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teeramoonlover · 11 months

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Knock, Knock

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader x Stu Macher

(NSFW)

This is my first time writing oneshot, let alone smut. English is not my first language so bear with me.

Warning: Reader is a Virgin, Cussing, alot of cursing, knife play, mask kink, bondage, fingering, cunnilingus, deep throat, anal, threesome, and double penetration.

*Bold - Voice modulator, Italic - inner voice

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't recognize this deep voice talking to you.

“Who’s this?” Instead of hanging up, your gut feeling tells you to continue the conversation with this stranger. Maybe you’ll get something out of it.

“You don’t need to know about me. I just want to talk to you.”

“Now why should I do that? Stranger danger. Didn’t your parents teach you that?” You saunter around the kitchen counter and stare at the sets of kitchen knives. You pull out a cleaver and wait for them to reply.

The stranger chuckled, amused with your response.

“Just want to call you so I get to know you better.”

You poked your tongue inside your cheek. You put the knife back in its place, humming to yourself.

“Alright, Mr Stranger. You got my attention and I'm bored as hell. Shoot your million dollar question.” You leaned your back on the counter, hand in pocket while another's still holding the phone.

“Tell me, do you like scary movies?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Does The Addams Family count? 1991 is the best.” You shrugged, checking your nails. The voice grumbled, annoyed with your movie choice.

“That’s not even a scary movie. And it’s a kid show.”

“Excuse me, that movie is my fave and you don’t get to judge my beloved Morticia Addams just because I watch a ‘kid show’. Besides, that movie is still considered horror okay. Take examples like Tim Burton’s production. Even though most of his movies are suitable for children, he still wants to insert horror elements so they could find comfort and won’t make them feel scared anymore. You should try Nightmare before Christmas or maybe Edward Scissorhand for starters.” you jested.

“Not my kind of style. Edward is weird as fuck.”

“Oh now you’re crossing the line Mr. Nobody. Fun fact for you, Johnny Deep with or without heavy makeup is hot as fuck. Hell, if there’s any Johnny copycat out there, I’ll ride his dick straight away.” you mused. The audacity of this guy.

The stranger hummed.

Is it creepy that I can see him smiling through the phone?

“You should be careful what you wish for. It might come true.”

“Then, Amen for that. I ain’t regret what I said so if you have a problem with it, you jerked your tiny dick somewhere else.”

He chuckled darkly.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

"What if I have one? Or maybe a girlfriend? What ya gonna do about it?” You rolled your eyes.

The phone went dead silent until a deep growl came out on the line. His voice changed to menacing.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not even lesbian.”

“Slow down tiger. I can change my preference wherever I want. Anyway, congratulations! You’re successful become from a total stranger to a fucking creep. Now no more games with me. What do you want?” You huffed, getting annoyed and a little creep out with his manic voice.

“Oh baby, you think this is a game? I’ll play a real game for ya. Knock, Knock.”

You yelped when you heard someone banging on your front door.

Shit. Wrong move.

You pull out a metal bat under the counter like you knew this would gonna happen and check around, especially every closed door inside the house. You already watched too many horror movies with Randy that you even know where the killer always comes out from.

“I ask you want more time. What the hell do you want from me?”

“You wanna know, you have to play the game with me.”

You jumped when you heard another banging. And this time, at your backyard.

“Knock. Knock.”

You gulped and took a glimpse at your back. As you saw nobody's there, you pressed your back on the wall and focused on the front door.

“Who’s there?”

You make sure all the doors and windows are already locked as your father went out training with his buddies. He says he will be coming home late.

Double. Shit.

“Johnny.”

You innerly scoffed. Oh he likes this game too much.

“Johnny where?”

“Clever girl. Guess.”

You rushed to the front door and took a look outside from the window. No one was there. You blurted out the answer.

“The backyard.”

“Wrong.”

You shrieked as the sound of a crash came out from the living room. You ran there to see a big gape hole at your now shattered window. You scanned the whole room. Only one wooden chair and shattered glass all over the floor.

He couldn’t make it inside that fast. You raised the phone as you heard his voice.

“I give you a second chance. Knock, knock.”

“Oh fuck you with your knock knock shit game! What do you want from me?!”

“I want you…to ride me.”

You inhaled sharply at his answer as you turned around with a bat raised in front of you.

“You’re messing with the wrong person here.” You spitted. He chuckled mockingly, amazed that you still have a bit of spite even though you know you're about to lose the game.

“You should be asking where I am, (Y/N).” He enunciated your name deeply.

Sweat trickle down your temple as you took a step back one at the time. This stranger knowing your name just shot up your nerve haywire.

“Where the fuck are you shithead.”

“Behind you.”

You turned around and hit the phone right to the side of his face.

His Ghostface leather mask to be exact.

He covered his head from the hit with his gloved hand and you took that opportunity to bash his head with your metal bat. He doubles in pain as you hit his back with more force and knocks his feet to the floor. He lay on his back, gripping his back painfully as you stepped on his body.

“Now let’s see who's behind the mask.”

Before you could bend down to grab his mask, the air got knocked out from you as someone rammed from your side. Your head got slam on the floor hard followed by a body that stumbled right above you.

There’s two of them?!

You tried to pry him off from you but it was no use. You could see from your blurred vision that two masked men were now crowded right in front of you.

The first guy above your head took both of your hands and held them tight, giving out a painful moan from you, while the other one sat on top of your low waist between his thighs, securing your legs from moving.

You tried to trash your body only to feel a sharp knife under your throat. You looked up to see the second guy shaking his head.

A warning.

“Looks like you lost the game.” Second ghostface seems satisfied seeing you beneath him. The knife in his hand trailed lower and lower to your neck. You could feel a prick of pain as the knife cut deep at your collarbone.

“Losers need to pay the price.” The first ghostface giggled, bringing out a rope from his black robe and tied your hand above your head.

“Two against one? Really fair, does it?” You gritted your teeth. Even though you’re already at their mercy, your mouth still runs like a goddamn sailor.

“Didn’t know this should be a fair game.” Second ghostface shrugged, still lingering his knife around your neck area.

“So what? You gonna kill me?”

“Careful, you shouldn’t challenge a killer with a knife. Now you said it, that does sound tempting.” The killer dragged down his knife to your waist. The cold of his blade sent chills down your spine as it put pressure on your stomach, emphasizing his words.

You gulped as you eyed the two ghostface. The one that sat on top of you seems like a person you don’t want to mess with. The way his voice held authority, meaning if he wants to kill you, he’ll make sure you’re good as dead. Even though he’s wearing a mask, you could feel his hot gaze on your throat to your collarbone that already bleed out from the small cut. His gloved hand reached out, smearing your oozing blood with his thumb. He loves it, you can tell.

Another one above your head, however he's a different kind of persona. He seems to like goofing around and having fun stabbing his victim. More sadistic, more of an unhinged bastard. If he takes his mask off, you bet he'll be that funny, easy going guy. His head tilted to the side, staring at your body in awe. Like you'll become his biggest meal tonight.

"But since you beat my friend here, I'll give you a chance. If you want to live, you need to do something for me." He hinted at the end of his sentence. The first Ghostface started to laugh hysterically.

Somehow you know what he meant, knowing what they're gonna do to you.

"What do you mean?" You shuddered.

In a split second, he pulled your body and switched position, making you on top of him. You could feel the bulge between your legs as his hands gripped your waist.

"You know what I meant."

Your whole body shivered in fear and excitement. You don’t know why your body react that way. Fear, yes but also excites you?

You already soaked in your panties, though it was the adrenaline of the chase.

You subtly rubbed yourself on his groin. He sighed in content as you kept rubbing his hard on.

“That’s it, babe.” His breath ragged as both his hands moved your hips and pressed deeper to his crotch. His hips thrust to your core, making you let out a soft moan.

You feel someone's hand held the back of your head, turning you to meet the first Ghostface. His gloves were already gone from both hands, as he’s working on to half-done his zipper jeans.

“Open your mouth, kitten." He slipped his thumb, pressing your lips to open. He inserted two fingers in and out as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. They were so long that you gagged as it reached at the back of your throat. When he pulled out his fingers, a string of saliva coated them.

“I’ve never done this before.” Your face was red, embarrassing to admit that you never had sex before.

“We know you’re a virgin.” He whispered. His thumb stroking your lower lip, his mask titled to the side.

“Don't worry about that. We promise to make you feel good, m'okay?" The Ghostface under you sat up, his hand tugged teasingly at your waistband while the other one caressed your cheek. His deep voice is surprisingly tender, luring you in like a moth to his flame.

Without thinking, you nodded at his words.

Beneath those masks, their smirk grew wider, finally getting you hooked with them.

"Lift your hips for me, baby."

He tore his gloves from his hands and guided your hips upward. As you stand on your knees, he tugged down your shorts and panties in one go. You gasped at how rough, desperate he wanted to strip you naked.

He took out his knife and started to rip them in half. You shiver from the cold as your clothes discard aside.

A pair of hands from behind reach out to your breast and fondle them. You whimpered as he pulled and squeezed your nipples. Another hand slipped to your wet cunt, thumb circling your clit.

"Gosh, your pussy is so wet for us. We're just getting started." He mused. Slowly, he inserted two fingers inside you, thumb still rubbing your clit. You shuddered, your back laid on someone's chest, who still continued grasping your breast.

"Look at you, seeking pleasure from two psychotic serial killers. Ain't ya a dirty little slut." The one from behind cackled in manic, enjoying seeing you completely vulnerable for him.

You subconsciously ride your hips with his fingers inside you, reaching your high. Your tied arms pressed in front of his chest as his friend from behind starts to dry hump your ass. You could imagine how big their dicks are, one pressing from the back while the other one underneath your pussy, still finger fuck you.

As if they knew you're about to come, he pulled out his fingers. You let out a small whine, feeling the loss of your pussy to be filled. He dip his finger beneath his mask, groaning in pleasure as he tasted your juices with a mix of blood.

Your hair got clutched from behind and dived you to his tent. When he pulled down his boxer, you were awestruck at how thick and veiny his hard rod is. He tapped his dick on your mouth, precum smeared at your lower lips.

"Like what you see?" He chuckled, seeing you looking at his cock like that got him more turned on.

You flustered, eyeing the two black holes resemble eyes staring at you, silently to gain his permission. He nodded, pushing his tip further into your lips.

You subtly open your mouth, licking his precum and heard his deep groan in return. This made you sucked and licked his tip and moved your hand up and down his length.

He tilted his head back. Though you couldn't see with his mask on, a sense of pride grew in you, pleased to see him feel that way.

"You're sure this is your first time? Fuck, this feels amazing." He bucked his hips in your mouth.

"Open your mouth wide open, tongue down. I'm a deep throat till you swallow all of my cum." You do as he said. He thrust his dick deep in your throat, making you gagged but you held it in.

He fucked your mouth relentless, both his hands keeping you in place. Tears pooling down your face as saliva spilling from your mouth until your nose touches his pelvis. You tapped his thigh, coughing up when he pulled out his dick from your swollen lips.

You're too focused on the man in front of you, that your ass was raised in the air and gasped as you felt a tongue licking at your entrance.

"Damn I can eat this pussy all day." He growled from behind, licking and biting your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his tongue does wonders to you.

You gagged as he pounds in and out of your mouth, while from behind a tongue lick deep in your entrance. His nose teasing your clit, earning you a moan vibrating through the dick in your mouth. Both of them release low moans, reaching their high.

You tap his thigh, pull you away from his dick as you feel a knot in your stomach.

"I-I some-something d-down there." You cried out, feel his friend's wet tongue thrust in and out of your cunt. You gasped from sensation, as he's licked your rim hole.

"Then cum all over his mouth, princess. Let him taste every drop." He strokes his dick as you stick your tongue out to his tip. You feel your release as the man behind lapping your juices clean.

"God, she tastes so good. I wanna fuck her wet cunt till she's scream."

The killer in front of you didn't say a word, staring at his friend

"You can't have her. She beat you up, remember?"

"The fuck that's supposed to mean? We won, she lost."

"Correction, you get beat to a pulp and I'm the one stopping it. So, I get the prize and you just, I don't know. Enjoy the show?"

"I'm already hard and you’re telling me just to watch you all over her? Hell no man!"

They way they're talking about you like you aren't there bothers you, but at the same time kind of hot.

You could tell his friend was frustrated, agitated while him with you on his lap stroking his tip to your folds. You whimpered as he nudged his face mask closer to your neck. You could feel his wet tongue licking and sucking at the cut he gave you.

Deep down you know your choice terrifies you but you don't want his friend left behind.

"There's two holes for a reason, ya know." You mumbled low, but somehow both killers caught on to what you said. They both were stunned. Not long after, the one you sit on his lap snickered darkly.

"You're one dirty little virgin. Didn't know you're into that." He gripped your hips closer to his already hard crotch. You blushed at his indication.

Truth is, you stumbled upon a porn magazine from Stu's wardrobe, asking you for his sweatpants as he was in the bathroom. Curiosity kills you when you open the magazine, the page showed a blond woman penetrated by two men, dick in her cunt while another in her ass.

The image haunted you yet deep down you want to know how it feels like, to get banged by two. As you stare at her lustful face, you jump when you hear Billy's voice from outside Stu's room. So, you threw away the magazine and hastily grabbed his shorts. When Billy enters the room, he stares at you intensely. He always does every time you're in his sight. He raised an eyebrow as you gave the shorts, muttered, "Give it to Stu, he wants it." and you made a mad dash out of his room.

You know for the fact that the chances you're getting DP is slim to none. But seeing as of now, your fuzzy brain was like why not.

"You're an angel, you know that? That's why you're perfect for us." The frustrated Ghostface was now like he's in cloud nine when you told him that, hugging you from behind.

"You're meant for us, (Y/N). Remember that." The one with you on his lap was now laying down on the floor, bringing you with him so that your pussy was placed right on his outstretched cock. As his tip penetrated your entrance, you whimpered as the slight discomfort got you. As your tied arms gripped the black cloth of his front, his hand teasing your clit, trying to distract you from the pain.

As he is completely inside you, the discomfort was replaced slowly with pleasure, fullness from his thick length. His sighed in relief, loving his dick snug deep in your pussy like a vice.

"Fuck you're so tight, baby." He rasped as he helped adjust his length inside you. When he felt you ready, he slowly thrust in and out of you, making you moan.

"You like that? You like riding this cock?" His slow thrust became erratic as he rammed your throbbing cunt. Your mouth gaped open, couldn't reform words when he hit you at the right spot.

"Y-yes, right there. Shit! You're so big." You uttered breathlessly, bouncing his dick as he thrust deeper in you.

As you ride him, you feel another one trying to penetrate your asshole. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, stopping you as he continued to push in, hissing at your shoulder.

"S-shit! My cock gonna cut in half if you keep squeezing me like that." He buried his face on your neck as he roughly thrust you in one go, making you scream.

"M'sorry babe. Can't help it."

You try to glare at his face, or more precisely his mask. You could imagine his stupid grin, staring at you adoringly.

This is too much. For you, a virgin and never been fuck let alone anal, this is a lot to take in. You could feel their dicks stretched inside every hole of you down there. You try adjusting to this new stimulation. They’re both moving in sync, in and out of you, feeling both of their dicks rubbing your wall one at the time. It makes you see stars as they fasten their phase.

Skin slapping filled the room, with your moan and their groan in a mix.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’mma cum!” You feel his hand gripping your hips as his thrust turns sloppy. Your body started to shake as the one beneath encircled his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest as he slammed you hard on your g-spot.

You nearly scream from pleasure as orgasm washed over you, followed by the one behind, pumping his seed into your throbbing asshole. Your pussy tightens is all it needs from the one beneath you to paint his cum on your walls.

He gave his one hard, second thrust at your asshole then pulled out his softened cock. The way he stared at his cum spilling from your ass stirred something inside him.

His fingers subconsciously slipped his overflow cum inside your hole. For some reason, he doesn’t want a single drop of his seed leaking out of you.

You take a deep inhale as your eyes flutter close, trying to calm from your euphoric state. You could hear his heartbeat thumping as your head laid on his chest, with him too catching his breath.

The only thing you remember is feeling a peck on your forehead and a kiss from your nape, with a deep raspy voice you manage to hear before exhaustion overtook your body.

“That’s my good girl.”

After you pass out…

“Man, that’s the best thing happen in my life!” Stu sighed, satisfied as he pulled off his Ghostface mask and slipped in his now soft dick in his pants. He looked over at his friend who was still lying on the ground with their favorite girl on top of him.

“You're lucky I came up with this plan. Knew it our girl had same fantasies like us.” He grinned, smiling like an idiot, while Billy too slowly took off the mask.

“If you didn’t pull out that porn magazine, she wouldn’t even think about it, genius.” He murmured as he stroked your arm. He sighed in relief with his eyes closed, hearing your soft snores calmed him.

Maybe they could pay you another visit, and it will be on nice bed this time.

And sure as hell he'll make sure of that.

#billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #ghostface x reader #poly ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #scream 1996 #scream fanfic

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novalpha · 1 year

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𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺𝘶 𝐹𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑠

♡ Fluff || ୨୧ Angst || ★ Smut || ꗃ SMAU || ⌗ Series || ✿ Drabble || ♤ Suggestive (No smut) || �� Humor

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The other woman ♡୨୧♤⌗ -> @idyllic-ghost Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

synopsis: you're married to wonwoo, but his parents desperately wants him to have a child - which you cannot have. he gives into his parents wishes and meets the other woman, whom he eventually agrees to marry as well. you're left heartbroken for a few years, seeing the man you love build a family that you had always wanted, but happiness is on the horizon as you meet someone new.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Love and warmth ♡୨୧♤✹ -> @viastro

synopsis: in which you blackmail your employee, mingyu, to marry you in order not to get deported back to canada due to your expired visa. [based on the proposal]

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Sugar and you ♡ -> @97-liners

synopsis: in which mingyu is an idealistic pastry chef, and you’re a cynical wedding planner who doesn’t believe in love.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Dry Humping ★ -> @undermoonlightst Part 1 , Part 2

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Parties, Yachts and Wishful thinking ★ -> @ithinkilikeit-reactions

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Hot or cold ♡ -> @jjuniehao

synopsis: when looking for something on his phone, you find an email you didn’t expect…

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Honey boy ♡୨୧★ -> @chocosvt

synopsis: when you graduate high school, you realize you’re not really going to miss anyone, apart from a cute boy who doesn’t even remember your name. five years later, after accepting an offer to pass the summer at a friend’s lake house, he’s standing right in front of you. the universe doesn’t give second chances very often. you’re not going to let the honey boy slip away twice.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Puppy love ♡୨୧★ -> @smileysuh

synopsis: Mingyu is stuck in the puppy love phase, he can’t get enough of you, and can’t seem to grow out of it either- luckily, as your Black Lab Hybrid, he never needs to.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Lilac lace ♡୨୧★ -> @starlightxsvt

synopsis: without much options left on your hands, you become Mingyu's roommate. things take a wild turn after a few weeks.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ His smile ♡୨୧★ -> @angelwonie

Summary: falling in love with your fake boyfriend isn't a good idea, and it's even worse if that fake boyfriend happens to be Kim Mingyu. but you just can't help it — he's got the prettiest smile you've ever seen.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Hallmark moment ♡୨୧★-> @onlymingyus Part 2

synopsis: The kids have been watching too many Christmas movies, and are now determined to have their very own magical moment with their parents.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Local lover boy ♡୨୧♤ -> @cheolism

summary: after you've had a long week of work, mingyu decides to help you wind down for the night.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Oh no, he's hot ★ -> @ncteez

Synopsis: The first time you drove your very trashed best friend home was because you had a crush on him. All the times you drove him home after that were because…well, his dad is sexy.

or the one where you have tension with your crush’s dad at four in the morning and maybe secretly fuck while said crush is asleep on the couch.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Spoiled ★ -> @wonusite Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

summary: you have never been spoiled, but that changes after you meet the man your mother is going to marry.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Confidently lost ★ -> @gfcheol

summary: it's not easy to work your way through college, luckily for you, your babysitting job pays exceptionally well. and your boss is absolutely gorgeous.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Stay at home ♡୨୧★ -> @celestiababie

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ I can't run away ♡୨୧★ -> @gyukult

summary: everyone expresses love in different ways. that doesn’t exclude you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ We don't usually hold hands ♡୨୧★ -> @gyukult

summary: when a friend brings up the potential feelings of a fuck buddy, you’re left wondering what to do when you confirm it’s true.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Stop kissing me please ♡★ -> @jejuboo-s

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Break the curse, break my heart ♡୨୧ -> @savventeen

summary: what's supposed to be a simple hex job turns into something much deadlier, and suddenly the two of you are fighting just to stay alive

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ One last time (for old time's sake) ୨୧♡ -> @tonicandjins Part 2

summary: you receive an invitation for the worst day of your life.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ A sheep in Wolf's clothing ♡★ -> @rubyreduji

summary: kim mingyu is the biggest player on campus, so why is he coming to you for sex help

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Drift away ♡୨୧★ -> @playmetheclassics

Summary: You made the biggest mistake of your life, and now, Mingyu is trying his hardest to forget and forgive you, but how long till your infidelity rips you both apart? Besides, it’s not like you’d blame him. You hurt him. You did the one thing you promised never to do.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ To the brim ♡★ -> @toruro

description. all your sweet husband wants is to put a baby into you—is that so bad?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The secrets kept from roommates ♡★✹ -> @cheolism

summary: you are hiding a secret from mingyu. little do you know that he's hiding one from you too.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Trust (fall) ♡★ -> @toruro

description. your boyfriend insists he's strong enough to carry you and fuck you at the same time, but you have your doubts. of course, mingyu is more than ready to try and prove you wrong.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ — jealousy, jealousy ♡★ -> @monamipencil

synopsis; a trip to the convenience store with your boyfriend takes an unexpected turn.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ pretty like this ♡★ -> @madeforgyu

summary. you think mingyu's hands are pretty. he thinks you look pretty coming undone. (cw. very heavy ddlg themes)

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The Perils of Apartment Living ✹♡★ -> @dontflailmenow

Synopsis: While lying in bed, the two of them can't help but overhear their upstairs neighbors going at it rather loudly. Mingyu turns to You after a while, and asks, “You wanna fuck louder than them to establish dominance?”

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ First date ♡★ -> @cheolhub

summary. mingyu doesn’t usually fuck on the first date. emphasis on usually.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Endless Adoration ♡★ -> @wonusite

❝ Mingyu has been irrevocably in love with you since he was in high school. He decides to keep this a secret until he can move on since you’ve only ever seen him as your best friend’s brother. However, his plan goes awry when you ask him to take your virginity and teach you about sex—as a friend, of course. ❞

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity ✹♡★ -> @shuaflix

SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn't), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ It’s all fun and games ✹♡★ -> @dontflailmenow

summary: reader thinks it’s fun to troll her buddy, mingyu, for being all big and strong. and it is! except at some point it turns out maybe she’s not just teasing and they’re both into it (and each other)

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Exile ♡୨୧★ -> @wongyuseokie

Summary: You two were high school sweethearts, and your love story was something only found in the scripts of a shitty teenage rom-com, but he was a jock, and you were shy and quiet. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did. Now, fast forward ten years, and things aren’t the same. Your lives aren’t the same; he’s stuck in the past, and you only focus on the future. Neither of you has your priorities straight, and neither realises that your present is a complete and utter mess. You won’t let him go because he’s all you’ve ever known, and he won’t let you go because you’re the only thing right in his life, but will love and high school promises keep you two together?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Creep ★୨୧ -> @smileysuh

preview. “If the roles were reversed - if you were a ghost bound to this apartment forever - you’re saying you wouldn’t watch me get naked every day?” He’s definitely got a point. As your eyes skim Mingyu's perfect form again, that tingle returns between your legs. There’s no reason for him to be as sexy as he is- murders aren’t the only shocking thing this man has under his belt and you can see that now.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ In soft hands , Part 2 ♡୨୧★ -> @beahae

Summary: You've sworn off dating. But your favourite kid at your work has the hottest dad in the entire world. A bit of harmless flirting never hurt anyone, right?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Only for Love ♡୨୧★ -> @joonsytip Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Epilogue

Synopsis: When an accidental discovery has your perception of happy married life crumbling down, you do what you think is the best for everyone involved. Naturally, your opinion of the best doesn't cater to your husband's. So what happens when things spiral out due to unforeseen events?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Life's A Beach ♡★ -> @whipped-for-kpop-fics

Summary: You don’t like the beach, but you do like the handsome lifeguard who works there. As it turns out, he likes you too and is more than willing to risk his job to have you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The Moves ✿♤♡✹ -> @thedensworld

[ More Mingyu fic recs will be updated. So do check this post once in a while ;) ]

Want more Seventeen fic recs? -> Click here

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woso-dreamzzz · 30 days

Text

Second Time's The Charm IX

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Your co-workers meet your wife

The new doctor is world renowned.

A titan in the industry of sports science and flawless in the realm of orthopaedic surgery.

Perhaps there was a bit of sexism in the way that all the nurses assumed you would be a man but each were pleasantly surprised when you walked through the door in your scrubs and were, in fact, a woman.

It was great in fact because male doctors always had massive egos attached and never treated nurses respectfully.

But female doctors always did.

Female doctors always appreciated the work they did.

You were one of those doctors.

If you weren't buried in paperwork or doing consultations and follow ups, you were down by the nurses station with a to-go coffee and a box of doughnuts from the café to share out.

"He took me to Naples," One of the nurses said," We took a tour around Pompeii and ate at this amazing pizza place."

You hummed, writing down something in one of your patient's charts. "Was it nice? I've been meaning to take my wife but she's so busy all the time. I don't want her time wasted if it isn't nice."

"So nice," The nurse insisted," A lot of walking around though so you're sweating a lot but apart from that, it's amazing."

"I'll put it on my list then."

"My boyfriend took me to a football match. He's a Barcelona fan so we went to see the women in a friendly last week."

"My wife was there too," You said absentmindedly," I heard it was a good match."

"Eight-nil to Barcelona," The nurse agreed," They were amazing."

You know that because Alexia came home very happy with her own performance. Two goals. Three assists.

You rewarded her handsomely.

"The women's team are very good," You replied, signing something off.

"Oh, yeah, you go to a lot of matches, right? Are you a fan?"

"My wife's a bigger Barcelona fan than me," You replied.

That was an understatement but nobody really needs to know about how passionate Alexia is about football.

"She always gets me tickets."

"That's so sweet," Another nurse said," It's nice that you care so much about her interests."

"Yeah, I love seeing Ale happy," You said," If that means I have to sit through ninety plus minutes of football then I'm glad to to do it."

The nurses learnt pretty quickly after that, just how much you adored your wife.

You brought her up with conversations that were only tangentially related to her, dropping little facts to do with her at seemingly random intervals.

Your staff now knew that you and your Ale had met at school, inseparable since that first meeting. They knew you got kicked out of your parent's house at eighteen after you married her. They knew that you were currently building a house and had taken her away on her dream holiday over the Christmas period.

You'd never shown a picture of her though and if there was one things nurses loved doing with no one around, it was gossip.

"She must look like a model or something," One of them said," Pretty people marry pretty people and Doctor Putellas is very pretty."

"I think she must be a real sweetheart," Another said," Someone really sweet and happy. I'd be happy if I was married and spoiled by Doctor Putellas. It must be a dream."

"What do you think she works as?"

" A doctor's salary like Doctor Putellas' is enough to support a family on. Her wife probably doesn't need to work."

"I heard they were thinking about adopting. Her wife might want to stay home with the baby."

"Doctor Putellas deserves a housewife to spoil. I bet her wife feels so loved all the time."

"I wish my boyfriend would treat me like how Doctor Putellas treats her wife."

A throat is cleared behind the assembled nurses and they turn around, instantly putting on their responsible faces.

Alexia Putellas stood before them, nervously threading her fingers together together as she stood in front of them.

"Erm...hello."

"Hello. Do you have an appointment? A follow up?"

Since her ACL tear, Alexia wasn't an abnormal presence at the hospital, constantly coming back for follow ups and check ins.

She'd never looked this nervous though, this strung out and anxious.

"Er...no. I'm...I'm here to see Y/n?"

The nurses all nodded.

That made sense. Alexia Putellas and Doctor Putellas.

Everyone had assumed the pair of you were related. You didn't look similar so you were probably cousins or something else more loosely related.

"We'll call her down for you."

Alexia nodded, face shifting from nervous to more stern and stoic, the face that the nurses were more used to seeing on her. She remained silent as they went back to talking, discussing weekend plans and holiday ideas with family.

The squeak of your shoes on the linoleum floor caused all conversations to grind to a half again and you turned the corner with the group of interns that you'd been talking to since one of your surgeries earlier, answering questions in such an in depth way that there was no question of why you were world class in your field.

"Doctor Putellas, your-"

"Amor!" Alexia cried out, stern and stoicism slipping from her visage as something skin to puppy love appeared to replace it," Brilliant news!"

Your own smile split your features as you took two short steps toward her until you were face to face.

Instantly, Alexia's hands went to your hips.

"What is it, Ale?"

"We've got a court date! For Maya! To bring her home!"

Somehow, you smile only widened and you threw your arms around Alexia to bring her ever closer.

"Are you serious? A court date? An actual court date?"

"The lawyers called!" Alexia continued, somehow rushing through her words but still articulating them perfectly," I was in a meeting but I was looking at my phone because it was flashing. I knew I shouldn't have picked up but it felt important so I did. And they told me! Next week! The judge will talk to us and officially approve the papers!"

You were totally professional with your nursing staff. You would banter with them and joke around but you were still so professional. You didn't overshare. You didn't belittle them. You didn't say anything too personal.

Which was why it was so strange to see you pull Alexia into a kiss right in front of them, smashing your lips together as Alexia practically vibrated in excitement.

"We're bringing our baby home," You said against her lips.

"We are, amor. We are."

Movement out of the corner of your eye brought you out of your daze though, dropping your arms until you could take one of Alexia's hands in your own as you turned to face the shocked faces of your group of interns and your nurses.

You felt a little bit awkward now as you cleared your throat.

"This is my wife," You said meekly," Ale."

Not the Barcelona captain. Not the Spain captain. Not Alexia Putellas.

Your wife.

Ale.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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golden-cherry · 23 days

Text

deal - cl16 (38/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Merry Christmas - *narrator voice* and there was only one bed.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: HE WON IN MONACO - HE WINS IN MONZA. CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!!!

You purse your lips. “Bed - singular. Indeed.”

Charles and you stand in the doorway of his room. On the left wall next to a chest of drawers is a door that leads into a small bathroom, while on the right wall is a double bed, freshly made up. Several pillows are neatly arranged at the headboard, the bedside tables have been dusted and the room generally looks very tidy and well-kept. At the foot of the bed are your bags, which Pascale has just put there. Your bags - because you have to share the bed tonight.

“Yep,” replies Charles, who is standing behind you.

You nod slightly before entering the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “What makes your mom think we're sharing a bed?”

Your roommate shrugs. “Do you remember the first morning in our apartment? When mom surprised us and invited us over for dinner?” He raises one of his arms, puts his hand on the upper door frame and leans against it.

You nod. “I remember.”

“And do you also remember Maman saying that, as my new girlfriend, you get to choose what's for dinner?” When you look at him with wide eyes, he purses his lips into a thin line. "I'm afraid we never set the record straight. Not even when Arthur called you my girlfriend.”

He's right. There have been several opportunities to clear this up. Charles could have called his mother or spoken to her at dinner. And you could have cleared things up too - but neither of you actually did.

You push the thought that you didn't clear it up because you inwardly wish that you were actually Charles' girlfriend to the back of your mind.

“Shouldn't we tell her?” you ask hesitantly. “After all, we're lying to your family.”

Charles shrugs his shoulders. “We certainly should,” he replies, but he doesn't sound convincing. “But not today. Not at Christmas. Maman loves you so much that I don't want to do this to her at Christmas. If that's all right with you.”

Pretending you two are a happy couple is certainly the last thing you should do - after all, being affectionate in such close quarters isn't particularly conducive to keeping your feelings in check. But you have no choice - after all, you don't want to spoil Pascale's Christmas.

“I'll sleep on the floor,” Charles snaps you out of your thoughts and points to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser facing the bed. “I'll just take a few pillows off the bed and one of the thick blankets from the wardrobe and that should be enough for one night.”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You're going to training camp soon and you certainly can't go there with back pain,” you remind him, planning his days ahead. “I think Andrea would kill you if you didn't show up in top shape.”

The Monegasque sighs. “And how are we supposed to handle this?”

The look on his face is the same as when you were standing opposite each other in the living room. When he said that he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable around him. When he suggested you go back to being friends.

You miss him so much that it hurts. You'd love to get up and wrap your arms around him and never let go, but that's where the problem lies. His “mon ami” draws a clear line between what you want and what he wants. And you have to accept that, even if it breaks your heart.

But that doesn't mean he has to pull his back out just because he thinks his closeness makes you uncomfortable.

“We could share the bed,” you suggest as nonchalantly as possible. When he gives you a puzzled look, you shrug. “It's only for one night. And the bed is big enough for both of us. Then nobody has to sleep on the floor and Andrea won't kill you because you're going to camp with back pain.”

Charles raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” He takes his hand off the doorframe and walks towards you to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor.”

You smile at him. “It's okay,” you reply, "we're adults. We can share a bed quite reasonably. And it's only for one night. We should be able to manage that.” You look down at your hands in your lap before looking your roommate in the eye again. “I would have rather expected that we'd still have to sleep in separate rooms, even though your mom thinks we're a couple.”

Charles leans backwards, propping himself up on the bed with his elbows. “Why is that?”

“Well - some moms don't like their sons' girlfriends because they're afraid they'll take them away from them. Their little boy.” You can't suppress a grin. “And I don't think many would want their little boy to share a bed with their girlfriend either - even if they're all grown up.”

“That would imply that my maman can't stand you,” he replies and tilts his head back. As he swallows, his Adam's apple bounces up and down. “Besides, even if we were really together, I wouldn't have sex with you in my maman's house. I have that much decency - for now,” he grins and looks at you again. “And she knows that too. That's why she allows us to share a bed.”

As he talks about sex with you, heat shoots up your face and your hands get sweaty. Hopefully he doesn't notice you wiping them on your dress. “I like your mom,” you deflect from the topic.

“She likes you too,” he replies and sits up straight again. “Then let's not keep her and the others waiting any longer. After all, Christmas is a family holiday." He slowly gets up from the bed and turns to face you as he stands in the doorway. “Let's go, mon ami. Otherwise we'll get into trouble because she'll think we're getting it on like two teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other."

Thank God he leaves the room so that you can wave your hand in your face. His words make your pulse quicken so that you can almost hear your heart beating in your ears. Images appear in your head of his hands gliding over your body and his lips kissing your neck.

Before your thoughts take over, you jump up from the bed and smooth down your dress to follow your roommate back downstairs, where the rest of the family is already waiting for you. You enter the living room, where the youngest Leclerc puts his arm around your shoulder.

“Listen, when we play Monopoly later, the others will insist that you take the bank,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “If you'd be kind enough to slip me more money than I'm entitled from time to time, then -”

“Arthur! Are you trying to bribe my girl?” Charles calls over to you from the kitchen. The 'my girl' makes your knees go weak.

“I would never do that,” Arthur tries to defend himself and pulls you a little closer to him. “I'm just talking about how nice it is that your girlfriend is spending Christmas with us.”

“You're a bad liar,” Charles grins, leaning against the worktop. “Besides - do you really think she should help you cheat if I'm playing as well?”

