#ao3 features

[dappersfm]

maybe I should get better at writing purely for this reason

[edit: the link does not work whoops]

GUYS. DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN WRITE CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE FICS ON AO3

[shantismurf]

TIL "Fannish Next of Kin" is a thing! Defined as "someone to manage your fannish works if you die or are permanently incapacitated," its rather like your next of kin irl. I'm sure we've all thought of it...what would happen to our wips and works if we were suddenly just gone. But, much like rl end-of-life-planning, I haven't done bunk to actually make a plan. Maybe this is the time to get it done!

So, how do you do it? There's no form or check box or any easily-accessed documentation on the Archive that would give you a clue this is a thing that exists, unfortunately. The way to get it done is to email Archive Support and make the request. 🤦‍♀️

Specifically, "Both you and your fannish next-of-kin need to send a message to our Support team, which handles next of kin requests, indicating that you want to have them as your fannish next-of-kin and that they agree. You need to provide your Archive usernames for our records. When we receive matching requests, we will confirm that a fannish next-of-kin arrangement is in place." (From https://archiveofourown.org/tos_faq#next_of_kin)

[awhoreintheory]

You know that story about a motorcycle gang that, essentially, adopts child abuse victims? Like, they go to court with them, stand guard outside their houses, and even make them little jackets?

Imagine Jason, who didn't have the best childhood, who always looks out for the kids of crime Alley (enough so one of his huge rules is "don't deal to kids or I deal with you") and his people catch onto this, yknow

Yeah. That's Red Hood gang fs.

Some of them are only there because Red Hood is the new top dog, sure, but some are also there because they like working under Red Hood. He's really not a terrible guy once you get past the 8 heads in a duffle bag!

And so I think, it wasn't Red Hood himself that started going to child abuse court cases and standing guard around their house at night first, but rather his men. It wasn't something he ordered them to do, and it wasn't ever explicitly brought up, but I Red Hood seamlessly integrated this new little division into his Crime Lord activities.

There was a schedule for who was on Crime stuff, and who got to beat the shit out of little Maxwell's abusive shitbag dad.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[rynli]

I’m not dead I just can’t draw lately

Have a bunch of random disco doodles from the last month

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I love when I get the "inspired by" email! It doesn't happen very often, but it's such a thrill when I get to click the link!!

btw this isn't a vague/subtweet (post?) or anything but just so y'all know, there's a way to mark things as "inspired by" on ao3

you don't have to just put it in the notes!! very cool under-utilized feature

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIV // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) After the unpleasant encounter with Faye at the museum, Quinn awaits Ben's return.

Chapter Word Count: 7.5K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader (is she even morally grey anymore? Idk. We love a good character growth arc tho), strong language, adult and sexual themes, smut including: penetrative sex, overstimulation, toys. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

There was a lot you could have done with the last twelve days. You could have picked up a new language, or sailed to New York and back. You could have fermented your own vodka, learned piano or guitar, watched the entire Lord of the Rings series sixteen-and-a-half times over. But you hadn’t done any of those things. In fact, for twelve days you’d barely done anything at all. 

Since the moment you’d left that museum, Faye’s words had followed you like a dark cloud, looming over you wherever you went, casting a shadow no matter how hard you tried to escape it. Your lips bore the evidence of your bad mood, bitten and raw from your relentless, anxious gnawing, and sleep had become an elusive companion, only claiming you once your body finally gave in to exhaustion. 

It angered you, the power she somehow managed to wield; how she’d so easily found a way through your hard exterior, slithering right down to the place where words could still hurt you. It felt as though you’d let her win, like your insecurity was her victory, each day you spent stewing in uncertainty just another triumph to add to her list. 

Ben’s absence hadn’t helped; the thought of his return like a buoy and a burden all at once. For almost two weeks, you’d felt a knot form in your stomach whenever he called; feeling guilt and dread where excitement should have been. You’d adorned a smile, feigned a light, warm voice, and pretended not to notice how unnatural it felt.

Social media only seemed to make it worse; what was once a harmless distraction had morphed into a minefield of footage from his premieres and press junkets. You would lose yourself in his easy charm and handsome smile, scroll endlessly through clips of him in his tailored suits and tinted sunglasses as he walked carpets and stopped for interviews. But as quickly as the pride and longing came, the doubt would soon follow.

You were caught in a relentless cycle of grief and self-criticism. The life Faye claimed you couldn’t give to him taunting you whenever you tried to picture yourself by his side. Yet, beneath the turmoil, there was an ember of stubbornness that refused to be extinguished; a flicker of determination, to spite her, to prove her wrong, to not let go of the man who’d given you no reason to doubt him.   

 The café in the Draft foyer was rarely busy; a pocket of quiet amidst the chaos of a bustling building. You stood at the counter, basking in the warm, comforting aroma of coffee, the only sounds coming from the hiss of steaming milk and the quiet chatter of baristas as they worked. You scrolled idly on your phone as you waited for your drink, thumb pausing on an image of Ben from his latest premiere. He was smiling, arm raised as he waved to the crowd of fans swarming the barriers. You instinctively found yourself zooming in on his wrist; the way your gold nameplate bracelet caught the light with a subtle glint. Then you moved to his face, the glowing tan and dark facial hair making a welcomed return. 

“You’re obsessed.” Nick’s voice startled you. 

You turned around to find him looking down at your phone with a teasing smile, a lanyard around his neck and a backpack on his shoulder.

“Shut up,” you said, pushing your phone into your back pocket.

“It’s sweet,” he said. “Don’t be embarrassed for having a fit boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and shifting your weight from side to side. “What are you doing here? I barely ever see you in the office anymore.” 

“Just heading out to an interview, needed to come and pick up my press pass from Julia.”

You let out a half-hearted hum in response, taking your coffee as the barista placed it on the counter.

Nick followed as you made your way to a table, shifting his bag further up his shoulder. “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” 

“Liar.” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted as you sat down.

He deliberated for a moment, like he was weighing up whether to press you or leave you be. By the time he’d sat down beside you, he’d seemingly decided to drop it, clearing his throat and excitedly shuffling his chair closer to you. 

“I’m actually glad I caught you,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” 

“Oh no, what have I done?” 

Nothing,” he laughed. “I need your advice- opinion- help, all of it really.” 

Your ears pricked, eyes fixed on him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled in silence for a moment before finally turning the screen towards you with a nervous smile.

“Which one?” he asked. 

You leaned in, lips parting in shock when you laid your eyes on a photo; five open boxes laid out on a glass counter, each one holding a sparkling diamond ring. 

“You’re proposing!?” you shouted, voice echoing across the quiet space. 

He shushed you before lowering his tone to a whisper. “Yeah. I’ve been saving for a while, but I haven’t got a clue which one she’d like best.”

You practically snatched the phone from his hand, bringing it close to your face and examining each ring carefully. “None of them.”

“What?” 

“Well first of all, they’re all white gold. Lacey’s clearly a yellow gold person.”

“Oh.”

“Secondly, you should go for a coloured stone. Maybe morganite, emerald, sapphire, something different, unique.” 

“You think so?” 

“Definitely.”

“Right.” He sighed, taking his phone back. “Back to the drawing board then.” 

You couldn’t help the smile beginning to spread across your face, brows curving upward as you looked at him with pride. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you said.

“She hasn’t said yes yet.” 

“She will. How are you going to do it?”

“I was thinking when the next issue of Draft comes out, I’ll show her my Divine Timing piece, let her read it, and when she’s done, she’ll look up and I’ll be on one knee.” 

You didn’t reply.

“What?” he asked. “Is that not good either?”

“No, no… It’s perfect.” 

He smiled appreciatively before rising from his seat and hoisting his bag back onto his shoulder. “Yellow gold, coloured stone.” 

“Definitely.” 

He nodded and began to walk away, repeating it to himself over and over again until he vanished from your sight.

