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gghostwriter · 5 months ago

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i saw you opened your fluff requests so how about this: reid recieves an invitation to a high-school reunion back in Vegas but he doesn't want to go because of his bad childhood. but his best friend (who is completely in love with him) convinces him to go, and offers to be his fake girlfriend to hype him up and make him feel more comfortable. he agrees and ends up confessing his love on the same football field he was bullied on

please feel no pressure to write this, it's just an idea i thought was cute

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to lovers; Fluff with a mix of pining wc: 2.1k A/N: Reader is not part of the BAU, but she just still work for the FBI. By far, this is my longest request written (it's a chapter length) and I don't know how it became so long but I hope you enjoy it still! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Rewriting History. // Spencer Reid

It was the heavy scent of books and wood that welcomed you home. Street lights reflecting off the emerald green walls, bathing the apartment space a warm golden hue. There was peace and stillness, your roommate of two years, Spencer Reid, nowhere to be seen—a usual occurrence that came with his and your job too, being FBI agents under the BAU and CACU, respectively.

You sluggishly made your way to your bedroom, adjacent Spencer’s closed door. Flipping open the switch, your worn body collapsed on the plush vanity chair as thoughts about the darkness of your job slip away and get replaced with melancholy on your connection with the boy genius. It was a relationship nurtured by grueling times in the academy—a connection forged out of convenience at first before becoming this convoluted and intimate bond all because you ended up falling for him.

It wasn’t a conscious choice and Spencer didn’t make it any easier. He was a closed off castle complete with a moat and a secret password—painfully shy and awkward in nature. If it wasn’t for required partnership in physical classes, you doubted you’d get as close as you were now.

A beep brought you out of your musings.

And as if he knew you were thinking of him, it was a text message from Spencer informing you of his return home in a few minutes.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of the chair and changed into a set of clothes—a faded Caltech tee, that you never returned, and a pair of black leggings

Padding across to the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator and silently thanked your past self for prepping dinner for two in advance. With how irregular both your schedules were and Spencer’s apparent lack of skill in cooking, it fell upon your shoulders to make sure he isn’t living off of cold pizzas and Chinese takeouts.

As the second plate of food was heating up in the microwave, the chiming of keys softly echoed from outside the mahogany door.

“Hey Spencer,” you called out from the kitchen counter.

A series of rustles and a soft hey answered back.

You tilted your head to the side in contemplation, something was wrong and as he turned the corner, shoulders curving in on itself and brows furrowed, something must definitely be wrong.

“Tough case?” You asked, bringing both plates to the rounded dinner table.

“Yeah—” Spencer shook his head. “Actually no, not really but I got an email from Las Vegas.”

Your spoonful of soup hung midair, immediately concerned with the email contents. “Is it your mom? Is she okay?’

Having visited Diana in numerous occasions with and without Spencer, you’ve learned to love that woman fiercely too. She was a breath of fresh air—blunt during her lucid days and smart during her academic lectures.

“It’s from my high school, an invitation for the reunion.”

Ah. “And you’re not sure if you want to go?”

He shrugged, chewing his slice of chicken before answering. “There’s really no one I want to reconnect with, you know. No happy memories really.”

“That’s true,” you nodded along.

During the first few nights moving in the apartment, Spencer had shared the lows he had to go through just to get to where he was now at such a young age—endlessly mocked for being a geek, no friend group or single confidant to watch his back, and the utter humiliation of being tied naked on a football post. You had an inkling that the genius had gone through bullying, it was a sad norm in all schools, especially in public, but hearing it first hand had brought home just how much of his closed off and shy personality was a product of his trials.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “I think you should go.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah. To show all those mean bullies where you are now,” your back straightening from the idea. “They’ll talk about you in passing anyway, whether you’re there or not so might as well be there to show them up and defend yourself plus—” you paused, taking a sip of water before barreling through. “—you’ve become quite handsome since then. Don’t you think?”

His hazel eyes widened in surprise, further adding to his appeal. Spencer was so innocent that he didn’t know the effect he had on women—first evidence was yourself and the second was Lila Archer. “Y-you think I’ve become handsome?”

With warmth spreading on your cheeks, you nodded. “You’ve always been handsome to me.”

Spencer started coughing, hand beating on his chest as the food threatened to go down the wrong tube.

Alarmed, you quickly stood up and started patting his back for assistance. How embarrassing was this—the first time you blatantly flirted with the man you formed intense attraction for ends up with him almost choking. Was this a sign maybe to not push your luck? You’ve done just about anything to nudge Spencer’s mind in acknowledging your feelings, from remembering all his little quirks (all were just so cute), actively listening to his tangents (all very informative and interesting), and even sometimes delivering a box of donuts to his team (all in the name of seeing his face brighten up) but none seemed to have worked. So, you opted to tell him in words and look what that did to him.

You gnawed on your lower lip. Maybe it was best to pull back, maybe it was best to throw in—

He cleared his throat before his hand reached yours situated on his shoulder. There was a slight tremor before it closed around your all of a sudden clammy palm. “I’ll go if you go with me.”

Filter off your brain. “As a fake girlfriend type of thing?”

You shut your eyes closed, promising to yourself to stop reading those unrealistic romance novels that Penelope lends you.

“If—if you want,” his voice shaky and soft as rustles could be heard in the background.

Opening your eyes, Spencer was now fully facing you. Eyes roaming your face and body—profiling you.

A small smile graced your lips. “Okay.”

———

The second thing your brain thought of was how oddly fitting that the reunion was held at the school gym, located beside the football field. The first thought being how Spencer looked devastatingly handsome in his suit and tie.

His attire wasn’t that different from his usual in the FBI but there was a hidden meaning behind his choices. The patterned brown blazer was a gift you had given to him for his first anniversary working at the FBI and his tie matched the color of your dress.

It made you feel warm even though a shiver went down your spine as a sudden gust of wind passed by.

Spencer slid closer towards you. “Do you want my coat?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking Spence,” you looked up, smiling in reassurance. The fairy lights hung in rows emphasized how structured his face was. A high nose bridge, similar to his mother’s, and high cheekbones that made your fingers twitch in want to caress. He was stunning to look at—a view you feared you’d never get enough of.

“Spencer Reid!” A booming male voice shouted from across the gymnasium causing a few heads to swivel. Based on the other attendees reactions—giving them ample space as they passed and the stares tracking their every move, you knew who he was right away. A former bully.

“How are you?” he reached out his hand for a handshake. One that Spencer stared at before bringing his hand up to a wave, lips in a tight lipped smile.

“Hey Paul, nice to see you.”

“Is it?” He chuckled before turning his eyes on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You stated out your name, tone very similar when you’re on the field—cold and professional.

“Look at you, Spencer, having such a pretty girlfriend. Heard you work for the FBI now, is that how you two met?”

A saccharine smile spread across your lips. Your boy genius had been stiff ever since Paul called out his name. Having have heard how Spencer once reacted to a case where the unsub was a high school victim, you knew where his mind was at the moment. Grappling with the hurt from the past and trying his best not to lash out from the scars it had left behind. “Yeah, we met at the Academy and just clicked. He was such a gentleman that I couldn’t say no when he asked me out for a date.”

“That’s good to hear. Listen, man, is it alright if I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

You brushed the back of your hand with his, bringing his attention to you. There was a slight furrow in between his brows and his stature was taut, like a stretched out bow that needs to release it’s arrow. This was one of the few times, you could tell, that Spencer was unsure what to do. There was no malice behind Paul’s request and although you weren’t a profiler yourself, the slight hunch on the former bully’s shoulder silently communicated his remorse.

Spencer’s eyes trained on yours and as if he found the answer within the depths of your gaze, he slightly smiled, squeezing your hand in his before turning back and nodding to the interloper.

“I’ll go get a refill,” you lifted your empty cup to excuse yourself.

In truth, you stood idly near the punch bowl and kept your eyes glued on the male duo. Paul was looking down, shuffling his feet, before taking a deep breath and looking straight at Spencer. He uttered a few words you couldn’t make of and in turn, Spencer’s body relaxed and he nods once. With an offer for a handshake, one that Spencer shook, Paul walked away as you made your way back to your partner’s side.

“Good talk?” you asked.

“He apologized,” Spencer muttered, eyes studying you before grasping your hand back to his. “No refill?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it anymore. Say Spence—” he titled his head as an answer. “Want to get out of here?”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with relief. “Thought you’d never ask.”

———

The cicadas were singing their tune as you and Spencer stepped out to the football field. The grass lush in color and the faint smell of wet earth wafted around. Grateful that you opted to wear sensible flats rather than the high heels Penelope was bartering you to wear, you held Spencer’s hand tight as he started recollecting the worst bullying that happened in the same place many years ago.

“That—” he pointed at the goalpost on the far right. “—was where I was left tied up. I remember feeling worried that I would catch hypothermia as the rain kept coming and going that day and I remember feeling sad when I got home and my mother didn’t notice me missing.”

Your voice caught in your throat.

He continued on. “They say people forget events as they grow older and I wished I had the luxury of that.”

“Because of your eidetic memory,” you sighed. It was a blessing and a curse to have.

“But I was thinking, maybe I could rewrite it instead?”

There was a thick layer of hope behind his words causing you to turn, fully facing him this time.

“I—I’ve been keeping a secret from you for 24 months and 182 days and I don’t know if this would change our relationship or ruin it but you’re my person, my best friend—” he took a deep breath. “—and I’m in love with you.”

People say there are moments in your life that would upend everything as you know it and tilt everything to an axis, you never understood what they meant by that, up until this moment. The twinkling night stars suddenly appeared brighter, the temperature warmer, and the force that tethered you to Earth was no longer gravity, it was now Spencer Reid.

You smiled, eyesight blurring from tears. His trembling fingers reached out to wipe the droplets making its path down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with you too, Spencer Reid, since the beginning.”

And as if the world needed more proof, he smiled—his bright, full teeth smile and you felt your heart halt before starting back up again.

It was proof that he owned the beating organ in your chest and all the emotion that came with it.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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gingerteafairy · 1 month ago

Text

heart shaped carrots (carmen berzatto x reader)

Carmy was a dream where everything could happen. He was your dream.

tags n warnings: f!reader, arguing, cursing, angst, the bear background, dry humping, usual unprotected piv, oral (f! receiving). word count: 3.4k. masterlist

The dream of becoming a chef was practically in shambles, like fish bones discarded in a pot. The exhausting routine at The Beef, overdue paychecks, and the constant tension — Carmy’s harsh words, Sydney’s sharpness, and Richie’s ironically calm chaos — felt like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse heralding the end.

You couldn’t even tell what season it was anymore. The oppressive heat from the kitchen had blurred time. It was already 11 PM, and Carmen Berzatto was pacing like a caged animal, demanding speed for one of your dishes, his blue eyes sharp and unrelenting.

You chose an Italian Carrot Dish to impress him. Terrible decision. Perpetually dissatisfied, he hovered over you like a storm cloud, criticizing every movement. The way you chopped carrots, the angle of your knife, the thickness of your slices — everything was wrong to him.

He leaned over the counter, his hand gripping the edge tightly. “Why are you doing it like that again? Why are you doing it like that again?” Carmen barked, his voice cutting through the sizzling pans and clattering utensils. With a swift motion, he grabbed the cutting board, his jaw clenched, and unceremoniously tossed your carefully sliced carrots into the trash. “Do it over.”

Your hands froze mid-air, the knife trembling slightly in your grip. The exhaustion and frustration boiled over. “It’s the hundredth time you’ve made me do this shit, Carmen!” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to make Sydney glance up from her station.

Carmy’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening even further as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? You’re right . This is shit. It's a fucking shit. You want to send out garbage? Be my guest. But not in my kitchen.”

“Yeah? Fuck you cause you are the shit here, Carmen,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the knife onto the cutting board. “What’s wrong with the way I’m doing it?”

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. He stepped closer, pointing at the trash can where your work now sat. “This isn’t just a carrot. It’s discipline. It’s focus. If you can’t get that right, how are you gonna handle a risotto? Or a plate of scallops? And don't fucking calm me Carmen.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the heat from the stove and his words making it hard to breathe. “I’m not a mind reader! Maybe if you actually explained instead of throwing tantrums, we’d get somewhere. Fuck.”

“Hey, Chef. Take it easy,” Marcus tried to intervene, his usual calm demeanor intact, though there was hesitation in his voice.

“Marcus, don’t bother,” Tina cut in, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “It’s not worth it.” Her voice was firm, her eyes darting between you and Carmen. This was fire against fire, and no one dared step into the middle of it. It would be absolute suicide.

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face — frustration, guilt, or maybe even exhaustion. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same hard stare. “Just do it again,” he muttered, his voice lower this time, almost as if he didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides before you reached for another carrot, biting back the words you wanted to say. The kitchen wasn’t just a battlefield; it was a prison, and Carmy Berzatto was the warden.

As you began chopping again, Richie’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Hey, Cousin, maybe lay off for a second? Poor girl’s about to combust.” He smirked, leaning casually against the counter, a toothpick dangling from his lips.

Carmy shot him a glare. “Stay out of it, Richie.”

But Richie only chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure thing, Chef. Keep barking orders. See where that gets you. I'm done with this. You guys are fucking insane. Fucking insane. But I love you, sweetie. You don't deserve the Carm shit.”

“Bye, Richie. Love you.” You couldn’t help the small, bitter laugh that escaped your lips as you continued chopping, your movements more aggressive now. The night wasn’t over, and neither was the chaos.

“We're going too… Chef, Jeff… goodnight.” Tina smiled, her motherly nature slightly soothing the moment. “Get some rest, okay?” She rubbed your shoulders and you smiled at the touch.

“I'll try.” you murmured, wiping your hands on your stained apron, your voice barely audible over the hum of the kitchen. “Goodnight, Tina. Marcus. Good job, guys.”

“Yeah… good job, everyone, you did great.” Carmen echoed, almost under his breath. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing hard against his temples as he watched the team shuffle out through tired, half-lidded eyes. The room fell into a heavy silence until it was just you and him left in the kitchen.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself back into motion. Silently, you picked up the cutting board and knife, grabbed more carrots, and started again. Alumette, brunoise, batonnet, julienne, mirepoix. Every possible cut danced beneath your blade as your sweat mixed with silent tears of frustration. The kitchen air felt suffocating, the heat and stress pressing down on your chest.

“Slower! You’re too slow! Dammit, this is painful to watch!” Carmy barked again, stepping closer, his voice grating and relentless. He slammed his own knife onto the counter, demonstrating cuts so precise they looked effortless, but the condescension in his tone stung like a burn.

It was too much. The tension snapped like a rubber band.

With a sharp exhale, you threw your knife and cutting board onto the floor, perfect pieces of vegetables scattering across the tiles like broken glass. The clatter echoed loudly, cutting through the silence.

“And you’re being an insufferable jerk, Carmen!” you shouted, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“Don't fucking call me Carmen, I told you.” he threaded, tooking a step forward pointing fingers to your face, that you slapped away, your movements sharp and deliberate.

“Why the hell are you being so irritating? What’s your problem?” Your chest heaved as you stared at him down, your frustration and defiance meeting his unrelenting glare.

He exploded, forking his fingers on his hair. “You’re pissing me off. You're making mistakes. Fucking my kitchen. You're fucking with me.”

“You're fucking with everyone.” you shouted. “Everyone is gone. No one stands between you and me anymore. Even Marcus is tired of this. Do you even know what that means?”

“Oh, I know…” His jaw tightened, and his hands moved to grab your shoulders, forcibly pushing you to face him. “Because of you! Fuck! You're making everything difficult.”

You shove him hard in the chest, your hands striking with frustration. He stumbles back, his eyes narrowing as he collides with the wall, but he doesn't resist.

"Why don't you fire me, Carm? Go ahead!" you challenge, your voice sharp and trembling with anger.

