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ohdeerfully · 9 months ago

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K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.”

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming.

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes.

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response.

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual.

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face.

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #angst #TW: child death #child death #ohdeerfully

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sugojosgf · 7 months ago

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not so nice! nanami req can you write reader using the safe word with him ????

say the word baby, its alright !

﹒ nanami ﹕�� ﹟ fem · prns ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ : ᯓ cw : dēgrādatīon , smūt , mentions of SA ! ﹐

sometimes it's a little too much and nanami always understands

nanami loves being a little rough w you, a little condescending. he loves to see tears collecting on your lash line just so he can kiss them away and hold you close. he knows that you enjoy this dynamic too, that you enjoy being treated like this ,,, you've said so multiple times.

but sometimes he can go overboard.

like this time, where kento has you in a mean mating press, your legs on his shoulder shaking as he thrusts deeper into you, you can feel him all the way up to your throat — so full of him. you feel like your cervix might bruise the way he pulls back and pushes in, a single thrust knocking the wind out of you.

"k-kento! s'too much—" you sob, mind far gone, "—please, just a mo-ment!" you whine, pulling him close and muffling your cries on his shoulder.

he doesn't stop, his cock filling you up with an unforgiving pace. you already had cum on his fingers once and you could feel your second orgasm of the night approaching.

"fuck! just take it—" he grunts, groaning in your ear, "that's all you are good for yeah? fuck, don't you dare cum right now, filthy slut—"

your eyes widen, even though you usually wouldn't be surprised,,,you loved it when he talked to you like this.

something about being catcalled on your way to work and then being hit on by your manager made his words seem real.

it made you feel like, you truly were only good for this.

"k-kento?" you say, nails digging deep into his muscles, "—i can't!" you are barely able to complete your sentence when his thumb begins to play with your clit, broken moans bouncing off the walls.

"shut the fuck up and take it like the whore you are —" he moans as he pushes in deeper than possible.

"kento! stop... red! no more—" you yell out finally, tears spilling out of your pretty eyes, your hands tapping thrice on his shoulder.

it takes nanami a moment to register what was going on, and he almost immediately pulls out. he looks at you, eyes confused but affectionate.

"my sweet girl... i am so so sorry" he whispers, "what's wrong baby? was that t' much?" he sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, peppering soft kisses on your face.

he sees you struggling to answer and immediately silences you with a kiss.

"you don't need to answer, my love. take your time baby, let's get you cleaned up now." he carries you to the shower and holds you as he cleans you up.

"my girl's the prettiest, love you so much sweetheart.,,," he says while he dries you with a soft towel, dressing you in your favourite tshirt of his.

he makes sure to kiss you everywhere, and tells you how much he loves you.

"sorry k-kento, just had a really bad day, i thought if you just treated me like usual, everything would be fine." his eyes mist over.

"oh...pretty, whenever you have a bad day, you need to tell me. that's what im here for, here for you,,." he leans over to kiss you softly, lips lingering.

"let's watch grey's while we eat some leftovers, and after that if you want, we can talk about your day."

you smile at him, knowing you lucked out with love when he held you again.

bonus <3:

not so nice! nanami who tracks down the man who had cat called you with the help of his connections and makes sure he is never able to talk again.

not so nice! nanami who gets the HR immediately involved and gets that manager blacklisted so no one can hurt his pretty girl again.

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yestrnight · 2 years ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ POCKET SLIME !

FROM: kaveh, alhaitham / gn! slime! reader

SUBJECT: you used to be a docile, little thing. a blob of extraordinary cuteness that just follows them around wherever they go. but how in the world did the pet slime they took in turn to be some sort of cum-hungry demon?

( this shit reads like a doujinshi, so don’t even bother using braincells; feels like im committing some sort of crime against the cute widdle slimes of genshin; unhygienic slime usage; reader has a diçk AND a pússy, reader also has a humanoid form don't worry; best of both worlds; urethra play (kaveh); dubcon; nipple play (alhaitham), throat fucking (haitham); they’re ALL on their receiving end; ahégao; )

✧.* KAVEH

KAVEH who takes you in while you were plopping sadly around in the rain, sad little rumbles and bleps from your jelly body. he’s not so heartless that he’d kill some poor slime who doesn’t even have any interest in attacking him, only nudging its pudgy body against his shoes and looking pleadingly at him.

he likes to watch you eat the treats he brings home. it’s a stress reliever to see you munch on some sumeru roses he brought home, and he pats your blob figure fondly while you squeal in delight at his treats. you’re not a very picky eater, he finds out, but you’re more delighted whenever he feeds you something with elemental energy. once he learns of this, he brings home more and more elemental energy stuff, just to be on the receiving end of your cute lil snuggies.

KAVEH who lets you sit on his head whenever he’s working on his projects. while he sketches and measures, your cool jiggly body feels so comforting on his hair. sometimes he even falls asleep with you on him, and you slowly make your way to his cheek so you can protect him from the hard wood of his desk.

he genuinely brought you in because he thought you were cute, nothing more than that. he’s gotten fonder of you ever since the days pass by, and you thought of him the same. however…

KAVEH who wakes up to something warm and gooey sucking on him down there. as he squirms under the blankets, tiny little moans and whines escape his pretty little lips. the pink blush on his cheeks seems to brighten when he slowly opens his bleary eyes and sees his adorable slime sucking on the tip of his pretty cock. imagine the shock of seeing the pet he was so fond of doing nasty things to him!

“nnh–! [y-your name]! what are you– ahh ♡!” he tries his best to cover up and pull you away, but with no such luck. in fact, you suck even harder, the wet noises of his cum and your squishy body echoing throughout the room. you suck even harder, and the pleasure makes kaveh’s body jilt and shake every rhythm and pulse.

“angh… t- too much…!” he sobs and pushes you away, but his hands only sink into the slime. it’s only around this time he suddenly realizes the slow expansion of your blob body, slowly morphing into something familiar… something humanoid… something… cuter.

your wobbly smile looks so innocent even as you tongue the veins across his dick, and it sends blood to his head until he feels like he’ll pass out from a nosebleed. you gurgle something that sounds faintly like ‘master’ and ‘kaveh’... and gods does that make his dick hard.

“a s-slime turning into a human?” he gasps, sitting himself. “i must be going– ngH! c-crazyYY ♡ stop! s-stop!” using the dexterity and fluidity of a slime, your tongue compresses into something thinner. you ooze your way in into his urethra, the slimy thing bumping against the edges and leaves his toes curling and fingers gripping the sheets.

“ughk, mmh~!” he throws his head back, dick humping into your slimy mouth. “m-more ♡ k-keep going~! agh, ah, ah~!” your delighted gurgle sounds faint in his ringing ears, but he still manages to smile fondly. “g- good slime ♡ s-sucking on your master’s dick so h-ha-hARD! fuck!” he hisses when your tongue presses against his prostate. he pats your hair with one shaky hand and you nuzzle into it. “so ♡ cute ♡ you got even cuter ♡”

“‘m gonna blow! [your name]! ggh [your name]!” he whines and desperately grasps on the hair-like jelly. “s-slow down~♡! gh, nwah!” he wants to attribute your lack of understanding to your inability of comprehending human languages, but he swears he sees the shadow of a devilish smirk on your cute face before you griiiind your tongue right against his prostate.

as his climax hits him, KAVEH’s eyes roll and his back arches into the air as he shoots his seed into your mouth. the tears blur his vision, but he can see his white seed spurt into the jelly. satisfied with your meal, you finally pull out your tongue– getting some pretty screams from your master at the added simulation– and his body falls limp. you smile and giggle at him, kissing away the tears from his eyes, and slumping your cool body against him.

“th– thanks, [your name],” he smiles at you, kissing you briefly before sleep takes him away again. “do that for me again, ‘kay?”

✧.* AL-HAITHAM

HAITHAM who is skeptical of the slime his fool of a roommate brought home. he raised an eyebrow when kaveh came home wet with a pudgy slime in his hands. “you know that can dissolve you, right?” he points out, ever the smartass.

kaveh snaps back. “of course i know, idiot. but look at them! don’t you feel bad for them?” he raises you high and you give a warbly greeting, but alhaitham is far from impressed. his dramatic roommate rolls his eyes at him and kaveh carefully tucks you away. “let’s go, [your name]! this callous idiot isn’t worth your time!”

HAITHAM who didn’t pay you much attention, only ever seeing you while you drape off kaveh’s head when he enters for breakfast. you were well-behaved for a slime, anyway, so he shouldn’t concern himself much with you. but his interest is piqued when one day he hears devilish noises from kaveh’s room, sounds of slurping and sucking while kaveh whines pathetically muffled behind the door. clearly, it’s not kaveh doing the sucking and slurping, but…

HAITHAM who sees you again the next day at breakfast, draping off kaveh’s head as usual. he greets kaveh with his usual coolness, but kaveh, for lack of a proper word, looks completely fucked out. his legs shake as he pulls his chair, and when their hands touch while reaching for the food, he pulls back with a lip-bitten yelp. all the while, you garble incomprehensibly on him.

yeah, no. his roommate is definitely fucking his pet slime. haitham’s not chatty, but he’s got a million words for how fucked up the entire situation is. once kaveh is out of the house, he corners poor little you and stares down into your vacant little slime eyes. he won’t admit that he actually cares for his… once friend, so getting rid of the thing that has tempted him into immoral acts will be the best next thing.

“mm- mmgh?!” haitham doesn’t know how he ended up like this, gagged and bound by your slimy tendrils. while he tries to break free, he stares in astonishment as the blob slowly expands. the torso starts first, before extending into limbs, until the head takes shape and a very, very pretty smile is smiling innocently into haitham’s face.