“No one cheats at Monopoly here, otherwise I'll throw the game away and we'll never play it again,” Pascale interjects. “I don't want my sons to get nasty again just because they can't behave in a board game.” She joins her middle child in the kitchen to take two bottles of wine from the fridge and put them in his hand.

“Hey!” Arthur lets his arm slide off your shoulder to embrace his mom. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. “You're acting like we're cavemen.”

Pascale rolls her eyes. “Then don't act like one just because you can't keep it together in a board game. Now set the table, dinner will be ready soon.”

Together, you place plates and cutlery on the dining table as Enzo and Charlotte join you. The young woman hugs you tightly, while the eldest of the Leclerc brothers waves hello.

“It's nice to see you again,” she smiles and hugs you tightly. “You'll be the bank later - and my partner in crime, yes?” she whispers, before letting you go again.

Charles laughs out loud. “I heard that, Charlotte,” he warns her with a grin and stands next to you. “I think it's funny that you all think she'd associate with you when she's my girl.”

Charlotte winks at you. “It was worth a try.”

As you all sit together at the table and eat, you look around the room. There are Christmas decorations everywhere that weren't there a few days ago. There's even a Christmas tree in the living room, but there are no presents underneath it. When Pascale notices your gaze, she smiles at you and puts her hand on yours.

“We don't give each other presents at Christmas anymore,” she says, looking around. “Since -” Charles clears his throat as she swallows hard.

“After my father died, we decided that there would be no more presents at Christmas because family is the greatest gift you can get,” he explains, pursing his lips. “Dad always gave the best presents and when he was gone, it was different for us.”

You smile at him before squeezing Pascale's hand. “Thank you for letting me be here. It really means a lot to me.”

“You're always welcome here,” she replies. “I'm glad Charles met you. You can almost see how good you are for him and how much he loves you.”

“Maman.” Charles rolls his eyes and a blush shoots into his cheeks. “This is totally embarrassing.”

“I'm just telling it like it is,” she smiles, leaning over to whisper something in your ear while the others continue to talk. “But don't you dare help him with Monopoly later. After all, I invited you here and cooked the meal. I guess I deserve a few extra bucks,” she winks, before turning her attention back to the others' conversation.

You look at Charles, who smiles at you expectantly. “Everything all right?” he asks you. His hand, which is resting on his leg, twitches as if he wants to reach for yours.

You look around for a moment, watching the family members interacting lovingly and celebrating Christmas together, before turning back to him. “It couldn't be better.”

“You're taking the piss,” Arthur complains, jumping up from his chair with such a jerk that it tips backwards. “You'll never have enough money to buy the fourth station from Charlotte!”

You raise an eyebrow and hand Charlotte the banknotes as she slides the playing card over to you. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you guys? This is my first time playing with you!”

Pascale shakes her head. “Think about it, Arthur. She's simply done well. Look at how many streets - “ she starts to defend you, but falls silent before looking at you with her head tilted back. “Where did you get the money to afford so many streets?”

“Maman!” Charles interjects. “You can't just accuse my girlfriend of stealing money from the bank just because you're losing. That's not nice. Especially not at Christmas.”

Enzo rolls his eyes. “You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend. Love has made you blind, little brother.”

Charles smiles lovingly at you. “I guess it has. But that's okay. I don't mind losing to you.”

You return his smile sweetly. “That's good,” you reply and take a look at the pitch. “Because I've won.”

The Leclercs stare at the table, puzzled and amazed, as if you've shown them a magic trick. But really - there's no way they could beat you now.

Charlotte laughs. “I didn't even know you could actually win Monopoly. I thought it was a myth.”

Enzo takes a sip of his wine and nods at her. “You usually stop the game after three hours because you either don't feel like playing anymore or someone knocks over the board.”

“And it's usually you,” laughs Pascale and gets up from the table. “Very well. I declare the evening over for me. I'll see you in the morning,” she smiles at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I'm very glad you're here.”

“Me too,” you smile at her and look after her as she leaves the room.

The five of you tidy up the room and put everything neatly away in the cupboards before you say goodbye to each other as well. In the bathroom of your room, Charles and you get ready for bed and change into your sleeping clothes before standing in front of the bed that you have to share.

“Is it really okay for you if I sleep in the bed too?” Charles asks uncertainly as you sit down on the bed and slip under the covers.

“I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't,” you smile, patting his side of the bed. “We're both adults. And as long as it's okay for you, it's okay for me.”

Charles nods and scratches the back of his neck. “I really wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor.”

“I do.”

He can't say anything in reply. He slowly walks around the bed and slips under the covers as well. He turns off the light and lies down on his back.

The silence between you is strange and the physical distance doesn't make it any better. You can feel Charles' body heat through your shirt and shorts and it almost feels like the last few days haven't happened. You'd love to snuggle up to him and fall asleep by his side.

“Be honest,” Charles breaks the silence. “Did you steal money from the bank in Monopoly?”

You giggle briefly. “I did.”

Your roommate's laughter booms through the room. “I knew it! Oh my God!” You feel him turn to his side. “Welcome to the family. You're a real Leclerc now!” he laughs, barely able to contain himself.

“Psht!” you hiss at him. “Stop laughing! Otherwise you'll give me away and I'll lose my honorable Monopoly victory!”

“Honorable?” he asks and continues to snort. “You cheated!”

“And your family asked me to take money out of the bank for them so they could win,” you grin. “They're the worst family when it comes to Monopoly!”

Charles slowly gets himself under control again. “But otherwise we're a nice family, aren't we? Otherwise you wouldn't have spent Christmas with us.”

You nod, even though he can't see you. “I love your family.”

“And they love you. Especially Maman.”

You turn on your side too, in his direction. Apparently you're closer together than you expected, because you can feel his breath on your face.

“Is everything okay?” Charles asks quietly. “I mean - I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I - I can still sleep on the floor if you want.”

“Charles,” you exhale, but before you can say anything, he continues speaking.

“I meant what I said to you on the boat. I can't be without you anymore and I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't turn your back on me. Nothing in this world is as important to me as you.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I can't describe it. You're my best friend - but so much more.”

As he moves, you feel the blanket slip over your body. You want to reach for his hand, to reassure him that you will never turn your back on him, but the words stick in your throat. Not because they're not true, but because they don't cover the whole truth that's inside you.

You love him. With every fiber of your being.

“You're the person I think of first thing in the morning. The person I look forward to the most when I get home. When you're with me, it's - I don't know - like we're permanently out on the open sea and the sun is shining down on us,” he confesses, without even thinking about what that might do to you.

“And I can't stop thinking about how you felt. How warm your skin is, how soft you feel under my hands. How the heat spreads through me when you touch me. It's like touching the sun and burning myself - but I can't stop thinking about how good it feels. You're my best friend,” he breathes out. “But fuck - if I said I didn't actually crave you, that would be an outright lie.”

You can feel the arousal gathering in your shorts, goosebumps spreading across your skin and heat rising in your face. When Charles suddenly moves and turns on the little light on the bedside table, you look at him.

“I can't share the bed with you if - if you -” he stammers, before taking a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. The comforter that was covering you a moment ago has slipped so far down due to his movements that it's below his hips - revealing his shorts and the bulge underneath.

“Charles,” you breathe, but you don't know how to answer him without telling him directly that you love him. You have to pull yourself together.

“I can't just lie next to you because it's tearing me up inside that I can't touch you, because I make you feel so uncomfortable that you don't want to share a bed with me in our apartment anymore.” His voice trembles, as does his hand, which is resting on his thigh.

You don't know what makes you do it, but apparently your brain goes blank and throws all doubts overboard as you lean over to him. His eyes are glued to you as you carefully place your hand on his and your fingertips touch the soft skin of his thigh. A lightning bolt twitches through your veins at the touch - nothing has ever felt as good as he does at this moment. “I never said I was uncomfortable, Charles.” You shake your head slightly. “Quite the opposite.”

Charles looks into your eyes, trying to see anything in them, hesitation or uncertainty, but the only thing he sees is warmth and a longing he knows all too well.

He squeezes your hand twice, and when you return his squeeze and squeeze his hand twice too - he snaps.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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sureallavnder · 8 months

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stupid parties - Theodore Nott

p : gentle!theodore nott x anxious!fem!reader

s : slytherin always throw the noisiest, stupidest parties and even though you were sorted into said house you cant normally handle them as things get intense

w : fluff, shaking, google translated italian, theo being a softie, not proofread

a/n : just a softie theo moment don’t ask me how i got this out but not my 200 follower fic

prompt : person b holding person a’s hand while shaking

You were dreading tonight.

As per usual for the slytherin quidditch team they decided to throw a massive party to celebrate their 5th win of the season.

Something you always struggled with was crowds and noise and lucky for you, you got sorted into the house who throws the loudest, craziest, most unhelpful (in your words) parties.

Theo knew this and always made sure to keep you calm and safe even when he sometimes wished he was partying as it was one of his favourite hobbies.

You and Theo had been dating since he asked you to the Yule Ball in 4th year. But as most, you had crushes on each other since 3rd, and maybe just maybe there was some kind of connection from when you first met. Although you didn’t get close until Christmas break of your 2nd year when you both stayed behind at Hogwarts.

Your family had decided it was best for you to stay in school and focus on furthering your education a little bit, but you always wondered if it was because they liked not having you around.

As for Theo, he never really liked going home. He’d lost his mum when he was young and his dad wasn’t the best of people, a death eater. So it was typical of him to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays.

Theodore Nott. You’re boyfriend of 2 years. He would always spend the party cuddling you and cradling you on his bed, he had absolutely no alternate intentions. He loved looking after you. This time was no different.

It was about 10 minutes before people would normally start to pile into the slytherin common room and just on time Theo came into your dorm room, scooped you up, and carried you to his bed, setting you down. He went and picked out one of his baggiest hoodies and helped you put it on. Guiding your arms through and pulling it over your head making sure you didn’t get stuck. He swooped you into a massive cuddle singing softly into your ear. Arms wrapped tightly around you.

About 20 minutes had passed and you could tell this time felt different. The noise seemed so much more intense and it scared you. That’s when the shaking started. It wasn’t intense, but just a little. It was noticeable to you and Theo.

Theo immediately sat up and turned you so you were facing each other. He held your soft face in his hands. He spoke in italian knowing it calmed you down the quickest.

“tesoro, va bene, starai bene, sono qui” he muttered desperately trying to help

baby girl, it’s okay, you’ll be okay, i’m here

He gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead knowing it’s your favourite. You smile lightly trying to appreciate the help he was giving.

Theo then held your shaking hands and traced his thumb over them to soothe you. You turn around so your back is against his chest, not letting your hands separate.

He places a kiss on the top of your head. Thankfully this calms you down enough to block out the noise of the party on the other side of the door.

Before you knew it, it was the next morning, you had drifted off to sleep in Theodore’s arms. He had layed you down in bed and wrapped himself around you. He didn’t let you go all night.

masterlist

#harry potter fandom #harry potter #theodore nott #slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott x you #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott moodboard #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #lorenzo zurzolo #theo nott fluff #theodore nott fluff #fluff

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softtdaisy · 9 months

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🌲 a found family l max verstappen

summary. you and max can't spend Christmas together but a trip to his dad and the love he has for you make him realize that he deserves better. a better life. a better love. a better family.

words count. 2,596

a/n. and this is the last piece for this Christmas series. Thanks to all of you for sticking me through December. and a massive thanks to my favorite person @monzabee for encouraging me and for giving me this beautiful idea to end the series 🫶

a very angsty Christmas l masterlist

You looked absolutely gorgeous, wearing a dress Max had bought you this year during one of your holidays. One of the many gifts he did to you this year, because if there were one thing that could describe your boyfriend it would be his generiosity. That man could buy you the world if you wanted it.

And that was maybe what was making him the saddest tonight.

He could see you wearing it and neither could he offer you his gift.

Because you were not spending Christmas’ eve together. But in each other’s family.

“You know this look is a great excuse to skip the diner at my dad’s?” Max asked which made you laughed. He was still sit on your bed, his shirt barely closed and his hair absolutely not styled. He was the closest to his place, compared to you who had to drive for almost two hours.

He watched you as you walked to your phone, that you had put on your wardrobe to show your whole look. “You’re such a flirt, Maxie.” you kept laughing, specially when he started making his poutty face that you absolutely love. You always found it funny how most people saw him as this arrogant guy when he was such a sweetheart.

“Ain’t I allowed to flirt with my girl?”

“You are. It’s a shame you won’t enjoy the result of this flirt tonight.”

This hasn’t been an easy decision for either of you. It’s was only your first christmas together since you started dating on january. And you really wish you could have spend the evening together. But you learn one thing through this past year: never go against Jos Verstappen’s plan.

From the first race you attended, you got the feeling Jos didn’t really appreciate you. You tried to talk about it with Max without making a whole drama out of it but he didn’t really react. Or say anything, actually.

Not that Max didn’t care. It was even far from it. He just didn’t know what to do. He never talked about his personnal life with his dad and it wouldn’t be a first now. Specially not with these type of question. Max always assumed that his father only care about his racing career. It couldn’t be that bad if he wasn’t interested in his son’s couple. Right?

“I have to go” you told Max, who was lost on his thoughts. He enjoyed for the last few seconds to sight of you before you had to hung up. “Call me if you need, alright?”

“Even if I don’t need it.” he laughed before letting you go.

Every time he had to say goodbye to you, on the phone or because you couldn’t follow him for the next race, Max felt a little hole in his heart. He never thought one day he’ll met someone that could complete him like you did.

That’s all he thought about until he arrived at his dad’s place. All the thing he wanted to do with you before the new season starts, where he would take you during the holiday, which races you could be there and what places he wanted to show you during these weekend. More than just happiness for your couple, Max realised how important you were for his anxiety. Before he met you, most of the time he had to drive to see his father, he was anticipated all the bad things that could happen. The critics, the disapproval, the yelling if they really did disagree on something. And the worst part was that, in the end, he was just living the nightmare before it happened.

And maybe it was the fact he didn’t think about all these things before arriving, but Max felt good when he arrived.

“Uncle Maxie!” And being around his nephew was definitely a good help.

For many years, Max never consider having children. The anxiety he developped because of his own childhood was a perfect argument to avoid trying. How could he give a child what he needs if he doesn’t know himself what a kid should have? He knew what he shouldn’t do, that’s all.

But these past weeks, from seeing his nephews and calling them, he realized that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

And maybe, you weren’t for nothing in this change of mind.

“You’re shinny, uncle Maxie.”

“Shinny?” he laughed, still playing with the little cars that represent all the Formula one drivers.

“Yep. You’re happy.”

Max didn’t know what to answer to that. But then he felt two hands on his shoulders and a kiss from Victoria on his hair. “He’s right.” He turned around to look at her. He guessed that the look she had was just another proof that indeed, he was lookier happier. “It’s for the toast, come.”

It was some kind of tradition. Everyone had to say what they were grateful for at the end of this year. Kids, health, career… each other always revolved around these subjects. Max was not going to break the circle. Not today.

“Well I’m grateful for the amazing year I spend. Winning the championship again was more than I could expect at the beginning of the season. So yeah I’m grateful for the team, for the work we did to win the races and create such amazing memories all together.”

Max stopped for a few seconds, thinking about what he could be grateful for. There was one thing, obviously.

If he met his father’s eyes, he wouldn’t have continued. But he didn’t. He looked at Victoria and her massive smile.

“And I’m grateful for my girlfriend. I couldn’t have go through this crazy year without her. She’s my rock, she’s my best friend, she’s without a doubt my soulmate and I’m glad I could finally found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Max heard all the lovely and loudly sound from his family. And before he could notice her, Victoria was already in his arms, telling him how proud she was that he finally found the happiness he deserved.

Again, he could have focus on the good thing, all the congratulations and excitement about this new family member that they all couldn’t wait to meet. But this time, Max did saw Jos look on him. One that he sadly knew by heart: disappointment.

At first, Max decided to ignore the situation and spend most of the evening playing with his nephews, pretending to be a car himself to drive them around the house. But he couldn’t escape the heavy atmosphere forever.

Max saw that Jos was sitting by himself in the living room, with a whisky in his hand. He hesitated, did he really wanted to break all the good vibes for a talk for his dad? And then again, he was too nice to avoid him. No matter if he knew he would end this conversation with some broken feelings, Max couldn’t escape it. Because if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that he never wanted to become like his father. A man that would rather ignore the people he love for the sake of disappointment. Silence was never the solution.

“So, how do we feel about new season?” Max asked, sitting next to him. If there was one subject they couldn’t really argue about was his career. Or at least, even if there was some disagreement, it wouldn’t end up badly.

“You have to leave her.” It was simple. Five words. Said with a hard tone. Like an order. “You’re already losing your man over that…stupid girl. You can’t let yourself fail for a woman, Max.”

Maybe he should have gone with the swerve, in the end. “What do you mean? I’ve been with her for a year and I still won.” He could have, maybe, understand if the season was a pure fail. But it wasn’t. The car was amazing and he won almost every races. There was not single doubt that not only you weren’t a burden but you were a motivation for him. It didn’t make sense. But still, Max knew where all of this came from. Because he knew his father.

“A woman is always a burden in a career.”

“This is why you got married thrice?” It left his mouth without Max had time to notice it. Truth is, he got tired as he grow older of the need to think about his words. What could he say what he mean to his dad? Why should he still be afraid? “Trust me, you terrible at giving relationship advices.”

“You should watch your mouth.” Jos replied, taking a stew towards his son. For many years, Max used to step back to avoid the confrontation. Not anymore.

Instead, he took at step towards too. “You should watch yours. I won that fucking championiship, again. And you can’t even congratulate me? All you think about is the woman that want to spend her life with me? Not you, me.”

He noticed the change, again, in Jos look. It was getting darker and darker, like his anger was taking over himself and he was close to not be able to contain himself. Usually, Max was scared of the moment he would explode. There was just one change in his mind. You.