You paced the hall as you waited for a knock at the door, biting your already raw bottom lip until you began to taste iron on your tongue. The flat was immaculate. You weren’t sure why you’d bothered cleaning it so thoroughly; it wasn’t as if Ben would care, wasn’t like he’d come in and run his fingers along the skirting boards for dust, eye the windows for smudges. But maybe it was just the distraction it provided; the mundanity of housework allowing brief moments of relief from your whirring mind.

He'd been gone for three weeks. And you’d spent the majority of that time wrought with uncertainty; playing over every possible scenario, talking aloud to practice what you would say to him when you finally came face to face again. You’d buzzed him in just seconds ago, and as you paced back and forth you could almost picture him rushing up the stairwell, growing closer with every tick of the watch on your wrist. 

When the knock finally came, you felt your heart leap into your throat, an undeniable wave of excitement flooding your stomach. You hurried to the door and swung it open, unable to hold back a smile when you saw him standing there; bearded and sun kissed, an almost mirror image of the Ben you’d first met. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice rough and tired, yet still warm. And before you could reply, he dropped his bag to the ground, taking a step forward and pulling you into a tight embrace. He groaned with relief as he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured. 

You couldn’t help but melt into him, taking in his scent that, even after hours of travel, was still so familiar and comforting, the rhythmic thudding of his heart as you pressed your ear to his chest.  

“I missed you too,” you replied. 

“I’m never going that long without you again. Next time you’re coming, no arguments.”

A soft chuckle bubbled up your throat, the sound muffled by his shirt. You lifted your head to look at him. “Next time is three days from now.” 

“Yeah, and you’re coming.” 

You laughed again as he leaned back slightly to look down at you, bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. His gaze glittered with affection, flitting between your eyes and lips with such longing that any insecurities you’d had almost seemed to vanish. You lifted your chin slightly, welcoming the inevitable kiss. And when it finally came, you gave in to it completely. 

His lips were soft as they moved slowly over yours, savouring the connection like he’d thought of nothing else for the past three weeks. You slid your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, leaning into him as he weaved his fingers through your hair. 

“You need to come in so I can shut the door,” you mumbled. “Someone could walk past.” 

He responded by reaching back and pushing the front door closed, keeping his focus on you the entire time as his lips trailed softly over your cheeks, your jaw, the outer corners of your eyes and the crinkle between your brows, kissing every small detail of your face. 

You smiled. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

“Mhm.” 

“You must be exhausted.”

He responded with another lazy hum as he began walking you backwards down the hall. 

“I put a towel out for you in the bathroom,” you said. “Even bought you your own shower gel.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm,” you replied as he continued to kiss you. “And I’ve got dinner on in the kitchen.”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously.

“I’m the real Quinn I swear,” you said sarcastically.

He gave a deep chuckle, stroking your hair away from your face and placing one last kiss on your lips. “A shower does sound quite appealing right now. Do you want to join me?”

You tilted your head, giving a soft smile and running your fingertip over his bottom lip. “I’ve got stuff on the hob, need to keep an eye on it so the flat doesn’t burn down.” 

There was a split second when you could have sworn you saw him pause, like he was going to question you but quickly changed his mind. Instead, he let you go, making his way to the bathroom as you wandered into the kitchen, pressing your cool palms to your flushed cheeks and exhaling a nervous breath. 

Your knees buckled when you saw him in the doorway; towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets of water speckled over his bare chest and shoulders. A clean, masculine scent drifted towards you, heady and intoxicating, making your mind turn foggy as you stared at him in awe.

He made his way into the kitchen, padding leisurely towards you as you stood at the stove. You felt his hands snake around your waist, resting on your hips as his chest pressed against your back.

“You’re getting me wet,” you said with a slight giggle.

“Hm,” he replied flirtatiously, leaning down to press his lips to your neck. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” 

“No, wet like wet.” You laughed, gesturing to the water he’d soaked into the back of your t-shirt. 

“I’m just teasing,” he replied, lips moving slowly to the back of your shoulder. 

You lifted the lid off a saucepan, waiting for the steam to evaporate before stirring the bubbling liquid inside. You could feel him, hot and hard against your back, tilting your head to one side to grant him easier access to you. His large hands gripped your hips as he nipped and kissed your neck, lips and teeth grazing over your pulse as his wet hair brushed against your cheek. 

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, fighting to remain composed, to ignore the tingles travelling up your spine and the desire throbbing between your legs. You tried to busy yourself with dinner, reaching to the cupboard above you and peering inside. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked between kisses. 

“The erm…” You’d lost your train of thought, your mind hazy, struggling to focus on anything but the feeling of him behind you. “Er… Salt. Salt and…” 

He reached over you, retrieving the salt and pepper shakers and placing them on the counter.

“Thank you,” you said, almost breathlessly. 

His kisses slowed, like the tension in your body was becoming impossible for him to ignore. He pulled back, just enough to peer down at you, brow furrowed with concern. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“Hm? Nothing.”

His hands moved up to your waist, turning you around to face him. “What’s wrong?” 

You didn’t know why you were trying to deflect, why after all this time, when faced with the chance to communicate, your instincts still forced you to shut it down. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Because if nothing was wrong, you’d have dragged me into that bedroom the second I stepped through the door…” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Quinn,” he pressed. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m fine.”

He stared down at you for a moment, his expression completely unconvinced. You wriggled gently out of his grasp, walking over to the sink and grabbing a knife from the draining board.

“You don’t seem fine,” he said. 

“Well, I am,” you replied bluntly, turning around with the knife firmly in your grasp.

He held his hands up in feigned surrender. “Alright, Jesus Christ.” 

“It’s for garlic,” you replied with another eye roll, making your way back over to the counter beside him.

“Quinn,” he said with a slight laugh of disbelief. “Something’s clearly wrong. I don’t understand why you don’t feel like you can talk to me-”

“Ben.”

“I just want to know what happened-”

“Your ex-wife happened,” you snapped. “Alright?” 

 He looked confused, nose scrunched as his eyes glazed over, just for a moment. “What?” 

You put down the knife, turning to face him with a hot sigh. “I ran into her at an event.” 

“Faye?”

“Do you have more ex-wives?”

He huffed, gesturing for you to continue. 

“I ran into her and she had some very… choice words for me. Some I don’t entirely disagree with.” 

“Like what?”

“Like we’re… not- Like this isn’t-” you huffed and turned to walk away. “Y’know what, it doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does,” he said firmly, grabbing your arm before you could leave the room. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously bothered you enough to make it hard to even look at me right now. So, you need to tell me. Now.”

You yielded, turning around and leaning back against the fridge, arms folded across your chest. You hadn’t even realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you found yourself staring at the floor. So, you forced yourself to look up at him. 

“She said we’re not equal. Me and you. And that we never will be.” You swallowed. “I bring nothing to the table financially, we’re not in the same place in life or career or aspirations. I’m just a bit of fun you’re messing around with instead of-”

“Instead of what?” he replied, anger darkening his tone. “Instead of staying in a PR marriage just to pacify everyone else except myself?” 

“She insinuated that you’re just ‘getting things out of your system’ with me, and once the novelty wears off, you’ll realise I’m not right for you and you’ll move on to someone who is.”

His jaw sharpened, throat bobbing as he tried to swallow down his rage. He planted a hand on the counter beside him, grounding himself as he tried to process your words. “When was this?” he asked calmly. “Where?”

“An exhibition at the fashion museum, a couple of days after you left.”

He blinked a few times. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would it have achieved?” You shrugged. “You were on the other side of the world for work. It would have just bothered you, ruined your time out there.” 

He exhaled heavily through his nose, the breath rattling like a growl as it left him. “You know this all stems from jealousy on her part, don’t you?”

You didn’t respond, making him look over at you with more intensity, his brows coming together as he took in the look on your face. 

“Quinn… You know that, right?”

