#edit: i have been exhausted these past few days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yooniivrse · 7 days ago

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sunlit shores | myg

summary. in which you convince yoongi to take a (very much needed) break to spend time with you by the beach for a few days

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au, fluff, slightly suggestive :>

word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: oc and yoongi go on a little vacation / yoongi's a tease / weird man hits on oc / they celebrate yoongi’s birthday / allusions to sex / they're just cute and i love them sm

notes: this was supposed to be completely different, but i miss summer and saw an edit on tt so i just has to write this. it’s actually the longest drabble i’ve written :33 asks, comments, liked, reblogs and feedback is always sooo appreciated <3 enjoy reading!!

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The hum of the engine vibrates through the car, the tires rolling steadily against the pavement. The road ahead stretches out like an endless ribbon, disappearing into the horizon where the sky meets the land. It’s late afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow across the landscape, and you can feel the warmth of the light pouring in through the windows.

You glance over at Yoongi, his fingers casually tapping the steering wheel in time with the music playing softly through the car speakers. His face is relaxed, eyes fixed on the road, but there’s an easy sort of smile on his lips. You’ve been on the road for a few hours now, and the miles seem to slip by effortlessly in the quiet comfort of his presence.

But this wasn’t just a vacation for you—it was something you begged him to take. The past few months had been draining for him, the studio consumed by deadlines, the constant pressure of work eating away at him, and you could see it in the way his shoulders had slumped, the exhaustion in his eyes. So, one night, you’d cornered him after he came home late from another long studio session.

"You need this," you’d told him, your voice firm but gentle. "I know you love working, but you can’t keep burning yourself out. We’re going on a vacation. No work, no emails, no studio. Just us."

Yoongi had been reluctant at first, his natural resistance to anything that pulled him away from his music. He’d argued that he couldn’t afford the time off, that there was always something more to do. But you weren’t having any of it. After weeks of subtly nudging, persuading, and finally all but dragging him away from his work, he had finally relented. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but you could tell he needed it—needed to breathe, to recharge, to remember there was more to life than deadlines and endless tracks.

Now, as you sat beside him in the car, you couldn’t help but smile. The slow, contented sigh he had let out earlier when you mentioned stopping at a beachside seafood restaurant was proof enough that, despite his initial resistance, he was starting to enjoy himself.

"Are you sure we’re heading the right way?" you ask, half-joking, as you stretch in your seat, trying to get comfortable.

Yoongi glances at you, the corner of his lips lifting just slightly. His eyes flicker to the GPS on the dashboard before he glances back at the road. "It’s a road trip," he says, his tone low and a little teasing. "The whole point is to get lost."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spreads as you watch him. Yoongi doesn’t exactly love spontaneity, but when it’s the two of you, everything feels easier, more relaxed. His usual sharp edges soften when it’s just the two of you alone on the road, no one else around, no expectations to meet. Just you and him, and the open road.

"I thought we were supposed to be at the beach by sunset," you say, resting your head against the seat, staring out the window at the rolling hills and scattered trees. "The sun’s already dipping."

"We’ll make it," he replies, a smirk playing on his lips. "Besides, the best part of the trip is the drive anyway. We’ll get there when we get there."

You sigh, smiling softly. He’s right, of course. It’s not about rushing to the destination, but enjoying the journey. You love these moments with him, the ones where time seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, sharing small, simple things. The sound of his voice, the low hum of the car, the quiet sway of the world around you.

You pull your camera from the bag at your feet, the one that’s become almost like a second appendage over the years. You’ve been snapping photos of the road, of the scenery, and of small details as you go. The reflection of the trees in the side mirror. The wind brushing past the rear view. You snap a shot of Yoongi, his profile sharp against the fading sunlight, the warmth of the moment captured forever in the frame.

He notices the click of the camera and turns slightly, his eyes catching yours with a glint of amusement. “Are you planning to take pictures of every mile we drive?”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree. “You make good road trip scenery,” you tease, and his lips curl into that familiar, lazy grin that makes your heart skip.

"Is that so?" he muses, a playful edge creeping into his voice. “Well, don’t forget to capture my good side.”

“I don’t think it matters,” you reply, flipping the camera around to show him the photo you just took. "You look good from every angle."

He glances at the screen, then back at the road. His smile is barely visible but undeniably there. "Shut up," he mutters, but the slight blush on his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

You grin and settle back in your seat, the sun casting long shadows in the car now. The road continues to wind on, the scenery shifting as you pass small towns and open fields, but all you can focus on is the steady rhythm of the drive and the quiet, contented peace that fills the space between you.

The radio station switches to a new song, a soft ballad filling the air, and you can feel Yoongi’s hand slowly inch toward the dashboard to adjust the volume.

"Are we there yet?" you ask again, though it’s more for the comfort of hearing his voice.

"Almost," Yoongi says with a gentle chuckle. "We’ll stop for dinner first. Anything in particular you’re craving?"

"Something with seafood," you reply, turning slightly in your seat to face him. “Maybe something with a view. Somewhere we can see the ocean.”

You settle back into your seat, the breeze coming in through the open window carrying the faint scent of saltwater. You can't help the content smile that spreads across your face.

“Seafood by the beach sounds perfect,” he says.

────

By the time you finally make it to the resort, the sun has almost disappeared below the horizon. You barely caught the last streaks of orange melting into the waves as you checked in, and now, after the long drive and an even longer meal, exhaustion is settling deep in your bones.

The dinner had been worth it, though. Fresh seafood, rich flavours, a cold drink in your hand, and the ocean just outside the restaurant’s windows. Even Yoongi, who had initially grumbled about how full he was getting, had scraped his bowl clean before leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

Now, the two of you stumble into the hotel room, the dim lighting casting a warm glow over the space. The sliding doors to the balcony are cracked open, letting in the cool night air and the distant rush of waves. The room itself is simple but nice—soft white sheets, a king-sized bed, and just enough space to stretch out after hours spent in the car.

The second your shoes are off, you collapse onto the bed with a groan. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this full and this tired at the same time.”

Yoongi chuckles somewhere behind you, the sound low and tired. “Told you we should’ve stopped eating before the extra side dishes.”

“You’re the one who ordered them,” you remind him, eyes still shut.

There’s the faint rustle of fabric, and when you peek one eye open, you catch him pulling his sweater over his head, tossing it onto a chair before sitting on the edge of the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, his t-shirt rising to reveal a sliver of skin before he sighs and flops onto his back beside you.

“We should shower,” he mutters.

“Mm.” You don’t move. Neither does he.

A few beats of silence pass, the distant sound of the ocean filling the space between you. The exhaustion is pressing in, making your limbs heavy, but there’s something about the quiet that makes you hyper-aware of everything—the slow rise and fall of Yoongi’s breathing, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the salt from the ocean air, the way his arm is just close enough that if either of you shifted, you’d be touching.

You turn your head slightly, looking over at him. His eyes are closed, his features relaxed in a way they rarely are. Without the tension of work, the exhaustion of deadlines, he looks softer, more at ease. It suits him.

“You awake?” you murmur.

“Barely,” he mutters. Then, after a pause, “Are you about to say something that’ll make me regret staying up?”

You smirk. “Just wondering if you’re planning to sleep in jeans.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh but doesn’t move. “Too tired.”

You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your arm. “You’re really just gonna lie there?”

He finally cracks one eye open, glancing at you with something unreadable in his expression. Then, in one slow movement, he shifts, lifting an arm to rest behind his head, his gaze still on you. “Why? You got other plans?”

It’s casual—his voice, his posture—but there’s something in the way he says it, something teasing yet unreadable, that makes warmth creep up your spine.

You scoff, nudging his leg with your foot. “You wish.”

His lips curve slightly, and he exhales, letting his eyes slip shut again. “Just don’t steal the whole bed.”

You grin, settling back onto your pillow. “No promises.”

A comfortable silence stretches between you, the hum of the waves filling the space. The exhaustion is winning, but your mind is still half-awake, lingering on the fact that this is the first real break Yoongi’s had in months. It feels like a luxury—to be here, away from the weight of responsibilities, with nothing ahead of you but ocean air and slow mornings.

“You wanna wake up early tomorrow?” you ask after a moment.

Yoongi groans. “Why would I ever want to do that?”

You roll your eyes. “Because we’re at the beach. You don’t wanna see the sunrise?”

He cracks an eye open again, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “We barely made it to sunset. What makes you think I’m dragging myself out of bed before dawn?”

You snort, turning onto your back. “Fine. What about a late breakfast, then? Maybe a walk by the water?”

Yoongi hums, considering. “That, I can do. As long as there’s coffee involved.”

“There will be.” You stretch, letting out a deep sigh. “And maybe we can rent some bikes? Ride along the coast?”

Yoongi groans again, but there’s no real protest behind it. “We’ll see.”

You glance over at him, catching the way he’s already half-asleep, his breaths deeper now, his body sinking into the mattress. You don’t push it—he’s here, he’s resting, and that’s enough.

“You better not complain tomorrow,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

There’s no response, just the sound of the waves rolling in. But just as you’re drifting off, you feel the faintest movement beside you—Yoongi shifting slightly closer, the warmth of him barely brushing against your side.

────

The sand is warm beneath you, fine grains sticking to your skin as the waves roll lazily onto the shore. The morning sun hangs high in the sky, the gentle breeze off the ocean keeping the heat from becoming unbearable. The rhythmic crash of the waves, distant laughter from fellow beachgoers, and the occasional squawk of seagulls fill the air, but none of it is loud enough to drown out the presence beside you.

Yoongi stretches out on the sand next to you, one arm bent behind his head, sunglasses perched on his nose. He wears a loose t-shirt, his toned arms catching the sunlight, and his dark swim trunks contrast against the golden sand. He looks utterly at peace, limbs loose, expression unreadable behind his glasses—but you know he’s comfortable. You can tell from the way he sighs deeply, like the weight of his usual world has finally started to lift.

You glance at him over the top of your book, watching as he absentmindedly sifts his fingers through the sand, letting it slip between them. He must sense your gaze because he tilts his head slightly in your direction.

“Are you staring at me?” he asks, voice lazy, teasing.

You scoff, lifting the book slightly higher to cover your face. “As if. I was just making sure you weren’t sleeping. You said we’d go in the water soon.”

Yoongi hums in response, the sound deep in his throat. “Mm. You’re the one reading. You’ve barely moved in the last thirty minutes.”

You grin behind the pages. “Maybe because I’m enjoying my book. You should try it sometime.”

“I do read,” he argues, rolling onto his side to face you. His elbow digs into the sand as he props himself up, peering at your book cover. “What’s so interesting that you’d ignore your very handsome, very entertaining vacation partner?”

You roll your eyes. “Handsome? Sure. Entertaining? Debatable.”

Yoongi huffs a short laugh and flicks a bit of sand at your leg, making you gasp dramatically. “Rude,” you mutter, brushing it off.

There’s a beat of silence between you, and when you glance at him, Yoongi is staring at the waves, his expression unreadable. But before you can say anything, he moves, sitting up and reaching for the sunscreen bottle sitting next to your bag.

“You’re going to burn if you stay like that any longer,” he comments, twisting the cap open. “Come here.”

You blink up at him. “I’m fine.”

“Turn around.”

With a dramatic sigh, dog-ear your page and roll onto your stomach, resting your chin on your folded arms. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of sunscreen against your back, quickly followed by the warmth of Yoongi’s hands as he rubs it into your skin.

His fingers work slowly, spreading the lotion across your shoulders, the touch firm but gentle. You try not to shiver at the feeling, the way his thumbs press into the knots in your muscles, moving in slow circles. It’s distracting—so much so that you almost forget to breathe properly.

“You should do this for a living,” you mumble, voice muffled against your arm.

Yoongi chuckles. “Oh yeah? Quit music and become a full-time sunscreen applier?”

You grin. “I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

His hands pause briefly before continuing their slow, methodical movement down your spine. His voice drops slightly, playful yet laced with something deeper. “Well… I do have a habit of getting my hands all over you, don’t I?”

Your breath catches for just a second, but Yoongi’s fingers don’t hesitate as they move lower, working the sunscreen into your lower back with lazy, practiced strokes.

You huff a soft laugh, though your cheeks feel warm. “Are you flirting with me, Min Yoongi?”

He hums again, slow and knowing. “I don’t know. Am I?”

Your lips part slightly, but before you can answer, Yoongi leans down just a little, voice just above your ear. “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

The warmth spreading through you has nothing to do with the sun anymore.

But just as quickly as the moment settles between you, Yoongi pulls away, tapping your side lightly. “Alright, you’re all set.”

You roll back over, sitting up and stretching your arms, but you don’t miss the small smirk playing on his lips. The knowing glint behind his sunglasses tells you he’s very aware of the effect he has on you.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, tossing a bit of sand at him.

Yoongi just grins. “And yet, you love it.”

You don’t deny it. You both know the truth anyway.

The two of you settle into an easy silence, the sounds of the waves filling the air between you. After a few minutes, Yoongi suddenly shifts, reaching into the small cooler you brought with you. He pulls out a bottle of cold water, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. Beads of condensation drip onto his chest, the droplets catching the sunlight as they trail down his skin.

You try not to stare. You fail.

Yoongi catches you looking and smirks before holding the bottle out to you. “Thirsty?”

You snatch the water from him, mostly to distract yourself. “Shut up,” you grumble, taking a sip.

Yoongi chuckles, leaning back on his elbows. “What time is it?”

You check your phone. “Almost two.”

He hums. “Lunch soon, then?”

“Sure. You pick.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You’re really letting me choose?”

“Well,” you say slowly, grinning. “I did already tell you what I want.”

He smirks, tilting his head. “Seafood again, huh?”

You nod eagerly. “Something fresh. Something grilled. Maybe shrimp—ooh, or lobster.”

Yoongi shakes his head in amusement. “Alright, seafood it is. But if we’re doing that, then you’re driving back later. I’m getting a drink.”

“Fine by me,” you say, standing up and brushing off the sand. You reach a hand out to him. “Come on. Let’s go wash off in the water before we leave.”

Yoongi sighs, but it’s not one of protest—it’s that fond, indulgent kind of sigh, the one you’ve learned means he’s willing to follow you anywhere. He takes your hand, letting you pull him up, and with fingers laced together, you both head toward the waves.

────

Lunch turns out to be everything you wanted—grilled shrimp, buttery lobster, and fresh oysters, all paired with chilled drinks that taste like citrus and summer. The restaurant is open-air, shaded under a thatched roof with the ocean just a few steps away. A lazy breeze drifts through, ruffling the linen curtains and carrying the scent of salt and grilled seafood.

Yoongi sits across from you, stirring the ice in his drink with a straw, watching as you peel another shrimp with practiced ease. “You were serious about this seafood thing,” he muses, resting his chin on his palm.

You grin, dipping the shrimp into a small dish of sauce. “I don’t play around when it comes to food.”

“I’ve noticed.” He takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the restaurant. It’s a mix of tourists and locals, couples laughing over shared plates, friends clinking glasses. Somewhere near the bar, a group is taking turns posing for photos in front of the ocean backdrop.

Yoongi checks his phone before glancing toward the entrance. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Don’t get kidnapped while I’m gone.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll try my best.”

He smirks before sliding out of his chair, disappearing into the restaurant. You go back to your plate, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the easy atmosphere—until someone steps into your personal space.

“Hey there.”

You look up to find a man standing beside your table, tanned and confident, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. He’s got the kind of swagger that suggests he’s used to getting what he wants, and unfortunately, his attention seems fixed entirely on you.

“Uh, hi?” You blink, unsure if he’s lost or actually trying to start a conversation.

“I saw you earlier at the beach,” he says, leaning casually against the back of the empty chair Yoongi had just vacated. “Figured I’d say hello.”

You force a polite smile. “Oh. Hi.”

He doesn’t take the hint. “You here on vacation?”

You nod, keeping your answers short in hopes that he’ll get bored and move on. “Yeah.”

His smirk widens. “Same. You know, I’ve been here a few times. I could show you around, take you to some of the lesser-known spots.”

You open your mouth to decline, but before you can, he pulls out his phone. “Here, let me give you my number—”

A shadow falls over the table, and then Yoongi is there, sliding effortlessly back into his seat like he never left. He doesn’t say anything at first, just casually reaches for his drink and takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. The guy straightens, looking slightly caught off guard.

Yoongi sets his glass down and finally speaks, voice even. “Everything good here?”

The man hesitates, glancing between you and Yoongi. “Oh—I didn’t realise you were with someone.”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “Yeah? You do now.” His tone is mild, but there’s something unimpressed about it, like he’s not in the mood for unnecessary conversation.

The guy shifts his weight, trying to play it cool. “No harm in saying hi, right?”

Yoongi doesn’t blink. “Sure. And you’ve done that.”

A beat of silence. The guy forces an awkward chuckle and pockets his phone. “Well, enjoy your vacation.”

You don’t say anything as he turns and walks off, but as soon as he’s out of earshot, Yoongi snorts. “Two minutes. You were alone for two minutes.”

You groan, sinking into your seat. “Don’t even start.”

He smirks, reaching for a shrimp from your plate like it’s his by right. “At least pick a guy with some creativity. ‘I can show you around’—what is this, a budget romance novel?”

You swat his hand away, making him chuckle. “I wasn’t exactly encouraging him.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He leans back in his chair, looking amused. “You get hit on a lot when I’m not around?”

You shrug, reaching for your drink. “I mean, occasionally. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Yoongi hums, watching you over the rim of his glass before taking another sip. He doesn’t say anything else about it, but you catch the way his fingers tap idly against the table—like something about the interaction lingers in his mind.

The tension dissolves as the conversation shifts back to food, and soon enough, the two of you are making plans for the rest of the day.

“Beach again?” you ask, spearing a piece of lobster with your fork.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Let’s go into town. Check out the local markets.”

You perk up at the idea. “Oh, yes. I want souvenirs.”

“I figured.” He smirks. “Try not to buy useless junk.”

“No promises.”

────

By the time you return to the hotel room, the sun is starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow through the windows. The scent of saltwater clings to your skin, a lingering reminder of the day spent exploring the bustling local markets and wandering through narrow, winding streets filled with the scent of grilled meat and fresh fruit.

Yoongi drops onto the armchair by the window with a tired groan, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I don’t even want to know how much money you spent.”

You grin, plopping down on the edge of the bed, where a chaotic display of your shopping haul is spread out—a mix of trinkets, postcards, handmade soaps, and a questionable amount of keychains. “I regret nothing.”

Yoongi eyes the mess. “That is a lot of junk.”

“It’s meaningful junk,” you counter, picking up a small woven bracelet and tossing it at him. He catches it easily, turning it over in his fingers with mild interest before slipping it onto his wrist.

He stretches again before pushing up from his seat. “I need a shower.”

“Go for it,” you say, already distracted by sorting through your souvenirs. As soon as you hear the water running, you move quickly, pulling out the real surprise—a small, delicate necklace with a simple silver pendant. It had caught your eye at one of the quieter stalls, and you knew immediately it was perfect for him. Understated but elegant, something he could wear without it feeling too much.

Carefully, you set it down in the centre of the bed, right next to a small cupcake you had managed to smuggle back from the market. A single candle sticks out of it, waiting to be lit. You know Yoongi isn’t one for big, dramatic celebrations, but something small and thoughtful? That, he would appreciate.

As you finish arranging everything, you step back, taking a moment to appreciate the setup. A soft breeze drifts in from the open balcony door, rustling the curtains. The sound of running water from the bathroom hums in the background, and for a moment, anticipation settles over you like a warm blanket. You imagine his expression, the way his features soften when he’s caught off guard by something sincere. You hope this is one of those moments.

When the bathroom door finally swings open, Yoongi steps out, towel-drying his hair, his loose shirt sticking slightly to his damp skin. He pauses mid-step when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking far too pleased with yourself.

“What now?” he asks, wary.

You gesture to the bed. “Surprise.”

He glances down, taking in the display. His brows lift slightly at the cupcake, then at the necklace resting beside it. “What’s this?”

“A little something for you,” you say casually, as if his reaction doesn’t make your heart do a small flip. “I know you don’t really make a big deal out of birthdays, but... I still wanted to do something.”

Yoongi exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he steps closer. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Of course I have to, I'm literally you're girlfriend. Besides, I wanted to.”

He picks up the necklace first, running his fingers over the pendant. His expression is unreadable, but you recognise the slight softening around his eyes. “This is nice.”

“I thought you’d like it,” you say, trying not to fidget under his gaze.

Yoongi sets the necklace down and reaches for the cupcake next. “You really got this through the entire day without squishing it?”

“It was a challenge,” you admit. “But I was dedicated.”

He chuckles, shaking his head before looking at you again. “Thank you.”

And just like that, the effort is more than worth it. You grab the lighter from the nightstand, flicking it on and leaning in to light the candle. The flame flickers between you as you meet his eyes, smiling.

“Make a wish, birthday boy.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at the nickname but doesn’t argue. Instead, he watches the candle for a moment, a contemplative look crossing his face before he leans in and blows it out.

The small wisp of smoke curls upward, and for a second, the room is silent, filled only with the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the lingering warmth of something unspoken between you.

“What’d you wish for?” you ask playfully.

Yoongi smirks, reaching for the necklace again. “Not telling.”

You pout, but the sight of him fastening the necklace around his neck is enough of a reward. It suits him, resting just above the collar of his shirt, catching the dim light of the room. He tugs at it once, adjusting it before glancing at you.

“Looks good?”

You nod, satisfied. “Looks perfect.”

He hums, brushing a hand through his damp hair before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Alright, what else did you buy? Let’s see the rest of this junk.”

You laugh, shoving a bag toward him. “Prepare to be amazed.”

Yoongi starts sifting through the items, making the occasional unimpressed noise, but you can tell he’s entertained. You lean in closer, nudging his shoulder when he scoffs at yet another keychain.

“You’re judging too hard,” you accuse.

“I’m judging just the right amount,” he counters, lips twitching.

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, Yoongi suddenly tugs at your wrist, pulling you toward him. It’s unceremonious, quick—like he’s just following an impulse without thinking too hard about it. One second you’re sitting up, the next you’re half in his lap, your nose brushing against his.

Your breath catches, but he doesn’t let you linger in uncertainty. His lips press against yours, firm and warm, stealing the last of whatever teasing remark was about to leave your mouth. It’s not slow or dramatic—just easy, natural, like something that should’ve happened ages ago.

When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead nearly resting against yours. His thumb traces absentmindedly along the inside of your wrist, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady.

“Happy now?” he murmurs.

You exhale a small, breathless laugh. “I mean, yeah. But what was that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, casual as ever. “Felt like it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but the corners of his lips quirk up like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, but you don’t move away.

“And yet, you like me anyway,” he muses, leaning back against the pillows.

You shake your head, but there’s no real protest in you. Instead, you reach for the bag of souvenirs again, handing him another ridiculous trinket.

“Shut up and look at your presents.”

────

The morning moves slowly, stretching like honey between the sheets.

Yoongi is still half-asleep, his face buried in the pillow, hair an absolute mess. The soft rise and fall of his breath is steady, undisturbed, and you take a moment to simply watch him—how the sunlight paints his skin in soft golds, how the necklace you gave him glints faintly against his collarbone.

It suits him. The necklace, this moment, the quiet way he exists beside you.

You shift slightly, and Yoongi stirs, letting out a sleepy, disgruntled hum. His hand finds your waist under the covers, fingers splayed lazily against your skin, and he tugs you closer like it’s instinct.

“You’re staring again,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“You’re pretty when you sleep,” you tease.

Yoongi groans, rolling onto his back. “Gross.”

You laugh, nudging him with your foot beneath the sheets. “It’s a compliment.”

“Sounds fake.”

He finally cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy, unimpressed look. But there’s no real bite behind it—just that soft, quiet fondness that lingers in the way he watches you.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, suddenly energized. “Okay, we have a lot to do today.”

Yoongi blinks at you, unimpressed. “It’s too early for whatever this is.”

“I’m serious!” You tap his chest lightly. “It’s our last full day here, and there’s so much left. We should go to that one café by the beach, and then maybe take the ferry out to the little island we saw. Oh! And I found this place that does boat tours at sunset—”

Before you can finish, Yoongi moves.

It’s effortless, the way he reaches up and tugs you down, cutting off your words with a kiss. It’s warm, slow—his lips brushing over yours in a way that makes you forget whatever else you were about to say. You melt into him, your breath hitching slightly when his hand slides up your back, fingers tracing the bare skin at the nape of your neck.

By the time he pulls away, you’re blinking down at him, momentarily speechless. He looks way too pleased with himself.

“Yoongi,” you start, trying to regain some sense of composure. “I was talking.”

“Mhm,” he hums lazily, tilting his head against the pillow. “I heard you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Then why’d you—”

“Because,” he says, his fingers drifting along the curve of your waist beneath the sheets, “you’re trying to drag me out of bed when I’d rather just stay here with you all day.”

Your breath catches slightly, and Yoongi smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You scoff, trying (and failing) to ignore the warmth spreading through you. “You can’t just distract me with kisses.”

He hums again, this time pressing a slow kiss to your jaw, then lower. “Seems like I can.”

Your resolve wavers embarrassingly fast. The idea of spending the entire day tangled up with him, the world outside fading away, is incredibly tempting.

Still, you try one last time. “But the boat tour…”

Yoongi sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back with a hand over his face. “Fine. We’ll go.”

You brighten instantly, about to roll out of bed, but before you can, he grabs your wrist and pulls you back against him.

“In like… four hours,” he adds, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You laugh, exasperated but completely endeared. “Two hours.”

“Three,” he bargains, eyes closed, a small smile playing at his lips.

You sigh, fingers absentmindedly tracing the necklace resting against his skin. “Fine. Three.”

Yoongi hums in approval, his hand slipping beneath the sheets to rest against the small of your back. You expect him to settle back into sleep, but instead, he tilts his head, pressing an unhurried kiss to your collarbone. Then another, slower this time, his lips warm against your skin.

You bite back a small whine. “Three hours is going to turn into all day if you keep that up.”

He smirks, finally looking up at you properly. “Exactly.”

And when he kisses you again—lazy, unhurried, like there’s nothing waiting for you outside this bed—you think maybe he has the right idea.

338 notes · View notes

slowburningechoes · 23 days ago

Text

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.”

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close.

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck.

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to.

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his.

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock.

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples.

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist.

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue.

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath.

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

“God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit.

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth.

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?”

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity.

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you.

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door.

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful.

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

#james wilson #house md #james wilson smut #james wilson x reader #house md fanfiction #house md fandom #james wilson fanfiction #dr wilson #gregory house #house fanfiction #house fandom #x reader #smut #malpractice md #dr james wilson

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miley1442111 · 1 year ago

Text

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it.

I knock again as I huff.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye.

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh.

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?”

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile.

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?”

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.”

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness.

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns.

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?”

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure.

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black.

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me.

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number.

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron.

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails.

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out.

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise.

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out.

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt.

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed.

“Jack,” I sigh in relief.

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive.

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor.

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke.

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy.

The next day, the team come in to visit.

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me.

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says.

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray.

“Hungry?” He smiles.

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

My face drops. “Oh.”

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.”

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.”

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy.

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds.

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food.

“I love you too.”

