Whytefort shares our struggles with containing the wildlings on the northern side of the Wall, particularly in the mountains. As you know, castle Whytefort lies—”

“At the foot of the Iceraven, yes,” said the Lord of Winterfell. Iceraven was a mountain chain stretching from the north of Deepwood Motte all the way to the Kingsroad. It was in the shape of a flying raven’s wings with its peaks covered in ice and snow all throughout the seasons, hence the name. The Whytefort was built in the foot of the mountain; its stone, white walls making the castle one with the mountain and its caves. Although Deepwood Motte was the seat of House Glover, the Lords of Whytefort had maintained their seat, on what were officially Glover lands, beneath the Iceraven for thousands of years. But what land they had, it was watery and more clay than it was soil. However, it mattered little because the Whyteforters were mountain men. They were shepherds and craftsmen. And although not particularly wealthy or strong of a house, their words read Pride is our honour.

“There was a falling out when my father was still the Lord of Winterfell,” recalled Cregan Stark. The maester nodded. “Jonos Whytefort refused to bend the knee to Lord Glover as his liege lord, not even when Lord Rickon demanded he does so.”

“Why does he send a raven now?” asked Lord Stark rather displeased. It has been a long day of tedious letters and little solutions on how to face the wildling problem. “Which noble house offended his pride this time?”

“Actually,” broke Maester Bennard, “Lord Jonos offers his men to join forces with Winterfell against the wildlings. He speaks in the thousands.”

Lord Stark frowned as he looked at his maester. Even just five hundred and a thousand well-trained even if not seasoned men could make all the difference in defending the Wall and pushing the wildlings back. It would take a significant strain off his own greybeards and the rest of the houses sworn to House Stark on whom he called for aid. Yet although houses honourable and strong like Dustin, Umber, Karstark, and even Glover were more than gland to answer their lord’s call with nothing but good favour in return, that was not the way of House Whytefort.

“What does he ask in turn?” spoke the young Lord Stark gravely.

“He …” began Maester Bennard hesitantly. “He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage, and therefore the end of animosity sealed by this marriage arrangement.”

Lord Stark scoffed. “Of course he does. Does he also suggest which one of my three wretched cousins I should have the pretentious wench wed to?”

“Actually, Lord Jonos’ offer extends only to your person,” spoke Maester Bennard cautiously.

Lord Stark’s eyes darkened at the audacity expressed by Lord Whytefort through the making of this offer. Cregan squeezed the brass seal of his house in his large hand, leaving an imprint of the direwolf on his palm. Still, as the wildling attacks grew stronger by the month, Cregan was not in an entirely clear and straightforward position to refuse thousands of trained warriors.

“My lord will have to marry sooner or later,” offered Maester Bennard in consideration.

“I’d rather have it later than sooner,” said Lord Stark. He had only been Lord of Winterfell some years. It was his duty to marry but he had rather hoped it could wait a while longer. “And you advise it, Maester Bennard? Whytefort is a small house. They have some land but most of it belongs to the mountains. Little wealth to speak of …”

“I do, my lord, under the circumstances. Winter is coming and the Wall must needs be secured before it arrives. We do not know how long the winter will last this time. We might not even have enough for our own, much less to feed a mass of wildlings.”

Cregan Stark knew of that without his maester having to say it. He looked through the window and saw the snows sticking to the grey rooftops of the castle. Although this was still just summer snow he was watching fall, Lord Stark knew one thing was certain. Winter is coming. And with it cold and death. There was no time to waste.

Lord Stark got up. “Have a raven sent, Maester Bennard. I leave the arrangement of this folly in your hands.”

"As my lord commands."

***

“Do you know what the girl is like?” asked Cregan Stark as he took his supper in Rodrick’s Tower. Maester Bennard was often by his side even at mealtimes as the work often could not wait.

“I believe you met her once, my lord. As a boy of nine or ten if I am not mistaken,” said Maester Bennard, helping himself to some black pudding. Lord Stark washed down his meal with a small cup of ale. He had no recollection of any young Lady Whytefort or the Whyteforts ever visiting Winterfell. As mountain men they more oft than not kept to their lands beneath or atop the Iceraven.

“They visited Winterfell on their way to castle Cerwyn for Lord Cerwyn’s son Erick’s wedding. You may remember from your studies that Lady Whytefort is Lord Erick Cerwyn’s half-sister.” Cregan Stark nodded although he had no memory of ever learning that either. His mind must have been on swordplay or horse riding at the time Maester Bennard instructed him in the family ties of the minor houses of the North. He was desperate, however, for his mind to conjure an image of his future wife, even if only from childhood.

“I do not remember them visiting,” said Lord Stark. There hardly passed a week in his life without a visit at Winterfell from this or that house, family, or merchant.

“They only stayed the night before riding out in the morrow, so naturally you may not recall,” said Maester Bennard. “It was a long time ago …” he spoke more quietly as he knew what his lordship would ask him next.

“What do you remember of the girl, maester?”

“I …” hesitated Maester Bennard. “I know you are of age with the lady,” said the maester but that is not what Lord Stark was asking. His grey eyes were as cold as stone as they commanded the maester to speak plainly. “I remember, I believe, as a child she was neither entirely plain nor very comely. Or particularly well-mannered for a young lady - a rebellious child. She favoured the company of her horse and dog to that of the court and needed to be forced into a dress as she preferred breeches and jerkins, often stealing them from her older brother Daeron from what I heard. It was said to be a nightmare for her lady mother,” said Maester Bennard and took a sip of warm honeyed wine. “He, Daeron, is the future Lord of Whytefort and was named after his grandsire. You may remember him better,” said Maester Bennard. He would not lie to his lordship of his recollections. However, no matter how homely, or brazen if she is to be judged after her lord father?s character, the maid might have grown up to be, the wedding was imperative in taking place.

“The brother,” Maester Bennard cleared his throat, “Was said to be the one to have inherited the beauty of his parents. He was three-and-ten when you met him, the same age as you were when your lord father died. “Lord Jonos, however, assures Lady Y/N is as comely a beauty as any northern, or for that matter, southern lady. He sings praises of her wit and promises she is an accomplished young woman,” added Maester Bennard although neither himself nor Lord Stark were inclined to trust the words of a man whose pride exceeded his sense of honour – or duty for that matter. However, to Cregan Stark they represented the same. His duty was his honour and his honour was his duty. No Stark had ever broken his word and he had given his to Lord Jonos Whytefort to marry his daughter in exchange for a few thousand men.

“We shall know soon enough,” said the Lord of Winterfell soberly as he set down his cup and retired to his private chambers. The raven sent by Whytefort’s maester read their lord and his daughter would arrive in half a moon, which meant they would arrive on the morrow when the wedding ceremony would also take place.

***

The summer snows were melted by the sun during the day whilst the nights would remain as cold and crisp as ice. It was afternoon already when Lord Jonos arrived with his surprisingly unnumerous host of noblemen and women to witness the marriage of his only daughter to the Warden of the North. The castle had been in preparation of the feast for days before the arrival of Lord Whytefort. The main hall was being decorated in ribbons and flowers in the colours of House Stark and House Whytefort, whose banner bore a carmine brown fox on a field of black with white trees, symbolising the birchwood of their lands.

The ceremony was to be held in the godswood inside the castle walls of Winterfell beneath the heart tree as was customary in the North, where the faith of the Old Gods remained. As Cregan’s own father was dead, it would be Maester Bennard who would lead the ceremony as the most senior of Cregan’s advisors and one Lord Stark personally considered a friend.

The host arrived late in the afternoon although they were expected in the morning. The Warden was irked but would not let it show. Lord Cregan stood tall and solemn as he waited for his guests, for his future bride, in the main courtyard of the castle. The sound of hooves long echoed the walls of Winterfell before a host of wedding-adorned horse riders crossed the innermost gates. Cregan Stark recognized Lord Jonos from his short visit to Winterfell quickly upon his arrival. He had mousy blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sea of Tarth. He was a reasonably tall man with some belly brought on by age and too many barrels of ale. Lord Jonos rode on a white palfrey with his son by his side on a mount of a coat that matched the Whytefort’s fox in colour. Daeron was a comely young man like the maester said, his eyes as green as summer trees with a head of rich dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He sat high in his horse yet not half as high as his lord father. The host of riders rounded in the vast courtyard, leading the way for an ornate carriage. To the onlookers, Lord Stark, the Warden of the North, was calm and dignified. But inside, Cregan felt a storm gathering. It was the displeasure of meeting a man so prideful that he would offer his daughter to the Lord of Winterfell without invitation; but mostly, a man who was too arrogant to bend the knee at the command of his most senior lord for a petty feud with House Glover over some land later won by the latter. Yet it was not only pride and arrogance that Lord Jonos Whytefort was famous for but also for containing an equal measure of tightfistedness as well as greed.

Half a dozen riders and a couple of wagons with supplies followed the carriage until it came to a stop and Lord Jonos dismounted along with his first-born and only son.

“Lord Stark,” said Lord Jonos Whytefort, bowing his head curtly. His son echoed his actions. Lord Stark was almost surprised at Whytefort’s courtesy. Yet if they had not been expressed properly, more would have been at stake for Lord Jonos rather than for the Lord of Winterfell.

“Lord Jonos,” said Cregan Stark and squeezed the man’s thick, gloved hand warily. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark. It was a surprisingly long journey.”

“Indeed,” said Cregan. “We had expected you this morning.”

Lord Jonos laughed, revealing that not only his belly but his teeth were affected by the too many barrels of ale. “Yes, indeed. The wheel of the carriage broke. There was replacing needed,” said Lord Jonos lightly although the spare wheel rested securely untouched in one of the wagons that followed the host.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark curtly although his hands itched to send Lord Jonos back to the mountains whence he came from. As he continued about their tedious journey from the security of their mountain hold, Cregan Stark’s gaze moved behind Lord Whytefort. The carriage door was held open, a woman round with curves and black hair secured in a net of pearls stepped from the carriage. For a moment, Cregan’s chest grew heavy with the burden of duty as he considered that may be his bride and Lord Jonos had tricked him by singing praises of his daughter's beauty. But the woman could not have been his bride as she must have been twice, nearly thrice Lord Cregan's age. The discomfortable thought disappeared when another figure emerged from the carriage and he realized the first woman must have been Lady Whytefort, the wife of Lord Jonos. She held her daughter’s hand and helped her climb from the carriage. Lady Y/N held up her rich black velvet skirts until her feet reached the floor. Her gown was trimmed with the fur of the carmine fox of her family’s banner and she wore a chain of white gold around her neck. The Lord of Winterfell came to realize that Lord Jonos must have been truthful for the first time in his life when he wrote of his daughter's comeliness.

Maester Bennard, who was among those to greet Winterfell’s guests, recognized the child he saw so many years ago in the young lady before him. Her eyes were still restless and deep as pools but they grew a warmth only changing into a woman grown can bring. There was no sight of men’s breeches or her brother’s jerkins. The gown young Lady Whytefort wore hugged her womanly body, the curves of her figure evident even with a heavy cloak hanging from her shoulders. The person he remembered was a child rebellious and wild, but the one standing before him was a woman grown and noble.

The cold, fresh air filled Y/N lungs, easing some of the sickness the ride in the stuffy carriage inflicted on her insides. Y/N looked up at the tall castle walls, the massive bricks of grey stone and granite towering over her. Her new gaol, she thought. She looked around until her eyes met those just as grey and cold as the castle walls. Y/N averted her gaze as her mother led her to where her lord father and her future husband were waiting. Her heart was beating hard against her ribcage as she suddenly felt as hot as if she had arrived in Dorne and not in Winterfell.

Lord Jonos went on about their journey still, oblivious of his wife or his daughter’s presence or the decency of making their acquaintances. As Lord Jonos finally reached for breath, Lady Whytefort spoke, “Lord Stark, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Y/N of Whytefort.”

Y/N bowed graciously but managed no more than a glance at her future husband’s eyes. He was taller than her father even and the heavy cloak he wore made him appear as if there were two men beneath it rather than one. Lord Cregan Stark was as formidable a figure as any she had met.

“Well met, Lady Whytefort,” said Lord Stark curtly as he kissed her gloved hand.

“My lady,” said Lord Stark and turned to Y/N. He took her hand, not ungently, and kissed the top of her knuckles. Y/N could almost feel the warmth of his large hand although the both of them wore thick leather gloves. There was a sword strapped on his back, almost as tall as he was. Ice it was called, Y/N remembered from a book she read on the Kings of the North many years ago. It was Valeryan steel and passed on from generation to generation just the same as Visenya Targaryen’s Dark Sister.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Lord Stark to his future wife.

"Thank you, my lord," Lady Y/N thanked him but her voice collected although weaker than her normal self. She had been fighting off suitors for years and successfully so. But there was no way she was getting out of this marriage. She would not dare as the prospect of it was too good for her family. Unlike her father, whose pride was built on wealth and possession, Y/N’s pride consisted of honour and love she held for her family.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” spoke Lady Whytefort assuredly. “Our apologies for arriving late. We … Had some trouble on the road,” she explained although her eyes twitched towards her husband for a moment. She was a beautiful woman once with raven black hair and honey brown eyes. The children of Lord and Lady Whytefort were a mixture of their parents each in their own way.

As Y/N fixed her cloak when the evening breeze blew through the courtyard and the courtesies between Lord Stark and her father continued. She took in the many faces which observed the arrival of her family: her arrival – the future Lady of Winterfell. Just the sound of it in her head was incomprehensible to her, what more the reality of her being there, in that moment. Y/N could never imagine herself wed and bearing children for her husband. She was much happier studying books the maesters gave her, happier taking drawing lessons, even doing needlepoint. She could not imagine relinquishing the freedom of riding her mare through Whytewoods, secretly wishing she had been born a boy rather than a girl. The freedoms enjoyed by her brother were always right in front of her eyes but never hers to savour. The life she wanted was denied to her on the account of her existence as a woman. There were times when she wished for a family of her own, a husband to share her life with. But whenever her father would arrange for a suitor, Y/N knew she would rather end up an oldmaid rather than marry and relinquish what little freedom was left to her. However, when her lord father gave her the news of her betrothal to the Lord of Winterfell, to the Warden of the North, she had no choice but to accept the decision for she understood what the match would represent for her family. She would no longer have to worry about her beloved mother in the old age, her brother losing his seat to greater, more powerful houses, or even worry about her father, whom she somehow loved deeply and despised at the same time, for there would be always the power of Winterfell standing behind them.

All the while Y/N attempted to distract herself with the architecture, with the people both common and noble observing her, she could not help but feel Lord Stark’s cold grey eyes burning into her like ice. She would not meet her future husband’s gaze for more than a moment though or she feared her eyes might let in tears. Lady Y/N was very good at letting people to believe she was calm and assured of herself. And the one thing Y/N vowed to herself was that she would not allow anyone to see how she truly felt inside at the prospect of this marriage; of leaving her life behind, her family and friends, her freedoms.

***

Lady Y/N, her mother, and their handmaids were showed to their chambers where Y/N was to prepare for the wedding ceremony. Although the colours of her house were black, white, and carmine, her wedding gown did not have any black in it. Her father claimed it was bad luck. Instead, Y/N wore a gown of cream white fabric as soft as butter. The handmaids helped her with the bell sleeves and the lacing, adjusting her stockings and helping her with her shoes, whilst her lady mother placed a necklace of white pearls and a single carmine ruby around her neck.

Y/N’s hands were cold with sweat at the thought of the night that was coming. Her fingers shook too gravely to clasp her own earrings. Saera, Lady Y/N's handmaiden, who was helping her dress one final time as Y/N would be required to take new handmaids from the morrow forward as Lady Stark of Winterfell, adjusted her earrings. At last, they clasped a heavy maiden’s cloak around her shoulders. This one did sport the black of House Whytefort but only at the hem. The collar was carmine fox fur and the chain a silver link fastened around the neck. Y/N’s mother wept at the sight of her daughter on her wedding day.

It was already dark when the party descended the castle and was shown to the godswood where the ceremony was to take place. Lady Y/N could feel the fire from the torches the guests carried but her body shivered from cold. Or fear.

In the godswood of Winterfell stood the largest heart tree Y/N had ever seen. Although there was some snow on the ground with small, almost invisible snowflakes falling, the tree stood proud with blood-red leaves crowning its branches. Y/N’s breath quivered as she looked up at the guests. There were not very many and yet still too many for her comfort. She saw two dark figures right beneath the heart tree, one tall and one much shorter, the maester Lady Y/N had seen upon her arrival. The face of the heart tree beckoned haughtily for her to approach. Lord Jonos clasped his daughter’s hand around his elbow, leading her to the weirwood tree.

“Stop shaking,” he gritted through his teeth, his intense blue gaze finding his daughter’s. There was ale on his breath as Lord Jonos refused to go sober at his daughter's wedding, particularly when it was at the expense of Winterfell rather than his own house.

Y/N could not say a word, her mouth to dry to speak although she had a cup of mulled wine to warm her up as she got ready. She tried to swallow but it was like trying to swallow a spoonful of sand. “And don’t even think of anything stupid,” said Lord Jonos and squeezed her hand so firmly in his that the bones in her fingers near cracked. “The future of our house depends on this.” His words weighed even heavier in Y/N's chest.

They stopped at the heart tree opposite of Lord Stark, whilst Maester Bennard stood at the head of the party. Cregan Stark wore the colours of his own house, standing tall in the sight of the Old Gods. There was not an emotion on his face that Y/N could read other than what she had learned was his usual, formidable self.

Lord Stark, however, could not help but notice the tremble in his bride's small, delicate hands and the tension in her body.

It was beginning to snow once again but thankfully the ceremony would be short unlike the southern weddings before the Seven.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” began Maester Bennard at once.

Lord Jonos spoke, “Y/N, of House Whytefort, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“I, Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Who gives her?” spoke Lord Stark, his voice strong and unmoving.

“Jonos, of House Whytefort, Lord of Whytefort,” said Y/N’s father as he let go of her hand.

“Lady Y/N, do you take this man?” asked Maester Bennard. For but a moment, Y/N considered what it would be like to run away. She would not come far. She also wondered of the fury her father would inflict on her for ruining such a perfect match. Her mother would be heartbroken and her brother livid.

“I take this man,” spoke Y/N at last, her voice weaker than she intended. She glanced at her husband’s grey eyes for but a moment before looking away. Tears threatened to water her eyes but she forced them back.

Lord Stark unclasped Y/N's maiden’s cloak as her body tensed and replaced it with his own, one with the sigil and the colours of House Stark. The fabric weighed heavy on her shoulders but it was warm, warmer than her own cloak had been. Neither did it smell like her. Its scent reminded her of pinewood and cloves.

Y/N pulled the cloak closer to her. It is done, she thought, and somehow her chest weighed less heavy than only minutes ago. She did not know why because this was the easiest part. It was the night that frightened her. And the morrow. And every day that would follow.

The wedding feast was held in the main hall. There was no scarcity of wild boar, of venison, nor of suckling pig. There was hot bread and tarts, lemon cakes and pastries occupying every corner of every table. Wine was served, Dornish red and Arbor white. There was even hippocras. And ale by the barrel. Her father was the first to be in his cups, having begun before the wedding ceremony, and entertained his noble and less noble friends at the end of the longtable to where he changed seats from his daughter's side. Her mother sat next to Lord Stark chatting happily away with one of the ladies. There was no one for Y/N to talk to but her husband, a man she hardly knew; a man she knew not at all. She thought the night might be easier if they spoke other than just courtesies.

Y/N took a cup of Dornish red from one of the servants and drank until she felt the warmth in her cheeks.

“I remember staying at Winterfell as a child,” spoke Y/N, finding the courage in her cup. “It was just for one night but I thought it looked much smaller then.” Cregan did not know what to say. He looked at his wife, taken back by the sudden break of silence. She had not even looked him in the eye more than half a dozen times since she arrived, much less spoke to him. At first, he thought it vanity yet when he saw her in front of the Old Gods, he understood her silence did not grow from pride or arrogance but something else, a mystery.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady, but I cannot recall your time here at Winterfell. My maester, however … Given what he said of your being like as a child, I half expected you would arrive on horseback,” confessed Lord Stark, not displeased with the idea at all, yet hardly being able to imagine someone as quiet and reserved as Lady Y/N to arrive in anything less than an ornate carriage.

“Would that I could,” said Lady Y/N, finding her voice as she smiled a small smile at the thought of herself as a child. “But my father insisted I ride in the box.”

“The box?” inquired Lord Stark.

“It’s just as small, it’s wooden, and it’s as uncomfortable as anything. I’d be more comfortable riding on top of a cabbage cart,” said Lady Y/N earnestly, her voice quiet, but Cregan let out a warm, hearty laugh. Lady Y/N turned to him, drawn to the sound of his laughter, which even made her smile. She dared look at him properly for the first time since they met that afternoon. He looked like as a Stark as any: dark brown hair, a somewhat elongated face, and grey eyes, which suddenly seemed a lot warmer to her than the stone cold one's she saw that afternoon. She already knew he was tall but now that he had removed his heavy cloak, she saw the rest of his body too. His shoulders were wide and his chest strong beneath the metal sigil of the wolf clasped where his collarbones would meet. He must have shaven clean in the morning but Y/N could see there were hints of stubble protruding from his strong jaw. His hands were strong and muscular; strong enough to wield that inconceivably large sword belonging to his house, Ice. The thought suddenly frightened her. Her father never raised a hand to her but his raising a hand to her mother was hardly a rare occurrence.

The smile disappeared from Y/N’s lips as she looked at her hands resting at the edge of the table. She reached for her cup and drained what little was left in it. Lord Stark must have noticed the change in her mood.

“I understand Winterfell must seem daunting, my lady,” he spoke sincerely. “I got lost here countless of times myself as a child, and I was born here.” Lord Stark spoke with a warm northern accent. Y/N gazed around the room and nodded. Not because she agreed but because she could not make herself say anything else. She paused.

“It is not the castle that frightens me,” Y/N spoke out of the sudden, regretting it the moment the words flew out of her mouth. Wine be damned.

“What then, my lady?” asked Cregan without thinking. Lady Y/N smiled to herself as she glanced down at her hands before raising her gaze to him. She looked into his eyes but for a brief moment although it seemed to him to last a century at least. Her lips parted gently but no words passed them. Lady Y/N gave him a small, reassuring smile. She looked away and helped herself to a small lemon cake that she did not finish not even by the end of the night. But it was then in her smile that the Lord of Winterfell realized the mystery of his bride’s silence – fear, not of Winterfell itself, but of him. And she hid it so well. There was an air of assuredness and confidence about her, the way she moved and spoke, even if only with her eyes. But underneath it all, Y/N found herself feeling more vulnerable than ever.

As Cregan was about to speak to his wife, Lord Jonos bid her to dance as was customary of the father of the bride. If he hand not been in his cups, he might have been a half decent dancer. Lady Y/N, however, was as graceful a dancer as any. Her creamy white skirts seemed to become one with her body as she stepped and turned to the beat of the waltz. As the song came to an end, Lord Jonos coughed from fatigue as he stumbled back to his company, leaving his daughter alone in the middle of the hall. He considered his obligations at this wedding met and returned back to the feast. As Y/N was to return to the high table on her own, a warm hand caught hers. She looked up and found herself face to face with her husband, the great Lord of Winterfell. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise but there was no time to hesitate as the music already began to play. She moved to the beat of the music, noticing how everyone was staring at them as they became the centre of attention.

“I didn’t think you dance, my lord,” said Y/N, hardly being able to look up into her husband’s eyes. The older she got, the less desire she had to look people in the eyes.

The Lord of Winterfell seemed much more a man suited to the battlefield rather than the cobblestones of a dancecourt. He was too tall and too broad in the shoulders to dance as elegantly as any singer could, nevertheless, he was sure of step and held a strong frame.

“I don’t,” said Lord Stark as their arms locked in a figure that demanded a turn. Y/N looked at him.

“Then why …” she wondered out loud before she could stop herself.

“Because you are the Lady of Winterfell,” said Lord Stark unemotionally as the dance slowly came to an end. “And your father is a wretched fool,” he spoke with distaste just before the music quietened. Lady Y/N stared at her lord husband as he kissed the top of her fingers and escorted her back to the high table where they sat together.

“Thank you,” she spoke gratefully, so used to her lord father forgetting his manners when he was in his cups, or sober for that matter, that the gallantry of Lord Stark seemed as strange to her as the sun rising at dusk. The tone of the Lord of Winterfell's voice, however, made her uneasy.

“There is nothing to thank, my lady,” said Lord Stark, his ice-cold voice melting some.

“It is to me, my lord.” Y/N had some more of that lemon cake for she could feel the Dornish red mingle with her blood far more intensely than she had intended. She had been travelling all day and had been on the road for near half a moon. The wine stuck to her as easily as mud to boots on a rainy day.

As the guests, Lord Jonos' group of primitive nobles in particular, suddenly began shouting “BEDDING! BEDDING! BEDDING!” in unison, Y/N flinched, her hand colliding against Lord Stark’s arm as her eyes widened. She had asked her father not to do this, not to encourage this ribald practice, and he agreed. He even gave her his word. In his cups however, Lord Jonos had no recollection of making his daughter such a promise.

Y/N’s stomach twisted into knots as she grew sick with anxiety when she saw the guest approach her with their greedy hands.

The Lord of Winterfell stood up, towering over most any man in the hall. His grey eyes turned as cold as stone as his brows furrowed into a formidable frown. The music stopped and guests settled down to hear what the Warden of the North had to say.

“I would not draw a sword at anyone on my wedding day, my lords,” spoke Lord Stark in a loud, solemn voice. The bawdy smiles of the wedding guests drained from their mouths. Y/N looked up at her husband, her own lips parting. Her heart was beating so wildly, she thought it might jump from her chest.

“Least of all at my father-in-law,” said Lord Stark with ice in his voice as he looked Lord Whytefort, who stood at the head of the ribald guests, straight in the eye. Lord Jonos clenched his jaw, slowly blinking his blood-shot eyes.

“As you wish,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s your wedding night, my lord.” Lord Jonos grasped his cup, having to lean against the high table to steady himself as he drank. Lord Stark glared at the singers who began to play once again immediately. The guests returned to their cups and cakes grumbling as Lord Cregan took Y/N’s hand as the feast continued without them.

Lady Y/N’s face was flushed with fever, her body tense like a bowstring. Lord Stark held her hand tightly as he led her through the hallways of Winterfell. His step was much longer and faster than hers for she struggled to keep up. As she skipped a step, Lord Stark realized how fast he was walking fuelled by fury. He stopped and took a moment to look at his wife. Lady Y/N’s chest was rising and falling quickly, the skin on her cheeks and neck flushed with heat. Her lips were parted and her eyes big and deep as pools.

“Forgive me, my lady,” said Lord Cregan and kissed her hand, holding it more gently as he calmed his anger. Her fingers disappeared in his large, calloused hand, engulfed by the warmth of his touch.

“Whatever for?” breathed Lady Y/N. I should be on my knees with gratitude, she thought to herself. Because of everything that had just happened – or might have happened. If the bedding had taken place, her clothes would be stripped from her body as the male guests would carry her to her wedding chambers, most likely groping at her body and sometimes even waiting outside the door to ensure the marriage was truly consummated.

“I …” began Lady Y/N, trying to find the words to express all the things she was feeling: the gratitude, the fear, the confusion … But before she could gather her thoughts into words, Lord Cregan cupped her Lady Y/N's face with his large hands, the thumb of his hand brushing across the corner of her lips. Goose pimples rose on her arms as he leaned down some, his grey eyes shifting between her lips and her eyes. Cregan leaned in and kissed his lady wife. The loose strands of his long hair grazed against Lady Y/N’s forehead as she responded instinctively to Lord Cregan’s touch. All the fear she felt beforehand melted from her as her hands gently leaned against Lord Stark’s broad torso. Y/N pulled away slowly but Lord Cregan leaned in once again and found her lips. The fingers of his right hand caught in her hair as they reached further, supporting her neck and jaw. The skin of her entire body tingled with fever as Lord Cregan broke the kiss hesitantly, his hand finding hers once again.