I don’t know. Some of the things she said, I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking that maybe she had somewhat of a point…” 

“What else did she say?” 

“Ben,” you sighed, closing your eyes and running your hands through your hair. 

“Quinn,” he said sternly. “In this relationship, we communicate.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

He glared at you.   

You threw your head back dramatically, letting out a groan before looking back over at him. “It’s just… It’s what I’ve already told you; we’re not compatible, economically or aspiration-wise or-”

“What does that even mean?”

“That you’re rich and I’m poor,” you replied curtly.

“Not that, for fuck sake, the aspiration thing.” 

You could feel yourself clamming up, your mouth turning dry and cheeks flushing with discomfort. You shifted on your feet, biting another cut into your lip. “Well, she just- She made a good point that you are… Very certain of what you want. And if you continue to waste your time with me, if I continue to let you waste your time with me, I could be holding you back from getting it.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” He was growing irate again, his voice deepening, turning hoarse and firm.

“Well, no, it’s not really, is it.”

“Yes. It is.”

“No, it’s not, Ben! It’s not irrational of me to be concerned that a year, two years, however long down the line, you could look back and realise you spent all that time with me when you could have been out there meeting your soulmate, your next wife, the mother of your children!” 

He stared at you, open-mouthed for a moment, his face twisted in a mixture of ire and confusion. Eventually, it seemed to overwhelm him, making him drop his head with a frustrated huff, pressing the heels of his hands into closed eyes. 

“Why…” he began slowly, controlling his words as they left him in a deep, gravelly voice. “Is it not at all possible that… that person could be you…?” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Ben-”

“What!? Why can’t you consider the fact that maybe neither of us are wasting our time, because we’re supposed to be spending it with each other!?” 

“Oh my god, it’s just so easy for you, isn’t it!” You threw your arms up dramatically. “Sometimes feelings just aren’t enough. You can’t enter into a relationship without at least considering where that relationship might end up.” 

“This is never going to stop, is it?” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “No matter what I do, what I say, you are never going to believe that this could work.” 

“I want to,” you replied, caught off guard by a crack in your voice. “But when Faye said that you want things I might not be able to give you, I couldn’t-”

“Quinn. The first night we slept together, you told me, plain as day, that you were undecided about having children. I’ve known that since the beginning, never forgotten it, and I still chose to pursue you. Because I love you more than I love some kids that we may or may not have.” 

“It’s not just about having kids. It’s… She said I’d be dooming myself to a life as an extension of you. That I’d be a ‘kept woman’.”

His face broke with an unexpected smile, a laugh escaping him in a breath. “I can just about handle you as it is. Do you really think you’d ever let yourself be kept?” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just so simple for you, isn’t it.” 

“Yes.” He turned his body to lean back against the counter, mirroring your crossed arms. “So, it’s me who buys the house.” He shrugged. “As long as I get to wake up next to you in it every morning, I’d consider us even.” 

The charm of his suggestion made you melt, just for a moment, before quickly stiffening again. “But that’s not ‘even’, Ben. Not really. You deserve someone who fits seamlessly into your life, and I just can’t shake the fear that they’re out there, and they’re perfect for you. I would never forgive myself if I held you back from finding her.” 

“And what does this ‘perfect woman’ consist of?”

“She’s certain she wants a family. She’s perfectly content with the two of you being known as ‘Benedict Cumberbatch and wife’. She comes from wealth, has the money to treat you to nice champagne and expensive gifts. She doesn’t pick fights or think it’s funny to make you jealous. She…” You halted, feeling a sudden, unexpected lump in your throat, a fizzing in your nose and welling in your eyes. “She doesn’t push you away when you’re always so lovely and patient with her. She’s a good person who really, truly deserves you.”

He remained quiet, mulling over your words, eyes fixed on the emotion you were so desperately trying to hold back.

“Can I tell you what I think this perfect woman consists of?” he asked softly. 

You nodded. 

“She’s open to maybe having a family one day. She may sometimes be ‘and wife’ to the media, but in reality, we both know it’s me who’s the ‘and husband’. She doesn’t care about money or whether she has it or not, and she always makes sure to tell me off when she thinks I’ve overspent. She’s… Impossible, infuriating, combative, but she knows I can take it. And that maybe I find it a bit sexy.” 

You laughed softly. 

“She’s a good person,” he continued, emphasising his words. “Who deserves whatever it is she desires. And if that’s me, then I consider myself lucky.” 

You stared at him from across the small kitchen, glassy-eyed and entirely awestruck. It was quiet, the air between you so still that even your breath seemed out of place. 

“I love you,” you whispered. 

He paused, allowing the words to fully sink in before smiling softly. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked teasingly. 

“I love you.”

His smile turned to a grin. “One more time, I didn’t quite catch it.” 

You rolled your eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

He made his way towards you, taking your face in his hands and tilting it back to look up at him. “I love you too,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. “And I can’t believe I just had that entire conversation with you in nothing but a towel.” 

You chuckled.

His expression turned serious again as he stared down into your eyes. “I have doubts too. Sometimes I feel like I’ve come into your life and completely turned it upside down; put rules on you, restrictions, expectations. You never asked for any of that. But then… I think about how we got off to such a bad start when we met, yet still, we somehow ended up here. That’s got to mean something.” 

“It means you’re too nice and I don’t take no for an answer.” 

He laughed, running his fingers through your hair. “It means we’d be stupid to throw this away.” 

You smiled, rising onto your toes to kiss him. He held you close, inhaling deeply as his lips moved slowly against yours.

He broke away, looking down at you with an amused smirk. “You know, for someone who doesn’t take shit from anybody, you really let my jealous ex-wife get into your head.”

“It’s not Faye that’s got into my head. It’s you.” You shook your head as you gazed up at him, your voice nothing but a whisper as you spoke again. “I’ve never let anyone get this close to me before…” 

“Well, I’m honoured to be the one you decided to let in.” 

This vulnerability was new for you. It made you feel fragile, exposed, like a knight without armour, a porcupine without its quills. Until Ben, you’d simply assumed it wasn’t in your nature to take this role; to be tender, maybe even soppy, softening yourself completely and trusting him to hold you without crushing you in his fists. You’d never let anyone take the lead, never allowed yourself to be coddled, doted on, handled with such reverence that you felt no desire to fight it. 

Perhaps you’d been capable of it all along; could have opened yourself up to anyone who’d came before him and felt a connection just as strong. Or maybe this part of you had always been reserved especially for him; a locked door that only he had the key to. You would never know for sure. But you were okay with that. 

Ben’s thumb gently caressed your cheek, his lips grazing the side of your head in a sequence of slow, loving kisses. You smiled and leaned back slightly to look up at him. 

“Okay, this is getting sappy now,” you muttered teasingly as you pulled him down to kiss you. 

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling in his throat and humming softly against your lips.

“Go and get dressed,” you said. “I’ll finish dinner.”

“Okay,” he replied with a smile. 

You watched as he made his way towards the door, before turning back to look at you, the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you asked with a breathy laugh.

“That was a very grown-up fight we just had.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned towards the stove. “It wasn’t a fight. It was a heated discussion.”

He laughed, the sound disappearing with him down the hall. 

A quiz show played quietly on the TV, the sun casting a golden hue across the living room as you sat cross-legged on the couch. There was a cushion in your lap, shielding your legs from the piping hot bowl, and a glass of water on the coffee table just out of reach. Ben was sitting beside you, leaning forward as he ate, handing you your drink every time you asked without complaint. 

You listened as he told you about his time away; the funny posters fans held up in the crowd, how he almost missed a premiere when his driver took a wrong turn, and the coffee he spilled on himself before his flight had even taken off. When he asked you how your time alone had been, you couldn’t help but feel boring in comparison; writing, grocery shopping, a few work meetings you barely paid attention to. 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing a mouthful of food before continuing. “My friend Nick’s proposing to his girlfriend.” 

“Ah how lovely. Tonight?” 