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pretentious-blonde · 1 month ago

Text

stay for dinner?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a stupid conversation, past insecurities, and a boy who thinks he isn’t enough—until you show him he always was

warnings: steve self-sabotaging, crying

a/n: part 4, can be read as a standalone too. PLS give me ideas for these two if you liked them!! they currently have my heart <3 (may or may not write nsfw, if i get an idea for that, so be on the lookout!)

series masterlist

Steve set a freshly rewound tape on the countertop. The sign on the wall stating: Be kind: Rewind, clearly had not been making an impact on the general public. And if that wasn’t enough, he was desperately trying not to roll his eyes as a certain curly-haired boy to his left, perched on the desk as if it was a lounge chair.

Dustin had been pleading with him for the past ten minutes—some elaborate scheme involving a comic book store in the next town over. Steve had already told him “no” at least four times, but the word didn’t seem to register in the boy's vocabulary. He became aware he was fighting a losing battle as the kid refused to budge.

“Please?” Dustin implored again, swinging his legs idly as he watched Steve rewind the day’s returns.

“For the last time,” Steve muttered, eyeing a slightly worn Back to the Future case with mild dismay, “I already told you no.”

He was trying to figure out how he could make his declaration any clearer.

Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t drive yet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my problem,” Steve shot back, sliding the VHS into its designated slot behind the counter.

“I’m telling you, it’s only like a fifteen-minute drive. Tops.” Dustin glanced at the clock pointedly. “Plus, your shift ends soon. What else are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know—go pick up my girlfriend?” Steve flashed him a wry smile, letting the term roll off his tongue with pride.

Girlfriend.

It still felt new, but it also felt good. He thought it would take longer for him to assimilate to his new title as boyfriend, but he fell into the role as easily as breathing. Something that felt completely natural.

No longer was he the designated driver for his friends after work, he did the stuff that boyfriends do. And that included spending most evenings with you.

There were a few times you insisted he needed to spend time with his own friends, but he still wished you were there. Hopefully, you would be comfortable enough to tag along with them in the future. God knows he was more than willing to show you off.

“Oh yeah?” Dustin sat up, his posture straightening. “So it’s official now?”

A tiny grin tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He closed a drawer of tapes and rested his hands on the counter, staring at Dustin with a slightly smug expression. “It’s official.”

“Good for you, man. Seriously. That’s nice.” He said, seemingly out of obligation rather than pure interest. Then, snapping back to the real topic at hand. “But I’m not leaving until you agree to take me to the comic book store.”

“That’s like—” Steve glanced at the clock above the television sets for rent, “an hour from now.”

“Yep,” Dustin said, unabashed. “I’m persistent.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, massaging the tension in his temples. “She’s coming here once my shift is over. I can’t just bail on her to drive you around.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Then bring her along! Maybe she’ll like it!”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” A short laugh escaped Steve before he could stop it. “I’m not dragging her to a comic book shop just so you can blow your allowance on some special-edition nonsense.”

“Hey, it’s not nonsense!” Dustin protested. “They have the rare issues I can’t find anywhere else. And who knows, maybe your girlfriend’s into comics!”

“Why do I even argue with you?” Steve groaned to himself, returning to the stack of tapes in front of him—anything to have an excuse not to keep looking at Dustin’s pleading face. “You just keep going and going. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s because I know you’ll give in eventually,” Dustin quipped, flashing that self-assured grin that made Steve want to either adopt him or toss him out a window—possibly both.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Steve insisted, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve did have a tendency to cave when it came to the kids, especially the ones he’d practically helped raise. But, as he filed away the last of the returns, a pang of guilt rippled through him.

He didn’t want to let you down. Truly, he didn’t. You were swinging by just to see him. It was a Sunday after all, so he was finishing early, and he wanted to spend as long as he could with you.

Unfortunately, he did feel a little regretful about letting his friend down. Perhaps he was spending a bit too much time with you—which wasn’t a crime—but he was struggling to recall the last time he spent alone time with Dustin.

The kid must have caught the trace of hesitation in Steve’s expression. Finally, a crack in his armour.

“Look,” he said, in a rare moment of sincerity, “just ask her, okay? If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

Steve mulled that over, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Fine,” he relented, not hiding his exasperation. “I’ll let you pitch your case when she gets here.”

Dustin pumped a fist triumphantly. “Yes! You won’t regret this.”

“I regret a lot of things, Henderson,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Now let me finish up so I can actually clock out at a decent time.”

“Deal,” Dustin agreed, but he made no move to vacate the desk. Instead, he just kept swinging his legs, watching with interest as Steve tried to busy himself with the returns.

The kid was relentless—he had to give him that.

He was half-leaning against the counter when you walked in, the lazy Sunday light spilling through the windows, making him look almost golden.

You instantly spotted him, features slightly fatigued but nonetheless tender. The boy who inserted himself into your daunting new life, making you feel less alone. The boy who made you feel safe whenever your eyes met—warm, reassuring, sometimes bashful if you caught him at the right moment.

Your gaze drifted to the curly-haired kid perched on the front desk, chattering away while Steve fiddled with cases. You hadn’t met him yet, but had an inkling as to who it might be from you and Steve’s many conversations.

The second Steve caught sight of you, the slight crease in his brow eased, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He straightened, set the tapes aside, and practically melted as you approached, arms opening to fit you just right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm hug. His vest brushed against your cheek. You tilted your head just enough to feel the soft press of his lips against your temple.

Even though the two of you were official, your cheeks still reddened at his action. It often seemed he didn’t mind that you had company, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how brazen he could be.

Either way, you weren’t going to stop his displays of affection. You enjoyed knowing he was proud to call you his.

“Hi,” you said quietly, relishing the way he lingered in that hug, not quite wanting to let go just yet.

“This is Dustin,” he turned, gesturing to the boy with the curly hair. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Right!” You offered the boy a friendly smile, glad your assumption was correct. “So great to finally meet you. Steve mentions you all the time.”

Dustin stared for a moment, then blinked like he was recalibrating.

“Um… hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly timid. “Yeah, you too.”

That made Steve grin even wider.

Dustin, rendered speechless? He never thought he would see the day. He looked at his awestruck expression and glanced over at you smugly.

Yeah, he did that. He isn’t quite sure how, but he did that.

“You ready to go?” you asked, glancing up at him over your shoulder. At your question, Steve let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair nervously.

“Apparently, someone wants me to be their personal chauffeur,” he said, with a pointed look at Dustin. “Says I need to drive him to a comic book store.”

“A comic book store? But there’s one like four streets over, right?”

Steve spread his hands in exasperation. “Exactly what I said!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “That one sucks! Their selection is terrible and they get new shipments like once a month!”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. He sounds like a tiny professor with the fervour in his voice. Steve shot you a look of abject guilt, like he was already imagining leaving you hanging.

“Would I be the world’s biggest jerk if I did this?” he asked, the uncertainty evident in his tone. He hated to be the one to make decisions like this, picking sides and disappointing someone in the process.

“No, honestly, it’s fine.” Gently, you shook your head. “It’s still early, right?” You gestured to the clock on the wall—three o’clock, give or take a few minutes. “I’ve been all over the place today, honestly an hour or so just to get everything in order would be amazing.”

“I mean…” Dustin started, looking between you and Steve, not sure if you're just being nice or actually had something to do. “You’re welcome to come with?”

But you waved him off with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, but seriously, I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. You two enjoy, please, don’t let me stop you.”

Dustin beamed at you, grateful for the positive turn of events. Steve, on the other hand, still looked torn, torn between not wanting to inconvenience you and also not wanting to bail on his friend.

“Alright,” he relented, exhaling in relief when he realised you were genuinely okay with this. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll drop him off, and we’ll probably poke around for a bit if they really have something he’s looking for.”

“No worries.” You leaned forward, reaching for his hand, not missing the smitten glaze in his eyes as you squeezed it. “Swing by mine after, okay? I should be done by then.”

Steve’s posture relaxed, gratitude colouring his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, “deal.”

He leaned in, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips this time—a sweet, unhurried gesture that made your cheeks flush—again.

There was a shuffle behind him, and you could sense Dustin being extremely polite (or maybe just temporarily stunned) enough not to comment. Steve pulled back smiling, as you made your way to the exit.

“See you, Steve,” you said, backing toward the door. You cast a quick wave at Dustin. “Later, Dustin.”

“Uh, bye,” Dustin managed, raising a hand in farewell.

And with that, you slipped outside, leaving Steve to shoulder his shift into driver mode—though, judging by the fond look on his face, he wasn’t half as annoyed about it anymore.

He just got to rub it in Dustin's face, that yes, he had a sweet girlfriend. And yes, she really was that nice. All the time. Probably when she shouldn't be.

As far as he was concerned, if you needed it, he could haul Henderson around for an afternoon to give you some free time.

“You,” Dustin said, pointing at Steve once you were gone, “are one lucky dude.”

Steve snorted, but it came out more like an affectionate laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, casting a glance at the door you’d just left through. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised down the main road, Dustin rambling away in the passenger seat. The kid’s feet bounced on the floor mat, all brimming energy. Steve had to admit—it was nice to see him so pumped. But that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at every new question that spilled out of his mouth.

Right now he was the subject of a very intense interrogation, and while he had mentioned he was seeing someone new, clearly that was not enough information for the teenager sitting next to him.

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, “this girl—your girlfriend—what does she do?”

“She’s writing for the paper in town.” He said, feeling a surge of pride in his chest as he got to gush about your achievements. “Gonna be a big-shot journalist someday. That’s what she wants, anyway.”

Dustin let out a short laugh, amused in a way that made Steve raise an eyebrow. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Dustin shook his head, lips quirked in a grin. “You and your… type.”

Steve gave him a side-eye glance. “My type?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dustin scoffed, half-exasperated, half-teasing. “Smart writer girls. You know—the go-getter, brainy ones.”

Steve’s initial instinct was to shrug it off, but something nagged at him.

He felt a twinge of déjà vu that he didn’t love.

“Yeah, okay, I can sorta see what you mean.” He spoke cooly, but the heat rising in his chest was anything but.

“Admit it,” Dustin pressed on. “You like girls that are just a little… out of your league.”

Steve bristled, tightening his grip on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, think about it." Dustin shrugged, apparently not noticing the defensiveness in Steve’s tone. "The girls you’ve dated. They’re super smart, super driven. It’s cool how you have managed to pull this off twice.”

Steve forced a laugh, though it felt hollow on his tongue.

Pull this off? That the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Right, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Henderson.” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach. “Well, if they like me, then I must be doing something right.”

“For sure. No denying you’ve come a long way.” Dustin nodded, tapping the dashboard with one finger. “Remember how you used to act at Scoops? Man, you were just—”

Steve groaned, cutting him off as he steered into a small parking lot beside a rundown building with a neon sign advertising Comics & Collectibles. Not wanting to relive failed moments from his youth any longer than he had to.

“Alright, we’re here.” He put the car into park, his posture now rigid. “You’ve got thirty minutes, max. Then we’re outta here.”

“Thirty minutes?” Dustin repeated, eyes bulging. “But—”

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said flatly, giving him a pointed look, suddenly in a sour mood. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Fine.” Dustin grumbled under his breath but ultimately acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and popping open the door. “Thirty. Starting… now.”

He hopped out, the door slamming shut behind him. Steve exhaled, jaw still tense. He watched the kid dart across the lot and pull open the shop’s glass door with excitement.

Alone at last, Steve let his head fall back against the headrest.

Are you really that much out of his league? The question looped around in his mind like a broken record.

He could laugh it off—he had enough practise doing that—but he started remembering how he felt so inadequate around Nancy.

You made him feel needed, cared for, that much was certainly true. But how long would you need him, really?

The notion stirred up old insecurities he’d thought he’d buried.

The rational side of his mind told him he had nothing to worry about. If you liked him—chose him—that was enough, right?

Sighing, he pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Twenty-nine minutes until he could drop Dustin off and head straight to your place. He suddenly wished the clock would run faster.

Because if there was one thing he couldn’t wait to do, it was lose himself in you. If only for the evening.

Your familiar doorstep was supposed to feel welcoming, as it had so many times before, but Steve’s mind was a bundle of half-formed worries as he stood in the familiar space.

He hated to admit when things got to him, but Dustin’s teasing—albeit lighthearted—had, indeed, gotten to him. The doubts clouding his mind like a soft static he couldn’t push away.

The one statement he kept circling back to was the whole "out of his league" idea. I mean, yeah, from the outside looking in, it could be the case. But he had something to offer, right?

If nothing else was true, he at least had a decent enough face, and his personality had come a long way from high school. Hopefully, other people could see that too.

He forced his mind into silence as he took a deep breath, knocking twice in quick succession.

When you opened the door, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that looked unfairly adorable on you, he felt something in his chest unclench. Even on a lazy Sunday—one where you had every right to be tired from your own job—you still radiated a classic warmth, one that he was selfishly drinking up, grateful to be the one basking in it.

“Hey,” you said, smiling so easily that a bit of the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Hey, angel” he echoed, stepping inside when you ushered him through the threshold. The air hit him first—warm and fragrant, hinting at something savoury on the stove. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

Little did he know, you had already taken care of most of your errands that morning. Knowing you’d be spending the afternoon with Steve, you’d gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure everything was in order. But when you saw the desperate look on Dustin’s face as he pleaded with your boyfriend to take him to the store, an idea sparked. A little surprise for him—one you hoped would land well.

“Figured I’d make dinner.” You gave a pleased little shrug. “We don’t always get Sundays like this, and I know you had to work, so…”

“Wait,” he said, blinking, “you made dinner?”

His eyes softened as he took in your words, letting them settle in his chest. He tried not to feel indebted—but God, he wished he stopped to pick up flowers or something.

“Yup,” you confirmed, leading him toward the kitchen. “Nothing fancy. Just has to reduce on the stove for a while longer, but I wanted it ready for when you came by.”

Steve’s heart twisted in two directions at once. On one hand, it was the sweetest gesture, and certainly one that should have put his mind at ease. On the other, his mind kept whispering to him. He questioned if he was even worth this kind of effort.

The bluntness of the thought shocked him a little, but he couldn’t render it completely false. He felt like he owed you something.

“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he murmured, smiling at you in an almost apologetic manner.

“I know.” You reached up to brush a stray bit of hair off his forehead. “I wanted to.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Thanks, angel,” he said softly, the pet name rolling off his tongue with more tenderness than he intended. Like he wasn’t supposed to be using it. “Seriously.”

You tugged him gently into the living room, where he sank down onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. The day had felt so long—the slow hours, Dustin’s energy, the drive out of town—but now, in the familiarity of your apartment, it all felt calm. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

You curled against him, fitting neatly at his side as he draped an arm around you. The soft haze of a lamp cast a cosy halo over the bookshelf across the room, the very one he’d helped you build not long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the extra row of spines he didn’t remember seeing before.

“Hey,” he teased, nudging your head and gesturing to the neatly lined novels. “I thought you said no more books until you’d read all the ones you owned.”

You lifted your head to follow his gaze, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “I did read them. Which means I’m allowed new ones.”

“All of them? In, what—two weeks?”

He barely finished reading Salinger in senior year, and that took him months to work through.

“About that,” you said, sounding almost sheepish. “They were good, and I got on a roll. You know how it is when a book just sucks you in?”

He didn’t really, but now he felt as though he should.

“That’s…impressive.” He replied safely, not wanting to bring down your mood with his lack of literature knowledge. Especially when you seemed so pleased that he was there in the first place.

You used that moment to shift closer, your cheek pressing against the broad line of his shoulder. He felt the warmth you emitted, and if he allowed himself, he could imagine that maybe you enjoyed his company as much as he loved yours.

“So,” you said, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. “How was work? How’s Dustin?”

Steve hesitated, momentarily tripping over the idea that you’d be interested in the mundane details of his shift or the kid’s comic book haul. But the way you were watching him—like you actually cared—made him sigh and lean into it.

“Pretty standard, y’know?” He ran his free hand over his jaw, trying to sound casual. “Dustin got what he wanted, as usual. He’s like a force of nature—hard to say no.”

You smiled, amused. “That kid seems unstoppable.”

“Definitely unstoppable,” Steve agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Eventually, after his debrief of today's events, you got up to check on dinner, stirring the pot and releasing another wave of that delicious smell. He watched, heart clenching again with gratitude and guilt.

He could see how careful you were, minding the heat, adding a pinch of seasoning, taking the time to make something special just for him.

He wondered if he could do anything to help, something to be useful again.

It felt so domestic that for a second he let himself imagine a future where this could be the norm—where the two of you shared little traditions, teased each other about groceries, woke up side by side. Equally happy with what the other had to offer.

Soon enough, you both ended up at the small kitchen table, plates filled with a hearty meal that made him groan with delight after each bite. You just laughed, pleased by his genuine appreciation.

“Good?” you asked, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically, mouth still full.

It was good. Really good. Made only better by the fact that you made it for him.

Why didn’t he think of something like this?

At this rate, he was going to have to pull a screw loose from your bookshelf just so he could prove himself again.

When you’d eaten more than enough to satiate your hunger, you cleaned up together, bumping hips in the process, trading playful glances as you washed and dried the dishes.

He followed you back to the couch, happy to follow where you dragged him hand first. You spent the rest of the evening chatting aimlessly about books, random gossip from your workplace, and his occasional run-ins with Robin or the kids.

There was nothing particularly grand or momentous about it; just a gentle closeness. Though he was worried it was too mundane, if his crappy jokes were enough to keep this thing going.

All too soon, the clock on the wall struck a sober reminder: Monday morning was lurking around the corner, and you gave him an apologetic look.

“I hate to kick you out,” you said softly, “but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pretended to huff in annoyance, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. You were the one with a real job, after all. “Responsibilities and all that.”

At the door, you hugged him, chin hooking over his shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on your jumper, mixed with the lingering aroma of dinner. It felt safe in your arms—safer than he’d felt all day.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with more emotion than he intended to reveal.

“For what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, sensing his unease.

“For dinner,” he shrugged, trying to hide the lump in his throat. “For letting me hang out… for, y’know, being you.”

A smile lit up your features, and you rose on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

It should’ve been reassuring, but that old worry nipped at him once again.

You gave him a playful nudge out into the hallway. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, mustering a half-smirk. But the moment the door closed behind him, the warmth drained away like someone had shut off a heat lamp.

By the time he slid into his car and started the engine, he was already thinking about Dustin’s words, "girls out of his league."

Mentally, he scolded himself. But the thought stuck like glue, stubborn and unmoving. He glanced at your apartment window—light still glowing from inside—and his chest ached with longing.

You liked him. You even cooked for him, fully aware that he would have been just as content with a crappy pizza or diner fries.

So why couldn’t he let himself just be happy?

With a quiet sigh, he pulled away from the curb, leaving the comfort of your home behind. And as he drove through the sleepy streets of Hawkins, he couldn’t quite loose the hollow sense that he was missing something.

Good things always had a way of escaping him, and he couldn’t imagine how this would be any different.

You’ve never felt unsettled since moving to Hawkins—at least, not until now.

Work at the Hawkins Post can be demanding, but those pressures were somewhat tangible: deadlines, edits, the joyous feeling of being undermined for basic input. You can handle all that. But suddenly finding your supposedly devoted boyfriend slipping through your fingers for reasons you don’t understand?

That feels far worse than any work stress could ever be.

All week, you’ve told yourself not to overreact. Steve might just be busy or tired or dealing with something personal. You didn’t want to pry, and after coming clean about your own struggles, you assumed he would do the same thing. Take his own advice or whatever.

But the excuses keep piling up, and you can’t ignore the changes in his behaviour. It started with some half-hearted reasons to hang up the phone in the evenings—when he used to plead with you to stay just little longer—usually ending up with one of you falling asleep on the line, listening out for the others breathing to steady before ending the call.

The whole week he didn’t even mention spending the weekend together. Usually that was sacred time, with him arguing with Kieth and Robin to please let him have the evening shifts rather than the morning. He enjoyed waking up lazily next to you, not rushing out the door before he had his fill.

By Saturday, you decide you can’t wait for answers any longer. You head out, crossing the familiar street, eventually pushing open the door to Family Video. Robin’s face pops up from behind the counter, the bell signalling a customer.

“Hey,” Robin calls, stacking tapes. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. Morning shift—he took off like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” You attempt a polite smile. You were already aware of his absence, watching his BMW speed away from the store, feeling even worse when it turned the opposite direction to your place. “I actually, uh… came to see you.”

“Me? Really?” She seemed half-surprised, half-intrigued.

“Yeah. I… I think I need your help.” The words spill out in a rush. You don’t realise how anxious you sound until Robin sets aside her tapes, giving you her full attention. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, but I’m kind of at a loss. You’re Steve’s best friend, and—” You pause, cheeks warming. “I don’t really know many people here yet.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Hey, hey, no need to apologise. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrow, the smallest spark of protectiveness lighting behind them. “Did Steve do something stupid? Because I can give him a good slap if—”

You lift your hands, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. Or… not exactly?” Your voice wavers. “I just—wanted to know if he still… likes me? Because he’s been distant, and I can’t think what I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth opens on a short laugh, but then she sees you’re serious.

“Oh. Wait—you’re for real?”

Heat pools in your cheeks. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud, but you press on. You were here already, so if she knew something, you would rather just get this over with.

“He’s barely returned my calls, and this weekend he hasn’t even tried making plans. Last week I cooked for him—nothing fancy, just dinner—and he acted so weird about it, almost like he wanted to be anywhere else. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I came on too strong or something.”

She watches you carefully, reading the tension in your posture, the way your hands keep twisting into your sleeves.

“Okay, okay,” she says, gentler now. “I promise I’m listening. You think you scared him off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You look at the floor, biting your lip. “This past week, he’s barely tried to see me at all. Usually he’s so—well, so Steve, you know? But now it’s like he’s ignoring me, except he’s still in town.”

Robin sets aside the tapes completely, leaning her elbows on the counter. Yes, she knew how Steve had been acting, practically besotted with you. So this fast turnaround was odd, but then again, Steve had his moments. Though they usually came with more of an explanation than this.

“That’s… not good,” she concedes. “But trust me, from an outside perspective, he’s been head over heels for you since day one. My guess is he’s the problem, not you. It might be in that thick skull of his, you know? It doesn’t help that it’s covered with all that hair.”

“I feel so stupid, but I didn’t know who else to ask." You let out a shaky laugh. "I’m just… worried I messed up somehow. I know it’s weird—”

“Hey, you’re not weird.” Robin shakes her head, reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “You’re worried—totally normal. Let me talk to him, okay? I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause drama—”

She interrupts you with a wave of her hand. “Drama is my middle name, apparently, thanks to Steve. Let me handle him. I’ll be subtle. Trust me.”

A mischievous grin tugs at her lips. You have a feeling she’s never been subtle in her life, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Alright.” You sigh. “Only if you’re sure. And please, maybe don’t mention I… came here? I don’t want him thinking I’m this desperate, clingy girlfriend who needs constant reassurance.”

“Desperate? Clingy? He’s been the clingiest guy I’ve ever seen—until now.” She snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know he adores you. He’s probably just… freaking out about something. He’s good at that. Self-sabotage is his specialty.”

The tight knot in your chest loosens just a bit, but her words set you on edge a little. You instantly think that you are the one freaking him out, coming on too strong. But you decide that silence is the best option here.

“Thank you,” you say, voice still unsteady. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She offers a supportive smile. “Hey, you’re welcome to drop by anytime, you know? If you wanted someone else to talk to or something, but no pressure.”

“I might take you up on that.” You tell her, relieved.

“Good. Now go home, put on some music, try to relax. I’ll handle the Harrington situation.”

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but her confidence is reassuring. After one more grateful nod, you thank her again and head back outside. Not quite feeling relief, but certainly not feeling any worse.

Steve juggled a soda cup in one hand and a stack of tapes in the other. He had the evening off yesterday and had spent it binge watching crappy rom coms while trying to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest. Trying to find some solace in those mundane guys managing to snag the unattainable, popular girl. They never showed what happened after the whole kiss and get-together thing. Life imitates art in a way.

He also had the day off today—normally something that would have him beaming from the inside out—but he made the decision to spend it alone. A decision that had been laced with anxiety, which now leaked into a mild depression. His nerves overshadowed any relief he felt about his schedule.

He unlocked the door to Family Video, hoping he’d be able to stash the unchecked tapes and slip out before Robin noticed the cloud hanging over him. No such luck.

She was early for her shift, waiting at the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped inside.

“You.” She spoke the word like it was a challenge. “Explain yourself.”

He paused, heartbeat picking up, not expecting this level of hostility.

“What did I do now?” he asked cautiously, setting the tapes down. “I planned to bring them back before opening, I swear, I just—”

Robin cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not that. Your girlfriend came in here yesterday, totally distressed. She thought she did something wrong. Actually asked if she might’ve scared you off by, and I quote, ‘making you dinner.’”

Steve’s stomach flipped. A wave of guilt slammed into him, sharper than he’d expected. He swallowed, remembering how you’d stood in your apartment, smiling so warmly, how you’d carefully stirred a pot of sauce just for him.

God, he’d been such an idiot.

He thought that you would have been too busy with work this week to notice his silence. He thought he hid his emotions better than that.

“She thinks that?” he managed to say, voice tight. “She really asked that?”

“Of course she did.” Robin slammed her palm on the counter. “Now, are you freaking out, or what? Because if you are, just say so.”

“Me? Freaking out?” A shaky laugh left Steve’s lips. Freaking out was putting it mildly. “I’m fine, Rob.”

She shook her head. “You’re clearly not,” she persisted. “Last week you’re gushing about your new relationship, and now it’s radio silence. What’s up with you? Spill it.”

He knew there was no getting out of this, well, unless he literally turned and ran out the store. But that seemed a bit extreme and would likely only delay this conversation.

He dreaded this part. The whole talking about his feelings and his subsequent inadequacies.

“It’s going to sound dumb,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor.

“More so than usual?” She teased.

“Robin.”

“Right, no.” She muttered. “Wrong time. Sorry.”

She sighed and walked round the counter so she was standing directly in front of him. Both so she could gauge his reaction and bring him some semblance of comfort. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like…” He trails off, looking away from her pitiful expression.”She’s going places, you know? Really going places. I’m just… here.”

Her expression softened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

Steve felt the memories swirl—Dustin’s pointed remarks, the creeping sense of déjà vu reminding him how Nancy once left him behind.

“Dustin,” he admitted after a beat. “He said some stuff… about me only dating smart girls who are outta my league. It got stuck in my head, okay?”

“Henderson?” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve, he’s a kid. A kid with zero concept of normal relationship drama. You’re really letting that get to you?”

He tried to muster a shrug, but his chest felt tight. No matter what angle he looked at it, it was a statement that he couldn’t disprove.

“He’s not entirely wrong,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a big plan or anything. My job’s okay, but it’s not exactly a career, and I’m certainly not saving big money—there’s no future path. Meanwhile, she’s got all these ideas, ambitions, everything.”

Robin stared, seeming torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him upside the head.

“God, you’re self-sabotaging again.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted, stepping forward. “Textbook Harrington behaviour: good thing’s happening, so you panic and decide you don’t deserve it. I just watched her walk out of here looking like someone kicked her puppy. She literally thinks she scared you off.”

Steve’s gut twisted further. He pictured you, eyes glassy with worry, probably replaying every moment you’d spent together. After your heart to heart the other day it became clear that you tended to overthink, he didn’t realise you could be doing that because of him.

The notion that you blamed yourself made his chest ache.

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” he said, voice hollow.

“So don’t.” Robin pressed her lips together. “Fix it. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

He exhaled shakily, setting the soda on the counter before he spilled it with his shaky hands. “How?”

“You have today off, right?” Robin asked, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“She does too,” Robin replied pointedly. “And it’s not even 10 a.m. yet. So do something nice for her. Show her you’re not running away. Because, believe me, if you keep pulling back, it’s gonna look like you are.”