“I would've fired you months ago if I knew you were like this.” He continues, stepping closer, his face inches from yours.

"You're wrong. It's because no one else would put up with your nonsense. That's why you don't fire me. You. Just. Can't." Your fists clench at your sides, your breath quick and heavy, chest rising and falling as the tension builds.

"Feel better now?" he spat, his voice low, almost mocking. He straightens himself against the wall, brushing off his shirt as if your outburst was nothing more than a passing annoyance. “I swear to God, I'll shut your mouth one day. And you'll be just-"

"You know what? I'm gonna be honest with you." you interrupted, trembling as frustration spills out. "You're lucky you're the most talented chef I've ever met in my life. You're the best in the world for me. I had to make an effort.”

“Oh, you want a congratulation card?” He mocked, clapping his hands slowly. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Listen to me, you piece of shit. I'm not done.” You growled, grabbing his hands. “Fuck, you're so fucking perfect in anything you do and still be a jerk. It's tiring. And for the worst, you're hot. Hot as hell and this is triggering for me. That's why I don’t leave this hellhole. This isn't a life, Carm." Your hands gesture wildly before falling to your sides, defeated.

He pauses stepping back, his jaw tightening as he runs a hand over his face, clearly at a loss for words. His fingers drum once on his hips before he exhales sharply through his nose, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. "You think I'm hot?" he echoed, his voice low, almost teasing.

For a moment, Carm stays silent, his gaze fixed on you. There's a flicker in his expression—anger, maybe even something else—usually quickly masked by his stressed composure breaking apart.

And that moment you felt what you've been trying to hide behind screams and what Carmy muffled on his curses. Explosive unnatural sexual tension. The reality of the situation is weighing between you both as you walk back to the counter and he follows you as a strong force tired of being ignored pulls him back to you.

You stare at him in disbelief, your mouth falling open. Trying to deny the obvious. Denying your need. "Is that all you got from what I just said?" you shoot back, pushing off the counter and stepping closer to him. “Yeah, that's what I said. You're a fucking hot pain in the ass. If you just…”

“You don't know when to stop?” he cut off as his patient ran thin. “You're fucking testing my limits, pushing me, tempting me. Fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't even know why I keep going back to you everytime. Every day. Here. At the same place, when everyone goes and leaves us both alone again.”

You exhale the air you didn't even know you were holding back. “You need me, asshole. Stop… fucking pretending you hate me.” your voice lowed on every word, til you whispered what he craved to hear for all these months. “I'm tired of pretending I don't want you.”

He sighs, as his gaze locks on yours, carefully stepping to the moment he pins you to the counter.

You expected everything from Carm except him trapping you this way and worse, in the kitchen. In his kingdom.

He grabs both of your wrists, caressing the whitened knuckles, moving his leg between your thighs. You gulp, directioning your eyes down. You shutted your mouth, every cell of you was alarmed. You were needy, more than that, you were starving Carmy Berzatto.

“Why do you want me?” He demanded softly, and you furrowed your eyebrows. How the hell are you supposed to respond to it? Carmy had a beauty to fill centuries of art museum collections.

He closed his eyes, landing his forehead on yours. Then you shutted yours as well. Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as you try to steady your breathing.

“You're Carmy.” You replied weakly, slowly opening your eyes as you met his watery globe. Your fingers advanced on a slow dance from the counter to print his arm, chest and finally his face, resting your palm on his cheek where a silent tear fell. “There's no reason bigger than this. You're perfect, Carmy. Don't you see that? You’re…my fucking inspiration. You're my dream. You're the reason I do all of this. That's why I outburst when you scream at me.”

Your lips parted slightly, and his gaze flickered down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. You saw it, and your breath hitched. His face was close now, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and uneven.

His pulse quickened. He swallowed as a small red tint flashes his cheek, licking his lips to dissipate the nervousness. You shivered, your brain working to wonder how that talented tongue tasted your juice.

Your hands gripped his apron. The moment your lips touched his, they parted and his tongue teased yours. He wrapped his arms around you, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. the stress in his shoulders loosened as he just held you close.

He let out a quiet moan against your lips as he grabs your hips again and pushes your back against the counter as he kisses you hungrily.

He moves his kisses to your neck, biting and sucking the skin, humming while you tilted your head to guarantee access to him.

Your hand grabs his locks on your fingers, pushing those soft curls on your fingertips. You pursue his lips, nipping the bottom while you grind against his pelvis, humming on how his cock felt just right even clothed.

“Hmmm…this is good.” He groans, swaying, mimicking slow thrusts, his fingers catching your ass cheeks while you continually round your hips on his.

You mewl when you feel his hard tip right on your clit, proceeding to rub on that spot where he threw your head on your neck to pepper kisses and nip on the skin, leaving marks. His marks. “Yeah…it's…weirdly good.”

He whimpers, breath fanning as he brushes his nose on yours. His hands ran up to slap your ass, caressing as a sorry. Carmy was on a trip, where he never failed to surprise you, each fucking moment seemed meaningful.

“What we're doing… We shouldn't…This…We. It's risky.” He sighs, pulling you closer as your chests touch, guiding your movements. .

"Being with you is already a risk, Carm," you whispered, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Let's fuck, can't cum in this fucking dry humping, would ruin my reputation.”

“I wouldn't mind ruining mine by cumming on my jeans.” he says, and somehow it comforted you as a cool breeze in summer.

He peels the apron off simultaneously as you take off yours and tossed on the counter, stripping your jeans down your ankles, kicking it while he unbelt and unbutton his jeans, down to his thighs with the boxers.

You grasp the hem of your panties, but Carmy stops. “You sure of…”

“Fuck me, Carm.” You cut off and he nodded, blushing. Carm liked your orders more than he would like to admit. “Please…” but loved even more when you pleaded.

He placed the tip, rubbing softly on your pearl to spread your liquid on his pre-cum. You hummed, wiggling on it. “Fuck. I've always wanted to do it. Tastes together. Like…like cooking. Mixing flavors.” Carmy groaned, rocking his aching tip on your clit. “Fuck. I need to taste it”

He bent, kneeling on the floor, spreading your legs as he placed one of your thighs on his shoulders. So, in that moment, your eyes mingled on how Carmy seemed delighted as a chef, inhaling scents, kitten licking slowly as every taste bud memorized on every spot of his tongue how you tasted.

He hummed, sucking, going for the entrance to get more liquid, more lubrication, burying his face on your core, tantalizing your pussy by inserting one finger deep and pulling out to suck on his tongue, moaning again.

“Carm…stop teasing me. Please, bear…” you weeb, groggy at the pleasure roller coaster. He shivered by the name again, planting one last licking to get up again.

He wrapped his cock on his hand again, pressing the tip against your cunt with no resistance, pushing his length deep on you, lifting one of your legs to keep you close. “Fuck.” He breathes, sinking down on you.

“Yeah…fuck.” You echoed, ripping a grin from him. You capture his lips, wrapping your leg on his hip, cradling your arms around his neck while you sigh and cry on each thrust harder than the one before. “We should… be… doing it every time we fight, bear”

He nods, pursuing your lips, slides his hands down further, going for your ass to smack and squeeze tightly. “Now I know how to put you in your place.” he whispers.

You grin, your giggles paused between your moans on Carm’s cock popping in and out crazily fast. You threw your head back, disheveled, chased back again by his strong hands on the back of your neck, looking at him.

“So you don't mind?" he asks, his shoulders tensed as he looks at you with quiet hope between the foggy atmosphere, your so loved white shirt covered in sweat.

You opened your mouth, forcing your eyes to open. “About what?”

“About me.” He answers, groaning. His pace became slower, matching the intimate vulnerability of the moment. “About us. About…fucking everything.”

"Our relationship is already broken, right?" Your tone is soft but resolute, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words lingers between you. You clench, feeling your so known vibrations.

“Is that what you call….fuck…, a relationship?” He managed, his right hand travelled to your throat, landing on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing on your jaw.

“What else would it be?” You smile amused, brushing your hands against his biceps scratching your nails. Your marks.

“A headache?” He constantes, pressing his lips trying to stifle a laugh, slipped out anyway. You couldn’t help but join him.

“You know that anger can be misunderstood with arousal, right?” You flashed a grin, muffled by him biting your lip, landing your eyes briefly at his mouth before back on his blue iris. “Maybe that's why we always screamed at each other and fuck Carmy m cumming”

“Fuck, let it out…let it all out.” He moans, sliding faster on your cunt, passionately fucking you til your back arch convulsing blissed out in ecstasy.

He swallows, driving his head back on your neck so he could hear every moan you let out on your climax, the ones he caused. And it was enough to make him pulse, spasming as he cummed on deep sways, colliding on you.

His chest rose heavy, pushing back to look at you, as a satisfied grin creeps his face. You lick your lips, smiling as well. And silently as the moment demanded, he popped his softened cock out, dressing again as you did the same. But first, he got his own apron to clean his mess carefully, kissing your forehead as a cherry on top.

You smiled as he lifted your pants, buttoned up and unshrink your shirt. "Thank you, chef," you mutter, your voice soft and sincere.

"Thank you, chef," he whispers back, leaning in until your foreheads touch again. His hand moves gently to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. "Let’s go home," he murmurs, his tone low and filled with a quiet longing.

"Okay, chef," you sigh, your fingers lightly tracing along his arm in response. He lingers for a moment, as if reluctant to let go, before tilting his head toward the door. You nod, taking off your apron and carefully turning off the lights before stepping outside with him.

Walking beside Carmy down the street, you steal a glance at him, your heart caught in a mixture of hope and uncertainty. He catches your gaze, holding it for a moment longer than usual before glancing away. You swallow hard, lifting a hand in a hesitant wave goodbye before taking a step forward.

He nods silently, his eyes following your retreating figure. "Chef," he calls out suddenly, his voice firm but tinged with something softer.

You stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder before turning to face him fully. He locks the restaurant door with deliberate slowness, then strides toward you, his steps purposeful.

"What is it?" you ask softly, your voice carrying a hint of worry as you search his face.

He stops just a breath away, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. After a pause, he speaks, his voice low and vulnerable. "You’re my dream too."

His lips curl into a tender smile as he takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against your skin. The words sink into the quiet air between you, their weight undeniable.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes glisten as you fight back tears. You shake your head slightly, a shaky smile breaking through. "I still hate you, Carm," you tease, the words laced with warmth neither of you can deny.

He laughs, the sound soft and genuine, his hand still holding yours. "And you’re not half bad at chopping carrots," he quips, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin as he releases your hand reluctantly.

"Goodbye, chef," you say, your voice quieter now, the words carrying an intimacy you don’t attempt to hide.

"Goodbye, chef," he replies, his eyes lingering on you as you walk away, the echo of your shared moment still hanging in the air.

#carmy the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy i love you #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x female reader #carmy berzatto x you #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmen berzatto

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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Sex Pollen — Nikto x Reader

CW: rough sex, humiliation, dirty talk, mild mind break.

"Жoпа... what did you do to us?" He whispers into your ear, voice rumbling as his strong arms hold you in place, hard cock rubbing against your ass from behind. Your own body responded to him before your hazy brain could even register his words, hips moving just enough to meet his lazy thrusts halfway.

"I'm sorry, Nikto... we didn't know." Yet it was still stupid. Your brain goes back to what caused this hot mess— going on a mission to an abandoned lab to gather intel, and Horangi being stupid enough to start picking up random vials and throwing them against the wall. You followed suit, ignoring the stern look Nikto shot your way when he entered the room you were at.

"You didn't know." He mocks with fake pity, voice growing even deeper, the sound rumbling from his chest to his throat. His mask presses against your neck as he begins to pull down your pants and underwear just enough to reveal your sweet cunt. A sharp hiss coming out of his lips before his hand fumbles to pull up the zipper of his flight suit and pull out his hard cock, sliding it between your thighs.

"Сука." He whispers right into your ear, cock sliding right along your slick folds. Nikto was a man of discipline, someone who was always able to resist any urges or temptation, yet here he was, grinding on you like a dog in heat, and you're letting him. You both know exactly what the drug you released from the vial was— the painful boner Horangi was trying (and failing) to hide on the helo ride back to base confirmed your suspicions.

"You are not sorry enough." His gloved hand grabs onto the back of your neck, manhandling you until your upper body is resting on the cold surface of your old desk, nipples hardening at the feeling of the cold metal hitting them directly.

"Fuck—" It's almost painful, the growing heat between your legs, your pulse quickening each passing second that you're not feeling his cock all over your pathetically wet cunt, yet that's short lived.

"What? Can't handle the consequences of your own actions, slut?" He softly kicks your legs apart, getting a better view at your cunt, glistening in the dim light of your quarters, the drug making your body respond before your brain. The tip of his dick sinks into you painfully slow, a small groan coming out of his throat at the new sensation on his already sensitive tip.

"Filthy little whore." He makes sure he's lined up well before thrusting into you with force, thick cock burying itself all the way deep within your wet, needy cunt. His hold on your hip is almost bruising as he starts fucking into you, not even giving you the time to adjust to his length, yet you don't need the time anyway. The sounds of your squelching pussy would be embarrassing if you could even think clearly, but it's almost as if he's taking away your thoughts with every single deep thrust.

"Nikto—" You manage to moan out, back arching on your desk as one of your hands comes up to your chest, rubbing and pulling on one of your nipples while your cunt gets used by the Russian man. His thrusts hold no love or care— simply a primal need to cum. His strong body leans over yours, hard gear pressing into your back, yet any sort of pain is quickly replaced by the heat pooling up in your stomach.

"You're just a fucktoy—" He grunts out, deep groans coming out of his lips as he pounds into you, heavy balls slapping against your clit every single time he buries himself to the hilt.

"A piece of meat for us to use." The hard plate of his mask digs into your back as he leans his forehead over it, breath hitching at the feeling of how good your wet cunt feels, how sensitive his cock is inside you. He keeps fucking into you hard and deep, each thrust sending you both closer to the edge, his free hand joining yours on your chest. He squeezes hard, dragging a whiny moan out of you before his gloved hand begins to rub and pull on your nipple harshly.

"Need— need more." You plead, ignoring the pathetic high pitch of your voice, losing any sort of shame. You can't afford shame when your superior is fucking you hard, letting everyone hear just how true his demeaning words are. His hand on your hip goes lower, pulling your hips up and forcing you to arch your back, the new angle hitting the perfect spot inside your cunt.

"Fuck— fuck, fuck, fuckkk." Your eyes close, allowing Nikto to possess your body in every single way. How could you not submit when he's slamming his fat cock all the way in? When his rough hand is pulling on your nipple, fondling the fat when he gets bored of torturing you.

"God— I love you." The words come out of your lips without even thinking about it, not having the chance to even process them because he starts slamming into you at a punishing pace, the tip of his cock hitting the entrance of your cervix with no issues at all.

"да? You're just a fuckhole to me— nothing more." He reminds you, movements growing more intense each passing second. The room fills with the sounds of your mixed moans and the slap of skin meeting skin. Nikto can feel his release building up, the desperation to get the drug out of his system becoming all-consuming. His grip on your tit tightens, thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own pleasure.

"Shit, I'm—" You can't even finish your sentence before your orgasm hits, cunt cramping down on Nikto's cock, legs trembling as you struggle to keep yourself up. He holds your hips higher, driving into you with a feral hunger before shoving himself all the way in, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he spills his cum inside you, body trembling with the release of his pent-up desire. His breathing is heavy and warm in your ear, slowly pulling out of you, thumbs spreading your cheeks to see the way his cum spills out of your abused hole.

"Not a word out of this." He warns, giving your ass a hard slap before shoving his cock back into his boxers and flight suit. All you can do is nod, trying your best to regain your breath as his thick, fertile seed spills down your thighs.