“No. Soon, though. I helped him pick the ring.”

Ben eyed your smile, unable to hide his own amusement. “Have they been together long?”

“A few years, I think. Why?”

He gave a casual shrug, still smiling. “No reason.” 

 You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t be getting any ideas.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. It took a battle just to get you to wear that watch, can you imagine if I tried to give you a ring?” 

You looked down at the watch and rolled your eyes before trying to reach for your water. He handed it to you with a chuckle, taking another bite of his food as he waited for you to take a sip and hand it back.

The TV continued to play in the background, the sound of audience applause and laughter like a gentle hum softening the silence. 

“You know,” he mused. “I never thought I’d see the day when you actually wore it.” 

You looked down at the watch again, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “It seemed a shame to just leave it sitting there. I did contemplate taking it off after what happened with Faye. But I like the compliments too much.” 

He laughed and went back to his dinner, the pair of you falling back into easy conversation. It was another moment where you found it easy to forget his fame, how absurd it was to have a celebrity sitting on your couch eating rice and dal from your mismatched dinnerware.

The sun was beginning to set, the living room glowing with a deep, golden hue like the promise of a warm evening. You were laying alone on the couch, speaking aloud your answers to another quiz show and swearing to yourself whenever you got them wrong. You could hear Ben singing in the other room, the sound of clinking ceramic and running water punctuating the dulcet tone of his voice. 

You stretched lazily and rose to your feet, wandering out of the living room and through the doorway of the kitchen. He was standing at the sink with his back to you, broad shoulders moving slightly as he scrubbed at the pots and pans beneath the soapy water. You allowed yourself a moment to just watch him; comfortable clothes and bare feet, singing a song that was too high for his voice and not caring if you could hear him. 

You wandered over to him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his back. He stilled for a moment at your unexpected touch, before relaxing quickly and continuing to wash up.

“Well, this is new,” he said. “Usually I’m the one ambushing you with affection.”

You sighed contentedly, tightening your hold on him. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Of course not.” He rinsed off a pot and placed it on the draining board, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for a tea towel to dry his hands. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. I’m just soaking up the fact that you’re actually here and not on FaceTime halfway across the world.”  

He turned around with a smile and pulled you closer to him. “I missed you too, darling.” 

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip, which you tried to disguise by biting your already cracked, tender bottom lip. 

He brought his thumb up to it, gently releasing it from your teeth. “Stop biting,” he said softly.

“Sorry, it’s a nervous thing.” 

“I make you nervous?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a laugh as you brought your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. He reciprocated eagerly with a satisfied groan, letting his hands roam your body until his grip finally found your backside.

You leaned into him, pressing yourself flush against his body as you swept your tongue into his mouth. The energy between you began to pulse, turning hot and electric; making your skin tingle, the hairs on your arms stand on end. You reached back and grabbed one of his hands, taking a step back and leading him towards the door. 

The air was cooler in the bedroom, the thick curtains shielding the space from the glowing sun. You pulled him towards the bed, turning him around and pushing him onto it with unabashed haste. He propped himself up on his elbows as you straddled him, his lips finding yours again in a quicker, hungrier kiss.

You gripped the hem of his t-shirt and dragged it over his head, tossing it aside as your lips moved to his neck, his collarbones and the bare, slightly paler skin of his chest. He smelled like the soap you’d bought him, the clean, masculine scent enveloping you as he held you in his arms. It smelled different on him than it had in the bottle; earthier, manlier, evoking something carnal inside you that made you want to dive in without coming up for air.

His hands dipped beneath your top, fingers grazing the ticklish spots over your ribs, nails raking gently down your sides. You shivered as your skin puckered with goosebumps, the sensation rolling down your body and settling between your legs with a tingling, insatiable need. It made you squirm, searching for friction as you continued to lay kisses across his chest.

He lifted the top over your head before brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen into your face, pausing for just a moment to look at you.    

“You’re about to say something cheesy, aren’t you,” you said.

He smiled. “I was just going to say I love you.” 

You leaned forward, kissing him slowly, deeply, rocking your hips over the hard bulge in his jogging bottoms. “I love you too,” you mumbled against his lips.

He let himself fall back completely, surrendering himself to you as you returned your mouth to his chest, trailing down his torso towards his waistband. You could feel him tense beneath your lips, muscles hardening, rolling beneath soft skin with even the slightest movement. But then he stopped. 

“Hold on,” he said. 

You lifted your head to see him reaching for something beneath your pillows, watching as he pulled out a small vibrator and turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you expect me to do when you’re gone?” you asked.

“Pine after me longingly, while awaiting my return in perfect chastity,” he replied sarcastically.

You scoffed and climbed off him. “Take off your pants.” 

He did as you instructed, his eyes never leaving you as you stripped down to your underwear. You wished you’d thought ahead when you got dressed this morning and worn nicer lingerie, or at the very least, made sure your bra matched your knickers. But Ben didn’t seem to care, his gaze ravenous as it raked over you, following your every move until you were back on top of him.

You ran your finger over the tan line at the base of his throat, preparing to tease him for it. But before any words could leave you, he placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled you down to kiss him, his hot breath and skilled tongue turning your mind hazy, the desire to say something funny or sarcastic evaporating from you like steam. He was growing impatient, you could feel it in the way he rolled his hips beneath you, his erection pressing against your aching centre, begging to be released.

You reached back and unclasped your bra, letting the straps slide down your arms, the cups falling away from your chest. He wasted no time in taking your breasts in his large palms, kneading them gently, fingers pinching your hard, tight nipples until the sensation made you gasp. He shifted slightly, sitting up just enough to lean back against the headboard, bringing his mouth to each nipple as his hand caressed the other. It was electric, each flick of his tongue or squeeze of his fingers sending a jolt of lightning through your stomach. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, rocking against his hard length as you tried to quell the throbbing in your clit, the deep, insatiable need in your core. 

“Say you’ll come with me on the next press tour,” he whispered, hands travelling from your breasts over your stomach.    

“It’s in three days, how can I just up and leave? I don’t even know where you’re going-”

“Los Angeles, then New York, then Los Angeles again,” he said, his voice seductively low, fingers making it to the waistline of your underwear. “But nothing’s stopping us from taking a detour or two; we could fly to Mexico for a few days, or maybe Argentina, Colombia, Brazil-”

“Okay I get the picture,” you said breathlessly as he slipped his hand into your underwear, fingertips finally making contact with your centre.    

“Is that a yes?” 

You let out a moan as he began to massage your clit, making you shudder and grip the headboard above him to steady yourself. 

You’d gotten on top of him with the intention of being in charge, of taking the lead. But somehow here you were, straddling him yet still completely at his mercy. The extent of your arousal was undeniable as he slid his fingers along your hot, wet entrance, the discovery making him groan with a mixture of pride and desire. He bucked against you, and you responded by reaching down to release him from his underwear, as though the idea of foreplay hadn’t even crossed your mind, or you were simply too horny to care.

His cock sprung free against your stomach and you gripped it firmly in your hand. “If I agree to come, will you make it worth my while?”

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as he gazed up at you. “Anything you want,” he whispered. “It’s yours.” 

You smiled, stroking him lazily as you spoke. “I want you.”

“Then you’ve got me.” He ran his hand slowly up your body, over your stomach and between your breasts, his palm finally settling at the base of your throat. “Every free moment.” He curled his fingers around your neck. “Every spare second.” 

You paused for a moment, revelling in the depth of his voice, the pressure of his fingertips against your pulse and the way his hips rolled to meet the relaxed rhythm of your hand. When you leaned forward to kiss him, he responded with a soft growl against your lips, tightening his grip on your throat as you slid your underwear aside and positioned him at your entrance. 

You slid him into you with a sigh, releasing every ounce of fear and uncertainty you’d been holding onto in his absence, the connection so beautiful it was hard to believe you’d ever doubted it at all. 