“☆♡♡?” your gurgles continue to be incomprehensible, despite the humanoid form. slowly, your cool hand caresses his face, holding his chin while your tendrils lift him ever so slightly up the ground. you kiss him, like how a lover would, the slightest bit of tongue swiping over his lips, but then you pull away— and he catches the devilish smirk before you lean in again and start fucking his mouth.

he thrashes in your slimy hold, slipping away only for the slime to thicken and tighten their hold on him. he glares at you with look of indignation as he tries his best to keep his mouth shut, only for you to slip your tongue between his lips and curl around his tongue. he shakes as you bring him closer to you so you can properly fuck him in his throat. you curiously watch as he gags and splutters on the length of the tendril, his glare never ceasing even though he looks like a proper slut with that dark red blush on him.

replacing your pseudo tongue for another tendril, you pull away from his face and eye his thin shirt. your curious hands roam over the expanse of his chest, and you delight in the softness of his pecs. feeling a bit too eager to get your hands under his shirt, you dissolve the cloth away and quickly reach up to rub his two pretty nipples. you roll them around in your fingers, giving each one a tight squeeze before going back to massaging them.

HAITHAM, behind the slime gagging him, yelps when you lean in and bite one. you run a tongue over his wide areolas, studying his expressions to make sure you’re pleasing your master’s best friend properly. his glare is more subdued, the wriggling has lessened, and there’s an… anticipation in his eyes as he stares down at you. you’re more than delighted at the progress. this means he likes you, right? you always felt a little sad when haitham would glare at you, but now you can feel getting closer to him! best friends, even, just like him and your master!

and like every best friend does, you should make him feel happy too! lowering one gloopy hand down to his pants, you waste no time melting away his pants and underwear and morphing your hand into something akin to a suction cup. little tentacles line the inside of the cup, and a muffled groan from haitham convinces you to finally ungag him. he gasps for breath, staring at you with wide eyes and a fucked out look. “what… what are you waiting for?” haitham grits his teeth, trying to hide the desperation he’s feeling when you’re so, so close to finally giving him the relief he wants. “put that on me. now.” a pause when you don’t do anything, and the last left of his dignity leave him as he gives you a pleading look and buck his hips up. “please.”

you know from experience that that one syllable is the go ahead, and with enthusiasm and vigor, you put the cup on him and start sucking. “mmm! ngh, ah, too much! ah!” you think his moans are pretty. huskier and deeper than your master’s soft and light whines, and that only makes you sucke even harder. the stimulation forces him to bend his back as he dangles in mid-air, forcing his fat cock deeper into your suction-hand. the dizziness of the upside down world makes the blood rush to his head, and he feels his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tickle the throbbing vein running the downside of his cock.

“ah, sh-shit, you’re taking me all in ♡” sweat makes his skin glisten, highlighting even more his soft pecs and his abs. tendrils reach out from your back as they glide themselves around his waist and guide him back up. he’s positively shivering as you continue pounding his cock in and out of your hand, and his tongue is shivering when you pull him in for another kiss.

somewhere in the back of his mind, haitham swears he’ll make a research paper on you– on how intoxicating and aphrodisiacal you can be.

✧.* IT’S A THREESOME!

KAVEH bounces himself on your dick, your squishy body serving as his cushion as he lets his limp body get absolutely wrecked by a thick and veiny cock you fashioned from your ever-morphing body. his pretty dick slaps HAITHAM’s muscled torso as the younger one slaps his heavy balls against the pussy just underneath your balls.

your slime encases the both of them flicking haitham’s nubs up and down and fucking kaveh’s urethra open, just the way they like it. it should be humiliating, the two roommates who could barely stand each other now open and so vulnerable to each other. but kaveh’s face is contorted in a lewd expression, eyes crossed and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he gets his ass destroyed, and haitham can’t find the energy to even insult him.

well, maybe a little bit. “you– ngh! – you really brought a beast into my home, huh?” he pants out, grabbing kaveh’s waist for stability as he thrusts his dick into you like a beast in rut. “you really couldn’t resist the chance to get yourself fucked silly, huh, my dear senior?”

kaveh whines when he feels haitham going even faster on you, and he tries to cover his face with his arm. “sh– shut up, okay?! i– a-ah ♡ i didn’t knooow! i thought they were a c-cute l-little thing ♡ but now they’re–” a sob escapes him as you abuse his prostate. “they’re just bullying me e-everydayyy ♡”

haitham locks eyes with you, innocent and vacant, not a single thought behind them. but it’s hard to see you as anything but innocent when you’re offering up both your cock and pussy to your two masters.

“you’re one crafty thing,” haitham bites out. but all you offer to him is a happy little noise when you think that you’ve made your two masters happy and fulfilled. just like how that man taught you to.

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ next stop! tighnari & cyno #genshin impact #genshin smut #alhaitham smut #kaveh smut #genshin x reader #genshin alhaitham #genshin kaveh #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #kaveh #nite.writes

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luvyeni · 25 days ago

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( reaction ) you try and kill them ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you snap and try and kill them ヾ

yandere!enhypen・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ horror angst ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ wc ・ ‎k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 more yandere for everyone <3

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

smirking when you held the gun in your shaking hand. “be careful you might shoot yourself.” he sat calmly in his chair. “don't patronize me.” you shouted , waving the gun. “whoa , im sorry.” he put his hand up with a smile. “why don't you put the gun down.” he said. “no, im leaving this place.” you said he nodded. “are you?” he was so unbothered — it pissed you off. “i don't think you are.” you were sick of all his tricks and mind games. you were finally over it , you pulled the trigger. click! that was it , the gun didn't go off. “did you seriously think i kept a fully loaded gun out in the open?” he was laughing at you. “are you dumb?” you felt like you were going crazy , you couldn't escape him , so you dropped to the ground. “please just kill me , please.” you begged unable to do it anymore ; you'd rather die than go through this any longer. “oh no im not gonna kill you.” he said, bending down to your level , the craziest smile on his face.

“where's the fun in that baby?”

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

the only way you would be able to kill jay is through his food and even that was hard — because you didn't even cook your own food , so you had to sneak into the kitchen on the pretense of helping since you did sometimes do that because that's all you could do since he kept you locked in the house almost every day. while you were left alone by the cooks, you poured the cleaning solution into the stew — it was served to him by the staff , but he quickly found something wrong. “what's wrong?” you asked, trying not to sound nervous. “you.” he pointed to the maid , calling them over. “eat this.” you didn't want to kill anyone else. “h-huh?” jay looked at you with a blank stare. “eat it i said.” you broke down, he pushed the bowl to the floor , the glass shattering along with the stew. “clean it up and leave.” he stood up from the seat making his way to you. “jay please , im sorry.” he was pissed. “don't plead now.” he grabbed you by your hair. “ow please you're hurting me.” he dragged you to your room — the one where it locked outside. “good.” he threw you down onto the floor.

“try and poison my food , let's see how long you last without food.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

you leaving alone was like stabbing him in the chest , but if you left and he did kill himself you knew you'd never forgive yourself. so you knew you had to do it , you had to kill him. “yn?” jake stood in the corner of the kitchen. he was pinned there by you pressing the knife against his chest. “what are you doing?” his eyes teary , you wouldn't fall for it. “jake i can't live like this , and you won't let me go.” before you plunge the knife into his chest , he held the knife in his hand. “do it.” he said tears down his face. “kill me , please do it , i don't want to live without you.” he said , his hand were bleeding. “if you hate me this much that means i’ve failed to love you and i deserve it.” you stood there in shock , you didn't know what to do. “j-jake.”

“i deserve so please just kill me , please.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

you knew you were taking a chance trying to kill sunghoon; and you knew this was gonna be your only chance to kill him; because you'd either one die trying to or two be too scared to try again. you decided to try… that's where you fucked up at. taking the bat he often used ( on you and his other victims ) — swinging the bat , hitting him on the side of his head. you didn't even wait for him to hit the ground before you b-lined it to the door… that was your second fuck up, because had you waited even a second you would've realized he never got the ground. he stumbled but collected himself— picking up the same bat; your third and final fuck up, chasing after you. you were almost to the door, freedom on at your fingertip but it all came crashing down when you felt the bat hitting the back of your head and then it all went dark. when you woke up , he was standing over top of you , the side of his head still bleeding. “su-sunghoon , please.” his eyes were darker than ever. “please don't kill me , im sorry.” he scoffed. “im not gonna kill you.” he said but the way you said it — you wished he would.

“but im gonna make you fucking wish i did.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sunoo﹚ .ᐟ

you didn't want to hurt him; you didn't. but if you didn't do something he'd never let you go; or end up killing himself and you couldn't be left with a burden knowing he did that because of you. you didn't want him to be in pain as he died you couldn't believe you still had compassion for him , but you did. you decided killing him in his sleep was the way to go. waiting for him to fall asleep , moving as slow as you possibly could , undoing his arm and straddling his waist, the pillow in your hand as you covered his face , holding the pillow down. he began to thrash around , you held tightly as you heard the muffle of his cries; the saltiness from your tears on your tongue — you were crying. he took this as a chance, quickly flipping you over , he held you down tears streaming down his face. “why why why!” he shouted. “im sorry, im so sorry.” both of you sobbing, it was sick you felt so bad for what you did. “why did you do that yn?!” he shouted.

“i love you , i love you and you try and kill me , do you hate me that much ?!”

﹙ 𐙚 : jungwon﹚ .ᐟ

you needed to make sure he was dead, poisoning him? no he was way too smart for that. try to stab him? he long got rid of the knives. you had no option , the gun — the same gun he used to fuck with you. he'd keep one of those revolver guns and sometimes he'd put a bullet in it and told you to put it to his head , if it went off you were free , if not he'd put the gun to your head but he wouldn't pull the trigger because of course he would never hurt you , but the pure terror on your face amused him — much like now, when you grabbed the gun holding it to the back of his head. “if you wanted to play you could've just asked,” he said calmly. “sh-shut up.” you stuttered , he laugh. “you got one shot.” he said , just as you pulled the trigger… it didn't go off. “no!” you shouted , he grabbed the gun out of your hand. “no please!” you begged, he smiled at you crouching in the corner. “it's my turn.” he knew the gun wasn't loaded at all , he always took the bullet out. the gun was pointed at your head , with a laugh.