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oncasette · 29 days ago

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𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗢 𝗔 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘

boyfriend!zayne li x fem!reader, best friend!caleb xia x fem!reader

summary: 3.7k

Then, like most things do, thinking of your childhood led you right to thinking about Caleb. You remember him stealing the candy Zayne had given you and shoving it into his mouth in one go, the toothy grin he’d offered being a cheap replacement for the sugary caramels. You remember him making paper airplanes in the kitchen and you remember him throwing them at you with devastating aim. You remember him hushing you desperately when one landed directly in your eye. A cradling hug, your face stuffed into his neck, and the promise of ice-cream on his tongue if you could manage to stop crying. You remember laying on the floor of his bedroom and watching him under the afternoon sun peeking in through the blinds. His room had always been your safe place, your getaway when the quiet of your own room got too unbearable. At least, it had been until you’d grown up a bit and your feelings got far too complicated for you to want to deal with them.

or the one where you've never really been able to get caleb out of your head, or your heart.

content: smut, phone sex, (mutual) masturbation, cheating (emotional and semi-physical), angst, guilt, shame, no mentions of the explosion or caleb coming back, insp by the weeknd song

masterlist

Zayne’s hand finds the nape of your neck as he moves to stand. It’s a gentle caress, one that has you keening into his fleeting touch, as he moves toward the kitchen with the dishes stacked in his palm.

“Do you want help?” you call after him. He waves off the idea with a shake of his head. Still, you slide out from the table to follow behind him. Zayne had always been the one to keep the house tidy between the two of you. You don’t think you’d ever seen a dish in the sink, save for the occasional morning cup of coffee he dropped in there on the days he was running a couple minutes behind schedule. He made the bed in the morning, he vacuumed on Sundays, he made sure the fridge was stocked and that nothing was expired. And he did it all without asking anything of you—other than the kiss he requested before he leaves for work— and insisting on doing it himself.

“Couldn’t stay away?” he asks, his back turned to you as he scrubbed the plates he’d brought with him. Slinking up behind him, you loop your arms around his waist and tuck your face between his shoulder blades.

“Just wanted to keep you company,” you hum. You press a short kiss to his clothed back, then another, before continuing, “is that a crime?”

“Not at all,” he says. A wet hand finds your linked ones and brings them up to his lips to run his lips over your knuckles. Water drips down your wrist and you shiver a bit at the contact. After a moment, you disentangle yourself with him and push yourself up onto the counter beside the sink. You watch him silently as he works. You let your eyes trail over the curve of his nose, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks, the scars criss-crossing over the expanse of his wrists from where he’s rolled his shirt sleeves up.

You remember, then, being a kid and watching him in a similar vein. He’d always been the straightlaced man in front of you, at least a little bit. You remember watching him study after school across the dining table from you, remember being dumbfounded at the numbers and letters and equations littering his papers. He’d already been a couple years ahead of you in school, and he was advancing further than that before you had a breath of a chance at catching up to him. You remember him scolding you as he put bandaids on your scraped knees. The knit in his brow had existed even then. You remember him sneaking sweets after dinner and him shoving a candy or two into your own palm once he’d been sure he wasn’t going to get caught. You remember the way your face would heat whenever his cool gaze would land on yours, remember the way you’d stutter for the first few minutes you were around him each time until you slipped back into the ease of being his friend again. You’d always had a crush on him. How could you not?

“What’s got you spaced out, darling?” Zayne asks. He moves to wipe the water off of his hands with a towel tucked into one of the cabinet handles before he moves to stand between your spread thighs. His hands find your hips with ease, with what feels to be muscle memory at this point. You blink away your thoughts as your boyfriend comes back into focus. His index finger swipes teasingly at the tip of your nose.

“Nothing much,” you say as your face drops into the curve of his neck. He adjusts, one hand finding the small of your back to keep you steady. “Thinking about us.”

“Good things, I hope,” he replies. Soothing fingers dance up your spine.

“Always,” you hum. “All done?”

Caleb’s name sits at the back of your throat, the idea of sharing that part of your daydream feeling tainted in a way that you couldn’t quite explain.

“All done. Should we get ready for bed, then? You have quite an early morning ahead of you,” he says, coaxing your head up and out of the crook of his shoulder and sweeping some loose strands of hair away from your face. You nod wordlessly and allow him to help you down from the counter. He keeps a hand looped loosely with your own as he flicks off light switches and gently pushes your shoes further into the rack beside the front door. Your vision clouds with a vague recollection of looping pinkies with Caleb during a blackout, a flashlight in your other hand and an eager heartbeat racing at the prospect of building a fort in the dark.

“Shower tonight or in the morning?” Zayne asks once the two of you are in the bedroom.

“Morning.”

Zayne nods as he moves around the room as he undresses, tossing his slacks and his button down into a nearly empty laundry bin. He’d always kept his work clothes on for far longer than you expected, never coming home to slip into something more comfortable the second he stepped through the door. When he returns to your side, he’s already got his pajamas on and he’s handing you a shirt for you to sleep in with a gentle kiss to your forehead. It’s the one you always seemed to steal when you first started dating and staying the night at his place. The reminder tugs at your heart a bit.

You stay standing there for just a half second longer than you mean to, the thin cotton of the worn shirt clenched tightly in your fists.

“Darling?”

He’s pulled back the comforter and turned off the bathroom light, leaving only the lamp on his bedside on so as to not leave you in total darkness. He’s watching you under a gentle, sweeping gaze. One that tracks over your body with something akin to worry. But, it’s not worry. Not really. You just get like this sometimes, just a little bit out of your head, a little far away. He can pull you back. He always has.

He rounds the bed again and takes your face between his palms. His lips press hard against your forehead, a silent promise, a plea. He’s here with you.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says. Wordlessly, he begins to tug the hem of your shirt up and over your head to replace it with the shirt he’d given you. Your shorts follow, leaving you bare from the waist down save for your underwear. When he guides you to the bed, you follow.

Tara had always been the biggest supporter of you getting together with Zayne. She claims that she knew he was the one the first time she saw you together, at a Hunter’s Association gala you’d brought him along to. He’d been the definition of the perfect date that night, pulling out your chair, holding your jacket over his arm, carrying your shoes at the end of the night. Tara had pulled you away to the bathroom halfway through the evening to squeal about him in front of the mirror.

“So, when’s the wedding?” she’d asked, reapplying her lipstick while bent over one of the sinks. She smacked her lips twice before she turned back to face you. Her brows were raised in expectation.

“What?”

“The wedding. When do you become Mrs. Dr. Zayne?” she asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like you hadn’t been dreaming of the day since you’d met him.

“What- I don’t- We haven’t…” you stuttered.

“Oh, come on! With the way he looks at you? It’s happening,” she gushed.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper as you slide under the covers, flipping onto your side to face him. He clicks the lamp off as he moves to join you. One of his hands finds your waist, his thumb tracing circles into the bare skin.

“Nonsense,” he replies, like it's true. Like you deserve the love of the man before you. He shifts to push your hair back the way he’d done in the kitchen. His lips find the tip of your nose.

“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. It’s like a vow, a declaration of his devotion.

“Love you.” And you do, honestly, devotedly, but not completely. Never completely.

You stay there for a while, facing him, watching him, even when he flips to lay on his back and his hand searches for yours amidst the blankets. You give it to him, allowing him to intertwine your fingers where they rest over his heart. It’s only when you’re sure that he’s asleep, when his lips part and soft snores roll out of his throat, that you slip out of bed with your phone held tight in your grasp. Settling yourself on the couch, you scroll through your contacts until you land on Caleb’s name. The corner of your lips turn up at the profile picture, a zoomed in selfie he’d taken when you’d left your phone unattended back in high school.

When you call, the phone rings three times before there’s a click and a couple of heavy breaths.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he chirps into the line.

“Hi, Caleb,” you whisper, eyes locked on the door and your bottom lip tucked neatly between your teeth.

“Why are we whispering?” he asks, his voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone as well.

“It’s late.” “It’s ten thirty.”

“So?”

“So it’s not late, dork,” he laughs, and the sound warms you from the inside out. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. You listen to him breathe for a bit, content just to have him on the other side of the phone. Present, even if not in person.

“How’s Dr. Zayne?” Caleb asks, breaking the silence. Looking back at the door to your bedroom, you remember the way Zayne had chased your hand in his sleep.

“Can we… not talk about him?” you sigh, your heartbeat elevated.

“Oh? Trouble in paradise, pips?” he shifts. There’s a rustle of what you assume to be bedsheets. You think about him in bed, about what he’s wearing. Or, not wearing.

“No,” you swallow. “No, not at all actually. Zayne’s… great. He’s always great, you know that.”

“Oh, alright then. Why the late call?” he asks, and you know he already knows. It’s been a while since you’d made one of these calls, but it hadn’t been long enough for it to be out of the blue. He’s playing stupid, like he always does. You think he likes to hear you say it. For you to admit that you still need him.

“Wanted to hear your voice,” you admit.

“Oh, baby, you know you can always call me,” he sighs. “I wish you would do it when you didn’t have to whisper, though. I like hearing you, too.”

“I know, ‘m sorry,” you say. You think back to the few times you’ve called him on your off days when your boyfriend had still been called into work. Caleb had always eager to receive your calls in the middle of the day.

“You know I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight,” he says. You blink back the thin stream of shame starting to cloud your vision.

“I know,” you whisper. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you called,” he amends, the sheets rustling more and you have to bite your lip to keep the thoughts and images brewing in your head at bay. “Just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

“Are you…” you trail off. He could keep this from escalating, if he wants to. You don’t have to admit what you want from him aloud. But, then, you knew he wouldn’t. It’s part of the reason you kept coming back.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he grunts. “Rock hard. Got hard as soon as I saw your picture pop up on my screen.”

Your breath hitches a bit, your eyes falling shut and your head dropping back against the couch. Something fiery pools in your gut.

“Wanna see?” he asks and you can hear the smirk on his lips. You start to nod before you remember he can’t see you.

“Please,” you nearly whimper. You feel your phone buzz in your hand and you pull it away to see the text notification pop up. Opening your messages, it’s impossible to miss the picture he’d sent you. His hand is wrapped around the base of his boxer-clad cock, the imprint of it making your mouth water just a bit. He was right, he is hard, a dark path of fabric stained just where the tip of his dick rests. You allow yourself to stare for a moment, before you’re deleting the message from your phone and putting Caleb back up to your ear.

“Can I see your face, too?” you ask and your throat tightens. He laughs again.

“Yeah, baby. One sec.”

Another buzz. You open this one a bit quicker. In the new picture, the framing is different. His face is visible now, but you can also see him holding his newly freed cock at the bottom of the frame. His cheeks are flushed pink to match the head of his dick, despite the smug expression otherwise illustrating his features. You stare for longer this time, before you repeat the process of deleting it.

“Can I see you, too?” he asks, his breathing heavier.

“Not… not tonight,” you sigh. You don’t want him seeing you in Zayne’s shirt, you think. Don’t want that reminder, even if you’re sure he already knows.

The first time you’d done something like this, it’d been more or less an accident. Something you’d stumbled yourself into after a long night of talking on the phone about nothing and everything and anything you could conjure up just to keep him on the line for a couple more minutes. You don’t remember it, exactly, when one thing had led to the next or even hanging up that night, but you remember calling him back the next night and the next and falling into a pattern. One that had gotten expeditiously more complicated the minute you’d started dating Zayne.

You remember telling him, panting into the receiver with your hand still shoved down your pants.

“I have a boyfriend,” you said, when different words were already sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Oh?” he asked. You could hear him heave the word out. “Who’s the lucky man, pipsqueak?”

“Zayne.”

“Oh… that’s…” he’d cleared his throat. “That’s good. I’m… He’ll be good for you.”

“Aw, c’mon. You know I can’t go without seeing those pretty eyes,” he sighs.

“Next time?” you offer. You shouldn’t be offering a next time, shouldn’t be on the phone with him now, but you know better than to tell yourself there won’t be one.

“Alright,” he says, the whisper of a laugh in his tone. “Next time.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your hand already poised against your inner thigh as anticipation begins to build in your muscles.

“Caleb?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You thumb the hem of your panties.

“Wanna hear your voice.”

“What do you want to hear?” he asks and the whine you let out is pitiful. “Do you wanna hear about my day? I went grocery shopping, you know, all by myself. You’d be proud if you could see my fridge right now.”

“Caleb-”

“Or… did you want to hear my talk about the weather, I hear that-”

“Caleb.” “Right. Right, you want to hear me talk about this show I just started. It’s really good actually, I think you should give it a shot.”

“Please,” you huff. He grunts, a shallow exhale following after it.

“You wanna hear me talk about how much I wish you were here with me instead? How bad I want to taste you right now?”

“Mhm,” you hum, the tips of your fingers pushing past the elastic to brush over your slick. God, you’re wet. Your fingers slide through your arousal, gathering the sticky clear liquid onto the pads of your fingers as you begin to circle your already puffy clit.

“No, it couldn’t be that…”

“Caleb, please,” you nearly sob. The tension in your wrists tightens, your motion stalling.

“Oh, that was a cute sound,” he hums. “I wonder how many more I can get out of you.”

Your body responds in kind. Your jaw goes slack, a needy sigh slipping past your lips as your fingers slide through the accumulating arousal.

“Yeah? Feel good?” he asks and you can hear the slick sounds emanating from the line. You can picture what he looks like. His hand wrapped tight around his cock, the precum beading from the slit, the angry red color of the head. His lips bitten pink. The dark lilac shade his eyes dilate into when he’s worked up.

“Feels good. I want… want more,” you say.

“You can have more. It’s your hand,” he teases, and for a moment, you toy with the idea of hanging up. Not that you could make yourself actually do it.

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m not being mean, you just don’t want to cum without me telling you how to do it,” he says, and the laugh that rumbles through the phone rings through your ears.

“Mhm.”

“Tell me,” he grunts.

“I want you to tell me how to cum,” you say desperately, the strokes of your hand growing more desperate as the time passes.

“How about a finger, then?” he asks. You can hear the way his jaw clenches.

“Two,” you beg just before you press a single digit against your entrance.

“I thought I was calling the shots here, baby,” he says. The moan you let out borders on pornographic, a single finger sliding into your warmth with no resistance. It’s not enough, nowhere near the thickness that Caleb’s fingers offered when he stretched you out. Or the feel of his cock pushing into you. It’d been too long since you’d gotten to feel him inside you.

“Please?” you ask, slowly starting to pump your finger in and out.

“Mmm, alright. You know I can’t say no to you,” he relents. You bite down on your tongue to prevent another moan from coming out, not needing or the sound to echo off the walls and into the bedroom. When the heel of your hand bumps your clit, you’re worried you might bite through. You let your head fall back onto the back of the couch, you eyes shut to focus more on Caleb’s voice.

“God, fuck, ‘m close already, baby. Don’t know how you do this to me,” he hisses. You nod in agreement, the ache of your cunt drawing your thighs together around your hand. “I bet you look so pretty right now. Wish I could see you.”

Your stomach tightens as your orgasm begins to build, your periphery going just ever so hazy around you.

“Keep touching yourself. Want you to fall apart for me. Just me,” he rambles. The slick sounds of his own hand stroking his cock sends you further down the spiral. He’s panting, now, each word held up in the confines of his throat.

“I’m gonna… just for you.” You focus your fingers on rubbing furiously on your clit, now, the stimulation pushing you just up to the edge of cumming. You want him to cum with you, need to hear it. Want to see it, taste it.

“C’mon, baby. For me? Please?” he asks, his voice straining under the exertion. The desperation pushes you over that last little bit. Your cunt pulses around your fingers, clenching and spasming.

“Oh,” you moan.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck, that’s it,” he says, your name following shortly after. It sounds like a prayer with the way it slides off his tongue. Your hand stays put between your thighs, beneath your panties, as you catch your breath. You hum softly as your body begins to lose its tension and liquifies under the weight of your orgasm. It’s only then that you realize that you’d started sweating. A beat of silence follows as Caleb comes down from his own high.

