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strawchocoberry · 9 months

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‘CAUSE GIRL, YOU EARNED IT

୨୧ featuring: zhongli, alhaitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, tartaglia x fem reader

ଘ cw: smut, gangbang, intoxication kink, spanking, edging, pet names, oral sex, nipple play, handcuffs, fingering, choking, praise kink, degradation kink, rough sex, double penetration, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breeding kink, creampie, dumbification

୨୧ synopsis: guilty of negligence

ଘ wc: 4.4k

It was a peaceful night, rain was falling outside, lullying nature into serene sleep. And here you are, fixing your lingerie that was practically nothing more than decoration on yourself. A bit of lipstick and you were done. You took a look at yourself in the mirror, pleased with how utterly gorgeous you looked. You couldn’t wait. It had been so long since you last saw him that you were ready to devour every piece of him the moment he stepped inside your house. You counted the seconds, trying to calm your excited heart, but it was in vain. Before the sound of your doorbell could even fathom to fully reach your ears, you were running to the door, putting on your silk robe to avoid becoming a spectacle for any potential passer-by.

Five pairs of eyes were looking at you and you could only stand there and stare at them with widened, shocked eyes. They were equally if not more confused than you were. And it finally dawned on you; you had accidentally arranged to meet all of them on the same day, at the same time. Your mouth opened and closed, as you found no words to explain the situation to them. What were you supposed to say, anyway? You stepped aside, letting them come inside to the warmth of your house, feeling bad for letting them spend a few more minutes at the cold of your porch.

They settled in your living room, averting their curious gazes back at you. You felt your cheeks blushing by this predicament you had bestowed upon yourself over your own carelessness. Their intense gazes that travelled upon your body, taking in every little detail like starved men, had you wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly being too self-aware of the few garments you were wearing.

“I-I’ll bring you some h-hot beverages to warm y-yourselves,” you suggested, making haste into the kitchen.

And as you were panicking, trying to think of ways to deal with the situation at hand, the gentlemen in your living room became acquainted with those they weren’t. Zhongli, Wangsheng Funeral Parlour’s Consultant. Alhaitham, Sumeru’s Akademiya’s Scribe. Neuvillette, Fontaine’s Chief Justice. Wriothesley, Lord of the Fortress of Meropide. Tartaglia, the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. They didn’t really seem to mind your stalling in the kitchen. On the contrary, the five of them started talking amongst themselves, starting with Neuvillette, who was clearly surprised to meet Tartaglia once more.

You couldn’t make up what they were talking about, but you could hear their lively chatter. Of course, none of them was mad or angered by the others’ presence. You were just good friends with all of them; good friends that occasionally fucked each other, but that’s just your way to keep your friendship interesting. They were, however, caught off guard by the rest, as were you, yet they seemed to have moved past it.

You didn’t know what to do. How were you supposed to send them home when they had cleared their schedules for the night just to meet you? I’m so stupid! You mentally cursed at yourself, as you started preparing some tea. Getting them to leave was already a nearly impossible task, let alone now that they seemed to be getting along. You dreaded the thought of going back there. You dreaded the thought of having to explain how all of them showing up at your door tonight was an accident, a careless mistake you made and failed to realise till they had all arrived.

As the tea was being prepared, you went through your cupboards, taking out various snacks to go along with the tea. You were almost moving like a robot that needed its joints to be greased. You could even hear the faint sound of screeching each move of yours made. It’s going to be alright, you attempted to calm yourself down. They’ll just have some tea and then they’ll leave… Or at least that’s what you wanted to happen. I won’t have to explain how I messed up our meeting schedule tonight… Wishful thoughts that barely managed to help you.

Soon enough, you returned to the living room, bringing them the tea and snacks. To say that you felt as awkward as one could feel at the moment was an understatement. And yet, the men in your presence paid no attention to it, as they helped themselves with a cup of tea, continuing their conversation. You were just sitting on an armchair, watching them converse as if they had been called to a tea party from the start, not that silly little you had by accident invited them all over.

“And here I was thinking that this was all just a mistake on your part,” you heard Alhaitham say a little louder in order to catch your attention.

Pulled out of your thoughts, you turned to look at him, tilting your head in confusion as to what he meant. You noticed his heavier breathing, the way he seemed as if his body was on fire. He appeared calm, but oh that boner of his told another story. A quick look around and you saw the rest of them being in a similar state. Your eyes fell on the chocolate bites among the other snacks. Fuck—

“Come here.”

You took a moment to look at Neuvillette. Even in this state of arousal, he spoke in that authoritative voice of his, the one he always uses when commanding order in the courtroom. You gulped and hesitantly walked towards him. With a swift move of his, you found yourself sitting on his lap, the Chief Justice already untying your robe.

“We all got the impression that perhaps this was just a… Misunderstanding.” He caressed your cheek, looking at you fondly, despite the serious tone of his voice. “Did you perhaps plan this in advance? Bringing us here, then giving us chocolate laced with an aphrodisiac?”

“Should I perhaps arrest you now, little kitten?” Wriothesley whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe right after.

“I suggest she receives punishment for her criminal actions.” Tartaglia was now standing in front of you, smirking, as he held a piece of chocolate to your lips.

“B-But I-I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Negligence is still a crime, love.” Neuvillette kissed your cheek. “And even if we were to believe your claims, the evidence works against you.” His hand slipped down your open robe, rubbing your folds. “Wearing such revealing lingerie and getting wet at the mere sight of us being aroused… Tsk tsk tsk.” He shook his head. “You’re as guilty as you can be, love.”

Tartaglia slipped the chocolate into your mouth, looking at you as you munched on it and swallowed it. He smirked, caressing your chin softly, before crushing his lips on yours, kissing you impatiently, hungrily, desperately. Alhaitham and Zhongli approached you as well, ridding you of the only garments you were wearing, leaving you completely naked under their ravenous gazes. They were trying their best to keep themselves in control and not rip you apart; their eyes betrayed it.

It didn’t take long for the aphrodisiac to kick in your system nor for the carnal desire to overtake your body. You were lying on Neuvillette’s chest, squirming and moaning and meowing, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. His left hand was holding your arms behind your back, whilst his right one was tending to your clit, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud with utmost expertise. Wriothesley was kneeling in-between your legs, holding them open with his strong arms, as he feasted upon your delectable cunt, tasting your arousal and letting out low growls.

On your left side was Zhongli and on your right was Alhaitham. They were leaving kisses all over your exposed body, massaging your breasts with one hand and pressing you down with the other. Their mouths were tending to your nipples, sucking on them as they watched you writhe in pleasure by all those men paying attention to you. Tartaglia emerged from behind the couch, caressing your cheek and averting your gaze to him. Leaning down, he buried himself in the crook of your neck, kissing and licking and biting you all over. Your body arched at their touch, your moans only urging them further.

Wriothesley let out a guttural growl, licking every drop of your arousal. He could barely keep your spasming body still, as you moaned out in pure ecstasy from your orgasm. All of them smirked, feeling you convulsing, looking like you’ve just entered heaven. Neuvillette slapped your cunt, earning a whimpering moan from you.

“Did you like it that much, love?” Neuvillette asked you.

“Of course she did, right, kitten?” Wriothesley smirked, licking over your cunt.

“Her moans confirm that, don’t they, dear?” Zhongli kissed your neck.

“Oh, poor baby, you aren’t tired yet, hm?” Alhaitham cooed in your neck, gently biting down over one of Tartaglia’s bites.

“Oh no, no! We can’t have you getting tired so early, darling.” Tartaglia kissed your lips. “The fun’s just starting.”

You were lost in your sweet haze for a moment, watching them change their positions. Neuvillette pushed himself up, sitting now on the couch, rather than lying. Alhaitham caught your hands and pulled you forward. Your bare cunt was sitting oh so perfectly on the Chief Justice’s clothed crotch, making him let out a low moan, as your arousal was drenching him. You hissed, looking down at Wriothesley who bit your tit, folding tightly the other in his fist. Alhaitham caught your chin, averting your attention back to the three men standing before you.

You watched them get undressed, their cocks springing free from the constraints of their pants, hard and desperate for attention. Tartaglia and Zhongli took your hands, placing them on their shafts, moving them along their lengths, before allowing you to continue on your own. Alhaitham stroked his cock, bringing it to your lips. He smirked as you obediently opened your mouth and took him in, your lips wrapping perfectly around his girth, a low groan leaving his lips.

“That’s it, baby,” Alhaitham moaned, his head falling back.

“So desperate,” Tartaglia mocked, watching how you eagerly moved your head up and down, taking as much of the Scribe’s cock in your mouth as you could. The Harbinger let out a moanful groan the next moment, as you stroked his cock and used your thumb to smear the tip with his cum.

“If you wished for all of us, dear, you should have said so sooner,” Zhongli breathed, catching your hair in a nice ponytail.

The three of them took turns having you please them with either your skilled hands or your warm mouth. First was Alhaitham, who let you suck him off at your own pace, relishing the cute gleam in your eyes as you looked up at him. He mumbled a couple curses under his breath, while he kept telling you how good you looked with his cock in your mouth, how good you made him feel. His whole body tensed, his grip on his waist tightened, as he let out a moan, cumming in your mouth.

“Good girl,” Alhaitham praised, kissing your lips tenderly, before standing up.

Zhongli was the one to occupy your mouth next. Even after all the times you’ve had sex with him, your mouth was still not accustomed enough with his girthy cock. You choked on his shaft, tears welling up and falling from your eyes in streams. The former Geo Archon cupped your cheek gently, wiping away your tears with his thumb. He looked at you affectionately, encouraging you to take your time. He groaned and grunted, feeling your tongue swirl over and over again over that one specific vein, having him lose his mind and coming undone.