“let's play fair this time , it's only right if i get a turn.”

﹙ 𐙚 : ni-ki﹚ .ᐟ

much like sunghoon; you'd only have one shot cause ni-ki would damn sure make sure you'd never do it again. you underestimated him though, thinking you could easily suffocate him in his sleep , thinking he'd be too inebriated to fight back. you were wrong and you soon figure that out when he easily overpowered you , flipping you over so that now he was on top. “stupid fucking girl.” he wrapped his fingers around your throat. “did you think this would work?” you couldn't breathe , your hands scratching at his hands trying to pull them off , you both were basically fighting at this point. he managed to get up , pulling you from the bed by your hair , dragging you , throwing you down to the floor , the crack of our wrist and your scream didn't phase him at all. “ni-niki please don't.” he picked up the bat.

“that wrist of yours is the least of your fucking problems.”

©LUVYENI

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poisonedprose · 1 year ago

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₊˚✧ she said fuck me like im famous — in which ellie 'teaches' you how to play the guitar.

rockstar!ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings: 0.6.k words, smutty, is this highly inaccurate? probs. do i care? no. pet names (baby, babe, filthy girl), hand kink, teasing, reader wears a skirt, temperature play?, fingering, finger sucking

masterlists - new account @pearlcigs

The hum of Ellie's fingers plucking at the strings of her beloved guitar filled the room. She was sat on the bed, various bracelets cluttering her wrist. Your eyes were locked on her hands, watching intently, focused on her veins rather than her skills. Her shirt was unbuttoned, lazily array on her shoulders, the grey of her sports bra matching the boxers peaking through the top of her pants. She looked so good and had no idea what she was doing to you. "Come sit on my lap." Or maybe she did?

"Hm?" You responded, watching as she moved the electric guitar away from her lap to make room for you to sit. "Gonna teach you how to play." She smiles devilishly. You obey her wishes, skittishly walking towards her and sitting on her lap. Truly, you had no desire to learn how to play, more than okay with watching her experienced hands do all the work. She placed the guitar on your lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

Ellie grabbed your hands, putting them in the correct positions. She guided your fingers, her touch doing everything right to your body. Yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing to you. She strummed your fingers over the strings, the vibration on your thighs faint but you were already worked up. "Ellie." You uttered, a smirk on her face as she kissed your shoulder. "Yes, baby? Somethin' wrong?" She asked in a cocky tone.

Everything about her turned you on. "Do you need help?" Ellie's tone was confident, she was getting exactly what she wanted and you both knew it. "Saw you staring at my hands." She admits, kissing from your shoulder to your neck. "They excite you or something?" She continues with her painful teasing, stroking the strings once again to let the vibration flow your your thighs. "Ellie." You whimpered, composure quickly disintegrating.

"Bet you wish I was playing with you and not the guitar, hm?" One of Ellie's hands slide down to your thigh, squeezing tightly, veins becoming more prominent. "Yes." You admitted, breathlessly. "Yeah? Like seeing my fingers? Was doin' it on purpose." She admits, she was absolutely bold. Unafraid of the empty threats you might try to scare her with from her antics.

She moves the guitar off your lap, moving it to the side for later. Cold finger tips tickling up your thigh to you panty covered cunt. "Soaking through your pants, babe." She chuckles applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to watch you squirm. "El..." You whine, hips arching off her lap slightly. "Gonna fuck you like a rockstar and then write a song about it. Everyone's gonna know what a freak you are." Her free hand fingers her way to your lips, intruding through them. You don't even wait for her command to suck on her nimble fingers.

"The lyrics'll be about how much you love my fingers. How much you love them in your mouth... in your pussy.." She teases but she was far from finished, pushing your skirt up and pushing your panties to the side. The coldness from her hands make your warm cunt flutter from the temperature difference. "Maybe I'll put your desperate moans in the background vocals? Hm? How does that sound?" She slowly strokes your clit.

You moan, proving her point that the noises she drew from you were desperate. She slides a finger into your weeping cunt, pushing her fingers further into your mouth. The thrusts both hands at the same time, finger your cunt and mouth at the same time. "Yeah, baby. Take my fingers, filthy girl."

requested / inspired by @thatgiraffefromtlou rockstar ellie makes me lose it this took forever because i couldn't figure out how to execute it - i was also debating vibrator synced to the guitar with bluetooth so lmk if i should write that

#! ☢ ₊˚✧ tlou .#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut

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fir3ylolol · 1 year ago

Text

we want you!

pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: The hot military rep on your college campus finally talks to you, but what happens when he gives you his number?

word count: 2.4 k

tw: vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex, cunnilingus, afab!reader, very light dom/sub, sub!reader, gentle dom!johnny, he still whimpers tho, kind of anonymous sex, making out, biting, praise, hes actually rly sweet, smut, porn with plot

a/n: DILF JOHNNY DILF JOHNNY im so happy with how this turned out!! OH! and I've got another mk1 johnny fic halfway done so keep an eye out for that :))

other parts

Ao3

It wasn’t really fair to call you a college student. Were you still actively going to college? Yes, but! You were studying for your master’s degree. Totally not the same thing.

So you didn’t feel that bad about paying attention to the very hot military representative that you always saw on campus. He was insanely built for an older guy, tall and graying near the temples. Black sunglasses always cover his eyes, you couldn't tell if he was cocky or just avoiding the kids on campus. You wanted to talk to him but honestly? He made you sort of nervous.

He’s just so handsome and confident, nodding your way every time you pass him. But finally, after a couple of months, you decide it’s your turn to be confident. He’s stood next to a table under a pop-up canopy, looking around for more people to scout. You walk directly towards him, trying not to falter any of your steps. He finally notices you, quirking an eyebrow and smirking your way.

Fuck, that’s even hotter.

But it’s too late to back out now, as you stop a few feet from him. Nervous to meet his eyes, you clear your throat and manage to ask, “How’s the military this time of year?” He chuckles lightly, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose. “It’s not too bad. You know, I’ve seen you around campus, but you always seemed like you were in such a hurry that I didn’t want to bother you.” You mentally curse yourself for pretty much scaring him off.

“Well, you know how it is. Places to go, subjects to study. I have been wondering why you haven’t said anything to me. I always see you chatting with other students. I just figured it was because I wasn’t the right material.” You try to be less nervous and casual, leaning against the table as well. He looks down and laughs again, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into his tactical vest. He looks up, wide brown puppy dog eyes meeting yours.

Shit, can he stop being so hot??

“Nah, you’re too good for us, you’re needed out here. Besides, they only have me out here for star power.” You look quizically at him. I guess he did look sort of familiar. Then it hit you. “Oh shit, you’re Johnny Cage!.” He laughs again, who knew you were this funny?? “You just realized? I guess I’m not as famous as I once was. That, or without the tattoo, you can’t really tell.” He unzips the vest slightly and pulls his collar down, showing hints of a large tattoo of his own name across his chest. You fluster slightly at his show, “Wow, yeah, that makes a big difference. Wait, why are you in the military?” He sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Well, my ex-wife basically recruited me and honestly, it’s been more fulfilling than being an actor.”

And there it is, the awkward reason that someone so hot is single. Coughing lightly, you look away. “A-ah, well, that’s…good.” Sensing that he might’ve just said something a little uncomfortable, he quickly grabs a leaflet and pen from the table and scribbles something on it. “Hey, I feel bad about taking up so much of your time. Here.” He hands it to you, sticking it almost directly into your arms. As you take it and look at the very rushed writing of what looks like his phone number, he flashes a signature smile. “So we can continue our conversation at your leisure.” Folding it up and putting it in your pocket, you try to smile back as confidently. “How kind of you, Johnny. I’ll take you up on that.” As you begin to walk away, you hear Johnny call after you. “Wait! What’s your name?” Turning around slightly, you wave and yell back, “Take me out first!” He laughs slightly and puts his sunglasses back on, light glinting off them mischievously.

As you get back to your place, you pull the paper out and put it on your bed. This is crazy, you know? He’s like twice your age at least. And a celebrity! But…he wouldn’t give you his number unless he wanted you to text him. But not yet. You didn’t want to seem desperate. You decide to eat a bit of food and check on your grades, trying to ignore your nerves. You can only wait so long though, and you grab the paper again. Putting his number in, you take way too long to figure out what to say. God, you feel like a middle schooler, getting nervous about some cute guy. But you finally pull the trigger, sending a simple hello and hoping that you were the only person he gave his number to.

He responds almost too quickly, immediately recognizing you and being happy that you decided to message him. You smile at his words, then quickly shake your head, embarrassed at how quickly you were getting giggly over him. But you can’t stop yourself, half-flirty messages sent back and forth the rest of the day. Man, a guy like this is dangerous. He’s smart, funny, secure in himself, and genuinely so nice. Plus, he spends half the time talking about you, asking questions, and seeming truly interested. It’s hard to find a guy like that.

As day turns to night, you get ready for bed. As you lay down in bed for mindless social media time, you get a text from Johnny. As you click on it, your eyes widen in shock. A selfie of him, laid out on a hotel bed, completely shirtless with wet hair lights up your screen. Finally able to see the full tattoo, plus the insane muscles he has, you need a second to catch your breath. He captioned it ‘ready 4 bed, but hotel beds r always uncomfortable’. You feel like you’re drooling over him, how can a 50-year-old look like that?? He quickly sends a ‘hope youre feeling comfy’ and you feel compelled to take a pic for him. Fixing your hair and lighting in preparation, you make sure that your pajamas are actually cute. After way too many tries, you get the perfect one. You send it with the caption ‘oh u know it ;)’ and immediately throw it onto your bed, nerves absolutely shot. After a few seconds, your phone buzzes. And buzzes again. And again.

Picking it back up with shaking hands, you see his praise flooding in. ‘oh wow’, ‘you look so good like that’, ‘comfy is definitely a good look on you’, and ‘ur room is so cool too’ are amongst the least of the texts he’s sent. After a short pause, a final text arrives.