“Are we still getting lunch on Thursday?” he heaves, breaking the silence. You haven’t even come back from floating away in space, yet.

“Hm?”

“Lunch. Thursday. Kitty Cafe.”

“Yeah. Yes. Lunch on Thursday, it’s in my calender,” you say as you scrunch your nose up a bit.

“Good. Excited to see your face, pips.”

You know in a minute, you’ll be hanging up. You’ll be washing your hands like they’ll erase the guilt that’s going to eat away at you until the next time you think to ring your oldest friend–if that’s even the title you could give him anymore–in the middle of the night. You’ll slide back into the bed that you share with your boyfriend, he’ll reach for you and you’ll let him. You’ll fall asleep with your fingers intertwined with his, and you’ll wake up with his nose pressed between your collarbones. But, for now, you let yourself sit in the silence. You listen to the way Caleb’s breathing begins to even out through the receiver. You don’t bother watching the door.

“I love you, you know,” Caleb says.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. It feels like a secret, a pinky promise in the dark of a stormy night.

#caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #caleb lads #zayne lads #caleb love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb love and deepspace smut #caleb lads x reader #caleb lnds #caleb l&ds #caleb lnds x reader #caleb x mc #zayne x mc

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bronzeyslcve · 3 months ago

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remind me why i love you - lucy bronze

paring: lucy bronze x female reader

theme: angst

summary: you and lucy have been together for three years, and both play together for manchester city, however you discover that lucy is moving to lyon and she tries to push you away to not break your heart

warnings: lucy being a dick, brief mention of panic attacks

notes: set in 2017 just before lucy moved to lyon for the 2017/2018 season, you might want to grab some tissues! might make this a series if people are interested🤔 x

─────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────

The new season was right around the corner and you couldn’t wait to put on the Manchester City shirt again, to represent your club alongside your friends and your girlfriend. Sure Lucy’s new contract hadn’t been finalised yet, but you knew it would be, you just knew she would stay a Citizen, why wouldn’t she?

“Narla, come out the way,” you exclaimed with a soft smile as you bent down to get the lasagne you had made out of the oven, however Lucy’s small West-Highland Terrier was in the way.

The dog refused to move, which made you laugh a little. To avoid the food from burning, you gently pick her up and set her in her bed before grabbing the dish out of the cooker with the help of the oven gloves.

Just as you got it out, you heard the front door open and Narla’s little feet padding towards the hall, to where Lucy had just walked in. You grabbed two plates from the cupboard and dished up the dinner, as your girlfriend walked into the kitchen. The normal cheeky grin that she would wear is replaced by a small, almost forced looking, smile.

“I missed you today,” you hummed, walking over to Lucy to give her a small hug.

“I missed you too. Let me just go get changed and I’ll be right back,” she stated simply before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“M’kay, don’t be too long Luce, otherwise your food will be freezing.”

Lucy just nodded before slipping out of the kitchen and seconds later, you heard her walking up the stairs. A soft sigh escaped your lips at her distance and you knew instantly that something was up with her. For now, you decided to ignore it, laying the dining table and deciding to pour you both a glass of red wine, a small luxury you’re allowed when not in season. After everything was all sorted, you settled down in your chair, waiting for Lucy to return.

Forty minutes of waiting had passed and you had just given up. You grabbed your plate and glass of wine and ate your now freezing plate of lasagne in front of the tv: a few tears running down her cheeks simultaneously. You suffered a little with your anxiety, you always had, and with Lucy’s distance you had yourself all worked up. But you manage to calm down a little, reminding yourself that Lucy probably just fell asleep after a long day.

After you’d eaten, you returned to the kitchen, setting your dishes in the dishwasher. Then, you wrapped your girlfriend’s plate, that was still on the dining table, up in tinfoil and then placed it into the fridge: so she can heat it up tomorrow. Once you’d sorted everything out, you dragged yourself upstairs, flicked on the light to the bathroom and then started up the shower.

Usually, when you would take a shower after Lucy, it would be incredibly slippery as she used about five thousand different hair products to get it to be all smooth, shiny and whatnot. However today it wasn’t, therefore meaning you didn’t have to risk breaking your neck and that you could enjoy your shower.

You stayed in there for ages. Just standing under the warm water, letting it cascade down your back, it being incredibly soothing. Following your shower, you flicked it off and then wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel.

Whilst wrapped in your towel, you stood in front of the mirror and did your usual nighttime routine, brushing your teeth and then the various, meticulously thought out steps of your skincare routine. After that was all done, you tied your hair up in a loose, messy bun, not wanting to feel the water dripping down your back any longer.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you practically jump out of your skin, Lucy is just stood there, waiting for you to come out of it. But she was looking at the ground, she seemed awkward: almost as if she didn’t want to be there.

“Er sorry I took so long getting changed,” she mumbled under her breath, being so un-characteristically quiet.

“No it’s okay, don’t apologise Luce. I wrapped your food up and put it in the fridge if you want to reheat it,” you explained, offering the right back a small smile, which she reciprocated - but only at the mention of food.

“Thanks babe, I’ll go do that now. I’m actually quite hungry,” she replied with a small laugh, her eyes still anywhere but on yours.

“Alright, I’ll be down in a sec.”

All you earn is a small nod before she’s walking back downstairs. You are beyond confused at her awkwardness, of her distance but yet again you just shrug it off to her being tired: even though your gut is trying to tell you it’s more than that.

You open up your bedroom door and see Narla snuggled up on the bed, half asleep, which makes you smile to yourself. It’s then when you notice the suitcase that’s packed and sitting in the corner of the room, Lucy’s passport sitting neatly on top.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as the realisation that Lucy was leaving pretty much slapped you in the face. They left a silver, slippery trail down your cheeks, little sniffles left your nose which made Narla cock her head to the side. When she noticed you’re crying, she nudges the back of your legs with a small whine.

You smiled and sat down on the bed, allowing her to sit in your lap. Narla got your full attention, your hands busying themselves with giving her strokes and scratches behind the ear.

“I’ll be alright Narls, just need a minute,” she whispered shakily into her fur, trying to calm yourself down, trying to settle your anxiety.

Ten long minutes passed and even worse Lucy didn’t even notice you’d been that long or she did but she just didn’t care. You’d managed to get into some pyjamas in the time and dry your hair properly. Now, you felt like you could face your girlfriend without being too emotional, without breaking down into tears: you just wanted some answers. You deserved them as her girlfriend. As you wondered down the stairs and into the lounge, with Narla hot on your heels, you could hear sounds coming from the tv.

“You alright love?” Lucy asked as you sat yourself down into one of the armchairs that nobody really uses, instead of of your normal spot beside her.

“Mhm, perfectly fine. Food okay?” you said, voice lacking any emotion as you’d already shut yourself off in preparation of this conversation: not wanting to cry in front of her.

“Oh it’s perfect babe, thank you,” she smiled but her eyebrows furrow as she hears the tone of your voice, devoid of any emotion whatsoever, but she just ignores it.

The smile on her face was fake. You knew it, she knew it and Narla knew it from where she’s now sat in her bed in the corner of the room. The way she was being so calm yet so fake just irked you and you lost it.

“So, when were you going to tell me that you’re leaving?” you asked, not looking at her, focusing on the shitty reality tv show playing out on the screen. You can’t look at her. You probably will burst into tears.

“You went into the bedroom,” she sighed, placing the plate down onto the coffee table as she finally looks at you.

“Of course I went into our bedroom, when the fuck were you going to tell me?”

“Look, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t of found out like this, it’s just, I signed for Lyon earlier and I thought I would try and leave as quickly as possible without you realising until it was too late, so it wouldn’t hurt you as much,”

“Wait, go back, you’ve signed for Lyon? The French team?”

“Yes. You should be happy for me,”

“Jesus Lucy, of course I’m happy for you. This is an incredible opportunity in your career. I just wish you told me that you were considering this move. You were just going to up and leave, which would’ve hurt so much more,” you explain, genuinely so happy for her, she has a better shot at winning the Champions League with Lyon: something she’s always wanted to do, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want her to tell you first.

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you. I never have done. But I’m putting my career first, you knew before we started that my career would always come over you. I still love you.”

What she said was true, but the way she said it, so harshly, creates a small pang in your heart. It’s almost as if Lucy doesn’t care whatsoever about what she’s saying to you, about how much she’s hurting you. It almost seems intentional like she’s trying to push you away.

“Really? Because I’ll be honest, it doesn’t fucking feel like it Luce, I get that your career is everything to you, trust me I do. But it still would’ve been nice for you to consolidate me on this decision,” you exclaimed, your voice raising slightly and your eyes now becoming wet.

“Don’t you dare be like that. God Y/n, you’re so fucking selfish. Thinking everything is about you all of the time. Fucking hell do you know how tiring it is for me? Having to be careful about all of your insecurities and anxieties all of them time? It’s draining and I hate it. I hate how I have to walk around eggshells around you all the time, to scared that if I say the wrong thing you’d have a mental breakdown! Jesus, I thought we’d be fine doing long distance, but I’m bloody rethinking that decision.”

Immediately, Lucy hated herself for what she said to you, every word that slips from her lips was false. She had been a complete and utter dick, she knew that, Narla, who was now glaring at her as if she understood everything single last word that she had just said, knew that. And of course, you knew that. But for Lucy it was the only way. She just had to push you away. Because if she did, if she hurt you, surely you’d be able to get over much quicker. Lucy couldn’t have been more wrong if she tried.

You had pushed yourself up from the armchair and practically ran into the kitchen, getting away from her for the moment. Tears were in your eyes, hands slightly shaking and your breathing was all over the place. You had to calm down. You had to breathe. A panic attack was something you really didn’t want to be having right now, not after she’d essentially labeled your mental health as a burden to her.

After about thirty seconds of quiet, Lucy comes storming in behind you, watching as you’re leaning on the counter, eyes closed, just trying to breathe. She feels horrible. Like the worst person to ever exist. But this is the only way.

“I’m not being selfish, I just asked why you didn’t tell me. I always would’ve let you go, I would’ve even encouraged you if you were worried about it. I would never ever stop you from having the wonderful career you deserve, Lucy, but doing it all behind my back. That’s what hurts,” you sighed once you felt as if you had your breathing back under control, your voice thick with shed tears.

“Look, I am sorry Y/n, but I felt like you wouldn’t have let me go, that you would hold me back. My god you’re so clingy and it genuinely feels like I can never put a step right with you anymore. That’s why I did it behind your back. It was easier for me and that way I wouldn’t have had to face this screaming match.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Lucia. I’m sorry I’ve made your life so fucking miserable. I had no idea that this was a screaming match, I’m not screaming? All I’ve done is ask you about the suitcase and you got all defensive and up in my face, making me feel like shit.”

You just lost it, freely sobbing in front of her now, which causes Lucy’s heart to break. She didn’t want you to cry. She hates seeing you cry. But she had to go along with this little plan she formulated in her mind, because it would help you to move on quicker from her, as she believed. Lucy also believed that you’d be okay because you would have the support from everyone at City; teammates, coaches, physio, etc. Of course, Lucy being Lucy doesn’t realise how far away from the truth she is. She’s not only hurt you, but she’s destroyed you. It’s going to take a very long time for you to get over her.

“God, remind me why I love you. Such a fucking drama queen. Can’t even handle the truth,” she muttered, and that was that, the holocaust was complete, you were done. You looked up at Lucy, your eyes latching onto hers and it made her want to break down crying too.

“I c..can’t do this anymore,” you managed to squeak, through tears, pushing past her to walk into the lounge to grab your phone as you left it in there earlier. You open up the phone app and scroll until you find the number for Jill Scott, dialling it.

“Hey Jilly-bean, could I stay at yours tonight. Please?” you pleaded into the phone, using your special nickname you have for Jill to butter her up and make her even more inclined to agree.

“Of course you can sweetheart. Want me to pick you up?” Jill replied, hearing the tears in your voice. She knew something was up and she was worried.

“That would be perfect, thank you,”

“Of course, I’ll be there in ten.”

“Y/n? Who was that? Where on earth are you going?” Lucy asked from behind you, growing rapidly concerned by the second. She had gotten what she had wanted. She had pushed you away. That still didn’t mean she wanted you to go, she wanted to spend one final night with you cuddled up in her arms. Deep down she knew that it was extremely selfish based on what she said, but she just didn’t expect for you to leave.

“I don’t want to look at you Lucia, let alone talk to you. I need to go somewhere to get my head straight.” you deadpanned, walking back up to the bedroom, locking the door behind you.

“Oh come on Y/n, open the door. It’s my final night for god sakes,” Lucy exclaimed as she banged on the door, her own tears threatening to fall from her eyes, it then hitting her how much this was going to hurt her. She didn’t really take into consideration her own feelings about losing you when deciding to push you away. She honestly didn’t feel like long distance would be good, that it would work. But now that she’s lost you, she realises that it would’ve been and that she’s lost the best thing she ever had. You were far more important to her than her career, a revelation she discovered far too late.

You just ignore her banging and what she says, you don’t care. You just need to get out quickly. A small suitcase is thrown open on your bed and you’re just tossing key essentials in it for a few nights away. Once all packed, you grab the case and walk out of the room, ignoring Lucy’s sad eyes as you walk downstairs for the fifty time today.

The suitcase wasn’t too heavy, so it was easy to lug down the stairs. You set it in the hall before grabbing your a pair of your trainers from the see rack and quickly put them on, Narla now standing in the hall, wondering what the hell is going on.

When the trainers are finally on, you just decide to wait for Jill outside. You lean down and give Narla a quick stroke, before unlocking the front door and shutting it behind you.

It takes Lucy all of ten seconds to rush outside after you, Narla too, and when she does, Jill pulls up and her heart drops. You immediately rush to throw your case into the boot when she was parked, whilst Jill got out of it, looking between you and Lucy.

When she saw the tears on your cheeks, the ones she’d suspected to be there since you called her, she pulled you into a tight hug, her lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Small tears finally started to slip from Lucy’s eyes at watching you cry and get comforted in the arms of your best friend. Poor Narla just stands by her feet, utterly confused by what’s going on.

“Jill, please don’t let her go. I fucked up. I need to make things right,” Lucy pleaded the older midfielder, a look of desperation on her face as she watches you get into the car.

“I’m sorry Luce. Look, I’ll make sure she’s okay, I’ll look after her,” Jill reassured with a small smile.

“Y/n please, please I’m sorry, I still love you. I always will. I was a dick, please.”

Her pleading breaks your heart even more, as does seeing the tears on her cheeks. Lucy never cries. Never ever.

“Just let her go Lucy.”

Jill then gets back into her car; she straps herself in, places one hand on your knee in a soothing manner and then begins the small drive back to her place.

Lucy’s heart completely shatters as she watches you go, heart torn into millions of different pieces. She’d lost you. And it was all her fault. She was properly sobbing now as she made her way back inside, Narla following after her. The front door was slammed and she then slid down it, crying uncontrollably. Narla whined and yipped as she watched, concerned. Lucy looked up at her little Westie, her face red and blotchy, a little bit of snot dripping from her nose, tears leaking from her eyes and staining her cheeks.

“I fucked up Narla, she’s gone.”

#lionesses #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #fiction #lucy bronze #woso one shot #chelsea women #angst #lucy bronze x reader

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jacqueline-01 · 3 months ago

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Late Nights and Lipstick Smudges

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: After a long day at the BAU, Hotch comes home to the vibrant light of your love—high heels, lipstick, and all.

The sound of the front door clicking shut was the only warning you had before Aaron Hotchner stepped into the living room, still clad in his FBI-issued suit. His tie was loosened but not yet removed, and his sharp features were softened by exhaustion.

“Hey, honey,” you called from the couch, crossing your legs dramatically as you adjusted the hem of your silky robe. A red one tonight—Aaron’s favorite.

His tired eyes lit up at the sight of you, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.

“Long day?” you teased, twirling a strand of hair around your manicured finger.