“Fuck,” you whispered as your hand immediately found the headboard above him, holding onto it as you began to move, sinking down to the root of his length and grinding against him. 

The friction was intense, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs as he filled you. He was motionless beneath you; letting you set the pace, the angle, the depth. But his hand remained on your neck, like an anchor, a reminder that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You kept a grip of the headboard, your other hand planted on his chest as you rocked your hips, revelling in each wave of pleasure as it rippled through your core, the tingly, electric buzz coursing beneath your skin. He kept his eyes on you, watching your face closely, your fluttering lids and parted lips, undeniable evidence of your satisfaction. 

“Tell me you love me again,” he groaned.

You lowered your gaze to meet his with a slight smile, and for a moment you thought about teasing him, denying his request and making him beg for it. But the feeling of him inside you was too pervading, disabling your sarcasm and stealing your wit, leaving you soft and agreeable, like putty in his hands.

“I love you,” you replied breathlessly.

Your words seemed to fuel him, making him bring his other hand up to double his grip of your throat. You whimpered as he began to move, every firm jolt sending a shudder through your stomach and a shiver up your spine. You began to bounce slightly, your moans growing louder as you met each hard thrust, ignoring the burning in your thighs and the creak of the bedframe beneath him.

Your voice echoed through the room, a cacophony of moans and swear words, gasps and increasingly enthusiastic yeses. You would no doubt be apologising to your downstairs neighbours tomorrow. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if the building across the street demanded one too.

There was a familiar swelling of heat in your core, your stomach coiling, driving you to move faster in search of release. But Ben got there first, his hips stuttering as he let out a deep, guttural groan, burying himself inside you as he came. 

You slowed your movements to a lazy grind, leaning back slightly to catch your breath when a dull buzzing caught your attention. You looked down to see him holding your vibrator, clicking the button a few times before placing it gently on your clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation; the unexpected act that caught you completely off guard. 

 “Oh, god.” You could barely speak, stuttering out the words through a serrated breath.

He watched you closely, adjusting his placement until your mouth fell open, stomach muscles tensing as you grabbed his thighs for support. The device sucked and pulsed against your clit, making you squirm on his cock as your limbs began to shake. The world around you seemed to disappear, like nothing else existed beyond the pleasure dancing along your nerves, like the entire universe had somehow been condensed into the tiny bundle between your legs.  

You shuddered; eyes screwed shut as you let out a deep, heavy groan. For a moment you couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, every last speck of energy spent on the orgasm ripping through you. And as quickly as the pleasure peaked, it instantly turned to pain, your clit so sensitive that all you could think to do was push Ben’s hand away. 

He switched off the vibrator and tossed it aside, gazing up at you with a satisfied smirk as you shook uncontrollably on top of him. Your teeth were chattering, limbs gooey and barely functioning. 

“You’re a fucker,” you said, breathing out a stunned laugh.

He chuckled softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of your face. 

You tried to calm yourself, inhaling slowly through your nose and blowing it out in shaky, uneven breaths.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I can’t move.”

He laughed again before gently rolling you off him and turning on his side to face you. 

You nestled yourself into him, eyelids heavy as you traced swirls over his bare chest with your fingertips. 

“I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to compete with that thing,” he said, gesturing in the direction he’d thrown the vibrator.

You giggled. “Well, that thing can’t kiss me, or manhandle me, or tell me it loves me. So, I think you’re fine.”

He closed his eyes with a sleepy smile. “In that case, feel free to stick it in your suitcase and bring it with us.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “If you’re expecting me to follow you around America for two weeks, then I expect youto make sure I don’t need a vibrator…”

He opened one eye. “Is that an ultimatum?”

“It’s more of a condition.”

“A condition?” 

“Mhm. If I’m going to be sneaking around, cooped up in hotel rooms all on my own while you’re working, then there needs to be… perks.” You let your fingers run further down his chest and over his stomach, making him tense beneath you. 

He chuckled and grabbed your wrist before your hand could dip any lower, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently. “Darling, if you come with me, I’ll be certain to make sure you forget that thing even exists.”

You smiled, watching as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “How long before the jet lag sets in?” 

“No idea. I’m just praying I can get through tomorrow before it does.” 

“Why? What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m taking my parents to the Chelsea Flower Show.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

He shifted even closer to you, draping an arm over the top of your head and twirling your hair between his fingers. “I was actually meaning to speak to you about it… I’d really like it if you came too.” 

You stilled for a moment, before forcing yourself to relax. “How could I possibly look them in the eye after what I just did with their son?”

He gave a soft, throaty laugh. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” 

The air between you fell silent, and you knew he could sense your apprehension, the same way you could tell he wasn’t going to drop it. 

“It’s just a bit soon, don’t you think?” you finally said. “Shouldn’t we wait a while before meeting-”

“I met your parents. Ages ago.”

“Yeah, by accident.” 

“Quinn.” He exhaled a laugh, brushing his nose against the side of your head before placing a kiss there. “I’d really like you to come. No pressure, no expectations, I just want them to meet the woman I’ve been telling them about.” 

“You’ve been telling them about me?”

He nodded. “I left out a lot.”

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[erinwantstowrite]

Did Vampire Dick catch on that Peter might be related to him or does he have the LoF facial blindness? /j

he doesn't see the resemblance to himself until someone points it out HAHA he's like "who could this kid be related to?"

[rarepears]

Shen Yuan's transmigration experience starts with a doctor looming over his bed and a beauty sobbing at his bedside...

Drabble on AO3

[dogpawsswapgod]

New chapter! Tobias' wife is gonna kill him when she finds out!

“Took You Long Enough”

a CaitVi soulmates AU inspired by and featuring @somewillwin

[houppellande]

Who got him smilin' like that 👀

Song

[enigmaedid]

“The only thing they can do is watch and wait.

Wait for the moment when it will break.

And when it happens, they will be there.„

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

there is a special kind of frustration to seeing the words You have already left kudos here. :)

like no fuck you AO3 i am fully aware and i WOULD LIKE TO LEAVE MORE I WOULD LIKE TO DROWN BOTH THE FIC AND THE AUTHOR IN KUDOS THANK YOU WILL YOU LET ME DO THAT PLEASE

and then i keep fucking clicking the kudos button each chapter like that will make a difference

[landinrris]

Your monthly reminder for Ao3 that putting any variation of a ship combination in the "Relationship" field gets picked up and deposited into that ship's tag.

"Character a/character b (background)"? Yep! You guessed it! It's going into the tag.

"Minor character a/character b"? That one too!

If the ship you are tagging is being used as a plot device or is truly minor or background in nature, I think I speak for everyone when I say please just put that relationship into the "other tags" box. Your readers will still stay informed that way on what they're getting into, AND you won't anger a bunch of other readers for that other ship because you gave them false hope for new fics.

Cross-tagging doesn't help your exposure, it just gets your username blocked.

[sandflakedraws]

YOUR FLICKORY SENT ME INTO A GAY PANIC I LOVE IT especially your human designs omg

tHENK U!!!! i do like the human designs i came up with~

I've been going NUTS about Flickory lately. These Two. Compel me. These two who do not even share screen time.... that's where the heck it's at for me, apparently.

i do have one other human drawin on hand for ya (onesided tho it may be)

[corpsecowboy]

save me trans hilson fics save me

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXV // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Quinn meets Ben's parents.

Chapter Word Count: 5.1K

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

 “So, what exactly does one wear to the Chelsea Flower Show?” 

You’d been speaking in a theatrically posh accent for most of the morning, talking about the royal family as though you knew them personally, offering Ben a ‘spot of tea’ and excusing yourself to the ‘lavatory’. He found it amusing; accepting your subtle jibes with a smirk and a shake of his head. 

You were standing in your bra and knickers, eyes skimming back and forth over your open wardrobe as Ben sat on the bed behind you. You waited a moment for him to respond before glancing over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. 