Max could accept any criticism about his career or life choices, he didn’t care. It was his life. Sometimes he might be wrong and he could deal with his dad saying that he warned him. He was still young and could deal with some mistakes.

But there was one thing he could never let Jos critcize or give his opinion on it: you.

“I won’t let you ruin your career for some stupid woman.” Jos got the time to grab his wrist. Max hated feeling like a child, all over again. Looking for his dad approval.

Expect that this time, he didn’t want it. “Fine. It’s my career. I don’t need your opinion.” he managed to free himself and was already leaving the room. He couldn’t continue this without letting it become some shit show. No matter the situation, his family didn’t deserve it. Specially not on Christmas eve.

“If you don’t leave her, then i’m not supporting you anymore.”

Max stopped in the middle of the room. He heard the sound of a glass falling in the kitchen sink. He heard the sudden silence in the children’s playroom. This was the results of year of fighting for Jos seeing him as an equal, as a real driver and not a child who wants to grow older and be consider an adult. This was the results of feeling like his dad loved him.

Max was hurt. But he couldn’t fight anymore. “Fine.” he didn’t turn around, didn’t want to look at his father. It wasn’t the idea of seeing him. It was the idea of Jos seeing how bad he broke him, again. “I’ll do better without you.”

The silence was still everywhere when Max walked to his sister to kiss her and said goodbye to his nephew. It was for the better, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fight if they asked him to stay. But Victoria knew his brother, and what he deserves was to be in a place where he felt loved.

And there was one where he knew he would never be ignored and rejected.

When you opened the door, you imagined different scenarios. But never one where you would see Max on your doorstep. “Baby?” you asked with confusion, almost like you were sure he was real.

“I’m sorry, I should have called, I know i wasn’t invited but…” he didn’t need to continue. Because you recognized the look in his eyes. One you sadly saw before. When he argued with his dad on the circuit and you couldn’t do anything than holding him in your arms. Telling me it would get better. That he wasn’t alone.

That was the only truth Max needed. He was far from being alone.

So you offered your hand to him. “Come in baby.” you noticed the little hesitation in his look, on that sadden you. It wasn’t that Max didn’t want to come in. It was a pur fear of opening his heart to you and losing you after. It didn’t last long, because he knew deep down that you were here to stay. But you were scared that this was a kind of thought that would never leave his mind.

You gave him a small and simple kiss on the lips, a kind of silent promise that you were supporting him. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Max even asked for. He was so not used of being understood and loved, this simple attention was enough to light up his heart again.

“Sweetie, who’s th… Oh Max! What a lovely surprise!”

You were interrupted by your dad who almost push you away to take Max in his arms. You weren’t surprised. First, because your dad was a very lovely and tactile person who couldn’t resist this type of greeting. Second, because he appreciated Max so much, he was probably the one praying every day for a wedding. Third, because he had been asking you all night why you didn’t bring him.

But Max, on the contrary, was more than surprised by that. Was he really that happy to see him? “Come in, you’re getting cold. Did you eat? We have…” you didn’t even hear the rest of the sentence that your dad had already pulled Max to the living room. Your boyfriend just had the time to turn around and give you a curious look. To which you replied with a smile. It felt right to see him being appreciated and treated like he should.

All your family spend the night talking to him, asking questions and making him feel like he was home. That was the truth, actually: this place was also a home for him. It was yours. And your family already considered him as a part of it. There was no reason for Max to not be a full member.

It wasn’t until you got to bed, in your bedroom, that he let his mind speak. You were laying on his chest while he was looking at the ceiling and caressing your hair. It was relaxing for both of you to stay in silence after the crazy night you had.

“I’ve felt much more at home here in a few hours than in all my life with my dad.” Max said slowly, in a whisper.

You turned your head just enough to look at him while he was still focused on his thoughts. You were making a whole speech in your head to make him feel better. You had no idea how he felt about this. This must be such a strange situation to feel more loved by your family-in-law than your own.

But then he put a kiss on your hair and started to smile. “Thank you.” he whispered, like he was scared to be heard by anyone else. “For finding me and for loving me.”

You could feel your heart melt at this confession. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” you replied.

And you stayed like that for a good minute before you made a debrief of the whole evening here. When you both fell asleep, you realised you had the greatest gift you could ever dream of. Happiness in the arms of your loved one.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen story #max verstappen fic #max verstappen angst #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #my writing

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kianely · 10 months

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“HOLD ME, KISS ME”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS— Aware that your boyfriend hasn’t been granted the privilege of a homemade meal in ages, you decided to pull out your family’s recipe book and stir something up for him. He showed his appreciation in more ways than one, how could he not reward his little chef after all your time tinkering in the kitchen?

iii. CONTENT WARNINGS— Fluff to eventual smut (MDNI) Leon’s a bit awkward with his feelings, he scarfs down every last crumb on his plate, oral sex, fingering, creampie (reader receives all), mentions of aftercare, Leon calls reader “baby” and “sweetheart.” I left the contents of the meal as ambiguous, because I wanted it to depend on the reader’s own upbringing and culture. Written with RE4 Leon in mind.

iv. WORD COUNT— 4.6K

01— PREPARATION

Leon couldn’t remember the last time he was given the simple joy of eating a homemade meal. No, he grew up accustomed to enjoying the lunch trays that all schools gave out. He’d block out the noises of his peers complaining about the blandness of the food, because that food was the standard for him. The flavor of the dishes his orphanage provided is committed in his memory, a hint of nostalgia when he looks back on it.

And of course, the same followed into his academy and career. He’d eat institutional meals during his academy days, too wrapped up in his extensive training to pick up on cooking skills himself. MRE’s were obviously his go to during his government training period, and that followed into the missions he was deployed on.

To sum it up, the last homemade meal he probably had was when his parents were alive. He would never complain about it, far too grateful of a person to even see it as an issue—he would take what was provided, with an appreciative mindset.

You’re a sweetheart though, his sweetheart. And after learning the extent of his past, god you wished you had met him sooner. Because for as long as you’ve dated him, you can’t remember a single time where Leon mentioned an individual that was even remotely significant to him prior to his government days. Well—aside from a girlfriend who hastily broke up with him, and you just presumed she hadn’t been the best considering how little Leon had to say about her. Couldn’t even remember her face or voice anymore, he claimed. And you believed him, rightfully so. Leon looked at you as if you were more fascinating than the wonders of space, with no trace of feelings for any prior people he had been in a relationship with. You were the star on top of the Christmas tree for him.

Lounging lazily on your couch, a sleepy grunt brought your attention to Leon—who had come over to your house for a movie night. But he always ended up napping or resting his eyes for a good half an hour, feeling safe only in your presence and allowing his guard to lower. He was snuggled against you, head against your chest and an arm around your midsection.

You always let him sleep a little, it could do some good against those growing eye bags of his. He always liked it—resting against you, feeling safe with you by his side and the comforting golden like hue the lamp on your tableside emitted. The only time he could allow his mind to rest was with you, it was reasonable.

Your nose was stuck between the pages of your family’s old recipe book. The pages were old—wrinkled and a far cry from the original brightness of the white sheet of paper it once was. You wanted to cook something for him. But you didn’t want it to be something off of a google website or youtube tutorial. You wanted something authentic to your upbringing, that way it would be more meaningful and you wouldn’t be going into it completely blind.

Yeah, of course Leon has eaten at your house before. But…it’s always been microwaveable food or something that could be made within five minutes, like eggs— not anything that you actually put your entire heart into. He was big on dinner dates at restaurants, so the topic of cooking was never really brought up. You wanted to make him an actual meal. One with sides and maybe a small dessert, you’d seen the way Leon eats—you’d definitely need to make enough for seconds. With that physique and job of his, god knows he needs his energy.

“Mm,” a soft mumble from Leon, who was beginning to stir awake after a short but very much needed nap, his light colored eyelashes were beginning to flutter.

You laughed quietly, threading your fingers through his tousled hair. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

He let out an amused exhale at the nickname he had earned, the corners of his lips curled up a little into a lazy smile. “Oh, is that what I am now?”

“Mhm. Keep it up and I’ll have to start charging you for using me as a pillow.” Your voice was a playful one, spoken through a laugh as you hid the recipe book behind the pillow your head was propped against. It can’t be a surprise if he caught a glimpse, right?

“You can have every last penny in my damn bank account,” was his response—to which you simply snickered over. His American Express Black visa card was like an endless void of wealth.

Leon rolled one of his shoulders to remove some kinks as he sat up properly, missing your comforting body warmth already.

He always looked the prettiest like this: somewhat messy golden hair, slight flush on his cheeks, sleepy eyes that you didn’t want to look away from, and some marks on one of his cheeks from it being pressed up snugly against the fabric of your shirt.

“Looks like I missed the ending credits,” he glanced over at the now turned off television—he’d fallen asleep during the last half hour of the movie, like usual. Not that he was missing out, he had watched most movies so it wasn’t a bother. Plus, when it came time to actually sleep, like a healthy eight hours and all, he never could. So he took any nap time that his body granted him. “Can I put another one on?”

“Yeah, as long as you don’t yap my ear off about how silly the protagonists are again.” You could never escape hearing Leon’s muttered quips whenever the two of you watched something—it was funny, Leon had seen all the bigger issues in the world and yet he got frustrated by the decisions of fictional characters.

“What’s the fun in that?”

02— EXECUTION

You were given the perfect opportunity. Ingredients and dishes were already scattered all throughout your kitchen counters, and your recipe book was hoisted up nicely on a stand so it wouldn’t get dirty.

Leon was returning from a long briefing at his headquarters and the plan was for him to head directly to your house afterwards. He was going to go on a mission soon and his goal was always to spend as much time with you as possible. He’d latch onto your damn side all day, if he could.

You had the windows above the sink opened up to let some fresh air in, the curtains flowing a bit with each graze of breeze. It was cold as hell outside, but it helped ventilate all the heat that was gathering from the stove and oven. The television was on a low level, just some background noise to seep into the kitchen.

While you let some ingredients heat up on a large skillet, you cast your attention towards decorating the table up a bit. Not too much, but enough to make a difference. A candle of Leon’s favorite scent placed on the center of the surface, matching mugs already set—maybe they seemed a little too casual given the stupid puns written on them, but you figured Leon would appreciate it more than some fancy cups.

An hour and a half passed by and Leon was barely arriving, ready to complain about some of his rather annoying coworkers to you. If age didn’t give him gray hairs soon, the people in his line of work definitely would.

He had a set of keys to your house, fumbling with them as he unlocked the door.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice called out once he entered, for the sake of letting you know he wasn’t an intruder or anything. He usually expected to see you lounging on the couch, but not tonight. Instead, his senses were met with the tasty aroma coming from the kitchen, and the loud clatter of sounds from there as well.

Like a dog smelling a treat, his attention was immediately drawn and he naturally walked over to your kitchen, his curious eyes took in the scene.

Leon had seen a lot, inexplicable creatures that should have the power to make him still in his tracks—but they never did. Now, the sight of the homely decorated kitchen and the nice arrangement of plates on the kitchen table was something that made him pause in his steps. It looked straight out of a romance movie, something that would be described in a romance novel.

And you, the light of his life waiting for him with a small smile on your face. You looked a bit nervous, eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly but still trying to muster some confidence.

Leon didn’t know whether he felt more like crying or grinning like a damn idiot. A mixture of the two, probably. The lump forming in his throat made him unable to vocalize his gratitude, his voice would crack and sound like a damn croak if he tried.

“Uh,” that’s all he could manage. He was usually good at showing his gratitude, but with such a thoughtful gesture like this, he felt all his known vocabulary scramble around in his mind into a jumbled mess.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You egged him on, wanting to hear the rest of his sentence—it wasn’t often you saw Leon all speechless, not with the banter and quips that came in his boyfriend package.

“That’s…” he trailed off, his hand motioning towards the scene you had oh so beautifully displayed for his eyes and use alone. “That’s just…” he looked over to you, corners of his eyes crinkling from the happiness that reached his eyes. “You did all this?”

His words were quiet, and for a second he feared you’d think he didn’t appreciate it. But he noticed the chuckle and shake of head you did at his performance. “Mhm, didn’t know it was possible for you to freeze up like this.”

He let out an exhale, grin forming on his face. God, he loved you.

“C’mere,” he muttered that out while moving towards you, enveloping your frame with his arms—having to hold back on squeezing you like he wanted to for the sake of not crushing your bones. He had a bad case of cuteness aggression for you.

The aroma of the food you cooked subsided when the scent of Leon’s cologne filled your senses instead—cool and earthy, one you could drown yourself in and pinpoint a mile away.

Leon kissed the top of your head as he articulated his thoughts, wanting to form them into actual words without spluttering—and without taking too much time because he’d be devastated if the meal you cooked for him went cold.

“You’re squishing me,” you grumbled, palms finding the surface of Leon’s chest and lazily trying to push him away. “Take a seat, it’s all ready.”

“I know, I know.” He placed his hands on your hips, guiding the two of you over to the table. He managed to land one last kiss against your forehead before fully parting. “It’s just really nice. I can’t even remember the last time I had—“

“A homemade meal?” You chimed in, to which he nodded as he sat down, his eyes flicking down to look at the food and sides more closely. His mouth was watering, he didn’t even need any utensils to dig in, he could just use his hands.

You knew him well, and reached over to playfully nudge his shoulder. “Don’t hold back on my sake,” You scooped up a spoonful of the food and brought it up towards his mouth. “Say ah…”

“Wish I could take a picture of this,” he grinned out, complying and opening his mouth for you to feed him.

You watched him eagerly as you set the spoon down against his plate and watched him chew, trying to hold back a smile—your eyes brimming with elation, your one true love was eating your meal, composed of all the love and emotion you poured into it.

Leon’s eyes shut with delight when his taste buds were flooded with all the savory flavors, letting out an involuntary groan. God, had he really been missing out on this for all these years?

There’d be mini hearts floating above his head if this were a cartoon. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Your question came out a little more thrilled than you had hoped, and Leon caught onto it, you were so cute it was killing him.

“Yeah,” he echoed, hand reaching to hold yours over the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. “How long did it take you to do all this?”

While you responded, he was digging into the food—good thing you made seconds, because only a minute had passed and the surface of his plate was already beginning to show.

“—the time passed by really quickly though, when you unlocked the door I had barely served the food onto the plates. You got here right on time.”

You had never seen Leon eat this damn fast, maybe because the two of you usually ate in restaurants and he had to be a little courteous in public. Or maybe, he was making up for the years he had gone without the taste of a homemade meal.

“Easy there, tiger.” You were a little nervous he might fucking choke. What a way for your boyfriend to go, ‘death by choking on his partner’s food’ written on his gravestone. Would that be murder on your part? Anyways.

Leon’s cheeks blossomed with a rosy hue when he was called out, taking a breather instead of another mouthful. He felt spoiled now. You spoiled him. He had no idea how he would ever return to his bland tasting mission foods or even the dishes from the high rated food areas around, they all pale in comparison to your cooking. The secret ingredient they lacked was your love—the one thing that made his taste buds feel like they were swimming in an ocean of flavor.

“Sorry, it just really hits the spot.” He glanced over at your plate and realized that he was very much ahead, smiling bashfully to himself when he looked back up at you. “What can I say? Your cooking is delicious, none of it is going to go to waste.”

He looked over to the dessert you had made, it was untouched, there was no way in hell he was going to try it without you also finishing your plate of the main meal first, so the two of you could eat it at the same time. “So, what led to all this?” His question wasn’t a rude one, just out of pure awe and curiosity. What the hell had he done to deserve such a generous gesture?

“I dunno,” you shrugged out, not wanting to sound too sentimental or anything, “I just thought it would be nice.”

“C’mon, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“Well…” you trailed off, giving in and sighing. “You’ve trusted me with a lot of information about yourself and I love you. I thought that maybe instead of going out for dinner or ordering take out, I could give the kitchen a go and treat you to a hot and fresh homemade meal. It’s more special that way.”

“I love you too,” those words tumbled from his lips quietly, as if telling you the most valuable piece of information he holds. He felt his heart doing somersaults, already knowing he was going to spend his life reliving this memory, holding it close to him in a special pocket within the chambers of his heart.

The rest of the hour was spent domestically, sharing the dessert and Leon insisting that he clean everything up—from the dishes to wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor all while he listened in on you ramble about random things, he didn’t want to let you lift a single finger after all you had done for him. And of course, he took some mini breaks in between to snatch a sweet kiss from you, savoring the sweet taste of the dessert the two of you had eaten.

03— RESULTS (18+)

“Can’t believe you cooked for me,” Leon murmured against your ear, breath fanning over your skin as his hands snaked up and down your sides before settling on your hips. There was a rasp to his voice, a familiar one. He was starving despite the meal he had just eaten, every nerve in his body needing to feel you in order to truly feel full. He had a sweet tooth for you, and his craving needed to be satiated.

“I’m just glad you liked it,” you responded, mind already fuzzy with the way your lover’s hands grazed over you. “I was a little worried my cooking wouldn’t live up to all the 5 star restaurants we’ve eaten at.”

“Are you kidding?” His question was rhetorical, his mind set on a straight beeline to your bedroom. “Maybe I should show appreciation for my little chef then, hm?”

“Mm, maybe.”

That’s all it took for you to end up with your back against the headboard of your bed, legs spread with Leon adorning the space between them.

His moans were muffled against you, the vibrations sending blood straight to your bundle of nerves. He was so damn loud whenever he got a taste of you.

Leon’s hips were grinding against the mattress, cock leaking so much that his pants were surely already ruined. Yeah, he was so desperate to have his face stuffed against you that he didn’t even fucking unzip his pants.

You, on the other hand, were getting the best head of your life. One hand curled against your bedsheets meanwhile the other one had a hold on Leon’s hair, involuntary pulling and tugging with each movement of his mouth. Your noises just egged Leon on, each moan or gasp that left your mouth was responded to by a grunt of his own.