He chuckled softly, setting his briefcase down by the door and shrugging off his suit jacket. “You could say that.”

You patted the cushion next to you, your red-painted nails catching the light. “Come here, let me take care of you.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. In a few strides, Aaron was by your side, sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh. You immediately swung your legs over his lap, your bare skin warm against the cool fabric of his pants.

“Rough case?” you asked, your voice softer now as you reached up to smooth the lines of worry on his forehead.

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “Rough, but it’s over. I’m just glad to be home.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I missed you.”

His hand found your thigh, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I missed you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You couldn’t help but grin, your trademark red lipstick bright against your teeth. “Of course you did. I’m irresistible.”

Aaron chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. “That you are.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other’s presence. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away as you traced slow circles on the back of his hand, your other hand playing idly with his tie.

“Let me guess,” you said, your tone teasing. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed dramatically, slipping off his lap and standing up. “What would you do without me, Hotchner?”

His eyes followed you as you padded into the kitchen, your robe swishing around your legs. “Starve, probably,” he admitted with a small smirk.

“Damn right you would,” you called over your shoulder, pulling out leftovers from the fridge.

By the time you returned, reheated pasta in hand, Aaron had loosened his tie completely and was leaning back against the couch cushions. He looked more relaxed than he had all day, but his gaze sharpened as you approached.

“What?” you asked, setting the plate down on the coffee table.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, his eyes soft as they roamed over you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you masked it with a playful scoff. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Hotchner.”

He reached out, catching your wrist as you moved to sit down. “I mean it.”

For once, the teasing words you had ready on your tongue disappeared, replaced by a soft smile. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief.

“I know,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his.

The rest of the night passed in quiet contentment, with Aaron finishing the dinner you insisted he eat and you stealing bites from his plate. By the time you both made it to bed, he looked lighter, his smile a little wider, and you couldn’t help but feel proud.

Aaron Hotchner may face the darkest corners of humanity every day, but when he came home to you, you made sure he remembered the light.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotch x reader #soft hotch #hotchcomfort #Spotify

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snoopyracing · 11 months ago

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back to december // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 9k

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, and implied sex

includes: friends to lovers, pining, fluff, and angst.

summary: follows lando and the reader from the beginning of their relationship all the way until the end. based off of ‘back to december’ by taylor swift.

A/N: some of this is may not be biblically f1 accurate so please just close your eyes and pretend it is. who cares when the vibes are great. also don't forget.... i'm also just a girl...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days blurred together anymore, blurred into the same monotonous routine.

Wake up, get ready for work, go to work, come home, and then distract yourself from your own thoughts until it was time to go to bed. Some days were worse than others, but it was your own self destructive tendencies that got you into this state.

Today was a particularly shitty day, especially for a Friday. You couldn't wait to get home, but walking through the door to an empty apartment was something you still hadn't gotten used to. The bright warmness that always seemed to cascade through the apartment was replaced with dark coldness. The blinds were always shut now, the apartment could easily be mistaken for a vampire's liar at this point. The music that once played almost 24/7, that got you guys plenty of noise complaints, now collected dust on the shelf. The smell of dinner cooking as you walked through the door was now replaced with the Chinese takeout from two nights ago heating up in the microwave.

As you watched the plate spin your reflection in the yellow glow caught your attention. Oof. Have you really looked like this recently? The dark circles under your eyes looked like you had been taking up cage fighting as a hobby recently. You weren't sure how long you stood there, picking yourself apart, finding something new with each pass over yourself. The beeping from the microwave had been drowned out by your own thoughts.

Your phone had started to ring on the counter behind you, causing you to jump. Combine that with the now incessant beeping of the microwave and your heart was racing. You pressed answer, not bothering to glance at the caller id.

"Hello?" You asked as you opened the microwave, careful to not spill the plate as you picked it up with one hand.

The sound of your clearly already inebriated best friend filled your ears. "Heyyyyy!" You made your way to the couch, ready to stuff your face and then rot in your usual spot until you fell asleep. "I think you should get up off that couch and come over. We are having a little get together."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her statement. She had tried multiple times after it had happened to get you to go out. She had once famously said 'the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else'. Something that you gave a hard pass to. You thought she had finally given up on trying to get you to go out. It had been maybe almost a month, if you remembered correctly, since your last invite. Also, her get little get togethers were never little. They always escalated into bigger than her house could handle parties. Not that was always a bad thing, it's just the more people the more of a chance for you to run into him, or one his friends. The idea made your stomach turn.

"Would love to, but I'm already settled in for the night. Plus, sounds like you've already started the party without me."

"Oh come on! Please come over. It's been almost three months. Even for just a little bit." Before you could decline again she was already begging for a second time. "Please. For me?"

She was right, it had been almost three months. Maybe a party could do you some good or even just getting out of this routine you've been in for months. Then your mind wandered back to the same person it always has for months. "Is he going to be there?"

"Why would he be here?"

Your eyes darted to the picture frame on the tv stand. Inside the white wooden frame was picture of him and you and all your shared friends. It was from a trip you all had taken last summer to Greece. You both looked so happy and in love, which back then you were. You really should have put that picture up a long time ago, but you couldn't. There were a lot of things you couldn't put away.

"Maybe because we have mutual friends?" You pried.

"He's probably busy this weekend or out of the country. It will be fine. Just please come."

You sighed looking up to find that same reflection from the microwave now residing in the black screen of the TV. As you glanced back between your reflection in the tv and the picture of you from almost a year ago, you decided it was time to get back to the girl you were in Greece. Even without him.

"Fine. Let me get ready and I'll be over." The squeal that came from your friend's mouth was borderline inhumane. "I'll see you in a little bit." But as you hung up the phone that creeping what the hell did i just agree to feeling had appeared.

You tried to push those thoughts aside and hurried to get ready. Maybe this sudden spontaneous so out of character decision for you lately would be a good thing. You slapped on some makeup, making sure to cover those horrible dark circles and chose a casual, yet still party worthy outfit. Honestly the person who stood staring back at you from the mirror looked like the old you. The old you, the you that was happier, the you that was and still is in love.

The uber ride to your friend's house thankfully wasn't that long, it didn't allow for you to psych yourself out and change your mind about going. As the driver pulled up to her house it didn't seem like that crazy of a party, so maybe it was just a little get together. You thanked the driver and made your way to the front door. You took a deep breath before entering, here goes nothing. As you closed to door behind you, your eyes scanned the room. Some familiar faces filled the space of the living room. They noticed your presence and gave you a smile, but nobody came over to talk. You weren't sure if you should be offended or thankful.

Weaving your way through the house, you were on a mission to find your friend, her house wasn't that big, it shouldn't take that long to find her. As you entered the kitchen you realized it was the most crowded room in the house, granted it was were all the drinks were at. You found your friend in the center of the crowd, of course, but as she spotted you coming towards her she stopped her conversations and closed the gap between the two of you. Her arms squeezed you in so tight you could barely breathe.

"I'm so glad you came!"

You smiled back at her, but wanted to get some drinks in to loosen up some. "Yeah, yeah. What about a drink? I know you've started without me."

"Here. Your favorite." She grabbed a beer from the counter, pushing it towards you.

Not your favorite, in fact you hated beer, but you took it with a smile on your face. Some more people began filtering into the kitchen. "I'm gonna go talk to them real quick." Your friend stated. She was gone before you could say anything.

You tried to find something else to drink, but it had seemed that all that was left was beer. What was this? Some high school party? You took a swig of the beer your friend had handed you, hoping your taste buds had changed, but you were wrong. The one swig was enough for you to set it back on the counter.

The kitchen was becoming a little too stuffy and your friend didn't seem to be making her way back to you anytime soon, so you slid out the door to the patio. The fresh air already making you feel better. There were some people out there, a group of guys passing around a joint and some other people just talking, but nothing like the crowd in the kitchen. The empty lounge chair at the corner of the patio was calling your name. With nothing to drink and not really anyone here that you would like to talk to, besides your friend, this party was not turning out like you had hoped. You leaned back in the chair, looking up at the night sky. You tried to find some of the constellations, but the city lights made it far too hard to do.

You could hear footsteps coming towards you and you assumed it was your friend finally coming to hang out, but it was someone far worse than that.

"I think I might see the big dipper." You froze in the chair, goosebumps formed on your skin as your stomach turned. There was no need to turn around to see who was behind you, you knew that voice anywhere. "Hi Y/N."

Hearing him say your name made your body turn towards him, but also made your heart ache. Hearing your name roll off his tongue once brought you so much joy. Now it was like a stab in the heart. Your eyes scanned over him.

Fuck.

He looked good, so good. Clearly he was doing better than you were. His tan skin somehow still glistened in the night time and his curls slightly moved with the night breeze. Even though it was dark, the light from the patio allowed you to still see those eyes of his. The ones that still made you weak in the knees.

"Hi Lando." You gave him a small smile.

Of course he would be here you thought. You should have known he would be here. You had an inkling your friend knew and did this on purpose. You could kill her, but then again it was nice to see him, even if it did hurt like a bitch.

He stared at you for a moment before taking a seat on the end on the lounge chair where your legs resided moments ago. Being in this close of proximity to him made your heart race. Fuck you missed him and it drive you crazy the effect he still had on you.

He noticed you weren't drinking anything and let out a small chuckle. "Still don't like beer huh?"

You smiled, "Never have, never will."

He nodded and looked down at his shoes. This was clearly one of the most awkward conversations you've had in a long time.

"So how's your family doing?" You thought that might be a good thing to ask, you loved his family, so in all seriousness it was a genuine question.

He took a swig of his beer. "Yeah they're good."

You just nodded at his dry answer. Could this get anymore awkward?

You could feel Lando staring at you, he took another swig of his beer before asking. "So how's your new found freedom?"

Ouch. Sensitive topic. You didn't want to talk about how much of a fuck up you were right now, so you deflected the conversation back to him. "Saw you made podium recently. Congrats."

He laughed dryly, he knew what you were doing. "Thanks."

You had started to pick at your nails, a nervous habit the both of you unfortunately shared. You didn't want your relationship to have turned out this way. You wanted to tell him right then and there that you were sorry. That you missed him more than anyone could imagine. That he didn't deserve what you put him through. That you still love him. The memories of you two came flooding back and as you two sat there on the lounge chair, close as strangers. Your mind hit replay.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Lando had been in your life for years. You had met not to long after he had been brought onto the McLaren team. If you wanted to get specific it was at a celebratory party his friends had thrown him. You were invited through mutual friends. When you went that night you had no idea you had just met the man who three years later you would be in love with. Sure you thought he was good looking, who didn't? For awhile you just remained casual friends, really not even that close. After about a year and a half of seeing him at parties, sometimes at other friends houses, and out at clubs, something had started to fester inside of you.

Needless to say you were developing a little crush. It didn't help that when you did see each other, he always went out his way to talk to you. You could walk into the room and as soon as he noticed you, whatever conversation he was having was terminated and he was soon by your side. Some more time had passed and you had heard through the grapevine that Lando was seeing someone, it stung a little, but other than showing you some attention he had made no claim to you. So, what were you to do other than just get over it and hopefully find someone new to crush on.

Though, his new relationship didn't last long and soon enough he was back to charming you. The talking occasionally at gatherings turned into texting, that then turned into texting everyday, which turned into facetiming, and then turned into you two always hanging out when he was around hanging out.

The two of you would go out to eat, to the movies, or even just hang out at each others apartments. It was always a fun time as long as you were in each others presence. You attended some races that were closer to home, always so excited to see him do the one thing he loved. The races you didn't attend though, the two of you were always in contact. Something that you always made sure of was that he never went without his 'goodluck ♡' text from you.

It had gotten to the point where your friends for sure thought you guys were dating and the public had a hunch too. You couldn't deny that your feelings for him were way beyond crush status at this point. And to say you would have rather ate glass than ask him how he felt about you was an understatement. The idea of Lando rejecting you was something that kept you up at night, so your feelings remained bottled up. That was until a sunny race day last spring.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spring - i miss your tan skin, your sweet smile. so good to me, so right.

Lando had asked you weeks ago to come the upcoming Grand Prix in Australia. You were hesitant, Australia would be the furthest you had ever been from home and it made you a little nervous. At least, that's what you told him. The real truth was that you would've loved to go to Australia, especially to watch him race, but you just couldn't stand to be around him. Your feelings for him were making it so hard to be in his presence, especially with his naturally flirty personality. Your friends kept telling you that you were blind and that he was totally into you, but those statements always rolled off your back. To you, there was no way he felt that the same way you felt about him. So to try and protect yourself from one sided heartbreak, you distanced yourself.

All that work failed though, because here you were a week later on a plane to Australia. It didn't take much more begging from Lando for you to finally cave. Hell, he even wanted you to come early with him, but you drew the line. He had work to do and you didn't want to be in the way, because knowing Lando recently, he would have wanted you with him 24/7. Which was really tampering with your distancing yourself from him plan.

Two connecting flights later and you were finally landing in Melbourne. As you departed from the plane and collected your bags you realized maybe you should have come earlier with him. The airport was insanely busy and trying to get a Uber was going to be a huge and expensive pain in the ass.

You pulled out your phone from your pocket to see if there was even any Ubers available when a text from Lando popped up.

Lan: I've tried to send this damn message like 10 times. Wait. I hope everything's ok with the plane.....Tbh I think I would have gotten an alert or something. Or I would hope your last dying text would go to me. Anyways... text me as soon as you land. I've got a car waiting for you to bring you to the track.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but was very thankful for him always taking care of you. Hell, the cost alone of your plane ticket was enough to make your eyes bulge, but he took care of it like it was nothing.

You: I'm alive. The wifi sucked on the last plane. Actually don't think I can ever do 26 hours of traveling again... consider yourself lucky Norris.

It didn't take but a minute for him to respond.

Lan: I was starting to get worried. Just saying it would have been much better if you just flew down with me days ago...

You: Perhaps.... I'll see you soon.

The ride to the track was beautiful. The sun had just made its grand entrance to the world as you looked out the window. You tried to look at as much as you could on the drive over, wanting to experience as much as you could with what time you had in Australia.

Lando was waiting for you when you arrived, paddock pass in hand. Cheesy smiles were painted on both of your faces as he pulled you into a hug. His cologne alone made you weak in the knees, let alone the feeling of being in his arms.

"Missed ya," he mumbled.

As you pulled away from him you were able to get a good long look at him. There was something about him during race weekends that just made him come alive, made him hotter. Not to mention how sunkissed he looked. Australia had been very kind to him and it was something you could get used to.

He grabbed your hand pulling you along with him. "Come on. Some stuff we need to do before race time." He was being very touchy today and you could feel yourself starting to become putty in his hands.

You got about ten steps before remembering your luggage. "Wait Lan! My bags!" You turned around to see the car had left.

"Don't worry about it. I've got it taken care of."

He always seemed to be doing that, taking care of you.

The place was already alive as the two of you walked around. In a few short minutes you were in his private room and miraculously so was your luggage "You can relax in here for awhile, or do whatever. I've got some things to do but I'll come get you before the race ok?"

You nodded at him and he closed the door behind him. Glancing around the room your eyes landed on the couch and decided a quick power nap may do you some good. You weren't asleep but maybe a half an hour when the constant sound of text notifications woke you up. You grabbed your phone, nothing, not a single text. You thought maybe you were dreaming it and then you heard it again. You looked to your left to see Lando's phone on the side table. He must have forgotten it.

You weren't trying to be nosy, but you were curious as to who was blowing up his phone like that. Quickly grabbing it you saw multiple texts from multiple people from the McLaren team asking where he was at. Must be missing an interview or something you thought. Then you saw something that caught your eye, his lock screen. Behind all the text notifications was a picture of you two. It was after the the first race of his you had ever come to watch. He had a not so great finish to the race and you knew he was going to be hard on himself. So when he made it back to the garage, you were there with arms wide open, a gesture he gladly accepted. Someone must have snapped a picture of you two and sent it to him.