“Perfect as always, dear,” Zhongli whispered in your ear.

And last but definitely not least, it was Tartaglia’s turn. You braced yourself, knowing him all too well to be certain that he wasn’t going to be as gentle as the two before him. He allowed you a moment to tend to him on your own, before kneading your hair in a ponytail and forcing you on him, his cock hitting the back of your throat. New tears welled up in your eyes. You looked up at him, noticing how big his smirk grew, as he continued fucking your mouth.

“You’re such a pretty little whore, darling,” Tartaglia moaned.

Your body jolted at the sudden smack that Neuvillette landed on your ass, gently caressing the spot right after. Wriothesley spanked you as well, making you moan on Tartaglia’s cock that was ruthlessly thrusting into your mouth. Neuvillette held your body in place, his grip almost bruisingly tight, whilst he grinded his hips against your drenched cunt, earning more muffled moans from you.

“Look at you being all blushed, love,” Neuvillette cooed in your ear, landing another hard smack on your reddened by now ass.

“I bet you’re feeling lonely down here.” Wriothesley smirked at you, raising his head from your titties, his hand slipping down and rubbing your folds in-between your bare cunt and Neuvillette’s clothed crotch.

“Oh fuck—” Tartaglia reached his limit, unleashing his hot seed in your mouth, as his head fell back. He kept your head in place, his cock still deeply buried in your throat, until you had swallowed everything.

Pulling out, he left you gasping for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly in your attempt to regulate your stolen breath. Tartaglia caught your chin and pulled you to your feet, crushing his lips on yours. Wriothesley came behind you, biting your nape and smirking as you moaned. He grabbed your hands and handcuffed them behind your back. He smacked your ass once more, then undressed and assumed a seat next to Neuvillette who had also discarded his clothes. You felt Alhaitham’s arms wrapping around your body from behind, him leaving marks all over your shoulder and nape.

Alhaitham caught your hair and pulled you away from Tartaglia, biting your earlobe as you whined. He turned you to face the Fontainian duo, bending you over. Neuvillette and Wrothesley slapped their hardened cocks on your cheeks, looking at you with the authority you’d expect stemming from their positions as Chief Justice and Lord of the Fortress of Meropide. You choked back a scream, feeling Alhaitham suddenly penetrating you from behind. You turned over your shoulder to look at him for just a moment, only for Wriothesley to grab your chin and avert your attention back to them.

“Get to work, kitten,” he barked, his sharp canines visible through his smirk.

“Or are you perchance planning on leaving us in this torturous state?” Neuvillette asked you, the straining of his hard cock evident on his face.

And whilst the Scribe was obliterating your cunt, Tartaglia and Zhongli were stroking themselves, looking at you getting fucked before them like the little slut you were. They landed a few slaps on your ass and grabbed your titties harshly, while you started tending to Neuvillette, licking up a few strides on his shaft. Your tongue swirled around the tip of his thick cock, sucking it in your mouth. His eyes closed for a moment, revering in the sensation of you slowly taking all of him in your mouth. You gagged, trying to accommodate him in your tight throat. But Neuvillette was already long lost in pure ecstasy, head thrown back and breathy whimpers escaping his lips.

You whined as you felt Alhaitham pull out of your cunt, your muffled sound sending vibrations on his cock. You were so close to feeling that euphoric rush course through your veins, only for him to deny it. You attempted to release Neuvillette and complain about Alhaitham’s unacceptable behaviour, only for Wriothesley to force your head down, tears falling from your eyes, as his action caused Neuvillette to sharply hit the back of your throat.

“Don’t stop now, kitten. Don’t tease him like that, not when he’s so close to cumming.” Wriothesley gently rocked your head, helping you ease up and continue your work. “You never know. He might even accuse you of disrespecting him. And oh my, it’s a serious crime to disrespect the Chief Justice. Once sentenced, you’ll be sent to the Fortress of Meropide.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you, kitten.”

“Don’t— Don’t speak nonsense, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette breathed heavily.

Alhaitham only smirked, seeing you at Wriothesley’s mercy. He slapped your dripping cunt once, licking your arousal off his fingertips, while his ears feasted on your muffled moans. Tartaglia leant over your bent form, leaving soft kisses on your shoulder, as his fingers rubbed your drenched folds, laughing devilishly at the slight trembling of your legs. He slipped his fingers inside your tight cunt, thrusting them roughly. He relished the image of your convulsing body, your cunt coating his fingers with your slick. And yet he sadistically stopped right before your impending release.

Tartaglia removed his fingers momentarily, before burying his cock in your velvet walls. He held onto your waist, slamming your hips on him, moaning in pleasure as he ripped your body in half. Neuvillette tensed in your mouth, painting every inch of your throat with his sweet cum. He caressed your hair softly, smiling lovingly at you, his eyes glued to your tear-stained face with his cock still in your mouth. Wriothesley finally let go of your head, allowing you to pull back and catch your breath.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” he asked, gently caressing your cheek.

“Mmmm…” You nodded. “T-This is… So much better than I could… Ever imagine…” You smiled. “Ah, wait— No!” you whined. “Tartaglia, please—” you cried.

So close, yet so far away. The Harbinger pulled out of your drenched folds, leaving you just as unsatisfied as Alhaitham had. Your body was burning with a carnal urge for release, yet they didn’t seem to be willing to give it to you. You watched Zhongli lean over you, massaging your breasts and kissing a tear away from your cheek.

“Zhongli… Please…” you begged him.

He refrained from replying to you. Zhongli rubbed the tip of his cock on your soaked folds, coating it in your slick, before thrusting into your cunt that immediately tightened around him, desperate to reach that sweet high. Contrary to the other two, the Geo Archon switched to a slower pace, even though his thrusts remained as rock solid hard as ever. The room was filled with your slutty moans, as well as the sounds of Zhongli forcefully smashing his hips on yours, abusing and stretching your cunt in a way that sent you over to cloud nine.

Wriothesley grabbed your chin, turning you to face him. He slipped his thumb in your mouth, watching you suck on it ever so willingly. “Stick your tongue out,” he ordered and you obeyed without a second thought, feeling too fucked out to raise any objections. He slapped his hardened cock on your tongue a few times, before sliding it all in. He grabbed your hair and guided your movements, growling in utter bliss at the magic of your tongue. He was struggling not to thrust up. You knew, because his grip on your hair only tightened. Ultimately, though, Wriothesley grew too desperate for release, pounding up straight to your throat, feeling you gag around him, before he unleashed his seed in your mouth.

You thought that this time, this time for sure, you were going to experience that blissful feeling that had your mind go blank. You had only yourself to blame for getting your hopes high, as you were disappointed by Zhongli pulling out of you when your orgasm was just around the corner. You were whining and complaining and they were all just watching you amused, barely able to keep themselves from destroying you.

Zhongli lifted you in his arms, carrying you to the armchair you were previously sitting on. He sat down with you on his lap. He kissed your lips, holding your head in place, feeling you shift on his lap. Alhaitham had come, standing behind you, holding one of your legs open, Zhongli holding the other. The Scribe’s fingers thrusted into your drenched cunt, the squelching sounds filling the room. The other three watched you intently squirm and convulse over the Geo Archon’s body, as your much awaited orgasm was here at last.

Alhaitham wrapped his hand on your neck, turning you to him, as he leant down to lazily kiss your lips. Zhongli aligned his cock with your cunt and thrusted in. You suddenly broke the kiss, whimpering, seeing Tartaglia penetrate your cunt as well, rubbing against Zhongli. You were struggling to accommodate them both in your tight cunt, whimpering and crying and writhing all over Zhongli’s body. Alhaitham kissed you again, running his fingers soothingly along your trembling body. Your mind was slowly fucked out, every single thought fading in the abyss, but from the single one focusing on the two of them pounding into you.

“Mmmm… Yes! Yes!” you moaned. “Oh, fuck!”

“What a naughty little girlie~” Tartaglia cooed, smirking.

Neuvillette and Wriothesley were standing on either side of you, stroking their cocks, massaging or slapping your titties from time to time and rubbing your clit, earning some high pitched moans and screams from you.

“Please, don’t stop!” you begged, once more on the edge of another release. “Oh Archons, please, don’t stop!”

And you were so thankful that they didn’t. Your cunt tightened around them, convulsing around their throbbing cocks, your slick coating them. They soon followed after you, cumming into your velvet walls, your mixed arousals dripping down your thighs. Mere seconds later, your body was covered in the cum of the other three men, painting over the marks they had already left all over you.

They all took a moment to just glance and be mesmerised and bewitched by your beauty. Your makeup was ruined, yet you looked just as breathtakingly pretty as ever. Your lipstick was smudged and there were lipstick stains in every part your lips had touched on their bodies. Your hair was dishevelled and drenched in sweat, just like your body. And oh fuck… The sight of your cunt clenching around Tartaglia’s and Zhongli’s cocks, stuffed to the brim with cum that slipped out and down your thighs was enough to get them all hard all over again.

Tartaglia slowly pulled out, strings of cum glistening on his cock, whilst Zhongli remained deeply sheathed in your cunt. You were resting your head on his shoulder, watching them drunk-dazed change positions. Neuvillette positioned himself in-between your legs, which were held open by Wriothesley and Alhaitham. Tartaglia was standing behind you, choking your neck and sliding two of his fingers into your mouth, as he nibbled down your earlobe. Your head pressed hard against Zhongli’s shoulder, your back arching, as Neuvillette dived into your sensitive cunt as carefully as ever.

Tartaglia was choking back your moans, your eyes glued to the man in front of you whose cock was drilling into you, ripping you in half. Neuvillette leant over you, kissing your lips, as both he and Zhongli continued fucking your slutty hole that creamed harder and harder all over them. There was not a single thought in your mind. You were a bubbling little mess, moaning and whimpering and begging “mmm, more, more!” and crying “oh fuck, it feels so good”. They were all looking at you, smirking at the little whore you were for them. And oh they adored it.