“Come,” asked Lord Stark, his voice quiet and hoarse. He led her up the stairs, some wider then others, taking turns that Y/N could not memorize even if she tried. Her body was trembling with expectation, a mixture of fear of the unknown creeping in as well as Lord Stark pushed open a great oaken door that led to his private chambers. The fire crackled in the hearth as the snow grew stronger outside the windows of Winterfell. The chambers were near as vast as the main hall split in half with its own table laden with cheese, fruit, and wine, and flowers and candles for light. There was the chambers' own dressing area and a private privy that belonged to the apartments as well. There were painted chests, ottomans, and chairs and great, ornate tapestries with scenes of hunting, the godswood, and the red and white heart tree. Opposite of the hearth was the bed with a vast feathered mattress, soft pillows, and furs for warmth.

“Some wine?” asked Lord Stark distractedly as he turned to look at his wife. His eyes were a daze of grey clouds.

“No,” said Lady Y/N quietly and shook her head. A loud bang erupted from the courtyard beneath the tower with Lord Cregan’s private chambers. Y/N winced, her eyes wide as they darted towards the window of painted glass. Lord Cregan frowned when Lady Y/N squeezed his hand and her focus shifted.

“Nothing to fear, my lady” said Lord Stark in a quiet, reassuring voice. “They are only celebrating.”

Y/N nodded to herself, “Of course.”

Cregan gently tugged on Lady Y/N's hand, bringing her closer to him. Breath caught in the back of Y/N’s throat as he towered over her, his nose brushing against hers before he kissed her lips. Her hands rested against his chest as his locked around her waist. Lord Cregan pulled on the strings of her wedding dress, releasing the bow that held the topmost layer of the gown in place. The fabric loosened around Y/N’s chest before Cregan tugged on the open wings of the back of the dress and exposed her shoulders. He left soft yet hungry kisses along her neck as his hands found the hem of her skirt. Cregan pulled the bottom of Y/N’s gown past her hips and knelt. He kissed her stomach never minding the chemise as he blindly found the strings of Y/N’s corset and pulled it apart. The fragrance of her skin, of cloves and orange blossom, urged him on as he rose and began unbuckling his leather jerkin that bore the metal sigil of House Stark. Y/N helped Cregan with the strings of his tunic as best as she could as her fingers were still a trembling mess. Y/N was no longer afraid like she expected it. Her instincts prevailed and she was surprised at herself how much she wanted it. How much she wanted him, the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan pulled his tunic over his head, allowing for his strong, muscular body to be observed. Perhaps it was the wine or some new found courage but Y/N softly pushed Lord Stark towards the bed where he sat down. They were almost at a height now. Cregan’s hands slid from her upper back to her hips where they settled securely, pulling her to his lap without ever detaching his lips from hers. He reached for the hem of her silken chemise and pulled it over her head. In nothing but her stockings, Y/N helped Cregan undo his breeches as he kicked off his shoes absently, his lips tracing the line from her neck to her chest.

“Gods,” Cregan murmured against her hot skin, his voice as hoarse as broken glass. He left soft, hungry bites and kisses along her breasts as his hands gripped onto her hips securely. He laid Y/N on the bed and quickly pulled off his breeches before his lips found the one place he felt they belonged: between his wife’s soft, creamy thighs.

Y/N gasped, her fingers digging into the furs and linen. She closed her eyes and forgot to breathe as her toes curled in pleasure. When a soft whimper escaped her lips, Y/N’s cheeks flushed redder still but Cregan did not seem to mind. Rather his arms wrapped even tighter around his wife’s thighs as his kisses were fuelled with insatiable hunger. A mass of heat began forming in Y/N’s abdomen, the tension in her body growing higher and higher. She tried to contain her moans but could not help herself. The pressure dispersed from her body as she remembered to breathe and she breathe heavily. Y/N’s eyes closed involuntarily as one of her arms rested across her forehead. For a moment, she was both lost and found, at peace and in chaos.

“S-Stop …” Y/N managed a small stutter as Cregan thought to continue. “Please …” she begged. Cregan did as she asked, leaving one last kiss on the inside of her thigh as he rose. His face was flushed and his eyes as striking grey as a lightning sky. Y/N’s breathing slowly calmed and she opened her eyes, coming down from her high. Cregan was leaning on his elbow beside her, patiently watching her recover. He leaned in carefully and waited for her to tell him to stop but she did not. She responded instead with a kiss, a hungry kiss with which she vowed to repay the pleasure he had made her feel, a pleasure she had not expected.

Cregan pulled her body closer, wrapping Y/N’s thighs around his hips after he pulled off her silken stockings. A quiet gasp escaped her lips as he entered her, his eyes closing in pleasure as his eyebrows furrowed into a heavy frown. He moved slowly at first, evenly. Then his body began moving faster and more desperately. Cregan’s hands roamed Y/N’s body until he had to steady himself against the headboard, feeling himself nearing to his climax. A moan of pleasure caught in Cregan’s throat as he leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. Y/N’s hands rested on Cregan’s broad back, his head on her chest. She was breathing heavily as well as two fat tears escaped her eyes. A pool of emotion bubbled inside of her whilst she observed the carved wooden ceiling but not really seeing it, only once again beginning to feel the weight of her life and her duty. She was to make her husband happy. Is he happy, she wondered. Is he pleased? Do I please him?

Another loud bang boomed from the courtyard. Y/N gasped in spite of herself, her body wincing involuntarily. Cregan tensed with her in his arms. He glanced up before he rose once again, leaning against his arms. He looked into Y/N’s eyes but she still could not hold contact for longer than a moment.

“It’s alright,” he spoke once more. “You’re safe, my lady,” said Cregan quietly before pressing a soft kiss on Y/N’s lips, then another on her forehead. Y/N nodded before Cragan leaned on his side and pulled her closer. She rested her head in the nook between her husband’s shoulder and his chest. He pulled one of her legs across his thigh where he rested his hand beneath her hip, drawing soft circles into her skin. In spite of it all, Y/N could not relax. Her body was tense once more, her mind rushing with thoughts of apprehension and self-doubt, even shame. She was a woman wed; it was her duty to give her husband children. What made her feel shame was that she had enjoyed it so.

***

Y/N’s eyes opened when the morning broke, startled by the unknown surroundings. She did not move as she looked around, the memories of last night, only a few hours ago in truth, came back to her. For the hour or two that she managed to close her eyes, Y/N was consumed with a kind of sleep that made one wake up more exhausted than one went to bed. Thoughts and memories of the day past rushed and disfigured in her mind when she slept. Y/N’s chest rose heavily as she looked at Lord Stark lying beside her. He was sleeping on his front, his broad, bare back moving gently with his breathing as he was sound asleep. Y/N was suddenly aware of her nakedness, the recollections of last night made her cheeks flush with shame once more. The wine had made her bolder than she ever would have dared on her own.

Lady Y/N left the bed quietly and slipped on her chemise. Although there was hardly any fire left, only burning embers, the chambers had not grown cold. The walls of Winterfell were built in a way that allowed the hot spring water to rush within them and keep the castle warm.  

Y/N glanced over her shoulders, seeing her husband sound asleep. She carefully walked the heavy wooden floors to the dressing area yet none of her things have been brought up yet. There was only a basin and a pitcher. Y/N took one of the soft cloths folded on the washstand and poured some water over the fabric. She washed herself not realizing her thighs were not only painted with her husband’s seed but also her blood. Rosy red stains appeared on the soft white cloth. Y/N could not recall feeling any pain, not any that would disturb her. But there was still blood.

“My lady?” asked Lord Stark. Y/N gasped as she jumped around, clutching the cloth in her hand as the other went over her heart. Cregan’s voice was gentle and quiet but it startled her nevertheless in the hour of the nightingale.

Y/N curtsied instinctively. Her face grew hot at the sight of her husband’s bare chest although he was wearing smallclothes.

“Are you alright?” asked Lord Stark, his eyebrows locked together into a frown.

Lady Y/N nodded. “It’s just … Sleep evades me, my lord,” she spoke, avoiding her husband’s storm grey eyes. Y/N felt exposed in only her chemise although Lord Stark had seen her nakedness and more but hours ago.

“Cregan,” corrected Lord Stark as he took the cloth from her hand. He brushed away a small remain of blood from her calf before standing up. Y/N nodded although she could not make herself say his name out loud. It felt odd to even consider calling the Warden of the North by his first name.

“Are you feeling well?” asked Lord Stark once again, his voice more solemn than before. “Are you … hurt in any way?”

Y/N realized what he was asking. “I’m alright, my—”Lord lingered on Y/N’s tongue as she stopped herself in time. Lord Stark’s stone hard eyes lingered on his wife a moment longer, studying her features. She could not have lied to him even if she wanted to under his formidable gaze.

Cregan nodded to himself and asked her back to bed. It would be hours before anyone other than the smallfolk would consider breaking their fast after the night of festivities. There was no need for the Lord of Winterfell to jump to his duties at the crack of dawn as he normally would, not on this day. Yet it was obvious that neither him nor his wife would find any more sleep that morrow.

It became clear to Y/N that moments of desire and the rest of life were two separate ordeals. One’s courage when powered by lust dwindled in the face of achieving the intimacy of a comfortable silence. Y/N did not know what to say or how to navigate the quietness that settled between herself and her lord husband. She was lying on her side, facing away from him when he spoke.

“Your belongings will be brought up in the morning,” said Lord Stark absent-mindedly. “I was told your new handmaids and ladies-in-waiting were also chosen for you in terms of the seniority of rank …”

Y/N turned on her back, her eyes searching the ceiling. “Alright,” she whispered almost soundlessly. She came to realize once more how drastically her life would change, how it already changed. The people she knew, the persons who had formed part of her every day would suddenly be replaced by strangers she had never met before. Her private rooms were no longer hers but ones she shared with her husband. Y/N shut her eyes tightly and paced her breathing. Tears forced into her eyes but she pushed them away.

“You … You are going hunting today?” asked Y/N to stir her thoughts in another direction. Her lord father boastedabout going on a hunt in the Wolfswood with the Lord of Winterfell in the honour of his daughter’s wedding.

“Am I?” asked Lord Stark. The tone of his voice sounded displeased but Lady Y/N could not be sure. She looked at him.

“I only thought … I heard …” she tried to explain but could not find the words that would not expose her father. The stone in Cregan’s eyes softened some when he saw the fear returning to his wife’s beautiful features although she tried to mask it.

“If Lord Jonos wishes a hunt in the Wolfswood, I will not deny him,” said Cregan absently. He was in no mind to entertain his father-in-law any more than duty commanded of him. The Lord of Winterfell had no taste for arrogance, particularly not one that mingled in one as selfish as he was covetous.

“Ser Duncan Greycliff can take him. He is the master huntsman,” spoke Lord Stark somberly.

“You do not have a taste for hunting?” asked Lady Y/N in an attempt to get to know her husband although she could almost hear him thinking “I do not have a taste for your father.”

“I do,” said Lord Stark instead. “But I prefer swordplay and horse riding.”

“So do I,” said Y/N more to herself than to her husband. “Horse riding, I mean.” She had tried herself at swordplay once as a girl. The sword was hardly a dagger compared to Ice yet it weighed so heavy in her hands that she cut her leg the first swing she took. The blade did not cut through the fabric of her brother’s breeches that she wore but it still parted her flesh on the side of her knee. Her father never learned of it as Y/N’s lady mother made her swear she would not speak of it or else it would not bode well for either of them. The maester bandaged her injured leg and she would never touch a sword again.

“Horse riding then,” decided Lord Stark. He had a scarcity of engagements to attend to that day, still being his wedding day in a way. “We should set off after breaking our fast. The snowing may grow stronger again later in the day. You have a horse with you I take it, my lady?” asked Lord Stark. A true rider never parts from their preferred mount.

“I wanted to bring my mare, Blackspur,” said Y/N as she nodded. “But my father … He said my husband has wealth enough to buy me a horse if I want one,” confessed Y/N. A cluster of anxiety gathered in her throat at the thought of leaving her mare behind. She had her since she was a child. And even if Blackspur had already been past her days as a filly then, she was one of the fastest horses in her father’s stables.

Y/N shook her head and smiled to herself. “Little does he know I asked my cousin to ride her here,” said Y/N, turning her gaze to her husband. “He never even noticed,” her smile grew wider. “So I would only ask for a place in the stables for her.”

Slowly Y/N looked away. Asking anything of her husband, a man she had known for a day, brought her discomfort and shame. She was raised never to ask for anything.

“I will have them build an entire stable for her if that is your wish, my lady,” said Lord Cregan. Y/N could not help but laugh as butterflies awoke in her stomach although there was no doubt in her husband’s voice that he would truly do so. He smiled nevertheless at the sound of her small but bright laughter.

“A stall will do, my lord,” said Y/N as the smile lingered on her lips. Cregan pulled her closer by the waist, Y/N’s back arching against his touch. Their faces were but inches apart as Lord Stark leaned in slowly, his gaze focused on his wife’s soft lips. She was the opposite of everything he had expected from a daughter of a man like Jonos Whytefort.

The heat of Lord Stark's body made Y/N’s arms cover in goose pimples. There was not a hint of Dornish red left in her veins yet Y/N leaned in herself, her hand resting on her husband’s cheek as her lips met his. A soft, almost soundless whimper escaped her mouth as Cregan pulled her closer, his strong grip secured on her body. As his hand reached beneath Y/N’s chemise, there was a knock on the door.

“For Gods’ sake,” growled Cregan, his voice rumbling from his chest. He glared at the door. “Not now!” he called and returned his attention to his wife. The smell of her skin drove him mad with desire, the feel of her soft curves, her gentle touch on his body. He had not imagined it would be so. Cregan Stark was used to perform his duty in all matters and he believed this marriage would be no exception. Little did he expect duty to taste so sweet.

There was another, more persistent knock on the door. “I said NOT NOW!” the Lord of Winterfell rose his voice to a formidable boom. Y/N’s body grew tense in Cregan’s arms, his eyes darting back to her. But before he could speak, another, more familiar voice came from outside his chambers.

“Forgive me, my lord. The matter is of great importance,” sounded Maester Bennard’s voice.

“Gods be damned,” muttered Lord Stark in frustration and fell back into bed. His eyes shut tight for a moment as he gathered his calm. Cregan sat up and pulled on his breeches and tunic in an attempt to conceal the evidence of passion. He opened the door where Maester Bennard awaited. Y/N pulled the linens closer to her body although the bed was hidden from the door’s view. The maester spoke quietly and she could not hear what was said. But there was one word she unmistakably caught – wildlings.

The ladies-in-waiting presented themselves after Lord Stark rushed to Rodrick’s Tower to speak with his lords and advisors. Lady Y/N’s belongings were brought to her chambers along with the wedding gifts of the nobles who attended the marriage celebration. Lady Y/N was helped into a gown of sage green embroidered with string-of-silver. She was asked of her preferences and of her well-being while the servants changed the bed linens and cleared the table with food. One of the ladies-in-waiting, Helaena or Harriett Dustin or Umber, fastened a necklace of white gold and deep green emeralds, which Y/N received from her mother on her sixteenth name day, around her neck. Y/N traced the jewellery with the tips of her fingers, her chest growing tight with pain. She would have to say her fare wells to her mother and to her brother after her lord father returns from the hunt. She will have no one left from her old life, save for her mare Blackspur.

“The breaking of fast will take place in the main hall today, m’lady,” informed one of the servants. She curtsied as best as she could before Y/N’s ladies-in-waiting escorted their Lady of Winterfell to the main hall. The women were kind enough yet unfortunately they were all perfect strangers to Y/N.

The way around the enormous castle that was Winterfell presented itself much clearer in daylight than it did in the hour of the wolf although they remained quite confusing still.

The guests rose as Lady Y/N entered the main hall, her eyes growing wide as she glanced behind her. They rose for her. She was but a young lady of an insignificant house no longer than a day ago. Sometimes people did not even bother to curtsy to Y/N when she was not in the company of her lord father and now an entire hall of noblemen and women stood at her presence.

Y/N sat down at the high table next to a grand, ornate seat reserved for the Lord of Winterfell. Wolves were carved into the handles of the seat, the sigil of House Stark showing off proudly from the top of the back rest. Y/N’s own seat was carved in the same fashion only slightly smaller in size. She sat, allowing for everyone else to do the same. Her cheeks flushed pink as Y/N became acutely aware of everyone staring at her. She knew what they were thinking behind their bawdy grins and hidden whispers, and it cost her her appetite.

One of the serving girls poured her some warm honeyed wine which Y/N gladly accepted. She glanced at the empty seat beside her once again. The seating was different than at the feast. Many of the guests were missing, doubtlessly still asleep. Y/N noticed her lady mother, however, speaking to who seemed to be Lady Hornwood. When Lady Whytefort’s eyes met her daughter’s, she gave a warm, encouraging smile, which reassured Y/N some.

“Is the food not to my lady’s liking?” asked Y/N’s lady-in-waiting, Daela Manderly, the most senior in rank and the one who earned her seat beside the Lady of Winterfell at the high table. She was a girl of seven-and-ten, not much younger than Y/N herself. Lady Daela was tall with long red hair of House Tully after her lady mother.

“I do not have much of an appetite,” confessed Y/N but forced herself to have something at least.

“Are you well, my lady?” asked Lady Daela with great concern. She even went as far as to take Lady Y/N’s hand. Y/N was not accustomed to people touching her, not even Saera who she had practically grown up with. The only person Y/N welcomed touch from was her lady mother. Nevertheless, it was not so much Lady Daela holding her hand that brought Y/N discomfort. Rather, that she was asking on the account of the passing night being Y/N’s wedding night.

“I’m alright,” assured Y/N as she helped herself to a slice of white wheat bread and some butter. She reached for the jar which smelled of sweet blackcurrant and raspberries, spreading some of its contents across her buttered bread.

“Is breakfast usually held elsewhere?” asked Y/N, earning a puzzled look from Lady Daela. “The servant said that we will break fast in the main hall today.”

“Oh,” said Lady Daela. “There is a smaller hall. It is warmer there but Lord Stark often breaks his fast in his solar with Maester Bennard when Winterfell is not host to noble guests. The ladies and myself usually eat in our chambers,” the lady-in-waiting explained.

Suddenly, the people of the main hall rose as did Y/N herself even before she could even see the Lord of Winterfell enter the hall. The last time she saw him that morning he was in his wedding breeches, his white tunic hanging loosely from his shoulders. He had a change of garments since and a clean shave, his long dark hair combed neatly.

Lord Cregan took his seat at the high table, letting the bountiful breakfast to continue.

“Good morrow,” said Y/N gently, unable to explain the reassurance she felt at her husband’s presence. Suddenly, she felt like no one was looking at her at all anymore.

Lord Cregan’s gaze found hers, his stormy eyes raging with thoughts. A dark, solemn expression rested on his already formidable features that Y/N had not noticed when he sat down beside her.

“Good morrow,” spoke Lord Stark nevertheless while he helped himself to eggs, cooked ham as well as bacon and half a dozen slices of rye bread.

Y/N felt as if she somehow misspoke yet she could not have; she only greeted her husband. For a moment, Y/N contemplated it might be Lord Cregan prefers quiet in the mornings since he often eats alone. Yet as Lady Daela claimed he sometimes shared his meal with Maester Bennard so that could not have been the answer. Something must have happened when he was called away that morning.

“Is everything alright, my lord?” asked Y/N carefully as if she were threading on ice. Her voice was soft and discrete as she leaned in ever so slightly. Although they had spent the night together, Y/N did not know Cregan Stark in the least.

Lord Stark stopped his eating, his brows forming into a small frown as he looked at his wife. Y/N thought terribly for a moment, expecting he might throw a plate at her as she had often seen her own father do. Instead, Lord Stark's gaze flickered between Y/N’s big eyes that waited patiently for his reply. She looked away when he did not say anything, focusing on the food in front of her instead before she glanced around the room. Her father would have announced it is none of her business if it had been him she were asking. That or worse.

“Everything is alright, my lady,” said Cregan out of the sudden, interrupting Lady Y/N chain of horrible thoughts. “We will talk of it later,” he added as their eyes met once again to which Y/N could only manage a nod.

After their broke their fast, Y/N changed into her riding gear. She had her father’s castle tailor make her gowns that could be parted and worn with riding breeches underneath and that were able to fit a proper saddle. Y/N picked out a garment of dark blue, brown leather gloves and a fur cloak. The cold winter breeze and the nightly snow made it less than ideal for a nice, long ride yet Y/N could not wait to get out of the castle. She had arrived to the stables before her husband where Blackspur was already waiting for her.

“Hey,” soothed Y/N gently as she glided her gloved palm across the mare’s neck. Her coat was as black as pitch save for the white boots on the three of her four legs. The horse responded to her mistress’ presence, nudging her great big head in her direction.

“Shh …” Y/N leaned her face against Blackspur’s back and caressed her quivering body. For a moment, she could feel the weight of the world storm down on her. For a moment, Y/N’s eyes filled with tears and disappeared in her mare’s coat just as soon as they appeared.

Footsteps approached from the other end of the stall. Y/N wiped away what traces of tears had remained on her face as she patted Blackspur and took a deep breath. The presence that appeared at the stall’s entrance was Lord Stark himself. He did not say anything for a moment. Cregan’s eyes moved across his wife’s attire, never having seen anything like it. Another man appeared behind him, one of the stableboys, offering to saddle Lady Y/N’s horse.

“That’s alright. I will to do it myself,” said Y/N, stroking Blackspur’s neck. The stableboy did not know what to do at such a request from a lady, his small blue eyes flickering between the Lord of Winterfell and his lady wife. Y/N realized they had been staring and she herself froze as her lips parted.

“If I may, my lord,” she spoke much less assuredly, lowering her eyes from her husband and to her beautiful horse whom she caressed still.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark. “Benjin, fetch a saddle for Lady Stark.” Y/N froze at the sound of her new title coming out of her husband’s mouth. She felt like a pretender when she thought it herself. The words coming out of the mouth of the Lord of Winterfell however, carved them into stone.

Lord Stark joined Y/N in the stall, running a hand along Blackspur’s neck himself. The horse shifted at the presence and touch of a stranger.

“Don’t stand too close to her face. She might bite at you,” said Y/N’s arm instinctively stretched past her husband’s body as if to protect him. “She is wary of people she does not know.”

Cregan glanced at his wife’s hand and took it but also stepped back with her as Y/N warned. Her face grew warm when she realized she had tried to ‘protect’ the Lord of Winterfell, who stood even a few inches taller than Blackspur.

“She is a lot like my wife it would seem,” said Lord Stark and closed the space between them. Breath caught in the back of Y/N’s throat as her husband’s lips brushed against hers, seeping into a deep, hungry kiss, when the sound of the stableboy’s returning footsteps filled the silence.

“Gods be damned,” cursed Lord Stark as he pulled away from his wife’s soft lips. Lady Y/N could not help but smile. She took Blackspur from her stall where she could saddle and prepare her for the ride.

Once she was in her saddle, Y/N felt like herself again. The sense of freedom returned to her even if but for a moment. The northern wind swept through her long hair as she gave her restless mare a turn around the courtyard by the Hunter's Gate.

Lord Stark rode a deep brown courser with mane as black as night, hence the name Nightkeeper. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell rode out together, taking no escort as they roamed the snow peppered grounds surrounding the mighty castle. They passed the winter town on their way through the main castle gates. Its houses were mostly empty still but as the winter approached, more and more people would return to stay once again beneath the walls of Winterfell.

The horses picked up their pace when they reached the open fields. Lady Y/N could not hide the smile growing on her lips when fresh air filled her lungs and her breathing became faster.

“Forgive my prying, my lord, but—”

“Cregan,” said Lord Stark. Y/N looked at him. “You need not call me ‘my lord’ when we are alone,” he said once again.

“I fear it may take me some time to get used to that,” confessed Lady Y/N, offering a small smile. The Lord of Winterfell smiled in turn as they steered their mounts up a field path west.

“About this morning,” said Y/N more carefully, “The important matter that needed your attention …”

Lord Stark nodded, his features growing somber. “A growing party of wildlings gathers just north of the Last Hearth,” he explained. “There was a letter in the night from Lord Umber urging we send men north.”

Y/N listened patiently, nodding to herself.

“I will have to ride out soon,” said Lord Stark. “With your father’s host of warriors joining us, we stand a good chance at pushing the wildlings beyond the Wall for good. Or at least for a good many years.”

Y/N’s heart grew heavy. Once her family and her handmaidens leave Winterfell, she will have no one for company but her husband. And Blackspur. Lord Cregan did not count much yet since Y/N was unsure as yet how much she could confide in him as a friend rather than her lord and husband.

“When do you expect to leave?” asked Y/N, even her words growing heavy as she considered being left completely alone at Winterfell.

“In half a moon’s turn,” said Lord Stark gravely. “Sooner if we can gather the men.”

Y/N nodded.

“It will be enough for you to get used to your duties as the Lady of Winterfell. You will rule in my stead when I leave for the north, of course,” said Lord Stark. His voice was laced with thick northern accent.

Y/N’s chest gave a squeeze as she suddenly realized the weight of her responsibilities. Her own lady mother often deputized for Lord Jonos when he was away yet governing over Whytefort could not be compared to ruling Winterfell, much less the North. For the first time since Y/N learned of the marriage alliance between herself and Lord Stark, she could truly feel the weight of duty of her new home rather then her childhood one.

Y/N looked at her husband. He had been the Lord of Winterfell since he came of age at six-and-ten and lost his parents three years prior to succeeding his father’s seat as the Warden of the North. She could not imagine the heavy weight that rested on Lord Cregan’s shoulders nor how he managed to carry it so well; how he made it seem so effortless and natural.

Cregan caught Y/N staring. She looked away quickly and made Blackspur pick up her pace as she gently nudged her belly. Lord Stark did the same and matched her speed, both of the horses shifting from a trot to an easy gallop. Y/N raced her mare up the nearby hill, having Blackspur come to a halt where the view was best. Y/N took in the scenery as she paced her breathing. The fields were neither green nor covered in snow, towered by the mighty grey castle that was Winterfell. From this distance, the castle could fit in the palm of Y/N’s hand. There was forest too as far as the eye could see; dark pines standing strong whilst the summer trees were slowly but surely dropping leaves.

“It is all yours,” said Lord Cregan not without pride when he saw Lady Y/N staring.

Y/N licked her cold-dry lips. I don’t want it, she wished to say. It was too large, too vast, and too many people depended on it; depended on her. Yet for better or for worse she was the Lady of Winterfell. The duty was hers to bear.

“Mayhaps we should go back,” suggested Y/N quietly. “The winds are growing colder.”

“Winter is coming,” agreed Lord Stark as he turned his courser around.

They spent the majority of the ride back in silence yet Y/N could feel her husband’s eyes burn into her for the near entirety of the way. She could not make herself look back at him nor ask about his thoughts. Y/N had spent her entire life as an insignificant lady of an insignificant house leading an insignificant life. She knew her place among the noble lords and ladies – it meant she was to be invisible, quiet, and respectful; never looking them in the eye for too long, never speaking out of turn.

“My lord,” called Maester Bennard as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned from their ride. The old maester was waiting for them in the courtyard by the Hunter's Gate, holding a scroll of parchment. “A quick word. Another raven arrived following the one of the morrow.”

Lord Stark dismounted as one of the stablemen took his horse. He stepped away with Maester Bannard whilst Lady Y/N dismounted as well. She had only been able to unsaddle her mare when a party of riders and their dogs entered the courtyard. The lords had gone hunting as per Lord Jonos’ request although the time of day was less than ideal. Nevertheless, Y/N spotted that a wild boar had been the result of their labour in Wolfswood.