It was a cute picture, but your head was trying to comprehend why he had it as his lock screen. You kept telling yourself that friends don't make pictures like that their lock screen. Then your mind went to the idea of him feeling the same way about you and you could feel your heart starting to race. You weren't going to get your hopes up, but as you put the phone back on the side table you couldn't help but hold on to a little sliver of hope.

It was getting close to race time so you grabbed your bags to get ready. Of course you put on some McLaren attire, specifically some with the number four on it. Just as you were putting on your shoes there was a knock on the door and Lando's head peaks in.

"Ready?" But when he notices you've got on not just any regular McLaren shirt, but his branded one, a small smirk forms on his face.

"Yep. Let's go." You head towards the door, but stop and grab his phone. "Oh wait. I think you might've forgotten this earlier."

His cheeks flush as you hand it over to him, he knows you had to have looked at it, he knows you saw his lock screen. "There it is. Was looking for it all over." He tried to act cool as he shoved it in his pocket.

Lando leads you all through the McLaren area and some people say hi, remembering you from some of the previous races you had attended. He talks to some of the team, and as you stand back and watch you can't help but admire him. How much dedication he puts in is insane and you hoped he would get that well deserved win soon. It wasn't long before the two of you headed back towards his room so he could get ready for the race. You knew he liked to spend this time alone, he had his traditions, so you lingered in the doorway.

"You need anything before I go?"

A confused expression washed over his face. "Go where?"

Now you had the confused expression. "I figured you'd want to be alone."

"Why would I fly you all the way out here to not spend time with you?" He scooted over on the couch making room for you next to him. "C'mere."

As you fully stepped into the room and closed the door, you could feel the mood in the room change. It felt even more strange when you sat next to him on the couch. You tried to make small talk to make it less awkward. "Nervous for the race?" You weren't even looking at him when you asked the question, which was a dumb one at that.

His fingers gently grabbed your chin. "Would you look at me?" Your head turned to face his, his fingers still lingered near your face. His eyes never leaving yours and you could feel your cheeks getting warm.

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. "Lan-"

"God you drive me crazy." His hand now had made a home on your thigh. "In a good way."

"Lando what are you doing?" If he thought you were driving him crazy, he should see how he's making you feel.

He paused, like he was trying to figure out what to say. "Putting my heart and today's race on the line."

Oh god

"Here goes nothing." He took a deep breath. "As much as it sounds like a cliche. I truly think I liked you from the very first time we met. I just didn't realize it until much later. Then I got into my head and figured you didn't feel the same about me as I did you. I tried to push those feelings aside, but as we started to spend more time together, they just kept growing. Then it got to the point where you were the only thing I could think of, only person I wanted to be around. You're my favorite person and one of my biggest supporters. The idea of you not being in my life, not being mine, drives me insane. I want you to be at every race, cheering me on, with my number on you." He glanced at the LN4 on your shirt then back up at you. "Looks like I've got one of those things accomplished already."

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire and as much as you wanted to spill your guts to him too, you were too stunned to speak. Lando tried to read your body language for any sign that you felt the same and after no response from you he started to get nervous. "God. I hope I didn't just fuck everything up between us."

The idea of him being scared shitless of rejection just like you was amusing to you and a grin had plastered itself onto your face. Then before you could even realize what you were doing you were practically in his lap, with your lips on his. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you back. God, did it feel amazing. You couldn't lie you had fantasized about kissing him many a times but you were happy to say the real thing was even better than you had imagined.

As the two of you pulled away both grinning like fools, he asked the question. "Now, are you gonna be mine? So when I win this race I can kiss my girlfriend and celebrate with my girlfriend?"

You simply replied. "Yes."

Things may have escalated at that point and the two of you may have been slightly making out until it was time for him to leave. As he gave you one final kiss as he left, you stayed seated on the couch, trying to collect yourself. The high you were riding was like no other and you pinched yourself to make sure what had just happened was real.

The giddiness was still at an all time high as you tried to focus on the race and you had to admit half the time you were thinking about kissing him again. There were only a couple laps left and Lando had been holding steady at P3 for quite some time now and as he entered the final lap you could hear some yelling from his team and then you saw it. He was inching to pass Lewis and Max and then all at once it happened. Lando was in the lead with the checkered flag in sight and within a second he had won his first F1 Grand Prix. Your chair went hurling backwards as you jumped up cheering. The whole McLaren team was yelling and celebrating.

Lando hurried to find you before he took the podium and when he saw you he ran towards you, of course you got your kiss as promised. Must have been the adrenaline because it was even better than before. "My good luck charm." He said before giving you one last kiss and hurrying off to the podium.

As you watched him take the top spot your heart swelled. It was a long time coming and you were beyond proud. You realized your life would never be the same, but with him by your side it was something to look forward to.

Summer - i think about summer, all the beautiful times. i watched you laughin' from the passenger's side and realized i loved you.

The past couple months had been a whirlwind. You honestly weren't sure how Lando did this for nine months out of the year. Between somehow still balancing work and then traveling on most of the weekends you were drained. Sure, you were nothing but grateful that you even got to tag along and experience these amazing places with your boyfriend. It's just that sometimes you craved just simple quality time between the two of you.

The past weekend had been a home race and luckily there was a gap week before the next race in Hungary. Lando promised you that this weekend would be filled with things that you wanted to do. You just hoped he didn't mind doing nothing.

The first day was great, the two of you basically just rotted in bed all day. It was nice to actually relax for once and you could tell Lando was taking full advantage of it. Although, by the afternoon of the next day you were both getting slightly antsy. Boredom, believe it or not had set in. Apparently you had become more accustomed to the busy lifestyle than you thought. You tried to occupy your brain with playing some games on your phone, but it did nothing for you. Lando had plopped down next to you on the couch with a sigh. You glanced over at him, boredom was written all over him.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but we-"

"Need to get the hell out of this place?" He was already up and putting on his shoes and tossing a pair of yours towards you before you could reply back. You hurried to put yours on as he was already heading towards the door.

"Where are we going?" You asked as you got into his car.

He gave you a small shrug. "Nowhere in particular"

Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other was already reaching out for your hand before you guys had even left the parking garage. As you intertwined your fingers with his you used your free hand to pick out some music. Lando always let you choose the music when you guys were in the car together. He did the driving and you were the dj. You liked to tease him that you were a better dj than he ever was, which always earned you some eye rolls.

You hadn't really been paying attention to the time, but by the beautiful pinks and oranges that were painted in the sky, you realized the sun was setting. You didn't mind though, you were having a good time. It had gotten to the point in the car ride though, where your music was just put on shuffle and it was always a fun guessing game to see what would pop up next. The opening chords to Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland came on and Lando was convinced he could sing both parts. By the end of the song both of you were out of breath. Him from trying to do both parts and failing, he couldn't even remember half the words, and you from laughing at him.

Golden hour cascaded through the car and as he laughed along with you he looked so perfect. If you could you would have framed this moment in time, so you would have it with you always.

As you pulled up to a red light he looked over at you a small smile on his face. "You know you're lucky I love you. No one gets away with poking fun at my singing."

Your heart skipped a beat. You guys hadn't said that you loved each other yet, but if you were to pick a moment this would have been a perfect one. You had been wanting to say it to him for awhile now, but once again was too scared to make the first move.

"Well I have never been so honoured than to be loved by the Lando Norris." You teased him.

He scoffed at you. "Oh knock it off."

You rolled your eyes as you leaned over the console. You got as close as you could to his lips without kissing him.

"I love you too." You whispered.

"You better."

His lips closed the gap within seconds, and his hand cupped the side of your face. It didn't last long though as the car behind you guys blared its horn. The two of you were too busy to see that the light had turned green.

"Oops." You laughed as you got situated back in your seat.

"Yeah yeah." Lando grumbled as he sped off.

The whole ride back to your place you couldn't wipe the smile you had off your face. You really were so head over heels in love with him. Looking back you were so glad that you got on that plane to Australia back in March. Who knows what your life would have been like right now if you hadn't. All you knew was that you loved him and you couldn't imagine your life without him.

Fall - how you held me in your arms that september night. the first time you ever saw me cry.

The Japan Grand Prix was this weekend and you were excited to be going. You had always wanted to visit Japan and what a better reason than to be supporting the man you loved. You even decided to fly in early with Lando to maybe go do some sight seeing.

The two of you spent the day exploring all that Japan had to offer. Even if it was just one day the two of you made the most of it. You did all the touristy stuff and between the two of you, a photo album probably could have been filled with all the pictures you took.

You walked hand in hand back to the hotel, feet aching from all the walking you had done today. As soon as you entered your room Lando collapsed onto the bed.

"I'm gonna be so tired for practice tomorrow." He was laying on his back with his hands behind his head. Which in turn caused his shirt to ride up exposing his toned stomach. Something that he knew drove you crazy. You kicked your shoes off and walked to the edge of the bed where he laid, smirking at you. That little shit knew what he was doing. Climbing onto the bed you straddled him, making sure to grind your hips a little as you sat on him. A groan escaped past his lips and now you were the one with a smirk on your face.

"I'm gonna give you something to actually be tired about tomorrow Norris." Your fingers trailed along his exposed skin and up under his shirt. You could feel him shiver under you and knowing the power you had over him always went straight through you. Although, your fun didn't last for long. You felt his hands grip your waist and just like that you were the one on your back as he hovered over you.

"I don't know about that." His voice was smooth and low and you knew you were in for it tonight.

When you awoke the next morning he was already gone for practice and the long night the two of you shared replayed in your head as you got ready for the day. If he thought he was tired last night you could only imagine what he felt like this morning.

The next two days went by pretty fast and before you knew it, it was race day. It had started like any other race day too. Over the past couple months Lando had created some new pre race traditions that included you. They weren't anything crazy, if anything they were super sweet. The one that you always liked was that he wanted you to be the last thing he saw before he got into the car. Now in reality that really wasn't possible he was going to see lots of other people, but he always made sure you were out there when he got into the car. And of course his number one priority, I love you's and good luck kisses.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The race was almost over and it had been a good one, if Lando could hold his position he'd likely finish P2. There were four laps to go and as you watched the screen closely you saw something that made your blood run cold. You weren't even sure how it happened, but one second Lando's coming towards a left turn and the next his car is flipping.

It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. You could see the team freaking out trying to get in contact with him, but the loud ringing in your ears made the once noisy environment silent. You could feel yourself start to hyperventilate as you saw the red flag being waved on the screen.

You hadn't even realized you were crying until someone from the team came over snapping you out of your trance.

"Is he okay? Please tell me he's ok!"

"We haven't been able to get in contact with him. We think the comms got damaged in the crash. They are working on getting him out now."

The state of his car on the screen made you sick to your stomach. It was all mangled and the longer it took for them to get him out the sicker you felt. The tears just wouldn't stop falling, worst case scenario kept replaying in your mind.

After a couple more painfully long minutes you see what you would call a miracle pop up on the screen. They've gotten Lando out and he's walking. Well walking as best as he can with two people on either side of him, but he's alive. Relieved sighs and thank gods are heard from his team.

You don't even have time to try and collect yourself because within a matter a seconds you're whisked away by someone on the team that you've never met and being shoved into the backseat of a car. "Wait I want to see him! Let me see him!"

"He's already on the way to the hospital. You'll see him there." Before you could respond the door is shut in your face.

Rude.

The drive to the hospital took forever. You were positive you had gotten every red light and to top it off were stuck in standstill traffic at least twice. It seemed like the only thing going fast was your mind. Even though you saw him up, that still didn't mean he couldn't have serious injuries.

The car hadn't even come to a complete stop at the hospital and you were opening the door and hightailing it towards the entrance. Thankfully there was someone from the team waiting for you to arrive, but as you approached them you prepared yourself for the worst.

"Please tell me he's okay." You could feel the tears start to well up again.

As they guided you towards his room they explained his condition. "Overall he's fine. He's pretty banged up, no serious internal injuries or broken bones though. I'd say we all witnessed a miracle today. Thank god for the halos."

They stopped outside a door, the one you assumed Lando was on the other side of. "He's still pretty out of it, but he has been asking for you. So that's a good sign." You glanced at the door, funny how you couldn't wait to see him, but now that the time has finally arrived, you were almost scared to open the door. "Go on." The team member nodded for you to enter the room.

You took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. For some reason you thought, maybe he wouldn't be in there. That this was all just a bad dream, but there he was. He was asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling. The sight of him in the hospital bed and finally processing what happened an hour ago hit you all at once and the tears just wouldn't stop coming. You tried be quiet, the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up. You slipped back out the door as you tried to collect yourself. People walking past gave you concerned glances as you sat against the wall with your head in in your hands.

Once the tears had subsided you quietly entered the room again, but to your surprise he was awake. His eyes lit up when he saw you. "Hi baby." He had reached his hand out to you.

You smiled at the term of endearment and took his hand in yours. Your eyes scanned over him, looking for any serious injuries. He had some scrapes and obvious bruises, but nothing that looked too bad. You seriously didn't know how he got this lucky. "You scared the shit out of me Lan. I thought I had lost you."

There they were again, the tears. You had tried to quickly wipe them away, but Lando had beat you to it. His hand gently cupped your face as he thumb wiped away your tears. "Don't cry. I don't like seeing my girl cry." He whispered.

This in turn made you cry more.

Lando tried to console you. "Baby. I'm fine. I promise. Honestly you can't get rid of me that easily." He patted the slightly empty space next to him in the bed. You were unsure, you didn't want to hurt him or make him uncomfortable. "Come on. I think some love from my love is just what the doctor ordered."

You slowly climbed onto the bed next to him, but as you tried to snuggle in close to him he winced. You immediately sat up, ready to sit in the chair next to the bed. "It's fine. It's fine. I just have some bruised ribs." You gave him a questioning look, like you didn't believe him. "That's all it was. I promise. Now please come here." He tugged on your the hem of your shirt. "I want to hold you."

Somehow the two of you made it work in the small hospital bed, but you still weren't entirely convinced this was a good idea. Although you couldn't lie and say it didn't feel nice to be in his arms. It was the one place where you always felt safe and felt comfort. You traced small designs on his arm, something you knew that brought him peace.

You felt him place a kiss on the top of your head. "I love you."

Hearing him say those three words was something you swore you would never get tired of hearing. You raised your head to look at him, and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. "I love you more."

The two of you sat in silence for some time before Lando spoke up.

"I've got to ask you something and I need you to be so honest with me."

You rolled your eyes playfully, already knowing what his question was going to be. "Don't worry pretty boy, your face doesn't have a single scratch on it."

He let out a deep sigh. "Oh thank god."

If there was one thing you had learned from being with Lando for these past six months was that there was never a dull moment with him. Even after near death experiences he still knew how to somehow lighten the mood. Although, it was something you were thankful for, because after a day like you had, you truly don't know what you would do if he wasn't in your life.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Winter - then the cold came, the dark days. when fear crept into my mind. you gave me all your love and all i gave you was goodbye

Off season had arrived around a week ago. A time that you had looked forward to for months was finally here and you were miserable. Well, perhaps you weren't miserable, but mentally you were struggling.

It had all started in October, a couple weeks after Lando's crash. An article had gotten spread around that you were cheating on him with Charles. Someone had gotten ahold of a picture of you and Charles leaving from a dinner party. You guys had decided to leave out the back after hearing about all the paparazzi out front. As you guys exited the building you gave Charles a hug goodbye. It wasn't something uncommon between you two, you guys had become close friends over the year.

What the two of you didn't know though is that there was a pap hiding in the back, just hoping for a moment like the one you guys had just given him. The pap had taken the picture at just the right angle and far away enough that it looked like you and Charles were kissing. Did the pap think to take a picture of Lando who was right behind you and Charles? Or take a picture of Charles and Lando saying goodbye? No. All they wanted was a story to sell.