Steve nodded, trying to will away the tightening in his throat. “What do I even plan? Something big? Flowers? Fancy dinner? She’s already done the cooking thing—”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly wooing the queen of England. Just do something that says ‘I appreciate you and want to be around you.’ Could be a picnic, a drive, a movie—whatever. Don’t overthink it.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “But that’s kinda my specialty these days.”

“Clearly,” Robin muttered, though her tone was gentler now. “Look, the point is, she’s into you. She made that super obvious. The only person doubting it is you. So cut it out.”

Steve paused, letting her words settle. A small seed of hope unfurled in his chest, reminding him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, gaze locked on the floor. Then he lifted his head, determined. “I’ll, uh… yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

Robin’s tense posture eased, and she gave a curt nod. “Good. Because if you break that girl’s heart over your own insecurities, I’ll murder you. In a loving, best-friend sort of way.”

Steve managed a small grin. “In a loving way, sure.”

“Get out of here before Keith shows up.” She smirked, waving him off. “And don’t forget to call her, for God’s sake.”

Snatching up his soda again, Steve headed for the door, heart still pounding but a faint sense of relief settling in.

From the moment Steve picked up the phone at ten that morning—voice shaky with nerves—he knew he was taking a gamble.

He could feel the cautious edge in your tone, the coolness that suggested you were bracing yourself. Still, he invited you over to his place for that evening, willing the dread in his stomach to subside. He told himself it would be okay, that he’d find the right words.

Robin had told him to talk, so talk he would.

Meanwhile, you spent your Sunday feeling a dread so heavy it threatened to pin you to the floor.

Why else would Steve have been so distant all week? The only logical conclusion was that he’d decided this wasn’t working. After all, you’d had that conversation with Robin—maybe she’d reported back to him, told him something that sealed the deal.

It made sense in a heartbreakingly logical way.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you felt like you’d gone through every stage of grief. You dragged yourself to your car and made the drive toward the Harrington residence, a place that had once felt so exciting in its promise.

Now it loomed large in your mind as the site of an upcoming breakup. When you arrived, you saw plenty of parking space—his parents, you recalled, were almost never home. You turned the keys of the ignition and exited the vehicle.

At least no one will witness what’s about to happen.

You made your way up the steps, breath tight in your chest. Just as you lifted a hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing Steve, hair meticulously styled, smelling faintly of aftershave. The pang in your heart only sharpened.

Did he seriously dress up for this?

“Hi,” he managed, the word catching slightly, like he was just as nervous as you.

“Hi,” you replied curtly.

Steve cleared his throat, looking awkward in a way that tugged at your heart—no matter how resigned you felt. “Uh, I think you should come in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All right.”

Inside, the house felt cavernous, every footstep echoing. He led you to the living room, and you couldn’t help but glance around, remembering how you used to marvel at this place—huge, yes, but also warm with the potential of summer get-togethers, that pool you’d joked about wanting to try. Now, the thought made your stomach twist.

Guess you won’t be swimming here after all.

You both settled on the couch, an awkward space between you. Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he couldn’t quite meet your eye. The hush was almost suffocating, until finally he spoke, voice low and unsteady.

“Look, um… I think we need to talk.”

Your heart thumped. So this is it. You drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to sound calmer than you felt.

“Okay. Sure.”

He tried not to grimace at the coolness in your tone. You’d never sounded so distant before, and it killed him to know he caused it. Robin’s words about “explaining himself” rang in his ears, so he opened his mouth—only for you to beat him to it.

“Listen, Steve,” you began, voice thick with tension. “I… I get what’s going on here.”

Steve frowned, something twisting in his chest. “Huh? You do?”

“Yeah," you nodded. "I kind of guessed it.”

“Really?” A flicker of confusion passed over his features. “You did?”

Exhaling, you steeled yourself, trying to keep your composure.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe you didn’t appreciate me crying about my job the other day, or maybe I was too forward cooking dinner for you. I get it. I just… I can’t think of anything else I did wrong.” You forced a hollow laugh. “So I assumed it must be that. Maybe I scared you off.”

Steve’s brows shot up, genuine shock colouring his face.

“What you did wrong?” he echoed. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

You swallowed.

Get it over with.

“Aren’t you… breaking up with me?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Every worst fear he had about you feeling hurt was now a reality.

“What? No! No, I’m not breaking up with you.” He spoke in quick succession. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that.”

The wave of relief that swept through you was immediate but fleeting.

“Then what is this?” you asked, voice unsure. “It’s obvious you’re not feeling this anymore. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to. I just… I figured there’d be a reason.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair and messing up that careful style.

“There is a reason,” he admitted. “But trust me, it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, a weak attempt at humour that came out more sad than anything. “That’s what everyone always says when they break up with someone.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath. He had never been good at this. You were the one who was good with words, not him.

“No, really. It—fuck, just let me talk.” He paused, gathering himself. The realisation that you thought you caused this somehow made his heart twist painfully. If you only knew how not your fault it really was.

God, what a mess.

He stared at the floor, feeling the weight of all his insecurities.

“Listen,” he started, voice shaky, “I’m not good at this, so just give me a moment.”

You watched him, a pang of sympathy slipping through your self-protective shell. He looked… rattled, more so than you’d ever seen him. Despite your own heartbreak, you nodded, letting him gather his courage.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “So, I don’t have the best track record with relationships. Or even friendships. I thought I’d gotten better, but apparently not.” He let out a short laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second—only to dart away when he saw the concern there.

It was hard to think when you looked at him like that. Like he was something to be pitied.

“What I’m trying to say is… I always seem to get left behind. My first girlfriend left me for someone else. My old friends ditched me as soon as I wasn’t cool anymore. My parents ignored me because I sucked at school.” He swallowed hard, voice thickening with old wounds. “Then I met you, this super smart girl who clearly has the world at her fingertips—you’ve accomplished so much already, more than I ever could. It made me think: how could I hold onto that? How could I keep you interested in my life when I work at a video store and spend my free time with a bunch of teenagers?”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his words. For a second, you just stared, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes at how wrong he was about himself.

Without thinking, you reached out and slid your hand into his, the contact gentle but resolute.

“Steve,” you whispered, voice unsteady but filled with honesty, “how can you think that about yourself?”

His gaze snapped to yours, confusion etched in every line of his face.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, running a thumb along the backs of his knuckles.

“You really don’t see what others see, do you?”

He frowned, looking lost. “I… I’m not following.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a soft, exasperated laugh.

Of course he couldn’t see, your sweet, stupid boy.

“Steve, the first time we met, you literally lugged and built me a whole bookshelf—remember that? You practically passed out hauling the thing up the stairs.”

“Shit,” he muttered, cheeks tinging pink, “you noticed?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, remembering the moment you started falling for him. “And I saw you freaking out over the instructions, but you tried to act like you totally had it under control.”

“Damn…” he hung his head. “Not as smooth as I thought I was.”

Not in the slightest.

A weak smile tugged at your lips.

“Maybe not, but that’s overrated anyway.” Taking a breath, you tightened your grip on his hand. “Steve, you’re a giver—through and through. So you don’t have some swanky office job—who cares? You have something better. You’re selfless, you help people, you care. That’s worth more than anything else, trust me. Whenever you talk about your friends, it’s like a never-ending list of names. You’re rich, Steve. Richer than money.”

He felt tears burning behind his eyes. This was not part of the plan, for him to be openly crying while you praise him repeatedly. That should have been his job tonight. Making you feel better.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he croaked, “you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “We’re both lame.”

“Yeah,” he managed, a watery laugh escaping, “the lamest.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then he lifted his eyes to yours with a shy, almost bashful smile, one you hadn’t seen all week. It looked like him, the real Steve you fell for.

“Come here?” he asked, sounding almost boyish in his nervousness.

You couldn’t move fast enough.

He leaned in, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the big house, the rolling ache in your gut. His lips pressed to yours, soft at first, hesitant, then deepening as relief coursed through both of you.

He couldn’t quite stop smiling against your mouth, which made the kiss a bit clumsy, but neither of you cared. The tenderness overshadowed any awkwardness. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. When he finally pulled back, he let out a shaky exhale, one hand still cupping your cheek.

“I missed doing that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He swallowed hard, glancing away as guilt resurged. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like you messed up. Like I didn’t—like I wasn’t into you anymore. I am. I really am. Probably too much”

“You should have told me,” you scold him, his brown eyes still glassy. “Aren’t you the one who preached about sharing problems?”

A choked laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah, well… ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, though the affection in your voice was unmistakable.

Suddenly, a shrill beeping noise cut through the charged atmosphere, making you both jump.

“What is that?” you asked, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh, crap, the timer!” He scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over the coffee table. You followed him with a bemused smile as he disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Seconds later, you found him shutting off the buzzer, cheeks flushed.

“I, uh… made dinner,” he confessed, looking adorably sheepish.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You cooked?”

“I mean, I stole your idea,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rob said I should do something nice, so… here we are. My parents were never around much, so I learned a few things. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

A laugh rose in your chest, part delight, part lingering emotional exhaustion. “Robin told you to do this? I gotta thank her.”

He set a potholder aside, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. “She said I had to make it up to you, so… yeah. I guess I’m returning the favour.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Steve let out a quiet breath, a small, relieved grin curving his lips. As you moved into his space, he reached out, fingers ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist.

“And you, deserve it.” He murmured, voice brimming with affection. “Really sweetheart, you deserve the world.”

Something in his tone made your heart clench. Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, tender—altogether mesmerising.

He cradled your face like you might vanish if he wasn’t careful, as though keeping you close was the only way to convince himself that this was real. You tasted the faint salt of his earlier tears, felt his almost giddy smile against your mouth, and the mix of sadness and relief and overwhelming softness made you cling tighter to him.

It was the kind of moment that made the ache worth it, the kind you knew you’d replay in your head a thousand times.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath. Foreheads touching, you could see the hint of a shaky grin still hovering on his lips.

“I guess this means we’re not breaking up?” you asked playfully.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head vigorously. “But hey, you might change your mind after you try my cooking.”

“Hey!” you protested, giving his shoulder a playful shove—no malice behind it at all. “I’m not that cruel. Even if it was terrible, I’d never tell you.”

“And there you go being way too good for me,” he chuckles, but this time it feels more like the joke he was aiming for.

One that he knew deep down was not true.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine

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yourdearestlover · 6 months ago

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Dearest, lovers

Hello Tumblr World! I am that creator who has been working on Nicola & Luke Press Documentary for the past few weeks.

To tell you the truth, those weeks have been quite exhausting. I had to combine my job and private life to be able to work on, as how my followers had called it, N&L Press Doc. BUT! Enough about me, let's talk about the project.

For the whole plan to make sense, I had to collect material; starting from London and ending it on Ireland, that included over seventeen Google Doc pages of interviews from various social media platforms. In the meantime, I was posting surveys on X regarding certain details, because I wanted people to have a chance to choose. The most time-consuming task was searching for a good quality videos and photos, downloading needed files, neatening them into correct order, to then montaging into 4 parts. Several interviews were edited by me, splitted, resized, which only made the steps to finish line take longer than I had initially expected. Entire process from making decision to actually starting "new project", to rendering each part took about a month. With that being said, I was happy to finally announce the release date.

So here they are! PART ONE

youtube

PART TWO

youtube

PART THREE

youtube

PART FOUR

youtube

From here, I'd like to say BIG thank you for those who were with me the entire time, for those who helped me out with gathering the materials on X / TikTok, for those close to my heart that cheered me up, when things weren't going my way. And most importantly, but not least, thank you for each comment, each like and each viewing. I've spend days on this project, I've put my heart into it. And I'd love you guys to enjoy it, as much as I did, while making it.

I'd want to clarify one more thing. This documentary was put together to express my love towards both Nicola and Luke, to be able to give the fandom a space to reminisce the tour, to fill up the small puzzle of missing them. Absolutely NO negativity will be allowed. Yours truly,

Em <3

#nicola coughlan #luke newton #bridgerton #nicluke #bridgerton season 3 #polin #polin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton

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cupidbedsy · 7 months ago

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୨୧ tired ; lh43

➪ summary: luke is all but tired when him and jack arrive home from a game, but luckily for him, y/n's there to help

➪ warnings: the one rags v. devils game where everyone decided to fight, tired luke. broken plate, luke thinking reader and jack is mad at him, hate comments, jack thinking he's a shitty big brother

➪ word count: 1.8k

➪ cupid's notes: literally crying because i decided to edit this, negative feelings, and chicken noodle soup all in a row. i chose violence, be glad i'm not uploading them three days in a row. this was rough. but no i actually like how this fic turned out so yeah

She had let herself into their apartment halfway through the second period. She had been watching from her dorm and when the first fight broke out, two seconds into the game, she knew the team was in for a wild night. As the game went on and they showed the bench and the players, she knew both her boyfriend and his brother were tired.

That’s when she made the executive decision to “break in” to their apartment and make them dinner. She was grateful that their fridge was fully stocked and she didn’t have to run back out to the grocery store. She got to work quickly, making something easy but also filling for both of them. While spaghetti and meatballs weren’t any of their favorite meals, not that she was hungry anyway, she knew they would appreciate the effort nonetheless.

When the game was over she sighed at the final score, after what they had been through tonight, they deserved the win. Worried about Luke and being one of only four defensemen on the ice, she looked to see how much time he was actually on the ice and was appalled when it read 32:49. She knew he had been tired these past few weeks, this team felt like it was on a never-ending cycle of bad luck.

She was setting the plates down moments before they walked in the door, but when she was in the bathroom, that’s when she heard them. She heard the clatter of keys and shoes and walked out immediately. Luke was attempting to stand upright, slightly leaning on his older brother. Jack looked equally tired, attempting to support both him and Luke.

She frowned as she made her way over to them, lightly grabbing onto Luke to lessen the weight on Jack’s body. He sighed in relief as he kicked his shoes off and made his way to sit down on the couch. Y/n stayed with Luke in the kitchen, walking him over to one of the chairs. With one hand she reached for his head and took the beanie he had been wearing off, using her other one to run her fingers through his damp curls.

“Why don’t you go take a shower, both of you,” Jack whined from the couch while Luke just buried his head into her shoulder.

She felt like she could cry from the exhaustion they were displaying. She knew how they got, both of them. She had been dating Luke since their freshman year of high school. She knew the ins and outs of all three Hughes brothers if she was honest, never finding it weird or alarming. His family loved her, that she knew, but when Jack came home drunk one night and threw up on her shoes, she accepted her role in the family.

“Jack you first, come on.”

She continued running a hand through her boyfriend’s curls as she gazed at the older boy on the couch. He finally sat up, giving her an annoyed look, but she only rolled her eyes and pointed to the bathroom. She could keep Luke occupied for another 20 minutes, “Hi baby.”

Luke’s eyes were closed as his head laid on her shoulder, he mumbled something incoherently and he just sighed. She untangled her fingers from his hair and started to pull off his jacket, he whined at the loss of contact but allowed her to continue her actions. She took his jacket to his room and hung it up before walking back into the kitchen and checking on the pasta.

Luke, despite being tired and his body being worn, he got up and made his way over to her in order to wrap his arms around her waist and dig his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling her fading scent. She smiled slightly, removing her one hand from the side of the pan to place on top of Luke’s, continuing to stir with the other.

It was silent up until Jack came back, who plopped onto the chair his brother had previously sat in. She looked over at him and smiled, “Do you guys want to eat in the kitchen or in the living room? We could put a movie on?”

The two nodded and made their way over to the living room as she finished plating the food and bringing it over to them, placing the plates into their laps. They each let out simultaneous soft thank yous before eating. They chose a random movie and watched it as y/n cleaned the kitchen and finished doing some laundry that had been pushed to the side.

She felt bad for both of them, both for different reasons but some the same. Mostly because of how the team was performing this year, the way that they couldn’t keep everyone off injured reserve. Yet, for Luke, it felt different. She felt more or less worried about him than bad for him. He had expectations to live up to, people to live up to, and she knew his mind all too well. She knew what he was thinking, that he wasn’t good enough.

And it wasn’t just him that thought that. They both knew about the tweets that were in response to people's comments under articles, the articles themselves about how Luke wasn’t as good as his brothers, wasn’t as good as he should be, wasn’t as good as people made him out to be. It was what Luke thought about the most.

There was clanging from the living room and then a crash. She immediately made her way out of the bedroom and looked in between Jack, who was still on the couch, the shattered plate on the floor, and Luke, who was standing in the hallway. His face looked conflicted but it morphed into one of fear and sadness.

“Hey, hey, what happened?”

“I-” Luke couldn’t bring himself to talk, both terrified and still exhausted from the game.

On the other hand, y/n’s face was calm and Jack’s face was sad with a hint of anger in his eyes. Anger towards John and Kevin for leaving the team with four defensemen, anger towards Travis for making Luke play that long, anger towards himself for not checking in on his brother enough, and anger towards the Rangers.

“Luke, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you for dropping the plate.” Jack’s voice was soft as he stood up, slightly wobbling from his lack of balance.

The younger boy only shook his head, reaching a hand out to lean against the wall. Y/n moved forward and wrapped her arms around Luke who then slowly sank to the ground. Her left hand was placed against his head, keeping it against her chest as her right arm wrapped around him. Luke started crying, soft sobs escaping his mouth.

She looked at Jack who took the hint to walk back into his bedroom. As soon as he left, Luke voiced his thoughts, “I’m tired. I’m so tired, y/n.”

The way his voice broke almost made her choke on a sob. She bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, refusing to let Luke know how she was feeling right now. She tangled her fingers in his hair, Luke allowing the movement to calm him down a little. His harsh sobs turned into soft sniffles in a matter of minutes. She was the only one who could soothe him like this besides his mom.

Lifting his head, he dug it back into the crook of her neck. She kissed his head and continued to run her fingers through his curls like she had done earlier, using her other hand to rub circles on his back. Ten minutes had passed and she looked over at the shattered glass a few feet away from her. Her legs had started to cramp from being in the position for so long and the added weight of Luke on them made it a little worse.

“How about you go take a shower while I clean the plate, okay?”

He pulled away from her and nodded his head slightly. She aided him in standing up and watched as he made his way to the bathroom to shower. Once the door closed, she made quick work of cleaning up the mess. After she was done, she went over and knocked on Jack’s bedroom door, “Hey.”

Jack snapped his head up in surprise, “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Jack, I’ve known you for 7 years. What’s wrong?” She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands underneath her.

“I feel bad. I mean I was so excited for Luke to come to play with me but for some reason, I feel guilty. I don’t know. It just feels like I should do more for him. I didn’t want to bring up the comments, I see them too, you know.”

Her heart warmed at the words, at Jack being so worried about his little brother. She smiled a little before looking at him, “He loves you, Jack. More than you know. I cannot tell you the number of times he calls me and is like ‘Jack this’ and ‘Jack that’. You and Quinn are his idols, it’s hard to not notice that. He is so appreciative of you. And he knows there is nothing you can do about the comments that people make, it’s not your fault.”

Jack teared up a little but smiled at her, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now come on, give me a hug.”

Jack leaned over from his spot on the bed and hugged her, “Can I say I love you or is that too weird?”

“Considering, I am betting on you becoming my sister-in-law, it’s not weird. I love you too, y/n/n.”

She heard a door close from down the hall and she pulled away and waved goodbye to Jack, making her way to her boyfriend’s room. When she walked in, Luke was lying on his bed, cuddling a pillow on his phone. She smiled at him and walked over to sit down, “Hi baby.”

He looked up at her and for the first time that night, he smiled. He reached out for her and she made herself comfortable on the bed, Luke wrapping his arms around her. In that moment, Luke was so grateful for her and all that she had done for him not only tonight but in the past seven years. She had been there for him through everything and that meant the absolute world to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Luke. And I am so so so so proud of you for tonight.”

His smile was small but genuine, “Now go to bed.”

She kissed his forehead and the two wasted no time in falling asleep.

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tropes-and-tales · 23 days ago

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Damsel in Distress

(Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

CW: Angst (sexual harassment); a bit of fluff.

Word Count: 1808

AN: A little interlude for the Jake girls.

AN2: This has not been edited in any way, shape, or form!

It’s a burden sometimes, being so handsome.

Jake knows he’d sound like a complete asshole if he ever said such a statement out loud.

Still, it can be a burden.

He wasn’t always handsome. Jake Seresin hardly even qualified as cute when he was a kid. Certain parts of his body seemed to grow out of sync with the rest of him, so he was fairly awkward for many of his pre-teen years. Ears that stood out from his head. Cornsilk hair too fine to do much other than lay flat on his scalp. Lopsided smile due to a crooked incisor.

But he evened out eventually. He grew into his ears. His hair darkened a bit and grew thicker. Pricey orthodontics fixed his wonky tooth. He shot up in height, put on muscle working at his uncle’s ranch, and the rest was history. He learned to wear his good looks like armor, and he learned that even just a bit of charm got him further than other men might get.

Still, it can be a burden.

For example, when he’s had a rough day at Top Gun and just wants to enjoy a beer at the Hard Deck without needing to be on. He gets tired sometimes of always being on, of being the guy with the megawatt smile and easy charisma, of being the guy to dazzle the single women on the prowl at the bar, of having all the innuendos and quips always at the ready. He gets tired of being Hangman, tired of being the impressive pilot in the perfectly tailored uniform. He gets tired of being the lieutenant, of being Seresin. Sometimes he just wants to be an anonymous man, and barring that, he just wants to be Jake. Sometimes he just wants someone to look at him—really see him—and just call him Jake.

“Get you another one?”

The voice breaks his reverie, and Jake looks up to see the bartender standing across from him. You are related to Penny somehow, some first cousin twice removed deal, and you take shifts at the Hard Deck when she’s short-handed.

The megawatt smile comes on automatically. “Sure thing,” he replies and slides his empty glass over the bar top to you, but you don’t simper at his grin. You only nod and pour him a beer in a fresh glass, set it down in front of him on a fresh napkin.

You never seem to be impressed by him, but you never seem to be impressed by any of the men (or women) who call the Hard Deck home. You’re all business; you’re polite to the customers, quick on a pour, a champ at tallying tabs in your head. You have a freakish ability to balance a laden tray of drinks, and you’re not afraid to step in when someone has partied too much. You’ve frog-marched more than one drunken flyboy out of the bar and waited until a sober friend came to bear them away.

Not that Jake wants to impress you today. He just wants to be alone. He just wants to sit at the bar, tucked away in the far corner, and sulk a little. Top Gun has been exhausting, and he’s not syncing with the back-seater they want him to fly with. He’s been nursing a low-grade headache for the past few days, and he could go home, but his apartment is sterile and depressing—

He feels the woman before he sees her. He feels her first because she leans against him, her tits blatantly pressed against his arm. It’s not a casual brush-by or an accidental stumble; she’s purposely pushing her chest against him, and Jake shifts and turns at the same time.

The megawatt smile comes on automatically. “Careful there, ma’am,” he says. He keeps the admonishment light by laying on his Texas accent. He takes in the woman as she pouts, then fixes him with a look that might aspire to coy if not for how drunk she is.

“Ma’am?” she asks, incredulous. Jake catches a whiff of her breath, and the alcohol fumes could peel paint off his plane. “Ma’am?”

“Now, I—”

“Do I look like a ma’am?”

He keeps the smile plastered on his face. “Miss, then. Apologies.”

The pout disappears, and she grins back at him. And she moves closer, presses the length of her body against him. “S’okay. Make it up to me. Buy me a drink.”

Jake chuckles, and he shifts away again. The woman is sweaty, and this close, he can see how drunk she is. Her makeup is smeared, and her eyes can’t quite focus on him. Her blinking is slow, but she compensates by widening her eyes, making her look owlish.

“I think you’ve had plenty of fun already,” he replies. He gets a leg braced on the floor and does an awkward scoot on his stool to gain a few inches away from her, but it lasts for all of a second.

“Not enough fun.” Another pout, but she’s on him again, stuck to him again, and Jake feels the tiniest tendril of panic. He hates being touched like this, hates when pushy women do this. He just wants a damned drink alone, and this woman reeks of booze—her breath, the sweat seeping from her pores—and she pressed against him, the slick grease of her sweat sliding against his bare forearm.

“We could have more fun,” she adds.

And then, a moment later, her hand finds him. Gropes at him blindly, her palm catching him high up on his thigh before she moves inward, and Jake grimaces, reaches to catch her wrist and stop her before—

She is jerked away, and Jake blinks at how fast you move. Faster than he ever saw you move before, but you’re right there. He didn’t even see you moving from behind the bar.

He blinks, turns on his stool to see the scene play out.

“You’ve had enough, and I believe the Lieutenant is not interested,” you tell the woman. You have one of her arms folded behind her back—the one that had been fumbling at Jake—and when the woman flails at you with her free hand, you catch her easily around her wrist and fold it behind her back too. It plays out like a cop perp-walking a criminal, and you start to maneuver her towards the exit.

“Fucking bitch!” the woman shrieks. “I’m a customer!”

“Not anymore,” you say, calm, but when you glance over at Jake, you tip him a nod and offer him a smile.

*****

It goes down with minimal drama. Penny finds the woman’s friends, also wasted, and a taxi is called. For ten, fifteen minutes, you stand by the Hard Deck’s entrance, arms crossed and glare fixed on the woman as she rants, fumbles for her vape, drops her vape, then rants some more.

Then the taxi arrives, and you’re back at the bar like nothing happened. You pour a fresh pitcher for Coyote and Fanboy, and then you turn back to Jake.

He plasters on that bright, perfect smile of his when he sees you. “Sorry about that,” he says.

You tilt your head. “Why are you apologizing?”

The smile stays set on his face. “Didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“You didn’t make a scene.”

The smile falters around its edges as he says, “I could’ve handled it.”

You take shifts at the Hard Deck to help your cousin out, and the money doesn’t hurt either. But a not-small part of you likes to people-watch; you like watching life play out in front of you. You learn a lot about people that way—the relationships that flourish and die at the bar, the petty grievances, the friendships. You notice everyone, take it all in.

You’ve noticed Jake Seresin, of course.

There’s something fragile to him that you wonder if anyone else sees. Something insecure. He hides it behind his good looks, his easy smile, his charisma. He has confidence in spades, sure, but he also seems to house a small, self-doubting part too.

Like that smile of his. He has more than one. He’s got a real, genuine smile that comes out easy enough. When he and his teammates are joking around, when they are circled around the piano and belting out some old standard as Rooster bangs on the keys.

He’s got a softer, smaller smile, and that’s usually reserved for Penny when she gently teases him about something.

He also has this smile that is pure artifice, the one on his face right now. It’s a brittle sort of armor, like a deflector shield that goes up automatically when that small, self-doubting part of him is in play. That smile is just a fraction too wide, a bit too stiff and fake.

“Why should you have to handle it?” you ask, and the smile falters a bit more at your question.

“She was just drunk…” He trails off, and there’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice. He must hear it too, because his eyes dart around to see who else might be hearing him. Like his patented Jake Seresin schtick, his uber-confident and cocky persona might be at risk of being found a fraud.

You lean against the bar, rock onto your toes to get closer to him. You stare at him until he turns and stares back at you, caught in the force of your gaze.

“If she were a guy and you were a woman, would you be so quick to shrug it off?” you ask.

“I don’t—”

“You don’t deserve to be groped.”

“That’s—”

“Even if you’re this tough airplane pilot, you know?”

That finally breaks the hold of that fake smile of his. It slides off his face and is replaced by a more natural, teasing one.