“What is that beast doing here?” shouted Lord Jonos when his bright blue eyes saw his daughter’s mare; the one that he had gifted her on her ninth name day. His voice caught the attention of the entire inner courtyard, including Daeron Whytefort, who took part in the hunt. Lady Y/N jumped around, her heart in her throat.

“I told you that nag is to stay at Whytefort!” Lord Jonos slid off his mount and stormed towards his daughter, his whip still in his hand. “You will pay for this trick!”

Lady Y/N’s heart dropped as her eyes grew wide, her back hitting against Blackspur’s side. She held her breath, unable to take her gaze off her lord father, when a man of as stout a figure as any stepped in Lord Jonos’ way. Ser Harwyn, the master-at-arms of Winterfell and a bull of a man, grabbed hold of Lord Whytefort’s whip arm.

“Threatening the Lady of Winterfell is treason and cause for death, my lord. Lord Stark will have your head for that,” warned Ser Harwyn, his grip on Y/N’s father as firm as his words as Lord Jonos tried to set free of the master-at-arms’ hold. Lady Y/N knew Lord Jonos would go for his dagger and he did.

“Don’t!” the Lady of Winterfell cried at her father as her brother could not do anything but watch.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Lord Stark.

“Nothing, my lord,” said Lady Y/N quickly though her voice was weak. The sight of Ice strapped on her lord husband’s back and Ser Harwyn's words made her stomach twist into knots.

Lord Stark turned to his master-at-arms for answers as he saw his wife’s eyes were laced with fright.

“Lord Whytefort threatened Lady Stark. I said it is treason and you will have his head for it, my lord,” Ser Harwyn glared at Lord Jonos. The master-at-arms had trained Lord Cregan at swordplay since the now Lord of Winterfell was in his swaddling clothes. His loyalty to House Stark was unwavering.

“Is this the truth of it?” Lord Stark turned to his lady wife. Y/N’s eyes were big with fear, her lips parted with surprise. She had not thought he would ask her of what had happened. Yet Lord Stark already knew Ser Harwyn’s words had the truth of it. He only wanted to see if his wife would lie to him, even if it was to protect her foolish father. Hot tears welled in Lady Y/N’s eyes.

“It is the truth, my lord,” she spoke quietly as tears stung her cold, wind-lashed cheeks. Cregan’s brows hung in a dark frown, his frame as stoic and formidable as ever. Yet something in the parting of his lips, the colour of his stone grey eyes softened as he studied his lady wife.

“She is my daughter and I forbade it!” Lord Jonos defended his actions. “I forbade that she should bring that beast to this castle,” he insisted.

The Lord of Winterfell turned to him, his cold, hard eyes finding the whip in Lord Jonos’ hand.

“She may have been your daughter yesterday, and you could do with her as you would have seen it fit then, my lord,” spoke Lord Stark, his voice growing darker by the word as he approached Lord Jonos until he towered over him with ease. “But she is my wife now – mine,” Cregan assured to his father-in-law who was as taken aback by his lord’s words as was Lady Y/N.

“I will have you leave the grounds of this castle immediately for I am no longer inclined to extend you the courtesy that no harm shall befall you as my guest,” said Lord Stark with ice in his voice. “But remember that it was you, Lord Whytefort, who forfeited that right as my guest when you threatened my wife, the Lady of Winterfell.”

Lord Stark’s cold gaze rested unblinkingly on Lord Jonos.

“Leave. From this day on you are only welcome at Winterfell at the invitation and pleasure of its lord,” Lord Stark said his final words.

Gentle snowflakes began to fall once again as the Lord of Winterfell showed Lord Jonos his back, commanding his lady wife to follow him inside the castle. Lady Y/N tried desperately for her eyes to meet that of her father but he would not look at her. Lord Jonos yanked his arm free from Ser Harwyn’s hold and spat on the floor before he commanded his men to prepare to leave at once.

Y/N hurried after Lord Stark, hardly matching his pace of long, furious strides. Once in the privacy of their castle walls, of their private chambers, Lord Stark spoke.

“If he so much as speaks another word out of turn, I will have his head,” promised Lord Stark, his voice calm and steady yet ice cold as he faced his wife, the daughter of the most insolent man he had ever had the displeasure to meet. If it had been anyone else, Lord Cregan would have had his head on a spike by then. Or better yet, have him sent to the Wall where he could externalize his impertinent arrogance to winds and snow if they would have him.

“It is my fault, forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N desperately and bowed. “If I had not brought Blackspur with me, this never would have happened.” Y/N shook her head as she looked away when tears welled in her eyes. She could not believe that she had been so foolish. She should have known her father would find out and it would lead to no good.

“I do not say this to blame you, wife,” said Lord Cregan incredulous.

“But I am to blame,” said Lady Y/N. “I should have obeyed his orders.”

“If he had as much as laid a finger on you—” Lord Cregan stopped himself before he could finish his thought. He was holding Y/N by her arms, not ungently, trying to make her understand without him saying anything out loud. Lord Cregan was not a man of words, nor a poet who could sing his lines. The only thing about Lord Stark that sang was his greatsword when he swung it.

Lord Stark let go of her arms, his palms tingling with the warmth of his wife’s body. He gathered his thoughts, pushing his emotions aside.

“I have duties to attend to, my lady,” said Lord Cregan in his usual solemn manner. “And you must needs time to settle in as well. I will see you at nuncheon.”

The Lord of Winterfell left for his solar. Y/N curtsied when Lord Stark was already at the door, his back turned to her.

Y/N sat in one of the chairs by the fire overwhelmed by emotion. She contemplated everything that had happened. Her father announcing the betrothal, the journey, and the wedding ceremony. Last night and this morning, the invigorating ride and the terrible quarrel afterwards. Y/N did not know whether to laugh or cry or to scream. Everything was new and she was so very tired. Not only her mind but her body as she had only a few hours of restless sleep.

There was a knock on the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but your mother, the Lady Whytefort, asks to speak to you,” said a knight of the personal guard of Lord Stark, the one assigned to the new Lady of Winterfell.

“I will see her,” said Lady Y/N almost desperately as she jumped to her feet.

“Very well, my lady,” the knight bowed.

Lady Whytefort was shown into the room, the heavy wooden door closed behind her. She wore skirts of umber red with golden-silver embroidery on the bodice. A necklace of pearls and matching earrings decorated her pale skin.

“Mama,” cried Y/N as she wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s body. The thought of her leaving made Y/N’s heart part with white-hot pain. As a child, Y/N and Lady Whytefort were not particularly close. Yet as Y/N grew older so did her mother and their relationship not only mended but flourished. They were each other’s best friend, protector, and confidant.

“Oh, sweetling, it’s alright,” spoke Lady Whytefort but neither she could disguise the cracks in her voice. Her cheeks were wet with tears with her daughter’s arms locked around her body so tightly. Lady Whytefort caressed Y/N’s hair, unsure whether it was to comfort her or herself.

“I do not wish for your to leave,” whispered Lady Y/N for if she attempted to speak with her voice, it would surely break.

“Oh, I do not want to leave either, my sweet,” said Lady Whytefort as she pulled away, wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “But I have to. This is your home now and I have to return to mine.”

Y/N nodded in understanding although more hot tears streamed down her face.

“I will visit as soon as I can, I give you my word,” vowed Lady Whytefort.

Y/N’s chest broke with a painful sob. She began shaking her head, “Y-You cannot.” Her crying grew heavier.

“Why not, my sweet?” asked Lady Whytefort as she wiped away the tears off Y/N’s face. “You mean the quarrel between your father and Lord Stark?”

Y/N’s sobs quietened as her gaze rested on her mother’s. “W-When did … How ... How did y-you know?”

“Your brother told me when I came down to meet him after he and your father returned from their hunt,” explained Lady Whytefort unconcernedly. “Besides, I fear half the castle is talking about it,” she said, less pleased that there would be gossip in such a noble castle.

“I don’t understand,” Y/N shook her head. “How can you speak so lightly?” Her cheeks grew wet with tears once more. She shook her head, “I … I don’t know what to do.”

“You do not have to do anything, my sweet,” comforted Lady Whytefort. “I already spoke to Lord Stark—”

“What?” blurted Lady Y/N. “When?”

“Just now,” said Lady Whytefort. “I went to ask for pardon on the behest of your father but Lord Stark would not hear of it. Mayhaps if Jonos came to him himself and swallowed that foolish pride of his …” said Lady Whytefort tiredly. She had been mending her husband’s messes for years, decades even ever since they were wed.

“What am I supposed to do? And it is my fault—” cried Lady Y/N in desperation but her mother cut her off.

“Whilst the Lord of Whytefort is not welcome at Winterfell unless upon the invitation and pleasure of its lord, the same does not extend to the Lady of Whytefort,” said Lady Whytefort with a small, growing smile. “She is welcome to the hospitality of Winterfell at the Lady Stark’s wish.”

“W-What?” breathed Lady Y/N. Her heart was beating hard enough to escape her chest. “Lord Stark … Lord Stark said that to you, mother?”

“He did,” promised Lady Whytefort. “You will beg me to leave for I will be here so often.”

Y/N could not help but laugh through her tears that her mother brushed away for one last time.

"And the quarrel was never your fault, my sweet," swore Lady Whytefort. "It gladens me that you have Blackspur here with you. At least you will have something of your own ..."

“I will be leaving with your father, however,” explained Lady Whytefort. “So we best say our goodbyes now.” Y/N nodded as she locked her mother into a tight embrace. She would miss the smell of her perfume, the touch of her hands. But mostly, she will miss her voice and her company.

Y/N said her final goodbyes to her family after nuncheon, her beloved lady mother and her brother. Lord Jonos would not look at his daughter, waiting impatiently on his milk-white palfrey. As her family and the host of guests disappeared behind the castle walls, Y/N felt alone in the world. A darkness settled in her body, a sadness for Whytefort, her private chambers, the people she knew, the halls she had walked thousands of times before, a sadness for her home. Yet Winterfell was her home now.

Y/N spend the rest of the day with her ladies-in-waiting, slowly but surely remembering all of their names. Daela Manderly, Ellyn Mormont, Jocelyn Karstark, and Harryett Dustin. Y/N found Lady Ellyn the most agreeable of the lot. She was a few years Lady Stark’s senior with long hair neither brown not gold and eyes the colour of rain.

The ladies showed her the castle from the Great Hall to Benjen's Hall where the meals were usually held, the broken tower and the ladies’ quarters where they spend some time at small talk and a warm cup of mulled wine. Lady Daela was a woman of petite stature who could not handle more than a cup or two before the grape had stuck to her blood. She told a rumour about one of the ladies of the court but Y/N had no taste for it. She neither knew who the lady was nor did she have the energy to keep up with the conversation.

“If my ladies will excuse me,” said Lady Y/N and got up. The women mirrored. “I will retire to my chambers for it has been a long day,” she apologized. “Lady Mormont, if you would be as kind as to escort me.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn as they left the ladies at their wine. Lady Daela seemed conflicted between her wish to be called upon the new Lady of Winterfell to accompany her to her chambers and between her thirst for more honeyed wine and leisurely whispers.

As they climbed the staircase of Rodrick’s Tower, Y/N’s thoughts drifted off to her husband. They had not spoken at all at nuncheon other than the courtesies demanded of them. Yet come supper, they will be alone and after her lord father’s outburst that morning, Lady Y/N was unsure of how she felt – of how her husband felt. Lord Stark had allowed Lady Whytefort to visit any time she wishes, yet what if he resented that she would come and ask for her husband’s forgiveness; that she would want to change his mind and question his orders. His silence to Y/N weighed terribly on her mind.

Y/N sighed heavily as they reached her private chambers.

“Is everything alright, my lady?” asked Lady Mormont.

“I hope so,” said Lady Y/N more to herself than to her lady-in-waiting. She was yet unsure how much she could trust Lady Mormont. In reality, Y/N was less than hopeful. Her mother was right when she said she had been cleaning Lord Jonos’ messes since they were wed. His difficult character and more oft than not unjustified pridefulness made life difficult not only for him but the rest of the Whyteforts. 

“May I suggest a bath, my lady?” offered Lady Ellyn, waking Y/N from her thoughts. “It might help relax you.” Y/N had not even thought about it, yet the idea of it seemed sweeter than heaven in that moment.

“That would be more than welcome, thank you,” she agreed.

“I will have the servants ready it for you, my lady,” Lady Ellyn smiled before she disappeared down the narrow corridor.

Lady Y/N entered her private chambers, making it straight to the bed. She laid down on the comfortable feathered mattress, her fingers running through the soft furs. Despite a headache forming, Y/N wondered if tonight would be the same as last night. The memories of it made her skin tingle with warmth as she battled against the feelings of guilt and shame.

The servants prepared a bath for Lady Stark to which she added some peppermint oil to help relieve her headache and relax her muscles. After the servant girls helped her strip to her undergarments, Lady Y/N asked them to leave. Although many ladies enjoyed having others wash them, Y/N cherished the silence and the solitude whilst soaking in warm water.

Y/N stripped and stepped into the bath. The water was unusually hot as it often already grew cold whilst the servants brought it up to the rooms. Y/N sunk into the fragranced water, allowing for the heat to embrace her. She had had a bath on the day of her wedding, yesterday, yet it seemed to her as if she had not had one in months. If the prospects of supper had not loomed over her, Y/N would be sure to fall asleep that very moment.

As the water grew cold, Lady Y/N washed with soap of orange and had a change of dress. She wanted to look her best. In her own way, it was a way of apologizing for starting the quarrel with her father, which lead to a falling out between the Lord of Winterfell and Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N chose a dress of dark carmine red with golden embroidery on the sleeves. She paired it with a delicate belt made of mountain blossoms of matching gold. Although the gown had long bell sleeves, it exposed the shoulders and had the bosom in the shape of a heart. It was one of Y/N’s best and favourite gowns. She wore pearl earrings in the shape of tears but allowed her hair to fall naturally.

The skirts of Lady Y/N’s gown rustled as she walked down the main staircase of Winterfell. She had her ladies-in-waiting accompanying her, all four of them walking closely behind her. When Y/N reached the bottom of the staircase, she came face to face with her husband. He must have been outside for there were snowflakes slowly melting away in his hair and his coat. Lady Y/N curtsied.

“Husband,” she spoke in a way of greeting. Her voice was stronger than she had expected although on the inside she was trembling.

Lord Stark’s mouth parted ever so slightly as he took in his lady wife’s attire. The scent of peppermint and orange blossom on her skin made his arms prickle with goose bumps.

Y/N had almost accepted that Lord Stark would not wish to speak to her when he finally uttered a curtsy.

“My lady,” said Lord Stark. He paused as if there were something on his mind yet he did not say anything.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat down at their high table at Benjen’s Hall where wild salmon was being served in a crust of herbs. There was warm, fresh bread, wine and ale. Yet although Lady Y/N’s plate was full, she could not find a proper appetite, not with her thoughts raging as wild as they had.  

“What is it, my lady?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly. His face, however, held a grim frown that Y/N could not quite read. He seemed tired but not angry. “You have barely touched your food.”

“Nothing,” said Lady Y/N, wondering whether to even raise the subject at all. “I only … I only wished to thank you,” Lady Y/N managed at last. “I was able to speak with my mother, the Lady Whytefort, after she had spoken to you.”

“There is nothing to thank,” said Lord Stark, his frown softening some. “Lady Whytefort had given me no offence, neither you as far as I am aware. She is welcome at Winterfell if you wish her company.”

“I do,” said Y/N earnestly. “And I thank you for it,” she added quickly, her hand instinctively wrapping around Lord Stark’s forearm to profess how grateful she was. She soon realized what she had done and in front of other people of the court that shared their meal although no one remotely noticed in the midst of the music and the laughter.

“Forgive me,” said Lady Y/N quickly as she took back her hand. Little did she know that the Lord of Winterfell wanted nothing more but the small feast with the final guests who had yet not left to finish so that he may be alone with his wife. His mind had been drifting off to her all day. Even as Maester Bennard read him letters of more complains of the wildlings, of disputes over petty lands and water rights, Lord Cregan struggled to keep his thoughts on the matters at hand. His mind kept returning to Lady Y/N and her soft hair, the smell of her skin, the touch of her body in his arms. He remembered her smile when they went riding, the flush in her cheeks. Cregan never minded his duties as the Lord of Winterfell, he even enjoyed them sometimes. Yet that day every one of his lordly duties that impeded him from returning to his private chambers proved more tedious then ever and seemed to last an eternity.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” said Lord Stark whose forearm tingled with warmth. He focused on his meal to keep himself from throwing Lady Y/N over his shoulder and taking her to their private chambers. For a moment Lord Stark considered his wife had chosen the red gown to torture him for the falling out with Lord Jonos. Yet after Lady Y/N thanked him for giving her lady mother the hospitality of Winterfell, the Lord of Winterfell considered the gown either a way of thanking him or a plain but no less torturous coincidence. Carmine was indeed one of the colours of House Whytefort yet even so the red gown hugging Lady Y/N’s curves made Lord Stark’s body prickle with heat.

Lady Y/N returned to her meal, finally being able to think clearly. She could still notice her husband’s gaze on her yet he looked even more grim and formidable than ever.

Lady Y/N was already done eating when Lord Stark finished his meal. He washed it down with a cup of ale before he got up, done with displaying courtesy to his guests. Lady Y/N rose as well as did her ladies-in-waiting and the rest of the court. Before they could even do so properly, Lord Stark had already taken Y/N’s hand, nearly dragging her from Benjen’s Hall.

The moment the doors to their private chambers closed behind them, Cregan’s lips found Y/N’s. Y/N gasped but responded immediately. Her husband’s touch made all of her thoughts quieten down, all but one. Cregan’s fingers caught in Y/N’s hair as he guided her lips against his. His kisses were deep and hungry for more. Y/N could feel his hardness against her body, wishing desperately for him to take off his garments.

“S-Stop,” Y/N managed to say in between kisses. Lord Stark would not hear her at first. Yet once he realized what she had said and felt the push of her delicate arms against his chest, an alarm sounded in his head.

“If you are hurt …” breathed Lord Stark, the only reason that would have him control his desire.

“I am not,” whispered Y/N quickly, finding the clasps of her husband’s jerkin as she undid them. Then she pulled apart the strings of his tunic which Cregan gladly removed, encouraged by his wife’s boldness. He near tore off her exquisite red gown, unable to find the time or the patience to deal with the intricate lacing. Y/N turned around for him to undo the corset supporting her figure. A moan escaped her lips as Cregan’s hands found her breasts. He stood behind her and kissed her neck as his arms held her close. His hips moved as if there were no garments separating their bodies when a deep, raspy moan broke from his chest as Cregan found the release he had been chasing since that morning.

Y/N’s hands were locked around her husband’s strong forearms as he still held her tightly. She, like Cregan, breathed heavily still, yet a part of her wished it had not been over so quickly.

Y/N thought to take off her corset properly and get ready for bed but as she tried to unbind herself of Cregan’s embrace, he would not move.

“I am not finished yet,” Lord Stark whispered against her ear before leaving her neck bruised with ravenous kisses. He spun her around, his lips finding hers once again when his arms went beneath her bum. Y/N yelped quietly as Cregan picked her up and carried her to their bed. Her back hit the soft, warm furs as Y/N pulled him closer, eager to feel the weight of his strong body on top of hers. Cregan pulled of his stained breeches, a groan of pleasure escaping his chest as he entered his wife. Y/N gasped. She was still sore from last night although it did not cause her pain, rather pleasure. Her silken white chemise with the hem of Myrish lace left little to the imagination. The delicate fabric was rolled up to her waist and although it still covered her chest, the shape of her breasts and the colour of her nipples remained seen. Cregan’s lips went to them as his hands wrapped around her wrists. He had pulled out, leaving his wife for more. He took off her chemise, her body all to himself. He could not even imagine sharing the sight of her nakedness with anyone else should the bedding ceremony have taken place.

Moans lingered on Y/N’s mouth when Cregan left sloppy kisses down her stomach, teasing her until he found what they had both been yearning for. His arms locked around her soft thighs as he pulled her closer with ease. Y/N’s legs quivered with pleasure at the skill of Cregan’s mouth. She could no longer contain any of her cries and moans of wishing and wanting for more.

“Gods,” whimpered Y/N, raising ever so slightly before her head hit the pillows and her eyes shut in divine pleasure. Shivers ran through her entire body, her thighs shuddering. Y/N’s breathing began to slow down when she opened her sleepy eyes. Cregan kissed her softly, the taste of her lingering on his lips but she did not mind at all.

“I will be quick, I promise,” said the Lord of Winterfell, his voice low and as warm as crackling embers. Y/N did not think to reply, only allowed herself to be taken further away.

Cregan had her sit on his lap, his arms wrapped around her small back as he held her close. She hardly needed to do anything as he moved his hips eagerly, this time much more slowly. Although drowsy from her own pleasure, Y/N’s fingers tangled in Cregan’s hair, her arms secured around her husband’s shoulders. She kissed him deeply, trying to convey her gratitude for the way he made her feel. She moved against his hips, responding to his body. Cregan’s moans became more and more frequent, his eyebrows furrowing into a heavy frown as he neared his pleasure. He held Y/N's body greedily when he groaned against the delicate skin of her neck as he reached his climax.

Cregan lied down with Y/N still tightly secured in his embrace. Their synchronised breathing slowly calmed down in the gentle silence that their private chambers provided. Fire burned in the hearth whilst it snowed outside the castle windows and Y/N scooted even closer to the warmth of her husband’s body. Her fingertips brushed against an unusual shape in Lord Cregan’s side.

Y/N opened her eyes despite herself and her dying need for sleep. She rose her head slightly. She had not noticed last night, but her husband’s torso was peppered with scars that could only be caused by swordplay or sometimes an arrow.

“You have a lot of scars,” whispered Y/N as she unintentionally voiced her thoughts. Lord Stark’s grey eyes opened slowly. He glanced down at himself.

“Just so,” he spoke easily although his voice was even deeper than normally. Cregan ran his long fingers through Y/N’s beautiful hair.

“Do they … Do any of them still hurt?” asked Y/N carefully.

“I sometimes have an ache in my shoulder," said Lord Stark absently whilst Y/N's entire focus shifted to her husband's arrow scar right beneath his collarbone.

"A wildling arrow," he explained as he saw the question forming in his wife's eyes. She nodded and looked away when his gaze found hers.

“I wish you could feel more at ease in my presence,” said Lord Stark earnestly. “There is apprehension and uncertainty in your every move when I am near. Why is it so different when we are alone?” asked Lord Stark, his eyebrows forming a frown as he stared intently at his lady wife. But Y/N did not have an answer.

“I wish I knew, my lord,” she whispered, her fingers drawing shapes in his side. "Cregan," Lady Y/N corrected herself. She looked up into her lord husband's eyes and held her gaze longer than she would. Her eyes lowered to his lips. Y/N's fingers grazed over Lord Stark's lips as she leaned in. Cregan took her hand and kissed her fingertips before their lips met for a kiss.

***

The days and weeks went by like a breeze. Every day Lady Stark would discover a new corner of the castle grounds and every day she would assist her husband in his duties, learning how to rule Winterfell. The maester instructed her in the affairs between the noble houses sworn to House Stark, yet more importantly, he told her of the ways of the lords who attended Lord Stark's councils. Y/N spoke to her husband on Maester Bennard's thoughts and found they most often concur on the characters and motives of House Stark's bannermen.

Nevertheless, the affairs of the council and the ruling were not the only things Y/N had learned in the days before the Lord of Winterfell would have to march north. Y/N learned of her husband's character. She knew that he was sometimes quick to anger but mostly a very patient man. She discovered that he was nothing like her father, who was arrogant and greedy and more oft than not an unkind man. When he trained with his men in the courtyard, Lord Stark was a strict but patient man, whose faith in his men was unrelenting. Y/N learned the little things too. She learned that he disliked lamb and parsley but would not ask the cooks to prepare something else if it was served before him. She learned that he preferred ale over wine and snow over heavy sunshine. And when they slept, Cregan would always have a part of their bodies touch - be it the hold of a hand, their legs entwined or their bodies embracing fully.

Lady Stark watched the Lord of Winterfell and his master-at-arms train the young boys in swordplay. They would not be leaving for the north with the grown men on the morrow but they are to stay and protect their families.

Y/N's chest was heavy with worry as she watched her lord husband evade one of the boys' training sword with ease. It was already growing dark outside and this would be their last night together after he would leave for what could be months. Lord Jonos' host of warriors would meet them west of the King's Road at the foot of White Knife, the lake where sprang the river of the same name.

There was a large feast for the warriors, the lords, and the commanders of tomorrow's host against the wildlings. But neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell stayed long. As they lied in their bed exhausted and their arms wrapped around each other, a horrible silence threatened to settle itself between them.

Cregan caressed Y/N's cheek, brushing away the hair sticking to her face. "Will you take a cup of wine?" he asked her. She shook her head against the pillow.

The bed shifted as Lord Stark got up and poured himself a cup of wine. His back was to Y/N and only then did she feel strong enough to tell him what had been burning inside of her for days.

“Cregan,” spoke Y/N. “You … You will return safely, will you not?” she spoke quietly. Lord Stark froze before he slowly set his cup on the table. He turned around and climbed back into bed, trapping Y/N beneath him as he leaned his arms on each side of her.

"Of course," Cregan assured whispering before he kissed Y/N on the lips. "It might be some time but I will return."

"You might be great with child by then," thought Cregan, a small grin hiding in the corner of his lips.

"Mayhaps," whispered Y/N. She had not thought she would ever wish for children, not truly. But it was different with Cregan. Something changed inside of her with him. The thought of bearing him a child, of having a child with his grey eyes and dark hair filled her heart with unexpected warmth.

Cregan kissed Y/N's forehead and pulled her closer, his strong arms wrapping around her gentle frame as they lied down to sleep. Y/N’s hands found their way to her husband’s back and rested there as she nestled against his bare chest. She let out a long-held breath, savouring the last night with her husband by her side in what could be months.

***

Despite the feast lasting late into the night, the host was ready in the hour of the nightingale. The pale yellow dawn broke the darkness as the Lady of Winterfell watched her husband mount his courser. Her heart was in her throat as she neared him, saying her last goodbyes.

"I will pray that you come back safely, husband," said Lady Y/N. As much as she tried to control her emotions, Y/N's eyes welled with tears. Should something happen to him in battle, this was the last time they would see each other.

Y/N handed Cregan a silken handkerchief with an eight-pointed mountain blossom embroidered in one of the corners. Cregan's brows frowned on his storm grey eyes. His heart had never been felt this heavy leaving Winterfell. He was always battle-hungry and unremitting in defending the name of his house on the battlefield.

The Lord of Winterfell looked around at his men who were already riding out. He cursed them all as he leaned down in his saddle and took his wife's chin in his hand. He kissed her ardently and spoke the words 'I love you' before she watched him ride out into the northern winds.

PART 2

[d3arapril]

ᡣ𐭩 about time | p.b

part of the invisible string series but can be read as a standalone fic; get up to date here.

paige bueckers x reader word count: 3.9k warnings/tags: 18+ content ahead, one bed trope, friends to lurrverrs, swearing, paige the eater, confessions, paige is down BAD, fingering (r!receiving), tribbing requests welcome and reblogs & feedback appreciated! :*

Paige was a lot of things to you.

A best friend, a teammate, a person to laugh with, a shoulder to cry on. She was probably also the love of your life.

You’d known for the past five years that it was more than friendship for you—how you’d look for her in every room, and how she’d always look for you. That invisible string between you two always seemed to pull you together.

Paige had texted you to ask if you were still planning on coming to camp, to which you swiftly replied with a yes. She mentioned that the two of you would be sharing a bed, a detail that didn't bother you in the slightest. The thought of it filled you with a sense of eager anticipation. Sharing a bed with Paige wasn't a new experience whatsoever, but lately, something had shifted between you.