“Fuck,” he pulled back for a second to catch his breath, littering gentle kisses against your inner thigh, coating the area with the mixture of his own drool and your fluids that were on his chin.

“Wanna do this every fuckin’ day.” A kiss. “Come home, get on my knees, and taste you.” Another one. “Make you come over my face again and again.” His tongue lapped across your skin. “Suffocate between your thighs.”

“Leon!” You were desperate, hips bucking up into nothing and meeting the air of the room.

His eyes flicked to yours, letting out a soft growl when he saw the dazed out expression on your face. His favorite one—looking like a damn deer in the headlights with the way your eyes were pleading for him, lips parted and ready to beg if need be. He wanted to hear you say it. “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“You,” you replied breathlessly, tugging his head further up so he could get the damn message and continue. Leon was licking his lips already, mouth salivating at just how much your arousal was showing.

“You have me,” he was being a tease, massaging your inner thigh with one of his hands, kneading the flesh and blowing out some air directly at the area between your thighs. The way you squirmed around made him want to palm himself right on the spot. But he held back, you were his first priority.

“Want you inside,” you could barely even utter those three words out, the words blending together and sounding slurred.

A smirk found its way onto Leon’s lips, “yeah? right here?” He teasingly rubbed your already throbbing hole with his fingers, letting out a contented sigh at the way your legs jolted in response.

“Yeah, but…your cock, not just your fingers.” You whined out in complaint, knowing that it would take a while to get to the main prize.

“Shh, I know. That’s all you think about, my cock huh? You’ll get it, don’t worry, jus’ gotta prep you for it.” He slid a finger in until his knuckle disappeared, his fingers were so fucking thick that even one stretched you out. He raised his body further up, trailing kisses from the bottom of your stomach all the way to the middle of your chest.

“So reactive,” he murmured out, noticing the heave of your chest and how your stomach would tighten up with each thrust of his finger. His free hand grazed over the left side of your chest, pinching and twisting your hardened nipple.

“You’re driving me crazy,” your voice was strained, nails scratching Leon’s scalp but he welcomed the sting of it.

“Mission accomplished, then.” His voice was a rumble against your chest, tongue darting out to flick against your other nipple before sucking it gently, wet noises produced in the process. He had no shame, stimulating practically every single one of your senses and looking hot as hell doing it.

His tongue circled around your nipple for another few moments before he began trailing kisses up your collarbones and to your neck, the hiccup of your breath made him growl, burying himself into the scent of your soap and shampoo.

He slid another finger into you while igniting your body into flames, letting out a string of profanity under his breath when you took it with ease. “Fuck, you’re ready for me.” Not a question, but an observation, and suddenly Leon became very aware of the way his cock was begging to be freed from the confines of his pants.

He sat back on his knees and let out a breathless laugh at the way you whined from the loss of contact, he took his belt off in a hurry and unzipped his pants. Pavlog’s dog experiment. The sound of Leon’s fly coming undone made your mouth salivate in response because you knew what was coming.

Your eyes were fixated on him, watching the way he tugged his pants and boxers down—breath hitching at the way his cock slapped up against his stomach, already leaking and ready to stuff you full.

He placed one of his hands against the bone of your hip, his other one stroking his cock a bit as he inched towards you. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck, just put it in already.” Your impatience earned a huff of amusement from Leon, who tapped the tip of his cock against your hole a couple times before guiding it in. His head tilted back, mouth parting and letting out a groan when he filled you up completely—your head thrashed against the pillow, feeling him reconstruct the shape of your insides.

His cock was buried snugly in you, heavy balls pressed against the bottom of your ass, ready to shoot his load within a moment's notice. Leon was breathing inconsistently against you, kissing the corner of your mouth before making his way towards the shell of your ear. “Signal?”

“Green,” that whiny response from you was all it took for Leon’s hips to begin moving.

“God, you’re sucking me right in already.” His hip thrusts were slow but deep, each jolt making the headboard thump against the wall. “Give me your hand please,” The shakiness in his voice was cute, no matter how many times the two of you did this, he always asked for the same thing.

So you did just that, hand reaching for one of his—he immediately laced his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing over yours.

You moved your other arm under and over his shoulder to paw at his back, he hissed when your nails dug into his back scratched him up, undoubtedly leaving red marks on his pale skin—it would hurt like a bitch later but all it did was turn him on right now. “That’s it. Mark me up, baby. I’m yours, all yours.”

He looked down at the way his hips were rutting against yours, speeding the pace up a bit as his eyes flicked back into yours. He felt some pride that he was the one who had you falling apart, the one that made that dumb and needy expression form on your face.

“Feels so good,” you slurred out, your senses turning fuzzy, he was filling you up so good, reaching so deep that it had you seeing stars and clenching down on him. You wrapped your legs around his torso, needing to cling onto him.

“Baby—” he gasped out as soon as he felt the way you tightened up, squeezing your hand in response. “Ease up for me, not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“I know, I know…” you babbled out, but you couldn’t relax your body completely with the way your own hips snapped up to meet his.

Leon knew he was going to come soon, how could anyone hold back? You were making him addicted to you.

“Can I come inside you?” He somehow managed to grit that out, breathing rate growing in intensity.

You nodded almost immediately, wanting to feel him paint your insides white and feel the warmth of his cum, rambling almost incoherently. “Mhm, want you to fill me up. Please, please, please. I need it.”

“Shit, I will, don’t worry. Just gotta make sure you come first.” He was always so insistent on your pleasure, pressing his lips against yours and swallowing all of the pretty noises you made. Tongues swirling sloppily against each other, he loved the way you were barely even able to kiss him back properly. God, the tiny and quiet whimpers you let out were making his cock twitch inside you. You were trembling, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the coil in your stomach, but it’s okay, because you let Leon guide the kiss, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.

Leon was losing it, holding back on spilling inside you, he needed to make sure you came before he did—but it was so hard with the way your ankles were crossed against his back and keeping him in place.

“Leon,” you sobbed his name out through an exhale, digging your heels into the arch of his back. “Too much, ‘s too much—” He could read your body well, the way you were holding onto his body so tightly he felt stuck, the way your voice turned up a pitch higher than usual.

“That’s it,” he lifted his hand to cradle the back of your head and hold you close, pressing kisses against the side of your head. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my cock, you can do it. Let me feel you.”

You buried your head against his shoulder, breath fanning against his skin and incomprehensible mumbles of his name tipping out of your mouth, like if Leon was your God and you were chanting him a prayer.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, vision going white with a final call of his name, clenching around him and hissing when you felt his load spill inside you in ropes, his hips thrusting some more times in you before he stilled inside you.

He held you close as you shook against him, keeping you stable like he always did.

Silence, aside from the sounds of yours and Leons panting and the sound of the bedsheets twisting as you adjusted your position a bit, planting your feet back against the mattress and gasping softly when you felt him slowly pull out of you. Running a hand through Leon’s now damp hair, you let out a breathless chuckle. “You’re insatiable.”

“Not denying that,” managing to catch his breath, Leon propped himself up by pressing his palm against the pillow, pressing a gentle and loving kiss against your lips, his own curling up into a smile. “Stay right here. I’ll get you some water and clean you up.”

“No way in hell, mister,” you mumbled out, wanting to cuddle up with him before getting to that. You could handle being dehydrated for five more minutes in favor of being in his arms and some pillow talk. “Don’t get up yet, five more minutes.”

“Anything for my favorite chef.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader

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sofs16 · 4 months

Text

lalalove

pair carlos x reader

carlosylln

liked by 17,363 others

carlosylln my roman empire. horror movie lalaland irl

view all 1,733 comments

ynupdted heavy on the lalaland… they had to break up to pursue their own dreams and they still support each other 😭😭😭

⤷ carloscharles15 wym break up… THEY BROKE UP? ⤷ ynupdted … THEY BROKE UP LIKE A YEAR AGO😭??????? ⤷ carloscharles15 BUT I JUST SAW HER COMMENT ON HIS RECENT? ⤷ ynupdted yeah they comment on each other’s posts but nothing else aside from that 😞

carlossainz55

liked by yn.yln, and others

carlossainz55 Happy new year from the Sainz’s 🥂🎊 Wishing everyone all the best for 2024. We missed you anasainzdec ❤️ view all 1,574 comments

yn.yln Feliz año nuevo, el mejor familia! (happy new year, the best family!) yn.yln Anaaaaa!!!!! Bonita🤍

[liked by carlossainz55]

⤷ anasainzdec te echo menos, yn🤍 a ti también! (Miss you, yn🤍 you also!) [ liked by yn.yln]

yncarlos ouch first christmas w/o yn 😞

⤷ ynlover girl no need to comment.. im sure theyre all aware 😭😭

yn.yln

liked by carlossainz55, and others

yn.yln absolutely in shambles as i’m typing this but… my sophomore album “silence between songs” will be yours next week, january 8th :,) so incredibly grateful for this opportunity and hope you guys enjoy it 🤍🤍🤍

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carlossainz55 👸🎊

[liked by yn.yln]

⤷ totalcarlos MY HEART. anasainzdec😍😍😍

[liked by yn.yln]

⤷ yn.yln te quiero😽

carlossainzoficial Felicidades! [liked by yn.yln]

⤷ yn.yln mi padreeee! muchisimas gracias

yn.yln

liked by carlossainz55, and others

yn.yln at a loss for words. silence between songs is out 🥹🎀

view all 5,385 comments

carlossainz55 stories

♫ king of everything - yn yln | caption musica de dia!

replies

yn.yln muchas gracias, carlitos 🥹🤍

⤷ carlossainz55 de nada🥳

anasainzdec “We’re not together” you said 😂

⤷ carlossainz55 no necesitas repitir. muchos personas dice estoy enamorado con yn (you don’t need to repeat. many people say i’m in love with yn)

⤷ anasainzdec y estas? (and are you?)

⤷ carlossainz55 un poco. (a little)

yn.yln

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yn.yln don’t u? view all 31,374 comments

carlossainz55 😍

⤷ yn.yln The hypnosis photo worked, didn’t it?

⤷ carlossainz55 I am still stuck at the first slide. ⤷ ca55yn WHAT

charles_leclerc carlossainz55

⤷ carlossainz55 I got here before you

user55 HELPME CARLOS DOWN BAD.. AGAIN.

user52 yn, babes, you don’t need the hypnosis slide😭 we all down bad for u [‪‪❤︎‬ carlossainz55]

iMessage

en serio? (are you serious?) con tu commento? (with your comment?)

CARLITOS

piensas estoy jocoso? (you think i’m joking?)

Ya no se, Carlitos. ( i don’t know anymore) We’ve done this before.

CARLITOS

I do not stop thinking about you though

Too bad, you broke it off last time.

CARLITOS

That was a mistake; we both know that, Hermosa.

🤷🏻‍♀️

I’m not risking it again. I like having you in my life, even if it is s a friend

CARLITOS

But we can be more than that

How come

CARLITOS

i’m going to win you over one day;)

delivered

ynupdates

liked by carlando55, and 12,779 others

ynupdated Yn Yln kicks off her tour in Madrid Spain and sings an unreleased song: Decode! Lyrics are seen in the next slide. Many believe this is about Carlos Sainz, her ex, who many say attended the concert. #ynyln #tour

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user1 dramaticcccc why doesn’t she just get with him? it’s obvious he’s obsessed with her

⤷ ynupdates it’s not really easy to have a tour everywhere and have your boyfriend race everywhere lol. Yn mentioned it was the distance that ultimately ended their relationship, no bad blood. ⤷ user2 long distance with her first bf is so😭

⤷ ynupdated carlos being her first bf is 😭 she does not dilly dally

yn.yln

liked by carlossainz55, and 7,272,953 others

yn.yln wouldn’t trade this for anything 🤍 thank you madrid, te amooooooo te quierooooo

view all 261,842 comments

carlossainz posted an instagram story

caption: a star

yn.yln replied!

stop being a simp boyy

you are going to get us EXPOSED ITS BEEN 10 MINUTES

⤷ I can’t help it when my GIRLFRIEND looks like that😍

yn.yln

liked by carlossainz55, and 15,272,584 others no

yn.yln Hi! Hello! Released a new song! And a music video! It’s called Please Please Please! Check it out! Love ya! Xx Yn (and Carlitos)! view all 2,822,593 comments

user1 YN ITS 3 IN THE MORNING. carloyn THE HARDLAUNCH AND MV HARDLAUNCH

user2 this is why she’s been silent for a month aside from tour 😭😭😭😭

carlossainz55 👸😍

Liked by 181,181 others

ynupdated STOP SPAMMING MY PHONE 😭 YN RELEASED A NEW SONG CALLED PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE (LYRICS NEXT SLIDE) GNB

View all 21,913 others

Userq let admin sleep😭

user2 dont embarass me motherfucker😭

carlossainz55

liked by yn.yln, and 31,183,954 others

carlossainz55 Will not be that motherfucker who embarrases her ❤️

view all 2,833,595 comments

user7 BRO PULLED OUT ALL THE GF RECEIPTS IN ONE POST

yn.yln babe… why these pics 😭 love you tho

⤷ carlossainz55 what? You look gorgeous, you always do

⤷ yn.yln😍🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜💜🤎🩵 LOVE YOU😍😍😍

⤷ user4 atp yn will be embarrassing Carlos with her random shit AHAHAHA ♥ yn.yln

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x y/n

544 notes · View notes

jallerentrags · 6 months

Text

Better than him.

James Potter x Reader, based on 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron.

James Potter thought of himself as a lucky man.

He had everything he wanted: Good grades, good friends, a good life. The only thing he wanted, which he worried he might never have, was you.

Y/n Cassiopeia Black, twin sister to the elusive and handsome Regulus Black. But despite being at the same school, and being best mates with your older brother, the space between the both of you was almost impossible to cross. You were cold and indifferent - sticking with your friends and Regulus - and avoided James like the plague. You rarely spoke, supposedly scorned by his theft of your older brother, and when you did converse, it was usually under the watchful eyes of Charles Nott, your betrothed.

At the age of 16, you had been auctioned and sold to the highest bidder, wrapped in his vice like grip. James watched from the side-lines as the eyes that used to shine like her brother's name-sake, faded.

He had tried to become besotted with Lily, a beautiful and intelligent girl, but it was futile. Your power over him was strong, his urge to move on with Lily too weak. But a strong friendship between the Head Boy and Girl did blossom, so James ended up ranting to Lily about his situation.

“James I don’t know what to say. Y/n is one of the most prized girls in school and her circle is small. Your best bet to get her attention is to ask Sirius to introduce you,” Lily paused to brush her long hair out of her eyes and behind her shoulder with a thoughtful look, “Of course, that’s if she’s willing to speak to Sirius, I don’t think I’ve seen them together since last year.”

James sighed. He already knew that you had closed yourself off after losing your brother, and he grimaced thinking about how hurt you must feel. He knew that Sirius was still mourning his loss as heir to the House of Black, and heard him crying at night when his ache for his little siblings grew too heavy.

“I know,” James fiddled with his glasses, face heating up. “Maybe it’s best if I just leave it. It’s a pipe dream that a girl like that would ever go for a guy like me.” James moved to pick up his books from the library table and head to his dorm, mood low. Lily gasped and slapped his hand away.

“Definitely not! I remember Remus telling me that you two were completely smitten and oblivious to it despite belonging to rival houses. The James Potter should definitely not give up this easily,” Lily’s brows were lowered in an expression of seriousness, her lips thin, “I’ve got an idea. You know the Christmas Ball is this weekend?”

Of course James knew the Christmas Ball was this weekend. The whole school had been preparing for it since it was announced early November, a night of bliss and relaxation to temporarily ignore the deteriorating state of the outside World. James’ parents had already sent him his dress robes, and he saw that last Tuesday you had received a large parcel in the mail which he guessed must of been your dress.

“Yes, but I don’t see why that matters? She’ll be going with Charles. He proposed in August.” James spat, anger lacing into his words. Lily merely rolled her eyes and huffed.

“So? Steal her away! Ask her to dance and charm her! I’m sure it won’t be that difficult, it’s not as if she’s in love with Nott,” Lily placed her hands on the table and leaned towards him, “She’ll definitely leave him for you, she’s always been sympathetic towards muggle-born’s and I heard her talking about how she wishes she didn’t have to marry Nott. Give her a reason, Be her reason, and she’ll leave her supremacist family and be with you.” James scoffed and leaned back in his chair, watching as Lily reclined also.

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. She loves Regulus and she fits the role as ‘Slytherin’s Princess’ perfectly. I don’t want to put myself out there for her if she’s already too far gone.”

“Believe me. She’s not. People don’t look at each other like you two do.” Lily smiled at him, certainty blazing in her emerald eyes, “You could be her new beginning, and I really think she wants that. She loves Regulus and she always will, but I know that he would value her happiness and I doubt that she wouldn’t love to have a reason to escape,” Lily’s hand reached over to James’ and clasped it, “I really believe that you two would work. I want to see you happy James, please trust me.”

James’ lips formed a smile, and he felt hope blare in his chest. If Lily, the smartest girl he knew, believed that he stood a chance, then he had faith. He squeezed her hand and stood up, collecting his books and shoving them into his bag.

“I trust you, now watch me get my girl.”

————————————————————————-

The Great Hall looked beautiful, you thought, as you entered. The ceiling showcased a clear starry sky, and the decorations shone and sparkled in the candle light. Ice sculptures decorated the corners, and 12 great circle tables surrounded a square dance floor and far off, adjacent the teachers table, was a long buffet and drinks table laden with Honeydukes delights and crisp pumpkin juice. Charles, your financeé, gripped your hand tighter and dragged you to a table with his friends, only slightly admitting how beautiful you looked in your F/c gown. Charles' friends briefly acknowledged you (with a few appreciative eyebrow raises) before ignoring your presence entirely. Across the room, you spotted your older brother and his friends, who hadn't seemed to notice your entrance just yet. Sirius looked remarkable like always, a classic example of the Black families striking looks. Even Remus looked quite handsome in his robes, and Peter had cleaned up nicely. Admittedly, you thought, James looked incredibly good in his robes and had caught your eye as soon as you entered the Great Hall. His robes were tailored to his fit physique perfectly, and his hazel eyes shone with excitement. Although he hadn't managed to tame his hair, you secretly appreciated how well it framed his face.