“Airplane pilot makes me sound like I fly a regional route for Delta,” he jokes.

“Probably better snacks than in a fighter jet though, right? Or does the military supply Sun Chips in their planes?”

He chuckles, and his smile shifts again. Now it’s softer, gentler. He shakes his head, and he looks down at the top of the bar where his hands are folded together. You think that this right here is probably the real Jake Seresin, the truest version of all the different facets of him, and probably the one few people get to see.

You knock the bar lightly in front of him until he lifts his gaze and looks at you again. You offer him a smile in return.

“Let me get you another beer, Jake. On me.”

And something makes his smile shift yet again: still soft, but broader, like you’ve said something incredible, though all you’ve done is offer him a free beer…and said his name.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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winterzsurprise · 4 months ago

Text

Change My Mind [6]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 6.9k

If you weren't able to catch the author's note, update will be very slow due to my campus enrolling us to a government extracurricular that spans for three months so updates with be VERY slow until then. Sorry this one took long, had to remove one chunk out of this chapter so I could have it posted as soon as I could. Also ik the last chapter's ending was so rushed, I'll try to fix it once I get the time so for now, ignore that mess ;-;

EDIT: edited out the beginning scene, changed it kekeke

Please vote Jimin in Visa Choice in MAMA voting and push Namseok to the top 10 for Fan's Choice award! STREAM I'LL BE THERE

<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>

________

You wouldn’t say it outloud but you quickly got used to the feeling of waking up next to Jimin.

The first day was jarring. Eyes opening to tufts of hair tickling your face and body waking up to the feeling of your arms thrown around his body flushed to your front, his hand holding yours from where it hangs. There’s a rumbling warmth pulsing through your body in intervals starting from your fingertips and down to your toes.

You remembered waking up feeling new and rejuvenated, as if your body had been dismantled down to its atoms with all its flaws and aches only to be reformed into a new, better form.

Waking up next to Jimin is the closest thing to experiencing heaven on earth. It was quiet and euphoric, comfortably warm, and you loved every second of it. Dare say, its quickly becoming one of your favorite things in the world.

Soulbond strain, that’s what the doctor had said. That's what caused the constant fatigue you and Jimin were feeling yesterday which eventually caused you both to pass out from exhaustion. Due to how ill-informed they are of both your marks, they weren't aware of how fragile your new bond was and how much touching should be involved for the first few days.

So now, you are bound to Jimin for a long while. The doctors had hypothesized that you both will be able to withstand not holding for an hour soon when he had accidentally let go of your hands in favor of taking food from Taehyung’s hands.

You hope it goes past an hour when the week finally ends, a day if you’re both fortunate enough. Being forced to rest while everyone around you moved and worked is frustrating, even Jimin was growing antsy from all the sleeping, eating and sitting you both were doing.

Today marks the last day you both will be confined to the hospital as they've finally cleaned up one of the spare rooms in the dorm so you could move in.

You were so glad you could finally eat something more nutritious than bland soup. It would be a talent to be able to cook a soup so tasteless it would even make a white person frown despite the numerous vegetables and meat on them.

Since Jungkook's Birthday, you found yourself more often than not staring at the ceiling after eating, dreaming about eating other food so intensely it's like you could taste them in your buds. Jimin teased, saying you were growing insane from the lack of flavor.

A few days have passed since you found out you were soulmates with your best friends but you still couldn’t wrap your head around it.

The thought that these five—possibly seven depending on Seokjin and Hoseok’s test results later today—down to earth, aphrodite-blessed men with even more beautiful traits were tethered to you is bizarre. The idea never fails to short-circuit your brain every time you think about it.

And it's hard not to, not when you wake up sleeping next to the peaceful face of South Korea’s IT boy—with his arms wrapped around you and his head nuzzled under your chin.

It's something you’re still trying to get used to as you’ve never dared to sleep while cuddling with your friends, no matter how tired you might be. It was far too intimate of an act, reserved for those who are romantically involved and for someone with feelings as fickle as yours back then, it was inappropriate.

Not that it mattered much now but it's still difficult to be comfortable with the domesticity of it all.

What was once perceived as platonic now felt anything but.

Save for Taehyung and Seokjin, everyone else has continued working, although you had advised a weary looking Hoseok to take a break, he insisted that he's fine whilst practically dragging himself out of the room. Namjoon had assured you that he'll watch over his hyung but you had threatened Yoongi for extra measures.

Speaking of work, your friends have been blowing up your phone since Jungkook's birthday, asking why they were required to sign a whole different NDA and you told them about your soulmates.

All of them reacted positively, Minhyuk had even pleaded to hear about how you discovered and had asked to be informed of all the latest happenings, from the courting, dates, and even the bedroom—something you had promised to hit him for once you're back to work.

But for now, you were stuck with a foot out of the bathroom and body turned to the opposite with an arm stretched far out to hold Jimin's hand as he finished his business.

So far, there's been no accidental flashing, to which you've been thankful for. The whole ordeal is already awkward as it is with only having to hear each other pee.

Jimin couldn’t even jokingly flirt with you the whole time, far too mortified with the idea of both parties being able to hear the stream of piss to even bother coming up with jokes to lighten up the situation, nor could you dare look into his eyes after the first few times you both had to go through this. You had refrained from eating too much in fear of having to shit during the week but you knew it would eventually happen.

Especially since you both have been greenlit to eat take outs and Seokjin had generously offered to buy you both food—bless that wonderful, handsome man—and dragged Taehyung out with him.

You had been hesitant to make a few demands at first because do you even deserve the kindness Seokjin is showing you after hurting him for years? But the man proved himself devoted once more when he listed down the food you’ve been craving desperately for without hearing it from your lips.

(Tae had joked that maybe it's the soulmate mark manifesting a little late and Jimin elbowed him for that.)

You didn’t even get to tell him not to bother when he began to loudly chant gibberish as he pulled Taehyung out of the room with him.

After all the babying and princess treatment you've been receiving in the short time of knowing you were soulmates, it's hard not to feel frustrated having your best friends become your beck and call when they—save for Yoongi, bless that man for keeping his distance—hadn't been doing so for the past few years.

It was somewhat pressuring that you could ask Jungkook to brush his teeth and immediately drink orange juice and he'd do it without question, if not gargling the juice for a little while longer just because you asked him to do it.

From living alone and getting used to doing things by yourself, to suddenly having five people who'd follow your whims almost blindly, was overwhelming and slowly becoming more annoying than it is helpful.

If it wasn't for the guilt from getting irritated, you would've blown up on the first day when most of your soulmates had refused to let you stand up and walk around the room in fear of having you collapse.

Sure you had passed out from the soulbond strain but that same bond rendered you invulnerable to most things, I’m not about to die walking around the room with Jimin, Yoongs.

You couldn't fault Jungkook and Tae for wanting to baby you. Jungkook never had someone to pamper and spoil, and Taehyung only had Jungkook; Even then, it wasn't in a romantic way and Jungkook was also being taken care of by the others so he didn't need to do much. His ex and him didn't last long enough for when BTS’ fame had skyrocketed and he had more money than he could ever spend in his life and is quickly running out of things to spend it on.

Still, it was hard to take all the coddling. It was better when they treated you with the distance platonic relationships had granted you.

Today, you’re huddled next to Jimin as you both scrolled on social media with both your bare legs thrown over his.

There's been comments left on your instagram page asking for Jimin's health and you decided to reply to one comment to say that he's fine and recovering. You and him had been pardoned from work for a week, Taehyung had been granted some leniency and he used it to visit you both in the hospital once it was revealed that his soulmark had been affected by Jimins.

Silencing the app, you move to twitter when the door suddenly opens and in comes Seokjin holding up two plastic bags of takeout, flexing them as if they were golden medals and you sit up.

“Your handsome savior has arrived with fries and actually good food!”

“Hi noona!” Taehyung greets as he steps out of Jin's shadow.

“Jin you're actually the most good looking man I've ever seen in this forsaken planet, did you get me cheese and sour cream flav—”

“Of course I did,” He scoffed, putting down two paper bags and one drink carrier on your bedside table before placing the rest on the table near the bathroom door. “Who do you think I am?!”

“He almost ordered it all in cheese until I reminded him that you wanted sour cream too, noona.” Taehyung chimes in with a grin as he closes the door, a hand hidden behind his back while he holds a covered cup in the other.

Seokjin snapped his head towards him with an indignant ‘Ya!’, to which Tae only giggled at.

“You bought that heinous, god awful sweet tea with my money! How could you do this to me?!”

“I offered to pay but you—”

“WITH MY MONEY!”

Everyone only laughed and Jin trudged over with Jimin’s lunch in hand, offering it with an outreached arm and he took it. At least, he tried to. Jin suddenly raised his hand over his head. You watched as Jin continuously teased Jimin whose reach is limited due to the need to be holding your hand.

Jimin then finally got a grip on the plastic bag’s bottom and suddenly, their fishing game became a tug of war.

“Wait wait wait! You're going to tear it! It's going to spill!”

“Just fucking give it to me, hyung!” Jimin grunt, tugging one last time and the side of the bag rips, immediately Jin lets go.

“Why would you pull that hard?!”

Jimin ignored him in favor of pulling out his container, which he realized is overwhelmingly little compared to your three packages.

“Hyung!” He screams with his bottom lip jut out, dragging out the word. “How come I only have one food package? I'm also a patient, you know?!”

“You didn't request anything.” Jin says nonchalantly, shrugging.

“We've been together for years hyung! You should've known what I wanted like you did noona! This is blatant favoritism hyung!”

Seokjin ignored him, handing you a large bowl of mixed flavored fries, a large boba tea, and a plastic container where an aroma of caramelized fried chicken is leaking out of it the moment it leaves the paper bag. Next to you, Jimin scoffed, incredulous as he crossed his arms.

“She gets fried chicken, fries and boba but I only get Jajangmyeon?!”

Once again, he ignored the younger man, rolling his eyes as Taehyung bounds up to his disgruntled best friend to reveal the half occupied half empty paper beverage carrier hidden behind his back, grinning widely as Jimin’s face morphs into disbelieving betrayal.

“Wow, so this is how we do things now, huh? I can’t believe you’d do this to me when I’m a patient!”

“I’m so sorry, you poor poor thing.” Taehyung pouts as he offers out the food and Jimin spared no time in swiping the bag from him.

With their bicker finally coming to an end and Taehyung comfortably sitting crossed legs at the foot of you and Jimin’s bed, you turned to your food.

After eating nothing but bland, runny soup since the night at Jungkook’s birthday, tasting the cheddar almost made you tear up. You had taken advantage of the privilege of tasting far too long, being able to finally ingest something else felt euphoric, as if you were given the chance to walk through the garden of eden.

Exaggerated much but it's the only way you could explain the feeling.

Wasting no more time, you dug into the french fries bowl.

You hear Seokjin whisper something underneath his breath, sounding incredulous. You watched as he crossed over to Taehyung and snatched his cup, ignoring the younger man’s indignant yelp and took a sip.

Instantly, the mixed taste of cheddar and sour cream was washed away by the familiar taste of Taehyung’s heinous tea preference of illegal amounts of tea and milk. The harsh difference of the three flavors along with the texture of fries gliding on your tongue makes you gag. Your soulmates react, Jimin placing his food down to place his cupped hands under you as if trying to catch your puke while Tae flinches, about to reach over until he sees his brother already positioned to help you and turns to fetch you a glass of water instead.

“You ate too fast noona, try to chew it first.”

“You ate too fast noona, try to chew it first.” You mimic in a tone far too high to be his and Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Why are you being so annoying today?”

“I’m sorry I’m getting cranky after someone disrupted me eating—” Your words abruptly end as Jin suddenly surged in to hug you.

You look at Taehyung who’s staring longingly at his tea still in Jin’s grasp behind you before turning to a similarly perplexed Jimin mid-bite of his tteokbokki. Raising an eyebrow at him, he responds with a shrug before continuing to stuff food into his mouth.

But as you rested both hands on his shoulders, Jin suddenly sniffled.

“Jin?”

Alert, you gently push him off and your eyes meet with his misty pairs, matched with a teary smile stretching plush red lips. Your heart leapt to your throat as both his hands cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead in under a second. But instead of getting a seizure or being struck with an overwhelming amount of pain, nothing happened.

Instead a warm feeling, akin to what the rest of your soulmates caused you, wrapped around you like a thick blanket and you froze.

Then, Jin stands with an excited yip and excused himself out of the room, leaving you and the others confused.

What?

You didn't need to look at Jimin or Tae to know they all had huge question marks hanging over their heads as they stared at where they last saw their hyung disappear out of the room.

Why didn't your body react from having someone kiss your forehead while your bonds were still unsettled? From what you've read, there's always a chance of it happening, yet even if your relationship with him stretched over years, there shouldn't be any reason why he's not causing you and Jimin pain.

Unless he's also a soulmate.

Immediately you were reminded of the time he had carried you and wondered why no one ever questioned why nothing fatal had happened when he had done that in the DFA. Even if it had everyone in a flurry of panic, someone should've noticed and questioned it right? Yoongi should have at least.

There was also that one time Hoseok had held your hand in the car, it was brief but it should've done something still with a Nexus bond as complicated and huge as yours. Yet like with Seokjin, nothing happened.

“What did I just watch?” Taehyung began and you wish you had the answer. “Did I just witness my soulmate get stolen by Seokjin hyung?”

“No,” Jimin says, eyes thoughtful as he looks at you before turning to the bathroom door. “I think we just discovered that hyung is also tethered to her.”

Both your head snapped to the man next to you.

In the small amount of time you stared at your soulmate, the pieces began to click as the cogs in your mind whirs with all the possibilities before it took you back to the moment the horrendous taste of Taehyung's tea violated your tongue. Your mouth falls into an ‘o’.

“Shared Tastebuds.” You mutter.

Jimin opens his mouth to ask you to elaborate when Seokjin reenters with a doctor following behind him, red faced but the blinding wide smile he wore was enough to make you forget he was crying not a second before. The doctor next to him looked ecstatic, eyes a little crazy at the newfound discovery.

“Congratulations, it seems that also Mr. Kim here is a part of your Nexus bond!” He says a little cheerily as he hugs the clipboard close to his chest. “It would do you all well to inform the rest of the group of this finding. From a professional standpoint, I do think that Mr. Jung has a huge chance of also being a part of your Nexus.”

To say you never had doubts that the other two members were a part of your nexus would be a lie, you had hoped they were but the absence of mark manifestation symptoms made it hard to believe they’ll be one of your soulmates.

Who knew all it took to find out if you and Jin were connected was eating while in the presence of each other? If you hadn’t fainted from the lack of food and the Soulbond strain, would you have found out about it earlier?

Was he the reason you’d taste the savory taste of a well-seasoned grilled meat or the sweet fizzling taste of a soda late at night yesterday?

Or is the bond you both have will allow for long distance sense sharing? There are two types of Shared Tastebuds after all.

“The results are due today right?” Jimin asks and the doctor turns to his watch.

“This afternoon I'm sure just before you both are discharged. But,” He turns to Jin. “For now I'll be taking Mr. Kim with me to register his soulbond and involvement in your Nexus.”

When they left again, the three of you remained unmoving, stunned.

It must be Jimin’s touch that had kept you calm throughout the revelation because you didn’t know how to react. There’s no doubt joy in the hurricane of emotions swirling in your chest, as well as the pacifying effect from both your and Jimin’s touch overwhelming the rising stress and conflict at the back of your head, forcing and pushing them back into the shadows.

You knew you should be stressing over the possibilities of having seven soulmates and how you’d divide your time to be able to equally spend time with everyone, it was already difficult having five these past few days. More often than not, you found yourself suffering a headache caused by the constant noise and overwhelming sensations each individual soulmarks gave you.

From the constant sounds of Namjoon’s heartbeat at the back of your head, and Jimin’s touch making your skin thrum, even the Amoneuron in your blood is having a hard time keeping you away from soulbond hyperactivity.

Someone’s phone erupted into a shrill scream, it was Taehyung’s. Picking it up, he automatically puts it on speaker and holds the end of the phone close to his mouth.

“Is it true? Please tell me it’s not true! I’m already competing with most of my hyungs for noona’s time!”

“This isn’t a competition, gguk.” Yoongi drawled in the background. “Didn’t we already establish that? No fighting for her hear—”

“What soulmark do they have?!”

“Manager Sejin is already on the way with a lawyer to handle the legal side of things, how are you guys doing right now? Is noona good?” Namjoon asks, sounding closer to the mic.

“She didn't faint if that's what you're asking about. If anything,” Taehyung turns to you. “She looks a little out of it.”

“How did it happen? Is it the test? Is it out already?” Hoseok's voice came through, nervous.

“Yeah we'll deliver it to you later also, remember hyung complaining about tasting something weird? Apparently he was tasting the hospital special soup—”

_______

On your dismissal, the doctor had handed the eldest their test results. Seokjin had thrown him out since he already knew what it'll entail but held on protectively on Hoseok's envelope.

Jimin had proposed a small celebration for the mark's manifestation for everyone, nothing too grand, just a few take outs appropriate for tomorrow’s dinner—because Jungkook and Tae had requested pancakes and waffles for whatever reason—and a small cake.

With five—not counting Jimin as he insisted that you both sit the activity out and Hoseok who visited his sister but promised to return the next day to read his result at dinner—men at your disposal, boxing up and moving your items into their dorm was easy, even if Yoongi has noticeably slowed down the stairs carrying the same one box he’s picked up since earlier; not that you’d call him out on it but you knew Seokjin and Jimin would to do it instead.

If it wasn't for Jungkook's eagerness to have you move in, it would have taken you all longer than you had today.

It was surreal seeing the items in your home slowly decrease, the mass on your shelves and all the personality of every room disappear with every box filled. You had been staying in the same apartment since you were 21, to have its familiar sights and spots be slowly stripped off of its glow felt sadder than you thought it would be.

BigHit had requested your company friends do all the packing while you were at the hospital, it wasn't forced but they acted like it was anyway. They (read: Minhyuk and Nabi) had jokingly complained about being tasked with doing things your soulmates should’ve been doing, Minhyuk going as far as threatening to sneak off something into one of the boxes and you feared for your life for what that something might entail.

You offered to buy them anything they want the next time you all visit the mall in exchange for their full cooperation and Minhyuk had vowed to run your bank dry with a sly grin.

“It's not like you’d even need them anymore when you’ve got the world’s biggest boyband as your soulmates, might as well spend your hard earned money on important things; friends, especially me though.”

You wouldn't deny the fact that you tried dating Guwon with the hopes of living lavishly without lifting a finger but the world would have to bathe in fire and water before you'd let them buy you expensive things outside of food; that you accept because you'd be able to taste and experience delicious dishes. Not to mention, it's practical.

Having your furniture moved out as well was out of the question after an hour of argument with Jimin and Jin who insisted on having you buy new decorations, except for the books, trinkets, and plethora of BTS collection you were given by the members themselves every comeback.

You argued that you didn’t need them to buy new furniture when you already have working ones.

But that argument was easily disproved when the maknaes (plus Namjoon because, hyung you’re big, we need to weight test it!) had jumped into your bed and the frames creaked and trembled.

He was right, as much as it pains you to accept it.

But just because he's right doesn't mean you agree with him.

In the end, with one against eventually all of them, you were due for furniture shopping with Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon the next day. Today though, you were bunking with Jimin due to the need for constant skinship and the lack of bed in your new room.

You spent the better half of the afternoon unboxing and filling your closet with your items which barely filled two shelves out of six that were bolted onto the wall of the small well-lit room.

“Noona, your closet is a bit… barren.”

“The closets are just huge, I have plenty.”

“I’m concerned that you think this is plenty.” He says, thumbing the material of your cream cardigan as a grin grows on his lips. “I think I saw a few cute clothes online that would fit you.”

“Don’t.”

“Can’t do much about it now, they’re already in transit.”

After finding out your and Jin’s soulmark, you had thought deciding what you ate for dinner until the bond settled would be a hassle or until you both learn how to disable it. But Jin had simply agreed on your choices that night with a shrug of his shoulder with that soft smile on his lips.

And that amount of trust in whatever you’ll pick scares you in ways you never thought it would.

It's just a simple decision, one would say, but the ugly voices at the back of your head wondered if you even deserve this amount of consideration from him when you hadn’t noticed his lingering feelings for you for years.

But it seems like that fact has long been swept under the rug when the maknaes bounded up to you with mischief in their eyes.

Upon the realization that their Jin hyung would agree to almost anything you’d eat for a while, Jungkook and Taehyung wasted no second running up to you to propose the idea of ordering you a strawberry ice cream for dessert, claiming it was the only way to test their hyung’s love for her.

“You see noona, if hyung really loves you like he said he does, he would suck it up like the man he is.” Jungkook had reasoned to you with Taehyung nodding behind him and Jimin grinning mischievously next to you.

Fortunately for Jin, you don’t think forcing him to taste strawberry flavored things on the day he found out he wasn’t untethered would be a good decision despite the loud voice at the back of your head goading you to follow through their plan for fun.

But you promised the maknaes that you’ll do it someday.

Dinner was surprisingly uneventful with a few talks about the schedule changes and the rumors Jungkook had read and heard from his small friend group outside his brothers. If it wasn’t for the soft glow of gold at the edge of your vision from where your foot is resting on top of Jimin’s under the table and the faint outline of the red string of fate stretching across to Yoongi’s right pinkie, you would’ve tricked your brain into thinking it was a normal dinner with your friends.

With the words streaming out of Jungkook’s mouth, Tae and Jimin’s additional information and the scandalous gasp and widened eyes around the table once the pieces began to form a picture, you almost thought it was an average weekly dinner with your bosses.

But soon enough, plates are taken into the kitchen and Jimin is already pulling you up to your room, saying how he wants to take a shower and that you should take your toiletries.

Something you had dreaded since you heard the doctor had sentenced you to be in constant skinship with Jimin.

Why are you even nervous?! You had seen him and his brothers in their boxers from being one of their make up artists yet your heart had been thudding loudly in your ears the moment you had entered his room with your travel bag in hand.

Turns out, there was a truth in the saying “Ignorance is bliss” in the fact that knowing something could alter the way you think and perceive even the smallest of actions. In your case, knowing Jimin's your soulmate while facing the dilemma of showering together had you completely fucked up.

On the verge of a breakdown, half a foot on the ledge and the other hanging over the fall.

You had swam in public pools with him before but it was always with the presence of others, to be alone in a small room in nothing but your undies while maintaining skinship with your soulmate—

Isn't that a bit too intimate?

Will you even survive?

To stand half naked in a minimal space alone with Jimin, your heart might just collapse.

Seeing him in his underwear shouldn't faze you as much as it should. He and the others has stripped in front of you in a haste of changing into the next costume for the next performance but in the minimal space of his bathroom where you both are secluded away from the other dwellers of the building and he's already topless and is now unbuttoning and sliding the zippers of his jorts, the mass in your throat kept on thickening with the tension in the air.

Your eyes roamed the soft, flatness of his stomach; from up his lightly freckled bare chest and down to the thin trail of hair down his abdomen. The prominent bones of his adonis belt had your throat drying up.

Seeing him topless shouldn't affect you the way it should yet you found yourself heating up at the sight of them.

When he begins to remove his pants, you force yourself to look away, cheeks burning hot as you thumb the top buttons of your—Taehyung’s—polo before beginning to undo them all with your heart thudding loudly in your ears.

The string tied to your finger lights up in a rhythmic beat, persistent and hurried. Wrapping your fingers around it, Yoongi's loud concern immediately washes over your body. You respond to him by pushing down reassurance down the lane and the thread dulls from one side.

“Did hyung contact you?”

You turn to Jimin, already stripped down to his boxers.

God is really testing you today, putting a handsome man in his underwear in front of you and tempting you to let your gaze fall down for a glimpse of his thick muscled thighs you always saw through the fabric of his skinny jeans.

“Ye-yeah, nothing to worry about though. Give me your foot, I need to remove my shirt.”

Obediently, he puts his foot forward and you step on it before making quick work of your shirt. You feel his burning gaze roam your skin and you shiver from its intensity.

By the time you had your pants pooling on the floor alongside his, your heart is thudding uncontrollably in a way that might concern Namjoon at how fast it's going.

Why is the calming effect of Jimin's touch absent when you need it?

“Ready to go?”

You almost jumped at how hoarse his voice had gotten but recovered quickly and nodded, stepping first into the shower and twisting the valve towards the hotter temperature. Jimin hissed the moment the water touched his skin, breaking the stifling tension for a moment.

“How are your skin not burning off?! It's so hot!”

You rolled your eyes. “You're being dramatic, it's not that hot.”

“It is! The mirror is literally steaming!” He exclaimed, pointing at the long horizontal mirror above the sink which is indeed, fogging up.

Jimin then leaned over, his naked chest touching your back. Goosebumps prickled your skin and you barely stopped the urge to shiver as he manipulated the valve until he was satisfied with the temperature. When he steps back, you finally let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Hearing your exhale, he laughed lightheartedly. The fucker did it on purpose.

Trying to ignore the thumps of your racing heart, you busied yourself with the task of washing your hair. You reached for the shampoo bottle and popped open the cap, body still facing the wall.

“Noona.”

You looked over your shoulder and Jimin was scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“Can I wash your hair for you?” He shyly asks, his sly attitude from earlier nonexistent. “I've never done that with someone else before. I-I’ve always wanted to do that now and now that we're soulmates, I was–I was wondering if maybe I–we could—”

“Not even with that girl you’ve dated before?”

He shook his head. “We were too busy to do something like that, noona. Idol lives and all that. It's one of the reasons why we broke up.”

“She was pretty nice though.”

His lips quirks up. “Don’t get jealous noona, you’re my soulmate after all.”

You hit his shoulder and he brought his arms up to shield himself, giggling. “Do you want to wash each other’s hair or not?!”

Despite your agreement, you were beyond nervous as you handed him the shampoo and turned around to shut the shower off. The string on your finger thrummed once more, still concerned as your heart leapt up to your throat when Jimin's fingers began to thread and scrape his nails against your scalp.

A thrill of pleasure shoots down your spine and you hold back the urge to mewl as he begins to put more pressure on his motions.

It stayed like that for a while and you reveled in the pure domesticity of it all.

When Jimin retracts his hands, you reach for his shampoo and order him to turn around.

“What if I don't want to?” He challenges with a mischievous smirk.

“If it gets in your eyes, it's your fault.”

He giggled and shrunk down to your height, to which you hit his shoulder for and he laughed, standing back up.

“Can you even reach the top of my head like this?”

“Fine but don't complain about your knees hurting, you wanted this.” You jokingly say as he bends his knees once more, a playful lilt in his eyes.

Once you lathered the shampoo enough, you began.

You’ve seen multiple couples on screen shower together and had once wondered how it’d felt having someone to help reach the spots you couldn’t as well as do those domestic things such as brushing your teeth together and just washing each other in general. The actors always made them natural and romantic, with the soft lighting bouncing off their skin and their laughter ringing in the small space.

But showering with Jimin is anything you’ve ever thought of.

Against the other members, Jimin is easily dwarfed by them, matched with the constant jokes about his height, it's easy to forget that the man is still taller than the average man. He towered over you, his eyes intense and lit with a playful sultriness. His lips twisted into a mischievous smirk as he bent his knees low enough where you could touch the top of his head without risking a stiff neck or standing on your tiptoes.

He’s peering up at you yet you feel smaller under his gaze.

He had always done this, getting into your face while you retouched his makeup. In a way, it was nice that you’re slowly regaining the normalcy

But it's not appreciated when he’s doing it when you’re already fighting demons trying so hard not to ogle at his body and explode from how flustered you are.