Every time your eyes met, there was a lingering connection that felt stronger than ever before. Whenever you were around each other, it was as though you were both gradually becoming aware of each other's unspoken feelings bubbling up to the surface.

Now it’s 9 p.m. and you’re in Azzi’s spare room, bag slung over your shoulder as you stare at the single bed you and Paige are supposed to share. The room is small, the kind of room you'd treat more like a storage cupboard than an actual bedroom. The white walls are littered with blue tack stains and faint outlines of long-removed posters, likely from a younger Azzi. A singular desk sits against the wall to the right of you, matching wooden chair tucked neatly underneath it.

The single bed is question is pushed against the left wall, foot of the bed a couple of inches from the small window, cream curtains framing it nicely. The mattress is covered in crisp white sheets that you don't doubt Azzi washed and ironed before you both arrived. Always the good host.

“It’s...” Paige starts from beside you, glancing from you to the bed. “Cozy, I guess?”

“No kidding,” you scoff, pulling out the chair by the desk and dropping your bag onto it. You bend down to undo your laces, “We’re not going to sleep, and we’ll suffer the consequences at Azzi’s camp tomorrow.”

Paige laughs, her smooth legs brushing past you as she sits on the edge of the bed, the white sheets soft against her thighs. “If it bothers you that much, I can sleep on the c—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, more keen than you intended. Focused on kicking off your shoes, you miss the small, knowing smile tugging at Paige’s lips. She knows you’d never let her do that.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll make it work.”

If making it work meant draping your entire left side over Paige while she was squished against the wall, then sure, it worked out fine. The warmth of her body against yours was almost too much to handle. She didn’t seem to mind, not that she ever would.

“Can I ask you something?” Paige’s voice cuts through the silence, the only light in the room coming from the small desk lamp on the desk across the room, orange light filling the room just enough for you to make out the features on Paige's face you've grown so fond of.

“You just did,” you reply, fingers tapping a random rhythm on your stomach to distract yourself from the feeling of her heartbeat against your bicep.

You can almost hear her roll her eyes as she ungracefully manoeuvres onto her side, propping her head up with an arm. “You’re not funny.”

Part of you wants to turn and tell her that your love for her is all-consuming, but the other part of you knows you need to sleep. You opt for the latter.

“What are we doing?” Paige opts for the former.

You frown, still lying flat on your back, breath hitching in your throat. “What?”

“C’mon, you know what.”

You turn to face her, mirroring her position. She casts a glance at your form covered by the white duvet. Both her gaze and proximity put you on edge, your knees knocking together underneath the covers as you get comfortable on your left side.

You’ve been this close before, several times, but it’s never felt like this—like there’s an electric current flowing between you, ready to spark if you get any closer.

She studies your lips, then meets your eyes. “We’ve known each other for how long?”

“Seven years, maybe?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“And you think I can’t read you like a book?” She’s smiling now, that stupid look on her face you’ve seen one too many times.

You roll your eyes, avoiding her gaze and looking down at the now wrinkled sheets. Warm fingertips press against your chin, tipping your head up so Paige can look you in the eyes.

“When can we stop faking this?” Your eyes widen at her question, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “How much longer do we have to pretend we don’t feel”—she gestures between you, hand slicing through the small space separating you—“this?”

A smile cracks across your face, a breathy laugh escaping you. Her fingertips slide across your face until your cheek rests in her palm. Her thumb brushes gently across the apple of your cheek, bringing heat to your face despite the cool air in the room.

“Paige,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed as you lean into her touch. “We shouldn’t do this now.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Her head tilts as if to say, Really?

“Yeah, but ideally not in Azzi’s spare room?” You laugh, trying to lighten the mood. She pulls her hand away and flops onto her back, but before you can react, she tugs you with her and you land across her chest with your chin resting awkwardly in her armpit. The swell of her breasts against yours is all you can feel and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your nerves.

“I think you do want to talk about it,” she says, looking down at you now, chin tucked into her neck as she stares at your unmoving form on her chest. “You’re just chicken.”

That gets a reaction from you. You turn your head to her, scowling. “You know I’m not chicken.”

“Prove it.”

Before you can overthink it, your body reacts instinctively. You shift on top of her until you’re straddling her hips, your face inches from hers, noses practically touching. The heat radiating from her skin envelops you, your breaths mingling.

“Oh, hello,” she teases, nose scrunching.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe out, tone desperate. “Please.”

Paige pauses, heart skipping in her chest. "I've been tryna hear you say that for so long."

You swallow hard, hand that was holding you up lifting from beside her head to push back the blonde strands across her face. It all feels too intimate too quickly, yet you crave more.

"Wish I said it sooner," your voice trembles as you speak.

Without wasting any more time, Paige leans up and presses her lips against yours. She kisses you with a purpose, head tilting and bottom lip dragging against yours like she'd been practicing for this exact moment. When her tongue prods at your bottom lip, you welcome it, deepening the kiss. You bring a hand up to rest on the crown of her head, fingernails lightly scratching at her scalp.

Paige’s hands find home on your hips, squeezing gently. When you experimentally pull at her roots, she whines in the back of her throat, fingers pressing deeper into your skin.

You both stay like that for a while, lost in each other as you messily kiss, tongues and teeth clashing. Paige pulls back first to catch her breath, a delicate string of saliva connecting you. She darts her tongue out to lick it away, panting into the cool air of the room. The sight sends a shiver down your spine.

“Knew you’d be good,” she says to herself more than anything, cheeks flushed. “Will you let me do something?”

You’re struggling to catch your breath, chest heaving as your hands flatten across her own to push yourself upright.

“Whatever you want, please.”

Her hands slide down your hips to the waistband of your pajama shorts, toying with the blue frills. “Cute,” she teases as she tugs them down, impatient as always.

You place a hand on the cool wall to help keep your balance as you ungracefully shuffle your shorts down and off your legs until they’re hanging around your right ankle. You hurriedly bring a trembling hand to the waistband of your underwear, eager to finally see her put that tongue she can’t ever seem to keep in her mouth to use, but she stops you with a click of it.

“You’re shaking,” she observes, eyebrow raised as she studies your digits. “Relax, it’s me.”

A frown graces your features as you realize how much you’re shaking. You nod, forcing yourself to let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You want this?” She’s looking up at you again, blonde locks splayed around her head on the white sheets. She looks like an angel, fitting because you think she might actually send you to heaven in the next ten minutes.

“Please,” the word comes out as a pathetic whimper, and it’s all Paige needs to hear before she shuffles up the bed and gestures for you to lay down. You do exactly as she asks, head half-hanging off the end of the bed, watching as she positions herself flat on her stomach between your legs.

“Been wanting this for so long, you know that, right?” Her breath is hot against your clit, making your thighs jump. “Can’t tell you how bad I need this.”

A slim finger sneaks its way between your legs, the tip tracing the outline of your pussy clinging to the damp cotton.

“Know you need it too, huh?”

Without giving you a second to respond, Paige dips her head down and places a chaste kiss on your clit through the sodden fabric of your underwear. You swear you hear her moan in the back of her throat as her eyes flutter closed, long lashes flickering across the tops of her cheeks.

She does it two, three more times until you’re whimpering, hand reaching down to pet at her head until she gets the idea and holds your panties to the side. She wastes no time, licking your clit into her mouth and sucking with fervor. It knocks you for a loop, legs drawing up to curl in on yourself, but Paige is quick to catch them, keeping you flat to the bed.

She switches between long, drawn-out sucks and skittering her tongue across your clit, the combination making you see stars, eyes fighting to stay open and arms threatening to give way as you hold yourself up to watch her take you apart.

“Please,” you whimper, not sure what you’re asking for, but Paige seems to know exactly what it is.

“Want my fingers?” Her voice is muffled against your pussy, hooded eyes glancing up at you as she takes you all in—nipples hard underneath your tank, a sweating, panting mess. All because of her. “You need 'em, yeah?”

You practically sob out a yes, and Paige is back to it, the hand not holding your panties to the side coming up to rub through the messiness of your pussy.

“Damn, pussy really needed this, huh?” She teases, and normally you'd hit back at her with a smart ass response but the feeling of her tongue peeking out to lick at your clit again keeps you quiet, head tipping to rest on your shoulder as you get lost in the feeling. You feel yourself gush at that, and she does too, the sensation on her fingers making her blush.

She strokes her fingers through your folds before sliding two straight in to the last knuckle, giving you no time to adjust before curving them inward once, twice until you’ve got both hands fisted in her hair and your head falls down to your chest, unable to keep yourself up. The heel of her hand presses into your clit as she finally starts fucking you properly, alternating between curving her fingers and full on fucking them in and out of you, wet noises from your pussy growing louder and sloppier with each thrust of her fingers.

Your panties are still on, pushed to the side and completely soaked from the mess of her and you. They're no issue for Paige though as she leans back in to suck at your clit again, the pleasure building up inside of you until you're gasping, arms giving way as your head tips back over the end of the bed, hips grinding up into her face.

"Fuck," your voice is hoarse, pitch higher than normal as the girl below you devours you. "Paige, fuck- please, you're gonna make me cum."

Paige nods against you, fingers somehow speeding up. She doesn't let up, head shaking against you as she laps against your clit and it all happens at once - you're cumming before you can even warn her.

You're still somewhat aware of your surroundings so you slap a hand over your mouth as you moan and whine into it, unintelligible words and cries of her name. Uncontrollable tears fall from your eyes dripping into your hair from the angle you're currently in because you don't think you've cum that hard- ever.

Paige rides it out with you, slowing her fingers and tongue until you're a writhing mess. She pulls away and sucks your juices off her fingers, and although you don't see it, the sound alone is enough to make you whimper.

"Fuck me," she's panting as she crawls up your body, wet fingers cupping behind your neck to bring you back to reality. She gets a good look at you; eyes red and teary, lips swollen. "That good?"

"That good." you echo, eyes heavy as you try to ignore the dizziness behind your eyes.

She licks into your mouth and you moan into her, tongue tasting of you. "Pussy's good," she murmurs against your lips, eyes heavy as she pulls back from you slightly. "You hiding that from me for this long?"

"It was always yours, Paige."

That's enough to make her moan; it's deep, vibrating in her chest. She moves down to grab your hips and tugs you down the bed, hands slipping under your tank.

"Wanna see."

It's not a question.

You don't think twice as you lift up and tug the thin cotton over your head, tossing it to the floor. When you're busy fighting the fabric off your body, you feel her slide your soaked panties down your legs and chuck them haphazardly onto the floor. You make mental note to ensure you watch her do it next time.

Like it's a reflex, her hands glide up your stomach and squeeze at your tits, rolling your nipples between her fingertips. The sensation makes you whine, hands gripping at her black t-shirt. The feeling of the cotton against your palms makes you frown, "Why are you still wearing this?"

"Take it off me then," she challenges and you pull the material up her torso and she does the rest, shirt joining your tank in a pile on the floor. She's clad in a grey sports bra, Nike boxers riding up her waist.

"These too, P." You tug at the elastic, snapping it back against her skin.

"You tryna get me naked?" she teases, sitting up and tucking her thumbs into the material and pulling them down and off her legs. You'd be surprised if you didn't have actual hearts for pupils from the way you're looking at her. She's a sight for sore eyes, v line on her stomach prominent, leading down to her smooth pussy. Her legs are strong, toned muscles peeking out beneath her skin from where they hold her up above you.

Paige amusedly watches you watching her, hands on her hips as she waits for you to finish whatever inner monologue you had going on.

"You good?" she's laughing, and you can't help but laugh too.

"I just-" you start, covering your eyes in attempt to contain yourself. "You're just so fucking hot."

Paige rolls her eyes and pushes you flat to the bed, settling between your thighs.

"You're so corny."

You shrug, unashamed. Paige smiles down at you, moving so she's slotted between your legs and one of them is hiked up against her, your calf resting against her shoulder.

"This okay?" she asks, hand stroking against your thigh.

"Yeah," you breathe out, eyes trained on her.

She moves forward and the feeling of your pussy against hers makes her suck in a sharp breath between her teeth, eyebrows furrowing as she lowers down and feels how wet you still are against her own pussy.

"Shit," she mumbles, head tilting down so she can watch where your pussies meet, hips shifting. "Feels so good."

She starts a slow roll of her hips, clit bumping against yours. Her mouth hangs open, heavily breathing as she stares down at where you both meet. You're still sensitive from earlier; choked, high pitched whines leave your throat as your toes curl, legs threatening to shut as your thighs shake.

"So wet."

She's dripping too, the both of you sliding against each other, noises echoing throughout the room as she picks up speed.

Paige is a mess above you, blonde hair stuck to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut as she focuses on the feeling. "I think I'm gonna cum," she moans, blunt nails digging into your leg.

"Please," you encourage her, finger nails scratching down her abs as she rocks into you faster.

It's almost embarrassing how quickly she falls apart, her body shaking and jerking as she cums, release leaking out onto your pussy as she ruts into you. "Fuck," she's moaning into your calf, nose squished and forehead pressed against it as she rides it out. "I love you, oh-fuck."

You're not sure if she realises what she's said but it's enough to make you cum shortly after her, clit grinding against yours just enough to take you there again, softly moaning her name as you fight to keep your eyes open to watch her get lost in her own pleasure.

It takes a couple of minutes for her to gather herself, hips slowing and chest heaving as she opens an eye to peek down at you. "Did you-"

"I did," you laugh breathily, shaking hands stroking up and down her tense stomach. "D'you mean it?"

"What?"

"That you love me."

"Oh," she purses her lips as she gently moves your leg from her shoulder, tiredly flopping down onto your chest. "Yeah."

She speaks into your chest, eyes threatening to close. "Think we both knew that though."

You chuckle, shoulders shaking as you stroke a hand across the backs of her shoulders, other hand stroking at the now wild mess of hair on her head. "I think I might love you too, for the record."

You feel her smile against your chest, lifting up slightly to press a kiss to the swell of your breast.

"Think I knew that too."

You both lay in silence for a while, room filled with the sounds of both of your breathing and the odd noise from outside. The house is quiet, thankfully, and you pray you were both quiet enough to not disturb anybody inside. You cast a glance up to the small clock above the bedroom door, eyes widening when you notice the time.

"Paige," you nudge her shoulder and she groans in response, half asleep. "Fucking wake up."

She lifts her head off your chest, one eye open lazily. "What?"

"We've got to be up for camp in four hours."

You're both groggy in the morning, dark circles and slumped shoulders sat at the dining table. Azzi, on the other hand, is a striking opposite to the both of you, well rested and full of energy.

"Sleep well?" she teases, back facing the both of you as she dispenses ice from the freezer.

"Bed's too small," Paige huffs, head slumped against your shoulder. "Couldn't get comfortable."

"Yeah I bet," Azzi spins around and leans her back against the counter, taking a sip from her water. "Did my childhood bedroom bring you guys together then, or...?"

You almost spray your own mouthful of water across the table, Paige laughing as she pats your back whilst you cough and splutter.

"Yeah-" you heave, rubbing at your chest. "You could say that."

Paige shrugs, sliding out of the chair and walking around to stand behind you, chin pressed to the crown of your head. It's something she's done a thousand times, but now it feels more intimate, especially as she places a kiss to the top of your head. A small smile finds its way onto your lips.

"Damn," Azzi raises her eyebrows, bottom lip pulling between her teeth to hide her growing smile. "About time is all I can say."

She slides past the two of you and goes to leave the room, turning back just before she heads towards the stairs. "Be ready in fifteen, guys!"

You crane your neck up to look at Paige who, if you hadn't known better, you would assume she hadn't had a wink of sleep from the state of her.

"What?" she catches you smirking at her, hand coming up to pinch at the apple of your cheek.

"You look like shit." you deadpan, laughing as her hands come up beside her, feigning innocence.

"Not my fault," she leans into your ear, whispering. "Pussy so good it kept me up all night."

You playfully shove her away from you, heat rising up to your cheeks as you watch her bite her tongue between her teeth, teasing.

"None of that today," you laugh, rising from your seat. Your hands run down your shorts, flattening out the creases. "We have to be good role models, plus, we can't let Azzi down."

"Oh I know," she responds, arm looping over your shoulder. "Can't let 'em know my girlfriend has me like this, huh?"

The G word startles you and you turn to look at her. "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, hand on your shoulder squeezing slightly. "Think it suits you, no?"

You pause, the word reverberating in your mind. "Girlfriend," you repeat, testing it out like you'd just learnt the word. "I like the sound of that."

Paige's eyes soften, turning so she's facing you and she drops her hands to your waist, finding their way underneath your shirt. Her thumbs rubs gentle circles against the bare skin there.

"I meant it, by the way." she's sincere, voice lowering slightly to get away from any possible prying ears around the house. "I do love you. Feels crazy to say but," she pauses, "Yeah. I do."

You feel your heat swell. "I think I love you too, funnily enough."

That gets you a pinch on your side, Paige scoffing at your response. She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling back from you and heading towards the stairs.

"Come on," she calls, skip in her step. "We've got some kids to teach."

You follow after her, tiredness quickly forgotten.

Azzi was right. It was about time.

[klcweb]

What is phishing and How to prevent Phishing attacks?

What is phishing and How to prevent Phishing attacks?

Phishing is an online scam/ fraudulent activity where criminals send fake emails or set up a fake website that looks like it belongs to a legitimate organization. It could also be online banking information such as credit cards or Social Security numbers. Phishing has been around since the 1990s but has become more sophisticated and widespread in recent years. Phishers can use various methods to…

[hairmetal666]

Eddie stands at the bar, sipping at the whisky in his glass, eyes flickering over the crush of bodies and dark mahogany. He's at a premier party at TIFF, doesn't remember what movie it's for, is supposed to "mingle" according to his agent. And sure, he's charismatic, got a big personality and a loud mouth, but he's not good at networking; resents having to perform when he's not playing a role. Resents it more that he's an Oscar nominated actor, that his work doesn't stand for itself.

And then there's the Steve Harrington of it all. Heartthrob. America's Sweetheart. The boy next door. He's across the room, deep in conversation, but his eyes--they keep finding Eddie, scanning him with unmistakable heat.

They starred in a movie called Dying on the Pass. Played life-long best friends who became elite chefs and opened a restaurant together. The movie follows the dissolution of their friendship as the stresses of pursuing a Michelin Star drive them apart. It was a critical and commercial hit, cue awards noms, and offers pouring in, and--

Steve Harrington is his bed.

They promised, when filming wrapped. They swore it was the last time. They promised--

They basically shared a hotel room during awards season, woke up tangled together every morning.

They spent a torrid weekend in Atlanta after Steve wrapped on a Netflix action movie.

Six months after, they had a quick, furious fuck in the bathroom at a club in London.

Dangerous, stupid, but no one caught them. And here Steve is in Toronto, surrounded by press, staring at Eddie like he wants to eat him.

Eddie tries to ignore it. But every time their eyes meet, warmth pools low in his abdomen, and he wants.

They meet up eventually, pose for a couple of pictures, Eddie trying to ignore the way his skin tingles everywhere that Steve touches. Steve slings an arm around his waist, lets it linger.

After, Eddie goes out for a smoke, the patio blissfully deserted. He's half way through his cigarette when Steve steps out the sliding door, wrapping his hands in Eddie's hair, pulling him into a kiss. The cigarette drops as he grips onto the other man, a whimper slipping from his lips.

He should stop this, they're outside, anyone could see, and Steve isn't out--isn't--he's straight to the entire world, the straightest man alive. And Eddie, he's open about his preferences, identifies as queer, though lately he's been more interested in men--in one man, specifically-- and Steve isn't out, isn't ready to be and--

"Come back to my room?" Steve asks. Their mouths are still pressed together.

"Uh-huh," Eddie answers.

Steve whispers his room number before disappearing back inside. They're in the same hotel, on the same floor, like the universe wants them to keep hooking up. But Steve is being reckless.

Eddie goes to Steve that night with every intention of telling him they need to stop, to slow down, that they're going to get caught and he knows Steve isn't ready, but he doesn't. He doesn't that night and he doesn't two months later when they bump into each other in Venice, or four months after that in New York, or--or --or

It's dangerous, impulsive, too many close calls for them to keep it up and then--and then he's at a house party in the hills, an industry thing, the host is a wannabe big shot producer trying to get in good with the Hollywood elite. Steve is out of town. In Europe filming or maybe Australia for some event or--

Striding through the party, eyes locked on Eddie, and they're in a hallway, in a hallway where anyone could see them, but Steve is kissing him. They're kissing and it's rough and possessive and it stings.

Steve pushes him through double-doors, to the room at their backs, and Eddie wants to protest, to remind him they don't know if it's empty. But Steve is tugging the tie out of Eddie's hair, digging this hands into the now loose curls, and Eddie whines, lets himself be lead.

He's pushed against a table, and in the weak light from the windows, he realizes they're in the dining room. Steve grinds against him, muttering, "missed you so much, baby. God, it's been too long. Need you so bad."

Eddie moans, shifting to press more against Steve. "Missed you too, sweetheart, fuck."

They're kissing and Eddie's high on it, on Steve, can't get enough.

There's a loud burst of laughter outside the door, and reality smashes back into focus.

"Stop," he whispers to Steve.

Steve does in an instant, stepping back. Even in the darkness, Eddie sees the confusion and hurt mingling in the squint of his eyes, his light frown.

"Steve we--this is dangerous. There are people everywhere. Anyone could come in. There's a TMZ guy here, and we--need to be careful."

"Fuck," Steve breathes. "Eddie I--fuck." He presses his hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't get enough of you, man. Whenever I see you I just--I don't think--I see you and I want you so bad it hurts. Once every few months isn't enough. Hookups aren't enough. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and--"

"Steve," Eddie gently cuts him off. "I'm crazy about you. It hasn't been hookups for me for--" ever, it had never been, but he shakes his head instead of saying that. "But we've been reckless, sweetheart, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"It's not fair to you, though, right? Hiding and sneaking around with me."

"You need time, Steve. You deserve to come out on your terms, when you're ready. And if that means we're not public for a while, then we're not."

"What if I'm never ready?" He whispers. It breaks Eddie's heart, but it's a fair question for a man who got famous as an angelic child star in a series of fantasy-adventure movies before playing a quarterback with a heart-of-gold on the CW for seven seasons. He's always kept up a squeaky clean image, never in trouble, name rarely in the tabloids.

"Then we'll deal with it together."

"Okay," Steve whispers. A smile spreads slow across his face. "I'd like that."

--

Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are seen around town together often. Getting lunch, at parties, shopping. In an interview Steve says that Eddie's his best friend, they do everything together. There's speculation online, of course, but it's pretty quiet. So, they go to premiers and award shows and events together.

A year goes by and it's easy, light, fun. They're in love.

Eddie's messing around on his guitar, not with any intent just for the joy of it. He's on the loveseat in the office of their apartment--their apartment. Steve is in the kitchen, he thinks, or puttering in the garden.

They haven't talked about Steve coming out; haven't needed to.

"Hey," Steve says from the doorway. Eddie jumps.

"Hey yourself."

"It's Bi Visibility day."

"Is it now?" He's not sure where this is going

"I want to come out."

He puts the guitar down. "You sure?"

Steve nods. He doesn't seem nervous, just calm and steady.

"How do you want to do it?"

He crosses the room, climbing onto Eddie's lap, making Eddie laugh. "Works for me." Eddie gives Steve's ass a playful squeeze.

They start kissing then, Steve snapping pics on his phone randomly as they make out.

Steve won't let Eddie peak as he crafts his Insta post, not until it's done and live for his 15 million followers.

The picture he picked, it's a soft kiss, mouths open but lips only just brushing, noses pressed together in a sweet little bump. But the thing about, the thing that makes Eddie's stomach swoop, is the way they're both smiling, the way it's obvious just how in love they are.

Steve's captioned it with the words "Witness Me" and the bi flag.

He pulls his boy into another kiss, says, "Hey,"

"Hmm?" Steve doesn't pull away.

"Wanna go be visibly bisexual with me in the bedroom?"

Steve hops off his lap, strides across the room, turning to flash Eddie a devious smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

[fr0stf4ll]

A proper girls’ night

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; You and Azriel have been mates for some time now, and between managing the males, training, missions, raising a child, and fulfilling duties as High Lady, you haven’t had the chance to enjoy a proper girls' night with your closest friends. But tonight is supposed to be all about you and the girls—or is it? ;)

word count ; 7.2k

warning; SMUT ;p, alcohol, drunk sex

notes; Yoo everyone, here I am again for a one shot. I'm not the best for smut so I hope that you will enjoy it. I got the idea of this story after a small party with some of my best friends so I hope that you will like it ! With love <3333

---

I was lounging on my plush couch, admiring the final touches I’d added to make this apartment truly feel like home. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Sidra, and soft, warm lights created a comforting ambiance. This place was everything I’d hoped for—a fresh start, a new chapter.

I had just finished arranging the last decorative pillow when a knock echoed through the apartment. I grinned, already knowing who it was.

“Come in!” I called out.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, Nesta, and Mor. Feyre carried not just one, but two bottles of wine, Nesta had a stack of board games tucked under her arm, and Mor, of course, arrived with an enormous grin and—was that three bottles of spirits?

“Are we throwing a party, or did I miss something?” I laughed, taking in the sheer amount of alcohol they had brought with them.

Mor dropped the bottles on the counter with a flourish. “What? It’s not every day we christen a new apartment, Y/N! We needed to make sure we had enough… well, more than enough.”

Nesta smirked, adding, “You know how things go with us. We start with wine, then move on to something stronger. And just in case, I thought we’d better bring a little extra.”

“A little extra?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow as I counted the bottles. “This looks like enough to keep us going for a week.”

Feyre chuckled, setting the wine down. “Consider it insurance. We’re not leaving until we’ve had a proper girls’ night.”

Mor waved a hand dismissively. “No boys, no responsibilities, and a whole lot of alcohol. That’s what tonight is about. We’re here to have fun, relax, and forget about everything else.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I started pulling out glasses. “Well, if that’s the case, then let’s get started.”

The girls settled in, each finding a spot on the couch or one of the oversized chairs. Mor was already opening one of the wine bottles, filling up our glasses generously.

“We’ve spent too many nights at Rita’s,” Nesta said, her tone teasing but sincere. “It’s nice to just relax here for a change.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, raising her glass. “Especially with the company. I could get used to this.”

Mor clinked her glass against Feyre’s. “Here’s to our host, for letting us invade her beautiful new home. And for not skimping on the drinks.”

“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” I teased, holding up my glass before taking a sip. The wine was rich and full-bodied, the perfect start to what promised to be a wild night.

“Tonight is all about us,” Mor declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned back in her seat. “No boys, no distractions, just us girls and more alcohol than we know what to do with.”

“Agreed,” Nesta said, holding up one of the board games. “Let’s start with something easy. Then we can see where the night takes us.”

The night was still young, and the four of us had already settled comfortably into my new apartment. The alcohol was flowing freely—perhaps a bit too freely—and the conversation had naturally turned to gossip. It was inevitable when we got together, especially after a few glasses of wine.

We were sprawled out on the couch and chairs, each of us with a drink in hand. The warmth from the alcohol had already loosened our tongues, and the atmosphere was buzzing with the excitement of shared secrets.

Mor, never one to hold back, was the first to dive in. “Alright, ladies, I’ve got some tea. And I’m not talking about that herbal nonsense.” She leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Did you hear about the sparring match Cassian had the other day with Devlon?”

That got everyone’s attention. “No,” Nesta said, her eyes narrowing. “What happened?”

Mor grinned, clearly enjoying the anticipation. “So, apparently, Devlon thought it would be a good idea to challenge Cassian in front of all the Illyrians—like, really make a show of it. Cassian, being Cassian, accepted, but he didn’t just beat him. He absolutely humiliated him. We’re talking flat on his back, wings pinned, can’t even move. And to top it all off, Cassian just stood up, dusted himself off, and said, ‘Next time, try harder.’”