"Admiring the blood traitor, Y/n?" Rosier, one of Charles' close friends, scoffed. You turned back to the table, missing James' look your way, and shot a smile in Rosier's direction.

"Of course not," you replied, entangling your arm from Charles' grip, "But you have to admit that he does look very enjoyable in his robes." you smirked, watching as Charles' face contorted into a sneer. He made to grab for you, already muttering about your incompetence with an extremely angry look on his face. He wrapped his hand around your arm hard, pulling you close enough to whisper in your ear. Despite being pulled into his side, his body still angled away from you, like you didn't matter at all. From across the hall, you wondered whether it looked like it was a lover's embrace. It was anything but. You spared no love for Charles, and it was no secret. Rosier and the others all sniggered, slurs tumbling from their lips and their faces a mixture of disgust and outrage.

"Y/n, you should watch your mouth. You don't want people thinking that you agree with your mutt of a brother, do you?" Charles asked, his face settling into a blank stare. Your brows lowered and your lips curled, before quickly schooling features once more. You simply hummed, avoiding Charles' eyes. "Now run along to Regulus. I'll come to you when I need you." He unwrapped his hand from your arm and pushed you away, before turning back to his group. You wondered through Hall, greeting friends, before making a bee-line for your twin. The dancing had begun, a light tempo that sent couples soaring over the floor. You watched in admiration, the way they held each other, looking into each others eyes like no one else existed, souls mingling and stretching across the floor. You wished you could be swept along the floor, lost in the steps and the feel of your partners hands. The partner you imagined never had the Nott green eyes and cigar scented yellowed palms, he always had the face of your older brother's best friend.

From behind you, you heard somebody cough to catch your attention, and you turned on your heel to come face to face with James Potter, watching his already huge smile grow wider. His hands were in his trouser pockets, his body angled towards you so completely that you couldn't even acknowledge other's brushing up against you.

"I can't believe we're finally alone, I've been trying to catch you since you arrived, you look so beautiful," James revealed, blush drifting across his cheeks, "I almost went back up to the dorm."

"Well that would've been a shame, Potter" you smiled back, easing towards him, "I was hoping to see you on the dance floor."

James laughed, a sound that sent shudders down your spine and took his hand out of his pocket to push up his glasses that had fallen down his nose. "What are the chances? I wanted to see you on the dance floor too," James squared his shoulders and cleared his throat "Everyone's dancing, yet you aren't, somebody that I know is stuck by dance fever frequently, and he's not with you," James leaned forward and smirked, "the Universe must of divined us, little Black, it looks like we're destined to dance together tonight."

You could almost see the thoughts fly across his face as he grabbed your wrist before you could even object, pulling you towards the dance floor. The music had changed to a sweet, mouldable beat, sweeping partners across the floor in unique waltzes and dips. James positioned you on the floor, a large hand leaving a burning touch on you waist and the other slipping into you awaiting hand as you breathlessly laughed. Your hands fit together perfectly, just like his hand rested so perfectly on the curve of your waist. He started leading, smiling down at you as though you placed the stars in the sky, a twinkle in his bespectacled eyes. You followed readily, returning his smile and placing you hand on his shoulder, heat building and spreading under your dress at your close contact.

You were flying, soaring, just two people in a sea of revellers. You didn't slip from his gaze, totally unfettered, lost in him. You never stumbled, never faltered, you recalled every conversation, every lingering glance, every lasting touch, knowing you were utterly enthralled. James looked the same, captivated by your presence, stuck in your energy. You saw the words bubble in him, and your heart soared when he stopped biting his tongue.

"Y/n," he whispered, drawing you closer, his face a picture intimacy, "I could be a better boyfriend than him," you sucked in air, but didn't draw from his arms. James tightened his grip on your hip as you looked deeply into his eyes, "I could do all the shit that he never does," he flared his fingers against your waist, "I'll stay up all night for you, I won't quit. I'm thinking that I'm going to steal you from him," he dropped his head to press against your forehead, your joined hands tight as you still manoeuvred around the floor, "I could be such a gentleman, plus all my clothes would look so good on you." You slowed to a stop, dancers fluttering around you as you ended up at a loss for words, mouth agape and your heart singing. "I could be so much better for you than him."

"James..." you unlaced your joined hands, already missing his touch, as he stared at you desperately. You knew that everything he said was true, and James was nothing if not an honest man. He made you smile, kept you safe, always thought of you as the prettiest girl in the room. You were in love with James Potter, but it wasn't as easy as that. You had to worry about your brother, Regulus, and the future of your family. While your parents were definitely not kind and nurturing, they were all you had. You didn't have James Potter to whisk you away if Sirius didn't allow him too. You wanted James, more than you'd ever want Charles and his prejudice. Your eyes watered, and you suddenly felt lost.

"I don't need to tell you twice all the ways he can't suffice, he wouldn't care about your happiness, or your dancing or your smile," James' unwavering hope warmed you, cocooning you in a safety net when you felt like you were falling from the Astronomy Tower. James wanted to be your new beginning, your second chance. He wanted to cuddle you on cold nights and to show you the beauty of the muggle world and all its secrets, "If I could give you some advice, baby, I'd leave with me tonight." His desperation slipped from his face, replaced with a confident smirk, as if he saw your facade melting, as if he could see you melting in his arms, as if he knew that you were going to choose him, just like you would every single time.

"You'll help me get through it?" you asked, and James immediately knew that you meant the sparking fall out between you and your parents, and the Nott family. James took your face in his hands, love shining in his eyes, before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"I'd give you my heart if you asked, darling, of course I'll help. Besides, what's another Black sibling in my house? if your brother comes I'll have the full set." you shared a laugh, biting back the tears that threatened to spill.

"You'd like that." you said between laughs.

"I'd love it." he answered, leaning back and taking your hand in his once again. He led you back off the dance floor, both of you blushing madly and smiling merrily. Towards the left of the hall, you spotted James' friends watching you both intently, glasses raised. Lily Evans seemed particularly excited, emerald eyes aglow with excitement as she waved enthusiastically and gave James a thumbs up. Sirius and Regulus stood further away, small smiles on their faces as they watched their little sister walk out of the hall with the resident trouble maker. No complaints rose up their throats, just unbridled joy for their sister who finally looked happy. James and Y/n didn't look at anyone else as they left hand in hand, not even at a furious Charles Nott, hands balled in tight fists. They ignored the open mouthed stares and muttered remarks, completely absorbed in each other.

The next day, Charles would arrive at his dorm to an owl waiting by the open window. Tied to his leg was a envelope, and Charles reached for it immediately. Ripping it open, he tore the piece of paper out and dumped its contents on his bed. Gleaming back at his sneering face was the ring he gave Y/n when he proposed, and scribbled on the letter was one sentence:

'I suppose you were right Charles, I do have a taste for blood-traitors.’

- Y/n Black and James Potter

#james potter #james potter x reader #harry potter #hogwarts x reader #harry potter x reader #james potter imagine #regulus black twin!reader #mauraders #mauraders x reader

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justanarchiveforfics · 9 months

Text

December Seventeen recs

Red horn | @himbocoups (smut)

devils are contract workers - simply offer them a payment that they can never refuse, and your problems would be taken care of. the only thing is, what could a mere human possibly offer to a devil?

Bad enough | @sluttywonwoo (smut)

lee chan isn't the type of guy you usually go for... but you don't know that.

Simp notes | @shuastruck - on going (smau, strangers to lovers, fluff)

lee chan, college's critically acclaimed and certified (read: self-proclaimed) cupid was a hundred percent sure that his guide to love manual aka the simp notes worked just perfectly fine, seeing the number of campus couples he had managed to get together. until you came up with your complex romantic problem and chan finds his trustworthy notes betraying him, especially when he begins to fall for you.

or, in which, chan never thought he would be following his own simp notes to win over you.

Always | @spamgyu (fluff)

When Soonyoung told her he would always be there, he meant it. The days of pining for the girl he had fallen for freshman year had finally paid off.

Office hours | @seungkw1 (smut)

Red string theory | @spamgyu (soulmates au, fluff)

Soulmates weren't real. This wasn't a fantasy world... But somehow, the world wanted them together. Giving them one too many chances to be together. Almost as if there was a little string that connected them to one another.

Insomnia - city lights series- | @hannieween (smut)

The last bit of sanity in your mind vanished the moment before you asked your hot neighbour to be your fuck buddy. Whatever prompted you to muster the courage to get the words out was something you didn't know you had inside you. But he wasn't saying no.

Sehnsucht | @leejihoonownsmyheart (academic rivals, smut)

You and Wonwoo have been rivals since your first of University, and despite it being your final year, that rivalry doesn't seem like it's going anywhere soon when you both end up in German 101.

The Christmas boyfriend | @rubyreduji (fake dating, fwb, fluff, smut)

When you tell your mom the little white lie that you have a boyfriend, you don’t expect it to evolve into bringing your friend with benefits home for christmas. what can go wrong?

Maybe this is wishful thinking | @gyuldaengi (angst)

Fifteen to forever | @gyuswhore (fluff, angst, smut)

Fifteen was the age you had met Choi Seungcheol at a school hockey game. Forever was the age you would find yourself spending with him.

Must love dogs | @nevernonline (strangers to lovers, fluff)

after a breakup (three years ago) your friend finally attempts to get you back on the saddle by creating you a dating profile despite your protesting, hooking you up on dates with some of the eligible bachelors of their choice, none of which impressed you. until one day you met the boy with the dog.

From Accords to kisses | @hoshifighting (fake dating, smut)

Seungcheol, feeling overshowed by his accomplished cousin Jisoo, concocted a plan to surprise his family. Desperate to match up, he enlists Y/N, a talented athlete swimmer from his university, to play his girlfriend. Amidst the charade, unexpected sparks fly, leading to a surprising turn in their relationship.

#svt recs #svt scenarios #seventeen recs #seventeen scenarios #monthly read

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thebearer · 1 year

Text

the bearer blurbs: carmen berzatto | 1 |

carmen gets jealous

touch starved carmen

carmen with a daddy kink

carmen takes care of you when you're sick

getting your first tattoo with carmen

carmen begging to eat you out

casual dominance with carmen

ass eating blurb

being carmen's taste tester

dom!carmen

making out with soft dom!carmen

asshole to the world but not the girl trope

casual/heavy-ish dominance with carmen

you get hurt, carmen comforts you

blowing carmen in the kitchen

you're stressed and carmen helps

brat tamer!carm making you ride his cock

carmen makes a decision for the restaurant without asking you

quiet calm fluffy mornings with carmen

more casual dominance with carmen

carmen making you say nice things about yourself during sex

making carmen comfort food

how you and carmen meet (customer pov blurb)

richie's speak now moment

carmen dating someone just like him

safe foods with carmen

dom!carmen spanking you with the wooden spoon part two

pete comforting you through your first berzatto family reunion

first family as a couple

eras tour with carmen (ft. richie)

carm w/ inexperienced gf

i wish i'd never met you part two

carmen comforts you after a bad day

bad self talk/ reader skips meals blurb comfort/ angst

doing carmen skincare

drunk reader tells carmen "i have a boyfriend"

size kink smut

cutting carmen's hair

casual dominance with carmen 3

chain dangling smut

boudoir shoot for carmen

dom!carmen hcs

anal training smut

"drop the attitude" with dom!carm

defending pete blurb

shy reader having a crush on carmen blurb

carmen picks up drunk reader from girl's night fluff (horny edition)

stressful day unwind with carmen

carmen's sixth sense for when you don't eat fluff

punishment with dom!carm

you didn't tell carmen about your big achievement (angst/comfort)

jewelry smutty drabbles with carmen

giving carmen the silent treatment

the fire in the apartment with established relationship

carmen buying you flowers

aftercare with dom!carmen

carmen asking you to move in with him

you have a bad relationship with your dad (ft uncle jimmy) blurb

carmen fucking you with lingerie on smut

carmen comforts you through an anxiety attack

part 2 blurb of the feeling aka the karaoke double date

carmen catching you masturbating in his shirt

brat tamer!carmen spanking you

protective carm with younger (early 20s) gf in college

mutual masturbation w/ inexperienced carmen

soft!dom!carmen doting on stressed reader

the honeymoon smut

first christmas

casual dom carm giving you vitamins

carmen cheers you up after a bad day

casual dom carm giving you your medicine

carmen tying your shoes

carmen "recharging" himself

praise kink carmen

carmen cooking your comfort meal

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fayes-fics · 10 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]

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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belokhvostikova · 8 months

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.”

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported.

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had.

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you.

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together.

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you.

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner.

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought.

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients.

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self.

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!”

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed…

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together.

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything.

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.”

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster.

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance.

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You gritted.

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache.

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage.

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors.

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.”

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?”

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.”

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to.

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified.

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.”

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him?

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to.

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite.

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid.

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered.

“You used to.”

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago.

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth.

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality.

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled.

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos.

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running.

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.”

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though.

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.”

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.”

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face.

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana.

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you.

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year.

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours.

And it worked out… surprisingly.

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together.

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie.

Because he changed.

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all.

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat.

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-”

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose.

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body.

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then.

And he hadn’t seen you since.

Until now.

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet.

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you.

But it didn’t have to.

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny.

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you.

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength.

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain.

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating.

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation.

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him.

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance.

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?”

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so.

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again.

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him.

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in.

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation.

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged.

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye.

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.”

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open.

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest.

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness.

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further.

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes.

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.”

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously.

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face.

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood.

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off.

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand.

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you.

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger.

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door.

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.”

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you.

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you.

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them.

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours.

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist.

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of.

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him.

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie.

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit.

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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padfootagain · 9 months

Text

When We Were Lying

Hi! Here is another Hozier fic! Had a lot of fun with this trope, as always, I hope you’ll like this little story! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x reader

Warnings: none… a bit of strong language and an awful lot of longing? Fake-dating AU

Summary: Your ex is attending your family gathering for Christmas and there is no way you're going to face that alone. Of course, you drag your best friend into this, and he's too smitten with you to say no when you ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend. Although, the fact that you both have feelings for each other might end up being a problem...

Word Count: 10055

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Sorry… what?!”

Andrew was blinking at you. There was something unnerving in his frown and the intensity of his stare, but you had to bear it. After all, you had no other choice.

“You’re the only one I can ask to do this with me…”

“I’m absolutely not doing that!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?! Why not?! Do I really have to answer that question or have you found back your sanity?”

“Andrew…”

“I am not going to lie to your entire family at Christmas just to save your stupid arse!”

“But I said ‘please’…”

“Y/N!”

“Andrew!”

“This is a terrible idea! I’m not doing that!”

He stared at you as if you had lost your mind, and in all fairness, perhaps you had… for a part at least. Why else would you be sitting in your best friend’s comfortable sofa, in the middle of his large and yet welcoming living room, asking him to lie to your family and pretend that you were together? Only for a day though, just for the traditional meal on Christmas, the boring and tedious lunch on the 25th where you exchanged gifts and stabbing remarks with your least favourite members of your family.

Not that you were not used to face this tragedy on your own; if your arse of an uncle had been the only obstacle to overcome this year, you would have emerged with flying colours. But this year was different. It was different, because your cousin Samantha was coming with her boyfriend… aka your ex-boyfriend. The one she had slept with ten months ago. The one who had betrayed you and broken your silly heart. The one you wished you could put laxatives into his drinks, or pierce his tires, or put some very strong pepper into his tea… Something Machiavellian like that…

But as your chances of poisoning his food at the Christmas lunch were limited, you had to settle for plan B. Which was simple enough: convince your best friend to pretend to be madly in love with you, so you would not have to bear any comments from your family about your broken heart and the fact that you had been cheated on by your fucking cousin Samantha… and perhaps, with a bit of luck, you could also make your ex, Craig, jealous.

A brilliant plan, if there was ever any. Only, Andrew didn’t seem to share your optimism.

“You’ve lost it, this time,” he went on, eyes wide, aghast as he slowly shook his head.

You couldn’t blame him for thinking this. Especially given the fact that your feelings for him would probably end up being a problem. But despite your silly little crush on him… who else could you ask such a favour to? The two of you had known each other for years. He was your best friend, you were ready to do anything for him. No one else would accept…

“Andy… I know I’m asking a lot…”

“This will never work. Beyond the fact that this is pure madness, it will never work! Your parents know me! They know we’re not together!”

“Friends get together all the time!”

“No one will believe us. And you know me, I hate… PDA and stuff like that… I can’t… even when it’s real, I struggle with that stuff. I can’t fake it.”

“On the contrary, that’s great! Cause then, we don’t have to act too much like we’re together, and we can just blame it on your well-known aversion for PDA!”

“No. I’m sorry, Y/N, but this time… it’s a no. I’m not doing that. I’m not playing fake-boyfriend for you.”

You heaved a defeated sigh.

“And I thought you would kill for me.”

“I’m a pacifist… a punch across the jaw is the best I can do.”

“Lousy friend.”

“Fuck off! You think you asking me to lie to your entire family is better? Just so you won’t have to hear them complaining about you being single? You think that’s not worse?”

You saw the way his expression saddened when yours did, when the tinge of playfulness left your features. His voice was softer when he spoke again.

“Why is it so unbearable anyway, huh? You’ve forgotten how my mother can be? I’ve got that refrain sang to me all the time too. It’s not so bad.”

You bit on your lip and lowered your gaze before answering, holding back tears that came blurring your vision of Andrew’s soft carpet.

“Craig and Sam will be there. Together.”