Your moans and whimpers and pleads and cries stirred something within the two men who were quite literally fucking you dumb. You screamed in pure bliss, Zhongli and Neuvillette pounding now into you as if their lives depended on it; as if the harder they thrusted, the longer their satisfaction would be prolonged. If they were honest, you just drove them mad, sending them over the edge of insanity with those sounds you made, forcing them to make haste into chasing after the euphoric feeling of cumming into those perfect, pulsating walls of yours. Your lips parted to moan thank yous, as the two of them poured their seed deep in your cunt.

This time, you were not allowed not even a second of respite. Neuvillette carefully picked you up from Zhongli’s lap. He was holding you tenderly in his arms, contrary to the desperate lust that gleamed in his eyes. Your body jolted, feeling Wriothesley’s soft lips kiss the nape of your neck. He took your handcuffs off, caressing your arms and peppering your shoulder with kisses. Neuvillette took your hands and wrapped them around his neck, his hands travelling down to your waist.

“Hold on tightly, love.”

Before you could even understand what he meant, you yelped surprised, as Neuvillette and Wriothesley lifted you in their arms. Your grip around his neck tightened, making him chuckle. You felt them both slowly penetrating your cunt, a low whimper escaping your lips, as your walls engulfed them in a tight hug.

“Even after being fucked all these times, your cunt is still greedy for more.” Wriothesley bit your neck. “What a little whore you are, my kitten.”

“Mmmm~” you meowed, unable to form a single sentence.

They ravaged your cunt, spilling out all the cum that had been stuffed in it. Their grips on your body were bruisingly tight, coming in complete contrast with the softness of their lips that burnt you fiercely wherever they touched. Wriothesley was biting all over your neck, sadistically wanting to draw out those gorgeous screams of yours that were music to his ears, making him harder and harder.

“You’re doing so well, love,” Neuvillette praised with that moaning voice of his. “Taking us both so well… Such a good girl…”

“Mmmm, yeah…” Wriothesley agreed. “Such a good slut…”

You were lost between Neuvillette’s praises and Wriothesley’s degradation. You caught a glimpse of the other three men who were watching you with utmost concentration, the three of you having captured their full attention, them jerking themselves off at the show you provided. Wriothesley choked your neck, turning you to look at Neuvillette, who crushed his lips on yours. You were tightening and pulsing around them, urging them to obliterate your greedy little cunt like never before. And you had no objection to that.

#୨୧｡˚₊♡꒰ strawchocoberry ꒱♡₊˚｡୨୧ #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut

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ssahotchnerr · 9 months

Note

Thinking about reader always sharing her water with Hotch to remind him to hydrate ehehe. She sets reminders to make sure he actually does hydrate and makes sure to tell the others to do the same as well

gentle reminders

here's everyone's reminder to hydrate!!! cw; established relationship, bau!reader, fluff!

if it weren't for you, the only liquid aaron would mainly consume would be coffee. in such a demanding occupation, especially at his high authority, it made sense.

had trouble sleeping or didn't get enough? coffee. dreading a meeting and needed to be rejuvenated? coffee. had no other choice but to stay up into the early hours of the morning doing paperwork? coffee. the list was seemingly endless.

as a result, you've taken it upon yourself to ensure dehydration didn't strike him, especially from all the dilution coffee itself produced. if he's drinking that much of it, he could at least counteract it by drinking equal the amounts of water. and regardless, he should be consuming more water to begin with; making it more of a habit. his usual excuse of 'forgetting', wasn't going to cut it anymore.

and if he's going to listen to anyone, it's going to be you.

you've preemptively set several reminders throughout the day to better aaron's water intake. your ringer was just loud enough - if tucked in your bag or drawer to gain only your awareness - mindful of it's possible obnoxiousness in the bullpen. if it were to go off loudly several times throughout the workday, it would surely be a reason for complaints. while out in the field, like now, you simply set it on vibrate.

the familiar buzz grabbed your attention, your eyes moving downward to your phone. the screen's lit; the notification of the reminder displayed in the middle.

conveniently, aaron happened to be seated at your left, discussing the geographic profile with spencer and the lead officer, narrowing down the unsub's comfort zone. you screwed open the cap of your water bottle, the seal producing a minor snap, and gingerly setting it down afterwards.

not wanting to interrupt, you simply tugged on aaron's sleeve to gain his attention. his eyes darted towards you in question, and slowly, you slid the opened bottle in his direction.

a gentle, amused almost-laugh puffed out of his nose, not surprised as this was routine at this point, and obeyed. once he managed to find a break within the ongoing conversation, did he grab the water and take a hearty swig. his eyes refound yours, flickering with a warm glint.

it caused your heart to flutter; aaron's eyes softening at your gesture. the quick switch between stoic unit chief, to simply aaron, was a near rare occurrence in the weighted atmosphere of cases, specifically while in the attendance of others. so when it did appear, a greater, more-than-usual surge of affection rippled through you.

but just as quickly as you noticed the lightness, it vanished. aaron's usual pensive expression returned, only his gaze pointed was at you this time, a silent push within it. you rolled your eyes in understanding and retook the bottle from him to take a sip yourself, holding back a smile.

aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, shoulders relaxing in satisfaction.

meanwhile across from you, dave was watching the whole exchange, a rather entertained expression on his face. "how romantic." he mouthed silently - when you noticed his stare.

all in fun, your eyes narrowed at him, before they flicked to his water bottle. with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms and held your gaze, practically daring him, 'okay, your turn.'

dave's tongue clicked in disapproval, solely for his flair for the dramatics, and began cranking open his water. and spencer being as observant as he was, noticed too and urgently grabbed his water, knowing you would be grounding onto him next. he tucked it under his arm, planning to drink once he concluded circling locations on the map exhibited on the board in front of him.

and for those who currently weren't at the precinct - derek, emily, jj, and even penelope all the way back home - you seized your phone, firing off a quick text in your shared group chat: hydrate reminder!

aaron peeked at his phone as his text tone went off, lips tugging into a barely-there, adoring smile as he read the message. his hand found your thigh underneath the table, giving it a doting squeeze.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 months

Text

Ok, I have two alternatives, pick which one you like the best.

Reader get picked to tutor Eddie even though they have always been at each other's throat, she thinking he's a drama queen, pissed that the popular people doesn't like him and he thinks she's a stuck up bitch without humor.

So they go back and forth but maybe one day when she's having a bad day and Eddie says something and she starts crying he gets all "what, how, why? What did I do, please don't cry!"

Or, that he catches her reading a romance novel and outwardly she has always just read classics - books that are 'high education'

Request by @somethingvicked 🫶💞 went with the first option 💞

Warnings; Little bit of angst, meanish Eddie, fluff. Accidental kiss.

💌🎀💌🎀

"You've got to be kidding me?" you gawk at Miss O'Donnell who has called you back at the end of class. She's asked you to tutor someone and at first you were all for it.

That's until you found out it was Eddie Munson, Munson who is currently sitting at the back of the class with his feet up on the desk in front of him, he gives you a sarcastic little wave and you turn back to Miss O'Donnell and hope she comes to her senses.

"He needs a tutor if he wants to graduate. You're the best student in the class. It will look wonderful on your college applications that you tutored Mr Munson" shit there was really no getting out of this.

Reluctantly you turn to Eddie who already doesn't like you. In his honest opinion you seemed prissy and stuck up. The two of you spent half your time at each other's throats, it had been like that for so long.

Equally you couldn't stand Eddie either. He was loud, a show off and you were sure he was jealous of the popular people he claimed to hate.

How you would manage to tutor him for weeks on end was anyone's guess. One thing's for sure, you were dreading this.

"Meet me after school tomorrow and we can get started okay?" You say to him already grumpy at having to spend extra time with him. Eddie swings his legs off the desk and smirks, then bows.

"As you wish princess" ugh, you storm out but not before hearing Eddie's laughter.

Asshole.

🎀💌🎀💌

The first week of tutoring Eddie is as horrible as you expected. He's antagonistic, makes no effort and needles at your patience until it's paper thin.

"How can you be expected to graduate if you don't make an effort?" You snap as Eddie strums on his guitar.

"That old bat has it in for me, even when I try my best she still doesn't care" Eddie hisses back and you feel the beginnings of a headache come on.

"You just need to apply yourself better, if you want to graduate then you need to ace this Munson" he glares at you.

"Don't you think I know that? It's easy for you though isn't it princess, since your little miss perfect" the insult flares up your annoyance and you and Eddie devolve into your usual arguments.

"Don't you think I have better things to do then tutor you Munson? So do us both a favour and start paying attention, so we can go our separate ways sooner".

He huffs and places down his guitar with gentle care, grabs his notebook and

"Did you draw these?" you ask curious as you trace your fingers over the images on his notebook. He nods and looks at you like he's expecting you to give him shit.

"They are really good Munson, you could think about applying to an art course after graduation" Eddie scoffs and takes his notebook back.

"Yeah like anyone's going to take me with my grades" his tone is all annoyance and it pisses you off.

"I was only trying to compliment you, why do you have to be so touchy all the time" you look away from him stubbornly, he is silent for a few seconds and when he speaks again his voice is soft.

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to a lot of compliments from people" this softens you as well and you turn to face him and give him a small smile.

"Well you're really good" there's a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks when you say this. He nods and settles back down beside you.

"You know uh, you're pretty good with the whole writing thing, uh shit, you know what I mean" pleased and a little flustered at his compliment you clear your throat and mutter thank you, then get started with the book you and Eddie are reading for class.