Nesta snorted, trying to hide her amusement. “Serves him right. Devlon’s been asking for it.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes wide with delight. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Oh, but it gets better,” Mor continued, her grin widening. “Devlon’s been walking around the camp like a wounded animal ever since. The other Illyrians are having a field day with it. They’ve even started calling him ‘the Fallen Commander’ behind his back.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Cassian really knows how to make an impression.”

“Not as much of an impression as Rhys made when he was caught singing in the bath the other day,” Mor added, her tone dripping with amusement.

Feyre blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mor said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I happened to be passing by when I heard it. He was belting out some old Prythian ballad—badly, might I add—and I swear, for a second, I thought a cat was dying.”

Nesta burst out laughing. “Please tell me you have some sort of recording.”

“I wish!” Mor exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “But trust me, the image is seared into my memory forever. The High Lord of the Night Court, all serious and stoic by day, and an absolute disaster in the bathroom.”

Feyre groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m never letting him live that down.”

“And then there’s Azriel,” Mor said, shifting her attention to me with a wicked grin. “I’m surprised he hasn’t broken anything with those late-night visits to your place.”

I blushed instantly, caught off guard. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Mor teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. “We all know that shadowy lover of yours can’t keep his hands off you. I mean, with the way you’ve been glowing lately, it’s not hard to figure out why.”

“Azriel doesn’t talk much,” Nesta added, smirking, “but I bet he more than makes up for it in other areas.”

Feyre was giggling, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Spill, Y/N! We need to know—does he really keep the shadows around, or does he prefer a more hands-on approach?”

My face was burning by now, but the alcohol had loosened my tongue enough that I couldn’t help but join in. “Let’s just say, the shadows aren’t the only thing that’s always… active.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I knew it! Azriel’s got that dark, broody exterior, but underneath… he’s a beast, isn’t he?”

I could only laugh in response, covering my face with my hands. “I’m not saying anything else!”

“Come on,” Nesta urged, leaning in. “We won’t tell a soul. Just a little more.”

I peeked out from behind my hands, giving them a sly grin. “Let’s just say, he’s very… thorough.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mor cheered, holding her glass up for a toast. “To thorough lovers and late-night visits that leave you glowing!”

We all clinked our glasses together, the laughter bubbling up again. The night was filled with stories that grew more outrageous with each passing drink. Feyre even confessed to sneaking up on Rhys one morning with a bucket of cold water, just to get back at him for something he’d done weeks earlier.

“I’ll never forget the look on his face,” she giggled, eyes bright with mischief. “He didn’t speak to me for half the day—until he figured out how to get me back.”

“Did he manage to one-up you?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, he tried,” Feyre replied, a smirk playing on her lips. “But he should have known better than to start a prank war with me. I’m still two steps ahead.”

“You two are impossible,” Mor said, shaking her head but unable to hide her amusement. “But what about Cassian? Does he know about all of this?”

“Cassian,” Nesta said, still grinning, “is too busy preening in front of the mirror these days. He’s been obsessed with perfecting his ‘battle-ready’ look. You wouldn’t believe how much time he spends adjusting his armor to make sure it’s just the right amount of ‘ruggedly handsome.’”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice. “Typical. He’s worse than a peacock.”

“Speaking of peacocks,” Mor added, leaning in again, “I heard that Tarquin’s been parading around the Summer Court with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Apparently, he thinks it makes him look ‘mysterious and approachable.’”

Feyre snorted. “More like ridiculous.”

As the conversation began to wind down, Mor suddenly jumped to her feet, a wild look in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she declared, “enough sitting around. It’s time to take this party up a notch.”

The night had taken a turn, a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The ridiculous part might have had something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol, but that was beside the point.

It all began after the third bottle of wine was emptied, and Mor, in her infinite wisdom, declared that the night was far too young to end with just drinking and talking. The suggestion to turn the apartment into our very own private club was made, and, well, it didn’t take much convincing.

I don’t know where Mor had pulled it from—whether it was some hidden magic or just her unrelenting spirit—but somehow, my apartment transformed. Soft lights gave way to pulsating club lights, shifting in colors that matched the beat of the music that now blasted through the room. The furniture was pushed aside, making space for what had effectively become a dance floor.

“I didn’t even know you had this in you,” Feyre shouted over the music, her eyes wide with delight as she took in the scene.

“Neither did I!” I shouted back, laughing as I twirled around in the flashing lights. The wine had long since turned my limbs to jelly, and I felt lighter, freer than I had in a long time.

Nesta, who had been initially reluctant, was now completely immersed, her usually stoic expression replaced with a flushed grin as she sipped from yet another drink. “I’m not even sure what’s happening anymore,” she admitted, before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Mor, of course, was in her element. She had Feyre by the hand, pulling her onto the makeshift dance floor. “Come on, Feyre! Show us those moves!”

Feyre, not one to back down from a challenge, joined in with gusto, the two of them dancing wildly, their laughter filling the room. It was infectious, and soon, we were all moving to the beat, lost in the moment.

The alcohol flowed freely, and it wasn’t long before we were all well beyond tipsy. Nesta, usually the most reserved of us, was now draped over the couch, clutching her drink and singing along to the music—though the words were more slurred than sung. Mor had taken it upon herself to DJ, switching between tracks with the enthusiasm of someone who was enjoying every second of the chaos she had created.

As for me, I was somewhere in the middle of it all, dancing with Feyre and Mor one minute, then flopping down next to Nesta the next, my head spinning in the best possible way.

“This was the best idea ever,” I declared, holding up my drink in a toast to… well, everything. The lights, the music, the ridiculousness of it all.

“I told you!” Mor shot back, barely managing to avoid spilling her drink as she twirled around. “This is what girls’ night is all about!”

Feyre, who had given up on dancing in favor of lounging on the couch with Nesta, nodded vigorously. “We should do this every week.”

“Yes!” Nesta agreed, raising her glass—though she missed her mouth when she tried to take a sip, spilling a bit of her drink on herself. She didn’t seem to mind, though. “Every week!”

We all dissolved into laughter, the kind that made your stomach ache and tears stream down your face. It was a night of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind of night that reminded me just how lucky I was to have these incredible women in my life.

At some point—who knows when—the music was turned up even louder, and we all found ourselves back on the dance floor, moving in a way that was far more about having fun than it was about looking good. Not that any of us cared. This was our night, and we were going to make the most of it.

As the night wore on and the drinks continued to flow, the line between reality and whatever madness we had created blurred even further. The lights, the music, the alcohol—it all mixed together in a haze of color and sound, until it felt like we were in another world entirely, a world where nothing mattered but the here and now.

At some point, Mor pulled out a bottle of something stronger—something that definitely wasn’t wine—and poured shots for everyone. We downed them without hesitation, the burn in our throats a reminder that we were alive, that we were here, that this night would be one we’d never forget.

And it was. By the time we finally collapsed in a heap on the floor, the world spinning around us, I knew that this was a night I’d look back on and smile. We were drunk, we were ridiculous, and it was perfect.

As we lay there, catching our breath and trying to stop the room from spinning, Feyre turned to me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and alcohol. “You know,” she said, her voice soft, “this was exactly what we needed.”

I smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Yeah,” I agreed, my voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

Tonight was one for the books.

The night had taken a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The alcohol was flowing freely, and the atmosphere was buzzing with energy as the room transformed into our very own private club.

But just when I thought the night couldn’t get any crazier, Mor clapped her hands together, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Alright, ladies, let’s up the stakes. Who’s up for a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Feyre groaned, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Oh gods, this is going to get dangerous.”

“Exactly,” Mor said, grabbing a fresh bottle of something strong and pouring shots for everyone. “We’re already half-gone, so let’s see who can survive this round.”

Nesta eyed the shot glass suspiciously but took it anyway. “Fine, but let’s keep it reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Mor scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With everyone armed with a shot glass, we settled onto the floor, forming a loose circle. Mor, as the instigator, went first. She smirked, lifting her glass. “Never have I ever… kissed someone with the intention of getting free drinks.”

Feyre immediately took a sip, as did Mor, who winked at me. “What can I say? Sometimes, charm gets you a long way.”

"When the person buying your drinks is Rhysand, it doesn't count Feyre" I said laughing at her.

Nesta, surprisingly, didn’t drink, but she gave a small smile. “I prefer to pay my own way, thank you very much.”

Next, it was Feyre’s turn. She narrowed her eyes in mock concentration before grinning. “Never have I ever… gotten out of trouble by flirting.”

Mor and I immediately took our shots, causing Feyre to raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you two, spill.”

Mor grinned, clearly eager to share. “Alright, so there was this one time in the Summer Court… I was supposed to be at a formal dinner, but I got a little sidetracked with a rather charming advisor. We were caught by one of the palace guards, and let’s just say, I had to turn on the charm full blast to avoid a very awkward conversation with Tarquin.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing. “Only you, Mor.”

I couldn’t help but join in. “For me, it was during a mission. I needed to get past a rather stubborn gatekeeper who wasn’t interested in letting me through. A little flirting and a lot of batting my eyelashes later, and suddenly I was the most important person on his list. I got what I needed, and he never even knew what hit him.”

Nesta looked at me with a smirk. “I’m surprised Az didn’t handle that for you.”

“Oh, he would’ve,” I admitted with a laugh. “But sometimes, a girl’s got to do things her own way.”

Feyre shook her head, still smiling. “Rhys would’ve been so jealous.”

“Please,” Mor scoffed, “Rhys would have encouraged it.”

Nesta chuckled, lifting her glass. “Alright, next one. Never have I ever… sent a dirty thought to your partner to see their reaction.”

Feyre and Nesta immediately took their shots, while Mor and I exchanged surprised looks, our glasses untouched.

Feyre’s cheeks flushed as she laughed. “I did it to Rhys once during a meeting—he nearly choked on his drink. I thought I was being subtle, but apparently, his reaction was… noticeable. I think I almost caused a diplomatic incident.”

Mor burst out laughing, her eyes wide. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see that.”

Nesta, surprisingly, offered her own story, her voice more subdued but with a hint of amusement. “I sent Cassian a… vivid thought while he was training the Illyrians. He dropped his sword mid-swing and nearly took out an entire row of recruits. They didn’t know what happened, but Cassian spent the rest of the day giving me death glares.”

The room erupted into laughter, the image of Cassian flustered and distracted by Nesta’s thoughts too much to handle.

“Well, I’ve never done it,” I said, still giggling. “But now I’m tempted. I wonder how a certain shadow singer would react.”

“Knowing you, Y/N” Feyre said with a grin, “he would probably drop everything he is doing to go join you.”

“Oh, definitely” I agreed, taking a sip of my drink anyway. “But let’s keep going, shall we?”

The game continued, the questions growing bolder, the shots more frequent, and the laughter louder. By the time we were on the tenth or eleventh round, there was no turning back.

“Alright, my turn,” Nesta said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Never have I ever… had someone walk in on me during sex.”

Mor and Feyre both took a sip, while I hesitated before taking mine. “Let’s just say, it was awkward,” I said with a cringe, though I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

Mor, however, was not about to let it go. “Oh, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not give us details. Who walked in?”

I smirked, taking another sip of my drink for courage. “Rhys. And let’s just say, I’ve never seen him retreat from a room so fast.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I can just picture it! Poor Rhys, walking in on you two… I bet Az didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

Nesta snickered, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And I’m sure Azriel was just as composed as ever, right? Or did he actually look guilty for once?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Let’s just say, Azriel wasn’t too happy about the interruption. But once Rhys was out of the room… he made sure to make up for lost time.”

Feyre choked on her drink, laughing as she wiped her mouth. “I bet he did! Azriel’s got that silent intensity… but I’m sure he can be anything but quiet when he wants to be.”

“He’s very… intense, in more ways than one.”

Mor grinned wickedly, holding her glass up for a toast. “To very intense lovers who know how to get the job done—and then some!”

The night had taken on a life of its own, with the alcohol flowing and inhibitions flying out the window. We were deep into the game of "Never Have I Ever," and it seemed like nothing was off-limits at this point.

Feyre, clearly feeling the effects of the drinks, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, ladies, last one from me. Never have I ever… tried the ‘Moonlit Arch’ position.”

There was a pause as the question hung in the air. Mor immediately downed her shot, as did Feyre. Nesta hesitated, then took hers as well. Meanwhile, I just sat there, my glass untouched, staring at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Wait… what?” I asked, feeling completely out of the loop. “What’s the ‘Moonlit Arch’? Are you sure you didn’t made that up ?”

Feyre’s grin widened as she set down her glass. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been missing out. How do I explain this?”

Before I could protest, Feyre had jumped up from her spot, a bit unsteady but determined. She sauntered over to me, her eyes gleaming with tipsy mischief. “It’s easier to show than tell.”

The next thing you knew, Feyre was pushing me back onto the ground, her hands on your shoulders. “Relax, this is educational,” she teased, as she gently pushed me down and straddled my lap.

“Feyre, what are you—” You began, but was cut off as she leaned down, bringing her lips close to your ear.

“It’s all about the angle,” Feyre whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “You lie back, just like this…”

She gently guided me into position, her hands on my shoulders as she demonstrated. Before you knew it, Nesta was there too, her eyes gleaming with the same mischief as she grabbed Feyre’s hands and placed them on either side of your face.

“It’s all about guiding the energy,” Nesta murmured, her voice low and sultry. “Make sure your partner knows exactly where to focus.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness and the absurdity of the situation. “You’re both insane.”

“Insanely helpful,” Mor chimed in, a grin spreading across her face as she sauntered over. She took Feyre’s hands and moved them down to my chest, giving a light squeeze. “And don’t forget about the importance of… other areas.”

“Mor!” You gasped, my face burning as you tried to squirm away, but the alcohol had made me sluggish, and the three of them had me pinned in place.

“It’s all in good fun,” Feyre said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling as she gently patted my cheek. “Now, the trick is to—”

—

It was nearly dawn, and the soft light of morning was beginning to creep through the windows of the townhouse. One by one, the guys emerged from their rooms, each of them groggy and slightly disoriented, but with a nagging feeling in the back of their minds.

Rhysand was the first to step into the hallway, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is it just me, or is something off?” he muttered to himself.

Cassian’s door creaked open next, and he stuck his head out, his hair a wild mess. “Where the hell are they?”

Azriel appeared a moment later, his eyes shadowed with worry. “They’re not answering,” he said quietly, though his voice was tinged with concern.

The three of them exchanged glances, the same thought running through their minds: their mates weren’t back yet, and none of them had responded to the bond.

Cassian scratched his head, still half-asleep. “You think they’re okay? Maybe they… got distracted?”

“Distracted?” Rhys repeated, raising an eyebrow. “By what, exactly?”

Azriel sighed, trying to remain calm. “It’s just a girls’ night. They’re probably just… having fun.”

Cassian leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, but still… it’s nearly morning. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

Rhys glanced toward the window, watching as the sky began to lighten. “They should be. I can’t get through to Feyre.”

“Same with Nesta,” Cassian added, his worry finally starting to show.

Azriel’s expression darkened slightly as he nodded. “And Y/N’s just giving off this… contented feeling. But nothing else.”

The three males stood in silence for a moment, the unease growing between them. Finally, Cassian huffed and pushed off the wall. “Alright, that’s it. We’re going to check on them.”

Azriel hesitated, glancing between the other two. “You’re all overreacting. They’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”

“Sure they are,” Cassian agreed, a glint of concern in his eyes. “But aren’t you just a little curious about what they’re up to?”

Azriel hesitated, glancing out the window at the faint light of dawn creeping over the horizon. “Maybe… a little.”

Rhys grinned, clapping Azriel on the back. “Then let’s go. If nothing else, we can make sure they get home safe.”

The three of them headed out, taking to the skies with ease. It wasn’t long before they spotted your apartment building, and as they landed on the rooftop across the street, they were greeted with an unexpected sight.

Bright, colorful lights were flashing from your windows, pulsing in time with the faint thrum of music that could be heard even from outside. It looked more like a nightclub than a place where anyone would be getting a decent night’s sleep.

Cassian stared at the windows, his mouth slightly agape. “What the hell…?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “I didn’t know Y/N had a nightclub setup in her apartment.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “She doesn’t. Or at least, she didn’t.”

Cassian shook his head, his concern deepening. “Come on, just a peek. I’ve got to see what kind of chaos they’ve created.”

They descended to your apartment door, and as they approached, the music grew louder, the flashing lights spilling out from under the doorframe, casting strange, colorful shadows in the hallway.

Rhys knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder this time, but the only sound was the thumping music and muffled voices from inside.

Cassian glanced at the others, a serious expression on his face. “You sure they’re alive in there?”

The three of them exchanged worried looks, and before anyone could suggest otherwise, Cassian stepped forward, bracing his shoulder against the door. “Alright, let’s find out.”

With a firm push, they forced the door open—and were immediately greeted by the sight of complete and utter chaos.

The apartment was a mess, with bottles and snacks strewn everywhere. But what caught their attention was the scene in the living room: Mor and Nesta were on the floor, laughing uncontrollably, while Feyre was perched on top of you on the ground, pinning you down and demonstrating something with far too much enthusiasm.

Mor had one hand on your chest, playfully squeezing your breast, while Nesta’s hands were on either side of your face, her touch light but clearly part of the explanation Feyre was giving.

The moment the door flew open, all four of you turned your heads in perfect synchronization, staring at the doorway with wide, startled eyes.

The guys froze in the entrance, their faces a mix of shock and utter confusion. It was as if they had just walked into another world, one they couldn’t quite make sense of.

Feyre, still on top of you, blinked in surprise, her hands frozen in place. Mor and Nesta, still in their positions, were too drunk to even try to move, their eyes fixed on the three males standing in the doorway.

For a long moment, there was complete silence, the only sound the faint thrum of the music and the distant hum of the lights.

“What the hell…?” Cassian finally managed to mutter, his voice laced with disbelief.

Rhys, his usually calm demeanor shattered, shook his head slowly. “I think we interrupted something… very strange.”

Azriel, for his part, could only stare, his mind trying to process the chaotic scene in front of him. “Should we… come back later?”

The sudden absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, and you burst into laughter, the alcohol-fueled hysteria too strong to resist. Feyre, still on top of you, collapsed onto your chest, shaking with laughter, while Mor and Nesta lost it completely, both of them rolling on the floor as they tried to catch their breath.

The guys, however, remained rooted in place, their expressions still a mix of shock and confusion as they watched the four of you dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Cassian was the first to recover, though his voice was still laced with disbelief. “What in the world is going on here?”

Feyre, still laughing, finally managed to roll off you, her face flushed as she wiped at her eyes. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Rhys echoed, his voice flat as he glanced around the room. “This place looks like a warzone.”

Mor, still struggling to sit up, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. We were just having fun!”

Azriel, who had finally managed to close his mouth, walked over to you, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “Let’s get you home.”

You looked up at him, your smile turning into a confused frown. “But this is my home, Az.”

Feyre, catching your words, let out a snort before dissolving into another fit of laughter. Before long, you were both on the floor, laughing so hard that you could barely breathe, the absurdity of the entire situation hitting you all at once.

Mor, still perched on the floor, threw her head back and screamed with laughter. “This was better than every night at Rita’s I’ve ever had in my life!”

Nesta, who was trying her best to stay composed, finally gave in, collapsing onto the floor beside Mor as the two of them giggled uncontrollably.

The guys, still standing in the doorway, could only watch as the four of you descended into a drunken, giggling mess, their shock slowly giving way to resignation.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Cassian, finally managing a grin, shook his head. “We’re going to have to carry them out of here, aren’t we?”

Azriel, who had gently lifted you to your feet again, just nodded, his concern still evident. “Probably. But at least they had fun.”

---

The chaos of the night had finally started to wind down. Mor and Nesta, still giggling, were being helped out by Rhys and Cassian, who looked more than ready to get everyone home and into bed. But you, still tipsy and more than a little giggly, had managed to cling onto Azriel.

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your face nestled against his neck, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. The cool night air hit your skin as he carried you out of the apartment, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his body and the comforting scent of him surrounding you.

Azriel walked steadily, his wings twitching slightly with every step. You could feel the muscles in his back flex as he held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. Despite how drunk you were, a playful smile tugged at your lips as your breath fanned across his neck.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “you’re really strong… and warm. Like, really warm.”

Azriel’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Good to know,” he replied, his voice taking on a huskier edge. “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded, snuggling closer to him, your breath warm against his neck. “Mmhmm. This is nice. I could stay like this forever.”

He smiled, adjusting his hold on you slightly as he continued walking. “I wouldn’t mind that either. But we should get you home. You had quite the night.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rested your head against him. “Yeah… tonight was fun. I think we broke the apartment, though. Sorry about that.”

Azriel shook his head, his smile growing. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your place—you can do whatever you want. And it’s nothing a little cleaning won’t fix.”

There was a brief pause before you giggled, the sound light and airy. “Do you think… do you think Rhys was mad? I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

Azriel’s lips brushed against your temple in a soft kiss. “No, I don’t think he was mad. Maybe a little surprised, but that’s all. He knows you were just having fun.”

You hummed in response, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the back of his neck. “Good. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble… But you know what’s funny?”

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone indulgent as he continued walking.

“I kept thinking,” you whispered, your voice a little more serious now, “that I was so happy tonight… because you weren’t just my mate, but also my best friend.”

Azriel’s heart swelled at your words, and he tightened his grip on you slightly. “I’m happy to hear that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my best friend too, you know. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smiled against his neck, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “You’re so sweet, Az. The best.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I’m just being honest. Now let’s get you home, so you can get some rest. You’ve had a long night.”

“Mmhmm. This is very comfortable. I think I’m enjoying this a little too much.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he tried to maintain control. “Is that so?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “I’ve always liked being this close to you… feeling you.”

He sucked in a breath, the sound a mixture of surprise and desire. “You’re drunk,” he reminded you gently, though there was a strain in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“Maybe,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

Azriel’s steps faltered as you reached the townhouse, his heart hammering in his chest. You could feel the way his pulse quickened under your touch, and it only made you more bold. “And what is it you want?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You smiled against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin ever so lightly. “I want you, Az. Always.”

His breath hitched as he carried you inside, the familiar darkness of the townhouse wrapping around you both. Without a word, he started toward his bedroom, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

He pushed the door open with his foot and crossed the threshold, finally setting you down on the edge of his bed. But before he could step back, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to you, your lips crashing against his in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Azriel groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you closer as you leaned back onto the bed, dragging him down with you. His wings flared out behind him, twitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again.

He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes dark with desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with need.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down to you as your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a sultry invitation.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Azriel’s lips crashed back onto yours, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive hunger. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours as he tore at your clothes, desperate to feel you, to have you.

His hands slid up under your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he kissed his way down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

He paused at the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. You nodded, and he pulled the fabric over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on your chest, his tongue tracing a path down to your breasts.

You gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, his hand sliding down to the waistband of your pants. With a quick tug, he had them off, leaving you bare beneath him. Azriel’s eyes raked over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent as his hands slid down your sides, his lips following the path of his hands.

You reached for him, pulling him back up to you, needing to feel his skin against yours. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice breathless with anticipation.

Azriel shuddered at your words, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he positioned himself above you. He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt, but all he found was desire, love, and a deep, unyielding trust.

With a soft groan, he slid into you, the sensation drawing a gasp from both of you as your bodies finally connected, fitting together perfectly. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being with you like this, but it wasn’t long before the tension between you became too much to bear.

You moved together, each thrust deepening the connection between you, your moans and gasps filling the room as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as he whispered your name like a prayer.

As you neared the edge, you tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as you felt the wave of pleasure crashing over you. Azriel followed soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he reached his climax.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the ragged breaths of you and Azriel as you held each other close. Then, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving you both in a state of blissful exhaustion.

As you both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow, a soft giggle escaped your lips. Azriel, still holding you close, raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low and affectionate.

You shifted slightly, a playful glint in your eyes as you rolled over, pushing him onto his back. Azriel let out a surprised laugh, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your hips as you straddled him, your hair falling around your face in a soft curtain.

“What do you have in mind, love?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and desire.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Something the girls showed me earlier…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with intrigue as you began to move your hips in a slow, teasing rhythm, your hands sliding up his chest. He sucked in a breath, his fingers digging into your thighs as he tried to hold on to the last remnants of his control.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice rough with anticipation.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, your lips trailing soft kisses down his jawline as you continued to move against him, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through both of you.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch growing more desperate as you began to pick up the pace, your hips rolling in a way that had him groaning your name.

“Y/N…” he rasped, his eyes locked onto yours as you took control, guiding him deeper inside you with each movement.

You bit your lip, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you leaned down to kiss him, your tongue teasing his as your movements became more intense. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, his wings flaring out behind him as he struggled to keep up with the pleasure you were giving him.

“What did those girls teach you?” he managed to say between gasps, his voice filled with both awe and amusement.

You just grinned, moving your hips in a way that had him arching off the bed, a deep groan escaping his lips. “Just a little something they thought you might enjoy.”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed, his head falling back against the pillow as he surrendered to the sensations you were giving him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, though the smile on his face told you he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him deeply as you pushed both of you closer to the edge. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

With that, you moved even faster, your bodies moving in perfect sync as the pleasure built to a crescendo. The room was filled with the sound of your moans and gasps, the intensity of the moment taking you both higher and higher until finally, you both shattered together, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

As you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, Azriel wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

“That was…” Azriel began, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the words.

“Amazing?” you offered, your voice still breathless as you snuggled against him.

“Amazing,” he agreed, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “But also… unexpected.”

You giggled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

Azriel smiled, his hands sliding up and down your back in a soothing motion. “You definitely succeeded. But now, I think it’s time for some sleep.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. “Yeah… sleep sounds good.”

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes drift closed, still wrapped in Azriel’s warm embrace. And as you drifted off to sleep, a satisfied smile on your lips, you knew that no matter what surprises the night brought, you and Azriel would always find a way to enjoy them together.

---

don't hesitate to comment, I read them ;)

[elliezato]

𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎₊˚⊹♡

Pairing: ellie x reader

Summary: You're not a huge fan of valentines day but your girlfriend has other ideas.

Warnings: MDNI!! NSFW!! edging, sex, strap-on, fingering, eating out, cussing

a/n: Sorry this is a little lateeee. I've been so busy today but I just HAD to write a fic for valentines day!! It's a bit rushed but I wanted to get something out before the day ended. I'll probably put out some loser!ellie valentines headcanons later tonight as well<3 I hope you all had a good day and enjoy this little date fic with ellie!!

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

Valentine's Day has never been something you cared about. It's tacky with all the cheap chocolate and stupid cards. You told your girlfriend you didn't want to do anything for Valentine's this year. All you really wanted was to snuggle up with her on the couch after work and maybe have a drink to celebrate.

You open the door to your shared apartment and set your shoes to the side. All the lights are off and everything is quiet. You call for Ellie but there's no answer. As you set your bag down on the counter you see a white envelope closed with a red heart. You pick it up to look at it and slowly open it. Inside is a letter and it reads...

"Meet me at ______ restaurant tonight at 9. There's a little something for you in the bedroom." - Love els ᥫ᭡

You close the letter and place it on the table. As you walk into the bedroom you see a red gift bag. You pick it up and pull out a black lacy dress with a small heart cutout in the chest. You have been eyeing this dress for a while and were surprised that Ellie even remembered. The dress isn't anything super sexy but it's something you've been wanting for a while. Ellie was never the type to buy you lingerie or anything like that but sometimes you'd surprise her with a little something every now and then.

You have about 2 hours until you have to be at the restaurant so you decide to take your time to get ready. Your hair is wet from the shower as you wash your face and throw it up in a towel to do your makeup. The sun is setting and you finish getting ready. Your hair is curled and your makeup is done. You grab the dress from the bed and put it on.