‘i didnt think you could get hotter but you proved me very wrong’

All of a sudden, you lose the walls you set up to hold yourself back. The mood is switched rapidly, and honestly? You are no longer nervous about talking to him. It’s time to have fun.

Y: ‘you think im hot?’

J: ‘of course, i have eyes you know’

Y: ‘i mean, i thought i was too young for you’

J: ‘i wont say i didnt notice, but honestly, if you dont mind i dont’

Y: ‘perfect’

J: ‘god, youre so hot’

Y: ‘youre not so bad yourself. dont think i didnt notice those muscles’

J: ‘i was that obvious huh? sorry, i couldnt help myself’

Flirting back and forth, you begin to lose your inhibitions even more. Flirty turns to sensual to almost overtly sexual. Something weird about what happens when the sun goes down. Like a horny werewolf. That was, until, he sent the exact right message.

J: ‘i wish i could see you rn, teasing over text can only do so much’

Holding your breath, you can’t stop yourself from a much too bold text.

Y: ‘come over then’

J: ‘what’

Y: ‘come over, you said you dont like hotels and you wanna see me’

Y: ‘here (address)’

Y: ‘your move hollywood’

J: ‘omw’

Freezing and realizing what you did, you rush to pick up your house a little. It wasn’t messy but still. Nerves. It’s a surprisingly short wait until you hear a gentle knock at the door. Seeing him stand there in the pajama pants you saw earlier and a jacket, you unlock the door. Both of you stand there, waiting and breathing. Finally, he steps in, his right hand shooting to your waist and left hand closing the door behind him. Quickly, his lips meet yours in a messy clash, tongue and teeth and desperation. Finally, you pull away, panting and trying to catch your breath. Your brain finally processes that it’s really him, touching you, standing right there.

And it’s not too long before you begin to kiss him again, hands wrapped around his neck. His hands travel lower, squeezing your ass with a groan. With surprising ease, he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist. He breaks away again, asking in a breathy voice, “Bedroom?” With a nod, you manage to get out, “That way.” He starts the kiss back up, walking towards your room.

You expect him to toss you down on your bed. You’re kind of used to jacked guys having too big of an ego in bed. But he leans down gently, placing your back on the bed. His lips move down, kissing your jaw, neck, and chest, leaving little bites and hickeys along the way. You shiver at the feeling, he's much more tender than you expected, but you’re not complaining. One of his hands slides under your top, swiftly removing it. The cool air of the room can only be felt for a few seconds before his warm tongue latches onto one of your nipples, coarse fingers lightly twisting the other. Light moans slip from your lips as his other hand caresses your hip. He groans at the sound, pulling away slightly to mutter out, “Shit, you sound so good, baby.”

Continuing to play with you, his free hand travels lower. He finally dips below your waistband, quickly finding your wetness, another moan escaping his lips. Finally breaking away, he moves lower, crouching on the ground next to the bed. Slowly, he pulls the last of your clothes off. You’re fully exposed in front of him as he practically eats you up with his eyes. Placing chaste kisses against your pussy, he dives in, licking with a fervor.

Unable to hold yourself back, pornstar moans pour from your mouth. It eggs him on further, moaning against your sensitive clit, and gently curls a finger inside you. Pulling away to breathe, he rasps out, “You taste just as good as you sound. And feel even better.” He keeps working at you, pushing you closer and closer to cumming. Another finger pumps inside you, his thumb rubs your clit, and his free hand grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. He notices you about to finish, rapid pants and breathy moans, and leans in to whisper in your ear, “Come on love, come for me. Let me feel that pretty pussy clench around my fingers. Put on a show for me baby.” And there you go, grabbing onto his shoulder and throwing your head back, cumming around his fingers. He slowly removes his fingers, admiring you while lewdly sucking on them. That earns another groan from him and he cleans his fingers, not waisting a drop.

“Good job, you did so good for me.” He kisses your forehead, quickly removing his shirt. “You ready for more?” In your half-fucked out state, you nod rapidly as he finishes taking his pants off. God damn, aren’t older guys supposed to lose testosterone or something? Rippling muscles littered with light freckles, salt and pepper hair swept out of his eyes, and cock fully erect and waiting. He scoots you onto the bed further, climbing on after you. As he kneels at your legs, he looks down hungrily. He leans in and kisses you, body leaning onto yours. With a final questioning look, which is met with a resounding “yes please” from you, he lines himself up with you.

Slowly, he sheaths himself in you, hissing at the sensation, “Oh god, you feel so fucking good, so tight around me.” Your legs wrap around his waist again, pulling him even closer. It takes you a while to adjust, gentle kisses on the lips to distract you. With a final kiss against his cheek to reassure him, he begins to move faster and faster, grinding against you with each thrust. He’s unable to hold back from loud moans and whines. Readjusting, he leans back and grabs your legs, setting them against his chest. He starts fucking you even harder, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Both of you are definitely annoying your neighbors, loud and unabashedly lost in the feeling. He can’t help the praises falling from his lips, rasps of “so good”, “you sound so sexy”, “you look so good under me”, and “I’ve wanted this for so long, you don’t understand”. The lewd sounds that fill the room are drowned out completely by you two. He seems proud of how you bounce below him, hands desperately searching for a hold on him.

Moving your legs back around his waist and leaning down, his pace is relentless and he’s lost the rhythm in his movements. You kiss against his tattoo, biting lightly against it, which earns another delicious whimper from Johnny. He starts to snap his hips especially hard as you begin to scratch lightly against his shoulders and back, whining out “gonna come, ‘m gonna come”. There’s almost no time to react before his hips snap in violently one last time, coming deep in you. A final moan escapes his lips as his hips stutter with the force of his orgasm and how much physical effort this required. Both of you breathe heavily, trying to regain some composure. He's trembling slightly at how hard he came, pressing his forehead against yours. He pulls out very slowly, a light whimper at the feeling as he lays down next to you. After a long pause, he starts to speak again, voice shaky but words confident.

“So I’ve got two questions for you. Can I know your name now, and do you wanna go again?"

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage smut #mk x reader #mk smut #mk11 #mk11 x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #x reader #afab reader

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revasserium · 11 months ago

Note

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

#opla #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece netflix #one piece fluff #sanji opla #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #opla x reader #opla x you #opla fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #scheduled post

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soobnny · 1 year ago

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SEUNGMIN AND JUNGWON ????? i giggled .. kicked my feet in the air. this just reminds me of that post that said ur bias is most like u and ur bias wrecker is most like ur type 😭😭

moots as idols?

omg ask game :o it's been 55 years

these r mostly based on ppl ive talked quite a few times, but if ure a moot who isnt mentioned and would like to be, lmk and i'll gladly tell u which idol i associate u with

@ctrlemis : ART hmmm shuhua?? so so cool, like they're not afraid to say what's on their mind, and also v funny . also niki bc i think both of their energies match . MINGYU ure definitely the most stunning person to walk on earth

@amakumos : wonyoung / sunghoon / ningning, yun is so famous like she will always be famous . she's funny AND GOD SHE IS PRETTY TOO v nice tho!!!!! these four sit at the same table idk

@haerinz : rose FAE IS THE REASL FAMOUS MOOT HERE LIKE U WILL SEE HER EVERYWHERE IN EVERY OTHER SMAU . js like rose in in every pic like ??? mayb fae has powers to break ppl up....it's giving cupid's conflict yn (go read yun's works)

@maiverie : MOTHER LIKE KARINA i have nothing to say ab mai she can leave u speechless actually . but both her and karina r so...cool...and alien bc they're out of the world 😆☝️

@tyunni : atp i cant associate u with anyone other than riki BUT jay . no im not saying ure as smart as him but ure as cool as him . and jay is very cool like that's a fact from science . ALSO EUNCHAE idk u both r same atp

@jennaissantes : YUJIN AND YUNJIN three slayful girls together. i have no explanation here but lily just reminds me of yunjin and yunjin, AND IT'S VICE VERSA . guys do u know lily can sing...this was meant to be

@hoonvrs : the real heeseung moot everyone. if ure my hee moot ure my fav idk. gives very pretty girl vibes and i bet saint is one . heeseung bc i think she's good at a lot of things...idk it's just the energy, plus shes The comedian

@flwrshee : sunoo....lia....seungkwan, v cute and composed energy here (kwan is not composed i Know), like probably someone who can make u smile instantly, that's ri for u

@tnyhees : DINO hmm also minhee?? from gidle?? let's add jake too. v chaotic energy here, but again v cute i swear half of u r super cute. but chae is a rlly fun person to talk to, js like the ppl i mentioned above (me saying this as if i talk to those three on a daily basis)

@soobnny : SEUNGMIN AND JUNGWON WITH A HINT OF RYUJIN . first of all, sue, ure v cute and funny so seungmin and won card was guaranteed, and ryujin bc ure also super cool like omg be my friend :o ps. chaeryoung reminds me of u sm

@jaeyunverse : minghao and jay moot. the brain energy is over the roof here like yeah sage can help u write ur thesis 😍☝️ v intimidating at first and is equally insane, probably psychotic

@dokiyeom : aya ure so joshua and winter coded for me i cant even explain why but atp im convinced ure one of them. ik we havent talked much but from the limited conversations we've had so far, i can ure rlly welcoming and nice and sweet and id love to talk more w you

@heeliopheelia : JEONGHAN AND HEESEUNG MOOT fuck ure too sexy for this site what r u doing here? carly probably has three degrees and is pursuing a fourth one be honest bae this is how it is right? BC URE SO . COOL . LIKE COOL IN CAPS BOLD ITALICS . COOL . and ure funny . date when

#This was so CUTE !!!!!!#ltrly i giggled and started yelling #than k u <333 im smiling so much #and chaeryeong reminds u of me ??????#whag if i cried

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twinkling-moonlillie · 14 days ago

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Hello! I saw your post saying that you accept requests and mostly for Hawks rn. As u can tell from my username I LOVE this man, so I was thinking if you can write something about the reader using the Safeword during the act with him? Maybe he hurt her without meaning to? And it turns all fluffy with aftercare! You can ignore this if you want and I honestly don't even know if Im writing this in the right place or not it's my first time sorryyy 😭

Aftercare - Hawks x reader drabble

Author's note: Sorry this took so long haha, been busy with life. But!! I loved this idea! I love writing fluffy and doting Keigo. ALSO, here is my link if you want to support me financially <3 It's totally not necessary but money is super tight right now and I desperately need to get out of my household :|

Warnings: Mentions of sex (PIV), slight cursing, mdni. Reader is afab. Not thoroughly proofread

Sex with Keigo was always amazing, extraordinary even. You were lucky that you landed a partner as dutifully devoted to you and your pleasure as Keigo. Instead of giving yourself to some selfish prick whose love was dependent on how well you sucked their dick and how readily you were to spread your legs, you freely let Keigo’s soft touch, warm smiles, and protectiveness melt your heart.