That next morning when you saw the article you couldn't help but laugh and Lando did the same exact thing when you showed him. Although the laughter stopped when you scrolled through Twitter. You had always had a good relationship with the fans, and the media left you alone really up until recently. Sure there were gonna be some fans that just didn't like you. It was just something that came with the territory of dating someone like Lando. It was something that never bothered you, but as you scrolled through Twitter all you saw was hateful tweet after hateful tweet.

You couldn't believe that people actually thought you were cheating on Lando. Gold-digger was used quite frequently in the insulting comments. You just tried to shake it off, people would eventually get over it. Lando and you knew it wasn't true and that was all that mattered. Though the straw that would break the camel's back would come two months later.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Social media hadn't been that bad recently, maybe people were feeling the holiday spirit and had decided to lay off you for a while. As you scrolled through your notifications you noticed had gotten tagged in a tweet a couple times. You figured it was probably just another fake tabloid, but clicked on it anyways.

when's Y/N gonna realize her time with lando is ticking.... he can never make it past 10 months with a girl. probably already scoping out someone new on insta.

the way all his past relationships have ended the same way lmao. it's like he sees that one year anniversary and says i gotta go!

You rolled your eyes as you locked your phone, tossing it next to you on the couch. Why couldn't people just stay out of your relationship?

The more you sat on the couch the more the little gears in your head turned. You had never really asked or did any digging on Lando's past relationships. You never really had a reason to, and you didn't want to compare yourself to some undoubtedly beautiful women. But here you were getting back on your phone and going down the rabbit hole. You didn't want what people were saying to be true, but the more you dug, the more it was confirmed. What a lovely thing to have constantly in the back of your mind now.

Christmas was in almost a week and your birthday not to long after that. You had been trying to just focus on the upcoming holidays and not that little nagging in the back of your head about Lando leaving you. That was easier said than done. He had been distant recently and you just knew what was coming. It broke your heart because you had so looked forward to spending the holidays with him, but it seemed like he was always busy. You gave him the benefit of the doubt when he said he was going to do some extra training during the off season to come back even stronger after his crash, but how much training could you do.

You would text him and not get a response for hours or you would ask him if he wanted to go do something and he was busy training or with his friends already. You wouldn't consider yourself clingy, but the fact that you hadn't seen him once the week leading up to Christmas was causing you to spiral. You shouldn't have been so stupid enough to get involved with someone like Lando. Should have known before you guys even got together that he would get bored of you. Every version of self doubt entered your mind as you sat on the couch staring at the Christmas tree in the corner.

It was Friday December 22nd when you broke your own heart and Lando's.

You've had enough. You were going to break it off. Be done. Rather break it off now on your terms than be blindsided by him. You pulled your phone out to text him.

You: Hey, can you come over today?

For the first time in weeks he responded in a timely manner.

Lan: Yes, I was just about to text you asking If you were going to be home today. I need to talk to you.

There it was. He needed to talk to you.

About and hour later he had shown up. You were in your room putting away some laundry when you heard him clear his throat from behind you. You took a second to compose yourself before turning around to look at him.

"Hey." You said softly.

"Hey."

You sat down on the edge of your bed, you weren't sure how you should go about this. You felt sick to your stomach, was this the right thing to do? You were about to ruin the best thing that ever happened to you.

When Lando sat down next to you you felt like all the air in the room had disappeared.

He shifted his body to face you and took your hands in his. Here it comes you thought.

"So I-"

As soon as he began to speak you cut him off.

"We should break up."

His eyebrows furrowed and have you a confused look. "Sorry. What?"

"I'm breaking up with you." You swallowed thickly, you could feel that familiar lump forming in your throat. You couldn't read his face at all, it was almost like he was emotionless. Your looked down at your still intertwined hands. "I'm breaking up with you Lan. I know you're bored of me. So it's better to just get it over with now. I know that's why you came over today." You pulled your hands away from his.

His eyes shifted down to his now empty hands, then back up to your eyes. Shaking his head as he got up from your bed, he felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "What are you talking about 'that's why I came over today?'"

"Don't play dumb Lan, I-"

He scoffed. "You don't get to call me that as you're breaking my fucking heart."

You felt the first tear slide down you cheek. "I know about all your past relationships. How you can't stay with someone for longer than ten months. You get bored and you were clearly getting bored with me."

He threw his hands up in the arm, he was getting mad. "Why would I be getting bored of you? And what does my past relationships have to do with US?"

"People on twitter-"

His face was red and he was talking (yelling) with his hands. "Oh my god! Here we go! I told you, especially after the Charles thing to just stay clear of social media. All they do is get into your head!"

Now you were up, voice rising to match his. This wasn't going to end pretty. "Well sorry I didn't have my boyfriend here to reassure me. To tell me that it wasn't true! Christmas is in three goddamn days and I've barely seen you!" You were sure to be getting a noise complaint later.

"I've been busy!"

Your arms were now crossed. "Busy finding someone new?"

Lando thought his head was going to explode. Where the hell has all this come from? "Jesus Christ! I haven't been cheating on you! All that shit on twitter is just stuff to try and get between us. Which it clearly did it's job."

The tears were falling pretty steadily by now and you could see Lando wipe away a few of his own. "If you weren't cheating or planning on leaving me than what were you doing? What was so important that you couldn't barely be bothered to see me recently?"

He threw his hands up in defeat. "It was a fucking surprise! I had came over today to tell you, I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. I planned an early birthday surprise dinner for you tomorrow and at the party I was going to give you your gift that I had been working out too. That's why I had been so distant. I didn't want to ruin something I had worked so hard on."

Lando had sat back down on you bed, his head in his hands. You just stood there, flabbergasted. How could you be so fucking stupid? You had just ruined the best thing in your life over some stupid doubts.

"What was the gift?" You asked softly.

"Two weeks in Italy. We'd leave the day after Christmas. Spend your birthday in paradise." He looked you dead in the eye. "Only the best for the love of my life."

You felt like you couldn't breathe. What the fuck did you just do? You knew there was no coming back from this.

"Why didn't you just come to me about your doubts?" Lando asked.

You shrugged. "The seed was already so deeply planted and you weren't coming around even when I asked."

"Yeah, well maybe if you would have stayed off social media this wouldn't have happened." He was back to be shitty and that meant so were you.

"Well maybe I'm glad I didn't. So now I don't have to deal with people hating me for just loving you. Or people constantly invading my private life. I want to be free to do whatever I want! Without worrying if it will tarnish your image or create drama!"

His eyes narrowed at you, you clearly struck a nerve. "You're unbelievable you know that? I loved you with all my fucking heart and I can't help that what I do for a living puts the people I love in the public eye! I tried to protect you from it, believe me I did. So I'm sorry for being a burden on your freedom." You had never seen him so mad before, so hurt. It hurt you even more knowing you were the one who caused it.

His words stung, you didn't mean for what you said to come out that way. "Lan-" He had started to walk out of your room and you tried to grab his arm, but he just yanked it away from you.

"No, please, go enjoy your new found freedom."

Seconds later your apartment door slams shut and your left standing in your room a heartbroken idiot. That night was filled with many tears, a bottle of wine, a long facetime call to your best friend, and some more tears as your scrolled through pictures of the two of you on your phone.

The next morning hit you like a freight train. Your head was pounding you weren't sure if it was from the wine or the sobbing, probably a combination of both. You shuffled to the living room and stopped in your tracks when you noticed the bouquet of roses on the coffee table. You picked up the notecard and the crying started all over again as you read it.

For my love, Happy early birthday baby! I love you more than you'll ever know. I don't know how I got so lucky to have someone like you in my life. You're my best friend, my number 1 supporter, and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. -Love Lando

God, you had fucked up so badly. How could you ever think a man so in love with you like he was, was planning on leaving you? The part that hurt the most was that you still loved him. You loved him so much it made you sick. You only did what you did to protect yourself and look at where it got you. A broken heart that you were sure was beyond fixable. The only person who would be able to fix it, just had his broken by you. Maybe you should quit your day job and just become a professional heartbreaker, it was something you were clearly good at.

Christmas and your birthday were beyond shitty that year and the roses he gave you had died on your birthday, how fitting you had thought. After the holidays is when you fell into your self loathe spiral that had been going on for three months now. You thought back to December all the time. How you wished you could fix things, but you had never thought that was a possibility until you saw Lando at that party.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Present

You still nervously picked at your fingernails, you wanted to badly to try and make things right, or at least tell him you were sorry. Fuck it you thought. You swallowed your pride and turned towards him to speak.

"I'm sorry about that day Lando." There was no comment from him, so you just kept going and once you started you couldn't stop. "I think about it all the time. I wish I could turn back time, and somehow change my mind or at least change what happened. I would have came to you with my doubts or when you came over that day I would have let you speak and not interrupted you."

Still no response from him, he just watched you intently. "And to answer your question earlier about my freedom... it's just been filled with missing you."

You took a deep breath before continuing to speak. "I still love you, and I know you probably hate me. And this is me just wishfully thinking, but I hope you would give me a second chance in the future. I know you didn't deserve what I put you through. I'm sorry, so sorry."

Your heart was beating so fast and you felt like you could throw up. You prayed he felt the same way and he would hold you in his arms and tell you that it was ok. That things could go back to the way they were before you fucked everything up, but that only happens in fairy tales or romance movies. Two things your life is not.

Lando sighed, took one final swig of his beer, and got up off the lounge chair. And for the second time, you watched him walk out of your life.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #hahaha who else is feeling the brain rot #i havent written in so long i hope this isn't complete dog shit #woof #LITERAL BRAIN ROT #im down bad tbh #anyways...#mine #writing

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alexa-yukiyu · 10 months ago

Note

Just imagining cat child being a zoan cat type she loves napping in the sun(or cuddling against ace or marco) she would rather die than admit that she loves head pats.

When the crew gets to rowdy she just goes to nap next to pops.

Whenever they run into trouble on islands Ace is grinning before letting yn go and attack, because she's so tiny. She just bites the ankles

I think she'd get the nickname "ankle bitter"

Apawling Cattitude (Whitebeard pirates x f!Cat!child Reader)

A/N See what I did there 🐈 im so funny and goofy, anyhow I COOKED HERE, just pure cooked down below, especially on that ankle biter part 😎

Here Reader is replaced by Dokucha as place holder which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Brother Marco, are you done yet?” the young child groans, lounging in one of his examining tables

“Not yet; there are still a few things I need to finish up,” Marco responds without even turning his head around

“I’m cold,” she whines

“There’s a storm outside, so I can’t warm up in the sun, and Ace fell asleep while eating again; you're the only source of heat around.”

He sighs, turning around on his chair and picking up the child from the table, putting them on his lap, and turning back around to his paper

“There, now will you let me finish these papers?”

She smiles, cuddling up to him and closing her eyes, basking in warmth

“You’re so warm, Brother Marco.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but you aren’t making my job easier.” He says as he works on finishing his papers, his actions betraying his words as he begins petting her head, scratching behind her ears

She hums, letting a loud purring sound at the sensation, leaning closer to him

He lets out a snicker at the sound

“Why are you laughing?” She mumbles

“Nothing.” He mumbles before continuing to scratch behind her ears

“I just remembered a conversation in which you said you did not fold at being petted,” he said with a chuckle

“Ten minutes ago, to be specific, if I am not mistaken.”

She jumps up at that, a frown on her young face

“I’ll have you know you are mistaken! I do not fold at something such as pets; I am not some stray cat!”

He raises his eyebrow

“Then, could you explain the purring I heard just a moment ago?”

“Yeah, you need to get your hearing checked.”

“Did you forget about my devil fruit?”

“Must be malfunctioning 'cause there is something wrong with em.”

“You’re such a brat; just admit you enjoy being petted.”

“Hmph,” she scoffed, jumping off his lap

“I'm going to go see if Brother Ace woke up; maybe his ears will be working better than yours, Brother Marco.”

He smiles, watching the child go, leaning his head on his hand

“Do come back if you want more,” he calls out

“Shut up!”

He snickers under his breath but says nothing else as she storms off

Tiny footsteps could be heard hitting against the boards of the Moby dick as Dokucha hurriedly made it to the mess hall, looking for her freckled brother, spotting the rambunctious man over in one of the tables

“Brother Ace, you’re up!” She hollered

Ace, sitting down in one of the tables with the rest of the brothers, quickly wolfs down his food at the sound of the voice

“What’s up?” He asks as he sees his sister approaching, raising an eyebrow

She stretches her hands towards him, opening and closing her hands

He chuckles at the motion before grabbing her and picking her up, placing her on his lap

“What is it, kitty cat?” He teases

“Nothing,” she smiles, cuddling up to him and his heightened warmth

“Sure.” He chuckles, rubbing her ears gently as they are on his hands

“Then why the sudden rush to see me?”

“Brother Marco was being mean, and I was cold,” she mumbles

He chuckles at the small girls voice

“Oh was he? You mean your kitty purr didn’t work on him?”

“I don’t purr!” She said once again, jumping up, glaring at him

“Hah, really?!” he gasps in fake surprise

“Could have sworn I heard it, din’t you, Thatch?” he asked with a grin, looking at his brother, who was putting some plates down on the table

Thatch chuckles, shaking his head with a grin

“I did hear a small purr, yes.”

She pouts about to tell them off when one of the tables when up in an uproar; by the look of it, one of her brothers had started a drinking competition once again

She sighed, jumping off Ace’s lap and continuing on her way to find a place to nap in peace

Whitebeard hums as he hears soft knocking at the door of his chambers

“Come in.”

“Papaw!” She whines, climbing her way into his bed

He chuckles as she climbs all over his bed

“Gurararara” he laughs scratching her head.

“What is it? Is there something you need?”

“Mess hall is too noisy; I wanna nap,” she said, cuddling into his chest with a smile, sighing in relief

“There,There .” He said strokinb her hair as she cuddles into his chest, his own soft smile growing as he looks down at his little one

“Sleep here for now, brats know to keep it down around here”

“Thank you, Papaw”

“Make sure to sleep well.”

Dokucha now sat on top of ace’s shoulders, leaning her face and hands on top of his head as they walked

“What are we looking for again?”

“Izou left ahead of us to intercept the guys we were after; we are his backup,” he answered as he briskly walked through the grassy field

“I see him. Okay, ankle biter, you’re up,” he said, grabbing the girl from his shoulders and putting her on the ground, kneeling down on the ground next to her

“See the guy with the red shirt? He’s a long-distance sniper; I need you to take him out while I go help Izou with the melee fighters.”

She grins, her two incisors poking out of her mouth as she did

“Bite?” she said, looking at her brother, waiting for permission

“Yes, you can bite; go get ’em.”

She grins, shifting into her cat form and running closer to the guy; once close enough, she began prowling, silently approaching the guy until she was right next to them, at which point she pounced on them, making quick work of them, removing their going and easily gaining a surrender

She shifted into her human form, grinning as she kneeled on the now fainted man, chuckling as she watched her brothers make quick work of the rest of the enemies

“Impressive.” Izou praised her, approaching the girl, Ace following behind him, looking down at the man she had incapacitated.

“You’re getting better at that,” he grins, rubbing her head

She gives him a toothy grin in response, purring at the affection

As a reward for her hard work, Izou decided not to comment on the very obvious purring coming out from her as he continued rubbing her head , her ears tilting and twitching as she enjoyed her hard-earned pampering

That scene where Dokucha was kneeling on top of the guy, I was thinking of that one scene where young shanks was doing the same, eating chocolate (?)

Shanks really be stealing hearts since back then, I ‘ll take 1000 chapters on Roger pirates, Thank you < 3

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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jackthepeeper · 5 months ago

Text

English is not my first language, I've never written a fanfic before

Ramattra x GN!Reader

CWs: Slight NSFW(?)

Summary: Ramattra enjoys having repairs done to him way too much

You cautiously reach deeper inside, with your hand disappearing up to the elbow in his chest cavity through a small opening in his midriff, each section of his "abs" detachable if need be.