As you walk out the door to meet your girlfriend, you decide to call her to let her know you leaving, but to your surprise, she doesn't answer. You call her again but no answer. At this point, you're just ready to get to the date so you can see her.

You arrive at the restaurant and walk up to the host stand. Before you can even speak you see Ellie walking up to you. She's dressed in a large white button-up and some dress pants. You've never really seen her dressed up like this before. She walks up to you and hands you a rose before taking your hand.

"Hi baby" She smiles at you. "You look very pretty" She pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

"This is so stupid els" You laugh and squeeze her hand as you walk to your table.

The table is set with candles and roses and there are already two glasses of champagne waiting for you. The restaurant is quiet with other people enjoying their evening. Soft music is playing as you take a seat. Ellie reserved a table in an isolated part of the restaurant, in front of two large windows that look out to a view of the city.

"Ellie, why did you do all this?" You look up at her as you take a sip of your drink.

"Because you deserve a day. You've refused to let me do anything special for you on valentines day every year and this year I wanted to do something nice." She smiles at you from across the table.

As the evening goes on you two laugh and talk while enjoying a nice dinner. The minutes pass fast and the restaurant slowly empties. Eventually, you two get up to head back to your apartment. The air is cold as you step outside waiting for a taxi. You look up at Ellie's face which is now lit up by the city lights.

"I really enjoyed this. thank you Ellie." You give her a sappy smile

She wraps her arm around your waist "Just wait until we get back home" She looks at you with a grin smeared across her face.

The ride home is quiet. It's late and you rest your head on Ellie's shoulder. Her hand on your thigh, waiting to get back to the apartment.

----------------------------------------------------------

Ellie holds your hand as you walk into your apartment, rubbing her thumb on the back of your hand. Walking into your room, you sigh out of tiredness as you fall onto your bed. The cool sheets feel good on your skin.

"Stay here baby, I'll be right back" Ellie grabs something and walks out of the room.

You get undressed as you wait and throw on one of Ellie's oversized tees. The room is dark but the lights of the city gently add a soft lighting to the small room. As you lay down on your back right as Ellie walks into the room with a lighter. She places a candle on each nightstand and lights them, setting the mood. She's dressed in nothing but her boxers and a white tank top.

"Lay on your back" Ellie walks over and places kisses up your neck, leading to your lips.

As she meets your mouth, her hands hold your face and she presses her lips against yours. Fingers crawling up your shirt, reaching your chest. She grabs your breast and draws circles around your nipple.

"Ellie-" You softly moan into the kiss.

"Shhhh, baby I got you." She lets her tongue slip into your mouth as her hands help lift up your shirt.

She adjusts her body so her legs are now straddling your thighs. Her lips move back from yours, down to your neck. Your arms slide under her tank as you pull her closer to your body. She gently sucks on your neck, working her way down to your chest.

Her tongue reaches your nipples, slowly circling around them. Her hands move down your waist, finding your lace underwear. A finger slips past the waistband, pressing against your wet folds as she sucks your boob. You grab Ellie's shirt as you throw your head back. She moves her tongue to your other nipples while she starts to pull off your underwear, throwing it across the room. She kisses down your waist, meeting your clit.

"mmph- els" You squirm at her touch, looking down at her taking you in.

Her eyes meet yours while her tongue slides down your folds. Her fingers slowly slipping into you. Your fingers run through her hair, pulling as she pleasures you. She moans as she begins to suck at your clit. The vibrations against your skin cause a loud whimper to escape your lips. Her fingers slipping deeper into you as she moves faster.

You can feel the knot in your stomach start to unfold. She holds your waist down with her hand as her fingers cause your body to squirm under her body. Suddenly, she releases her mouth from your throbbing clit and removes her fingers from the inside of you.

"Ellie! please, I'm so close, don't stop" You're practically begging at this point, squeezing your thighs together.

"I know" She lifts from your waist and sits up. "Turn over for me"

You listen and lay on your stomach. She grabs your waist pulling it up as she slips a pillow under you. Her fingers are cold against your bare skin, causing shivers to run down your body. She pulls her strap out of her boxers, keeping them on. You feel yourself becoming antsy as your fingers find your clit.

"Be patient for me pretty girl" She grabs your wrist and pulls it away, pinning it above your head.

Her fingers slip between your folds, preparing you for her length. You grasp the pillow above you as she slowly pushes into you. She finds your waist, pulling your body towards her. Her pace fastens, causing your body to slam against her. Your arms shake from holding up your upper body. You fall into the bed as she fucks you.

"mmm- you feel so good, doing so well for me baby" She moans as her strap slams into you.

Your body now taking in the full length. Her fingers find your clit again, rubbing circles around it. The familiar warmth returns to your stomach. A tear falls from your eyes as you whimper her name"

"Fuck Ellie, s'close, I'm gonna cum-" Your voice is muted by the pillow your face is smashed into.

She doesn't stop. You can feel her hitting all the right spots. Your body is trembling beneath her. She grunts and cusses under her breath, you know she's close too. Finally, you feel yourself become undone as she thrusts harder into you.

"Almost there baby" She pants, not slowing down. Her movements are becoming sloppy as she tries to cum.

"Fuck!" She reaches her climax shortly after you, causing her to fall onto the bed next to you.

You turn over and lay on your back. She's trying to catch her breath as her arm falls across her face. She looks over and smiles at you, placing a kiss on your swollen lips. She pulls your body close to you, wrapping her arms around your bare skin. The kiss is sloppy but passionate. Both of you breathing heavily between the kisses trying to catch your breath.

After a few minutes resting in the comfort of each other, she gets up to get a damp cloth. She lifts your waist, cleaning you up before getting up to blow out the candles. She lays back down next to you and pulls the covers over your bodies. You wrap your legs around her as you head rests on her chest.

"Happy valentines day my girl, I love you" She places a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too els" You close your eyes and feel yourself falling asleep in the arms of your girlfriend.

[babyleostuff]

── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.   

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.” 

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh. 

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”  

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone. 

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short. 

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox. 

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially. 

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff. 

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know. 

there went your peaceful morning. 

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes. 

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics. 

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you. 

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered. 

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true. 

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed. 

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank. 

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.” 

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing. 

“also if i may suggest one thing-,” 

“you may not-,” 

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice. 

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations. 

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck. 

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven. 

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.” 

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf. 

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing. 

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.  

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only. 

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said. 

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.  

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,” 

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?” 

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look. 

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it. 

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes. 

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand. 

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name. 

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking. 

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged. 

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?” 

…

you did not think this through. 

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.  

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. 

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something. 

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.” 

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim. 

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!” 

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.” 

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could. 

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.” 

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.” 

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said. 

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly. 

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch. 

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.” 

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?” 

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.” 

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.” 

“just… don’t let go, okay?” 

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.” 

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.  

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.” 

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more. 

“yes, you are!” 

wait. why was his voice so distant? 

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his. 

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed. 

“just don’t turn around-,” 

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control. 

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact. 

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air. 

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon. 

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.” 

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries. 

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.” 

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile. 

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.” 

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.” 

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that. 

“were you serious, though?” 

you frowned, not really sure what he ment. 

“that you want to watch me skate?”. 

any other day you’d say no, but… 

“yes. i’d really love to.” 

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that. 

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?” 

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all. 

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you. 

[znetlivebuydomainname]

Shared Hosting : Receive Trustworthy Services Easily | ZNetLive

Ensure the seamless operation of your website with dependable shared hosting. Choose the ideal shared hosting package for your website to benefit from all the features and advantages it offers. The strength and adaptability you need to flourish online are provided by our dependable hosting services. Recognize the advantages of hosting services and how it can enhance the functionality of your website. Get hosting solutions with dependable performance and security for a reasonable cost and budget Now is the time to take advantage of the best hosting deals : https://www.znetlive.com/shared-hosting/

[hedgehog-moss]

I met with you in my dream last night! For some reason I was in France, so it was only natural I go visit you. You took me on a little tour of your house and showed me some cow bones you had, and then you took me on a ride in your flying boat and fed me some cut fruit. You were very kind and gave me some excellent advice on a problem I was having in the dream. Then we met up with my mother, and I introduced you as my friend Hedgehog, lol. Thank you for being such a lovely host in my dream!! It was quite fun. I hope I get to visit dream you again, and maybe meet the dream llamas next time!

That's such a nice dream! All it's missing is a kiss from Poldine :) I'm glad I was a welcoming host, because I was bracing myself for a dark turn when I read "you showed me some cow bones you had"—that just felt ominous.

I want you to know that it may have been a prophetic dream. Just a few days after I read your ask, back in June, Poldine & I went to visit some distant neighbours, and not only did I find the place eerily quiet and messy-empty, as if they had moved in a hurry, but there was a cow skull on their doormat. (There was also a goat skull behind the window in the barn.) My first assumption was that someone had placed the skulls there while the owners were temporarily absent and it had scared them into leaving for good. (I asked a friend "What should I do if I came home from a weekend away and found a cow skull placed in front of my door, and a goat skull behind the window in the barn?" and she said "Let whoever did this have your house; leave immediately.")

I don't want to post my cow skull photo because you see the glass door + the inside of the house behind it so it feels weird, like I'm doxxing my ex- or future-neighbours. Whoever moves here next will already have enough problems, what with all the skulls. I do have a photo of Poldine looking ambivalent about our presence here, post-skull discovery:

EDIT 2 months later: I kept this in my drafts and let the summer pass before posting, hoping local gossip would allow me to figure out what happened and I'd have a fun story to share, but no. The facts are: my distant neighbours (who moved here just last year) moved back to the big city in a hurry, no one knows why, 2 other people went to visit them after they left but I am the only one who saw the skulls. Maybe the person who put them there came back for them later so they can use them again when a new family buys this house? (It's a nice little wooden chalet, if anyone is interested. You'll be living in the woods with your nearest neighbours quite far away and possibly an enemy lurking in some nearby tree.)

I'm very sorry for unexpectedly turning your lovely ask into an episode of Creepy Rural Mysteries! Let me know if you have any more dreams about visiting me; they could contain important details and / or warnings.

[wheeboo]

pulse points | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. Being the TA for your anatomy class has always been really rewarding, especially stemming in your passion for the medical field. But as it’s approaching the peak of the school semester and labs have gotten more intense, you aren’t surprised to be dedicating your time to tutoring your strangely handsome, dorky, yet enigmatic classmate during after school hours — and reassuring him how to not be afraid of dissections. PAIRING. wen junhui x TA!reader (ft. performance unit as jun's roommates + mentions of wonwoo and jihoon) GENRE. fluff, classmates to lovers, humour WARNINGS/TAGS. unrealistic TA x student dynamics lmao, lots of medical sciency-anatomy talk, talks about dissections n cutting into things (they dissect a sheep brain), mentions of tools used for dissections, yn is wayyy too studious its a bit unhealthy perhaps, their love language is napping together n sharing food :(, alcohol and drinking (yn gets drunk 😣), they flirt in the middle of a damn dissection AHHAHA WORD COUNT. 15.9k

notes: this is my fic for the "back to school" collab hosted by @camandemstudios! i hope u all enjoy <3 was lowkey hating this fic as i wrote it but... i think it turned out fine?!?! thank you to all my moots, specifically @bananabubble @slytherinshua @etherealyoungk and the collab discord server for either helping me w ideas n brainrot or reading over the fic!! love u all to the stars and back <3

Three dollars is not enough for Jun to buy himself lunch. 

He could probably snag himself a stale, English muffin from the dining hall, but then he’d be walking around campus with a dry tongue until after his classes end. And unsurprisingly, he forgot his water bottle back in his apartment. Briefly, he considers texting Soonyoung or Minghao to perhaps drop by the apartment and grab his water bottle or even a quick snack that’ll last him, but the two of them were already knee deep enough of responsibilities of their own. 

Fucking capitalism. 

He’s already out of breath speed walking all the way from across campus and through four different hallways. The large windows of the science building bring in the natural sunlight at the peak of the afternoon, allowing it to cascade across the polished floors and right to the ends of his feet with every step that he takes. 

Jun purses his lips together tightly as he rounds one last corner before arriving in front of his current class: Anatomy. The quick glance at the time displayed on his phone shows that he’s around eight minutes late, which is way better than the fifteen minutes from last week. His shoulders slouch slightly with a bit of dread as he reaches for the doorknob and pulls it open.

Compared to the beginning of the year, there’s more empty seats in the lecture hall now. Honestly, Jun is surprised he hasn’t dropped out of the class yet, because his grade in all honesty isn’t… the best, to put it simply𑁋he’s passing, somehow, but just barely.

But he simply can’t afford to drop it and take on a new class like a snap of a finger, and he knows that if he bails now, he’ll only be prolonging his graduation date, a situation neither his parents nor his bank account would be happy about. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this class in the first place, but his horrible procrastination habits and the fact that the other classes he wanted filled up so quickly left him with no other choice.

Jun sits down in a seat near the back of the class, trying to blend in and hoping the professor won’t notice his tardiness. He swiftly pulls out his notebook and laptop and redirects his focus to the front of the classroom, where he sees Professor Lee already lecturing something about vascular anatomy and blood circulation, motioning towards the slideshow displayed on the screen. 

“…the brachiocephalic trunk branches off the aortic arch, which divides into the right subclavian artery and the right common carotid artery. These arteries supply blood to the arm and the brain, respectively…”

The words seem to flow through his brain like water. Even when he jots them down in his notes for him to study later, he reads the words like hieroglyphics. Perhaps it’s the hunger getting to him or just the mounting stress, but the lecture feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

By the time Professor Lee finishes with the lecture, he has five pages of notes that feel like a jumble of terms and diagrams.

However, just as he thought he might finally catch a break, the slideshow switches to the next slide. 

“Now, let’s discuss the final major lab that will be crucial for your grades,” Professor Lee explains, a determined look on his face. “Your dissections that you will be finishing the year off with. I’m letting you all know about these in advance so you would have plenty of time to prepare.”

Jun’s stomach drops. Dissections. Of course, he knew it was coming, as it was quite literally listed in eye-catching bold letters in the syllabus at the beginning of the term. Yet the thought of cutting into anything and seeing its insides makes him almost squeamish. 

“This will account for a significant portion of your final grade. I can’t stress enough how important it is to take this seriously. Remember that dissections aren’t just about retaining names and locations in the body. They’re about seeing the relationships between different structures and understanding how they function together in real life.”

Every fibre of his being is aching for him to raise his hand and stupidly refute. He imagines what he’d say𑁋“I’m not good with blood,” or “Is there another activity I could do because I’m absolutely scared shitless?”𑁋but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he slouches further in his seat, hoping to disappear. He weighs all of his options, but they’re all equally unappealing: he can’t drop the class, he can’t afford to fail, and he certainly can’t magically become proficient at dissections overnight.

“Since the class has an uneven amount of students and the limited amount of specimens we have, I’ve decided to pair you all up. Y/N, may you hand out the partner lists?”

Jun feels himself tense in his seat as his eyes scan the room and land on you. Not only are you the TA of the class, but your seemingly calm demeanour as you drift throughout the room handing each student paperwork makes you appear almost intimidating to his eyes. 

When you finally reach him, he swears he catches a glimpse of a slight curl to your lips as you silently hand him the slip of paper that contains his partner assignment, before walking down to the next person. 

At first, the paper essentially states the same information that was discussed earlier: the dissection assignment, guidelines, and a list of required materials. But then his gaze falls to the part that matters most: his partner's name.

Y/N L/N, it reads. You’re his partner. Shit.

Your calm, composed attitude and role as the TA have already set a high bar for expectations in his mind. You’re probably going to be hyperanalysing and dissecting every aspect of his class performance, knowing his poor little heart wouldn’t be able to handle all that. You probably already have this tarnished reputation of him in your mind, with his frequent tardiness and the amount of times he’s dozed off in class.

Jun glances around the lecture hall, noticing other students exchanging whispers and glances at their own partner assignments. Some seem relieved, while others look as apprehensive as he feels. His stomach churns with the thought of having to work closely with you.

Professor Lee clears his throat and speaks, “Now that you all know your partners, I request that you all sit next to each other. These will be your seats starting from today and until the lab finishes. I also strongly encourage you all to exchange contact information with each other. Your collaboration together will be vital to your success in this lab.”

As the students shuffle around, Jun finds himself stuck in an uncomfortable limbo, watching as everyone pairs up and settles into their new seats, naturally exchanging contact information with one another. Then he shuffles for his backpack that was leaning against his chair in order to go find where you sit, but as he’s about to stand up, he’s met with you taking a seat right next to him.

Your eyes meet. A faint smile crosses your features. His backpack slips off his shoulders and falls to the floor with a dramatic thump.

“Hi,” You greet him softly, before offering a hand to him. “Granola bar? Had an extra one.”

Jun just blinks, eyes flickering between your face and the hand you have extended out to him. Then he awkwardly clears his throat, tentatively reaching out to grab the granola bar from your grasp, and the warmth emitting from your hand seems to crawl up his neck. 

“Thanks,” he mutters sheepishly, shifting his gaze away to hide a small upturn to the corners of his lips. 

The rest of class passes by in a blur, mainly with Professor Lee going over proper attire to wear and safety protocols for the dissection labs. And when the clock strikes dismissal time, students begin to filter out of the lecture hall, chatting amongst themselves as Jun struggles to stuff his laptop inside his backpack. 

You’re already gone to the front to talk to Professor Lee when Jun looks over. He watches as you hand in what looks like a stack of paper, only to be given another one right back, probably of assignments that the class has done lately. The air of professionalism that surrounds you is quite admirable, he would say. 

You seem to exchange a few more words with Professor Lee before turning on your heel to leave the lecture hall, the stack of papers neatly held under your arm.

By the time Jun is already on his way to his next class, he pulls the granola bar that you had given him out from the pocket of his jeans, unwrapping it and taking a bite out of it, savouring the moment as it relieves his nerves and gnawing hunger. 

Then by the time finishes his last class for the day, reality hits him the second he steps out of the building. Figuratively, and maybe even literally, at this point. 

He forgot to get your number for this lab.

The click of your pen echoes throughout the vast lecture hall. Unintelligible mutters leave your lips as your eyes quickly scan over the papers in front of you with ease. Among the many tasks you have assigned as TA, grading assignments is one of them, and you find yourself marking and correcting each paper just as you’ve done many times before. 

There used to be rumours floating around that your grading style was particularly strict, even more so than Professor Lee. Though it was probably spread around with the intention to intimidate other students and establish your reputation as someone annoyingly meticulous, you hardly let it get to you. 

The truth is, you were fair in your grading, but thorough. You didn’t see the point in letting half-baked work slide, especially when you knew these assignments could determine someone’s future. Medicine has been your passion for as long as you could remember, and that dedication extended into almost everything you did. Being the TA for the class was just one factor of it. 

It’s much, much quieter after school hours when most classes have finished for the day, and it’s natural to bask in the peacefulness that drifts throughout the barren room. You sort out the papers in front of you in a neat stack before taking a moment to stretch your arms up above your head, a soft sigh leaving you at the tension dissipating away from your limbs. 

As you begin to shuffle through all the papers in front of you𑁋separating them into piles of graded assignments and unfinished ones that you’ll save for later on𑁋there’s a quiet knock at the door that makes you pause in place. You turn your head towards the door, anticipating for someone to come in. 

Then another knock.

You swear you see some sort of shadow in the door window. It appears then disappears, and you  roll your eyes, thinking it was just someone who was lost or purposely going around knocking on each door (which has happened way more than one could expect). 

The shadow appears again, and this time, you decide on heading to the door yourself. And as you twist the doorknob and pull the door open simultaneously, you find yourself coming face-to-face with Jun, who looks a bit sheepish as he’s caught mid-knock. His eyes widen upon seeing you right in front of him, and he brings his hand down to his side. 

You blink up at him, not expecting for him to be here at this moment of the day.

“Junhui?” 

It’s at this point of his life that Jun realises he really isn’t used to people calling him by his proper first name. But the way you say it is different𑁋soft and warm, like an unexpected compliment.

“Uh, hi,” he greets a tad bit awkwardly, mentally slapping himself in the face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” 

“Oh, no, you’re not. Don’t worry,” You tell him reassuringly, catching the way his eyes seem to flicker everywhere but on you. “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

Jun fidgets slightly, his gaze bouncing between the floor and your face. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Actually, I... um, forgot to get your number earlier today. For… for the lab, I mean. Professor Lee said we should exchange information so I thought I would ask. Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. “Ah, I see. No problem. I’m glad you came by to get it. Here, let me just𑁋”

You shove into your back pocket to retrieve your phone, only to feel that it wasn’t there. Then you glance over to your desk, seeing it sitting next to your abundance of papers, before returning back to Jun.

You shove a hand into your back pocket to retrieve your phone, only to feel that it wasn’t there. Then you glance over to your desk, seeing it sitting next to your abundance of papers, before returning back to Jun.

“Here, you can come in. Let me just get my phone real quick.” You step to the side and open the door wider for him.

Jun visibly hesitates in the doorway, before muttering a quiet thank you and stepping inside the lecture hall. It’s certainly a sight to see the room so stripped of other students besides you and him, the sounds of his footsteps bouncing off the walls. He takes in the stacks of papers that you have spread across your desk, and he feels some nerves snake their way up his spine at the thought of you grading his work.

“Wow, that looks like a lot,” he comments gingerly. 

“Yeah, it’s quite the pile, right?” You agree with a light chuckle as you grab your phone and unlock it. “Always happens near the end of the sem.” 

Jun’s eyes wash over you with a look of concern. “That seems… stressful.”

You just shrug nonchalantly. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, it keeps me busy.” 

“Well, you should get some good rest after this then,” he remarks coolly. 

“Wish I could, but I have some tutoring scheduled in about half an hour,” You say, tone warm but tinged with a hint of weariness as you glance at the time on your phone. “One of the students in the intro biology class needs help with some of the basics before their midterm. So… rest will have to wait.”

From that, Jun shifts awkwardly, his fingers playing with the strap of his backpack. His brain races as he considers his options. You’re clearly knowledgeable and dedicated, not to mention you seem approachable, but the thought of admitting how much he’s struggling makes his throat dry, plus the guilt of adding more to your busy plate. 

“Tutoring, huh?” Jun finally says, trying to sound casual. “Is that… something you do a lot?”

You nod, tapping away on your phone as you pull up your contact information. “Yeah, actually. It’s nice to help people out. Keeps me up with the material too. Usually I’m free most days at any time after classes.”

Jun continues to gaze at you wonderingly until after you pick up your head to look at him, to which he faces away immediately. He scratches the back of his neck bashfully, before fixing his posture and clearing his throat.

“Do you… have room for one more student?” Then he feels the immediate regret afterwards. “It’s okay if not. I know that you’re busy and all that𑁋”

“Junhui,” You interrupt gently, a calm smile on your face. “I have room. Don’t worry about it.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, the reassuring warmth on your face easing the knots in his stomach. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’d be more than happy to find a time that works for us both. Just let me know what you need, and we’ll figure a time out. We’re lab partners, after all,” You say gleefully. “Speaking of which, you can put your number in here.”

You extend an arm with your phone in-hand. Jun takes the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment, and types in his phone number and information. When he hands the phone back, he looks up to meet your eyes, trying to muster a more confident expression.

“Thank you so much, really, I…” His voice trails off for a moment, trying to regain his words. “I’ll owe you one for this, truly.” 

“There’s no need.”

Jun shakes his head. “Seriously, I’ll feel bad.”

You bite at your bottom lip in thought, an endearing look washing over your features as you consider his insistence. The pleading in his eyes is hard to ignore, and it makes your heart soften in your chest. You take a moment to think before offering a small, playful grin.

“Alright.” You cross your arms together. “We’ll see.” 

Perhaps… you aren’t as intimidating as he thinks.

Jun is staring at a sheep brain. 

Not a real one𑁋a picture of one, specifically. It’s apparently very similar to the human brain, and the specimen he’s expected to dissect for the upcoming lab. 

He stares at the image displayed on the large screen right before his eyes, feeling a strange mix of fascination and dread. The detailed structures and labels are overwhelming, each word swimming in and out of focus as he tries to absorb the information. It's not that he isn't interested𑁋on the contrary, there's a part of him that's genuinely curious about how it all works, and the other part of him is utterly disturbed. 

You’re sitting next to him again, just like everyone else is sitting next to their partners, taking notes and even drawing a very rushed outline of the brain on your paper. 

“We have to dissect that…?” Jun whispers under his breath, as if speaking any louder might bring the brain to life. 

“Yep,” You reply, glancing over at Jun. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Jun attempts to stifle a groan, eyes going between the image on the screen and down to his near-empty notes. He can’t help but wonder how on earth he’s going to get through this without completely embarrassing himself.

Letting your eyes roam over Jun for a moment, the visible discomfort in the way he crosses his arms together and the furrow in his brow doesn’t escape your notice. Casually, you scoot your chair towards him a little bit, along with your notebook so that it’s settled in the space between the two of you with the outline of the brain clearly visible on the page. Your shoulder almost brushes against his. 

“Here,” You say softly, tapping your pen on the page. “I’ve got the main structures labeled already. You can add them to your notes if you want. I can explain it to you in more detail when you come to tutoring tomorrow?”

Oh, that’s right. Tomorrow is the day you both were free and decided it was the day where Jun could stop by after classes end to have his first tutoring session with you. 

“Yeah, uh, that would be great,” Jun responds quietly, peeking over at how neat and organised your notes appeared to be. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” You nod, before soundlessly shuffling inside your bag and extending it out to Jun. “Granola bar?” 

Jun glances at the granola bar being offered by you, its wrapper crinkling slightly as you hold it out to him. He smiles, a little lopsided but genuine, and takes the bar from you. The hesitation in his shoulders has deflated slightly than from the first time you proposed one to him. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Bro, are you going out on a date or what? You’re stinking up a storm here.” Soonyoung lets out a few dramatic coughs at the sudden sharp scent of Minghao’s perfume hitting his nose, followed by Chan behind him nearly gagging at the smell. Though obviously one would expect for the owner himself to be the one using it, he certainly didn’t expect for the culprit to be none other than Jun.

Okay, yes, he may have accidentally sprayed a shit ton of Minghao’s perfume on himself, which was a bit of an overkill. But he clearly wasn’t thinking straight after waking up from a nap between deciding to take a really quick shower or stealing his roommate’s expensive perfume. 

“You think this is too much?” Jun asks unsurely. 

Beside him, Chan rolls his eyes while clutching a bowl of ramen. “You smell like you’re trying to cover up a crime scene. It might suffocate someone. Where are you even going anyway?”

Jun clears his throat. “Tutoring𑁋”

“Tutoring?!” Soonyoung exclaims in surprise. “For which class?”

“Anatomy𑁋”

“Hell no,” Soonyoung crinkles his nose at the mention of anatomy. “You're telling me you’re getting all dolled up for a tutoring session on dissecting brains and guts? Are you trying to seduce the organs or something?” 

Jun groans at his roommate’s words, shaking his head. But before he can say anything in response, Chan seems to beat him to it.

“Don’t you have this really strict TA in your class too? I’ve heard that they don’t even offer partial credit or crack a smile during lectures. Like, they’re just a machine, dude,” the youngest adds in.

It’s quite literally insane to hear that kind of description about you leave Chan’s mouth when all of his interactions with you have been nothing but short and sweet, to put it simply. Though he won’t deny he’s heard all those rumours spread around about you𑁋that you’re strict, and perhaps a bit intimidating. He’s had his fair share of moments where he felt overwhelmed by your grading and meticulous nature. Yet from what he’s seen of you so far, you’re passionate, friendly if anything, and your smile is… cute. 

Jun only shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, they’re in my class, but I’m just trying to get my grade up before the year ends. I think I can handle them.” 