He often spent nights in between your thighs without so much as taking off his work pants, without expecting anything in return. His lips and fingers worked orgasm after orgasm from you. Your hands gently intertwine with his as he drags his thick cock against your sensitive walls, whispering murmurs of praise, light teasing, and - most importantly - consent checks. Keigo mentioned more than once that your enthusiastic consent made his dick dripping wet with precum.

All of these facts did not aid the cognitive dissonance in your mind though as he mercilessly pounded into you, his breath hitching every time he bottomed out; it was so rough it hurt, body haphazardly molded into whatever shape he pleased. The breeding season always heightened his sex drive. He needed this. What kind of partner would you be if you put your own needs in front of his own?

So you did your best to take the ruthless pounding. Tears dripped down your cheeks. The taste of blood filling your senses as you bite your lip.

“F-fuck, such a good slut for me, hm?” He rasps. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you’re pregnant.”

Deep breath.

You could do this

Another deep breath.

You could do this.

And…

You…really can’t do this.

“K-kei s-stop, ‘s too much …” your voice was too weak and breathy for your liking. “H-hawks”

Keigo’s hips jutted to a stop, half of himself inside you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Earlier in your relationship, both of you decided on his hero name as a safe word. There was a strict detachment between Keigo’s hero work and normal life, so much so that he detested being called Hawks in your shared home.

It took another moment for him to understand what happened, the lust fogging his mind pattering away. “Shit, baby…” he slowly pulled the rest of himself out of your spent hole, your body flinching. “Songbird, are you okay?”

As much as you tried to speak, your tongue was like lead, throat filled with cotton. Your sobs sounded more akin to choked babbles. The tears dripping down your face was more than enough though to clue Keigo in.

“M’sorry” You managed. “S-so sorry, I-i know ‘s your rut but-“

Keigo cut you off with a gentle kiss, his feathers swiftly taking over all your senses as he rolled you into his warm arms. “You did so good for me, love. You don’t need to be sorry. Doesn’t matter if I’m in rut or not,” he pressed another light kiss on the crown of your forehead, “your safety and happiness is top priority.”

“I wanted to do good for you” you mumbled. “You always take care of me…just wanted to do the same…”

“And you did, songbird.” He titled your chin so he can gaze into you directly. His eyes were always sharp like daggers, but when you stared at him all you saw was his adoration. “I promise it’s not even a big deal. I don’t want you thinking that just because it’s breeding season that I can do whatever I want to you.”

Keigo’s thumb worked to wipe away the remnants of your tears, cooing praise until the saturation made you giggle. Gentle kisses were frequently exchanged. He failed to mention how this time of the year made him extra doteful.

“Here, let’s run you a bath, yeah? I’ll start it and fetch you some water, okay baby? You just stay there and be pretty for me, let me take care of you.”

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sky-is-the-limit · 9 months ago

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Headcanons on Laswell and Valeria going down on female reader please, im going insane here!! We need more wlw content in this fandom ah

I LOVE YOU FOR THIS. Hell yeah, we need more wlw content, and as a wlw girlie, I'm here to serve<3

I wanted to write more than headcanons, if you don't mind, cause we're seriously lacking work for our hot as fuck CoD ladies.

P: Kate Laswell x F!Reader, Valeria Garza x F!Reader

CW: Cunnilingus, Vaginal fingering, Face-Sitting and some angst.

WC: 3,661 words

Kate Laswell:

It was late, the office empty except for the two of you. Kate was hunched over her desk, the weight of a critical mission bearing down on her shoulders. You, her loyal secretary, couldn't stand to see her so stressed.

In a moment of impulse, fueled by a desire to ease her burdens, you offered her a massage. You remember the tension melting away from her shoulders as your fingers worked their magic, kneading the tension from her body.

And then, in a moment of reckless abandon, you leaned in and kissed her. Time stood still as you both hesitated, the weight of what had just transpired hanging heavy in the air.

But then,without warning, she grabbed your waist with a firm grip and pushed you against the nearby wall as her lips met yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

From that moment on, Kate would call upon you in times of need, seeking solace in your embrace when the world became too much to bear.

Despite those stolen moments of shutting the world out, Kate remained distant. She would push you away, suppressing her feelings behind a façade of professionalism. It was a constant tug-of-war between desire and duty, leaving you longing for something more, knowing that it could never be.

Yet there you were, once more, sprawled out naked on the bed, the only source of illumination the gentle glow of the moon, casting a silvery path across the room.

And there she was, Kate, between your thighs, her face mere inches away from your most intimate parts. Her eyes, those captivating pools of blue, gazed up at you with an intensity that made your heart race every time. In the moonlight, her blonde hair seemed to shimmer, like liquid gold, tickling your skin with every motion.

Each time her face dipped closer, disappearing momentarily before reappearing, your breath caught in your throat. You whimpered, a high-pitched sound escaping your throat, as Kate nipped and sucked love marks into the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

Her hands were firm yet gentle, pushing your knees apart as her canines pressed into your sensitive skin. Each bite left an angry mark, to remind you that she'd be back, that she'd always come back to you.

Her mouth was warm and wet, a contrast against the cool air of the room and the moment her tongue made contact with your skin, your hands instinctively flew to her hair, grasping onto it desperately for support.

The next moment you felt Kate's lips, they were tracing a path along the crease of your thigh where it met your groin. With a nimble touch, her tongue dipped around the cleft of your outer labia, teasing and tantalizing every nerve ending.

A raunchy swipe from the bottom of your pussy sent a jolt of electricity straight through your swollen lips, culminating in a flick against your clit that left you gasping for breath.

You couldn't help the near shout of desperation that threatened to escape, stifled only by your teeth biting down on your bottom lip hard, threatening to draw blood.

With a sinful arch of your back against the pillows, your thighs widened under her bruising grasp, inviting her deeper into your throbbing heat. The audible slide of her tongue through your wetness echoed in the room, sinful and obscene.

''Ah- Kate-'' A little whimper escaped you, a hushed and whining sound that betrayed the overpowering sensation.

Those mesmerizing blue eyes remained fixed on your face, seeming to penetrate your very soul as you swore you could feel her smile against your folds.

Another chaste kiss landed on your clit and then, with a hunger that bordered on desperation, her lips formed a seal around your cunt, sucking on the throbbing bud with a relentless fervor that left you teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Her tongue grazed your clit, dipping inside your aching hole. The brief sensation made you gasp, a sharp intake of breath as with each movement, she seemed to draw out every ounce of desire, leaving you trembling in return. Then, she traced her tongue back up, collecting the wetness on it as she delicately traced shapes on your tender flesh.

It was a struggle to keep the volume of your voice in check when Kate was swirling her tongue around your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. She drew random, nonsensical patterns across it, each movement sending you spiraling further into a whirlwind of bliss.

All the teasing from earlier had left you more sensitive than usual, every nerve ending on high alert, ready to ignite at the slightest touch.

So when you felt Kate push her digit inside you, it was like all prayers have been answered. Your walls clenched around her finger instinctively, a silent plea for more as your hips lifted off the mattress, seeking deeper penetration. With each movement, your back pressed into the mattress, offering her better access to your spongy sweet spot.

With her relentless ministrations, you found it impossible to brace yourself, your body practically vibrating like a leaf caught in a storm. You tried in vain to swallow your whimpers, but they bubbled up from deep within you, escaping in soft moans and gasps that filled the air.

It was too much, too good, that you feared you wouldn't last much longer.

"Please, Kate," The words fell from your lips in a whispered plea, barely audible amidst the heavy breaths and the pounding of your heart.

''I'm gonna miss you, sweet girl-'' She moaned against your cunt, her breath warm and wet against your sensitive flesh, as she nuzzled deeper into you.

Her tongue completed another lap, tracing a path of fire along your folds before pausing just long enough to dip into the wet heat of your body. Then, with a sudden rush of vigor, she raced back up to jab at your clit again, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through every nerve ending.

''Gonna miss this pretty pussy in my face-'' All you could manage in response was a guttural moan as she added another finger, scissoring them and stretching your walls, the movement having your juices gushing on her hand.

''You're making such a mess, darling.'' Kate spoke softly, her voice dripping with desire as she observed the evidence of slick coating her skin.

It didn't even come as a surprise when you found that moving around was completely impossible. Kate's free hand dug into your plush sides, holding you in place with a firm grip that left you utterly immobilized.

Trapped beneath her, there was nowhere to go except deeper into the throes of euphoria, and you found yourself involuntarily swiveling your hips as release drew nearer with each passing moment.

The knowledge that there was no conceivable way she could properly breathe in this position swarmed your mind, but any attempt to voice your concerns came out as nothing more than choking gasps.

Kate didn’t even make an attempt to pull up for some no doubt much-needed air, though. Instead, she maintained the persistent pressure of her tongue against your clit, relentlessly driving you closer and closer to climax.