He glanced up from his phone at you with a shrug. “What?”

“When one is asked a question, one must respond with haste,” you replied.

He rolled his eyes with a laugh and put his phone down, shuffling to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know, something… floral?” 

You turned back to the wardrobe and let out a quiet huff, sifting through the rail of clothes and pulling out a long, daisy-print jumpsuit. 

“Like this?” you asked, holding it up to your body and turning to him. 

He cocked his head as he eyed you up and down. “How do you go to the toilet in that?” 

“You just take the whole thing down.” 

“In a public loo?”

“Right, no all-in-ones, got it,” you said with a sigh as you slotted the hanger back on the rail.

“What about that little dress I like?” he asked. ‘The one with the frills.”

You shot him a look, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “I’m not dressing for you.” 

“Aren’t you?” he replied with a hint of playful sarcasm, a flirtatious glimmer in his eye. 

“So let me get this straight,” you began, rummaging through your wardrobe and pulling out the dress he’d suggested. “You want me in this…” You slid the soft material off the hanger and stepped into it, pulling it up your body with a deliberately slow wiggle. “The first time I meet your parents…?” You slipped your arms into the delicately frilled straps and adjusted your breasts to sit just right, before turning to face him with your hands on your hips.

It was wholly inappropriate for the event; short, tight and just sheer enough for your flesh to peek through the pale pink fabric. If it wasn’t for your bra, you were sure your nipples would be on full display. 

“Well it would certainly make an impression,” he replied, his voice low, eyes trailing you slowly.

You rolled your eyes and made your way towards him. “I think you just wanted to see me in something you’d enjoy taking off,” you said, standing between his legs and looking down at him. “So, take it off me.” 

He gazed up at you beneath heavy lids, his jaw tight with self restraint. You allowed a slight smile as you stood there, watching triumphantly as his hands grazed slowly up your thighs, traveling over the frills, the thin material covering your hips, waist and breasts. Your stomach coiled at his touch, the look of hunger in his eyes eliciting a deep throb of desire between your legs. 

But you remained still as his fingers finally found the straps at your shoulders, your skin prickling as he carefully peeled them away and dragged the dress down your body. When it pooled at your feet, you stepped out of it and smiled down at him. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, before turning away and walking back to the wardrobe.

“You’re evil,” he said.

“You love it.” 

“Sometimes.” 

You chuckled as you pulled out another dress, holding it up to yourself before deciding to put it on. It was tea-length, white, with a print of small blue flowers. You hadn’t worn it for a couple of years, and you silently prayed it still fit as you slipped it over your head.

“Can you zip me up?” you asked. 

Ben stood up and walked over to you without a word. You placed your hands on your stomach, holding the dress in place as he began to zip it up. But he stopped halfway.

You glanced back at him. “What? Is it too small?” 

His lips suddenly made contact with your shoulder, making you gasp slightly at the unexpected sensation. He trailed a line of slow, deliberate kisses to your neck, the heat of his breath eventually making it to your ear.

“It’s a perfect fit,” he muttered softly, before fully zipping up the dress.

His hands lingered, fingertips tickling the exposed skin of your upper back as they travelled to the nape of your neck. You shuddered, pressing your lips together firmly to silence another gasp.

“Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that,” he said, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “You’re going to be on your best behaviour today, do you hear me? You’re going to be warm and cordial and polite.”

You closed your eyes as his voice poured into your ear, deep and rich. 

“But I’ll know the woman underneath,” he continued. “And I want you to know I’ll be spending the entire day picturing what I’m going to do to her when we get home.” 

The warmth of his body disappeared from behind you. You turned around to see him picking his phone up off the bed and heading towards the bedroom door.

“That was a disproportionate response,” you said.

He smiled. “One has twenty minutes before the chauffeur arrives,” he replied, mimicking your posh voice.

You were sitting in the back of a large, sleek car, the tinted windows shielding you from the bright afternoon sun as you waited outside Ben’s house. The engine rumbled softly, providing the only sound besides your tapping nails and the occasional cough of the driver.

Ben finally re-emerged from the house, his casual t-shirt and jeans replaced with a pale blue suit jacket and matching trousers, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar beneath it. You wondered if he’d chosen blue on purpose, the shade almost a perfect match to the flowers on your dress.

He climbed into the car with a smile, leaning forward to speak to the driver before settling back, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You took it, giving it a hard squeeze as the car began to move. 

“There’s no need to be nervous,” said Ben. 

“I’ve managed to go my whole life without ever having to meet anyone’s parents,” you replied. “Then when I do, it’s my famous boyfriend’s famous parents.” 

He exhaled a quiet laugh. “You don’t do things by halves, do you.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to the window, talking quietly to yourself. “I didn’t do any research on them. I should have researched.” 

“Why on earth would you need to research my mum and dad?” 

“So I could ask them questions, know what to talk to them about.” 

“Quinn, take off your journalist’s hat and just relax.”

You huffed and the car soon fell silent again, weaving smoothly through the London traffic. You propped your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand as you watched the narrow, urban roads gradually turn to neat, quiet streets, the houses getting taller and wider, with whiter bricks and greener gardens.

“I thought you said we were picking them up,” you said.

“We are.” 

“But they live further down south, don’t they?” 

“They’re staying in their flat for a few days. Just means they don’t have to travel so far for the show.” 

“Oh to have a choice of homes to stay in,” you replied sarcastically, the posh accent returning again.

He scoffed out a laugh. “That’s fine, go ahead and get it all out of your system now.” 

The car pulled up outside a large townhouse and Ben immediately hopped out, leaving you alone with the driver once again. You cleared your throat and took a deep, cleansing breath, meeting his eyes for a brief moment in the wing mirror. You wondered if he could sense your nerves, if he’d heard your conversation and couldn’t resist a peek. 

You pressed your lips into a brief, halfhearted smile and turned your attention back to the window, catching a glimpse of pink through the slats of the front gate, a flash of grey hair bobbing over the top of the hedge. 

Ben was guiding his mother towards the car with his arm linked in her’s, while his father followed closely behind, a suit jacket draped in the crease of his elbow. You instinctively leaned back in your seat, like you were hiding from them, savouring every last second of solitude. 

You glanced up when the door opened, doe-eyed with fear, your body unable to tell the difference between an imminent threat and the sweet-looking woman climbing into the car. She smiled, greeting you with a sing-song hello as she struggled to shuffle herself in.

“You okay, mum?” Ben called from outside. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine, love,” she replied, before settling into her seat and smiling at you again. “Honestly, you’d think I was a hundred years old with the way he fusses.” 

You exhaled a quiet laugh.

She placed a hand on your knee, just for a moment. “Nice to meet you, I’m Wanda.”

She was so casual, so easy and relaxed in her greeting. You weren’t sure what you’d expected; maybe some kind of interrogation, judgemental glares or a cold, rigid introduction. But instead she was warm, informal, like she already knew you. 

“Quinn, it’s nice to meet you too,” you replied. 

There was another row of seats opposite you, and you watched as Ben and his father climbed in, sitting back with almost the exact same mannerisms as one another; fingers clasped in their laps, long legs taking up what little floor space the car had. 

“Quinn, this is my mum and dad. Mum and dad, Quinn,” said Ben breathlessly as he settled into his seat.

“Hi,” you said meekly.

It seemed to amuse him greatly to see you so uncharacteristically shy. He smirked to himself as he watched you greet them, his eyes never leaving you as the car began to move again. 

His father leaned over with an outstretched hand. “Tim,” he said. 

“Nice to meet you,” you replied as you shook it gently. 

“We hear you’re a journalist.” 

“I am, yes, I write for Draft.” 

“And that’s how you met?” Wanda asked. 

Was this it? The interrogation? Their way of vetting you, sniffing out any poor intentions or ulterior motives?

“Yeah, I interviewed him,” you said, turning to look at Ben with a slight smile. “Though it felt more like he was interviewing me at times.”