Soonyoung huffs a breath, stepping up to Jun and giving him some sort of comforting pat on the back, almost like he feels bad for him. 

“Well, good luck, dude,” he reassures him, though it hardly eases Jun’s nerves at all. “Don’t get crucified in there.” 

As Jun wanders down the familiar hallway to the classroom, he finds his thoughts beginning to second-guess everything. What if he ultimately fails meeting your expectation at the end of the session? What if he struggles to fully grasp the material and ends up looking like an absolute fool in front of you by the time the real dissections roll around? 

However, those thoughts are pushed away when the door to the classroom swings open before he has the opportunity to knock, with you standing on the other side. Your face seems to light up at the sight of him, and it makes Jun briefly think about what Soonyoung said earlier about you. Like… was he talking about the same person?

“Hey, you made it,” You greet him, stepping aside so he could walk in. “Let me just finish organising some things and we can start.” 

Jun’s eyelashes bat together in curiosity as he watches you rummage through some papers, before deciding it's worth sitting down to wait for you. He places himself down an empty desk, fishing out his notebook and laptop and whatever he may need, though he doesn’t really know. By the time you’re making your way over to him, you set your stuff right next to his. 

“Okay.” You let out a relieved breath, peering at him. “Where do you want to start?” 

Oh, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet.

“Uh,” Jun stammers, fumbling for a moment, his mind suddenly drawing blanks. He quickly opens his notebook to the page where he had jotted down some half-baked notes during class and is staring back at him like a puzzle missing half its pieces. “Maybe… maybe we can start with what we’re going over in class right now? And just go down from there?”

“We can do that,” You agree without hesitation, leaning in more so that you were able to see his notes. Jun draws himself slightly back. “So, as you know, we’re going to have to be familiar with the parts and functions of the brain since it’s also part of the dissections. What I like to do is break it down into smaller sections and tackle each one individually. It might make the whole thing less overwhelming.”

Jun just nods, appreciating the way you’re making things more approachable. 

You grab a blank sheet of paper and draw a quick, simple outline of the brain, labeling the major parts with clear, concise notes. “Let’s go over the basics𑁋the cerebrum, cerebellum, and brainstem. These are the main regions we need to understand before diving into all the nitty-gritty details. Is that okay?”

He nods again, moving back slightly closer so he can see what you’re drawing. 

“The cerebrum is the largest part of the brain and is responsible for higher brain functions like thinking, reasoning, and sensory processing,” You continue, pointing to the relevant part of your drawing. “It’s divided into the left and right hemispheres, and each one controls the opposite side of the body.”

Jun watches as you explain, occasionally nodding to show he’s following along. There’s something calming about the way you speak𑁋gentle, but confident, filled with poise. He tries to shake off the thought, reminding himself that he’s here to study, not to admire the way your eyes light up when you speak so passionately about a topic as ridiculous and complex as the damn brain. 

You’re so different from what people say. There’s no sign of the strict, no-nonsense TA everyone talks about. 

“...and that’s why the frontal lobe is so important for decision-making and problem-solving. I like comparing it to, let’s say, a CEO,” You explain. “It’s where a lot of our executive functions happen. Think of it as the brain’s ‘boss’ making the big decisions and planning.”

Jun blinks for a moment, snapping back to attention, quickly jotting down a note to make it seem like he was paying attention. He actually was, sort of. Somehow he’s lucky enough for you to not notice him being distracted (or you do, and he’s the one who didn’t notice). 

“Frontal lobe, right,” he mutters lowly, under his breath.

“The cerebellum is our little assistant to the CEO. It’s responsible for our movement, coordination, and balance,” You say, pointing to a spot on the sketch at the very back of the brain and above the brainstem. “Think of it as the brain’s quality control. It just makes sure that whatever movements we do are smooth and precise, so…” 

Nope. He still can’t detect those rumours that paint you as some sort of cold, calculated, and harsh TA. He spots not a single one of those in your demeanour. Briefly, he wonders whether or not those rumours bother you, if they’ve ever bothered you or made you feel misunderstood. Swiftly, though, he brushes those thoughts away𑁋he’s more focused on you than the material at hand. 

It’s hard not to look at you, in all honesty. 

“Junhui?” Your voice pulls him back to reality.

“Huh?” he responds, a little too quickly.

You tilt your head slightly, a small, knowing smile on your lips. “I asked if you’re ready to move on to the brainstem, or do you want to go over the cerebellum again?”

“Oh, um… no, I’m good,” he says, feeling his face heat up slightly. He hopes you don’t notice how flustered he is. “Let’s move on.”

You nod, satisfied with his answer, and continue your explanation, turning your attention to the next section of the brain. 

“The brainstem,” You begin, pointing to an area at the bottom of the brain with the pencil. “is like the brain's relay station. It connects the brain to the spinal cord and controls many of the body’s automatic functions, like breathing, heart rate, and digestion. Without it, our bodies wouldn't be able to function properly…”

Jun observes as you draw a line down the sketch, clearly marking the brainstem. He’s listening, or at least trying to, but his mind keeps drifting back to how comfortable this whole situation feels. He expected to be a nervous wreck, fumbling through explanations and possibly embarrassing himself in front of you. But instead, he finds himself oddly at ease, more focused on how you’re able to break down the complex information into something so much more digestible.

“Still with me?” You ask suddenly, looking up from your notes to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Jun answers unsurely, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. He offers a small smile, hoping it masks his earlier distraction.

A flicker of amusement flashes in your eyes, and there’s a warmth in your expression that puts Jun further at ease. “Okay, great. We can continue then.”

The rest of the session goes by surprisingly rather quickly. You guide Jun through the material, your explanations helping Jun absorb the information more effectively than the regular in-class lectures. It makes him think about how great you would be as a professor, or anything in the medical field. Everything just seems to flow out of you seamlessly as you discuss various brain functions and their relevance to anatomy and dissections.

As Jun is finishing up the last of some notes, you ask, “Would you mind if I write you a little sticky note? To tell you what to look over when you’re reviewing on your own?” 

Jun looks up, a bit surprised but grateful. “That would be good, thank you.” 

You stand up to retrieve a sticky note from Professor’s Lee desk, before returning back to Jun and writing down: 

Review over neuroanatomy and its functions! •ᴗ•  

Finally, you plaster the sticky note at the corner of the page in his notebook. 

There’s a comfortable silence that follows as you both gather your belongings. It feels like a small victory for Jun𑁋he not only survived the session but actually, in a way, enjoyed it.

As you both stand up, ready to leave, you glance over at him.

“By the way, I don’t think you need all that perfume on,” You say, a hint of laughter in your voice.

Jun’s eyes widen, caught off-guard. Shit. “Oh, uh𑁋yeah, that…”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just… a little overwhelming. Maybe tone it down next time?”

Jun’s face flushes as he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry, I uh… was rushing and just grabbed what I could find. I didn’t mean to overdo it.”

“You’re all good,” You reassure him, still smiling as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Just a little heads-up. So, anyway, for the next session…”

Next session? His jaw nearly drops to the floor at your casual mention of a next session. 

“...I think I’ll try and set up a little lesson plan we can reference off of… probably review over the cardiovascular system…”

“You… You don’t have to do all that,” Jun interjects. “It sounds like a lot of work.” 

You dismiss him off with a reassuring wave. “It’s no trouble. I think it’ll help to have a structured plan for us to follow. It’ll make sure we cover everything orderly.” 

Jun zips his mouth shut and just nods in agreement, unable to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, biting it back when he hangs his head down to the ground. When he perks back up, he finds you over at Professor Lee’s desk, sorting through some papers before organising the stack and preparing to finally leave. He opens his mouth, but the words he wanted to say stick to his tongue.

“I’ll see you later?” Jun calls out to you instead, his voice bouncing off the walls of the lecture hall. 

You glance up at him in acknowledgment. “I’ll see you later, Junhui.”

He takes a visible gulp.

“Jun,” he suddenly says, saying it as if he were correcting you, which in a way, he is, but it comes out a bit awkwardly. “You can call me just Jun, if you’d like.” 

A wave of surprise washes over your features, before ultimately fading into a pleasant smile.

“Alright, Just Jun,” You reply, tilting your head slightly. “I’ll see you later.” 

One could probably say you’re a party pooper. Not necessarily intentionally, but instead of filling up your college experience with going to parties and social events, you find yourself buried within pages of textbooks. Your weekends aren’t filled with the chaoticness of drinking and loosening up; rather, they consist of quiet study sessions in your room and creating new lecture material.

You’re not avoiding fun𑁋at least, that’s what you always tell yourself𑁋you’re just focused on achieving your academic goals.

It’s a routine carved ever since you were younger, your parents constantly instilling that education is the key to success, and you’ve taken that message to heart. From an early age, you learned to prioritise your studies over everything else. As you grew older, you carried that mindset with you, where you’ve become known among your peers as the diligent, dependable student and TA who always has their priorities straight.

Your schedule is precise, your assignments are always turned in on time, always prepared for every quiz and exam, and your grades reflect the countless hours you’ve spent studying. It’s a reputation you’re proud of, but it also comes with a certain level of pressure𑁋pressure to maintain those high standards, to never let yourself slip.

You sit back in the seat, satisfied after crafting a proper lesson plan and organising your materials for your next tutoring session. When you glance over at your planner to see who was coming in today, the name that you spot is𑁋

Knock. 

You glance up from your planner and over to the door. “Come in!”

It takes a few moments for the door to swing in, and the tall figure that steps through is unmistakable𑁋light brown hair slightly fluffed out, a half-opened black backpack hanging on his shoulders, and an oversized hoodie that appeared way more comfortable than it needed to be.

“Jun?” You look at the time on your phone. “You’re here early.” 

“Oh, yeah…” Jun runs a hand through his tousled hair. “I thought showing up early could give us some extra time, maybe. Unless… unless you’re still busy?” 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, you’re fine. Just give me a few minutes and then we can start?”

“Yeah. Take all the time that you need.” 

Once again, it’s only the two of you in the lecture hall. He ponders if you’ve tutored any students before him today, hovering near you as he watches you sort through some papers and adjust your notes. The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of papers and the soft hum of the air conditioning. Jun can sense his curiosity growing within him, making him fidget with the strap of his backpack. 

“So, uh… how long have you been a TA for Professor Lee?” 

You pick your head up from your papers, fingers resting at the edge of the desk. 

“Since the beginning of the year,” You reply. “I got recommended to him by some previous professors, and I guess I couldn’t say no to the opportunity.”

Jun nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Do you like it? Being a TA, I mean.”

You consider his question for a moment, feeling a bit reflective as you answer, “I do, actually. It’s hard but rewarding, you know? I get to help students understand the material better, and I learn a lot in the process too. It’s a good balance between teaching and learning, I would say.”

Jun takes in your words attentively, peeking his eyes toward you with an almost shy smile. There’s a quiet admiration in the way he looks at you that you don’t notice, as if he’s trying to understand how you manage to keep everything together so well. Then a moment of silence fills the space between you two, not uncomfortable, maybe a bit awkward on his end, but more contemplative.

Jun shifts this abominable weight pressing down on him from one foot to the other. He’s not used to being in situations like this𑁋alone with someone who seems so put together, so sure of themselves. It’s both inspiring and a little intimidating. The silence seems to stretch, and you can see the gears turning in his head, like he’s on the verge of saying something but can’t quite find the right words.

“I guess I wonder how you manage it all so well,” he remarks timidly. “You’re always so organised and… on top of things. I’m curious how you do it.”

You purse your lips together into a thin line and simply shrug your shoulders. “I’ve always had high expectations for myself growing up and I guess it’s carried into everything I do now. It’s become second nature, really.” 

As Jun takes in your words, that sense of admiration seems to soften into a bit of worry. It’s amazing that you could handle so many responsibilities at once, but the more he thinks about it, the more it seems like a lot of stress and pressure to manage. He wonders if you ever feel overwhelmed or if it ever gets too much to handle at times. 

You probably do𑁋you’re human, after all𑁋and a twinge of concern snakes up his spine as he thinks about.

“Anyway, hm… I was thinking about going over the cardiovascular system for this session. What do you say?” You ask him.

Jun snaps out of his thoughts, walking briskly over towards the desk to take a seat. “Oh, yeah. That sounds good.” 

The session is just similar to last time: you begin by outlining the cardiovascular system, breaking it down into different sections just as you did with the brain, and using relatable analogies with associating each part with their functions.

“...so the heart has four chambers: the left and right atria plus the left and right ventricles,” You explain, pointing down to the drawing you made with the tip of your pencil. “The right side deals with deoxygenated blood, while the left side handles oxygenated blood. The heart’s valves make sure that blood flows in the correct direction. Think of it like… traffic signals.”

“Traffic signals…” Jun mutters to himself as he writes down notes. Knowing that this is all going on within his own body wraps around his mind uncomfortably.

As you continue explaining, there’s that light again that Jun detects in your eyes, as well as the subtle lift to your lips that makes your voice just a step higher. His gaze also follows your hands that you unknowingly maneuver when you talk, the movements graceful and expressive, like you’re bringing the material to life.

“Are you familiar with where all your pulse points are?” 

Jun lifts a brow, thinking for a second, before taking a finger down to his wrist. “I think so. There’s one here… on the wrist…”

“The radial artery.”

“Radial artery. Yeah.” Then he drags the tip of his finger up to his inner elbow. “There’s also one here. The brachial artery, right?”

“You got it.” 

He grins bashfully at that, though it’s quick to fade when he focuses again, pointing down to his leg. “There’s also two here. Femoral and… pop… Popliteal?”

“You’re right,” You confirm wholeheartedly, and Jun’s heart flutters in small victory. 

Jun then brings his hand back up, using two fingers to point to a spot on his neck. 

“And, uh… The one here on the neck. It’s…” He continues pressing down into his skin to find where he can feel his pulse, but your eyes on him is causing him to feel a bit self-conscious. “Uh…”

“The carotid artery. Right here.”

Before Jun has a chance to correct himself, you’re suddenly scooting closer to him in your chair, leaning in and extending an arm out towards him. The sudden contact of your fingers on the side of his neck makes his eyes widen and his breath to hitch. 

Your fingers rest gently on the side of his neck, just below his jawline, and for a brief moment, the world outside of the lecture hall seems to disappear. The visible swallow of his Adam’s apple isn’t hard to miss as he tries to focus on anything but the sensation of your hand on his neck.

Heat washes over his face, and he swears to himself that you could most definitely feel the way his pulse is running marathons under your touch. All of a sudden his tongue goes dry, his limbs go numb, and the way you’re so close to him makes it hard for him to properly think straight, let alone form any sort of coherent response.

Your eyes meet for a singular millisecond, too quick that Jun could have possibly been imagining it.

Pulling your hand away, you clear your throat soundly. “Try it.”

It takes Jun a moment to register you were talking to him, and he tentatively replaces the spot where your fingers were at with his own.

“Right here?” he asks.

“Mhm.” Your gaze roams over his concentrated face. “Apply a bit of pressure. That’s the carotid artery doing its work.” 

His pulse is certainly fast. The thought has him sinking into a pit of embarrassment. 

But he only nods, keeping his voice steady as he says, “Yeah, I feel it.”

“So whenever you want to count your heart rate, this is one of the places you can check,” You instruct. “You can just press down on that spot and count the number of beats you feel in 15 seconds. Then, multiply that number by four, and you’ll have your heart rate in beats per minute.”

Jun attempts to listen to his heart rate, but the attentive look you have on your face as you watch him makes it really hard to properly count. So he chooses to let his hand fall back down. He wouldn’t be able to calculate it with you here with him anyway. 

When the two of you meet eyes for the nth time, there’s a fleeting, almost electric moment of mutual awareness. None of you acknowledge it, yet it awkwardly lingers in the air. Warmth spreads across Jun’s chest, coupled with a nervous energy that makes his heart beat soar just a little faster.

You break the tension with an airy chuckle. “Are you ready to move on?” 

Jun blinks a few times, shaking off whatever awkwardness swirling around him, and nods quickly. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

By the time he gets back to his apartment later that evening and begins to unpack his things from his backpack, a small piece of pink paper flutters down to the floor like a feather, landing by his foot. It’s a sticky note, reading:

Good sesh today •ᴗ• Don’t forget to review!

“There’s no way I’m touching a brain.”

“Jun, you have to! You’ll be wearing gloves anyway𑁋”

“I cannot cut into a brain. That is gross,” Jun rebukes defensively, face scrunching up with stubborn refusal. 

“Jun, dissections are really important for anatomy,” You clarify calmly. “It’s part of the learning process.”

“Yeah, I… I know,” he mumbles defeatedly, almost shameful to admit. “I’m not that good with, uh… dead things. Like, couldn’t we look at diagrams or pictures instead? They’re less… squishy.” 

You smile amusedly at that, finding his squeamishness a bit endearing. But you straighten your posture and plaster on a reassuring look to your face. 

“I understand that it’s not for everyone,” You respond, a comforting tone to your voice. “But getting hands-on experience is really valuable. It’s one thing to see it in a book, but actually being able to identify the structures in real life makes a big difference in how you understand the material.”

Jun still looks apprehensive, but your words bring a sparkle of determination to his eyes. The idea of cutting into something that used to be alive still makes his stomach turn and the hairs on the back of his neck stick up, but he knows that you’re right. When are you not right?

“It just feels illegal,” Jun admits uneasily, a shudder running through him at the thought. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“That’s what I’m here for, remember?” You lightly nudge him in the arm with your elbow, attempting to lighten the mood. “We’re partners, after all.”

“Yeah, but…” There’s some hesitation, his gaze dropping down to his shoes. He lowers his voice as he speaks, “I want to show you that I’m capable of doing something…”

“Then we’ll start off slow, make you become familiar with everything,” You reason gently. “I know you’re not the only one who feels queasy by it, but you’ll have to face it. Facing your fears can help in conquering them, you know.” 

The corners of Jun’s lips tug up at that, mainly from the fact that you’re able to reassure him this effortlessly. He can’t tell if it’s exactly your words that eases up his nerves or if it’s simply your presence here with him right now thawing away the ice of his fears. Whatever it is, all he can really say is he likes knowing that you genuinely care.

And he likes knowing that you’re right next to him too.

“If I freak out,” he starts. “You’ll promise to help me out?”

Your lips draw into a thin line, a certain playfulness softening the features of your face. 

“No promises, but𑁋”

“Hey!”

“Study what we discussed today and then I’ll consider it.” There’s still a twinge of tease to your words, but the edges are roughened with a touch of sincerity. 

Jun just grins. How could anyone ever make up ridiculous rumours about you?

“Good game, man. Same time again next Saturday?”

Jun huffs out a winded breath, dabbing at the sweat that clings to his forehead with the edge of his shirt before taking a long chug out of the water bottle that Wonwoo tosses over to him. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you then,” he replies exhaustedly, taking another tip of water, feeling his muscles aching from the game. 

As his friends leave the basketball court, he starts to retrieve his own belongings, slinging his backpack and hoodie over his shoulder and starting his walk towards the bus stop so he could go back home. The sun has completely set at this point, the night sky now blanketing the city in a cool, comfortable darkness. The breeze that floats through the air relieves some of the tension in his body, cooling his skin after the intense game. Jun walks slowly, taking his time on the way to the bus stop, simply savouring the peacefulness of the evening.

He considers getting food for himself𑁋there’s a small convenience store that he spots at the corner of his eye, and his stomach rumbles at the thought. 

He changes direction and heads toward the store, the faint jingling of the door chime greeting him as he steps inside. The store is a cozy, cluttered space with a mix of snacks, drinks, and other essentials. He decides on grabbing a cold drink and some instant ramen that he can heat up when he gets home. And after purchasing, he heads back outside and continues his way to the bus stop.

Tapping his bus card on the scanner, Jun makes his way toward the back of the bus and settles into a seat closest to the window, the seat right next to him vacant. The bus was mostly empty, but everyone else was spread out in their own seats either dozing off, listening to music, or staring out the window. It’s quite nice, he must say.

The sounds of him crumpling his bag fills the still air of the bus as he waits for the bus to move, but the hissing of the doors opening perks his attention up. 

Out of all things, he certainly never expected to see the sight of you breathlessly climbing onto the bus, muttering apologies towards the bus driver as you scramble for your bus card in your wallet. Your backpack is about to slip off your shoulder, cheeks flushed from assuming all the running you did to get here, and a mask of tiredness that you wear on your face that isn’t hard to notice. Were you at campus? It’s almost ten at night. 

And out of all things, he didn’t expect for you to come over to him among the many empty seats in the bus. 

“Hey,” You greet him breathlessly, glancing down at the empty seat next to him. “Are you fine with me sitting here?” 

Jun blinks, before speedily adjusting himself, forcing his body more into the seat so you would have all the room that you wanted. He gives you a nod. 

Smiling faintly, you sit down right next to him, shoulder brushing against his. You settle your backpack on your lap and lean back a bit, finally allowing yourself to relax. The bus lurches, beginning to move forward. Jun lets his eyes wash over you.

“Did… you just come from campus?” he asks. 

You laugh awkwardly at that. “Yeah, I… I was studying.”

“You study this late at night on campus?”

“I do.” It’s a bit funny admitting that, you don’t know why. “Sorta lost track of time, I guess.” 

Jun keeps a fixed look on you, as if there was some anomaly within your words, but he knows you’re telling the truth. He just can’t believe that anyone would stay on campus so late, plus you look way too tired, like you could pass out any second. Some worry flows down his body. 

“That sounds… exhausting,” he says, concern edging his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

You glance at him, eyes softening slightly. There’s something about him asking that tugs at your heart. “I’m fine. It’s not unusual for me to be up late studying. I’m used to it.”

Jun feels his fingers twitch around the bag in his grasp. “I see.”

You let your head fall slightly. “Thank you though.”

He faces you curiously. “For what?”

“Just…” For being here? For asking if I’m okay? “I don’t know. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know why you’re thanking him; if anything he should be the one thanking you.

“Oh.” A small smile appears on his lips. “You’re welcome.”

He feels weird. Not in a bad sense𑁋far from that, actually. It’s basically his first time ever interacting with you that isn’t on school grounds, and in a way right now, he isn’t the student and you’re not the TA. He’s simply Jun, and you are… well, you. You’re just two people sharing a late bus ride, and Jun is oddly grateful for the chance to see this side of you𑁋tired, a little vulnerable, but still yourself nonetheless.

The bus rumbles lightly. Silence swirling the air around the two of you. Jun glances at your profile, noticing how your eyes flutter shut for a brief second before snapping open again. His fingers twitch again, wanting to do something more𑁋maybe offer you his jacket, or ask if you need anything𑁋but he holds himself back.

The thought of pushing himself to exhaustion like that feels foreign. But he knows you well enough𑁋or at least, he’s seen you enough𑁋to know you’re driven, always working hard, sometimes too hard. He doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s okay to slow down.

“Y/N?” he calls out quietly.

You face him with a cute, sleepy look. “Hm?”

“You’re falling asleep.”

You giggle lazily at that, the sound unguarded and relaxed. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You can close your eyes. When’s your stop?”

Gazing at the window for a few moments, you take note of the familiar surroundings that the bus passes by. “It should be the next one.” 

Before you can settle back into the seat, Jun quickly adds, suddenly feeling brave, “You can… lean on my shoulder if you want.”

You hesitate for a moment, then give him a drowsy, grateful smile. “I think I’d like that.”

With a sigh, you allow your head to rest against his shoulder, and Jun could only imagine how uncomfortable his own shoulder might be compared to a pillow, but he doesn’t mind, and neither do you as well𑁋at least he thinks you don’t.

Your eyes are closed when Jun leans down to sneak a glance at your face, your features softened with exhaustion. There’s the faintest sight of a smile to your lips, and it makes his own curve up slightly too. His heart stirs in his chest, all while attempting to fully compose himself so you wouldn’t be disturbed. 

As his eyes drift back outside, he leans his own head on the window, watching the cityscape pass by. There’s fatigue crawling up his body too, but he forces himself to stay awake so that he knows when your stop is approaching. He casts glimpses down to you to make sure you’re still comfortable, but every time he looks at you, his heart seems to do a little jump, a little flutter in his chest. 

Jun knows he shouldn’t hope for anything more than this moment, knows he shouldn’t let himself fall into dreams of what-ifs, but he can’t help it. Admitting to himself that he likes you is bizarre, almost too bold for him to fully accept. Yet here you are, leaning against him, breathing softly in your dazed state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe, just maybe, he thinks, it could be.

You could tell there was something off about Jun today, and it seems to bother you a little more than you expect. 

He just didn’t seem to be… paying attention. You would explain something to him, and he’d reply with a small hum of acknowledgment before drifting off into a bit of a daydreaming state. Perhaps his mind was clouded and it wasn’t your place to ask, or maybe he was just tired. Regardless, you knew that it wouldn’t get either of you progress through this tutoring session, especially when you’re trying to instruct him about what to expect for the dissections.

“Jun?” You snap your finger in front of his face, and he immediately perks up. “You got all that down?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, the probe…” He trails off, looking a bit lost. “Uh, can you repeat it?”

“The probe is used to explore and identify different anatomical structures,” You explain slowly. “But remember to be careful with it. Tissues are very delicate, so one wrong move could cause damage.” 

You watch quietly as he writes down the notes, his head resting on his as if he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I saw you fall asleep today in class.”

Jun looks back up at you, eyes widening as if what he had done was some sort of crime. He suddenly appears more awake than ever.

“Crap, I… I’m sorry,” he mutters in apology, face flushing with embarrassment. “I knew you were lecturing since Professor Lee wasn’t here today, but I just… I don’t know. I couldn’t keep my eyes open that well. I’m really sorry.”

He could only assume the worst𑁋that you’re mad at him for falling asleep, when in reality he had stayed up late the night before to review over the material the two of you have covered so far during your sessions. But when your face softens into a look of understanding, he seems to relax. Just slightly. 

“Jun, it’s fine, really. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” You reassure him gently. “Trust me, you’re not in trouble and I’m not mad.”

He swallows down the lump in your throat. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Like really sure?”

“One thousand percent.”

“I’m not convinced.” A sly grin spreads across Jun’s face. What a dork.

“Unfunny,” You huff, before taking a seat right next to him and flipping through the pages in your lesson plan. 

Once again, Jun props an elbow on the table and leans his head on his hand, a playful smirk lingering on his face as he watches you. You feel his eyes on you. 

“It sort of gave me a little glimpse into your life, you know.” 

You glance up, intrigued. “Yeah? And what did you take from that?”

“That… I really cannot and will never be on your level of studying,” Jun admits sheepishly. He seems to crawl into himself a bit more as he continues hesitantly, “and, uh, made me admire you a little bit more too.”

You freeze at that, pausing mid-flipping through a page in your planner as his words float through the air. Admire… you? It wasn’t something you ever anticipated hearing from him𑁋ever anticipated to see him this forward𑁋especially not today when he seemed so out of it.

You clear your throat softly, trying to act nonchalant. “You admire me?”

Jun chuckles softly, the sound a little awkward as he tries to ease the tension. “Well, who wouldn’t?”

He’s probably digging himself into a bit of a hole right now, perhaps overstepping a small boundary of what was supposed to be just a casual tutoring session. But really, despite these sessions honestly really helping with understanding the material, he’s mainly here because… well… he gets to spend time with you. 

“Sorry, I-I mean… I made this weird, didn’t I?” Jun swiftly corrects himself, face flushing deeper with each word that leaves him. “I guess I just want to thank you for pushing me to do better. I’ve always… kind of admired that about you for a while now.”

Even you momentarily forget what you wanted to discuss with him for the session, a surge of warmth shooting through your body. The only sounds you could hear right now are the branches outside hitting the window from the wind and the ticking of the clock on the wall. The room was quiet, filled with an awkward, yet comfortable tension that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

“I’m glad to hear that,” You tell him. “It means a lot that you feel that way.” 