🎀💌🎀💌

Today has been the worst day. You overslept, forgot to hand your essay in to your biology teacher, the rain soaked you completely as soon as you left your home and you've been verging on a cold ever since.

So the thought of having to tutor Munson again does not fill you with joy, in all honesty all you want is your bed and to sleep. You couldn't get sick, you had too much to do.

Of course from the moment you meet up with Eddie he's difficult. All because it's Friday and he has a Hellfire meeting.

"I have to set everything up princess, I don't have time to waste here with you" furious you round on him.

"You think that I want to be here? No. I'd rather be at home so sit down and let's get on with this so I don't have to sit with your annoying ass any longer than I have to"

"Well at least I'm not a stuck up bitch with no sense of humour and a permanent stick up my ass"

Eddie's words cut to the bone and you stiffen in response. Don't cry, don't cry you chant to yourself, but you can't help as the tears roll down your cheeks, Eddie's big brown eyes widen in shock as you begin to cry.

Humiliated, you're just about to leave when he steps in front of you. "Wait, what did I do?" The two of you exchanged insults on a daily basis and you had never cried before, Eddie begins to panic as your sobs continue.

"Please don't cry" he says, he hates seeing you cry. Your little whimper stabs at his aching heart and on instinct he reaches over to you and takes your hand, the gesture surprises you both and it dries up your tears.

"I'm sorry, I don't like seeing you cry, please stop" you sniff and wipe the remainder of the tears away, Eddie's hand is still holding yours and it's making you feel things that you never expected.

Eddie gently strokes your hand with his thumb, marvels at the soft skin and how your hand fits perfectly in his own.

Uh, shit. This was new. You smile at him, suddenly seeming shy. His heart skips a beat. Jesus h Christ.

"I didn't mean it" he stumbles over his words and you sigh sadly, peer at him with an expression that tugs at his heart.

"Yes you did" he shakes his head fervently and assured you that he didn't.

"I just snapped back without thinking, I'm sorry" he pleads with you and you hear the sincerity in his voice and calm down a bit.

"I'm sorry too. Today has been so shit, I'm tired and I feel like crap. I just want to sleep" Eddie immediately grabs his notebook and pencil and sits down, he looks to you patiently.

"Let's do half an hour and I'll cram as much as I can in my brain and then I'm going to drive you home okay?" relived you nod but still feel worried.

"Miss O'Donnell won't be happy" you tell him and he shrugs as if he doesn't care one bit.

"Leave the old dragon to me okay princess?" touched at his sweetness you take his hand and squeeze it as a thank you. Surprisingly the half hour passes by cordially and Eddie is still sweet.

Before you know it the half hour has ended and Eddie is true to his word and drives you home. You don't feel much better and your stomach is fluttering like crazy being so close to Eddie.

What the hell was happening? Was this some side effect of the flu? Eddie's big brown eyes meet yours, "Thanks for driving me home Eddie"

He shrugs like it's no big deal and on impulse you reach over to kiss his cheek. The only thing is he moves so you miss completely and end up pressing your lips against his.

His eyes widen and you pull away embarrassed, your heart is racing and your lips are tingling from the kiss. You stammer out an apology but Eddie waves it off, you race out the door and into your house.

All the while Eddie is touching his lips, his own heart is racing a mile a minute and all he can think about is that he really wants to kiss you again.

💌🎀💌🎀

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #mean!eddie munson #enemies to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson

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amaranthineghost · 2 months

Text

I'LL LET YOU GO IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

a little over half a year later when the season ended, they haven't found their way back. At least not on purpose, but the universe knows better than them

authors note: I was thinking of making a happy ending, but not everything always ends up that way </3 after this, I'll work on two max imagines and then I'll see what I can do while I'm on spring break

part 1 found here

IT’S BEEN EIGHT MONTHS since she last spoke to him.

two hundred forty-three days since she last saw that sad look on his face in the rear-view mirror as she drove away from the past she half-wished was her future.

five thousand eight hundred thirty-two hours since she last felt his touch, his arms consoling and unwilling to let her go and yet she still left.

three hundred forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and twenty seconds since the peak of his performance at the beginning of the season. now she watched as he tried and failed to be what he once was. maybe not a winner, or a champion, but he’d had her, which was practically equal.

but now he had lost her.

now she watched as the season came to an end. poor performance after poor performance after poor performance where not all races ended in crossing the finish line.

she never stopped watching, yet she could never reach out, and neither would he. he was always going to be ready to accept her back into his life, yet he knew she needed time.

but she didn't know if she could do it again, though at the same time she kept eyeing his life in envy because part of her wished she could live the way he could without being bothered by the media. part of her was jealous he could live his entire life in front of a camera and be so nonchalant about it.

scrolling through his socials, they still followed each other and it caught people's attention. she read through countless tweets, theories and rumors of their relationship still carrying on behind the cameras, and though she partly wished it to be true, she hated that it wasn't. the fans still wished, and she would too.

the random appearances in the paddock had come to an end, unfortunate for the fans who loved whenever she’d show up in support of her boyfriend, turned ex.

because now all she did was stay within the confines of her apartment building, shielded from the possibility of running into lando. she couldn’t handle bumping into him when she still felt as fragile as glass. she felt like she would shatter if she saw him again, no matter how much she wanted him back.

but living in monaco means you're bound to run into someone from his circle of life.

it felt bittersweet because she wanted him back so badly, to have him hold her in his arms and tell her they’d make it work. but it’d never happened, and truthfully, she hoped it never would. because she knew that if she saw him, she wouldn’t go running back into his arms as if making it work again was the easiest option. because really, if she saw him, she would run, not towards him but away, and she dreaded the fact that he would let her.

he’d watch the love of his life run from him rather than to him and be totally fine with it. because he knew that when the time was right, she would find him again, or he would find her, and only then she wouldn’t run from him.

but he feared for the day that he would realize that she was never coming back to him. he feared for the day where he would realize he shouldn't have let her go.

and he hopes for the day, though it may never come, where she does find the right time to come back to him. he prays for the day where he would make the right choice he should've made the first time.

because in the infinite universes that are said to exist, even if she never returns in nearly every one, he hopes to live the one where she would.

but he knows that if there's a universe where she comes back, even after his idiocy of letting her go to begin with, there's also one where this could've been avoided all together. a universe where he didn't have to watch her pack her bags while shuddering with sobs.

a universe where he wouldn't have to go without her for eight months, where his performance improved when she attended grand prixs.

the one he'd rather live with her than without.

it was unsure when they would ever see each other again. they'd gone this long without seeing the other, who's to say they ever would?

it was chilly in the streets of monaco, contrast to the usually warm, sunny climate the area was known for. she wore a thick coat while she walked down the sidewalk, past the seasonal market with nothing more than her phone, wallet and tote bag.

she needed to get out, to think. she couldn't stand being trapped in the box of her apartment surrounded by nothing but reminders of him. not that it was a bad thing.

she couldn't take another second overanalyzing the helmet he had left for her. she knew it was part of his plan to have her back. to make her want more helmets dedicated to her, which he continued to do despite her not being with him. she'd be lying if she said his plan was failing.

the hoodie, probably tied into the same plan, covered in his damn cologne he knew she couldn't get enough of. it had faded over time, becoming replaced with the smell of her instead. she didn't know what to think of it.

she considered purchasing that same cologne again, drowning the fabric in its fragrance. it wouldn't be the same.

she felt like she could breathe easier with the winter air rather than the stale air of her apartment. sure, she could've stepped onto the balcony, but it was always nice to find a way out of her apartment complex.

hands stuffed in her pockets, she wandered around aimlessly at the shops that lined the streets and stalls set up to buy from.

riddled with things that caught her eye, she couldn't help but stop at nearly every stall. it took an incredible amount of self control to not buy everything she wanted. she didn't have lando by her side to buy everything.

this was her life now. she had a job that she could do from home and it paid her rent. it was enough to live off of while she completed her last years of school before she started a career for herself. tiny little trinkets seemed good in the moment, but she knew long-term that it’d eventually hurt her financially, and besides she didn’t have that much space in her apartment.

she didn’t know how much time had passed. everything was a blur as she mindlessly walked on. she hadn’t noticed when she bumped her shoulder into somebody’s chest, and she had immediately begun to apologize.

“i’m so sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was—lando?” she recognized the curly-haired guy in front of her as she stood there frozen.

“hey, long time no see,” he spoke slowly and warily, looking her up and down at the changes of her appearances that occurred over the last eight months.

“uh—what are you doing here?” she questioned, stuttering over her words just slightly as she looked at him tensely.

lando looked around with a brow raised, hands in his pockets while he answered, “uh, i live here?”

she nodded, “right.”

the air was awkward as they stood in a tense silence. people ushered around them, occasionally bumping into them. they hadn’t known what to say to each other because they weren’t expecting this impromptu meeting.

“how’ve you been?” he broke the silence.

she nodded again, “fine, and you? i saw that your season wasn’t too good.”

he grimaced softly at her words, “yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “just some technical issues.”

“right.”

the silence was back and more deafening than the first time, standing awkwardly looking at each other didn’t help.

again, he was the one to break it, “could i buy you a drink?”

“isn’t it a bit early for alcohol?” she questioned, looking at the brightness of the sky before her gaze settled back down at him with a weird look.

he scoffed, “i mean the coffee shop down the street,” his voice was a half chuckle as he began walking, leaving her to follow.

“well, you’re unpredictable these days,” she fell into step with him as they walked side by side in silence.

it took all of two minutes for them to arrive at the coffee shop lando had mentioned. they could smell the aroma from a ways away, the door left open to let in the cool breeze.

the shop was warm and cozy, most tables were occupied except for a few scattered around. she reached for her wallet to buy herself a coffee, but he quickly shut it down.