"Kate, fuck—I'm close—" Was all you could muster and Kate obliged, responding to your urgency by sliding another digit between your sopping walls, the added pressure fulfilling her goal.

With each thrust, she curled and pushed her fingers in and out of you faster and faster while mirroring the same ministrations and pace with her tongue on your clit, and you could feel the pressure building up in your lower abdomen, tightening with each movement, threatening to burst at any moment.

Your hand gripped desperately at the sheets, your knuckles turning white with the force of your grip as the other pushed her face deeper in you.

A few more strong, staggered thrusts, and you felt that tightly wound knot in your stomach finally burst. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing your a flood of sparks that surged through your entire being.

Your walls fluttered around Kate's fingers, tensing and releasing in a rhythm of their own accord. The remainder of your body convulsed, each muscle contracting and releasing rapidly in sync with your orgasm.

It felt like an eternity as you remained in the same position, unmoving, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to come down from the height of your climax.

Each moment seemed to stretch on endlessly as you savored the lingering sensations that pulsed between your thighs. Kate's soft kisses on your inner thighs were a gentle caress against your skin, soothing and tender.

Then, she laid her head on your abdomen, her gaze fixed on you with a longing that spoke volumes. It was as if she wanted to imprint every detail of your face into her memory, to hold onto during the times when she would be far away, facing danger in a foreign land.

''Do you have to go now?'' You whispered with a trembling voice, the words barely audible in the quiet of the night.

As you spoke, you stretched your hand down, almost timidly, reaching for Kate's blonde locks, your fingers brushing against the soft strands of her hair.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet her gaze, the fear of revealing the need to have her hold you in her arms was too much. It was impossible and the thought tore at your heart. So instead, you diverted your attention, focusing on regulating your breath in an attempt to steady your emotions.

"I have to be at base in an hour." Kate murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of guilt as she shifted away from your body.

You watched silently as she rose from the bed, her movements quick as she made her way to the edge and sat down. Her back was turned to you, a silent reminder of the reality of your situation, of the boundaries that existed between you.

"If-When I come back... we'll talk." Kate continued, her voice trailing off slightly as she spoke, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her tone.

She quickly corrected herself though, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. You could sense the tension in her voice, the unspoken understanding that each time she left for a mission, the possibility of her safe return was never guaranteed.

Your heart dropped to your stomach at the thought, a cold wave of fear washing over you. The weight of your emotions threatened to suffocate you, the need to express your feelings was unbearable. You knew the risks, losing your job, losing everything but you were already on the edge of losing your sanity. You had to try.

"Kate, I lo-" The words hung in the air, unfinished, as she cut you off abruptly.

"Don't. Please." She said sternly, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. It hurt, her rejection stinging like a fresh wound, but you couldn't blame her. She was straightforward with you from the beginning.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed, her movements rigid with tension. Without another word, she made her way to the door, her back still turned to you.

"Take care." She said softly before disappearing through the doorway, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing through your apartment.

Valeria Garza:

It was a bustling night, the sounds of men pacing back and forth outside the office echoed through the walls, orders being barked out to the workers, each command adding to the cacophony of noise that flooded the mansion.

As you stood in your boss' office, facing her, a surge of jealousy rushed through you.

She had assigned someone else to meet with potential clients, a task that was rightfully yours. Yet, what stung more was the realization that she didn't seem to pay you much attention. Her focus was elsewhere, consumed by the demands of running the cartel.

There she was, Valeria, sitting at her desk with her legs crossed on the shiny table, her arms folded tightly over her chest, a smirk played on her lips.

She continued to read through the documents, seemingly oblivious to your presence or perhaps just indifferent to acknowledging you.

"Valeria! I'm talking to you!" You exclaimed, your voice rising with disrespect.

Stepping closer to her desk, you planted your palms firmly on the surface, demanding her attention. In that moment, her focus snapped back to you, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise, annoyance and something else. Something dangerous.

"Awh, cariño. Won't you look at that.." Valeria purred, her tone dripping with sarcasm yet resonating with undeniable authority as she rose from her chair.

The sound of her voice sliced through the air, sending a cold shiver down your spine. With each step she took, her presence seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow over the room. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear as she approached you, even as you stood your ground, determined not to back down.

"Did my girl finally grow back her tongue?" Valeria teased, her words laced with a hint of amusement and mockery as she positioned herself directly in front of you.

Her gaze bore into yours, a silent challenge as she leaned her lower back against the desk.

In a moment of carelessness, you rolled your eyes, momentarily forgetting who exactly was standing before you.

But as you glanced back at her, you witnessed a sudden shift in Valeria's demeanor. Her smirk vanished, replaced by an expression so raw and primal that almost seemed like a silent warning that you had crossed a line you never should have dared to cross.

"It's just-" Suddenly, frustration tinged your words, evident in the slight stammer that crept into your speech. Your gaze shifted away, unable to meet Valeria's eyes directly.

"It feels like you are purposely ignoring me.." You finally complained, a note of exasperation lacing your tone. With a nervous gesture, you raised one hand to pinch your shoulder, desperate to find something to do.

With one step, Valeria closed the gap until she was barely an inch away from your face, her presence enveloping you entirely. She leaned in, her lips tantalizingly close as they grazed your ear shell "Mi chica favorita se siente excluida?''

(t: my favourite girl feels left out?)

You felt a pulse between your thighs as her voice dropped even lower when she switched to her mother tongue, consuming you whole.

''Do I need to show you how important you are? Hm?'' Her lips trailed down to your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake as they grazed your skin.

Then with a swift movement, she grabbed your hand, bringing it up to her lips and with a reverence that bordered on worship, she pressed her lips to each knuckle, planting soft kisses.

"You don't have to-" You began to murmur, your voice trailing off as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the touch of her lips and tongue tracing torturously slow patterns on your neck.

''And leave you feeling stressed like that? Not on my watch." Valeria stated firmly and without hesitation, she tightened her grip on your wrist, pulling you behind her as she turned away.

With a determined stride, she began to lead you towards the luxurious couch positioned in the corner of her office.

It almost felt as if you were a weak-willed creature, unable to move or think for yourself, as she effortlessly maneuvered your body around. You anticipated that she would push you to lay down on the couch, but instead, she surprised you by reclining there herself.

As you stood before her, bewildered and uncertain, she met your confused expression with a glint of amusement in her eyes, her gaze holding a hint of mischief as she watched your reaction.

''Strip, ángel.'' Your boss demanded, the sweet pet name doing little to soften the command.

Your throat tightened as you gulped, sudden shyness washing over you at her directive. But as you looked into her eyes, you saw a it. A deep hunger that woke within her, filling you with a newfound confidence you didn't even know existed.

And so you followed her order, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the zipper of your tight dress. With a quick motion, you pulled it down, feeling the fabric cascade down your body until it pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing there exposed.

You tossed the dress to the side, your gaze briefly catching Valeria's hungry eyes as she licked her bottom lip, captivated by your every movement. With a steady hand, you trailed your fingers along the waistband of your soft panties, feeling the material slide down your legs in a tortuously slow way.

''Good, now sit on my face, amor.''

You weren't about to let this opportunity slip away. With determination coursing through you, you settled yourself onto her lap, feeling the heat radiating between your bodies.

Gently, you twisted your waist, positioning yourself so that you hovered over her fully clothed form. With a daring glance, you raised yourself up, supported by her hands firmly gripping your hips and together, you maneuvered until your lower body was dangerously near her waiting mouth.

One long, delicious lick across your folds and you melted like sugar in her hands. It wasn't just you who was affected in that moment, it was as if she too was under your spell. She would have given you the moon if you had asked for it.

With each stroke of her tongue, she exuded skill, any hint of earlier bashfulness completely eroded away. The sight of your glistening slit before her was enough to make her mouth water, and she couldn't help but salivate at the thought of devouring you whole.

A symphony of slurping sounds filled your ears, each one setting your skin ablaze as her tongue delved deeper and with each passing moment, you fought to ground your clit against the rhythmic movements of her tongue as soft cries escaped your throat.

It already felt like you might topple right over when your thighs started to quake embarrassingly fast, every nerve ending in your body vibrating with sharp pleasure. It was almost unbearably exquisite.

The tip of her tongue insistently poked at the acutely sensitive nub for a prolonged moment, teasing it with quick flicks that encouraged yet more blood to rush and pool within your loins until you were gasping at every minute shift of her mouth.

It was only then that she pressed his tongue flat and drew tight, grinding circles against your clit and you jerked so hard you nearly lurched right off her.

''Maybe we should do something else-''You blurted on a strained, hushed whisper as you flexed your legs and lifted yourself up out of her reach, fearing that you'd fall over.

''Don't fucking hover-'' The words were barely audible from underneath you until you yelped in surprise when you tried to lift up again but she was unrelenting.

Valeria held you right where you were as her tongue speared up into your cunt and greedily lapped up the arousal drenching your folds with quick, eager passes, from the top of your slit and straight down to your entrance, pointedly nudging your clit with every single stroke.

It made you shake so hard that your vision started to blur around the edges, heaving and groaning despite your best attempt to bite down on your lower lip and quiet yourself.

Mewling helplessly, you twisted your fingers in her raven hair, making it hard to keep the volume of your voice in check when she was swirling his tongue around your clit and drawing random, nonsensical patterns across it.

You shifted your hips and tried to roll into her face to get more pressure there, but Valeria held you pretty steady.

A tingly feeling started to spread and wherever her tongue lapped, the residual feeling lingered. She teased your clit again, rubbing her tongue back and forth on the sensitive spot before moving away again as she started feeling your thighs, letting her hands roam over the fat, pinching it in between her fingers.

"Val!" Her name fell from your mouth as a desperate whimper, in a silent plea as she leaned forward to kiss your throbbing clit once more.

With your head dropped back with a hoarse moan, your brow furrowed in ecstasy as the wet squelch of her tongue pierced through your swollen, drenched folds. A hot breath sighed across the oversensitive nerves of your throbbing core as she engulfed as much of it as she could into her mouth, sucking with an insistent fervor.