They both laughed and a small sense of relief washed over you. 

“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Tim chuckled. 

“She’s far more interesting than me,” said Ben. 

“Well from everything you’ve told us so far, she certainly sounds it,” said Wanda, giving you a gentle nudge with her elbow. 

“Oh god, Ben, what have you been saying about me?” you asked.

“Nothing but lovely things,��� he replied. “While simultaneously blinking ‘help’ in morse code.” 

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled.

“He says you’re fiery,” his mother said. “And quite the challenge.” 

You looked across to Ben again, this time with a fleck of genuine fear in your eyes. “Oh, nice.” 

She giggled. “He said a lot of soppy things too, which I won’t repeat. Wouldn’t want to embarrass him.” 

“No, please, embarrass him,” you said.

She laughed, and you noticed how much Ben looked like her, especially when they smiled. He had her eyes, her mouth, the curve of her lips. When they first got into the car, you’d been taken aback by how much he resembled his dad; their stature and disposition so similar it was almost uncanny. But now you were seeing both of them; his father undeniably in his bones, while his mother made up the details.

“Oh I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of embarrassing himself,” she joked. 

“Thanks, mum.”

You allowed a slight smirk in his direction before running your hands over the skirt of your dress. 

You would never take sitting down for granted again. The balls of your feet were burning, your high heels pinching at your toes and cutting into the backs of your ankles. Every corner you turned revealed another endless stretch of flowers and greenery, winding paths filled with crowds of impeccably dressed guests, their clothing as vibrant and colourful as the blooms surrounding them.

Tim and Wanda had ventured off to a display of tulips, leaving you alone with Ben for the first time since you’d arrived. The place was swarming with press and photographers, celebrities and civilians alike. Yet he seemed so unfazed by it, staying close to you despite it all. Perhaps he was too caught up in conversations with his parents, more concerned with making sure you were having a good time. Or maybe the idea of being seen with a ‘mystery woman’ didn’t bother him anymore. Was this one of those ‘soft launch’ things Nick was always talking about?

“You okay?” he asked as you meandered slowly together through an archway of pink and white flowers. 

“My shoes are cutting off circulation,” you replied. 

“There’s some benches up here, come on.” 

You emerged out of the archway onto another long stretch of path, tall green shrubbery surrounding it like the walls of a maze. 

“Are you worried about us being seen together?” you asked. 

“Not really,” he replied, squinting up at the sun before slipping on a pair of dark glasses. “Anything anyone said would just be an assumption anyway. Who’s to say you’re not just an assistant, or an employee of mine or-” He stopped when he saw you glaring up at him. 

“An employee...” 

“I’m not saying you look like an employee. I’m just saying there’s no reason for anyone to jump straight to the conclusion that you’re my girlfriend when there’s a million other explanations-” 

You gave an offended scoff. “You don’t think I look like I could be your girlfriend?” 

He breathed out a laugh and shook his head, pressing his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “You know full well that’s not what I meant.” He looked down at you, lowering his voice. “You’re trying to pick a fight, and I warned you to behave.” 

Your surly expression faltered, the slightest smirk fighting its way across your face. You turned to try and hide it, noticing an empty bench behind you and immediately rushing to sit down with an exaggerated sigh of relief. 

Ben sat down beside you, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands in his lap. “But really,” he said casually. “What’s the worst that could happen if we’re seen together?” 

You pretended to ponder for a moment. “I don’t know, people could put two and two together and realise I’m the one that wrote the feature on you, which would in turn make it seem like I lack journalistic integrity, or make what I wrote about you appear biased or untrue. I could lose my job if the magazine received backlash, you could lose public favour if the cheating rumours resurfaced. And even if people didn’t accuse you of cheating on Faye, it’d still look like you moved on way too fast, so you’d surely get at least some criticism for that. We both would.”

He hummed in response, pushing his sunglasses further up onto the bridge of his nose.

“You’re so private,” you said with a breathy laugh. “I don’t get how none of that scares you.” 

“It scares me. But I’ve also come to terms with the fact that I can’t not live my life out of fear it’s going to end up online or in an article somewhere. I know the risks.” He turned to look at you, speaking quietly. “But I also know it’s different for you. And if any of what you just said did happen, I would make sure you were protected from it.” 

“How?” 

“I have a good PR team-”

You interrupted him with a scoff, rolling your eyes and shaking your head dismissively.

“They are good,” he insisted. “And they’d handle it.” 

“And if they couldn’t?” 

“Then I’d handle it.” 

You felt a chill roll down your spine, your arms pricking with goosebumps despite the sun’s rays gleaming down on you. It was the sharp, protective edge to his voice, the certainty in his tone that left you with no doubt that he meant every word. It was hard to discern his expression through the dark lenses of his glasses, but you knew he’d noticed your reaction, his lips curving into an almost smile before he turned away. 

You reached for him without thinking, weaving your fingers through his. He looked down at your intertwined hands resting in his lap, and for a moment you thought he was going to pull away. But instead he brought them to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“They like you, by the way,” he said. “My mum and dad, I can tell.” 

“That’s a relief, considering you told them I was a challenge.” 

He chuckled. “I could’ve told them you were a serial killer and I don’t think it would’ve mattered. They’re just glad I’m out of that marriage situation.”

“They knew?” 

“Of course they did.” 

“And they were okay with it?” 

“Fuck no. Told me it was a terrible idea, duplicitous, unnecessary-”

“Well they weren’t wrong.” 

Even behind his sunglasses, you could tell he rolled his eyes at you. “I just couldn’t have kept such a big secret from them for that long. The second they started asking about grandchildren I’d have crumbled.” 

You laughed. “Oh god, they’re not going to start asking us that, are they?” 

He turned to look at you before pretending to think about it for a moment. “Mm, I give it a year before they start dropping hints.” 

You laughed again, letting go of his hand to reach up and neaten the collar of his shirt. “And what do we say when they ask?” 

“Maybe something that buys us a few more years of peace… Until they inevitably ask again.” 

He traced a finger slowly up your arm, sliding the strap of your dress back into place on your shoulder. It was a considerate gesture, yet there was something so unexpectedly possessive about it; a subtle reminder that you belonged to him, that he was conscious of even the smallest details of your body, even when you weren’t.

“But I’ll keep them at bay for as long as you need,” he said softly, his voice deep and sincere. “Forever, if I have to.” 

You knew the effect he was having on you wasn’t intentional, but that somehow made it even worse. Your stomach was coiling, cheeks flushing as vividly as the fuchsias surrounding you, all from one single, effortless touch.

You looked down at your shoulder for a moment before flitting your gaze back up to his face. “Do you really think they like me?” 

He smiled. “My mum said you’re beautiful.” 

“When?” 

“When you went to look at that water feature with my dad. She said she can see why I didn’t wait to tell them about you.” 

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “I like them too.”

The air carried the perfume of pollen, soil and fresh grass, the occasional trace of a perfume or aftershave as people idly passed by. You sat together on the bench in a pleasant silence; Ben people-watching, while you took off your shoes to let the warm pavement soothe your aching feet. The sun was bright, and you could feel it catching across your nose and cheeks as you tilted your head back, squinting up at the sky. He noticed and immediately slipped off his sunglasses, handing them to you without a second thought. 

“Here they come,” he said, nodding down the path.

You turned to see his parents wandering leisurely towards you; his father’s hands clasped behind his back as he walked, hunched slightly to listen to his wife talk about each display they passed. 

You sucked in a deep breath, reluctantly reaching down to put your shoes back on. 

*Not much longer, I promise,” Ben said softly.

“Did you see that topiary display back there?” said Wanda excitedly as they approached you both.

“I don’t think we did,” Ben replied. “Must have walked straight past.” 

“Oh you must see it, there’s elephants, lions, bears-”

“Oh my,” you added absentmindedly.

Ben giggled to himself and stood up, holding out his hand to you. You took it, letting him pull you to your feet before following them back down the path.