“it's my treat,” was all he said before he walked up to the counter with his card in hand to order as she took the two seater by the window, setting her bag down on the ground. she watched the world from where she sat, the people walking by.

groups of friends, pairs that weren’t quite at the stage of being a couple, or the single person walking by every so often. all without crossing paths. it seemed crazy to her how so much could change because of a stranger on the street.

looking back to where lando stood ordering, she wondered what her life would’ve been if they hadn’t met. they wouldn’t have traveled the world, stayed out late on rooftops, or partied in clubs despite her hesitancy. he wouldn’t have dedicated nearly his whole career to her because she was forever a piece of him.

she realized how much she had meant when she saw just how much of her he still kept. he wore shirts with printed pink bows, the one gold bracelet he wore among the silver and fan bracelets given to him by her and he never took it off. the way he styled his hair in the way she taught him, the matching rings they still wore, the references of her personality on his helmet for every race rather than a specific track, her name on his car.

her name on his car.

her name printed in pretty cursive across the top of his steering wheel and the halo for him to see.

he still managed to include her in his life despite her absence because he considered her his lucky charm. having reminders of her anywhere he could would always manage to boost his spirits, but only her presence would boost his performance.

the chair across from her pulled out with an uncomfortable scrape of the legs against the floor. she grimaced slightly, but it quickly disappeared when she refocused on the hand that slid a mug filled with hot coffee to her.

clearly they were going to be here a while, judging from the mug and not a to-go cup. she watched the steam swirl into the air as she softly blew on it while lando sat across from her with his beverage of choice. she also noticed the chocolate-chip cookie in a paper bag he held.

he remembered her love of sweets. she took a sip of her coffee. he remembered her order to the finest detail. he still remembered.

“thanks,” she spoke quietly before taking another small sip of the hot beverage. it slightly burned her tongue and throat as she drank, but she didn’t care to notice.

she was sitting across from lando norris, the one person she had been hoping to avoid this whole time, and now she’s sat with him at a coffee shop they used to frequent when they were dating.

“you’re welcome,” he muttered, his saddened eyes unmoving from her face, watching every expression of hers unfold. “so, how have you been?”

“you’ve already asked that,” she stated simply.

“i mean,” he started, leaning forward with his arms crossed against the table, “how have you really been? i don’t believe for a second that you’ve been fine when i‘m barely holdin’ it together.”

she sighed, taking another sip and grimacing at the burn, “it’s been difficult, but i know it was for the best that we broke up.”

he nodded in response, his fingers circling the rim of his mug as he stared into it.

she spoke up again, saying the words he dreaded to hear, “and i think it should stay that way.”

his shoulders visibly dropped and he bit his cheek before he looked back at her with colorless eyes, “but—” he began when she hastily cut him off.

“i need you to let me go,” her voice cracked as she spoke and tears filled her eyes as she avoided his gaze, “you have to let me let you go, lan.”

“please, don’t make me do this,” he begged, leaning forward again with a look that could make her change her mind in a second.

“please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” she shook her head as the tears began to fall, “in another universe, it might’ve been me and you, maybe the circumstances would've been in our favor, but not in this one.”

“it’s just right person, wrong life.”

“i’ll find you in our next lifetime then,” he promises, his eyes brimming with tears. he tried his best to hold back, for her, “i promise.” he tried to remain strong, for her.

“I know you will.” she said simply, smiling through her tears as she pursed her lips, sniffling as she played with her fingers. “y’know, i'll always be your number one supporter, lan. i'll still cheer for you, just from behind a screen. in that other life, i would come to your races.”

“but even in this one, i'll still celebrate your first win, your first championship. i'll vote you for driver of the day, even if you’re dead last.”

he chuckled sadly at the last part, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile, “how will i know for sure you didn’t get bored of watching me race?” his hand reached across the table, his tan slightly faded and his rings cold.

she rolled her eyes softly, “you’ll know. i promise.” she laid her hand on his, the last somewhat intimate touch they’ll ever have with each other because after he watched her stand, pocketing the cookie he bought. he watched her through the window as she walked into the crowd as if their paths never met.

he watched with tears in his eyes, silently crying as he watched the love of his other life turn her back on him forever. he let her.

because if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was letting her go.

part of her wanted him to chase after her, wipe her mascara-stained tears just like that regretful day in their old apartment because part of her still wanted him in her life. she wished she could still go back sometimes.

he wished she would just come back. he wanted to experience life with her, he wanted to win with her, be a champion with her.

but he lived in the wrong universe, and he was unsure if he'd ever see her in this life again, in the way he wanted. they would bump shoulders on the street, looking longingly for just a second as they ushered by in a hurry. not looking back, but never forgetting how much they had meant to each other for the time they were together.

how crossing paths, even for what seemed like the shortest time to them, changed the trajectory of their lives forever. they would subconsciously look for qualities of each other in the people they moved onto. telling stories to their kids and grandkids about the other in regretful tones because they wished it was the kids they had together that they could tell the story of their relationship to.

because now they were just strangers, she was just a name he would forever keep on his car, and he was just an old lover turned stranger she would send flowers to after every podium and win until he would retire.

—

taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @taylorslovesswifties13 @leclercdream

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

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hells-wasabii · 4 months

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hii, hope you're doing well. May I ask for alastor x reader where reader is way more powerful than alastor? and weird thing for al is that r didn't sell their soul to anybody or make a deal, they just slayed and managed to become very strong overlord just by themselfs. Could be fem or gn reader, please

Thank you, have a nice day/night <33

A/N: I went with a gn reader, wasn't too sure how to incorporate a specific gender into this one, but i hope you enjoy!

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons (Alastor x stronger reader, General)

Now, this was certainly interesting! It seemed to Alastor that history really did have a way of repeating itself! Just like himself, a new soul had arrived in hell and stirred up quite the commotion! And during his seven-year absence no less! You were one powerful demon, quickly rising in the ranks of the overlords and eventually even making your way to Pentagram City. Only where Alastor had stagnated in power by himself, you kept rising. You were stronger? Than him? Now he really was interested.

But what intrigued the radio demon the most was the source of your power. Where did it come from? He had heard the rumors that you had no souls, but that just didn't make any sense to him. Not in the slightest.

Souls equal power, plain and simple, whether it means obtaining the souls of others or selling your own. but you had done neither. quite the anomaly you were. He just knew that he had to meet you!

The moment that he even stepped into the same room as you, the radio demon was filled with a sense of dread. He could feel the power radiating off of you. Alarm bells rang in his mind, he knew you were a danger. But this also meant that he knew exactly who you were when he saw you. The overlord with no souls, power with no strings attached. You certainly did not disappoint, that was for sure.

Now, Alastor was not a demon to form alliances, but one with you would he certainly wouldn't mind making an exception for. Whatever he could do to get close to you. He'd sniff out any possible opening and poof, suddenly the radio demon was ingrained in your afterlife.

He would be looking for any opportunity to worm his way in, trying to find out why exactly you were so strong. Trying to get you to make a deal. It didn't matter to him if he had to start small, as long as he could get in it was a start.

He knew one thing for sure. You were exactly what he had been looking for. He had to add you to his collection. And he would do anything to have you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #alastor x reader #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor

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ma-yawntu · 17 days

Text

mine, all mine.

chapter one: paradigm

pairing: neteyam x female!metkayina!reader

summary: You had your routine down to a fine art until he and his family threw a wrench in the works.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of injury, weapons, sneaking out, you're a menace fr. NO USE OF Y/N!!!

now playing... home by good neighbours

metkayina face claims

chapter two

It was early in the morning, long before the sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the village of Awa’atlu in a soft golden hue. You were silent as you crept toward the entrance to your family’s marui, placing your feet ever so carefully as to not disturb your siblings and parents and undoubtedly cop a string of questions as to why exactly you were up so early. You’d lie your way out of it, as usual, but you would remain under suspicion for far too long. But by now, you had this sneaking out business down to a fine art. Your mother’s duties as Tsahik had her awake fairly early most mornings and your father– well, you were sure the entire village knew when he was asleep given his occasional thunderous snores that you heard even in your dreams (or nightmares depending on your persuasion).

There was a short expanse of time when both your parents slept soundly and you could get away uninterrupted and unsupervised for secret little training sessions with one of the village elders, Teyoa, who was a total thorn in your side but he was the only one who agreed to train you. Your father was sure there was no need for such things as learning to fight or use an array of weapons for anything other than hunting– the Metkayina were not at war. But even from a young age, you were fascinated by the stories of warriors and the battle with the great Toruk Makto that the elders would secretly tell the children. You were sure you wanted to be a warrior, fight to defend your people. But being the oldest daughter of the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan meant there was a heavy responsibility on your shoulders. You were the tsakarem, destined to be the Tsahik one day– a far cry from your dream of being a warrior.

Then there was the total mess of having to be mated one day, you considered that to be absolutely appalling– of course, your mother would scoff and tell you off for being dramatic– but you did not want to be mated to some random boy in the village, all of which you had the utter displeasure of growing up with for the most part. You dreaded the day you passed your Iknimaya– which was a breeze by the way– but it also meant you would be an adult, able to be courted and approached by the absolute meatheads that lived in your village.

“He’s a nice boy,” your mother would comment as you rolled your eyes so far back you saw your equally displeased brain.

“He also gave Ao’nung a bald patch when we were children,” you scoffed, pulling on the intricate and almost suffocating neck piece your mother insisted you wear when boys began courting you.

“Must you have an excuse for everything?” Ronal would sigh, pressing her hands together as if praying to Eywa for the strength to not throttle her eldest child.

“Mother, A’tok is boring at best. Father would not approve of him being the next Olo’eyktan,” you would reply with a shrug, finally untying the neck piece and replacing it with the simple beaded one Tsireya had made for you many eclipses ago.