Your whole body convulsed violently as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, causing you to tremble uncontrollably. Moans and various profanities spilled from your lips, carried away on the tide of bliss that consumed you.

Valeria held you on the precipice of your climax, prolonging your release for as long as possible until you were teetering on the edge, your senses overpowered completely.

You squirmed and whimpered, your body writhing with overstimulation as she skillfully navigated the fine line between pleasure and pain, pushing you to the brink and back again.

''You did good baby but we ain't done yet.'' What she did next caught you completely off guard. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, she acted swiftly, gripping your hips firmly.

In one smooth motion, she slid you down onto her waist, the sudden movement leaving you breathless. You watched in a haze as your slick juices coated her black shirt in their path and her not caring one bit.

#I WANT THEM SO BAD HEEEELP #cod #call of duty #cod smut #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza smut #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell smut #141 x reader #mw2 #task force 141 #captain price smut #ghost smut #gaz smut

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pantheresssy · 4 months ago

Text

CONQUERING.

—┊⋆ summary: you were a little bit older, who was looking for it? if you have a daughter too, who would care? paige didn’t until she was face to face with a overprotective 7-years-old little you.

—┊⋆ cw: r is on 30s and paige 22s, you also have a daughter, no smut this time only fluff, p is so sweet and i brought this here with ur baby, her name’s kayla btw just thought about it after reading a kk fic.

this is something im experiencing to see if anyone would like and want more of this dynamic.

IF SOMEONE told Paige that she would be sitting on a couch nervously cleaning her hands on her pants, all because of a 7-years-old child, she would laugh. It seemed weird, someone with her height, a basketball player, be afraid of someone so little that could cause no harm — but she was your daughter, a little you. That should frighten the toughest of the fighters.

On court, she was relaxed as if she was on her bed, but there, she was sweating while looking at the stairs you went up. You told her that your daughter’s opinion had so many value for you, and that was one of the — many — things that frightened her. If she didn’t like Paige, everything could go down. And that was the last thing she wanted to happen.

“Mommy,” she heard and swallowed. Little footsteps came along with yours, and the pink boots was the first thing she saw. Up close, she was more you than yourself was. From the hair to the nose, it was like a printer had made that child, even her voice was like yours, soft spoken, but in a more infant way.

Paige’s eyes followed up the girl’s extended arm, her hand being held by yours. She found your gaze and you raised your eyebrows, a sign for her to calm down. The words she was saying stopped when you bent down by her side, your cheek against your daughter’s. “Kayla, that’s Paige. The friend I told you about.”

The blonde smiled, nervously. Kayla looked at her up and down, as if she was a grown adult, and that was the most cutest, yet the most scary, ㅤׁthing. “Hi,” she said after analyzing Paige meticulously.

“Hey.” You brought her closer and sat by Paige’s side, the girl on your lap. With her nervousness, you were sure she would pass out in the middle of your couch. “I’m Paige.”

Your daughter shocked her head, humming. “I know. Mommy told me you were a basketball player.”

“I am.”

Kayla made a pout, lowering her eyes to your hands joined in her belly, taking one of your fingers to play with it. “I like volleyball more.”

You ran your hand through her hair and bit your lip to hold your laugh. You knew she was only doing that to know how Paige would react, to know if she could really like her. It was an old trick she used to know if someone was cool enough. “Yeah. K loves volleyball.” it was an attempt to help, but it fell into deaf ears.

Paige sat on her side, facing you. Her blue eyes passed to you, then back to Kayla. “It’s great.” she cleared her throat and kept looking for words. “Will you want to play one day?”

Your daughter made a face, shaking her head no. “I want to make movies.” she took your nail and started to remove removing your nail polish with hers. “Like mommy.”

Paige frowned her eyebrows. “She found a thing that I did when I was a teen and thought that it was a movie.” you kissed her ear, making her laugh. “But it was just a silly video.”

Her eyebrows were raised in surprise, but you dismissed it shrugging. “Why do you play basketball?” Kayla asked.

“I like it since I was younger than you.” Kayla’s eyes shone and she blinked, trying to pretend she wasn’t interested. “I started to play when I was five.”

Your daughter frowned her eyebrows, and Paige almost laughed of how much she was like you doing that. “Your mom let you do it?”

“My dad did.”

You could see that she was getting more excited to know everything and started to make more questions, in which Paige responded happily. You were sitting quiet, only observing while she talked about how she always can get the basket right.

When you first told Kayla that you had a famous friend and that she wanted to meet her, she quickly went to your phone and searched for Paige’s name — with some wrong letters of her non writing hands. She saw pictures, videos, anything that pops up when you put ‘Paige Bueckers’ on google. You knew that her interested was bigger than she showed, but she wanted that Paige conquered her to know if she was cool enough to be your friend. It wasn’t a common thing, but you were just letting it happen this time.

The talk kept going and you saw the blonde relaxing little by little, Kayla getting more open to talk and leaving aside her play pretend.

Her being just like you was a blessing and a curse. As a child, you were always asking so many questions, and she was doing too. But she had something you didn’t had when you were younger: a better perspective. So when, in the middle of the talk about basketball, she raised her head on your chest, looking at you from below, you imagined that she would say anything but what you tried not to make so obvious.

“Mommy is she your girlfriend?”

Your eyes widened and your breath cached on your throat. Paige was getting whiter — she was going sick right in front of your eyes and in seconds. Kayla was still looking at you waiting for answers while you sent looks of concern to the woman by your side. “Baby …” you started. “We are-“

But then it died before you could finish. She took your words as a yes before you could actually say it. “She is!?” her feet shook and she jumped on your legs, her head hitting your chin, your teeth making a bad noise when the ones below met the top ones hard. You moaned and put your tongue on your gums, trying to find any injury. “I’m sorry.”

Kayla’s eyes quickly filled with tears and she hugged your neck, burring her face there. You rubbed her back comforting her when hiccups shook her small body. “It’s ok, baby.”

Paige swallowed hard and checked if you were okay, still stunned, and you reassured her that you were. Her hand copied yours on Kayla. With a shared look, you told her she could say it. “Your mother and I like each other very much, K.” she said. “Would you let me be her girlfriend?”

The little girl sniffed and said, stuffing: “You should ask mom, not me.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head even though Kayla couldn’t see it. “I already did and she said yes, but we wanted you to agree. What you think is important.”

“Yes.”

Her sadness vanished just like that and she quickly went back to talking, asking Paige how she started — and if things kept that way, she quickly would stop wanting do movies. When both got more excited, Kayla made Paige held her in her arms, making an improvised basket with a bucket she hung on the wall, raising her to hit there with the ball. After getting it right, she would celebrate loud, saying that she was better than the blonde. And Paige never dared to disagree.

Later, when Kayla fall sleep after talking so much and with a sigh of relief from you, Paige and you sat on the couch, your back against her front and your fingers crossed with hers. “She liked you. A lot.”

She kissed your head and smelled your hair. ‘I’m happy she does. I almost shit on my pants.”

You laughed loud, closing your mouth when you remembered Kayla. She didn’t wake up so easily, specially not after spend so much energy, but you rather not risk it. “She’s 7, Paige Bueckers.”

She shrugged. “It’s your daughter, she has a lot of you in her … I’d like to not risk anything.”

You turned around and kissed her, sighing as she put more pressure on you. “You won’t. You conquered her just like you did to me.” you held her cheeks on your hand.

“I know.”

#☄. *. ⋆#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fluff #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

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madlittlecriminal · 1 year ago

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Hi, didn't know if your requests were still open but I was wondering if you could make a one shot for blue beetle. Spoilers but y'know how in the movie Khaji Da blatantly says whatever like emotional thing or physically thing is happening to Jaime? Kinda a one shot with that same concept where Khaji Da keeps telling Jaime what he's feeling or *feeling* towards the reader and the reader like asks Jaime what's up causs he keeps arguing with Khaji Da. It can me suggestive, smutty or fluffy, or all. All up to you! :)

Wing...A.I.? ➜ Jaime Reyes × Female!Reader

lol that end scene made me crack up with jenny

Warnings: friends to lovers, slight angst, smut, dry humping, blue balls/no finish

title is based off 'wingman' but because khaji da is an alien/a.i., it didn't feel right to say that, especially since im 90% sure khaji doesn't have a specific gender

He was annoyed. As much as he loved Khaji Da for being there for him, it was days like these where he would groan and wished he never opened the box.

You had came over since he offered to binge watch the new season of one of the many shows you both watched together.

"I can feel your heartbeat has increased, Jaime." The alien A.I.'s voice echoed through his ear, making him groan. "Not now, Khaji!" He whisper yelled as you were in the kitchen grabbing bottles of water for the both of you. "It only happens when she's around."

"Stop!" You raise a brow as you hand him the bottle of water. "You alright?" He nodded and chugged the water, making you slightly confused. "Uh, okay..." Jaime gave you a forced smile before turning towards the TV and played the show. You rested your head on his shoulder making his breath hitch slightly. "Your breathing has increased, and your heart rate has increased even more." Jaime groaned. "¡Khaji, por favor!" (Khaji, please!) You looked at him, brows furrowed as you tilt your head to the side. "Jaime, what the hell is going on with you and Khaji Da?" He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Nothing..."

You gave him a look he knew too well; it was the look his mom gave him when he was in trouble. "Jaime..." he huffed out a breath and ran his fingers through his curls. "Khaji's been bugging me about...something." You frown. "Obviously, but what?" He sighed. "I can't tell you."

"Liar." Jaime rolls his eyes at their words. "I mean, I could, but I don't...want to tell you." You gasp and rest a hand on his shoulder, feigning shock. "What?" He chuckled, but his breath caught in his throat when your hand trailed down to his bicep. "Your blood is-"

"Shh!" You giggled at him. "What did she say?" He shook his head. "Nothing I don't already know." You sighed. "Just talk to me, Jaime. What's up?" He took a deep breath. "If I tell you, it could change our friendship..." You snort. "Don't tell me another alien A.I. crawled up your butt." He glared at you. "For the last time, it didn't crawl up my butt." You laughed and nod, pulling out your pinky. "I pinky promise it won't change our friendship." He hooked his pinky with yours and gave you a shy smile. "I-I like you, (Y/N)...but more than just a friend."