There's enough room to wiggle your soft flesh without touching the surrounding machinery. You're sat in his lap, with his visors burying holes in your forehead from underneath the emotionless plate of his face. The pressure is driving you wild, and you lose yourself briefly trying to decide which is hotter: his insides, where the scorching wind from his fans licks your skin, already sleek with sweat, or your cheeks, flush with embarrassment.

You're not an engineer. Far from possessing any meaningful prowess in mechanics, only having fixed house appliances a couple times in your entire life. But you're the best thing he can count on, and the task is more than simple: you just have to replace an extremely distinct knob just under his shoulder blade, easily accessible from the inside if you are lucky to have hands small enough to fit through the access hole. He sighs, flexing his giant palm idly. If he wanted, he could've closed his fingers around your thigh with ease.

You locate the knob, feel its melted form and unscrew it as carefully as you can while the edge of his armor digs into your skin, drastically reducing the freedom of movement you have. With your fingers tiptoeing around a ruined part of his, your eyes track every movement of the rest of the omnic's body. You don't trust him, just as much as he doesn't trust you. He sighs, his giant frame shuddering, vents creaking open and fans whirring louder as his head comes to rest against the wall he's leaning onto. You continue.

The knob falls into your palm eventually, and you can almost feel his disappointment of being empty as you retrieve it, completely pulling your hand out of the oven of his chest. He puts a heavy hand on your hip - a gesture you interpret as him making sure you don't run off without installing the new part in place of the ruined one. You shift against his thigh, and he grips harder as you plunge your hand back inside, bolder now than before.

Rough movements of your palm, metal being dragged against his insides as you try to insert the new knob where it belongs, failing miserably. He groans, and you feel every single one of his slender fingers dig into your flesh. You are sloppy, way too confident, a stray wire catching onto your finger as you screw in the knob. His heavy breathing replaces all your senses, leaving only the task at hand and the heat enveloping your body. Why would an omnic breathe anyway?

This time you can't even get your hand out without trouble. You're stuck in a rat king of his inner workings, your fingers slithering along the edges of his machinery, tracing thick wires in an attempt to find a way out of the endless loops, and to your horror you feel him tighten around you, heavy breaths turning into gasps and whimpers as you become more frantic, trying to free your hand from the scorching hot trap. Your lower body comes flush against the plate covering his groin as he drags you with both hands now, moving your flesh closer to his metal torso, deliberately grinding against the softness of your belly - you are too scared, too concentrated on the wires ensnaring your wrist to read him. You think he is in pain.

Your ass is the perfect size to fit in his palm, meat squeezing between his fingers as he holds you in place while his hips buck to meet your welcoming curves. He moans, silver caps on the ends of his flat cable "hair" clanking against his shoulders as he throws his head back and relaxes as suddenly as if he'd pressed his own power button.

You remain in his lap, playing with the limp wires until he wakes up.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you

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sorceresssundries · 28 days ago

Text

Flesh and Bone

Pairing - Emmrich x Fem Rook

AO3 link

Warnings - smut, talk of death, oral sex, vaginal sex, erm, sexy bone talk?

Words - 2.6k

A/N - I wanted to explore what physical intimacy and a sexual relationship could possibly look like between Bone Daddy Emmrich and Rook. Have I convinced myself to let Emmrich become a Lich because of this? possibly.

Comments and reblogs as always are much appreciated. If sex with a skeleton has made you as unhinged as it has made me, please let me know so I know I'm not out here all alone. Skele-fuckers unite.

“I’m surprised this is still here.”

You sit on the bed and skim your fingers over sheets of finest nevarran silk. A deep red that shimmers in the veilfire light. It looks like spilled liquid. Like you are sitting in a pool of blood.

You thought the lighthouse would have taken Emmrich’s secret room away. That it would have pulled it back into the fade by whatever flicker of etheric consciousness granted it in the first place. Surely a bedroom was no longer required for the being who would never rest again.

“It knows you are still in need of sleep, darling.” his familiar voice hums “And it knows I am still in desperate need of you.”

His voice is still his. Mostly. Words spoken just as lovingly, but though they had echoed across from another room. You long to be in the same room.

A tear slips free, darkening the silk beneath it.

You have made love countless times in this bed. You suppose you will never do so again.

How would it work? Emmrich had been a partner who luxuriated in the sensual, and you had delighted in each of his mortal intimacies. His slow unravel by your hands, mouth, words, cunt - all of you. Every part given, fully, for every part of him. The laxity of his muscles, the slick of his sweat, the sounds he made—so animal and desperate they could have been dredged up from a time when words had not yet been assigned meaning.

You had touched him everywhere, every way. Around him. Against him. Inside him. Until his human heart pumped blood hard and fast around his body from exertion and undeniable want. Jaw slack, eyes lidded, hair mussed. Soaked and shaking. Yours. You had found the softest, hardest, most hidden recesses that only you were allowed to uncover and uncovered them. Explored and then worshipped them with all the devotion of a doomed sinner granted absolution.

What would that even look like now?

With no nerve endings to spark, how could you ignite him? Even if not for sexual gratification, but purely for devotion and acceptance, how would you show it?

You could wrap your hands around his gold-plated ribs, stroking the arch of each one and reach inside his thoracic cage to where his heart once beat, and press your hand flat against his spine. The scaffolding that had many times bent over and beneath you now fully exposed.

What would he taste like if you kissed him? His flesh had been hot musk and salt, but surely his bones would be cool. You imagine pressing the flat of your tongue to his clavicle, his patella, running it down each and every vertebrae.

There would be no tongue to meet yours, no scalp for your fingers to scrape. No half-hard cock to coax into fullness, to take into the warmth of your wanting mouth until it was rock-hard and aching.

But could you slot yourself between his hips? Feel the curve of his pelvic girdle supporting you? Could you grind against his coccyx, seeking friction? Could you take his phalanges and guide them into the soft, wet heat of your body?

Would he feel it?

No skin, no nerves, no raging synapses. But perhaps, somewhere deeper—in his marrow, where he is still soft - would he feel something?

Would you?

“You have questions,” He says, reaching out with a hand wrapped in linen. The gold that still adorns it is somehow a comfort. He seems to hesitate, unsure, and abandons his instinctive reach and settles for distance. There feels like so much distance.

You finally look up, to the sockets where hazel eyes had been replaced with pitches of veilfire.

“Can you see me?” you ask.

“More clearly than ever, my love”

You feel small in your lack of understanding, in your need for answers you may not be prepared for.

You lift your hands to push the pads of your fingers against the exposed bone of his once-handsome face. To hold his skull in your palms.

“Can you feel me?”

“More deeply than you could possibly imagine.”

“But not the same as before?”

“No, not the same as before.”

Your hands drop and he kneels before you—the eternal lich-lord of the grand necropolis, brought to his knees by his mortal lover.

“Could you explain?” you ask. “Could you show me?”

You need to know. Need to be sure that, even though the desires of his flesh were obliterated along with his poor, cherished body, his soul still burns for you. That he loves you. That his love is even a sliver of what you feel for him.

His hand lifts to cup your face, the cold press of metal cold against your flushed skin.

“I can show you, darling. For a short time, at least. No mortal can stand it for long, even one as indomitable as you.” You hear the warmth in his words, and you nod.

The green fire in his skull shifts—gold, silver, blinding white. Every colour. No colour. Shades and tones streaking with luminescence that have no name, known only to stars and gods.

The room disappears, reduced to a pinpoint, and you to a dust mote within it. The air you gasp for is ancient, and has been breathed by countless lives across countless worlds. Stars blaze, and the world spins ever onward.

“Focus on me, love. Deep, slow,” he says, echoing words he once spoke. Weeks ago? Years? Seconds? Words he has said, will say, is saying.

Ripples become waves, dust becomes desert.

In Arlathan, the trees sing. In the Necropolis, the grieving howl. The Veil creaks, and the Fade whispers. Countless mortals are born, die, laugh, and weep—

“Too much,” you say, voice trembling. “It’s too much.”

“Here.” He places his other hand on your cheek. “Look at me.”

You do, and it is him. Neither undead nor alive. Neither mortal nor other. Simply him. Emmrich.

The colour of summer changing into autumn. The first crackle of a much-needed fire. Tea leaves steeping. A song, half-remembered, slipping back into memory. Fingers brushing along the spines of books. Gold. Curiosity. Warmth. Joy.

The Fade swirls around him, patterns shifting like dust caught in sunlight.

He laughs—a soft sound, and it is here, in this room, with you. You breathe it in, let it settle within you, until it is no longer just his laughter but yours as well.

And you feel what he feels: joy. Joy that he is here and so are you. That you love him, and he delights in it. That he loves you, eternally.

Other feelings ripple through you: curiosity, patience, calm, apprehension, relief. Fear—not of his death, but purely of yours. And something else, a feeling with no name.

The moment just after sleep but before waking.

And—

Oh.

Desire. Still there, waiting. Changed, but present. Brand new and ancient all at once.

“I didn’t think you could still feel... that you would...” you say

“Of course I do, dearest. Of course.”

“Me too,” you admit, your cheeks warming, a blush spreading as though you’re uncoiling some hidden truth. You feel inexperienced—like a virgin, your palms and tongue aching but uncertain of how to use them, every inch of you yearning and unsure.

The desire - his desire, yours, both - blooms at your confession, pulling at your chest like a string of heat tethering you to him. It doesn’t just simmer within you; it coils around you, around him, entwining you.

And you understand—it’s obvious. Your pleasure is his pleasure. He can feel it. Taste it. Indulge in it.

His hand trails down from your shoulder, brushing along your arm with such featherlight grace that it makes you gasp.

“Would you like me to stop?” he asks softly. “We do not have to—”

“Keep going, please,” you breathe, almost desperate.

His hands settle at your waist, as he eases you down onto the silken sheets. His legs nudge yours apart, and he kneels above you, towering and tender.

“How could you ever doubt me, my darling?” he murmurs, voice low, steady, and unwavering. “That I would no longer love you? No longer want you? The stars themselves could burn to cinders and fall from the sky before I am ever done desiring you.”

There is a crackle, a spark. The room is alive with static.

“Do you think I need to be built of flesh and blood to grant you absolute pleasure?”

From his hands gripping your waist comes a sensation unlike anything you’ve known. A vibration with no movement. A hum with no sound. Pulses of magic and heat throb beneath your skin and behind your eyes, winding through you like molten threads of ecstasy.

Your back arches, your toes curl, and your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“Do you think I need a tongue?”

And then it fills you—a memory so vivid it bursts across your senses. You taste it, smell it, live it again. His desk beneath you, your legs spread wide, his face buried between your thighs. His hands grip you, fingers biting into your skin to keep you still as you tremble, his moans vibrating through you as he drinks in your pleasure. You are shaking, undone by the force of your orgasm, even as his arousal presses against the confines of his trousers, desperate to be buried inside you, to—

The same pulse he felt then thunders through you now, the magic igniting your nerve endings and burning you alive with sensation. The lich-lord hums above you, satisfied, as you writhe beneath him.

“My darling,” he says, his voice molten with indulgence, “I can unravel you with naught but words and salacious intent…”

Another wave crashes over you, another memory. The Cobbled Swan, the din of the pub swirling around you in a haze. You’re in a shadowed corner, barely listening to the sultry croon of the singer. Emmrich’s lips brush your ear as his hand works its way under your skirts, his fingers stroking the slick heat between your thighs.

His whispers are wicked, hedonistic. Somehow eloquent and obscene in equal measure. His words pour into you, their meaning rippling through your body. He’s telling you to stay quiet, to keep still, and the tension coils tighter as you try, your breaths shallow and ragged. You can feel his fingers moving, the heat of his mouth, the intimacy of his whispers.

Now, in this moment, his voice fills the room as if it’s being said anew, a loop of memory and magic merging. You come apart beneath him, your body and mind unable to tell the difference between the past and this overwhelming present.

“There is ecstasy to be found beyond the confines of mortal flesh - whatever pleasure exists, whatever fulfillment, I shall pull from the world of the living and the fade and anything that exists beyond and in-between. It shall be yours, as I am.”

A final memory... no, more than that. A hope, a dream, a pinnacle. You are in the bed you lay upon now, with Emmrich above you as he is in this moment. His skin is warm against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek, his lips brushing against yours, parting only to let your tongues meet in a rhythm as familiar as breathing.

He moves inside you, slow and deliberate. Between heated kisses, he pulls back to stare into your eyes. His gaze is a mixture of unending love and fierce desire, as if he is seeing every part of you - body, soul, thoughts - all at once.

A strand of his hair has come loose, falling against his brow, and you reach up to brush it away. Your touch lingers, your fingertips tracing his face. His breath hitches, and yours follows suit.

There is a build within him, a cord tightening, coiling, that matches your own. You can’t tell which is yours and which is his; it is all the same now. His pleasure courses through you, your pulse racing in tandem with his.

Then and now. Past and present. Man and Lich.

There is no separation, no boundary. Just the two of you, suspended in a moment that stretches to eternity.

Stars burst behind your eyes as the threads pull impossibly tight, and then everything shatters into golden light. Wave after wave crashes through you, a tide that refuses to retreat, frothing and roiling within and around you. It is exquisite. It is unbearable.

“Too much,” you gasp, the words tearing from your throat, raw and desperate.

Immediately, his hands leave you, the connection severed with a suddenness that leaves you aching. The tidal wave recedes, and the world rushes back into place. You are on the silken sheets once more, in the confines of his bedroom. Mortal. Spent.

The vibrant, pulsing energy of a moment ago is gone, leaving the air still and heavy, yet your body hums with its lingering echoes. It all feels grey now in comparison to the brilliance you’d just glimpsed. The technicolor vastness he now inhabits is out of reach once more.

“Are you alright, darling?”

You nod, swallowing against the rush of sensations that still ebb and flow inside you. Words elude you for the moment, but he doesn’t press. He waits, ever-patient, until you prop yourself up against the pillows, and only then does he move to join you. The weight of him laying beside you is a comfort.

“I wanted you to feel it,” he murmurs, warm and intimate “Even briefly. To know how deeply I burn for you, even now.”

The soft glow of veilfire reflects in the curve of his skull, casting an otherworldly light on the contours of his form. You want to curl up against him, the way you used to, but are unsure how. His body is devoid of the pliant comfort you once took for granted.

Instead, you settle for his hand resting upon your stomach, his thumb moving in gentle, slow circles against your skin. You close your eyes for a moment, focusing on that simple motion, letting it calm the ache in your chest. The yearning for what once was softens, replaced by a quiet appreciation for what remains.

You place your hand over his, lacing your fingers, marveling at how perfectly they still fit together. Nothing else matters. There is only him and you, and the flame that burns eternal.

“Could we…” Your voice is tentative, “Could we do that again sometime?”

The sound of his laughter fills the room, rich and familiar. The laughter of the man you knew - and still know. The way he has always laughed for you, unguarded.

“Of course we can,” he says, the corners of his voice soft with a smile you feel even if you can’t see.

You push yourself up, pressing a kiss where his teeth gleam in place of lips. He makes a sound like a sigh, a tender exhalation that warms you as you lay back down, shifting onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, his empty gaze impossibly full of affection.

“I have more questions for.. ” A yawn steals the rest of your words away.

“I know, but sleep now,” he murmurs. His hand brushes lightly against your cheek. “We shall talk more in the morning. We have many mornings in which to talk, I promise.”

You lay there, sleep tugging your thoughts into fragments, a haze of gratitude and happiness settling over you. He is still yours, and you are still his. Yet, as your eyes grow heavy, one more memory surfaces: how nice it used to be to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic cadence of his breath carrying you both toward the promise of tomorrow.

#emmrich volkarin #lich emmrich #emmlich #emmrook #emmrich fanfic #emmrich nsft #emmrich dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #BONE DADDY

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

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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