“Eywa, give me strength,” Ronal would mutter, eyes glancing up at the sky as she returned to the healing tent to tend to the wounded hunters.

Your parents were sure you made it impossible on purpose. You would avoid courting boys from the village like the plague, using your sister or tsakarem duties as an excuse almost every time. But Tsireya loved love; she would point out some of the cute village boys that came to court you, noting the gifts they had bought or their kind demeanour– she was too sweet for her own good. You had dirt on almost everyone, noting the times some of the older boys had bullied Ao’nung or bad mouthed your sister or parents– you held a grudge.

Your mother tried to busy you with tsakarem duties if you were so adamant on borderline bullying the Metkayina boys into leaving you alone. You found it boring at times, wishing you were out hunting or practising your weaponry skills with Teyoa. Of course, you wanted to honour your family and your clan, but you wanted to learn to defend the land and your spirit brothers and sisters the tulkun too. Interpreting the will and Eywa and being a healer wasn’t exactly where all the action was. Tsireya would have been a better tsakarem than you. You had heard of villages where sisters lead their clan alongside each other as Olo’eyktan and Tsahik– you would lead them in flesh and your sister could lead them in spirit. But that’s not how the Metkayina did things and Eywa forbid you mess with tradition.

So you paid attention for the most part, learned to look for ripe fruits, herbs and created healing balms and practise healing techniques. But you found it so uninteresting and boring, but you loved your people and your parents, so biting your tongue and carrying on would be enough for now.

But it only lasted so long before you wanted to sit at the bottom of the reef in an act of protest and ignore your never ending list of responsibility as the tsakarem. When you went around begging some of the elder warriors to train you, they feared the wrath of your parents (mostly your mother) and told you to stop behaving like a child. Teyoa thought you were amusing and decided to teach you, but his teaching methods were weird and required the patience you simply did not have.

“I do not see how hitting this poor defenceless bag of sand is effective,” you would grumble, burying the end of your staff into the sand, leaning on the thick weapon. Teyoa circled around you as you ‘fought’ this bag of sand, not even using a ‘real’ weapon as you so eloquently put it.

“You must be patient, child. A good warrior and hunter is patient,” he lectured, picking the staff up out of the sand and handing it to you. “Again.”

You let out a sound of annoyance before you forced the stance Teyoa had ingrained into the fabric of your soul, holding the staff toward your enemy (bag of sand) and beginning your usual fighting techniques. Teyoa had his arms crossed as he watched you, studying your form. You had a strong heart and will, always wanting to prove yourself and while he had never seen someone with such a keen heart, you were impatient but he was sure you would see it one day.

Your hands were always covered in blisters and small bruises from your training with Teyoa. He told you that warriors had tough hands, they needed the strength to wield any weapon and battle any odds. Your eyes would sparkle at the thought and you were always proud of the injuries from your hard work– though hiding it from your parents proved to be a challenge in itself. Teyoa knew he could probably get into trouble for teaching the Olo’eyktan’s daughter to fight, but you were so adamant and protective of your people, it was hard to say no.

That was the routine most days– rise early to train with Teyoa and be back before your parents even realised you were gone. You had gotten better at fighting, you would easily hold yourself in a fight and wanted to prove yourself to your father but seeking out a fight wasn’t exactly the mark of a good warrior.

“Where are you going?” Tsireya asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and you stopped dead in your tracks, turning painfully slowly to face your little sister.

“Nowhere,” you replied pathetically.

She gave you a look of confusion as her gaze shifted from your head to your feet. Your tail twitched anxiously as she watched you, “it doesn’t look like you’re going nowhere.”

“Go back to sleep, Reya,” you whispered, heading toward the entrance of your family’s marui. Tsireya stood up from her mat, wrapping her arms around herself as she met you in the middle of the marui.

“I see you do this every morning, sister. You’re worrying me,” she pouted. You sighed softly in defeat, turning to face your sister.

“I’m seeing a boy–”

“Lie.”

“I do not lie,” you replied, offended.

“You lie all the time,” Tsireya retorted, “and you do not like any of the Metkayina boys. I see through your lie and I demand you tell me the truth,” she said a little louder.

You sighed, running your hands down your face. It was impossible to lie to your sister, she knew you too well. “I’ve been training with Teyoa.”

Tsireya battled with the confession for a moment, “the old warrior?” she questioned.

“Yes, he’s been teaching me,” you replied.

“Mother and father will not be happy,” Tsireya commented, folding her arms over her chest.

“I’m aware, hence the leaving at stupid times in the morning,” you said with a huff. Tsireya gave you that look she always gave when she was worried and you felt your heart squeeze. “I am careful, Reya. He has taught me many things, I feel I can defend our people and– and the tulkun.”

“We are not at war,” she quickly said, grabbing your hands and squeezing them in her own. “You do not need to fight. We are safe here–”

“The tulkun go missing, Reya. The other clans speak of their spirit brothers and sisters disappearing, I cannot let that happen,” you replied, holding Tsireya’s hands tightly. She looked at you with such worry in her eyes. “I feel it,” you said quietly, “I feel something is wrong, that something is coming.”

“You cannot be sure,” Tsireya sighed, shaking her head.

“I am the future Tsahik, sister. I think I know when Eywa speaks,” you teased.

“You would be a good Tsahik,” she said after a beat, knowing how you felt about your duties as tsakarem. You smile at her words, cupping her cheek softly. She knew how you felt about your tsakarem duties, wishing so desperately to be a warrior instead of a healer. But you were soft when you wanted to be, she was convinced you would be an excellent Tsahik one day.

“I must go,” you whispered, letting go of her hands.

“Be careful,” Tsireya sighed, “you cannot be so sneaky forever.”

You turned around just before stepping outside your family’s marui, “watch me.”

You sat on the beach of the neighbouring island of Awa’atlu. Your legs were covered in sand as you worked on crafting your heavy bow. Metkayina preferred to use spears, but Teyoa taught you how to make a bow, a dying art in his opinion. You had been working on it for a couple of days in secret, not wanting your parents to find out you were spending your time making weapons instead of learning to perfect your healing techniques.

“Looks good,” Teyoa commented, holding a spear and woven basket of fish in his hands. You glanced up at him and let out a sigh.

“I cannot get the string tight enough, hardly a weapon for a warrior if you ask me,” you huffed, your fingers red and tired from the thin string that was steadily starting to wear at your poor fingers from how hard you’d been trying to pull it taut.

Teyoa silently sat beside you on the sand, the heavily tattooed elder Metkayina fixing your sloppy handiwork in a matter of seconds. “Now it is a weapon fit for a warrior,” he grinned as he handed it to you. You stood up, feeling the weight of it in your hand. “It will take some getting used to–”

You lifted one of your crafted arrows, pulling the string taut before releasing it on an unsuspecting fish in the shallows of the reef. You ran toward the water, pulling the fish out with a grin on your face. Teyoa began to laugh softly.

“You overachieve,” he shook his head.

“Was that a compliment?” You teased.

“Hardly, child,” he chuckled.

You practised your aiming skills in the shade of the forest, Teyoa occasionally correctly you but leaving you to practise for the most part. You definitely lost track of time because by the time you returned to the beach, the sun had risen over the vast horizon of Pandora, a grim reminder of the fact your parents were definitely awake and you were definitely not in the village.

“Oh, Eywa, no!” You almost yelled as you started running toward the beach, clicking your tongue to get your ilu’s attention. Teyoa stayed behind, picking up his woven basket full of fish he had caught earlier and watching as you scrambled through the water.

“I’d like to see you lie yourself out of this one!” Teyoa sang from behind you. He never took much seriously, he was too old (his words) to care much about ‘getting in trouble’. You, however, cared a lot.

You dipped into the water with your ilu, quickly making tsaheylu as you tore through the water back toward your village– you were so dead and while your sister would try to cover for you; Tsireya was a pretty bad liar. Your ilu zipped through the coral reefs, pushing itself as hard as the poor animal could for your sake. You quickly surfaced, taking in a deep breath of air when you heard it– the loud horn you knew all too well.

That horn meant a few things: the tulkun were back, a ceremony was beginning or someone was missing, and given where you were and the fact that your parents had no idea, you were sure it was the latter. You dipped back before the surface, hoping and praying to Eywa your mother wouldn’t skin you for this one.

You swam in through a small opening in the twisting branches around the reef, watching as your village gathered on the sandbank, probably copping a not-so-subtle interrogation from your father about your whereabouts before he sent out the search party.

You definitely couldn’t lie your way out of this one.

Tsireya shifted anxiously as she stood by her brother, glancing around the crowd for you. She only half listened to her father as he spoke to these strangers from the forest, their sudden appearance in their village frightening the Metkayina. They were seeking uturu and while your father seemed to consider the idea, your mother scoffed at such an ask.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, Tonowari made the decision to let Jake Sully and his family stay in their village. Tsireya knew it would be difficult for them as forest Na’vi learning the way of water, but she was eager to teach.

“Our children, Ao’nung, Tsireya and…” Tonowari let out a sigh as his eyes fell on only his two youngest, with you nowhere to be seen. Tsireya winced uncomfortably at her father’s gaze. He looked around for a moment before finishing, “they will teach your children our ways.”

“Where is your sister?” Ronal asked, pulling on Tsireya’s arm. Tsireya felt like she was going to explode, unable to form a single coherent thought that wouldn’t totally expose your little routine.

“I am here!” Your voice broke out across the beach, the crowd parting for you as you made your way toward your parents. You were out of breath, your chest huffing up and down and your hair a soaked mess from your panicked race home. “Mother, I am sorry, I–” You trailed off at the sight of foreigners in your village. You recognised them as forest Na’vi– why would forest Na’vi be here? There were six of them; a family.