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him. "Oh." He gulped at your response, but quickly regained his composure when you leaned in. "For how long?" You asked. "For a while now actually..." he admits while his hand reaches over to touch your cheek. "Well, you and me both..." now it was his eyes that widened at your words. "Really?" You nod. "Jaime, just kiss her." Jaime chuckled at Khaji Da's words before leaning in to place a kiss on your lips. You giggled into the kiss before kissing him back. His thumb caressed your cheek as you both got lost into the kiss, your heart racing before you eased your way onto his lap. He moaned into the kiss as his hands trailed down to your hips.

You broke the kiss with a smirk that made him chuckle. "So Khaji Da's your little helper when it comes to relationships?" He laughed. "You could say that." You shook your head with a smile before kissing him again while his hands trailed up and down your sides. Your hands gripped his shirt as your tongue slid across his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, allowing you access and letting your tongues dance along each other. You both let out a satisfied moan before you moved your hips against his. He groaned into the kiss as his hands traveled down to your hips once more. Jaime couldn't help himself as he moved you both so that you were laying on the couch and he was on top of you.

"Are we moving too fast?" He asked against your lips. "We could stop if you want." He shook his head before pecking your lips. "We can keep doing this. I don't mind." You bite your lip as your eyes met his. Jaime moved his hips against yours, causing you to moan. He leaned down and began leaving a trail of kisses on your neck as he continued to grind on you. You tangled your fingers into his curls as you buck your hips against his. He moaned against your neck as he kept going. You were both so close. The moment was right there. He felt it and you felt it.

Then your phone rang, the ringtone that belonged to your mom echoed through the room. "You got to be kidding me." He groaned as he got off of you, letting you go to your phone and answering it. "You're frustrated." He chuckled as he caught his breath. "You have no idea, Khaji."

#jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes x you #jaime reyes #jaime reyes x y/n #blue beetle #blue beetle x reader #blue beetle x you #blue beetle x y/n #jaime reyes smut #smut #reader insert #x reader #asks #ask #anonymous #dc universe #anon asks #anonymous asks #dceu

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coichii · 3 months ago

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22:43 - HYUNJIN

pairing - nerd!bf!hyunjin ♥︎ fem!reader

genre: angst, comfort & college AU

word count: 0.7k

warnings: negative self talk & swearing like once

A/N : this is very self indulgent bc 2 weeks in and math is already eating my ass ! also I’m sorry if this sounds rushed 🙏🏾 like I said math is beating me rn

“Ok, then after that you carry the x and combine the common factors.” He says, but to be honest, it all sounds like gibberish to you.

Math is the hardest subject to master in your eyes. All those formulas and variables go in one ear and out the other.

Hyunjin, being the incredibly smart and sweet boyfriend he is, kindly offered to help you. Of course you gladly accepted his help, but it would be a lie say you weren’t 5 seconds away from crying.

You groan, throwing your head down on your hands. You couldn’t understand a thing. The feeling of inferiority and stupidity were wracking your brain.

“Im so stupid, why can’t I understand this.” and more self deprecating thoughts were going through your mind. You hadn’t even realized that you had started crying, or that hyunjin was trying to get your attention.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?!” You hear his voice cut through your thoughts. He looks at you, obviously panicked from your sudden outburst. “I- I don’t know, i’m just s-so-“ You can't finish before a fresh set of tears and choked sobs are coming from your body.

Immediately he’s moving to hold you in his arms, stroking your lower back as you continue to cry. Quiet praises and hushes come out of his mouth, small kisses being placed to either side of your face.

It takes you a while to get yourself together again, choked sobs turning into small hiccups. You look up at hyunjin, a small, warm smile plastered on his lips.

“Can you tell me what happened, my love?” His voice sounds gentle, slighting healing the current tears in your heart. “I don’t k-know i think I got a little frustrated” You lie. You didn’t want to tell everything about how you were feeling to him.

It’s not that you didn’t trust him, you just didn’t want to be so vulnerable. However, he obviously caught this.

“You’re more than a little frustrated. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you baby, that’s all I want to do for you.” The way he says it and looks, has all your walls opening immediately.

“I’ve just been so stressed. I can’t keep up hyune i can’t. I can’t stop myself from comparing me to my classmates. They’re so much better than i am. They don’t cry under the littlest bit of pressure, and they certainly aren’t crying over fucking calculous. I just.. don’t know what to do anymore.” You trail off at the end, heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, even more so from his lack of response. You’re about to apologize for ranting before his voice cuts yours off.

“Oh Y/n, i wish you could see your self through my eyes.” He starts, eyes warm. “You really don’t know how absolutely intelligent you are. You got into this amazing school, your writing is so beautiful it brings me to tears, the way you explain your work is so incredible, and so much more. You are the smartest person I know baby, don’t compare yourself to anyone else you hear me. Not understanding something doesn’t and will never ever make you dumb.”

All you can do is hug and kiss him. The thoughts of inferiority don’t disappear, but they are definitely drowned out by the love of your life’s words.

You pull away, flashing him a bright smile, which he gladly reciprocates. “Now, why don’t you say we take a break and watch some spirited away, hmm?”

“But love, we still have all this left to finish.” You frown. You don’t want to pull him away from his own work just for you. “It’s okay, I honestly think I could use the break too.”

You sigh as you agree, his puppy eyes he starting staring at you becoming to much to handle.

As you get up, packing away your belongings, you can’t help but to think just how lucky you got to have a boyfriend as smart, loving, and caring as him.

back to masterlist

#skz x reader #skz #stray kids #straykids x reader #kpop #skz fluff #straykids x you #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin comfort #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin skz #skz comfort #straykids comfort #needed this cus math is actually my biggest enemy

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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It's That Time Of Year

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)

Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄

December 20th

“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”

You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.

“It was nothing,” you demure.

“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.

“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.

“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you.

He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.

Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.

“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.

“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.

“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.

“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”

“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.

“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.

“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.

You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.

“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.

“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.”

“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”

“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.

“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.

You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.

He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-”

“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.

His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.

“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.

Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!

___

December 23rd

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later.

“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.

Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.

“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.

“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.

Tsk. Typical.

“Not exactl…” you begin.

“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.

“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.

A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.

Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.

___

Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.

As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.

“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.

You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there.

“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.

You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.

“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.

Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.

How am I going to survive a week of this?

“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.

“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.

“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.

Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious.

Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.

Damn, he is good at this.

“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.

“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.

Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.

“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.

“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.”

“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”

“Same,” Benedict chimes.

“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.

“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.

“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand.

“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.

“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.

At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse.

“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.

“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him.

“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.

A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.

“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.

“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.

“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss.

His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree.

Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.

“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust.

This was a fantastically bad idea.

___

December 24th

You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.

You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”

“Same… coffee?”

“Please…”

As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.

“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.

“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially.

“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.

“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.

“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.

“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.

“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”

“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in.

“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.

“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.

You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?

“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.

“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.

“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.

Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.

“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.

“About what?”

“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.

“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.

“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.

“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.

“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.

Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.

“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.

You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.

“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.

Dear God, this man is going to kill me.

___

You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.

“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates.

Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.

So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.

“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.

Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.

“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.

He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.

You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.

“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.

Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.

“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.

Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.

“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.

Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.

“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.

“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.

“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.

“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”

“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.

Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.

“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.

“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.

“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.”

So far, so truthful.

“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.

“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.

As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.

“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.

“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.

“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him.

It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.

___

The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture.

While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.

“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.

“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.

“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”

“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”

“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.

You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.

“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.

“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”

“Cut it out!” you grouse.

He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.

“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.

“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.

“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.

Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.

“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.

“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.

His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.

“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.

Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.

“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.

This was such a mistake…

___

“When are you moving home, y/n?”

You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.

“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.

“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.

“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”

“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.

This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.

“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”

“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.

“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”

Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.

“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.

“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.

You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.

Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.

“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”

And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.

Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…

___

A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.

You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.

“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”

“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.

“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”

You look agog at him.

“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.

“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.

Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.

“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.

You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.

“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.

“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.

Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him.

“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”

Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.

Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned. When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.

“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.

You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”

“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.

My god, this man will be the death of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.

As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.

___

December 25th

At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.

The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”

You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.

“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.

“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day.

He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.

“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.

“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.

“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.

A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you.

“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.

“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.

“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.

You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.

“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.

It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.

“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.

He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.

“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.

“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.

“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.

His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.

“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”

It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.

This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.

“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed.

It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone.

“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.

“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”

“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.

“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.

“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.

“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.

“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.

It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.

“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.

“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully, “not with such a bounty beneath me.”

His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.

He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.

“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.

“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”

You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.

“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,

“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.

“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….”

“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.

He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly.

“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.

“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.

“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon.

You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.

“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas.

“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.

“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…”

As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.

“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.

“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.

He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.

“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.”

“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.

“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.

Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.

Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.

He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.

“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being.

“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.

“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.

When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.

“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”

You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.

“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.

“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.

“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”

“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.

“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”

He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”

“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.

“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”

“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.

He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.

“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.

He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.

“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.

“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?

“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband.

“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.

A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.

When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin.

Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.

“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.

“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.

Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.

“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.

You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.

He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.

His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.

You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.

“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.

He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.

“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.

“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.

“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.

He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure.

“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…”

The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.

He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.

He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry.

Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…

Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.

“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”

You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.

“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.

A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.

He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.

After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.

He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead.

“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.

And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.

___

A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.

Y/n

Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me.

I can't wait to see you downstairs.

Merry Christmas,

B xx

P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)

You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.

When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day.

She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.

“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.

“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.

♫ It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫

“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans.

“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”

Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes.

“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

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