You didn’t need to look up at him to know he was clenching his jaw.

“I don’t… I don’t want to have to face that on my own. I’m not sure I can…”

You barely had time to brush a tear away that Andrew was holding you close, arms wrapped tightly around your frame. And you let him pull you even closer, until your ear was pressed against his heart, until he could drop a tender kiss to the top of your head. He heaved a sigh.

“Could you still come? As a friend?” you asked, voice trembling even if you didn’t want it to.

You hated being like this. Fragile. Crying. Not over the betrayal. You wanted to wave a perfect life at your ex so he would see all that he was missing, until he regretted everything. It was petty, but true. Instead, you would be the one sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a couple of weeks, trying not to throw up nor cry while you witnessed your ex and your cousin playing perfect couple…

Andrew heaved a painful sigh.

“I’ll come.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean… I’ll do it. The whole crazy plan. I’ll do it. I’ll be your boyfriend for the day.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There were traces of annoyance in his gaze, but a lot of tenderness too as his eyes met yours, hazel irises turning greener in the quiet light of a late afternoon.

“Really?” you asked, voice shy even though you craved for confidence.

“Really. But you’d better make sure that your mother still loves me when you break it to her that we’re not together anymore! I’m not giving up on her amazing lasagnas, not even for you.”

“I have the recipe, you know?”

“Your mother’s taste better.”

“Fucker!”

“Don’t insult me, or I’ll take everything back and let you deal with this bunch of assholes on your own!”

“Sorry!” you quipped, hiding your face into his chest again, and you heard him mumbling some complaints, playing grumpy, but you knew better.

You were smiling as you listened to his low voice lulling you back into a soothed state. You wondered how he did that. How a mere hug and some whispering were all it took to calm you down, to make you feel safe all over again, when you were so damn insecure all the time.

You lost track of your own thoughts when his large hand came to rest on the back of your head, keeping you close.

And you were glad that you could explain a lack of PDA in front of your family, because there was no way for you to survive a whole day with the man you secretly loved holding you like that…

“Do you hate me? For being selfish and dragging you into this?” you asked him, voice muffled by his woollen jumper.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

“Even if I called you to get rid of a body with me?”

“Erm… As long as I’m not the one cutting it into pieces.”

You both let out a chuckle.

“I’ll make sure to stain your carpet with the blood of my victims.”

“Now, that would make me hate you, for sure.”

“I knew you’d choose your carpet over me.”

“Yeah, but what a carpet it is!”

“It doesn’t make you lasagna though…”

“I only like your mam’s.”

You smiled, but remained quiet. You were serious again when your voice broke the comfortable silence that had settled over your two entwined frames.

“Seriously, though… I’m sorry I’m asking you this. I just… I just don’t see what else I can do. I don’t think I can stomach seeing the two of them as a happy couple while I’m still… desperately single. A real loser…”

“Stop talking about yourself like that,” he admonished, voice genuinely annoyed. “I hate it when you do that. You’re… you’re amazing, Y/N. More than you realise. And Craig and Samantha are terrible people. So… stop blaming it all on yourself. They can rot in hell.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in heaven and hell.”

“You know what I mean.”

A pause while you smiled, wool tickling your cheek.

“Thank you.”

He rubbed your back, gesture soft, taking his time.

“Don’t mention it.”

“You owe me so much…”

“I thought you said ‘don’t mention it!’”

“Don’t mention it, my arse…”

You laughed at him, you couldn’t help it. As Andrew and you walked together down the lane leading to your parents’ house, you couldn’t refrain your laughter. Andrew looked nervous… like the day he had met your parents for the first time, years ago.

“Stop acting like they don’t know you. My family adores you.”

“That’s until they learn I’m lying through my teeth.”

“You’re an infamous liar, anyway.”

“Hey!”

He faked outrage, making you laugh even more, and this time, he couldn’t refrain his own smile.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this…”

“Me neither. You must have lost your mind, too.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, and sealed his lips again. There was something almost sad on his features for a second, and you wanted to ask if he was alright, but you were already in front of the green door.

“You ready?” he asked instead, an encouraging smile adorning his handsome features now, the cold of December making his cheeks and nose redden.

And you had to struggle through missing heartbeats to nod your head. He looked lovely like this, hair in a half-bun, some curls still free, hair tied only to keep the strands away from his face. He was wearing the grey beanie you adored, chin buried in a huge matching scarf…

“We’ll be fine,” he reassured you, all traces of playfulness or annoyance gone from his warm voice.

“Let’s make Craig so jealous he’ll choke over some pudding.”

You both chuckled, and Andrew nodded, lovely crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes as he kept on smiling.

“Sounds like a plan.”

You took a deep breath before knocking.

There was no turning back.

You glimpsed at Andrew one more time as you waited for your mother to come and open the door, and you thought it truly was the worst idea you had ever had, to ask Andrew to do this… Andrew, of all people. If he was the only choice, he also was the worst one. You simply hoped you wouldn’t have to fake too much… because your heart sped up at the mere thought of holding his hand…

What an idiot you were, getting yourself into so much trouble… at what point had you imagined it was a good idea to ask the man you secretly loved to be your fake boyfriend?!

Your thoughts were interrupted though, as your mother finally appeared. You grinned at her as she hurried to give you a hug.

Andrew had barely closed the door behind him that he was receiving a warm hug as well.

“Ha! Andy!” your mother welcomed him, making him laugh. “It’s so good to see you, it’s been too long.”

“It has indeed…”

“And finally! You two came to your senses!”

You frowned, but didn’t have time to ask your mother what she meant. Instead, you were pulled into the whirlwind that was your family.

Andrew remained close to you, and you were not surprised. There were plenty of people gathered in the large living room, several generations together in the warmth of your childhood home, and Andrew wasn’t too good with dealing with so many people. When you turned to him to offer him a gentle smile, one he immediately offered as well, he seemed a little uncomfortable, hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what to make of his long limbs, head slightly bent, as to appear less tall than he truly was, a desperate attempt at hiding. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, such a stark contrast with the confident musician he was each time he stepped on a stage.

You introduced him to the members of your family he didn’t know (including your terrible uncle, who didn’t fail to be rude, hence living up to his reputation). And everything was going fine, except perhaps for the uncontrollable burst that sparked through your heart and chest every time you called Andrew your boyfriend. You pushed to the side the longing that washed over you at the thought that you wished the word could be true…

But it wasn’t the right time for such consideration. After years spent as Andrew’s friend while harbouring feelings for him, you had grown amazingly talented at hiding the love that coursed through each of your cells every time you saw him, or heard him, or thought of him…

But that was not the right time for such thoughts. Indeed, a new couple was just entering the room…

… and suddenly everyone was quiet.

Samantha and Craig seemed to not notice the sudden silence, or else they were simply very good at hiding it. You couldn’t control your expression as you winced, turning towards the window.

But you were surprised by Andrew’s touch, as he reached for your hand. Fingers shy at first, barely the ghost of a caress across your knuckles. When you leaned closer, fingers searching for his too, he intertwined them together, and as you turned to him, he gave you the warmest smile. A silent gesture to tell you it would be okay.

You were even more surprised when he pulled you closer, a gentle tug at your joined hands. You had discussed, before coming to your parents’ house, the boundaries you needed to respect for today. Holding hands was okay. Touching arms, hair or a waist was okay. You had not discussed kissing, but you reckoned that it was a clear no. An arm around the other’s shoulders or back was good too.

But now, Andrew was pulling you gently closer until you were settled against his chest, and he bent to softly kiss your hair, lips lingering on the top of your head for several seconds. The gesture was so tender, you had to close your eyes…

And then his lips were gone, leaving behind the quiet sound of a kiss and their warmth. When you opened your eyes again and looked up at him, Andrew was blushing, but he was smiling too. And there was something in the way he was looking at you…

“Y/N! How good to see you!”

You turned towards Samantha, hence interrupting your train of thoughts, perhaps for the better.

You forced a polite smile, but didn’t go as far as to completely hide that you weren’t happy to see her.

“Sam! How are you?”

“Good! I’m good! What about you?”

She only then seemed to notice Andrew’s presence by your side, an impressive performance, given his height and the fact that you were still leaning into his chest…

“Oh, hi! Hmmm… Andrew, is it? I remember you! You’re Y/N’s friend!”

“Boyfriend now, actually,” you corrected her, and you were amused by the look of surprise on her face.

“Oh! Congratulations! Good for you!”

Around the room, conversations had started again, filling up space once more and giving you at least some privacy… although you knew it to be but a relative truth. Your relatives who stood closer to you were probably listening closely, unwilling to lose any crumb of the conversation and drama that might ensue.

Behind Samantha, Craig finally greeted you, more uncomfortable than his girlfriend was. He grew even more uncomfortable when he offered his open hand to Andrew.

“Good to see you again, Andy.”

You hated that Andrew had to let go of your hand to shake Craig’s, but his fingers found yours again as soon as the greeting was over. It was rare to see Andrew with a clearly forced smile on his face, he was generally better at hiding his discomfort, a habit of always being polite.

“Craig,” followed by a nod was the only greeting Andrew gave your ex, and you recognised protectiveness in the way he moved slightly closer to you, placing himself between you and Craig.

And you felt a little guilty for the sense of pride that you got from that gesture, knowing you shouldn’t be reading anything even remotely romantic into it… but then again, you were but human. And humans always liked dreaming…

“How are you two doing?” Craig asked, and you nodded.

“Good, we’re both doing good. You?”

“Oh, we’re great! We’re planning on going for a trip for our anniversary, don’t we, dear?” Samantha went on, turning to her boyfriend, who merely nodded… rightly uncomfortable.

“Amazing!” you managed to get out between gritted teeth.

“And for how long have you two been together, then?” Craig asked, changing the subject quickly.

“A couple of months,” you answered, a detail you and Andrew had agreed on.

“So, it’s still the honeymoon phase, then,” Sam nodded knowingly, although you weren’t sure what kind of knowledge that was…

“It’s pretty new,” you nodded.

“How lovely! But… I thought the two of you were friends,” she went on, acting confused.

“We were,” you confirmed, and when you struggled to continue, it was Andrew’s turn to step in.

“And now we’re more than that.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and again, you noticed the way he was blushing.

Craig nodded his head, and you saw how he was frowning, the kind of expression he wore when he was upset over something.

“It’s funny that you were friends for so long and then all of a sudden… you decide to be more,” he spoke with a tinge of venom in a tone he tried to turn honeyed.

You looked for an excuse, but Andrew was the one to answer again. And you were taken aback by his words… and even more so by how earnest they sounded, although… although he could only be lying.

“We… we’ve spent a long time tiptoeing around that line. I think… we’ve had feelings for a while for each other. I guess we were simply afraid to lose everything we already had if we gave this a try.”

“And what decided you to give this a try, then?”

“I don’t know. Some courage, I guess.”

“Or an opportunity,” Craig proposed, making you frown. There was an insinuation behind his tone, and you didn’t quite know what to do of it.

Andrew seemed to understand better, judging by the way he clenched his jaw, slightly tightened his hold on your hand. He remained quiet though, refusing to rise to Craig’s challenge.

“These things can take time, you know?” you added, trying to pull the conversation away from the glares Andrew and Craig seemed keen to throw each other, a silent battle of thunder and storms. “Where are you planning that trip of yours?”

It was too easy to centre the conversation back onto Samantha, nothing surpriseing, though, considering her character…

Lucky for you, you were soon called by your mother to help in the kitchen.

Or actually, it was but a limited reprieve you were granted. It took your mother only a couple of minutes to bombard you with questions, while she made you cut some carrots, sunlight streaming on your hands from the window set above the sink as you worked. It enlightened the orange stains that slowly grew across your fingers while you dodged your mother’s queries, struggling to remain calm while lying. You thought you would be better at it, but as you peeled the vegetables, their forms made slippery in your hands, you were losing your footing, feeling increasingly guilty as the lies passed your lips again and again.

A first date in a quiet restaurant.

A piece of carrot thrown in the sink.

A first kiss in front of your door, as a tender goodbye, one that lingered in reluctance to part.

A blade slipping too fast.

No, you were not planning ahead for now, just taking things as they went, as they formed.

No, there was no words of love yet, don’t be ridiculous! It’s only the beginning…

“The beginning!” Your mother scoffed, throwing a potato in the sink, alongside your colourful pieces. “The man has been looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars for years! You’ve been stealing glances for so long… I don’t even remember when it started! It’s not the beginning, dear. The two of you have been in love for years. It is only a logical continuation.”

She frowned as she looked at you, finally lifting her gaze from the brown pile of peels.

“You’re okay?”

You were startled by her question.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know… you seem… almost sad.”

You couldn’t hold her stare, and you fought every bit of instinct in you to avoid recoiling from her touch as your mother, in a sweet gesture, rested her hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry yourself over Craig and Samantha. And before you ask, I wasn’t the one who invited them.”

You nodded, as if you were reassured, as if she was right about the cause of your worry, had aimed straight at the knot of your problems.

She hadn’t. And you were perplexed as you realized this too. Because you had thought that seeing your ex and your cousin together would be unbearable, and it was, indeed, a painful sight. But it was hurting your pride more than your heart, a sting at your ego rather than a tear at your soul.

Instead, the images you summoned in a fake reality with Andrew were the ones destroying you. Because these details, these anecdotes, these stories you made up for your mother were ones you genuinely longed for.

A quiet date in a restaurant you loved. A kiss bathed in streetlights. Hands holding that didn’t want to let go…

This was a terrible idea. A terrible… terrible idea…

“Andrew! Come here, lad! Give us a hand with these, would you?”

You felt his presence by your side before his hand appeared in your vision, reaching for a vegetable, getting to work without any protest or arguing. He would lose anyway, against your mother, and he knew it.

You chatted together for a while, conversation smooth and easy, as always with him around. You almost forgot that all of this was fake when Andrew leaned closer, as if he longed for your nearness. You reached for him before you could think, leaning closer as well, until your arms touched as you worked, the ghost of a touch that was enough to set your heart ablaze…

God… this was such a terrible, terrible idea…

You barely noticed your mother as she moved around the kitchen, until she reached for Andrew.

“I’m so happy for you,” she spoke in a smile. “After all this time… I’m glad the two of you have finally worked out all the things that kept you apart.”

She disappeared before you could speak to her, ask her what she meant. When you turned to Andrew though, he was blinking tears away.

“Andy? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” You asked with sudden worry in your voice, but your friend shook his head.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just… Erm…”

But he grew quiet, shrugged. You tried to guess, but were pretty sure to miss the mark when he reassured you again.

“Is my mother bothering you?”

“No! Of course, not. It’s weird lying to her, that’s all.”

There was something more to it, but Andrew interrupted you before you could question him further.

“Besides… we have another problem. A more important one. That’s why I was looking for you.”

“What is it?”

“Craig doesn’t believe us.”

“What?”

“He pulled me aside and told me he knew we were faking it. That he was going to tell everyone.”

“The son of a bitch!”

“My thoughts, precisely.”

“What did you answer?”

Andrew shrugged.

“That he was being ridiculous.”

“And?”

“That he was merely being jealous over the fact that he had let a woman like you slip between his fingers like a moron.”

You tried to hide the grin that formed on your lips at his praise.

“Nice… going all in on the ‘make him jealous’ wagon, I see…”

He took a moment to answer, voice less confident than his usual tone when he spoke once more.

“Just the truth…”

You ignored his remark, and you didn’t get why the same tinge of sadness made his hazel eyes greener again, the same way they had earlier that day…

“What can we do to convince him?” you asked, eliciting little more than a shrug from your friend.

You heaved a sigh, your carrots now all cut in the sink. Game over…

“Let’s see how all this unfolds,” was your only solution for now.

“And if he tells your family?”

“We’ll see, Andy. We’ll see.”

The meal was over. The gifts had been given, the kisses and thankful glances had been exchanged. It was time to settle in with some board games, for those willing, while others nibbled on some pastries and chatted in sofas and armchairs. The last remnants of cakes lingered in porcelain plates while coffee, tea and hot chocolate were being served. You laughed when Andrew picked up your warm beverage before you had a chance.

“Are you drinking my cocoa?”

“I’m trying it out. Just to be sure. In case of poison or something like that.”

You both laughed as he took another sip, humming in delight.

“You could have asked for a hot chocolate instead of tea!” you admonished, but didn’t try to take the cup from him, too happy to see him smiling to even think about it.

God, he could steal the entire beverage, as long as he kept on smiling like that… happy, and soft, and welcoming, calling for a smile of your own to answer his…

“Tastes better when it’s yours,” he laughed, all mischief and cheekiness while he looked at you and drank a third sip, a tiny one, just to get on your nerves.

The charm was broken though when one of the children running around bumped into him and made Andrew spill a little bit of chocolate across his chin. You burst into laughter.

“Well, that was… hot,” you teased while Andrew tried to hide his mouth and chin with his hand, looking around for a napkin of some kind. “Literally, I mean. It must be hot. Graciously so.”

“I hate you,” he glowered without any animosity in his gaze, making you laugh harder as you finally handed him one of the paper towels set on the coffee table.

On the other side of the room, people were playing a board game, but you felt better like this. Just you and Andrew chatting around a cocoa, or what was left of it. No one was truly paying attention to you, or so you had thought… among the five people who were casually chatting in small groups around the coffee table, it was easy to notice that all around the room, if gazes were directed towards your small group, it was to stare at Andrew and you.

Was Andrew aware of that scrutiny? Of the gazes fixed upon you?

“You’re okay?” he asked, frowning slightly, and you wished you could ease the crease between his brow with a brush of your thumb.

“Sure. I’m fine. Just… I think people are kind of watching us,” you added in a whisper no one could eavesdrop, leaning closer to him in the process.

He hummed, slowly nodding.

“Yeah, I think we’re kind of… the new thing.”

You bit your lip before making your next request, and you were surprised to notice that his eyes lingered on your mouth until you spoke.