The forest was exceedingly far from your home in the reef and the family before you looked noticeably tired from their journey and you could only imagine how out of place they felt in your village. The youngest forest Na’vi looked at you curiously, hiding behind her father’s leg as she watched you, you smiled softly, the little Na’vi grinning back and holding her father’s leg.

“My daughter,” your father said, your attention snapping back to him, “how nice of you to join us.”

You winced at the comment, some of the younger Metkayina snickering at the comment, your brother doing the same. Tsireya swatted at his arm, effectively shutting him up. You stepped toward your father, “Father, I–”

He held his hand up, silencing you. You were going to hear about this later, you were absolutely sure of it. “Help your sister move Jake Sully and his family into their marui,” he said lowly, to which you nodded, not daring to argue with him. “I want you to teach their children our ways,” he looked at Jake Sully and his family, “so they do not suffer the shame of being useless.”

Your father gave you a look, a look that silently asked you where you’d been while simultaneously telling you he didn’t want to hear it. Tsireya came to your rescue, quickly grabbing your hand and turning to smile at the forest Na’vi. “Come. We will show you our village.”

You walked alongside Tsireya through your village, watching as she peaked behind her occasionally at what you assumed was the youngest of Jake Sully’s sons. You followed her gaze, grinning softly at your adorable sister. She caught you watching her, becoming embarrassed.

“What?” She questioned, completely unprompted.

“I said nothing,” you replied, trying not to laugh. You carried a few of the Sully’s belongings to the empty marui near the edge of the village, at least you could give them a little bit of privacy while they adjust to their new home.

Tsireya shuffled into their marui, placing their things down, “this will be your new home,” she grinned sweetly. You trailed behind her, finally getting a good look at the entire forest family. You stared at them curiously, noticing their thin tails and arms, their darker blue skin and piercing yellow eyes. You had never seen Na’vi like this before and it intrigued you.

“Thank you, this is nice, right?” Jake turned to his mate and children, smiling through his wince as his mate dropped the rolled hide on the floor with a huff. Jake turned to you and your sister, “Thank you, Tsireya and… I’m sorry I don’t think I caught your name.”

Your ears perked at the sudden attention on you and you quickly told him your name, bowing your head softly. Your tail swished behind you as Jake introduced his family to you and your sister, “my mate, Neytiri,” she seemed displeased with the arrangement and was rather… intimidating. “My daughters Tuk and Kiri.” Tuk waved happily at you, to which you returned with a small smile while her sister Kiri seemed uncomfortable, pulling on the corners of her shawl. “And my sons Lo’ak and Neteyam.”

Tsireya smiled at the ground as Lo’ak caught her eye, smiling softly at your sister. But your eyes lingered on his oldest son, Neteyam. He watched you curiously and he was hard to read, he looked you up and down and you almost frowned. You stared back at him for a fleeting moment, wondering what his problem was.

“Right, well,” Tsireya said, pulling your attention to her, “we will leave you to settle and get some rest, we can go swimming in the reef later on,” she smiled politely, nodding her head as she grabbed your arm, pulling you out of their marui.

You felt Neteyam looking at you as you left, turning your head to peek back at him. Eywa, what is his problem? You thought, making a face of disdain as you caught up with your sister.

“What’s his problem?” You grumbled. You walked shoulder to shoulder with her as you made your way back to your parents in the middle of the village.

“You mean Neteyam?” Tsireya asked. You gave her a look and she giggled, “he was checking you out!”

“What? No, he wasn’t,” you frowned, a feeling of disgust pooling in your chest. Tsireya nudged your shoulder with a laugh.

“Oh, my sister. You may be a great warrior, a Tsahik in training and have a gift for scaring boys away, but he was definitely checking you out,” Tsireya babbled on and you rolled your eyes. You weren’t exactly unpopular when it came to boys wanting to court you, if anything, you did pretty well for yourself. But you simply weren’t interested in finding a mate any time soon, you were only sixteen, it felt ridiculous to rush into things (even though your parents pestered you about choosing a mate).

“How ridiculous,” you retorted. “He is a forest Na’vi, we are reef Na’vi, I’m sure he was more preoccupied with our staggeringly different appearances,” you attempted to explain the reason for his lingering gaze but your sister really wasn’t having a bar of it.

“Are you saying you didn’t think he was cute?” Tsireya asked, quirking a brow at you. You stopped in your tracks, giving her an unimpressed look. She let out a dramatic gasp, “you do think he’s cute!”

“I do not,” you retorted childishly.

“Do not lie!” She squealed. “I never thought I would see the day!”

“You pain me,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“My sister likes a boy!” She sang.

“I do not like him,” you grumbled as Tsireya danced circles around you with a grin on her face. She tugged on your arm as she jumped up and down with excitement. You would admit that he was cute but you were allowed to admire and ignore– that’s what you did best, because boys are usually cute until they open their big dumb mouths.

a/n: hi! this is my first time writing for avatar, i hope you like it! i know there wasn't much of our teyam in this but there will be more! only if this does well tho :3

dividers by @/cafekitsune

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yoon-kooks · 1 year

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pastries & promises | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: After hooking up with the hot nerdy boy in your coding class over the weekend, you’ll use any excuse to keep his hands on your body all week long.

⛓️word count: 3k

⛓️warnings: catdilf!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, praise kink, dirty talk, oc is a horny lil brat, mention of getting wasted at parties, one instance of slut-shaming, oc makes an ignorant comment about earl grey tea lol, no explicit smut in this drabble

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: this takes place a few days after p&p jjk & oc start talking to give us a glimpse of what their new dynamic is like in & out of class✨ btw despite what oc says about earl grey, i personally love it;;

After a weekend of sex, coding, kitten shenanigans, and more sex, you wake up to a beautiful boy with equally beautiful tattoos nagging you to “get the fuck up” for the “hundredth time” because “class starts in twenty minutes” and “attendance is worth 25% of your grade.” It somehow slipped your mind that it’s already Monday. Can he really blame you after fucking you silly several hours ago?

You tug at the collar of his hoodie and pull him on top of you. Still very much naked beneath the sheets, you suggest, “Or we can just skip class and extend our weekend? I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

“Nice try, but no.” Jungkook offers you a hand and pulls you into an upright sitting position. The sheets slide down your chest, and you catch the boy staring a little too long.

“And you expect me to walk into class without a bra?” It’s not your fault you rushed over to his place last night in nothing but a baby tee and leggings. Why bother throwing on a bra when you know it’s gonna be torn off your body the second you step into his room?

“I mean, I’m not against it.” His eyes are still locked onto your chest. At least he’s a guy who appreciates art when he sees it. When he’s finally done, he digs through his closet and throws one of his grey hoodies into your arms. “But this will keep you warmer.”

You sniff the hoodie. It’s clean but still has the very scent you’ve familiarized yourself with a lot this weekend—blossoms and bergamot. It smells delicious.

With a sigh, you hop out of the bed and collect your pieces of clothing from every corner of the room. Your thong somehow wound up slung over his computer screen, but better there than on the floor.

Once you’re dressed in your day-old clothes, you slip into the boy’s hoodie and drown in his scent. The warmth that engulfs you makes you want to adopt his comfy casual style. At least on school days. Maybe you wouldn’t dread going to class so much if you could just sit there and be all cozy like that.

You’d still prefer to stay home and fuck him, though.

“You know what, I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden,” you lie. “Maybe you should stay home too so we don’t spread any germs to our beloved classmates.”

“Maybe you should just go to class like a good girl, and maybe you’ll be rewarded afterward,” he throws back at you. The way you perk up is almost embarrassing. But you’ve definitely got a thing for being praised and rewarded for good behavior. Especially if the prize is something pleasurable. So yeah, you suppose you’ll endure class for a few hours so that you can have some more fun later on.

“Fine.” You wrap your pinky around his to solidify the deal. He gives you a look but doesn’t pull his finger away. “But just know that you’re a nerd for never skipping class.”

“And how do you know I never skip class?” He raises his brow with intrigue.

“We’ve been in at least three or four other comp sci classes together, and I’ve never seen you miss a day.”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping tabs on me all this time?” He’s totally calling you out. But he isn’t wrong. As quiet as Jungkook is in class, it’s hard not to notice someone who’s so incredibly smart. Doesn’t hurt that you’ve always thought he was kinda cute too.

“I guess you could say that,” you admit. What you won’t admit, however, is the fact that you’d wanted to talk to him back then but didn’t know how to initiate a conversation. You might be considered popular, but you sure as hell don’t know how to talk to people unless they strike up the conversation first. And Jeon Jungkook clearly didn’t have any intentions of being the initiator.

Thank god for that partner project that started it all.

Just before the two of you can get out the door, a tiny mew stops you in your tracks. The kitten looks up at Jungkook and cries again.

“You have to stay home, little one,” he says, holding a hand up for her to sit and stay. Like the naughty demon child she is, she ignores everything he says and climbs up his leg and into his arms. You can hear her purring as soon as she rests her chin on her dad’s shoulder like an actual baby. It’s so tempting to take a million pictures of the glorious cat dad moment and set one as your phone wallpaper, but you’d definitely run out of storage. Good to know you have some form of restraint when it comes to your infatuation.

After ten heartwarming seconds, he sets the kitten down in her pink bed and gives her a new tiger toy that was special ordered from some fancy cat shop on the other side of the country.

“Stay,” he tells her again before rising out of his squat. When she does as she’s told, he adds, “Good kitten.”

Oh, how you wish he was saying that to you right now.

“Your daddy really spoils you, you know that?” you giggle, waving bye to the kitty. A second later, you’re overcome by the urge to latch around Jungkook’s arm as you both head to his car. “When are you going to spoil me like that?”