The drive home was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that only came after a long, intense day. Hues of pink and gold bled across the dusky blue sky, the air thick with the lingering May heat. It felt akin to the early evening of a holiday abroad; when the sun became softer, but your skin still glowed in its memory. When the scent of summer still clung to the breeze; warm pavement, salt, lavender, and faint traces of smoke from a barbecue somewhere nearby.

You’d dropped Ben’s parents off first, and the ease of the interaction still surprised you; friendly kisses on each cheek, a squeeze of your hand and promises to see you again soon. Maybe Ben was telling the truth, maybe they really did like you. 

He’d walked them to their door, returning soon after with a grin and a sigh as he leaned back in his seat, telling the driver to continue on. 

“You survived,” he said quietly, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. 

“Barely,” you replied, though in truth, you had enjoyed it. And by the way Ben was looking at you, he knew it too. 

You climbed out of the car when you reached his house, shoes dangling from your fingers as you made your way towards the front door. It wasn’t late, but you were still completely exhausted, like your brain had run a marathon and was finally stopping to catch its breath. Your body ached, throat scratchy from talking so much, skin tingling with a developing sunburn. 

Ben trailed behind you, keys jangling in his hand as he whistled happily to himself, like the busy day hadn’t affected him at all. He unlocked the door and stepped aside to let you walk in first. The house was dim and quiet, undisturbed in his long absence. A pile of letters covered the floor beneath the front door, you bent down to get them but he quickly shooed you inside, scooping them up himself and sifting through them as he wandered through to the kitchen. You threw down your shoes and followed him, resting your elbows on the island as he moved towards the fridge.

“Drink?” he asked.  

“Cold, cold, icy water,” you replied. 

He filled a tall glass and slid it over to you, the ice turning it frosty, condensation pooling on the counter beneath it. You guzzled it down, letting out an exaggerated ‘ah’ when you were done. 

“Well?” he asked, leaning on the other side of the island facing you.

“Best water I’ve ever had.” 

“Not the water,” he laughed. “Today. Did you have a nice time?” 

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Was I well-behaved enough for you?” you asked, cocking your head with a slight smirk. 

He smiled. “You were perfect.”

You yawned, your eyelids so heavy you could barely keep them open. Ben pushed off the counter and walked around it to meet you, stepping close enough for you to smell the faint trace of aftershave still clinging to his clothes, the salt and earth on his warm skin. 

He brushed a stray hair out of your face before resting his palm on your cheek. “Why don’t you head up to bed?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Of course not.”

You gave a slow, appreciative nod and turned your back on him without a word. He understood immediately, fingers finding the zip of your dress and dragging it down, before pressing his lips to the back of your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you said.

“I’ll follow up soon.”

You moved languidly through the house, lugging yourself up the stairs and into Ben’s room. The bed was perfectly made, untouched, the sheets changed before he left for his press tour, waiting for his return. It looked almost too pristine to disturb, the edges of the duvet tucked and folded, pillows plumped, a throw draped neatly across it all. 

You wandered into the ensuite bathroom, letting your dress fall to the floor and kicking it away as you tied your hair up and began washing your face. When you glanced up at your reflection - at the matching underwear accompanied by a bare face and simple ponytail - there was something oddly amusing about it; that after all the teasing and flirting this morning, you were about to climb into bed alone while Ben pottered around downstairs.

You remembered how he’d whispered into your ear as you got dressed, the promises of what he was going to do to you when you got home, and how your stomach coiled at the thought. You thought of how when you first met just seven months ago, sex was the only thing you wanted from him, and the idea of not getting it would have left you irritated and sulking like a child.

Yet here you were, padding across his bedroom and slipping beneath the cool sheets of his bed, alone. And somehow, impossibly, you found that you didn’t mind. In fact, you were comforted by it. It went beyond passion, beyond hunger, beyond the need to satisfy a physical urge. It was a kind of intimacy that came with existing separately in the same space, feeling connected without contact, not feeling the need to punctuate the time you spent together with anything other than an ‘I’ll be up soon’. 

You felt yourself drifting off as soon as your head hit the pillow, dozing to the thought that this might actually be it; maybe this all felt so right because it was right.

You stirred to the feeling of the mattress dipping beside you, the warmth of Ben’s body as he whispered your name. 

“Quinn… Quinn, move over.” 

You grumbled, eyes still closed, limbs heavy as he nudged you gently. 

“Quinn,” he whispered again with a laugh. “You’re right in the middle of the bed, I can’t get in.” 

You shifted begrudgingly, rolling over just enough to let him slip into the space behind you. He settled in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close, his bare chest pressing against your back as he draped his leg over yours. 

“Love you,” you mumbled, half-asleep. 

He kissed the side of your head. “I love you too.” 

You’d lost count of how many imaginary grandmothers you’d lost over the years; a sick ‘nanna’ saving you from so many unwanted social obligations, a funeral always popping up when you needed it most. It was an excuse that never failed you - effective, untraceable, and just the right amount of tragic to discourage any follow-up questions.

“God, Quinn, I’m so sorry,” said Julia on the other end of the phone. 

You were standing in Ben’s living room, peering out of the large bay window at a single magpie perched on the front gate. You gave a fake sniff, clearing your throat for added effect. “It’s all just so sudden. She’s really deteriorating fast so I need to get there as soon as I can. To be with her, y’know, before she…”  You trailed off with a subtle voice crack.

“Yeah, I mean- Of course.” 

“I can work remotely, so I’ll still get my pieces written and emailed over to you. I just won’t be able to come into the office for meetings.”

“No, that’s fine I understand, erm-” The sound of her chair creaked through the phone, her computer mouse clicking, papers shuffling. ”We have quite an important meeting scheduled in the first week of June, do you know, erm, do you have an idea of how long you might-”

You interrupted her with a pretend cry. “I mean, I can try my best to get back for it, I’m sure my grandmother will understand. You know, if she’s not already gone by then.”

“No. No, don’t be silly, take as much time as you need. Just… Keep in touch when you can, okay?” 

“I will. Thanks, Julia.” 

You hung up the phone and turned around to find Ben sitting on the couch, watching you with a disapproving glare.

“You should cast me in your next film,” you said. 

He shook his head slowly, pressing his lips together to maintain his serious expression. “You’re terrible.” 

“You’re the one who insisted I come with you...” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault your imaginary grandma’s about to die?” 

“Yeah, but don’t worry, at this point she’s died about 17 times.” 

His face broke with a smile, then a quiet chuckle escaped him. “Evil.” 

“Mhm.” You walked over and threw yourself down beside him, feeling his arm immediately drape around your shoulders. “I still stand by the fact that you love it though.” 

His phone buzzed on the arm of the couch. He picked it up, glancing at the screen for a moment before putting it down again. 

“What was that?” you asked.

“Hm? Oh, just my assistant confirming the flights for tomorrow.” 

“Ah.” You paused in thought. “God, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

“Well you’ve killed your grandmother now so there’s no going back.” 

You giggled. “I should probably go home and figure out what the hell I’m going to pack. I don’t even know where my suitcase is.”

“Do you want me to drive you?” 

“If you wouldn’t mind?” 

He moved to stand up, placing his hands behind his head and stretching his spine. You’d taken up most of the bed last night, leaving him with such a small sliver of space that he’d woken up with a stiff neck. You felt terrible as you watched him groan and sigh, rolling his shoulders and twisting his torso from side to side to alleviate the discomfort. 

“I’m sorry,” you said.

He just smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up off the couch. “How long do you think it’ll take you to pack?” 

“I’ve got no idea, why?” 

“Well I’m going to the gym soon,” he said, making his way into the hall and putting on a pair of trainers. “I thought if you wanted to, I could wait for you and we could go together.”  You grimaced as you followed him, leaning in the doorway and crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, I would, it’s just… My grandmother’s really sick-”

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