“Are you seriously getting flushed now noona? We’ve done this plenty of times already, why now?”

Is he seriously asking you that?

He laughed. Your thoughts must’ve reflected on your face.

“Didn’t know you’d be affected by something as normal as this. Don’t you see us naked at least every other day?” He asks with a quirk to his eyebrow and you narrowed your eyes further at him.

“You know damn well why,” You say, slapping his shoulder before turning to open the shower once more. Laughing when the water burst open above him, cutting him off from replying.

With the tension dissolving with the shampoo on his hair, a playful grin replaced the coy smirk and with his newly washed hair, he grabbed your arms in an iron grip and began to shake his head at you, flicking water from his hair and onto you.

When he was done, he then pulled you into the stream with a bubbling laugh as he watched the shampoo suds dissolve with the water. But with both your arms pinned in place, you weren't able to wipe your eyes and had them closed the moment he had you under the shower head.

“I'm—I’m going to put chili in your fucking water, I can't see!”

With sorrys in between fits of giggles, Jimin reached up to wipe your face for you when he realized this.

Shower with Jimin sailed smoothly from that point on. After his teasing, he made no more attempts to fluster you, even when he was scrubbing your back a little longer than it should've taken.

He had, however, made comments on how many steps there are for you to shower.

“Why do you need to shampoo twice, use soap AND body wash? It’s not like you’d ever get sick anymore when I’m here.”

You just rolled your eyes and told him to leave if he’s going to complain about your routine. Eventually though, you speed through your routine due to him whining about how he’s starting to feel cold, lightheaded—to which he dramatized by leaning his hurting head on your shoulder—, and is suddenly sleepy.

Changing into your pajamas was a little hard as you attempted to do it all under the safety of a towel while also maintaining skinship with Jimin every other ten seconds who's also doing the same.

You managed somehow and soon enough, you both situated yourselves into the bed, with your legs thrown over his and backreading the bangtan gc that had awakened the moment Jimin had his phone.

Surprisingly, even Jungkook was active.

[21:24] Mimi: It's so weird tae [21:24] Mimi: I’ve never seen someone use soap AND body wash THEN washes their hair t w i c e [21:24] Hoba: I do that… [21:25] Mimi: That’s expected hyung, you’re a neat freak. [21:25] You: Why are you so weird about me being clean?! [21:25] You: IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU BEING AN IDOL I BET YOU'D USE THOSE 11-IN-1 SHAMPOOS [21:26] Mimi: ITS PSYCHOPATH BEHAVIOR [21:26] Mimi: also EXCUSE YOU??? [21:26] Jinnie: hoba I think he just called you a psychopath [21:26] Hoba: 🙁 [21:27] Ggukie: NOW YOU MADE HYUNG SAD [21:27] Hoba: 🙁 [21:27] Hoba: you think im weird jimin-ah?🥺 [21:27] Yoongs: why is this even a conversation [21:27] Joonie: Jimin just because you don’t do it, doesn’t mean it's unorthodox. [21:28] Minnie: you’re one of them, are you hyung?! [21:28] Tete: I still cant believe Jimin just showered with noona… [21:28] Tete: why are we breezing through that information? [21:28] Jinnie: ok so lets not talk about that [21:29] Jinnie: this pretty prince is going to cook tomorrow's breakfast, what does the group's prettiest want?

Reading his message felt like cold water dousing you awake and you’re suddenly attacked by a wave of guilt.

Is it okay for you to even make demands like this? Do you even deserve being Seokjin’s dearest?

“Ask him for waffles, I'm craving for them.” Jimin says, his voice slicing through your thoughts and you turn back to your phone.

[21:29] Ggukie: ask me too hyung! [21:29] Jinnie: fine I’ll bite [21:29] Jinnie: what do you want brat? [21:30] Ggukie: noona’s love :DD

You watched as Jin’s profile pic popped up and came down multiple times, and each time they do, your and Jimin’s giggles multiply.

[21:32] Jinnie: I’m blocking you [21:32] Joonie: I should have you kicked out for that stupid, corny ass joke oh my god [21:32] Yoongs: that activated my fight or flight [21:32] Yoongs: don’t do that again [21:32] Ggukie: hyung ask me again [21:32] Ggukie: promise I’ll respond properly this time :] [21:33] Jinnie: Y/N? [21:33] Ggukie: HYUNG [21:33] Minnie: she says she wants waffles :> [21:33] Jinnie: I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth, Park Jimin [21:34] Minnie: D: [21:34] You: I want scrambled eggs and pancakes :D

“Get out of my room if you're going to betray me like this.”

“You shouldn’t have played around earlier then.”

“You shouldn’t have played around earlier then. Give me that!” You stretch your arm away from him but Jimin was faster, managing to pluck your phone from your grasp and moving to place it on his side of the floor.

Without hesitation, you launched yourself at his hand making him yelp before it dissolved into giggles when you managed to catch him and had curled up around his arm, fingers attempting to pry him away from your phone.

It was how Tae had found you both in and immediately lept in, taking your side the moment he had seen you and Jimin tussled for your phone.

With Tae’s help, you were able to take back your phone only to see that it had locked itself from the many times the screen had picked up on both you and Jimin’s palms and had typed in the wrong combination after the other. For that, you slapped his arm.

“What did I do wrong?! It’s not my fault the stupid phone couldn’t differentiate between palm and fingers!”

“If I wasn’t required to touch you, I’d have you kicked out of this room.”

Jimin pushed himself up, face incredulous. “This is literally my room.”

“Next week you should sleep in my room instead, noona. I’d love to have you there.” Taehyung says, pulling you to his chest and side-eyeing his friend. “I wouldn’t be as mean as Jiminie.”

“Why am I getting disrespected in my own room? Is it gang up on Jimin day?!”

“When is it not gang up on Jimin day?”

“Why you—GET OUT OF MY ROOM.”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer @x-uno @diamonddia-mond @eggsysstuff @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @sld88 @katsukis1wife

#bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader poly #bts x y/n #bts x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader

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yuikomorii · 7 months ago

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Ayayui date♡

// I'm not sure why, but I suddenly got a burst of creativity. There's no special occasion for this post; it was really just an excuse to edit Yui in my favorite Princess Collection outfit. I like how the merch line was released right on Ayato’s birthday, so I really wanted to see an Ayayui date in those outfits! 😌💕

I was in the mood to write a special scenario again. You just have to click on ‘Keep reading’ to find it. This one is set after the LE events, particularly after the After Story, so I hope you enjoy it! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

Ayato: Haa… finally!

After all this time, I’ve managed to sort out every single problem in the Demon World.

Geez, I’m gladly taking a break!

( Ever since I became king, I’ve been buried in an endless pile of documents—so many that I’ve grown sick just being in that place. Things seem to be getting better in the Demon World, though I’d lie to say it’s perfectly stable. )

( Well, whatever. I shouldn’t bother too much about that… for now. )

( Right now, all I can think about is her. Ugh, these stupid king duties have kept us apart for way too long. I’m sure she must’ve felt really lonely, huh…? )

( Damn it! That was never my intention, but I know it must be boring as hell to be stuck in the castle all day by yourself. )

( That’s why, I’m definitely going to make it up to her today and take her somewhere nice~! )

Place: Their room

Ayato: Chi-chi-na-shi, guess who’s ba—

( Hah!? She’s not here? )

Oi, Yui!

( She’s still not answering? )

Yui, where are yo—

???: Ayato-kun..!

— hugs his back —

Ayato: What the—!

Yui: Fufu, sorry for taking you off guard. I was just thrilled to see Ayato-kun again!

Ayato: Geez, next time I call you, answer me, understood? You’re still in the Demon World, anything could happen when no one’s around, y’know?

Yui: Ah… I’m sorry for being careless. I hope I didn’t make you worry…

Ayato: No need to sulk now. What matters the most is that you’re alright.

Now… about the thing you’re wearing. Where the heck did you even get it from? It’s the first time I’ve seen you in it.

Yui: Oh, actually I bought it last time we went shopping together. You see… I didn’t show it to you back then because I wanted it to be a surprise, but uuh… does it not suit me?

Ayato: Haa… normally, when a woman wants to surprise her man, she wears lingerie or something sexy, but I’ll forgive you this time. Why? Because you look hella cute in that, can’t deny.

— Yui blushes —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you! I’m really happy…!

Ayato: ( Is she seriously almost on the verge of tears for that? )

C-C’mon, don’t get all emotional over every little thing. The date hasn’t even started yet! You really want people to see you with red eyes and puffy cheeks outside?

— Yui shakes head —

Ayato: Good, now let’s go!

— He takes her hand —

Place: Kaminashi City

Ayato: Can’t believe I’m gonna say this but I somehow missed this place.

Yui: Is that so? I thought Ayato-kun didn’t like the Human World.

Ayato: I don’t mind either of them, but right now I’m sick of the Demon World. If I see one more document, I will end up throwing up on the spot.

Yui: Ayato-kun…

( That’s right, he’s been working a lot ever since he became king. I’m sure it must truly be tiring spending days in front of all those documents. )

I’m glad you put a lot of effort in your role, but take it easy, okay? I can’t do much in this situation, yet… If you ever need help, I want to be there to support you!

Ayato: Hmm… anyway. I’m not here to talk about work again. I just want us to enjoy some time together for once.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun really sounds exhausted… He’s matured so much these past few months, which isn’t bad, but I just wish he could relax a little. )

Then, let’s make the best of this day!

— tugs onto his arm and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: Haa… it’s way better outside.

( Ayato-kun is still waiting to pay for our things, but it was way too hot in that store, so he told me to get some fresh air. )

( Now that I think about it, vampires are always cold, so I doubt the heat bothers him as much as it does me, right? Even so, seeing him care about my comfort makes me really happy. )

— warm breeze hits —

Yui: Mm… so ni—

— something suddenly hits her —

Yui: Kyah! What on earth was that!?

Eh? That’s—

Familiar: Greetings. Pardon my interruption, but could it be that you are Komori Yui-sama?

Yui: ( ‘Sama’? Uuh… I feel like that’s an exaggeration. )

Yes, I am. Did anything happen…?

Familiar: Rest assured, there is no need for alarm. My purpose here is simply to entrust this to your care. Unable to find Ayato-sama, I must rely on you to deliver him this letter.

— Yui takes it —

Yui: But, what’s this letter about?

If it’s possible to tell, of course.

Familiar: In essence, a new set of documents has been prepared for Ayato-sama. Please inform him at your earliest convenience, as his return is eagerly anticipated.

Yui: Wait! Does it mean that he really has to return now—!

( Oh no! The familiar is already gone! )

( To think that Ayato-kun was finally starting to relax again… )

( All this letter will do is ruin his day, that’s for sure. )

( But at the same time, not showing it to him… that would undoubtedly get him in troubles. )

( Uuh… This situation is so complicated. What should I do…? )

Ayato: Chichinashi!!!

Yui: ….!

— suddenly hides the letter —

A-Ah, Ayato-kun, you’re back!

Ayato: Duh, and I kept calling your name but it seems you only answer to Chi-chi-na-shi~.

— He starts pinching her cheeks —

Yui: Whey dwont, staphh!

Ayato: Hehe, that’s what you get for spacing out and ignoring me.

Anyway, you weren’t approached by any creeps, were you?

Yui: N-No, not at all!

Ayato: Hmm… that doesn’t sound too honest. Are you lying?

Yui: No way! I… I’m just hungry and my stomach won’t stop growling, which is really embarrassing…

Ayato: Haa… you never change. Always getting embarrassed over everything, but no worries, I didn’t hear anything. Though, if you’re really that hungry, I guess we could get something to eat.

Yui: Y-Yeah, that sounds great!

* Timeskip *

Yui: ( After the restaurant, we went to the mall, then back to the center. Ayato-kun… we walked a lot today, but instead of getting tired, he just got more and more energetic. )

( I suppose he was really in need of this break, so maybe hiding that letter wasn’t entirely bad, no…? Still, I’ll have to give it to him today, otherwise I’ll surely put him at risk… )

Ayato: Oi Yui, look!

Yui: W-Woah! I’ve never seen such big Takoyaki before!

Ayato: Heh, right? It’s even bigger than the ones from the Demon World!

Also, Ore-sama got you this, so I better see you eat it all.

Yui: Eh-? This is such a big donut! T-There’s no way I could eat all of it!

Ayato: So you’re refusing my donut? You’re way too ungrateful for a Chichinashi. Well, in that case, I guess you don’t need it any—

Yui: No, no, the donut is good!

— starts eating it —

Come to think of it, today you’ve spoiled me quite a lot, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: And why would that be bad? I thought women liked that.

Yui: It’s not bad, but I really didn’t do anything special. You’re the one who’s been working all day and night, for this reason I believe you deserve this treatment more.

Ayato: Haa… getting all self-conscious, just like always.

Look, you know I’m not good at sentimental shit, but after everything we’ve been through, your presence is special enough for me.

I guess I just want to cherish you, that’s all.

Yui: Ayato-kun… I feel the——

A-Ah, oh no!

( The chocolate… it melted on my hand! )

I-I’m sorry, I’ll be right back!

— tries to stand up —

Ayato: Nah, nah. C’mere.

— grabs her and sits her on his lap —

Yui: Wait, don’t!

— he starts licking her hand —

Yui: A-Ayato-kun, stop it! We’re in public…!

Ayato: Mnn… Mm…

— slowly bites —

Yui: Uuh…

( At this rate, people will definitely start watching!)

— starts moving —

Ayato: Tch, you’re making this way too hard for both! Just stay still and stop acting like I’m about to kill you!

Yui: ( I know his intentions aren’t bad, but this is getting too embarrassing…! )

( I’m sorry, Ayato-kun! )

— tries to push him away but falls down —

Yui: Oww…

Ayato: ( Geez, what a klutz. )

Haa… are you hurt?

— grabs her arm and picks her up —

Yui: Ah, I’m alright, no worries.

Ayato: Oi.

What’s that?

— picks something up —

Yui: ….!

Ayato: Is that… a letter for me?

— starts reading it —

You… you had it all this time with you and didn’t say a word?!

Yui: I… I can explain!

You see, I thought—

Ayato: Shut up!

Do you even have the slightest clue about what you just did!? I seriously doubt you understand how important king duties are, do you?

Hah, of course, you don’t! Why would you?

You sit around doing absolutely nothing all day while I’m working my ass off to make sure you and everyone else can live comfortably!

I’m out here putting in the effort, grinding to create a decent life, not just for you, but for everyone, even if I didn’t ask for this shit. And you do this to me!?

I thought you matured too, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing but a selfish bitch!

Yui: Wait! Ayato-ku—

Ayato: Don’t touch me!

Yui: …!

Please, listen to me!

— grabs his clothes —

Ayato: Quiet! I’m not risking to go through that again only because of someone like you. Get lost!

— pushes her away and leaves —

Yui: …!

No… No… this can’t be the end…

How… How could I be this stupid…? Hhn… Ngh…

Kuh… Ayato-kun.. Nhn…

Place: Avenue

Ayato: (Fuck! I can’t return to the Demon World right now. )

( On top of that, why the hell am I the one feeling guilty now!? )

( She… Yes, she deserved that treatment. That’s what she gets for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Besides, what she did could lead to something dangerous. )

( It’s not the first time she pulls such shit on me anyway, but… )

( Why can’t I stay mad at her no matter what she does to me…? )

Tch, such bullsh— Hah?

Guy 1: Aww, she’s playing hard to get~!

Guy 2: Aren’t you a bit too feisty for a crybaby?

???: S-Stop it! Leave me alone!

Ayato: …!

( That voice… Yui! )

Place: Alley

Yui: I-I told you to stop!

Guy 1: Just come with us, it’ll be fun~.

Yui: No, I don’t want to!

Guy 2: She keeps struggling, isn’t she cu——

— gets punched —

Guy 1: What the—

Guy 2: Such strength!

Yui: Eh?

Ayato: Get out of my sight, you bastards! If you don’t leave this girl alone right now, I’ll make sure your already disgusting faces get even worse!

— they start running away —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you!

( He came back for me… )

Ayato: ….

— grabs her hand and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: ( Ever since Ayato-kun saved me, he hasn’t spoken a word. )

( It’s obvious that he’s mad… )

( But if both of us keep quiet, this conflict will never be solved… )

Ayato & Yui simultaneously: I’m sorry.

Yui: ( Eh? Did he just— )

No… I’m the one who should apologize. I hid that letter, knowing full well the consequences it could have.

However… I only did it because I wanted Ayato-kun to have some free time for himself too.

Ayato: You…

Yui: I’m aware of how much work you have to do, and being king is definitely not easy. That’s why, I really admire your for that.

Nevertheless, it saddens me seeing Ayato-kun so stressed out and exhausted. I want Ayato-kun to be always as energetic and cheerful as he was today, but… I do realize that I’m just being selfish.

Ayato: No… You… You’re not selfish, I am.

I was the one who didn’t listen to your side of the story. It’s just... I’m afraid of failing as king. There, I said it!

I don’t want to put the people I care for in danger, nor can’t I accept being a worse king than that old fart, so all I have to do is carry out my duties. Hell yeah, they’re a pain in the ass but that’s my responsibility now, which is why I can’t back off.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… I never thought you felt that way… )

N-no, the way you reacted was understandable. Anyone under that much stress might have done the same, and I can’t blame you for it.

Besides, I can’t say your words were wrong. I am indeed incapable of fully understanding the challenges you face, however… no matter what happens, I want you to know that you’ll always be the best king to me…!

Ayato: …!

Heh… you really never change.

— hugs her—

Yui: W-Well, I suppose I can’t change if I do nothing all day.

Ayato: Hmph, are you throwing shade at me for what I told you?

Yui: Eh? No way, it was just a coincidence! I swear!

Ayato: Pfft, proved my point. You'll forever stay the clumsy, stupid, and oddly adorable woman that you are.

Yui: Hey, that’s backhan— Mm…!

Ayato: Nn…

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… his kiss is so gentle… )

( I really missed Ayato-kun’s kisses. I’m so happy…! )

Ayato: Oi, don’t tell me you’re about to cry again.

Yui: I’m not but…

I just want to know, will the letter get Ayato-kun in troubles…?

Ayato: I might get some weird looks for not showing up on time, and maybe a lecture or two, but it shouldn’t be too bad. I was supposed to start on them today since there’s a lot, but... I think I’d rather spend my time with my girl instead.

Yui: Is that so? Thank you.

But doesn't that mean you'll have to work even harder to make up for today?

Ayato: I guess it can’t be helped. I don’t want to think of tomorrow, all I want is to focus on the present.

Yui: Fufu, I see. By the way…

Will you uhm… stay overnight too?

Ayato: Heh~? Is that supposed to be a sex invitation?

Yui: I… T-That’s—!

Ayato: Heh~, don’t even try to get out of it, it’s written all over your face.

Rest assured though, the invitation is accepted~.

— Smooch —

#diabolik lovers #yui komori #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #ayato x yui #ayayui #admin #my edit

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platinumshawnn · 7 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt vii

Synopsis: On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, the feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods comes to a head, leaving everyone on edge. Benjicot��s first day as a husband sees him as the acting Lord of Raventree, as Samwell heads to the Redfork to confront the Brackens despite Benjicot's eagerness to go on his houses' behalf. Nonetheless, Serra and Benjicot celebrate a successful wedding.

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: hi sorry this is late, I wanted to make sure ch 7 was done as well as I could physically manage it but will probably come back and edit more later. also, sorry again if it’s a mess, I’ve been busy getting ready to move back to uni which depletes me of any last will to live every time <33 also peep the special edition banner lol

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (i.e. m/f smut), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation -- basically drama and porn idk

Word count: 17.5k

She did not like to describe them as nightmares — vivid and coming at her too fast it left her dizzy, but sometimes she did not know any other word for the dreams that kept her awake at night, plagued by images of her mother. Sleep had been a fleeting thing the past two nights, Serra’s head pounded and she felt nauseous that morning when she woke after a dream of her soft face, sad as she had cupped her daughter’s young face, only to be torn away by the Stranger in death — they had previously only happened every other moon, giving her a break at least. But they had been relentless as of late, never allowing her more than an hour of rest, leaving her aching for her mother to soothe her like a child when she woke. She had sobbed the first night after her kiss with Benjicot, just as she normally did. By the third night, she was drained and had no more tears left in her body to shed.

She wanted to speak to Kermit about it, just as she always had, but he seemed to be avoiding her since that day in the yards — his face still ingrained in her memory, angry and disgusted as she knelt by Benjicot, tending to the wounds he had inflicted. It seemed Benjicot was too, as she hadn’t seen much of him since.

The few times she saw him were only when it was necessary and he had no choice but to sit across from her at the table during breakfast and dinner, but he avoided her eye. The most she had gotten was a subtle shake of his head when she had stopped, seeing him training alone with a wooden doll in his usual spot; Ser Alistair at her side and dragging her away too, his eyes darting towards something above her — she assumed by the defeated expression, it was her eldest brother by the clench of his jaw.

The room smelled of lavender, thick with the scent from the several bunches that had been brought in and placed strategically around the chamber as she was dressed in the meantime. Her eyes were closed as her handmaidens continued to flit around her like a group of nervous birds; busy with the last touches to her dress fixing the red and blue maiden cloak around her shoulders and fixing her hair — she swore she had felt fingers on her neck, startled by their cool touch as her necklace was twisted, a soft hum of hushed voices around her.

Her head turned, whipping towards the sound of where a distant voice had come from, her eyes finding Grace, who looked at her with a concerned gaze, “My lady?” She asked.

Serra froze, delirious with exhaustion she presumed as she let out a sharp exhale, turning to look away, “Sorry, I…” she stammered. “I thought you said something.”

“I asked if you slept well last night,” Grace replied, touching her shoulder.

“No,” she admitted. “Sleep has not come easy these past nights.”

Grace smiled, small and sweet as she stepped in front of her — it was a weird thing to no longer have Orpheus at her feet, mulling over her, “Wedding day nerves?” She softly asked.

She let out a short laugh, tired and strained, “I suppose so.”

Her handmaiden looked down, smiling as she fixed her cloak’s clasp one last time, “You’ve nought to worry about, my lady.”

“And why is that?” She asked, looking down at her.

The girl shook her head, smiling, “I’ve seen the way Lord Benjicot looks at you.” She simply replied as though it was the most obvious thing. The words confused her because as far as she remembered, it was not — her mouth opened to reply, but she was silenced by the soft knock against her door.

She turned as it slowly crept open to reveal her father, who scanned the room with his eyes as he entered, slower than usual and visibly uncertain of his presence there.

Serra was nothing less than radiant in her wedding gown, the deep red silk contrasting beautifully against her skin. Her auburn hair, a trait she had inherited from him, had been painstakingly woven into an elaborate braid, adorned with small, delicate pearls. But it was her eyes, so full of uncertainty and quiet resolve, that held his gaze.

“Father,” Serra said, her voice soft but steady. She inclined her head slightly, a gesture that made Elmo’s heart swell with both pride and sorrow.

“Serra,” Elmo replied, his voice more gruff than he intended. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “You are… you look every bit the lady I always knew you would become.”

Serra’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Thank you, Father.”

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence where neither spoke. Elmo searched for the right words, something to ease the tension he knew she must be feeling, but he found himself at a loss. What could he say that would comfort her when he felt the sting of the day so acutely?

“I know this is not easy,” he finally managed, his voice low. “But you are strong, Serra. Stronger than you think. And this marriage… it will bring much-needed peace to the Riverlands. That is something to be proud of.”

Serra nodded, her eyes downcast for a moment before meeting his again. “I know, Father. I understand what this marriage means for our house, for all the houses of the Riverlands.”

Elmo squeezed her hands, then released them, stepping back slightly. “Are you ready?”

Serra hesitated, glancing toward the window where the ancient trees of the godswood could be seen in the distance, their black leaves whispering in the wind. She took a deep breath, then turned back to him with a more confident expression.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Elmo smiled, a fleeting expression that quickly gave way to something more sombre. He extended his arm, and Serra took it, her grip firm and steady. The hallways were quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of Serra’s gown against the stone floor as they descended the stairs and approached the entrance to the godswood, Elmo could feel the change in the air. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of earth and leaves, a reminder of the ancient roots that held Raventree Hall in its grasp.

When they reached the edge of the godswood where the two sons of Elmo Tully and Samwell waited along with Maester Edric, their eyes turned to watch as Lord Elmo Tully led his daughter forward. At the centre of it all stood Benjicot Blackwood, dressed in the dark colours of his house, his young face set in a mask of calm reserve.

Elmo felt Serra’s grip on his arm tighten as they approached Benjicot, and he gave her a reassuring pat. When they reached the heart tree, the weirwood’s blood-red leaves rustling above them, Elmo turned to face his daughter one last time.

“Who gives this bride?” Lord Samwell asked.

“I, Lord Elmo Tully, of House Tully, give Serra Tully, my one and true daughter, to Benjicot Blackwood of House Blackwood in marriage.”

Her hand shook as his arm slowly slid away from hers, fighting the urge to reach out for her father and drag him back to her side as he stepped back. She looked back at him, eyes wide and scared as he gave her an encouraging nod -- she looked straight ahead, facing the large weirwood tree that hung dead over them, Benjicot’s back still to her. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled -- once, two, thrice before she slowly approached him, her feet sinking into the earth with each step. It was then that she noticed Benjicot’s head was lowered, bowed to the tree with his eyes closed as his hands remained clasped behind him -- she looked up at the Weirwood, its face staring back at her, horrifying and sobbing.

“Do you, Serra Tully, take this man?”

She hadn’t realised she had been standing there, in a daze and lost in thought until Lord Blackwood’s voice drew her back to reality. She looked down from the tree, looking at him and finding those familiar dark eyes that held such intensity, she had to force a breath inwards -- Benjicot’s head lifted, turning to look at her, “I take this man.” She echoed.

There was a moment of silence, Benjicot’s hand emerging from underneath his cloak to extend to her and waiting expectantly for hers; steady and confident as she looked at it. She finally lifted hers, her right in his left, palms pressed together and fingers laced -- his touch felt searingly hot against hers as she was guided to a kneeled position, moving her cloak back with her free hand to prevent herself from getting tangled in it as she sunk to the ground. The ground beneath her was damp from the rain, soaking through the white dress that had been meticulously chosen for her.

Benjicot’s head bowed again, lowered and looking towards the ground as he took a deep breath, closing them again. She watched him from the corner of her eye, swallowing thickly before she mirrored his actions and lowered her head, her eyes however open and fixed on her lap. She could hear Samwell’s voice from the day prior still, explaining the ceremony to her step-by-step so she didn’t make a fool of herself, the breeze the only noise that passed through them. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as Samwell gently laid a hand against the crown of her head for a moment, along with that of Benjicot’s, withdrawing after a moment. She did not know what prayer to offer at that moment, her thoughts still racing as she tried to slow her breathing -- she could only imagine what Benjicot’s only silent plea was as she fought for a word of prayer to come to her.

Mother above, guide my heart and his in this union. Bless us with love, patience, and understanding, that we may grow together in harmony and strength. Grant me the wisdom to be a worthy partner to him, and the courage to face whatever trials may come. May our bond be as unbreakable as the vows we speak today, and may we find joy in each other’s company, now and always. I ask this humbly, with hope and faith in the path before us.