Relief and apprehension hugs around Jun, as if unsure whether he should say anything more or go back to tutoring. But he thinks he’s already said enough𑁋at this point his tired brain nearly made him confess his feelings, and that would be utterly stupid of him. 

“But you should really learn how to rest,” he suddenly says firmly.

You laugh that off way too easily. “You know that I can’t𑁋”

“I know, but… come on, just rest for a little bit,” Jun insists. “At least for a few minutes.”

“You’re seriously telling me to rest while I’m here to tutor you?” You lift a brow, almost teasingly.

The way he only nods and gazes at you with pleading eyes almost resembling a cat stretching out for attention makes it almost impossible to resist. And you would hate to admit that yeah, maybe you do push yourself way too much, that all the strenuous effort you put into studying is now starting to take a noticeable toll on you. At the moment, rest does sound really nice.

“My friends and I are planning a hangout this weekend at my place, if you’d like to join us. You… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, or if you’re not into that kind of stuff,” Jun informs you sheepishly. “It’s not a lot of us too, but if you ever want to just… unwind, you know, you could stop by. We aren’t doing anything too wild, just a chill get-together. They’re all cool, I swear.”

You consider his offer. Again, you were never much of a party person nor ever gave a crap about that sort of stuff, but the thought of taking a break from your routine is a bit... enticing, to say the least.

“I’ll think about it. Thank you,” You say with a grateful smile, finally giving in. “Give me a few minutes to tidy up?”

Jun watches for a few moments as you quickly organise through your notes and gather up the loose papers that have accumulated on the table, standing up and heading to the front of the lecture hall to put away the rest of the materials that you won’t need for the session. 

As he waits for you to finish, Jun sets aside his own stuff, folds his arms and places them on the table, slowly guiding his head to rest on top. He closes his eyes, taking advantage of the opportunity to rest as much as his body craves.

By the time you get back, you catch a glimpse of Jun’s relaxed form in his seat, and your heart does a little flip in your chest. The corners of your lips tug up unknowingly into a soft smile as you settle into the seat cautiously next to him, feeling a wave of exhaustion hitting you all at once.

It’s rare that you let yourself go these days, but with Jun here, it seems easier to let your guard down, even for just a few minutes. 

Without much thought you let your head rest gently on your own arms, finding yourself staring at the front lecture hall, before ultimately, moving your head so that you were facing Jun. You’ve never seen him this close before, drawn into his features for a moment or two𑁋over his closed eyes and the small moles that pepper his cheek and one particular spot above his lips, which were curled up slightly. Contentment warms you like a blanket as you let your eyes drift to a close.

Unbeknownst to you, Jun slowly peeks his eyes open, being met with the sight of you resting so peacefully and comfortably beside him. A sense of calm takes over the vast lecture hall as he simply watches you, even feeling brave enough to lightly brush a strand of hair away from your face with his finger, before quickly pulling back when he catches your nose scrunching a little in your sleep. His heart swells even more.

He decides on settling back into his own arms, taking one last glance at you before drifting back into light sleep. 

“You’re way too smiley to be going to a tutoring session,” Chan points out as he catches Jun about to leave. “Isn’t it like your third time alone this week? Last week you went twice…”

Jun snorts annoyedly at that. “Yeah, and?”

“We’re just saying you’re way too happy to be going to tutoring, man,” Soonyoung continues on, an edge of suspicion to his words. “Did you find out the meaning of life? Figure out why our bodies cause us to shit and piss or why the earth goes around the sun?”

“I’d be happy to answer that question if you’re curious,” Jun states wryly. 

Soonyoung scrunches his face and shakes his head. “Please don’t.” 

His roommate only observes as Jun stuffs his feet into his Converse, which looked to be at the end of its life. Minghao comes out moments later, toothbrush in his mouth with bits of foam to the corners of his lips. Along with Soonyoung and Chan, the three of them watch as Jun finishes lacing up his shoes, his good mood unwavering.

“I think I have an answer to that question,” Minghao says, voice somewhat muffled.

Soonyoung faces the younger boy. “The piss or the earth one?”

“He has a crush,” Minghao states flatly, a subtle smirk creeping onto his face despite the toothbrush still dangling from his lips.

“A crush?” Soonyoung’s eyes widen as he exchanges a glance with Chan, the two of them looking like they were about to combust any second. “A crush on that scary TA?”

“They’re not scary!” Jun protests, face reddening hearing his own loud voice, secretly hoping to make some sort of quick escape before his friends could pry any further into his dry love life, but he knows he won’t be able to get them off his ass. “So what if I have a crush on them?”

Soonyoung’s jaw drops to the floor at that, before bursting into laughter. “‘So what’? You’re totally into them!” He starts bouncing on his toes, a grin stretching across his face. “You’re in loooove with the scary TA! This is gold.”

Jun could seriously strangle all of his roommates right now. He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the door, regretting opening his mouth. Was he seriously that obvious? “You guys are blowing this way out of proportion.” 

“Bro, you’re blushing so hard right now,” Chan chimes in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Minghao chuckles, finally pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth. “It’s obvious. You don’t study like that for just anyone.”

Jun’s face turns an even deeper shade of red. “I𑁋okay, fine! Maybe I like them a little bit, but it’s not a big deal! I’m just trying to do well in class. Now, can I leave?” 

It takes one last torturous minute of teasing before Jun shoots his roommates with annoyed looks and heads out of the apartment.

Normally at nine o’clock, you would most likely be in the campus library studying until your eyes go dry, or in your own place with textbooks sprawled over your bed. But this time, you find yourself right in front of the address Jun sent you𑁋his address, specifically.

You’d spent the past few days thinking about his invitation, and despite some initial hesitation, you may be looking forward to this little break from your routine. Because according to Jun from a text he sent you the night before along with the address: it’s what you deserve.

Your heart still does a little jump when you think about it still.

[09:08 | y/n] Hey Jun! I’m here by the way

Your phone vibrates right away.

[09:09 | just jun] WHAT omg

[09:09 | just jun] sorry i’m coming out right now!!!

There’s a figure that emerges from a door, waving to you from above. You give out a small wave as you start to make yourself comfortable on the front steps of the building. Jun hurries down the stairs, looking both relieved and a bit flustered as he reaches you.

“Hey, I…” His eyes roam over you from head-to-toe. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.” 

You offer a tentative smile. “Well, I figured, you know? Thought it would be nice to stop by for a little bit. Plus you live closer than I thought.”

Jun’s face brightens, the relief in his own grin oozing its way into your heart, and he gestures for you to follow him back to his place.

Just as he promised, the gathering was quite small. Jun introduces you to his roommates𑁋Minghao, Soonyoung, and Chan are their names (Soonyoung and Chan look oddly more excited to see you, for some reason)𑁋and two others in his year. You recognise Wonwoo, who is a TA from the English department, and the other is Jihoon, whose name had been tossed around quite frequently during your time in university.

Overall, the vibes have been quite laid-back, and the apartment has been warm and inviting so far.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jun asks as he leads you towards the kitchen, where some food and snacks were sprawled across the counter. “There’s water, soda, and um… some alcohol too.”

Your eyes roam over the assortment on the counter, gaze lingering on the bottles of alcohol. For some reason the idea of relaxing and letting loose feels particularly appealing tonight, and you can hardly remember the last time you had a proper drink of… anything. 

“I’ll take some alcohol,” You answer, suddenly feeling a bit adventurous; it even surprises Jun. 

Jun pulls one of the bottles and pours you a generous amount before handing it to you, the tips of his fingers brushing against yours as you find yourself settling down in a seat near Wonwoo and Jihoon. 

Soonyoung and Chan come into view a few minutes later, and they’re still looking at you as if you’ve come in with a second head.

“You’re not scary,” Chan claims randomly, scanning you up and down with his eyes closely.

You lift a brow and look behind you, thinking he was talking to someone, before turning back to him. 

“Me?” You point to yourself. “Scary?” 

Soonyoung takes a sip of his own drink before saying, “Yeah, dude, I mean… There used to be a lot of rumours spread about you being like, mean and stuff, you know? I’m talking about people saying you were super strict, always serious, and that if anyone messed up in class, you’d roast them alive.”

You almost want to laugh at that. Sure, you’ve heard plenty of those rumours before and never really let it get to you, or had the time to straight up dismiss them, but you didn’t think people were still clinging onto those thoughts nowadays. 

“Did you expect me to show up with devil horns and a pitchfork?" You joke, finally allowing yourself to laugh, shaking your cup in amusement. “Wow, I didn’t realise I was so terrifying. Maybe I should start living up to it now.”

Soonyoung lets out a hearty laugh, almost choking on his drink. “Please, no! We’re all just barely surviving as it is.”

“Nah, you’re good as you are. If anything I’m glad to see that the stuff people have said aren’t true,” Chan adds in.

An exaggerated gasp leaves Soonyoung. “Oh my, God, wait! Does this mean we’re friends now?” His excitement is so over-the-top that you can’t help but laugh too. 

“I don’t know. Maybe,” You tease with a faint smirk, shrugging. “If you behave.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Soonyoung declares, grinning ear to ear as Chan gives him an enthusiastic high five. His face is already turning the slightest bit of red from the alcohol. “Jun, you’re in good hands!”

In the kitchen, you catch Jun gazing over his shoulder and towards his friends. And when his eyes land on you, he shoots you a brief smile before quickly taking his eyes away, but the tips of his ears being red doesn’t go unnoticed when he turns away.

As the night continues, you find yourself letting loose, more than you’ve ever done recently. You find yourself easily getting along with the lively atmosphere of Jun and all of his friends. You don’t really know how many drinks you’ve taken at this point in time, how many refills you’ve been offered, but the buzz you feel is pleasant and warm, your inhibitions slowly but surely melting away. Laughter tumbles out of you as if it was the most natural thing in the world, almost to the point you feel your chest physically ache.

Occasionally, from the side, Jun quietly watches you. He can feel his own mood lifting with every smile that finds its way on your face. It’s almost as if he’s looking at a completely different person𑁋someone entirely the opposite from the studious TA he’s been used to this entire time.

But the second he sees you stumble slightly when you come out from a bathroom break, a pang of worry hits him.

“You okay?” he asks you when you nearly run into him, making him circle his arms around you out of habit in case you might fall. However, you’re somehow so close to him that he can feel the warmth of you through his clothes. Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re grinning lazily up at him, the effects of the alcohol clearly taking their toll.

“Oh, doing lovely, um…” You assure him, voice wobbly as you clear your throat. “The alcohol was awesome. I haven’t… I haven’t drank like this in such a long time. It feels sooooo nice.” 

You nearly stumble into him again as you attempt to move past him, and he’s quick as the Flash to grab you by the shoulders, his hands squeezing tightly around your forearm. 

“I think you should sit down, Y/N.” 

“Bu-But I don’t want to!” 

A playful pout spreads across your face as he carefully leads you back to the quiet kitchen, away from whatever version of charades the others have put on in the middle of the living room.

“You’ve drank too much,” Jun points out worriedly. “Do you want me to take you home? I can walk𑁋”

“What are you? My… my boss or something? I’m supposed to be the one in control here! I’m… I’m the one making the decisions, not you!” You protest, a weak, half-hearted attempt at establishing your authority as you knead the fabric of his shirt into your fists. 

Did you have to be so cute when you’re drunk? Though Jun is fast to shake those thoughts away and focus more on making sure you’re okay, having to bite the bottom of his lip to conceal an incoming, endearing grin at your silly antics. 

“Come on, let me get you some water and then I’ll take you home, okay?” Jun offers, and you give him a tight-lipped smile. 

“But I am home,” You slur lowly, circling a finger in front of his face, close enough you may jab him in the eye. “I’m home here… with you…”

Jun seriously doesn’t know how he would be able to dismiss those words that left your mouth, even in your inebriated state. It doesn’t help that you’re also looking up at him with half-lidded eyes and a dreamy smile, like the world is spinning and yet he’s the only one keeping you steady. 

“Let’s go. I’m taking you home,” Jun says as he snatches up a bottle of water and slowly coaxes you towards the door, not before announcing to his friends as well, who all seem too drunk to even care anyway.

The second the cool air meets your skin and the cold water flows down your throat, you seem a little more lucid, but not entirely. You still clung an arm around Jun’s own arm, which was hanging loosely and awkwardly to the side, your steps a bit uneven as you walk down the street together.

Jun holds his breath every time your body knocks into his side, afraid you might lose balance, but you somehow manage to stay upright𑁋barely. The warmth of your arm wrapped around his doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey, Y/N𑁋”

“Shhhhh,” You suddenly hiss, making Jun shut his mouth. “You’re too loud.”

Jun hangs his head down in slight guilt. “Sorry.”

“Hmm, isokay,” You mutter, tightening a grip on his and nearly causing Jun himself to stumble. “You know, you’re always so… nice. It’s kinda weird.” 

Jun tilts his head, somewhat confused by your drunken logic. He glances at you, catching the way your cheeks are shaded with a rosy hue and the warmness to your hazy eyes. 

“Weird?” he repeats curiously.

“Yeah…” You draw out the word clumsily, shifting your eyes towards him, gaze lingering on him a little longer than usual. “It’s like you’re not real sometimes.”

“You’re holding onto me.” Jun shakes his arm, and you still carry a tight grip on his arm, fingers digging lightly into the material of his sleeve. “I think I’m very real.”

“I know,” You mumble, scrunching your nose endearingly, as if you still don't believe him. “But you barely know me.” 

There’s a few moments of contemplation that passes by between the two of you. Your steps have somehow managed to sync with each other, the streetlights above casting down a soft glow on the pavement below, and the quiet night feels oddly… intimate. 

“Maybe.” Jun shrugs, voice low and soft. “But I like what I know so far.” 

Now it’s your turn to grow silent, a wave of realisation cutting through your inebriated thoughts. Your grip goes from loose to tight on Jun’s arm, your chest and heart feeling heavier than it did moments ago, and it certainly was not because of the alcohol.

Your mind is practically aching with all these thoughts, aching with the urge to do something about it, and the way Jun’s side profile is illuminated under the streetlight doesn’t help the situation at all.

“It’s funny, because I… I would see you come into class. And…” You let out a giggle. “I don’t know. My first thought was always that you were cute. Hmm, maybe dreamy too? Yeah, dreamy… That’s a silly word.” 

Before Jun can say anything to that, the words seem to tumble out of you. 

“...I’d see you fall asleep in the back of the class, or come late to lecture, and I’d think you were cute seeing you so panicked… And when you asked me to tutor you, I was so happy. It’s just𑁋I-I don’t know.” A brief pause, before you continue, “Is this what liking someone is?” 

Jun doesn’t notice how much his steps have faltered, his voice and own words getting caught somewhere between his throat and his heart. There’s a mix of panic, disbelief, and excitement flowing through him, almost too much he can’t quite process going from emotion to the other. However, how the hell does he respond when the person he’s been developing feelings for says something like that so openly?

“Shit, I’ve… I’ve made this weird, haven’t I?” You give yourself a light facepalm, before carding a hand through your hair. A yawn starts to leave you. “I’m just all over the place right now, I’m sorry…”

Jun wants to say something, needs to say something, but he stumbles over his words. “I… Y/N, I𑁋”

Before he can finish his sentence, you trip slightly, and he instinctively pulls you closer, catching you with both hands. A wholehearted round of laughter tumbles out of you, resting your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, and for a split second, everything feels still. His heart races faster than ever.

He lets you take the lead on the way back to your apartment complex, feeling as if he had been walking on eggshells the entire time. The buzz of the alcohol running its laps through you has seemed to soften, and if anything, you’re more than ready to sink into your bed for the night. Although there’s comfortable quietness in the air now, Jun can’t stop replaying all the words you’ve said to him tonight alone.

Before he can fully process everything, you come to an abrupt stop just outside your building, turning to look at him.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes roaming over his face as if you’re trying to commit everything to memory. Then, without thinking, you step up to him and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, fleeting, the gesture so unexpected it sends a rush of heat flooding up his neck and straight to the tips of his ears. He’s practically on fire, at this point. 

When you pull back, there’s a bashful smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Jun.”

You don’t think you can ever look at Jun in the eyes without wanting to sink into the ground, because each time he comes into view, it reminds you of the absolute idiot you put on show for him last weekend. It’s harder to pay attention when your hands seem to touch every given opportunity. You just have to make it through one last tutoring session before the big dissections later that week.

“So, um, we’ll use the forceps to clamp and separate through the tissues,” Jun explains, pointing towards the dissection guide displayed on the table, still feeling a tad bit queasy at the thought of it, even if the dissection pan was empty. “Then the scalpel will be used to cut on the incision lines we marked.”

“That’s right. You got it,” You say with a small smile, briefly casting a glance towards him, watching the way he adjusts the goggles on his face. 

The two of you decided on running through the dissection for practice, focusing instead on the procedural steps and techniques. It’s been smooth-sailing so far𑁋Jun looks more confident and comfortable as he walks through each step𑁋and you’re positive that the actual lab will go well.

On the other hand, you both can’t deny the awkwardness thickening through the room, drifting within the crevices of even the most subtle interactions. 

“Alright, so once we’ve done that, we’ll… uh, we’ll…” Jun’s voice trails off as he fumbles slightly with the scalpel, trying to decide between placing it on the tray or handing it to you, his gloved fingers brushing against yours again as you grab it from him.

“Sorry,” You both blurt out at the same time, voices mixing into one.

As you both share an embarrassed laugh, a few moments of silence follows. It seems to dissipate the tension in the air. Some of it, at least.

Jun clears his throat. “Y/N, I𑁋”

“It’s fine,” You assure calmly. “Let’s just keep going.” 

“I… Okay.” His shoulders slump in a pit of defeat as he fixes his attention back down towards the task at hand. “Can you, uh… pass me the probe?”

You nod and hand it over to him, trying to attentively listen as he explains the function of the tool and how it would be used for the lab, adding any feedback along the way. You’re surprised at how easily you fall back into a comfortable rhythm, as if the moments from earlier had ceased to exist, as if that night and your stupidity didn’t happen, but only you both know about the unacknowledged elephant in the room.

The rest of the practice goes by without any more mishaps. The next thing you know, you’re pulling off your gloves and taking off your safety goggles as Jun sets the dissection tray away. By the time he returns, he’s surprised to see you already grabbing your belongings like you’re ready to leave.

Jun swallows down the nervous lump lodged in his throat. “Y/N, wait.”

You pause in the middle of stuffing some notebooks inside your backpack, already feeling the apprehension snaking up your spine as you face him.

“Can… Can we talk?” Jun asks hesitantly.

A sigh leaves you. “Look, that was really dumb of me, I get it. I shouldn’t have… kissed you on the cheek like that and said all those weird things. It was impulsive and I was drunk. I’m sorry, I should’ve known my limits, or maybe just have not come at all𑁋”

“I was really happy that you came,” Jun interrupts, a voice almost too loud in the quiet, empty lab room. He rubs his gloved hands together nervously. “And, um, the kiss... I liked it. It was, well… kind of nice.”

You really can’t tell if his words are making you feel any better or worse, if the hesitation on his side makes you want to sink more into the ground or feel a bit of hope. Regardless, it’s hard to ignore the warmth growing in your face as your fingers tighten around the strap of your backpack. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you too, and I wanted to finally tell you that before you left my place. But then things got a little messy and it was a bit overwhelming, so I wanted to take you home because you looked like you were about to𑁋”

“Jun, just…” You chime in ruefully, clearly not wanting to relive your stupidity. “Go back a little. You like me too?”

Jun takes in a deep, slow breath.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I said that.” 

The laughs that leave you two sound more freeing in a way, more effortless, like the thick, heavy fog that settled around the room has been lifted, and for the first time in days, everything is more clearer. 

The carefree grin that Jun catches to your features nearly forces him to step up towards you, but he holds back. Instead, he thinks the sight of you looking so naturally happy is something he could cherish for a very, very long time.

“So, uh…” he starts, shooting a sheepish glance down at his shoes before meeting your gaze once more. “We’re okay?”

You only nod.

“We’re okay,” You confirm softly. “Maybe more than that.” 

As you finish getting ready to leave, you turn back to Jun, who nearly drops the dissection pan in his hands. 

“I have a meeting to go to right now,” You tell him. “But afterwards, I could… text you?” 

His face brightens expectantly, attempting to keep the excitement coursing through him at bay.  “Yeah, yeah, of course. Um… have a good meeting.” 

He’s cute. And silly. And weird. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Before you finally leave the lab room, you take a leap of faith and turn back around, heading straight towards Jun. He’s in the middle of taking off his goggles when you find yourself standing back in front of him, and a mischievous grin etches across your face. Jun takes a few steps back, his ass nearly stumbling into the table behind him.

“One more thing.” You reach up and to gently tug the goggles off his face, and the contact of your fingers to his hair has Jun bracing himself for doomsday. Your breath fans against his skin for a moment, and when you pull away, you’re holding up the goggles towards him. “You were wearing these upside down the entire time.”

Jun chokes on air, and you let out a giggle.

Shit.

Jun cannot focus right now.

The goggles feel uncomfortable on his face, the gloves make his skin feel clammy, the uncomfortable, pungent smell of formaldehyde fills the lab room and his nostrils. Not to mention that there’s a goddamn sheep brain sitting on the metal pan in front of him. 

Perhaps he can call it quits now𑁋take the zero for the lab and run for the hills, drop out of university, become a nomad in the countryside and never have to touch any sort of assignment again. In his mind right before the dissection starts, it really doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all…

“Jun?”

He snaps his eyes back at you. You’re wearing your own pair of gloves and goggles, positioning the dissection tools on the table, eyebrows raised in worry. 

“Are you good? We’re about to start,” You tell him. “You look a little pale.”

He blinks a few times, trying to compose and mentally ready himself, acting like he hasn’t just spent the last few minutes imagining an escape plan abandoning all forms of education. “Yeah, I… I’m good.”

“You good to start?” You ask, and the concern he senses in your voice makes his heart soften. “Or do you want me to take over first?’ 

There’s that offer again, the one he knows he should probably accept for the sake of his sanity, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t want to back out now. Not when he’s finally managed to clear the air between the two of you, when things are more comfortable than they’ve been in weeks. 

Jun exhales, shaking the tenseness out of his body. This is it. Glancing around the room, he notices that other students have already started their dissections with ease. He looks down at the sheep brain again, feeling that queasiness rising, but just your presence right next to him seems to settle down his nerves way more than it should.

He steels himself, trying to cling to that feeling instead of the growing discomfort in his stomach. He can do this. It’s just a brain. A sheep brain, he reminds himself, as if that makes it any better.

Letting out one last breath for good measure, he reaches for the scalpel. 

“I’m good,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Let’s do this.” 

His hand quivers as he leans in towards the sheep brain, its colour slightly pinkish and grey. His nose crinkles the closer he gets to it, and the second he lightly grazes the scalpel along the surface of the brain, he can’t help but wince. At his side, he feels your shoulder make contact with his, and helps ground him a little more. 

Narrowing his eyes, he focuses on making a precise incision straight down the middle of the brain𑁋the medial longitudinal fissure, he recalls𑁋his hand trembling slightly as he draws the scalpel down. The smell of formaldehyde grows stronger as he slices through the tissue, and the somewhat gelatinous texture that the brain has is incredibly off-putting. 

When he finally finishes, you help part the brain in half, and Jun’s eyes widen in awe at how visible the structures are. 

“You did pretty well.” You send an encouraging smile Jun’s way, taking the probe in your hand and motioning towards the exposed structures. “See? Look at that. You can see all the parts clearly.”

Jun takes a leap of faith and points to a particular part. “That’s… the thalamus there, right? And the hypothalamus is right below it.” 

You nod proudly. “You got it. And this section right here?”

“The… pons? And then, uh… Oh! The medulla oblongata. Then the spinal cord starts beneath it.”

“Yep. Here?”

“The cerebellum!” 

Your own heart seems to swell with every step up his confidence goes, whatever discomfort he was initially feeling begins to be melted away under the warmth of your praise. You bring your eyes up from the brain, letting it roam over his side profile, taking in the way the goggles make his hair stick out in odd angles, the curve of his jaw as he tilts his head slightly, brows furrowed in concentration.

As Jun pinpoints another structure on the brain, he faces toward you for confirmation, only to be met with your eyes already on him. He opens his mouth to say something, before slowly shutting it, and for a split second, he forgets about the question he was about to ask, the lab, everything else.

“Did I get it right?” Jun questions, feeling the confidence flowing through him falter under your thoughtful expression. “This is the sulcus? And the gyrus…”

You lower your attention back down to the sheep brain, realising he was pointing to a spot with the probe. 

“Hm, just…” You start, leaning in a bit closer to examine where he’s pointing to. With a sly smirk, you reach over to grasp his wrist lightly, slowly guiding his hand more accurately with the probe. Your warmth slips teasingly under his skin. “The sulcus is the little groove right here, and the gyrus is the ridge surrounding it. See it?”

Jun swears you’re doing this on purpose, and whatever it is, it’s working.

“Got it,” he mumbles, hoping you won’t be able to see the flush to his cheeks under the goggles. His eyes flicker between the brain and your face, noting the playful glint in your pupils that certainly isn’t from the fluorescent lighting of the lab room. “I see it now. Thanks.”

You let go of his wrist, still wearing that mischievous look at your lips, though it fades into something more genuine now. “You’re doing good, you know.”

Relief hits him from your words. He does feel way more comfortable, the entire lab becoming less daunting all because you were simply right here next to him. His mind momentarily flashes back to all what you’ve done for him𑁋from the tutoring, to the way you’ve been nothing but supportive and patient with him, before it all circles back to the mutual fondness blooming its way within the crevices of your hearts together.

He likes you, and you like him back. Jun still has no idea how this came to be, because he used to think he had no such chance with you. Yet now, he has the freedom to think about where he wants to take you on your first date.

The rest of the dissection goes by with ease. Slowly but surely, other students begin to clean up their workspace and submit their lab reports to Professor Lee, their tasks winding down as the lab session comes to a close. The lab starts to empty out as the minutes tick by, and it isn’t long until there’s just a few more students left𑁋you and Jun included.

“Here, I’ll finish up here,” You tell him, taking the brain into your hands without hesitation and placing it into a sealed bag for disposal later on. Then you take the dissection tools into your hands and walk off towards the sink to wash them, leaving Jun hanging in a bit of a daze. 

“I… What can I do then?” he asks, wanting to contribute still.

You turn back to him, humming in contemplation. 

“Let’s see… Disinfect the table, take off your gloves and goggles, and then…” Your lips quirk up again. “Just stand there and look cute. I’ll handle the rest.” 

The tips of his ears flush with heat as you casually sidle away from him and towards the sink. Jun shakes away the flutters in his stomach, though the corners of his lips tugs upwards as he works on cleaning up the table. 

Jun is already waiting by the door with his backpack on his shoulders as you finish up some tasks with Professor Lee. Once you get the signal that you’re free to leave, Jun feels the excitement pool down to his feet, a sense of accomplishment knowing that he was able to get through the one lab he dreaded most, and finished the class with a passing grade.

As you both exit the building, Jun pauses in his place, watching you continue to walk a bit without him.

“I owe you a date, you know,” he calls out to you with determination, though a pinch of nervousness still lingers.

You turn back to him curiously, and the way the sun catches on your face makes you appear more radiant above anything else. “A date, you say?” 

“Yeah, I…” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Before all of this, I told you I would owe you something for helping me, and well…” He lets his shoulder relax. “I want to take you on a date.” 

Jun watches the way a bunch of emotions seem to morph among your face. Even with knowing how you feel for him, he still braces himself for a different kind of response. 

Biting at the bottom of your lip, you step back up to him, and before he could fully process what’s happening, you answer him with a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek. Right at the corner of his lips, to be specific. Then you reach down and grip his wrist, tugging him gently towards you.

“You’re on,” You challenge, a playful sparkle to your eyes. “Let’s get going.”

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @maesvtr0 @gigification

@ahuiahoe