He doesn’t give you a specific answer, but you’ll gladly accept the way he shrugs with the faintest hint of a smile. The two of you haven’t been talking all that long, and yet, he seems to be tolerating your antics well. At the very least, he must like you a tiny bit.

On the car ride over, you feel like you’re forgetting something. And then the boy’s stomach rumbles. Neither of you has eaten anything since the impromptu fast food run last night.

“Ooh, we should stop by the cute little bakery near campus before class,” you suggest, totally not trying to avoid class for the thousandth time today. “I heard they have really good muffins.”

“We’re gonna be late if we make any detours.” He catches a glimpse of your pout as he makes a right turn. “We can go after.”

Your pout quickly becomes a smile because he keeps sweetening the deal. You’re very much looking forward to the promised pastries and sex after class along with anything else he might throw in.

When you get to class, the usual gal crowd is hanging around your desk. Except someone else is there sitting in your seat. It’s Big Tim. Great. You love confrontation first thing in the morning.

Before approaching the seat thief, you watch him throw a cocky ass smile at Jungkook who straight up ignores it as he takes his seat next door. You would’ve appreciated a little help, but there’s nothing from Big Tim you can’t handle. Besides, the two of you agreed to keep the whole hookup thing lowkey and out of the mouths of your gossiping classmates. Otherwise Jungkook would probably end up hearing a wacky rumor-fied version of it from his tattoo artist.

“Hi?” you say to the guy in your seat. You’ll play nice for now.

“Oh hi Y/N, we were just talking about you.” Big Tim gives you a much kinder smile than the one he threw at Jungkook—a byproduct of being popular, you suppose.

“About what?” You’re genuinely confused.

“There’s a party at my place this weekend, and I’m hoping you’ll be there.” This is the first time he’s personally invited you anywhere. Is it a coincidence that he’s doing it in front of an audience?

“Thanks for the invite, but I’m all partied out for a while,” you respond as honestly and gracefully as possible. You have no interest in hanging out with Big Tim, but parties aren’t completely off the table forever. It might be fun to bring Jungkook to one eventually, even though he claims he’s uninterested in getting wasted with people he couldn’t care less about. “Can I have my seat back now?”

Big Tim laughs it off like you weren’t being serious. “Aww, don’t be like that. It’s just gonna be a small thing with you, me, and a few others. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You and him? You almost gag. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. And what’s up with him dismissing your gentle rejection? If he didn’t want to be rejected in front of everyone, he shouldn’t have hyped it up in the first place. Now it just feels like he’s pressuring you into going along with it because he knows you’re too soft to make him look bad in front of others. Unfortunately for him, that’s not going to happen.

“I’m seeing someone—a single father, actually—and I’ve been helping him with his kid. So I don’t have time for your party.” The single father part is a bit of a stretch, but you kind of like the sound of it. He’s your local hot cat dilf after all.

The girls’ jaws all drop at the same time. Big Tim’s smile also drops a bit, but he continues to shrug it off. “Helping a dad with his kid? Anything for a good dicking, I guess.”

Okay, buddy.

You tried to stay courteous about the whole situation, and this is what you get in return. He can say whatever he wants to make himself feel better about himself, but it’s also sad to see not a single one of the other girls step in and call him out on his bullshit. You’re sick of it.

“Are you done? Can you leave now?” You look Big Tim straight in the eyes, although you’re hoping the girls take a hint to leave as well.

They don’t. Because they’re too invested in how Big Tim will respond as he opens his big mouth once more.

“She said leave,” Jungkook snaps out of nowhere. If you had to guess, he was trying to catch up on sleep after that long night with you, and now he’s cranky and mad that Big Tim can’t just shut up and take the L.

Big Tim and the girls collectively turn their heads toward the grumpy boy who cuts the conversation off with a death glare to each and every one of them. As expected, Jungkook is the only person who’d ever take your side on anything. And that’s why he’s the only one who matters to you these days.

At long last, the crowd disperses and everyone goes back to their seats. Just in time for class to begin.

As soon as class ends, you stretch your arms out, slip past all the girls who want the deets on this mysterious dilf you’re seeing, and meet back up with said dilf outside the building.

“Bakery time?” You’re smiling awfully bright despite the shitshow that went down before class. But that’s the effect Jeon Jungkook seems to have on you. You’ll take a bad day every once in a while if he’s there to make it a little better.

“Don’t bakeries usually close early?” he asks in a calm voice as if that isn’t the most devastating thing someone has said to you all day. You hadn’t thought about that.

In a panic, you pull out your phone to check the time and google the bakery’s business hours. Before you can get your answer, the boy chuckles, “It’s open. I already checked. You’re just fun to fuck with.”

You’d fight him for messing with you like that, but you’re too distracted by that chuckle. It’s a rare occurrence that you’ll treasure forever. Who knew he had such a charming laugh? And how lucky are you to be the one to hear it?

“By the way, thanks for earlier,” you say as you hop into his car. “I was about to throw hands at Tim.”

“I thought his name was Jim.” The boy looks so confused. You love it. “But yeah, you should’ve thrown hands for all that shit he said.”

“He wasn’t wrong about the good dicking though,” you hum. You can’t even remember the last time sex was this good.

“Definitely not wrong about that,” Jungkook agrees with a big fat smirk on his face.

When the two of you arrive at the bakery, you’re delighted to see that they haven’t sold out of the famous poppy seed muffins you’ve been eyeing on Yelp. You try to get Jungkook on board with the muffin agenda, but he opts for a buttery croissant—another solid pick. You’ll definitely be stealing a bite out of that flaky pastry of his.

“Which drink are you getting?” you ask, eyeing the drink menu like it’s a map of Disneyland. Everything looks so fucking good that you don’t know where to start.

“A London fog.” You have no idea what that is, but it sounds boring. “It’s earl grey,” he clarifies upon seeing the ignorance in your eyes.

“Isn’t that what old people drink?” you snicker. “You’re a nerd and a senior citizen?”

“Well what are you getting? A hot chocolate, right? Because that’s what babies drink,” he teases back. Now that you think about it, he calls you Baby an awful lot in bed. If the two of you were dating, you wonder if you could get him to call you that all the time. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

You do end up getting the hot chocolate while Jungkook gets his elderly drink. As the barista is ringing the order up at the register, a cute sign catches your attention at the other end of the counter because there’s a cat on it. You wander over to it and pick up one of the baggies with fresh baked cat treats in it. What a coincidence.

“Hey Jungkook, look. Let’s get this for Lucy, too.” Excited by your last-minute find, you scurry back to the register where the boy is already slipping his wallet back into his butt pocket. Fine, if he wants to pay for your breakfast, then you’re paying for the kitty treats.

After you pay and secure all your food, the two of you return to Jungkook’s place. The first thing you do is seek out the kitten who’s busy taking a nap on the boy’s bed instead of in her own.

She blinks at you with heavy eyelids and twitches her nose toward the bag in your hand.

“Good morning, little cutie,” you grin. “I brought you some special treats.”

Her big ears immediately shoot up as she starts pawing at the bag. She’s so fucking cute you could cry.

“You have to ask your daddy if it’s okay to eat one now.” You continue to use your baby voice before turning to the daddy in question standing behind you.

“Just one.” The stern dad voice comes out. “And make sure you break it in half. She’s small, you know.”

“Yes, daddy.” By now, the word slips so naturally off your tongue. You meant for it to be sarcastic this time, but you’re also very aware of what it does to him and his body.

He watches quietly as you break the treat into bits and hold it in your palm for the kitten to gobble up. She meows, optimistic for more special treats, but you stick to the plan and give her more pets and cuddles instead.

“Your daddy is so mean, huh. He doesn’t want you eating any more yummy treats,” you blabber into the kitten’s ear. She makes a whiny sound in agreement.

“Hey, what are you two conspiring about over there?” Jungkook frowns.

“Oh nothing.” You’re about to shoo him away but notice his lock screen flashing on in his hand. It looks like a pic of you and the kitten conspiring together. “Wait, what’s that on your phone?”

“Oh nothing,” he mocks you before changing the subject. “Drink your hot chocolate already. It’s getting cold.”

You take a sip of it as you devour the muffin. Your drink is basically cold chocolate milk at this point, but at least it still tastes amazing. The muffin slaps too.

“Taste,” you say as you offer up your half-eaten muffin to the boy. He takes a bite like a good boyfriend would—except he’s not actually your boyfriend.

“It’s good,” he shrugs as he goes back to the flaky pastry. “The croissant’s better though.”

“Let me taste.” You grab hold of the boy’s chin and taste the butter on his lips. He kisses back with long, tender motions that leave you wanting far more than just a casual makeout session. There’s no doubt in your mind that he tastes better than both the muffin and croissant combined. You pull back for just a second to say, “Hey, wasn’t I promised sex after class?”

“Do the homework first. It’s easy.” Of course Jeon Jungkook has his priorities straight, and of course you listen because you’re craving more of his praise. At least he’s a good influence on you. “And I never said sex specifically, by the way. Is that what you were thinking about in that dirty little head of yours?”

He’s 100% right. Your horny mind just believes whatever it wants to believe. Right now, it's telling you the boy wants it just as much as you do. He’s just better at hiding it.

“It was heavily implied though,” you huff as you take your laptop out and start on a boring coding exercise on his bed. “The sex better be really good!” And that’s a threat.

“When has it not been?” Jungkook shoots you an arrogant look. Good point. And apparently he’s already finished with the assignment because he shuts his computer off and turns his attention to your screen. He sits his ass right behind you, slips his hands up into the hoodie you’re wearing, and whispers into your ear, “Now hurry up and finish. I’m waiting.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts college au #nerd jungkook

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fayes-fics · 6 months

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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