The silence lasted too long for her comfort as she finished her prayer, peering towards Benjicot again in her peripheral vision. His head rose after a moment, not daring to look at her yet as he opened his eyes, looking up at the tree -- he seemed to feel her stare on him as his head turned slightly, just enough to catch her eye and subtly raise an eyebrow at her. His eyes darted up as a way to gesture to her to stand before he slowly pushed up from his knees, Serra fumbling to follow him to her feet — his hand steadied her, still holding hers as she clutched her dress with her free hand.

He released her hand as they stood, turning to face one another. Benjicot’s hands lifted to her chest, his knuckles brushing her skin as he unfastened the clasp of her cloak; her eyes fixed on his face and watching the look of concentration that etched itself into his features -- his movements were cautious, careful not to damage it as he unclipped it and slowly slid the cloak from her shoulders, finding her eyes as he pulled it towards him. He looked away, holding the cloak out to her father who stepped forward to gather it, turning to look at her again. Samwell held out a cloak that resembled Benjicot’s, large and of their house colours — it was daunting to look at, unsure if it would fit her or leave her swimming in its fabric as Benjicot lifted it, holding it in front of her and shaking out the fabric — he swung the fabric up and around her, letting the cloak rest against her spine and enveloping her shoulders. The cloak was heavier than her own, a thick wool that would keep her warm amidst the rainy weather, rough against her fingers as she fisted it; her head lowered. She avoided his eyes as he fastened the cloak around her shoulders — his hand nudged her chin as he withdrew, encouraging her to look up at him again.

A gentle breeze blew through the Godswood, the silence filled by the distant sounds of ravens that seemed to constantly hover over the estate, his hands moving to cup her face — his hands were hot against her cheeks, gentle in handling her and holding her gaze. Her attention was drawn to the freckle on his forehead, down to the scar on his nose, his mouth that lingered close to hers but not yet touching, igniting reminders of the memory of his kiss in her room days earlier; though there was a restraint that was not there the time before, hesitating.

Benjicot leaned forward finally to close the gap, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow and sweet; tame in comparison to the ones she had the memory of, exploratory and shy as his lips melded into hers. A warmth spread throughout her chest and limbs until it radiated to her fingertips, her heart rate increasing with nervous excitement as she instinctively reached up to touch his cheek.

Serra withdrew when she felt a trickle of rain land against her brow, her head tilting to look upwards towards the grey skies, covered in thick, full clouds that threatened to downpour -- Benjicot’s eyes followed hers for a moment, scanning the sky before he looked down at her again. When she looked back at him, she was met by a shocking tenderness that she didn’t recognise in him, his mouth pressing into a small, lopsided smile.

His eyes briefly darted towards where his father stood in front of them, looking to his wife then. She let out a startled yelp as he moved forward, sweeping her off her feet by hoisting her over his shoulder; her hips pressed against him, knocking the wind from her lungs for a moment as her right hand flung out towards his back -- she felt him sway as he adjusted his stance, bouncing her slightly over him so he could adjust her positioning as well, her eyes stuck on his heels.

She heard a low snort, quiet and unable to source who it belonged to as the ground beneath them moved; swaying with each step he took towards the house. Her father reached out to touch her shoulder as they passed, Benjicot’s body shaking with a laugh as her father uttered a soft, “Don’t drop her please.”

Serra was terrified to move or squirm as he walked, his cloak clutched tight in her hands as if somehow that would help break her fall if she slipped off; struggling to breathe with his shoulder pressed into her stomach. She watched as his feet led them inside, the dirt path covered in a layer of leaves that crunched under every step, the rain beginning to pick up -- the men who had joined them in the Godswood followed in silence behind them, her head briefly lifting to find her brothers, her father, and Samwell in tow. The doors were opened for them as they returned inside the grand halls of Raventree, the halls lit and lined with guards and staff who waited for their arrival -- she counted the pairs of feet as they passed, her eyes lifting every so often to catch the odd look of subtle amusement from a young guard or the giddy smile of a handmaiden as he carried her towards the hall.

They arrived to open doors, the room already lined and filled with several men and women from the Riverlands; other highborn noble couples, lords, and their children. It was only then did she feel him crouch and let her down, her feet making contact with the floor as he slowly placed her down. She stumbled back a step, red-faced and flustered as she quickly fixed her dress, steadied by a hand of his around her elbow and looking ever so proud of himself as he grinned at her -- she let out a breathy laugh, wide-eyed. A sudden chorus of applause erupted within the room, her head whipping around to face the room that welcomed them, lit and basking in the warm glow of the lighting of the ornate chandelier that hung over the rows of tables; Benjicot’s hand finding her back and sliding up her spine as he moved to stand beside her.

Serra could not remember what it was like to attend a wedding under the old gods -- the few she had attended had been in her childhood, whilst most of the ones she attended in her life were of cousins and relatives who followed the Seven -- but it stunned her how extravagant and beautiful the tradition was, the familiar house colours of burgundy, silver and grey lining the walls; the streamers and banners of their sigil reaching every corner of the space. The tables were lined by gold silverware and utensils, the smell of wine and food wafting towards her and overwhelming her senses as she blindly found his free hand and held it.

“I hope it is all to your liking,” He quietly said, leaning into her side.

She admired the candlelit room, the faintest hint of the dwindling sunset casting in through the window that overlooked the hall; the familiar symbol of House Blackwood over the head table at the front of the room, “And more.” She replied, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more. She looked up at him with big, doe-like eyes and smiled wide, his expression softening with a look of adoration.

“Good.”

Serra was startled by the sudden announcement as Samwell joined them, his voice loud and carrying to every corner as Benjicot guided her forward and in the direction of the head table that awaited them;

“Presenting Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall and scion of House Blackwood, and his bride, the Lady Serra Blackwood, daughter of House Tully. Let all bear witness to this union, a bond forged in honour and sealed in love, uniting the ancient houses of Blackwood and Tully!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot was never much of a dancer.

He did not particularly enjoy it, although he knew a few basic dances as had been expected of him; it was not something he ever found himself eager to do so willingly. In fact, in his twenty years and as a man, he had only found himself on the dancefloor if it was by his father’s order and he had no other choice — he lacked the grace for it, all long limbs and clumsy as he had to think hard about every step.

It was an embarrassment, he assumed, for a highborn man to not know much beyond basic steps — but even as a boy, he had gotten strange looks, watching as he struggled through each dance and having to consciously count himself through the steps without tripping over himself. He knew he looked ridiculous doing it, and despite that he was not keen to admit it, he was a prideful man who did not enjoy putting himself in a position to make a fool of himself if he could help it.

He relented though for Serra’s sake, unable to find it within himself to deny herself the little pleasure of three dances when they had first arrived; despite cringing at the thought while she looked at him with big eyes, pleading and childishly excited — she had tried to conceal it, but there was no denying the giddiness when he had reluctantly agreed and been pulled immediately towards the dance floor. He had hurried back to his seat as soon as he could as he had met his part of their deal, leaving her to Emrys, who had swept in immediately and asked for a dance himself; Benjicot didn’t have the heart to object, because he trusted her, and he trusted his cousin to know his limits. He quietly sat at the head table, nursing a chalice of wine that he slowly sipped, his eyes fixed on the dance floor and watching slowly as the drunken stupor of wine took hold of the guests as the band continued, the sound of joyous laughter and discussion present over the soft lull of music as Lord Elmo and his father conversed among themselves with Benjicot sat between the two men — even his father who did not care for the taste of wine had taken to indulging himself to a couple of cups.

“I do not mean to interrupt, my Lords,” Maester Thaddeus said as he approached the men from behind, appearing between Benjicot’s chair and his father’s on his right as the conversation ceased.

“Then do not,” Samwell said, visibly already annoyed by his presence as he waved him away and looked back to Elmo who raised an eyebrow.

“It is urgent.”

Samwell froze, sighing and looking up at him again, “Very well,” he replied. “What is it?”

He stuttered a moment, “I’d first like to offer my congratulations to the young Lord Benjicot on his union of course,” he said, earning a tight smile from Benjicot.

“Thank you, Thaddeus,” He replied.

The elderly man nodded, a forced smile on his face — however, he sensed there was more to the conversation as he glanced between him and his father, “I have also come as there has been news from the borders— there have been more men spotted near the boundaries again…”

Benjicot frowned, looking at his father.

“—This is hardly the time for this conversation, Thaddeus,” Samwell muttered, his voice sharp with irritation as he lifted his drink to his mouth.

“—Amos Bracken among them.” He added.

His father stilled, the chalice at his mouth frozen in time as he then lowered it to the table and turned his head again, “Amos has joined them?”

“It seems so, my Lord,” Thaddeus admitted,

His father let out a gruff hum, the news hanging over them as he brought his wine to his lips and downed its content in silence; eyes turning to look over the crowd of guests and friends who were blissfully oblivious to the news, “Let me go.” Benjicot pleaded, leaning towards his father, “I can be there within less than an hour on horseback. I can take Emrys and Henry, we can provide support to Davos and his men—”

“And repeat the mess you made last time?” Samwell snapped, looking at him then.

Benjicot hesitated, “No.”

His father contemplated his answer, staring at him and setting his empty chalice down, “No, Benjicot.” He finally said, looking away.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” He answered quickly. “You are hardly married yet, your marital bed still cold and untouched, and you would sacrifice yourself to Amos Bracken before your wedding night is over?” He asked, dumbfounded by the suggestion and turning his head to look at him with a frown.

He swallowed, glancing towards the room as it dawned on him that there was more to consider than just throwing himself to the wolves of battle — he had grown so used to carelessly throwing himself into these waters, that he had forgotten to consider his new wife, “I can come right back— go there and confront him, I can be back before midnight—”

“Benjicot, you have duties here,” Elmo said. “I admire your enthusiasm, I do, but your duty is here with Serra.”

“—and I will perform my duty, I assure you,” He insisted, “but this was my doing, let me go and put things right back as they were. Let me fix the mess I have made.”

“Your father and Lord Elmo are right, Benjicot,” Thaddeus said, interrupting him before he could utter another word. His eyes darted between the three men, blindingly rapidly, “that brings me to the second matter at hand.”

“But…”

Samwell reached over quickly and grabbed his wrist on the table, silencing him and only shaking his head, “What is it, Thaddeus?”

“There is the matter of the bedding ceremony,” He suddenly said.

Lord Elmo choked on his drink, practically throwing his cup down and eyes bulging as he coughed — Kermit, from his left, grabbed his shoulder and grabbed the napkin in front of him. It had been the first time Benjicot had even noticed the eldest Tully son, making eye contact briefly as Benjicot shoved his chair back to avoid the spill of wine, his hands flinging up, “Shit,” Benjicot exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Elmo coughed, “I apologise— pardon me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Samwell let out a sudden snort of laughter, earning a series of shocked expressions as he wiped a dribble of wine from his chin that he had accidentally spit out while laughing at Elmo’s horrified expression — the conversation had never risen before this moment, a tradition that Samwell himself had participated in as a young man on his wedding night. He had neither had this conversation with Benjicot, as it had slipped his mind in the days leading up to the wedding but he had expected a better reaction from Lord Tully. Benjicot looked at his father, a frown etched deep into his features as he set his chalice down.

“I will not have a dozen overweight, elderly men in the room with my daughter to watch her…” Elmo muttered, disgusted by the idea as he stammered, “engage in the marital act.”

Samwell laughed again, bringing his cup to his mouth for another sip, “I do not see what is so funny about this, Samwell.” Elmo said, turning to look at him. “I find the whole bedding ceremony utterly repulsive.”

Lord Blackwood shook his head and held up a hand, still chuckling as he swallowed his drink and set the cup down again, “Forgive me, Elmo, I…I do not mean to offend you.” He sincerely said, his voice low and quiet. “I just assumed you were a man of tradition, given your house’s reputation.”

“Not that one.” He readily snapped. “Do you not recall how mortified Alannys was? Serra is too fragile for that, I could not subject her to that.”

“Oh, I have never forgotten.” Samwell smiled, leaning into the table with his elbows and clasping his hands together as though he was praying; his knuckles pressing to his mouth as he eyed the Lord Tully, “It is only a mere suggestion, right, Thaddeus?” He asked, his eyes lit up with amusement as he looked to the maester who stood over them. Thaddeus hesitated, glancing between the two men before he offered a reluctant nod.

“It is…optional I suppose,” He slowly said. “It is just a precaution as a means to ensure the marriage is properly consummated.”

He reached across towards where Benjicot sat, grateful that his sister had whisked the young bride away, as his hand clasped his son’s broad shoulder with a firm squeeze, “I do not doubt that my boy here will be able to fulfil his duty, isn’t that right, Benjicot?”

The young man avoided his gaze as he stared at the table, sighing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment; humiliated enough as was, he heard Kermit let out a quiet snort while he too looked away. His eyes briefly glanced across the table, looking up through his lashes towards where Elmo grimaced and rolled his eyes — his father let out a final chortle, “There is no need to make more of a spectacle of the young bride and groom, no need to further embarrass them.” Samwell said, waving his hand dismissively and standing up from his chair. The maester nodded, still wary as he stepped back.

Benjicot watched as he scanned the room in search of Serra, soon finding her all flushed cheeks and smiles as she laughed, the pair at an appropriate distance as they danced — the sight could have bothered Benjicot, but he was comforted by her smile, relaxing in his seat. She appeared at ease — he assumed the blush on her face was in part from the wine as her head tipped back in laughter. His father waved towards Alysanne who stood in a nearby corner of the dance floor, her dark eyes lifting to catch the movement and standing up and away from the wall to gently push her way towards his wife.

After a whisper in her ear, Serra nodded, still breathless and smiling wide as she politely thanked his cousin for their dance before retreating with Alysanne from the floor. The two women quietly spoke as they walked towards the doors that exited the great hall, his wife’s head twisting to look back over her shoulder and finding him with her eyes before she exited — her smile softened, nodding her head in his direction as Benjicot pressed a hand over his mouth to conceal the small smile the sight of her brought to his face. At last, she turned and left the room, Samwell’s voice loud and clear as he spoke over the room, the music ceasing, “Honoured guests, the hour grows late, and it is time for our young lord and his bride to fulfil the ancient duties of marriage. Let us raise our cups and bid them a fond farewell for the night, wishing them a fruitful union and a blessed future."

His father raised his chalice, the room mirroring his actions for a moment before there was applause — the sound caused Ben to internally cringe as he took one last drink from his cup with clammy hands, forcing down whatever contents remained. He tuned out the sound of cheers of his name, wishing him well and blessing him as he stood slowly. His chair dragged across the ground, his father looking at him and offering a tight smile — for the first time in years, he found a look of pride and adoration in his eyes. His father moved to meet him as he circled the table, a hand touching coming to the back of his head and bringing his forehead to rest against his own.

A moment of silence passed between them, the music resuming as they stood together.

His father released him, stepping back and nodding, “You’re going to make a fine husband and father, my boy.” He said, blinking rapidly.

Benjicot sucked in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as he forced a smile that was small and timid, “You will be a great Lord of Raventree.” Samwell added, his voice quieter this time as he spoke.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but his tone was off and held an edge of emotion that caused a shiver to run down his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. His brows furrowed, head tilting slightly as he opened his mouth to question the sudden need for vulnerability but he was interrupted again, “Your bride is waiting for you. Go on.” Samwell said, his tone stern again. His father’s smile was something melancholic as Benjicot nodded and slowly parted ways, heading towards the doors; feeling the room’s eyes on him as he walked. The doors closed behind him as Ser Eryn followed close behind.

“Is he aware of your intention to go to Redfork tonight?” Elmo asked, the two men staring after the young Lord who had taken his leave.

Samwell shook his head, “Not yet.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alysanne and Serra walked in silence a majority of the journey back to her newly shared rooms — the only noise that passed between them was the sound of fabric and heels with each step, the music from the great hall growing quieter the further they walked from it, her head down and watching her feet. Every so often, Serra could hear Ser Alistair’s armour from behind them clank, his footsteps heavier than both of theirs.

It was only once they reached the door did Alysannespoke, touching her elbow in a comforting gesture, offering a small smile that resembled her brothers as it did not quite reach her eyes, “This is where I leave you, my lady.” She softly said.

Serra reached to take her hand, pulling it from her elbow and holding it with her own as she let out a breath, “Thank you.” She replied.

The elder of the two women nodded, squeezing her hand, “I pray that my nephew is at least respectful.”

Serra let out a choked laugh, nodding again. She did not know how to approach the question, her gaze dropping briefly and refusing to release her hand just yet, “Something troubles you.”

She swallowed, “What is it like?” She asked, her voice small and shy.

Alysanne’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as she processed the question with parted lips that formed an ‘o’ as she glanced towards the guard who stood only feet away. She pondered her next words carefully, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced towards the guard who tried to keep as much distance as he safely could manage, “I’m not sure I am the best person to talk to you about this.” She quietly said, “Did your mother never teach you about such things?”

Serra shook her head, looking up at her.

“Oh, my dear.” She said, letting out a breathy laugh that hinted at her uncertainty, “You will be okay. It can be uncomfortable at first, but it becomes…tolerable. That is as much as I can tell you. The rest will come naturally.” Alysanne said, using her free hand to gently cup her cheek and brush her thumb over the skin there in a soothing manner, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

The door opened beside them, a handmaiden stepping out and curtsying to the pair, “We are ready for you, my lady.” She quietly said.

Alysanne withdrew from her, gently guiding her by her shoulder toward the room as Serra took one final, deep breath and shakily exhaled with one last look to the older Blackwood woman before she walked in behind the young woman who had come to retrieve her.

The servant girls had helped her in stripping down to the simple, cotton chemise that fell to her ankles, her dress being neatly folded away for her while they made work of the pins that held her hair in place; allowing it to fall freely down her back while another pulled back the blankets for her. She was grateful once for the help for once as her hands shook the moment she entered her chambers, frozen and unsure what to do as they got to work. Her eyes had just watched, silent as they brushed out her hair with nimble fingers, pulling down the blankets, quick and quiet -- they were gone just as quickly, one young girl mumbling a soft comment of, “Good luck, m’lady” as she left. Serra wasn’t fully sure what she was to expect — her mother was gone before she’d even had a chance to ask these questions, and her brothers and father did not believe in entertaining such improper conversations. She did not even know how to ask about the events of one’s wedding night — she was the first to be married, but surely, her brothers would soon follow with their betrothals and she supposed she was the one to have those answers.

Her gaze was fixed out the window, picking at her nails as the moments seemed to drag on, alone in silence as she awaited for…well, she wasn’t sure. It felt like hours before the sound of the door opening again startled her, turning to find Benjicot entering the room, his gaze timid and to the ground as he entered; briefly raising to look at her from across the room as he closed the door behind him. She could faintly hear the distant shout from the celebration hall on the other side of the house, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath as she turned to face him, her lips parting. Benjicot’s movements were wary as he slowly walked further into the room, yet to say anything to his new wife as he approached the settee; his left hand rising to reach across his chest to his right shoulder and making fluid, easy work to undo the pin that secured his cloak, allowing the fabric to come apart. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the seat, the pin reflecting the light of the fireplace that had been lit before her arrival before bending to unlace his boots. She watched his actions closely, unsure if she should approach him or let him come to her; twirling her fingers anxiously as she took a couple of shy steps towards him just as he stood upright. Benjicot’s gaze rose from the task, looking at her and watching as she moved toward him and straightened up — the light of the fire cast light across half his face, enough to make out his features as his eyes scanned down the length of her body.

His hands reached next for the belt that hung around his hips, undoing it and placing it with his cloak, the metal of it clinking with the move. His head dropped to look down as he moved to lift towards the strings of his leather vest, beginning to fumble them undone just as she closed the gap to approach him until she was stood directly in front of him and reached out towards the strings his hands were preoccupied with, “Here…let me.” She quietly mumbled, his gaze going to her face, allowing his hands to drop to his sides after a moment and nodding once. She sheepishly glanced up at him, her fingers trembling as she undid the laces until the vest could be discarded amongst the growing pile of his clothing.

There was a break in the discard of his clothing, Benjicot instead distracted by her features, a hand reaching up to take the ends of her hair between his fingers and playing with it, fiddling with the strands before his hand rose to brush some behind her ear. His thumb brushed along the shape of her cheekbone as it came to drop down, slow and curious, as if he was trying to map out every curve and dip of her body head-to-toe; the hand ceasing at her jaw and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She swallowed, her attention fascinated by his features up close in this light -- even in this light, if not even more, he was strikingly handsome. Her right hand lifted, palm and fingers placed to his chest, splayed out as her hand pressed flat against his sternum to feel that familiar thrum of his heart just beneath his ribs; feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Her gesture prompted a smile from him, mouth curving upwards and a dimple appearing on his left cheek as she felt his heartbeat quicken under her palm.

He let go of her chin, stepping back just enough to be able to pull the burgundy doublet up over his head and remove it fully, leaving him half-undressed in just his underclothes. Serra fought the urge to reach out and once again touch him, feeling a jolt in the pit of her stomach as her eyes explored the skin, letting him come forward to her again as he stepped closer until he was chest-to-chest with her; hands coming to her waist as his fingers pressed into her sides. Even through her clothing, as little as it was, she could feel the heat of his touch radiate through the fabric as his face hovered so close over hers, his breath brushed over her lips; close but not quite touching as her eyelids fluttered, her breath quickening and instinctively finding hold of him by his shoulders. She felt as he drove her feet backwards and towards the bed until her knees met the frame, so close but not yet kissing her, leaving her in the balance of anticipation and desperation. She practically pushed herself forward into him as his hands slid up her sides at a tantalisingly slow pace before coming to a rest at her ribs, just below her chest and using one hand to cup her right cheek.

The dam of anticipation in her broke as his lips finally and fully pressed to hers, relieved as he truly and completely kissed her without restraint. His lips and tongue still held the lingering taste of wine from dinner, sweet and warm as his tongue slipped between parted lips to lick at her tongue with his own. The combined sensation of his mouth on hers and his touch left her feeling hot and flustered, a warmth pooling in her belly as she sharply inhaled a breath through her nose; sharing a breath with her husband, whose hot breath tickled her nose and cheeks. It seemed as though any thoughts of battle were long gone and left at the door as Benjicot put his all into the kiss, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

She was grateful for the moment of air, catching her breath as he parted from her to lean away just long enough to guide her into sitting back on the mattress. She scuttled backwards to give him room to follow between her knees, watching instead amidst the dim glow of the orange flames, as hands went to his waist to untie the lace of his breeches and push them down, leaving him completely and fully bared to her once the final layer of his undershirt was discarded. She sat up against the pillows, knees pulled to her chest as he crawled up to her, too anxious to look anywhere but his face as he approached her on the bed. Soon enough, he was face-to-face again with her, kneeling between her knees that were guided down and apart with one hand that then settled against the bed over her hip as he pressed a kiss to her mouth, simple and sweet in contrast to the kiss moments ago. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking his cheek.

“How much do you know about…” He quietly asked, mouth parted from hers as he sought the words. She shook her head in reply.

“Not..a lot.” She admitted.

He inhaled, letting out a breath against her lips as he nodded too, hand closing around her hip, “Move down, lie back.” He instructed in a hushed tone.

She shyly moved to shimmy herself down and onto her back underneath him, her hands withdrawing toward herself and resting over her abdomen, flat against her belly as she waited for his next move. Her wide, curious eyes watched his movements closely as he readjusted himself between her legs, his thighs brushing hers and running fingertips down from her collarbone; down her body, his touch leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they trailed down the thin fabric until he stopped at her thigh. He grasped her chemises’ skirt and gently tugged it up until it could be bunched at her waist, leaving her bare to the elements as the breeze from the room tickled the flesh of her thighs, raising gooseflesh along the skin as her thighs rested over his, leaving her hips angled towards him.

“I have heard that it hurts.” She announced, his eyes going to her face. “The first time…I have heard from other ladies that it hurts.” She further explained, restating herself to clarify her point. She could see the small smile on his face as he leaned over her, mouth coming to hers in another sweet kiss, though she could feel that same heat simmering below the surface from earlier.

“I cannot guarantee it won’t…it is different for men.” He said, pausing. “Though I can promise to do my best not to bring you too much discomfort. Try to relax.”

Her breath quickened, her heart hammering beneath her ribs as her hands slid up from her belly to the neck of her gown as she nodded, her lips brushing his. She watched as he moved back further on the bed, one hand over one of her knees while the other rose to his lips, pressing the digits to them — she couldn’t help but watch, curious and fascinated by his actions, gathering saliva with his fingertips; ensuring they were coated to his liking before his hand lowered between her thighs. It was then, that his stare caught hers once again, her bottom lip being taken between her teeth and sucking in a deep breath through her nose; shy and burning with embarrassment as her gaze turned toward the roof of the canopy of her bed and fidgeting with her fingers as his hand finally made contact with her skin again. She felt the pressure of his touch, the pads of his fingertips gentle in sliding up along her folds, his saliva combining with her slick arousal to allow the movement to glide with ease as fingers pressed against the pearl above her entrance. She could hardly control the clench of her belly, the warmth pooling there spreading like wildfire and igniting every nerve in her body when his fingers slowly began to rub against it with circular motions, his eyes stuck on her face and watching her from his place between her legs, gauging her reaction.

Her chest rose with a deep breath in, too engulfed by embarrassment to move under his watchful gaze and swallowing when she dared to meet his stare, startled by the soft expression on his face — for once, he just existed peacefully, no signs of frown lines around his brow or mouth. He was just the boy Lord of Raventree — youthful and handsome. His actions caused a charged jolt to shoot up her spine, the warmth once in her lower belly intensifying as her right knee moved to press against his side, with a soft mutter of ‘oh’, her hips shifting against his touch.

“Does that feel okay?” He suddenly asked.

She had to muster the courage to choke out a reply, afraid of her voice at that very moment, instead giving him a small nod. She could see the relief on his face as he leaned into his free hand that pressed flat against the mattress beside her waist, buried in the deep red blanket that covered the bed. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him amidst the battle of figuring out where to place them — did she grab hold of the blankets? Of him?

“You can touch me, you know.” He stated like he had read her mind. She could make out the smile on his face and the tone that teased her, leaning forward to kiss her, a small muffled gasp of air being drawn in; every inch of her body aflame as the heat that spread down her belly, her thighs, until the sensation rested in her toes, tingling. At his words, almost like she had no control over her body, her right hand reached out towards him, leaned over her and made contact with his abdomen; the lean muscles rippling with movement as he adjusted himself so the hand by her waist could move to plant beside her head, his face hovering over hers. Benjicot withdrew from her lips, leaving her mouth chasing after his for a moment, her chin lifting while her fingertips traced down his abdomen until they stopped just between the dip of his hips. The feeling of his skin and the lewdness of the entire situation was thrilling, inciting an involuntary whimper.

He readjusted, his hips coming closer to hers, enough so that his pelvis brushed hers while his hand moved; taking her whimper as a cue to proceed. His hand dipped, using the slick her arousal created as a lubricant to gently ease a finger into her, slow movements, readily on the lookout for any sign of discomfort that would prompt him to stop — her eyes widened up at him, mouth falling agape and walls fluttering around the digit at the intrusion; he could see her brows furrow, audibly withdrawing a sharp intake of air through parted lips as she seemed to be trying to decide on whether it was a sensation she welcomed. Benjicot stilled, his thumb reaching to brush against her clit and resuming the slow and steady movements against her.

The hand that had been awkwardly placed at her chest finally moved, gripping his bright bicep tightly — he watched as she dropped her head back against the pillows, a whine of approval leaving her mouth that eased any worry in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her throat, the dip between her collarbones and dragging his lips up along the length of it, before settling at her pulse point and gently using his teeth to nip at the skin there, earning a content sigh as her head turned to bury into the pillow. Once he felt her muscles loosen, he edged a second finger in, his eyes never leaving her face; her hand at his hips sliding to his back and dragging her nails down his spine.

Benjicot had no desire to overwhelm her — as much as his primal desires wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless into the mattress, quick and relentless, he bit back his impulsive urges. His face nuzzled against her chest, nose brushing along the curve of her breast, feeling as her hand rose to lace itself at the roots of his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and earning a groan of approval at the sensation. His fingers curled upwards as they slowly thrust into her, his fingertips pressing up into her walls, a sensation that felt as though his fingers worked in behind the delicate bundle of nerves — her mouth opened with a sharp gasp, moaning as her hips shifted against his hand, lifting into his palm. Her hand in his hair tightened, tugging him upwards and back to her face, her mouth messily finding him in an open-mouth kiss that was more pants of air than anything; his mouth wandering to proper kisses to her chin and cheeks.

“Oh.” She softly breathed, his thumb picking up pace against her bud.

His chest pressed to hers as he laid his weight overtop her, hips between her thighs as the heel of her left foot pressed into the back of his thigh. In the move, Serra was reminded just how little separated them now; feeling the weight of his hardened cock brush against her pelvis -- relishing in the sacredness of the intimacy shared between husband and wife, in the privacy of their chambers. She was suddenly grateful that there had been no public spectacle made of their departure following the feast, no bedding ceremony that involved several ageing men standing in their room to witness it — she had heard the stories of others' bedding ceremonies at supper, mortified by the thought.

Her thighs ached as a pressure built in her belly, warmth pooling there like the embers of fire, stoked only by the ministrations of his hand; his forehead resting to her collarbone as his gaze lowered between them. His nose brushed her chin as he moved to watch the movements of his hand as his fingers moved in and out of her, coaxing every gasp and choked moan from her he could — Serra felt blessed to have a husband who had been gifted with the generous gifts the gods have given him, her chest arching up into his and clinging to him as a cry left her. The coil wound tight within belly snapped finally, her thighs clamping tight around his waist as her head pressed as far back into the mattress it could, stuttering out a mantra of his name as pleasure wracked through her body; her walls spasming around his fingers, “Fuck!” She sobbed.

His head snapped up towards her at the curse, his eyes on her face as her peak consumed her, body and soul — it seemed such a vulgar expression from a girl who usually presented as demure and calculatedly proper, cautious of ever behaving as anything less. It seemed harsh coming from her mouth but piqued his interest as he pushed himself back in line with her eyes as he eased her through the aftershocks that shook her to the core. His lips grazed hers, pressing a kiss to her mouth and swallowing the whine that left her, her eyes still squeezed shut — harsh as the sound was from her mouth, he ached to be the reason she cursed again, to push her over the precipice of pleasure until she could not find any other words. Pride swelled in his chest as her lips met his in a kiss that was eager and desperate, pulling her up with his free hand by the front of her nightgown.

She slowly sat up with him, an arm hooking around his shoulders as she leaned up into his kiss — skin hot and heavily breathing as his hand withdrew from between her thighs, earning a shudder from his wife. He sat back on his knees, his mouth parting from hers briefly to reach for the hem of her chemise with eager hands, her eyes on his and chest heaving with each breath as he pulled the gown up and over her head. He sensed her hesitation as her arms lifted with the task, dropping back to her sides once the fabric was discarded off the edge of the bed and gripping the pillows with nervous hands as his face hovered over hers — his right hand rested against her ribs, sliding down her side to the hinge between her hip and thigh as she gripped his shoulders. His nose nudged hers in an affectionate gesture, her lips parting as she let out a content sigh, exhaust already clearly written on her face as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

His hand at her ribs slowly trailed upwards, his thumb coming up underneath her breast and brushing over the hardened nipple there, “My lovely wife,” he breathed, his hand fully moving to envelop her breast in his palm and squeezing gently, “My Lady Blackwood…”

Her head tilted backwards with a soft mewl of appreciation, leaning back into her other hand that was still buried among the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut. His mouth connected with her sternum, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he abruptly slid down the bed, utterly consumed by his lust as he laid on his stomach; her thighs being dragged up and over his shoulders with his face eagerly coming between her legs. Serra released a startled gasp as his mouth attached itself to her, tongue swiping up her folds and finding her bud once again with his lips this time — his tongue dipped into her, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her womanhood as she clutched tightly to the bedding. One of her hands found its way back to his hair, fisting it between clammy fingers as her chest heaved with heavy gasps for air, “Oh gods.”

Benjicot released a guttural groan from below her, the grown-in facial hair scraping the delicate flesh of her thighs with each desperate lap and kiss, only heightening her senses as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He could feel her thighs tense, trembling underneath his touch as his mouth continued its ministrations, her body slumping back into the pillows with a cry, “Ben— Ben.” She breathed out, voice cracking with a weak cry of pleasure.

He could have stayed there forever — between her thighs, listening to her cries if time would have allowed for it, drinking in the image of her as he glanced up; her chest pushed up and arched against him as she writhed against the mattress with whines tumbling from her mouth.

She tugged him desperately away from her, her body ablaze as he eased off the mattress and was guided up until he was pressed against her; bare chest to hers, her soft skin slick with perspiration against his as he caught his breath. His hands planted against the mattress behind her, her thighs loosely around his waist as his pelvis brushed her own, “Do I satisfy you, wife?” He softly asked, ducking his head to briefly capture her lips with his.

Serra whined against his mouth, his hips reflexively grinding against hers and brushing against her sensitive skin. Her arms moved around him, coming up underneath his arms and palms pressing to the planes of his back as she pulled him flush against her, “Yes.” She gasped against his mouth.

It was a simple enough response, but it stirred something in him, causing him to release a moan of his own. His left hand moved to reach between them, his hand wrapping around his cock and bringing the head to her entrance; swiping up through her folds. He felt as she tensed, releasing a gasp that caused him to hesitate — the heels of her palms pushed against his back, pulling him into her again, the cue he needed to proceed; his hips aligned with hers as his hips angled into hers before slowly sinking into her.

His mouth opened with a soft groan, her face pinched up in a wince as she let out a sharp gasp at the intrusion, “Fuck.” He muttered.

Her hands adjusted against his spine, slipping down to his waist from his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips. His gaze rose to her face, breathless as he withdrew his hand from between them to lift and cup her cheek as her head pressed back into the pillows with a strangled whimper, his thumb tilting her chin down and bringing her face back towards his, “Okay— you’re okay,” He soothed, her mouth agape as his hand held her chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger with a delicate touch as he bottomed out; her walls tight and clenching around him.

Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut; Benjicot’s hips slowly withdrew, his movements slow as he rocked into her, another whimper on her lips at the stretch and burn of him embedded into her. She felt his mouth over hers, lips brushing hers as he spoke, his forehead pressed to hers, “There you go…” He encouraged her. “Just breathe.”

The hand at her jaw removed itself, reaching to find one of hers and lacing his fingers through hers as his palm pressed against her own; her hand being pinned against the mattress above her shoulder. His mouth captured hers in another heated kiss, a subtle distraction from how full of him she felt — his pelvis brushed hers with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a soft moan from her. It was a relief to earn some noise of approval finally that did not hint at pain, Benjicot leaned his weight into her and supported himself by his free arm as he leaned into his elbow, “Gods.” He breathed out, his hips rutting into hers.

Just as Alysanne had warned, there was discomfort — tight and feeling as though she could have split right then and there, beneath the weight of him, but it stoked a flame within her; a flush of warmth spreading down her body as her hips lifted into his, Benjicot’s face burying into her neck and arching into him. Her chin lifted towards the ceiling, a sharp breath being inhaled as she then let out a high-pitched moan and moved a hand to grip the back of his hair; her thighs opening further to welcome him. She gasped, the sounds of them both echoing within the room as Benjicot held her in place; pinned beneath him as he mindlessly fucked himself into her, his pelvis brushing against hers in a way that could have brought even the kingdoms to their knees. She felt his mouth find the corner of hers in a kiss, her mouth agape and lazily responding to him as another soft meek of appreciation slipped from her mouth — her senses were still raw, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention.

A guttural moan left her husband, clamouring to come back to her face as his nose bumped hers, his mouth hovering over hers. The hand that previously pinned hers released, his hand coming to cup her cheek as she instinctively hooked a hip around his waist to pull him into her — her eyes found his, half-lidded and looking at her with nothing shy of awe and adoration; a warm glow in his eyes that elicited a flush of colour to spread across her face, mouth opening in another cry as she felt herself spiral, losing her grip on that last thread of reality that kept her grounded; tumbling through her peak as she clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh.

His forehead pressed to hers, slick with sweat and hair clinging to his skin. His hips snapped against hers twice more before he let out a euphoric sigh against her mouth, spilling himself into her and screwing his eyes shut. His weight moved off his elbow, laying full into her after a moment; her arms still around him and holding him against her as the room was filled by the soft pants of the husband and wife catching their breath, warmed by the fire that still burned across from them. Benjicot did not move, with his belly pressed to hers and lying between her thighs, still buried inside her as his head soon found rest against her neck — even if Serra had the desire to move, she couldn’t with her thighs around his waist and buried into the mattress underneath him. She blindly found the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers carefully carding through the roots as she slowly came to her senses; her eyes scanning the canopy above her and processing what had just happened — was this marriage? Was this what she had to look forward to?

In the fog of things, with the last traces of euphoria still coursing through her veins, marriage did not seem so daunting — it seemed pleasant and blissful.

Benjicot stirred against her, moving just enough to press a kiss to the crook of her neck and then another to her collarbone; lips wet against her skin as he licked them. His left hand found her ribs, sliding up her body and stopping below her breast as his hot breath tickled her skin, moving finally to look at her face again and slowly scanning every little fine detail his eyes could find. Serra gave a breathless smile, letting out a soft laugh — in the dim lighting, she saw Benjicot’s mouth quirk upwards, “You’re alright?” He asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I think so,” She answered.

He pressed a kiss to her mouth in that same breathtaking way that she craved for an eternity of, before he withdrew his hips; his body pulling away from hers with the action as he shifted — she was painfully aware suddenly how empty she now felt, besides that warm sensation of him between her legs. His head lowered to press a kiss to her chest as he shuffled back on the mattress and rolled over beside her; sprawled out on his back and let out a tired sigh. Her head turned to look at him, watching the way his chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths with his eyes closed with a hand over his chest — she wasn’t sure what came next exactly, staring at him, waiting.

An eye opened, turning his head slightly to look at her, visibly exhausted as they shared a look -- his eyes averted from hers quickly, his mouth opening as though he wanted to say something but instead, she was met by silence; his hand moved to find hers, lacing his fingers through hers and gently squeezing it as they closed again, relaxing as her thumb brushed along the back of his hand.

A sudden bang on the door was followed by a shout, “Plant the Blackwood seed deep, cousin! Make us all proud!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he already has.”

Benjicot leaned up on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the door and opened his mouth, his brows furrowing as a series of drunken cackles followed. He listened to the clamour of his cousins, stumbling over one another as a thud followed, presuming one of the boys had fallen; Serra shifted beside him, his head turning to look up at her with an incredulous look, eyes widening as he then rolled them; a shy smile on her face as she let out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t take too long! The boys are missing you!” Emrys shouted.

“Shut up— take your time!” Henry silenced his younger brother, the sound of their clamouring footsteps heard from under the door, “We’re entrusting you two to create the next legendary Blackwood heir!”

“I could kill them, you know,” he suggested, voice quiet and looking back towards the door, “kill them, we flee to the woods and live in a modest little hut of our own. It’s sounding oddly appealing right about now.” He grumbled.

“Not like this,” She replied, shifting to lean over and press her lips to his shoulder in a kiss. Benjicot looked at her, his nose brushing hers in close proximity, “We will have to return sooner than later, you know.” She mumbled.

“We don’t have to,” he remarked. “We could just stay here the rest of the night— surely, I think the council and my father would understand if we were busy trying to secure the Blackwood line.”

The suggestive tone in his words left her speechless, face warming as she could only muster a shy smile against his mouth as he leaned in, closing the gap to press another kiss to her mouth, “You’re the heir. We can’t.” She quietly managed to mutter against his mouth, feeling as he let out a hum into her lips. Her right hand lifted quickly and wrapped around his neck, fingers gentle as she nudged him back, “We can’t.” She repeated, her voice firmer.

She watched the look cross his features, a grin on his face as his gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If you say so,” He teased.

Benjicot moved quickly, lunging to his feet and bending to sweep up his clothing; finding his pants rather quickly and pulling them back on, leaving them on his hips untied. Her eyes watched him, entranced as he found his undershirt and slid it on — while collecting his clothing, his fingers plucked up her shift that had been strewn on the floor in the moment. He looked proud of himself, smug as he sauntered towards her, a hand lifting to gesture her up and towards him with a summon of his fingers.

Serra felt the urge to shy away under the heat of his gaze, a self-satisfied smile on his face as she slowly moved to slide off the bed and stand in front of him in all her entirely; bare beneath his gaze. One of his hands reached out to graze up her side, nudging her arm to cue her to lift them to which she complied, her arms raising to allow him to easily glide the fabric down her arms and over her head. Nimble fingers worked to tug the fabric down over her chest and belly, the fabric enveloping her thighs with touches that lingered, brushing along the expanse of her body as he gave the gown one last fix.

Her hand reached out suddenly, his eyes darting towards it and back to her face — he relaxed, allowing her to proceed and reach out. She avoided his eyes as she moved to tuck his shirt into the pants, straightening out the straps over his shoulders; her hands then began to make swift work of lacing him up at his waist, fastening the article of clothing around his hips. She finally glanced up as her hands dropped once the task was completed, finding him still watching her with that same look; he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, dimple prominent with the action as he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Do you need help with your dress?” He asked, voice hushed.

“I can summon Grace,” she said, smoothing out the shirt over his chest. “I don’t imagine you have any experience with dresses, you need not worry.”

Benjicot withdrew and walked backwards towards where her ladies had previously neatly folded her dress over a table to keep it from being wrinkled, a grin on his face, “You underestimate me, my dear wife.”

Her eyebrows shot up, following his steps in moving forward towards him with slow, tentative steps, “And pray tell, why might you know such things…husband?”

“I’m observant,” He nonchalantly replied.

She stepped forward until she stood in front of him again, her husband reaching for a flagon of water that sat atop her writing table; searching for a cloth but coming short and instead settling on a handkerchief among her things. Benjicot tipped the flagon enough to wet the piece of fabric by pouring water into it, offering it to her with a look that flickered between her face before lowering south between her legs — she eyed it, sucking in a breath as she dawned on the realisation of his suggestion when he gently shook it. She reached out to accept it and retreated to a stool to clean herself near the fire; the sound of rustling fabric behind her as the once pristine handkerchief was stained by a light spotting of blood and the reminisce of their duty, wincing.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder towards him, finding him delicately handling her dress and holding it over his arms, waiting expectantly.

She huffed as she tossed the handkerchief to a nearby bin for soiled clothes, standing and straightening her shift. Benjicot offered her an arm as she stood, her thighs clamping together uncomfortably as she uttered a soft ‘thank you’ — he only let out a hum, seemingly focused on the task with a knitted brow as he helped the dress over her head; circling her to straighten out the back. Serra was used to the routine of others dressing her, feeling hands at her waist and neck, fixing her dress; but it dawned on her that Benjicot was too — it was a thought that she found discomforting, but unable to find it within herself to say anything as she felt the cloak of his house colours settle on her shoulders; his fingers sliding underneath the fabric to fix it against her skin. His hand closed around her shoulder to turn her, facing one another as he reached to fasten the cloak but was stopped by her hand, “I can do it.” She insisted.

He looked up at her, nodding. She did not mean to become so irritable the more she thought about it, but the words had come out before she could even think to restrain herself — she leaned up and kissed him, to soothe the wound before she backed away. The thought lingered, however, her father’s words echoing in her memory; angry as he rambled on about ending their betrothal on the spot — she pondered the tone of his voice when he denied the claims of a child, running through that moment a thousand times since and analysing every little detail; the sincerity of his words. He had been exhausted from the beating and she had never thought to question it before.

She couldn’t help but picture a child with his bright eyes and matching dark hair, chubby, rosy cheeks and all smiles — dawned in yellow and red to match their mother’s house, and the thought made her feel sick and dirty, feeling as though to some degree she could have been responsible for taking the father of a child away from them before they were even granted the chance to know him, true or not. The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin that she could have been responsible for such an idea — the anger and shame she held within her body could only be directed at the man in front of her, not towards a child who had no say in the matters of their conception; they were not responsible for bearing that burden of accountability for something beyond their control before they were even born. Serra swallowed.

She learned that Benjicot seemed to have a way of making dressing look like an art form that he had mastered; in his own oblivious world and doing it with such ease, practised as he walked throughout the room whilst tying his shirt closed, and pulling the doublet over his head. He had hardly paused as he fixed his hair with his fingers, plucking up the leather vest and pulling it on; Serra watched as he easily tied it back together and snug against his body, barely giving any mind to her task at hand. His eyes briefly lifted as though he felt her watching him, and there it was again — that small knowing smile on his face, looking up through his lashes as he tugged the vest to straighten it against his chest; that smile that made her heart swell within her chest, a juxtaposition to her resentment towards him for betraying her before he had even allowed her to do right by him and prove herself, and bringing a child into the world that he had no intention to claim — the flurry of emotions that coursed through her veins and haunted her thoughts involved nothing but shame.

She lowered his eyes from his, embarrassed at being caught staring as she collected her stockings from the table and sat once more to roll them up her legs underneath her dress, the fabric rising with the task. Her skirts were shoved back down and smoothed, turning to find her husband waiting with her shoes in his hand, having already pulled his boots and cloak back on — she hesitated, looking at them and his face before he slowly crouched to set them down in front of her. He helped her into them, offering her a shoulder for her to lean into as she stepped into them; her hand planted against his shoulder for stability as she swayed, legs ready to give out underneath her. Once she released him, he stood and stepped back, letting out a breath as he rolled his shoulders.

“Are you ready?” He suddenly asked.

She silently nodded.

A thought dawned on him, his eyes going to the bed and holding up a finger to her as if to signal one moment — he moved to brush past her, bent over the bed and observing it; she internally cringed at the sight of the blood stain where she had been moments prior, but Benjicot seemed unfazed as he quickly made work to strip the sheet from the bed. She watched him lazily fold it up, balling it and holding it against him as though that would do anything to conceal what it was he was carrying — his cloak half hid it as he returned to her side, taking her hand in his free one and sliding his fingers through hers.

The walk back towards the great hall was a long one, silent as she felt all the eyes of Raventree on her; servants and other house staff bowing their heads whilst uttering blessings to them as they passed — she hated to admit it, but the only thing that grounded her at that moment was Benjicot’s hand, his shoulder bumping hers as they walked, his pace slow to accommodate hers; and every so often, his gaze occasionally drifted to find hers, his eyebrows raising when she made eye contact as if he was checking that she was okay. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Benjicot summoned Ser Eryn towards them and muttered something to him.

“Can you summon the council and maester?” His voice was low enough that she could hardly make out his words, her ears ringing as she briefly looked into the room that was still bustling with celebrations; the room still buzzing with men and women who were drunk, stumbling over themselves and dancing as music filled every corner. She could vaguely see her father had remained at his seat, joyfully laughing as he spoke to a Lord who she recognized from House Piper — Ser Eryn quietly replied with a question, “Yes, the Lord Tully as well— and my father.”

“Your father is…preoccupied, my lord.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not too sure, unfortunately. He stepped out shortly after you, but he should return soon.” Ser Eryn replied.

Serra looked towards the two men finally, Benjicot’s expression one of confusion as he reluctantly nodded and dismissed his sworn protector. The guard bowed his head before he retreated into the room before she was pulled out of sight from the room, around the corner towards the wall. They were silent, hand-in-hand, the sound of laughter and shouting from the room; listening to the drunken lords and ladies who excitedly whispered as the council crossed the room, the Lord Elmo in tow as Ser Eryn had been instructed to do. Benjicot’s gaze fixed on the side of her face, her eyes up towards the ceiling as he trailed a thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture. She briefly turned to look up at him, a small smile on his face as she gave his hand a reluctant squeeze.

“My dove,” Elmo sighed as he entered the hallway, shoving past the men of his council to get to her.

Serra’s eyes tore from Benjicot’s, looking to her father as he immediately reached out to grab her by her shoulders with a gentle hold and looking her over — he cupped her cheek, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She shyly nodded.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, watching as the maester was handed the bed linens by her husband — the exchange was quiet, Maester Edric unfolding the sheet and assessing them, as everyone seemed to wait in silence for his response. Serra felt the need to curl up and die, mortified by the display in front of her father, while her brothers were hidden amongst the councilmen.

“The union has been successful— I can confirm the marriage has been consummated,” Maester Eric stated after a long pause, looking at Elmo. His old, wisened eyes looked then towards Serra, his voice softening, “You have both done well.”

Elmo clapped his hands together, startling his daughter, a relieved mutter breaking out amongst the men who surrounded them; the enthusiastic congratulations being extended immediately to the young boy lord, “Oh, the Gods shine down on us today— Serra, my dear, you make our house proud.” He excitedly said, his attention turning to Benjicot as he approached her side, “Benjicot— you too.” He rambled, reaching to shake his hand.

“I should make the announcement,” Her father suddenly announced, eyes widening as he brushed past them in a hurry.

Serra’s mouth opened to protest, embarrassed enough by the bows of heads and congratulations that now surrounded her; feeling as though there was a hand at her arm or grabbing her hand every second — she found it overwhelming as she leaned into Benjicot, who steadied her against his chest. His hands rested on her shoulders, holding her against him as she let out a breath, forcing a smile in the direction of Robbard Mooton as he begrudgingly offered his congratulations with a mutter before shuffling away with a scowl. She could hear her father clinking his chalice with a utensil, drawing all eyes to him as his drink was held high.

“This sacred bond between our houses is now complete, sealed in the eyes of gods and men. The honour of House Tully and House Blackwood stands strong, and this marriage shall fortify the ties between our families for generations to come.

May this union bring prosperity and strength to our houses, and may the love between Benjicot and Serra grow as deep as the rivers that nourish our lands. Tonight, we celebrate not just a marriage, but the forging of an alliance that will endure through the ages."

“Congratulations on your union, sister,” Kermit spoke from behind him as Robbard excused himself quickly. He stepped forward, hands clasped at the hilt of his sword and visibly tense as he spoke from behind gritted teeth.

Serra could tell he was avoiding Benjicot’s eyes and had no desire to be there — she could see the tension in his shoulders, forcibly squared and trying to appear as large as he could, stiff as a board as he stood upright, looking down his nose at her, “Thank you, Kermit.” She softly replied.

He hummed, not yet leaving as he stared at her, his expression tense with annoyance as though being there in that moment was a burden forced upon him. To see him so withdrawn from her, denying her of any genuine warmth and kindness that she had always known him for caused her heart to ache, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before she stepped forward to reach for one of his hands and took it between hers, “I should hope that soon enough you will be married too— happily and blessed by the Gods.” She nervously said, offering him a timid smile.

Benjicot’s hands squeezed around her shoulders, as though he was trying to soothe her from the anxiety that washed over her in that moment, staring at her brother with intense focus.

“I suppose I will be,” He replied, the answer cold and distant as he glanced at her husband behind her. She could faintly see the twitch of his eye as he found Benjicot, hardly suppressing the scowl of disgust that crept across his face, “Thank you, sister.” He said, pulling his hand from hers.

Benjicot fought the urge to scoff aloud, his eyes rolling in response to his friend’s attitude and the comment -- it took everything in him not to lunge at him and violently shake him like his father had done to him several times as a boy, hoping to shake some sense into him. Kermit wasn’t stupid, Benjicot had grown fully aware of that after years of friendship, but his behaviour was childish and ridiculous in his eyes -- that despite the bond he had with his sister, he was willing and quick to resent her for a mistake that was not hers to bear the consequences of. His jaw clenched, withdrawing his hands to his sides and watching as his sister attempted to reach again for him.

“Kermit, I—“

“I should let you get back to your celebrations,” Kermit snapped. “I’d hate to ruin your night.” He muttered, looking back down at his sister who let out a quiet ‘oh’, small like a child and blinking rapidly a couple of times whilst his gaze darted one last time towards Benjicot. The way he toyed with his wife enraged him, letting out a low growl of annoyance that came from deep within his throat -- how could he torture his sister over some petty feud that had nothing to do with her?

His eyes turned back to his sister. Benjicot witnessed the way a look crossed his features -- a look he could only describe as a moment of remorse as she looked down, his features subtly softening like he wanted to take it all back -- Benjicot wanted him to. He wanted him to regret it and take back his attitude; for him to apologise and beg for her forgiveness, prove to them both that it was a mistake and insist he was happy for her. Benjicot could bear the thought of him being angry with him -- he had grown used to it after several squabbles as boys that led to Kermit being angry with him for days and avoiding him like he was the human embodiment of illness; Benjicot was used to that silence and knew he would come crawling back with some subtle hint he had forgiven him with some excuse of training together, or whatever he could muster. But he knew his sweet wife could not.

Kermit visibly hesitated, his shoulders slouching with a breath, reaching forward to gather one of her hands with one of his own and lifting it. He kissed her knuckles, his head bowing as he lowered her hand, her head whipping up to look at him as her hand fell back to her side.

Serra timidly nodded, too worried she would worsen things if she pressed further — she longed to reach out, to bridge the widening chasm between them, but the words tangled on her tongue. Her eyes followed him as he turned on the ball of his foot and descended back into the hall that still roared with festivities, disappearing among the crowd and straining her eyes to catch one last glimpse of him. She hardly noticed as Benjicot stepped closer, his head lowering until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “It’s not you that he is angry with,” Benjicot assured with a whisper.

She instinctively sought his hand as the familiar, soothing weight of it rested again on her shoulder, her hand lifting across her chest to entangle their fingers at her left shoulder, “It does not make this any easier,” She admitted.

His lips pressed to her temple in a comforting kiss, “I know,” Benjicot hummed, her cheek leaning into their hands as he stood upright, “But he will come to see reason eventually— he could never stray too long from you. You are two halves of the same soul if I ever saw one.”

Her head turned, looking up at him — he offered a small smile, his hand pulling from hers to brush some hair behind her ear and neatly tucking it away from her face, “Come now,” he instructed, finally pulling from her and finding her hand in his once more. “You only get one wedding night, we mustn’t squander it worrying about things we cannot control.”

Benjicot waited, looking at her expectantly as he gently tugged on her hand, encouraging her to move — her eyes had turned to stare after where her brother had gone, hesitating still to join him, “Please,” He said, forcing her forward a step as she looked back at him, “Do not let your brother sour the mood tonight. I will make amends with him in time, he will forgive us both. He will always care for you, no matter how he feels now— this does not reflect his true feelings.” He reasoned.

“I just want my brother,” she sighed, relenting and allowing him to lead her back into the hall as she found rest against his side; nestled under his arm that held her against him, seeking respite in his warmth and calm demeanour among the overwhelming chaos of the celebrations that were not yet close to dying down still. The room remained loud, the lights too bright for her eyes as she closed them, trusting him to lead them both through the crowd.

His hand found her waist as they walked, the moment brief and intimate, “You do have him.”

She was reminded of Oscar’s presence as he greeted them at the doors, his smile one of pride and warmth as he stood just inside the hall; her father was too distracted by a conversation with two men as he rambled excitedly to notice her arrival and acknowledge her further.

She felt guilty that she seemingly had forgotten he too was there, in all the chaos of getting ready, exhausted from a sleepless night of tossing and turning in bed; when her youngest brother was present and participating in the celebration of her new union, unable to conceal his giddiness, his hands clenching around the hilt of his sword as though it would somehow hide in plain sight that he was itching to approach her.

Oscar, in his wisdom and knowledge despite his youth, had always been skilled at reading a room and understanding the importance of timing -- he also knew Serra and knew that she would be overwhelmed amidst everything happening and had restrained himself from unintentionally contributing to things.

She realised that he was correct — despite Kermit’s current tantrum, she still had a brother — boyishly smiling at her like she had hung every star in the sky, proud and eager for her arrival that he was borderline bouncing on his feet as she entered; she was relieved to see a face that did not overwhelm her with thoughts of duty and expectation, nor guilt for experiencing even the smallest amount of bliss on her wedding night. Her youngest brother, proper and pristine as ever, turned to face her and Serra could only feel relief. She relaxed against Benjicot’s side, pulling from him to hurry towards her brother, her hands extending for him before she had even reached him — Benjicot was right that she at least had Oscar at that moment. It had dawned on her that she had hardly seen him all day, even after the wedding ceremony, only having caught brief glimpses of his hair in the crowd.

His hands found hers, bringing one to his mouth to place a kiss across her knuckles quickly, “You look radiant,” He commented as she stopped in front of him, “just like our mother, you know.” He commented, his compliment flowing with such ease she knew he was sincere. She could never doubt Oscar, because he was truthful and did not make it a habit to say anything that he did not mean.

Embarrassed, Serra felt herself become choked up at his words, emotion crawling up the back of her throat and tearing up as she blinked to rid herself of the tears that threatened to spill. She could not pinpoint the exact root cause for the tears as she let out a sad, melancholic laugh that was strangled; but she was painfully aware that in the weeks since her arrival of loneliness and isolation that she had carried since she had stepped foot into Raventree, that childish need for her mother gnawing at the back of her mind, “Are you not happy?” Her brother asked, concerned by her tears.

She shook her head quickly, “No, it’s not that,” she assured. “I am…I am happy.”

“Then why do you cry?”

She hesitated, “I just wish she could have been here.” Serra admitted, pulling a hand from his and cupping his cheek affectionately, “She would have been proud of the man you have grown to be.”

Her brother stilled as a look crossed his features, unreadable and unblinking as he stared at her the weight of her words rested heavy over them and visibly swallowed. He let out a small noise that resembled a forced laugh from his nose, “Is this what marriage does to one?” He quietly teased, touching her hand on his face.

She laughed, leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead and brushing over his head, smoothing out the stray curls that she knew to be unruly since he was a babe.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot did not feel the need to intrude on the tender moment between the two siblings, watching as his wife soon became distracted by a conversation with her younger brother -- he had stayed a majority of the interaction but felt it necessary to give them a moment of privacy. As a boy, he envied what it must have been like to have siblings that ran about the castle, filling its halls with noise as they laughed, played, and fought -- he had watched them a majority of their childhood; and witnessed the unconditional love and bond they shared, expressed through defending one another, loyal to one another even when the others were not present.

He was fortunate enough to have his three first-cousins who grew up only down the hall from him, the sons his Uncle Willem’s pride and joy, and becoming something of his playmates -- but he yearned for what it would have been like to have had brothers and sisters of his own, who shared his blood entirely.

He had tugged at his sleeves, fixing them and looking away as Serra leaned in to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, his gaze scanning the room and averting anywhere else they could. The room had begun to stink of wine and old food that had been left to go cold, their guests too distracted in dance and song to pay it any mind, too drunk to even stay on their feet as he witnessed several men stumble over their own feet and scarcely catch themselves. His thoughts were distracted by his disgust at the sight, never quite understanding the appeal for impairing the mind of its ability to think clearly and act in better judgement -- even at his wedding, he felt no desire to join in and follow their lead. Even as Emrys and Henry approached him, breathless from laughter and red-faced as Henry slung an arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders and pulled him into his armpit to ruffle his hair, “There’s the man of the hour,” Henry remarked, a laugh in his voice as Benjicot strained to pull himself from his grasp, “Way to do us all proud, Benji.”

Benjicot fought the urge to wretch at the nickname, finally freeing himself from his grasp with an exasperated sigh, “How’s it feel to be a man now?” Emrys snickered, being shoved by the young heir who rolled his eyes, face reddening in embarrassment.

“A husband no less, aye,” Henry added.

Benjicot straightened his tunic, casting a wary glance around the room before turning back to his cousins with a strained smile. “Well, it feels like I’ve been handed a rather heavy set of responsibilities,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “And as for being a husband, I suppose I’ll have to adjust to this new role, just as you two seem to be adjusting to your wine-soaked festivities.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the revellers, his voice lowering slightly. “I’ll leave the grand display of ‘manhood’ to you, Emrys, and you too, Henry. For now, I’m more inclined to focus on not making a fool of myself.”

Emrys feigned an insulted pout as a hand pressed to his chest, mimicking a wound, whilst the eldest of the three laughed with his head thrown back, “So he’s too good for us now, you hear that?” Henry teased.

“Always was,” Benjicot taunted, teasing him as he shoved his cousin back a step. He paused, allowing for the sound of the festivities to fill the silence as his two cousins snickered, looking around again -- he suddenly noticed his father’s absence, despite looking around twice before he settled on the realisation he was nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed, mouth ajar, “Henry, do you, uh…happen to know where my father went?” He asked, looking at his cousin who took a sip from his chalice.

He appeared visibly confused, looking at Emrys who swayed absentmindedly, drunk as he seemed to be oblivious to the fact, “I don’t actually. Oi-- Emrys,” He called, drawing his brother’s attention back to the conversation, “Where did our uncle go?” Emrys snorted suddenly, “He went to the Redfork, you know this.” He said, his tone suggesting it was the most obvious thing.

Both men snapped upright, tense and confused as Henry lowered his head, frowning, “What?” The two men asked in unison.

Emrys let out a small laugh, grinning as he looked around, his eyes slowly returning to face them -- his smile dropped when he faced them again, “The Redfork…Davos and a few men went out to patrol this afternoon, there was some spat at the borders with some Bracken boys, Aeron Bracken among them,” He said, his tone again suggesting it was a widely known fact as he looked between his brother and Benjicot but instead met by silence, “It escalated into a full-blown battle, Samwell and Alysanne left a half hour ago with Robb and some of his men at the borders. More are to join them within the hour.”

“What the fuck do you mean they left?” Benjicot spluttered angrily.

Emrys attempted to force a laugh to lighten the mood, but the sound was cut short as Benjicot’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head, “You…” He started to say but stopped himself, “You truly didn’t know?”

He twitched, fist coming up quickly and ready to grab him by the shirt but stopping himself, and forcing out a frustrated sigh, “Obviously not, you dumb…” He growled, once again having to stop himself, his cousin’s eyebrows raising, “And what of your father?”

Emrys glanced around again, slow to process and blinking in shock as he stuttered for a moment. He frowned, “He, uh…he has stayed behind by instruction of your father, I believe.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Figure it out then,” He snapped, grabbing his tunic by the shoulder and forcing him to move a couple of stumbling steps as he began to seek his uncle. His head turned, scanning the room and trying to look through every face that his eyes could find, coming up empty.

“Get your bloody hand off…” Emrys began to argue, trying to pull from him. Benjicot shoved him, his anger bubbling over, releasing his shirt to allow him to tumble forward.

“Benjicot!” Serra exclaimed, catching his cousin as he merely missed falling into her and Oscar, wide-eyed and helping him up to his feet, “Are you alright, Emrys?” She asked hurriedly, her tone panicked as she looked at him, visibly concerned.

The blonde straightened his clothing, scowling as he brushed off her hand from his shoulder, “Yeah, your husband is just being a moody cunt.” He replied.

Benjicot’s head whipped towards him, pausing his search just long enough to scoff, “You fail to tell me my father has gone off to battle and I’m moody?” He spat.

“I’m sorry,” Emrys sarcastically shot back, “what would you have had me do? Barge into your room while you were fucking your wife? Yeah, I bet you would have listened to me then.”

Benjicot lunged forward, being caught by Henry as his arm wrapped around his shoulders to force himself between the two men; the youngest Blackwood being dragged back and out of the way of his grasp by Oscar and Serra. Her body acted as a barrier, forcing Emrys behind her as she flinched away from Benjicot’s hand.

Benjicot’s gaze was forced upon her by the action, a look of hurt crossing his features as he looked at her, “What the hell is going on here?”

His gaze tore from hers to the sound of Willem’s voice, stood behind Oscar with Kermit and Lord Elmo, who appeared visibly annoyed by the disruption -- the music had since ceased and all eyes were now on the group who was all heavy breathing and oblivious to the attention their argument had drawn to themselves. Serra quickly stepped away from Emrys, whose hand had instinctively found her elbow, her gaze down as Willem’s eyes focused on the simple gesture with a confused frown.

“Did you have any intention of telling me my father had taken it upon himself to go off to battle?” Benjicot curtly questioned.

His uncle hesitated, “Yes, we were going to tell you in the morning. Though I was not expecting you to return tonight, nephew,” He slowly explained. “You were expected to be busy with your… new wife.”

He tensed, jaw clenching as he roughly shoved Henry’s arm off of him, “And yet here I am.”

“It appears so,” Willem responded, his tone firmer now.

“Why did you not join him, then?” He asked.

“I was given strict instruction to remain here.”

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, “For what reason?”

“To ensure you remain here, should you be stupid enough try to ride out and join your father.”

Benjicot stared at him, stunned by the admittance as they stood in silence. He shifted his stance uncomfortably, looking around at the crowd that watched, looking down suddenly before he looked up after a long pause, “Why would he do that?”

Willem sighed, “Because he knows you, Benjicot.” He said, slowly stepping past the young Tully’s and towards his nephew, “As do I. We cannot afford to possibly lose more than is already at stake, especially when that involves the heir, should he be slain in battle.”

He felt like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum over not getting whatever it was they wanted, swallowing thickly as his face burned with shame and clenching his fists at his sides, “We cannot guarantee Serra is with child yet, even if the marriage was successfully consummated-- you remain the apparent heir until that happens. You are where you need to be, Benjicot,” He quietly explained, stepping closer until he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, “Safe and alive, as we need you. So please…do not make any more of a scene than you already have. Enjoy your wedding. Behave.”

Benjicot felt the need to look down to avoid his gaze that was pinned to his face, looking down at him and speaking to him with that familiar edge his father possessed whenever he did something that was out of line like a petulant child, his voice calm and low enough that only he could hear it. He hated it with his father, but he hated it more coming from his uncle. He nodded after a moment.

Willem mirrored his actions by nodding and forcing a strained smile as he muttered, “Good,” he said, turning to face the crowd and clasping a hand on his shoulder, “My apologies, honoured guests. There was just a misunderstanding, but it has been resolved. Please! Continue, enjoy yourselves!”

His hand dropped from his shoulder, stepping past him to return to wherever he had come from, leaving him frozen in place -- Benjicot felt nauseous again, his heart pounding as he stared at his feet, unwilling to face his family and that of his wife’s that he knew had yet to move on from him; even the room hesitated to move past the scene. His uncle clapped his hands loudly, barking an order at the orchestra, causing the slow resumption of music that could not alleviate the tension within the room.

There was a slow shuffle of feet, the crowd dispersing around him, “Benjicot?” Serra called out to him, her voice soft and quiet among the whispers.

He watched as her feet appeared in front of him, visibly pausing before she reached out to him and pressed a hand to his chest, “Benjicot.” She repeated, attempting to gain his attention.

He could feel every violent thrum of his heart against his ribs, feeling as though his head was trapped underwater while his eyes fixated on the hem of her dress. Her other hand came up to his cheek, her head ducking to find his eyes, “Look at me, Benjicot.” His eyes finally snapped up to hers, teeth and jaw clenched tightly, “It’s okay.” She softly said, her thumb brushing his cheek as his expression softened, leaning into her as if his life depended on it as his body gave out from beneath him. She wrapped an arm around him, her hand moving from his cheek to his nape and bearing his weight against her own.

“It’s okay.” She repeated.

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jessjad · 2 months ago

Text

What if?

Summary: Dean and Y/N are living the life they always wanted. They love eachother very much and want to start a family. Everything fits just perfectly. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3637

Warnings: I don't want to give anything away here, but there are no triggers, just emotions.

A/N: This happens when you're in a certain mood. I had to express it. I hope you like it. Enjoy! All mistakes are mine!

My Masterlist

"Urgh, this was a long day." Y/N said as she flopped onto the couch exhausted.

"Yeah... I'm sorry this took so long today." answered Dean while he sat down next to her.

"No, that's not how I meant it." Y/N saw a little bit of guilt in his eyes as he looked at her apologetically. "You know I love your mum and I really like to spend time with her. It's just that... if you consider that we only wanted to meet for brunch and it is now already half past nine in the evening... it was just a long day. Without any judgment or that it was meant negatively."

And she meant what she said. Mary was a wonderful woman and a great mum to Dean. She had welcomed her into the family with opoen arms and warm words. His father John not so much, buit over time he warmed up too.

The sudden death of his father almost six months ago was all the more surprising. A tragic car accident caused by a drunk truck driver. And as much as John loved his classic car, the '67 Chevy Impala had failed to protect John when the car rolled over three times. Mary was hit hardest and since then she has been reluctant to be alone for long. And Y/N didn't mind them keeping Mary company, as she had taken her in almost like her own daughter, but she also noticed that Dean's guilty conscience was bothering him a bit.

Dean nodded his head, but did not look at his girlfriend. So she touched his cheek with her warm hand and made him look at her. "Do you know what I mean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do." now he smiled a little, but Y/N could still tell that he was not feeling fully guiltfree. "But I also know that you wanted to stroll over the book flea market in town."

He was right. Today was the last day and Y/N had hoped to get a few special books. And eventhough Dean did not share her love for books, he never complained or made fun of her. He even accompanied her to such events, even though he could probably think of better things to do. But that made her love Dean a little more anyway.

"So..." Dean said and got up again. Y/N saw him disappear into the hallway where she heared him opening the closet door before he came back with a large box in his hand. "... yesterday during my break I picked something up for you."

"What?" she asked puzzled at the box that Dean just had placed in her lap.

When she opened the box, her eyes widened in surprise. About twenty books smiled at her and for a moment she didn't know what to say. At the top there were a few collected editions of Jane Austen novels and she knew immediately that he had memorized what she liked to read and so she couldn't wait to take a close look at each book.

"You're crazy." Y/N placed the box next to her on the couch and stood up. "You really used your break to get me some books?"

She hugged Dean and he closed his arms around her right away, presing her a little closer to her. "Of course I did. I would have liked to go with you too, but somehow I had the feeling, that today might be difficult. Although of course I would still have gone there with you today if you had wanted to."

"No, this is already more than enough." Y/N said and kissed him. "But... did you have enough time? It's almost fiftheen minutes from your workplace to the city hall."

"Yeah, but I had the time for it. I finished Dad's car earlier than expected and had to test drive it anyway. So I used it for a little tour of our beautiful Nashville."

Y/N smiled, but then she felt that uneasy feeling in her stomach again. Yes, they lived in Nashville and yes, she knew the city all too well. Still, it felt wrong somehow. The young woman didn't really know why or where this feeling came from, but it wasn't the first time. This had been happening again and again for weeks now. As if the life they were living here wasn't a real life. Something felt so wrong in moments like this, but she just couldn't quite explain what it was. So she kept it to herself.

"You're finished with the car? Will you give it back to your mum?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "I've already talked to her about this and she said, that she does not want to have it back. Besides... she thought that we would be more in need for a big car in the future." he wiggled with his eyebrows.

"Oh, is that so?" now she had to grin back.

"Of course. I'm ready when you are." and with one swift tug he grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto her hips. Y/N squealed in shock, but quickly regained her composure and laughed as Dean went into the bedroom with her in his arms.

The next morning, Y/N decided to prepare a big breakfast. It was Sunday and today they would just keep to themselves, relax at home and not see a soul. So she got to work and soon her house was filled with the smell of fresh coffee, pancakes, eggs and bacon. Y/N set the table, poured out some orange juice and waited for the toast to be ready. Then it wouldn't be long before Dean came downstairs, driven by his growling stomach.

So while Y/N was waiting for Dean, she decided to finally take a closer look at the box with the books. Her heart immediately jumped again. No matter how rough or tough Dean seemed on the outside, on the inside he was soft, caring and just wonderful. It didn't take Y/N long to figure this out and it made her fall in love with him even faster. Luckily, Dean really liked her too.

Among the Jane Austen books were other special editions. A few by Stephen King and also a few fantasy series that she was currently reading. But he had also brought a few new books that she hadn't heard of. One in particular caught Y/N's eye because it didn't seem like a normal novel. It was about the lore of a coven of witches from ancient Tartaria. And the more she leafed through the book, the clearer it became that it wasn't a normal book.

Y/N frowned. Why had Dean brought such a book with him? Did he really believe in witches? That was somehow strange. So she would ask him about it once he woke up and joined her. While she sorted the other books into her bookshelf, she placed the witch book on the kitchen island. But she noticed that her eyes kept returning to the book. Really strange.

But it took another twenty minutes until Dean finally trotted into the kitchen. He looked so cute with messy hair. They greeted each other with a small smile and a big hug before sharing a kiss. But shortly afterwards Dean saw the set table and widened his eyes.

“Did you do all of that this morning?” Dean asked surprised, but he immediately seemed much more awake and prepared to sit down at the table.

"Yes, I did. I just wanted to do it as a little thank you for the books you bought me." she said with a grin and poured coffee for herself and Dean.

"Aaww, you didn't have to do that." Dean replied, but already helped himself to the toast and bacon. "But I won't say no to it either."

"How come I'm not surprised?" laughed Y/N and ruffled Dean's still disheveled hair.

As she brought the coffee pot back, Y/N's eyes fell on the book about witches again and she picked it up before sitting down at the table too.

"But back to the books..." Y/N held up the book and Dean looked over at her. "...why did you bring me this book? It's not a novel."

"Oh, yeah. This is for Sam." Dean replied, biting into his toast.

"Sam?" Y/N asked confused.

"Yes. Sam." Dean repeated, frowning slightly. "My brother. He can certainly do more with it than I can. He's our lore expert."

Now Y/N was beyond confused. What was Dean talking about? She placed the book on the table and turned fully to Dean.

"Dean...you don't have a brother."

"What are you talking about?" Dean looked just as confused now.

"We've been together for over five years now, Dean. You don't have a brother. You've always been an only child."

For a moment, Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but then he shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

"What? No, I didn't mean...brother brother. I meant a buddy of mine. Of course I'm an only child. What did you think?"

That somehow relieved Y/N, but she still didn't fully believe him. And that strange feeling arose within her again and didn't seem to want to go away. What was going on here?

A week later, Dean and Y/N were back to normal. Everything seemed normal and as usual. While Dean restored classic cars in the auto repair shop and made his customers happy, Y/N continued to work part-time at the bed and breakfast. She loved the work. It had a family feel to it and sometimes didn't feel like work at all. And sometimes, on his break, Dean would come over and have coffee with her before he had to go back.

Dean had met Y/N in the baking section of a supermarket. Y/N immediately noticed him and he also seemed to have noticed her straight away. His flirting attempts didn't take long to arrive and Y/N was only too happy to give in to them. And when they got to the meat section, it was clear that there was a spark. After that, it didn't take long until Dean called her again and they went on their first date.

Soon after, it had become clear that something more was developing between them and Y/N had no regrets. Dean had also often told her that he was happy. Everything was light and somehow he felt like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even if he could never quite say what he meant by that.

And Y/N has had to think about that over and over again over the last few days. Dean also seemed somehow preoccupied. The witch book was still in her possession and she often caught him holding it in his hand and looking down at it thoughtfully. She has also had it in her hand several times, as if it were attracting her, making her want to open it and read it carefully.

But she fought against it, tried not to give in to it because it somehow scared her. However, these efforts only resulted in her getting a headache that slowly became quite throbbing. So after finishing work, she decided to lie down on the sofa and get some sleep, hoping it would help.

But even the little nap didn't seem to help. On the contrary, she was haunted by confused dreams about witches. Magic curses that were cast on her and that she couldn't defend against. But what finally broke Y/N out of her sleep was the voice of her best friend Jane, calling out to her and telling her that she had to wake up.

As soon as she opened her eyes, her heart was racing and sweat was forming on her forehead. It took her several seconds until her mind was back in her house and her vision cleared. And immediately the headache came back. And the urge to read the witch book was now even stronger than before.

So she gave in to him. She picked up the book and opened it, reading carefully, page by page. And the more she read, the more the fog in her head cleared. All the more she remembered. When she came across a sleep-trance curse, the scales fell from her eyes.

She didn't immediately notice that Dean was coming home at that moment. But when she turned to him, she saw that he was holding a small, green plastic soldier in his hand. His eyes widened when he realized Y/N was reading the witch book. But somehow it also gave him a feeling of like-mindedness. And even though he didn't want to burst that happy little bubble they were in, they still needed to talk.

But when Dean even thought about talking to Y/N about what had happened to him today, his heart almost broke. He loved her very much and he also loved the life they had built over the last five years. By now they had even gotten to the point where they were thinking about having children together. But one more look at the little toy soldier in his hand made his decision stronger again. There was no other way if he wanted to finally bring light to darkness.

"Hey, Y/N..." he started while keeping a little distance to the woman infront of him. "...I think... we need to talk."

To his surprise Y/N nodded her head. "Yeah, I... think we do."

With the book still in hand she sat back down on the couch again. A couple of seconds later Dean did the same, but she could not speak right away, because he knew that it would change everything. So he took a few deep breaths and started with showiung Y/N the toy soldier in his hand.

"This... was inside the Impala. I found it, when I restored the car. It belongs to me... and my brother Sam. He's four years younger than me and when we were little we stuffed them into the car."

Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment, hoping this was all a dream. But at the same time she had to laugh inside because from the looks of it, it was all a dream. Even if it felt like a bit of a nightmare right now.

"My name is Dean Winchester and me and my brother hunt monsters, ghosts and witches. So, basically all of the supernatural if you will." He rubbed the back of his head a little nervously and looked at Y/N carefully.

But Y/N wasn’t quite as surprised. A small smile even crept onto her lips. Actually she should have known that they weren't that different.

"I've had such a throbbing headache all week. Ever since we got this book here..." she held it up a bit, but didn't want to let it go. Not yet. "...My best friend Jane would have already devoured it. I was with her in Tonopah. We were tracking a witch who stole the life energy of single people."

Now Dean's eyes widened. So Y/N knew about it herself. She was also a hunter. Why had the idea seemed so far-fetched to him when it made so much sense now that he had heard it himself? And what she said about the witch's hunt also matched his memories.

"Sam and I were in Clarksburg. A witch sucked the life energy out of singles there too."

And suddenly relief, but also sadness and even a little fear spread through both of them. So it was definitely clear that the reality they were living together wasn't real. And they no longer had any doubts about each other's words. It just felt too right.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Y/N asked.

"We followed him for quite a while until we were able to find him in an abandoned house. Unfortunately, I was too forward. You know, I hate these damn witches. Sam called out to me. I wasn't paying attention for a moment and then... I don't know."

Y/N nodded knowingly. "You were hit by a curse. Just like me. Jane had located the witch in a hotel, but she had known we were coming. And as soon as I walked through the door of the room, a purple burst of energy hit me. After that, I don't know anything either."

"Fucking witches." Dean grumbled. "So, a curse. But which one?"

"I think I know the answer to that." And now Y/N opened the book in her hands again and showed that spell to him.

"A sleep-trance curse? What the heck is this?" so he read the whole page and his eyes darkened. "Son of a bitch! And what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, my brother is good with witch stuff, but I'm not sure he will come behind this."

"I already have an answer for that too." She showed Dean a paragraph on the next page. "We can only solve it ourselves. No matter what Jane or Sam try, they won't succeed."

"Well then, we should get to work, shouldn't we?" Dean said after reading the new lines too.

Y/N nodded at that too, but immediately afterwards she also realized what it would mean to lift the curse. They would give up their lives here. She would lose everything she thought she loved. But she also asked herself what about the feelings she had for Dean right now. Were they at least real? Or did they just come from the curse? Would she lose feelings as soon as she woke up? Or would she at least be able to remember it? She didn't know.

Dean also seemed to notice her change in emotions and placed a hand on her thigh. He couldn't deny that he was a little scared too. This life they had here was everything he had always imagined. This was truly what it must have felt like to live a normal life. Without monsters and all the evil that roamed the streets at night. And even though nothing had happened yet, he already missed it.

And he already missed Y/N, even though she was still sitting here next to him. But it would probably take a while before he finally understood how unfair it all was. Showing him a piece of heaven and then ripping it out of his hands. But they had to go back, had to see how Sam and Jane were doing. And they had to kill those fucking witches.

Three days later they had all the ingredients together. Thanks to Dean's recovered memories, he had been able to get many things the usual way. They had both taken time off from work and spent the rest of their time together. The closer they got to the finish line, the more Y/N's heart broke.

She had just divided up all the ingredients and set up the bronze bowl when Dean came to her with white candles in his hand. He lit it and Y/N began mixing the ingredients according to the order. But when she got to the last step, she stopped.

"Y/N?" Dean asked, but he already saw the emotions rise in her eyes.

"What... what will happen when we wake up?" now tears came to her eyes.

"Y/N..." Dean said again and lightly touched her upper arm.

"I don't want to forget you." She now said what she had been caring around with her since the morning.

Dean pulled her into his arms and now had to hold back his own tears. He had been trying not to think about it the whole time, but now he couldn't ignore it anymore. And while he was trying to keep his emotions in check, he didn't notice how Y/N put a small piece of paper in the breast pocket of his shirt. Even if she didn't know if it would do any good, she at least wanted to try.

Then Dean took her by the shoulders and released Y/N from the hug so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Listen to me." and Y/N looked him in the eyes without saying anything. "I will find you. I promise you that."

And that was enough to make Y/N cry. So Dean pulled her back into his arms and shed a few tears himself. After they both calmed down, they separated from each other but still holding each other's hands.

"I love you!" Y/N said in a weak voice and Dean grinned.

"I love you!" He said too and then they turned to the table.

A moment later, Y/N spoke the words of the counterspell and threw the last ingredient into the bowl. They both looked at each other again before a purple wave of energy hit them and everything around them went dark.

"Y/N? Y/N!"

With a groan, Y/N opened her heavy eyelids and immediately recognized the excited voice of her best friend Jane. She felt as if she had slept for a hundred years without ever really resting. She slowly sat up and let Jane hug her warmly.

"Thank God you're finally awake again. That stupid witch put a spell on you! Unfortunately, I killed her too quickly before I knew what the spell was. But it was so strong that I don't think she could do it alone. How are you? How are you feeling?"

"I think I'm doing quite well. It's just that my body still feels so heavy."

"Fortunately." exclaimed Jane and hugged her friend again. "But something is strange." she then reflected.

"What?" Y/N asked.

"How were you able to free yourself from the spell? I was at my wits' end three days ago and haven't tried anything else until now."

Now Y/N was taken aback. "I have no idea. I don't remember anything."

A/N: Yeah, there is nothing else to say here. Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

@lyarr24 @k-slla @chriszgirl92 @aylacavebear @thebiggerbear

#what if #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #supernatural

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