“Is that okay if we act like…?” you left your question suspended in mid-air.

He nodded again, in silence, and there it was again, the flash of pain turning the hazel into full green…

You noticed the sharp intake of breath he took before finally speaking, the way his eyes narrowed just a little, for a second, while he hesitated… but then the words were out all the same, making his pale cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

“Can I… tug that strand of hair behind your ear?”

You struggled to swallow and nodded, it was your time to be silent, you couldn’t trust your voice.

He was leaning closer when he lifted his arm towards you, shifting to be facing you, both of you sitting on a sofa that was too comfortable and too familiar for you to feel this tensed, almost frightened.

“You’re sure that’s alright?” Andrew asked again, and this time you let out a faint yes along with your nod.

Frightened wasn’t the right word though. You weren’t scared at all, in fact, you felt absolutely safe with Andrew sitting so close to you, your bodies almost touching, but not quite, just far enough to leave you longing to close these gaps. Slowly, his hand was lifted, all the way up to your face, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He was staring at you, something that went beyond softness, beyond the usual tenderness his gaze adorned when it fell on you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, guess what it meant. But then again, his thumb was brushing your cheek, and the ghostly touch made you too dizzy, anyway.

He leaned closer, unbearably closer, until his lips were next to your ear, his fingers moving to hold your face in place, palm cradling your jaw.

“Can I… Can I kiss your cheek?”

You were certain that your heart could not take more of this, of his intoxicating cologne, of the warmth of his skin across yours, of the delicate breath fanning across your ear…

You reached up for something, anything to hold onto, and your fingers met his woollen jumper, attached themselves to it as if holding a safe line.

“Yes, you can,” you answered despite your shaking voice and the fact that you had no air left in your lungs whatsoever.

Your rational brain wanted to remind you that this was not real, that it was all for show… but the world had vanished the second he had leaned closer. No… no, before that. When he had stared at you in this gentle way, when his hand had risen towards your face. You couldn’t even remember that you were at your parents’, in fact, you couldn’t remember your own name. Your entire world was being rewritten because this man was holding you close, a palm cradling your jaw while the other found its way to your waist; because he was moving slowly away, only to come back closer than ever, lips resting on your cheek. You closed your eyes the second his lips found your skin, their warmth coursing through your entire frame it seemed, his beard slightly tickling you, just enough to make it all the more endearing. He lingered there for what anyone would consider too long, but when you thought he was about to pull away, his lips merely hovered above your cheek, close enough for you to feel their warmth still, and the hurried breaths he exhaled. And then he was kissing your cheekbone again, and again, and with each resting of his lips upon you, you tightened your hold on his jumper, your free hand coming to rest right against his heart, in the end…

You both jumped at the sharp sound of something falling, glass breaking. As you turned, you noticed that someone had dropped a glass of water to the floor. Nothing too bad, your father was already heading towards the kitchen to clean up the mess that was made. Craig didn’t have a drink.

Before you could analyse the situation in depth, though, Andrew was turning his attention back onto you, and you had no choice but to look at him again too. You remained perfectly still for a moment, hazel eyes meeting your gaze in an unreadable expression, his hands still on you…

And then you both realised how close you were, how easy it would be to just lean a little further and to close the gap between your lips…

And you pulled away in a jolt, startled by your nearness, like two teenagers caught red-handed by an adult.

Andrew cleared his throat, rubbing his palms on his dark jeans, shifting like he didn’t know what to do with his own body all over again.

“I should… help clean the mess…” you mumbled, stuttering slightly, while Andrew was nodding and humming, averting his gaze.

You did just that, hurrying towards the table and picking up pieces of broken glass while your brain remained stuck on the feeling of Andrew’s beard on your skin, the softness of his lips, the way he held you closer…

Your heart was still pounding, your breath catching in your throat every now and then; in fact, every time you thought about his fingers slipping to your hair…

“Let’s throw all these away, darling,” your mother told you, nodding towards the shards in your palm.

You stood straighter without a word, headed for the kitchen…

… to fall face to face with Craig.

Wonderful…

“Sorry about the glass,” he said, breathless for some reason.

“Oh, you’re the one who broke it? Don’t worry about it, my parents have plenty of those. As long as you didn’t cut yourself…”

“I did, actually.”

You took a closer look, and indeed, he was pouring cold water onto a cut across his thumb. Nothing worth worrying about, but it would be quite painful and bothersome for a few days, still. The cut was long and clean, if not too deep.

You had walked closer to inspect the wound, and you didn’t notice the way he stared at you.

“It’s not too bad, but it must hurt.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just waiting for it to stop bleeding.”

“You should press something on it, then.”

You handed him a napkin, which he rolled around his finger as he thanked you. You finally noticed that you were alone in the kitchen, that everybody else was still in the living room either chatting or cleaning up the mess Craig had made.

“Actually, I… I wanted to talk to you, just us…”

You silently encouraged him to continue, but you were taken aback at the passion and hurt in his eyes when your two gazes locked together.

“I… Is it serious? With Andrew, I mean?”

“Yeah… yes! Of course, it’s serious. Why?”

He shrugged, but you saw the way he clenched his jaw.

“It’s just… you’ve been friends for years… why now?”

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable now… and you blamed it on a lie, but you knew it was because of the longing that was stuck in your heart, and had been dormant there for too long for you to count.

“I don’t know… the timing was always wrong. He wasn’t single, I wasn’t single, he was touring, I was busy… we kind of… were never on the same page, you know? We… our lives never managed to align.”

Slowly, Craig nodded.

“But this time, your lives are aligning?”

“Yeah! I mean… we’re both single, both staying in Ireland for more than a couple of weeks… we… we both want the same things.”

“And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That ‘thing’. Whatever it is that you want, what is it?”

You struggled to swallow, looking for a lie, an answer, anything to say. And a weight fell on your chest as the earnest answer flashed before you, taking the shape of two hazel eyes, unruly curls, soft-spoken words and an infectious laugh…

You thought you wanted some revenge. To make Craig jealous, for him to regret leaving you… but the truth was, you had wanted another man all along. And you still couldn’t have him. It was only a game of pretence.

What a terrible idea, this whole fake-relationship scheme…

Craig took a step closer to you, bringing your bodies so close, as you looked up at him, he was but a breath away.

“What do you want? Why are you with him? Of all people, why Andrew, and why now? Do you want to know what I think about all this?”

You frowned at his tone, crossing your arms before your chest, a glare starting to cover your features.

“Oh, enlighten me!” you replied with challenge in your voice.

But Craig didn’t back down. He only leant closer.

“I think you’re trying to make me jealous. I think you’re not over us. I think that deep down, you still want me. And you turned to your best friend as a rebound. But you’ll be tired of him in a couple of months.”

You shook your head, but your ex still went on.

“Look, I know that what I did was horrible, okay? I… Samantha was a mistake… but we could still have this. You and I, we… we were great together.”

You scoffed, taking a step back, shaking your head some more in amazement. The guy had balls, you had to give him that, at least.

“A mistake you’re about to celebrate your first anniversary with…” you replied, tone acidic and bearing no regrets for it.

“Y/N…”

“No! I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but you’re wrong, that’s for sure. I… you cheated on me! With my cousin! How could you possibly imagine that I would want to give you another chance?!”

He heaved a sigh, and you thought he would give in, but he didn’t, on the contrary. This was only the first round.

“So what? You’re bringing Andrew here and playing perfect couple just to get under my skin? To make me pay? To show me what I’ve lost?”

You looked for something to say, but couldn’t deny the plain truth.

“Because I already know what I’ve lost, okay?” Craig went on, tears shining in his eyes. “I know that. I don’t need you to pretend to be in love with someone else to see that.”

You let out a shaky breath. You could have walked away, but it felt good to let the truth out. A day spent telling nothing but lies, it was a relief to reveal the truth, even if it was but a fragment.

“You’re wrong. I love Andrew. In fact… I’ve loved him for years.”

He frowned at that, but you went on, a tear escaping your eyes that you didn’t even notice flowing down your cheek. You had been lying to yourself for a long time, pretending that all this made sense, that it was alright, that you were happy and content as Andrew’s friend. In truth, you were anything but happy, anything but content. And today, pretending to be his, pretending that he was yours… it only showed you more clearly that this was what you wanted. What you had always wanted. What you couldn’t have, perhaps, but what you needed.

It was a confession spoken to Craig, but made for you.

“I’ve been in love with Andrew for years. I’ve had relationships because… I wanted to forget him. Thought I could. Thought it was nothing but an infatuation, then nothing but a crush, and then nothing but a meaningless unrequited love that I would get over quickly. But the truth is, you were the band-aid, Craig. And he’s the one I’ve always wanted. And you know what? You’re right. Coming here with Andy today I… I wanted to come with him because I didn’t want to have to face you and Samantha on my own. Didn’t want to have to bear everybody’s stares and pity thinking I was the poor victim of a tragedy… And I wanted you to see that I was fine without you. That I deserved better than the way you treated me. That I… That I was worth keeping, and loving. But I… at the end of the day, if this afternoon has shown me anything, it’s that I don’t need you. I don’t want you. And I don’t give two fucks about you and Samantha. So… let’s be cordial, as we must, as you’re still part of the family for as long as you’ll be dating my cousin, but… I’m over you, Craig. I’m over all of this. And if there is one thing I want in this world, it’s Andy.”

Before Craig could say anything, before you could even process his reaction, you were storming out of the room. Or at least, you tried to. Because you had taken but a couple of steps towards the door, when Craig held you back, holding onto your wrist.

“Really? Is that how you feel?” he asked, clearly hurt, but also unmistakably angry. “I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you. You and Andy? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. You’re faking it. You’re lying now and for what? To hurt me?”

You didn’t say anything, instead, you merely broke free. Walked out of the kitchen, angry and annoyed and not thinking straight but with a decision taken anyway…

“Andy?”

When you looked around, he wasn’t on the sofa anymore.

“Yes?”

You turned around again. He was right there, by the table, wet napkins in hand, as he had clearly been helping cleaning up the mess your ex had made, standing not too far from the door to the kitchen, your mother by his side while everyone was turning towards you.

He frowned slightly as you hurried towards him, making a bee line to reach him, not caring that everyone was staring at the two of you. Instead, you didn’t think, forgot about the world, focused your attention on Andrew and his unruly curls and the confusion in his hazel eyes, and the way his lips slightly parted as you approached. And then, you took his face in your hands, pulled him down and rose to your tiptoes to meet him halfway, and you kissed him.

You crashed your lips against his, nothing graceful in the gesture, but desperation pouring from every inch of you. You were taken aback though, by the quiet huff he let out, your brain finally kicking in again, and thinking that this was crazy, a terrible idea, and more than anything else, highly inappropriate…

… but Andrew quickly recovered from the initial shock, and before you could pull away and profusely apologise, he had dropped the napkins that hit the floor in a thud, and his arms were wrapping around your frame, pulling you to him. You felt his eyelashes brushing your skin as he closed his eyes, leaning into your kiss, moving his lips over yours to compliment your own movements. And if he was more graceful about it, softer than your rushed gesture, he poured such passion into the kiss that your knees grew weak, and you rested your weight on him, leaning into his chest.

It was over too soon, though, interrupted by the sound of someone – probably one of your parents, or your pain of an uncle – clearing their throat. Andrew was the one pulling away, clearing his throat as well as he took a step back, although one of his hands remained at your waist.

He was blushing when you opened your eyes. And you suddenly wanted to leave. To just go and disappear and pretend like you had not broken the best friendship you had ever had and that the man you loved would not hate you from now on for kissing him like that and that you had not humiliated yourself in front of your entire family…

But as you were about to speak, Craig was hissing from somewhere behind Andrew, making him turn around. Before his attention was pulled away from you, you noted the way Andrew was looking at you. Intensely, a little stunned too, like he wasn’t sure that it had happened, that you had truly kissed him, and yet, like he was searching for answers in your eyes…

But then he turned to face Craig. He had barely turned towards him, though, that your ex was grabbing Andrew by the collar, and pushing him against the nearest wall, Andrew’s hand leaving its resting spot on your hip in the process.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Craig shouted, the whole room too stunned to react while Andrew’s back collided with the wall, a hollow sound ensuing and making a couple of framed pictures shake with the strength of the impact.

“Get off me!” Andrew merely replied through his teeth, struggling to break free, but fighting had never been his strong suit…

“You fucking BASTARD!”

“Craig!”

The first people were finally reacting, hurrying to pull your ex away, but he kept them at bay, trying to keep on pushing Andrew against the wall.

“You were just waiting for your turn, you son of bitch! Dickhead! You were just waiting to get a chance to fuck that bitch!”

Andrew’s expression hardened, and this time, when he reached for Craig, it wasn’t to pull at his hands, but to grab the collar of your ex’s shirt and violently pull as well.

“Don’t you fucking dare insult her like that!” he growled, with such anger and threat, a tone you had never heard on his voice before.

“Both of you, stop!” your father ordered.

“Stop this! What are you doing?” you added, tugging at both their arms, but none of them seemed to care.

Instead, Craig went on, pushing on all of Andrew’s buttons…

“I can’t believe she did run straight into your bed like a whore…”

Before anyone could react, Andrew was pushing Craig away with so much force that he stumbled backwards and fell down.

For a second time, the whole room was too stunned to react, while Craig staggered back to his feet. Andrew moved away from the wall, and as your ex stood straighter again he was glaring at him, jaw tightly clenched. You had never seen so much wrath on his features before.

But it wasn’t over. Craig threw Andrew only one look before he was bending over and running to him, tackling him and making him fall back easily. You gasped at the loud sound of Andy’s head hitting the tiles.

Too stunned to move, Andrew didn’t even try to avoid Craig’s punch, and he got hit straight across the jaw. Thankfully, hands were then pulling Craig off of Andrew. You didn’t care though. You didn’t pay attention to your father and one of your aunts pushing Craig into the kitchen while shouting at him. You didn’t notice your cousin hurrying to join him, clearly worried. All you could do was to fall on your knees by Andrew’s side, holding onto his shoulders and gently shaking him while he blinked, clearly disoriented.

“Andy! Andy, you’re okay? Can you hear me?” you asked in a rush.

His unfocused gaze finally found you, and he blinked some more. You thought he was about to faint.

“Andy! Stay with me! Are you alright?”

Your hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks. He took hold on your right wrist, touch firm and yet gentle still.

“Y/N…”

“You’re okay? Andy?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re sure? How’s your head? Do you feel dizzy?”

“A little bit. I’m okay though.”

“Really?”

Slowly, he nodded. Your mother appeared by your side, asked Andrew how he felt as well. His answer was to slowly sit up. He looked exhausted, all of a sudden, paler than usual, but there was no cut across the back of his head, merely the beginning of a bump.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

You helped him to his feet, your mother checking that he was unharmed too.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologised, but your mother was quick to dismiss it all with a wave of her hand.

“It’s not your fault, dear. Let’s seat you down on the sofa for a moment.”

“No, I’m… I’m fine.”

Samantha walked out of the kitchen, crying, and you wondered why. Or actually, you didn’t. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to stay for a minute longer in the same room as either her or Craig.

“Actually, I think we should go,” you interjected, and Andrew nodded.

“No, please… Craig is going to be kicked out, don’t worry about him,” your mother argued.

“No, really, I… I want to go home. Please, I want to go home.”

You were on the verge of tears, and so you turned towards the hallway, followed by your mother’s protests, along with some of your other relatives’ kind words. But you wanted to run now, disappear and leave all of them behind. You were tired of being looked at… you needed to be on your own for a while.

Meanwhile, Andrew was remaining silent. He only spoke to apologise once again to your family, clearly ashamed. You left before Craig could be let out of the kitchen, and were close to running to your car.

You climbed in, Andrew following suit in the passenger seat. You drove on, heading for home. You should have taken Andrew to his house, but you didn’t even think about it. The thought never came. You simply headed home, and Andrew didn’t protest, even though he obviously recognized the road you were taking.

Only when you arrived before your building did you realise that Andrew was still here, the ride had been filled with nothing but silence.

“You should come in, I’ll take a look at your jaw.”

Indeed, a bruise was forming under his beard, colouring the sharp angle of his face with yellowish hues.

“It’s nothing. Nothing broken.”

“Please, come in. Please…”

You stared at each other for a moment, but he yielded, nodding, at long last. You waited for him to climb out of your small car, and he held on the door before closing it, wincing as he unfolded his tall frame.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just… a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You need to go to the hospital?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it was just a punch.”

“And a hit on the head.”

“Thick skull. Don’t you know that already?”

You both chuckled, while Andrew followed you inside your home.

You rid yourself of your shoes and coat, aiming straight for the freezer to get a bag of frozen vegetables there. Andrew was by your side, leaning against the kitchen counter. He didn’t protest when you gently rested the cold bag against his jaw, merely winced at the sharp sensation.

“Thanks,” he breathed, staring right into your eyes.

But you didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, your world got blurred by tears.

“You… are you angry?”

But Andrew shook his head.

“No. No, I’m not angry.”

“You should be.”

“Probably.”

“You… you had to lie all day long because of me, and then I kissed you without your permission and you probably hated that, and then you punched Craig, and you got punched in the face… all because of me. I’m a lousy friend.”

“The worst,” he corrected you, but there was a tender smile on his lips.

“You should be angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You should hate me.”

“I don’t. And I…”

A pause. He seemed out of breath for a second, wetted his lips, before he went on.

“I liked it, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your kiss. I… I didn’t hate it. I liked it. A lot.”

Your eyes merely grew round, and Andrew looked away, averting his eyes. He heaved a painful sigh.

“I told you this would be a terrible idea,” he pointed out.

“I know.”

“And you didn’t listen.”

“I know.”

“And now… what are we going to do now?”

You had no answer to give, you were plagued by this same question yourself.

A moment of silence, suspended in mid-air. Outside, the quiet of cars passing by and the wind flowing through branches and pushing clouds around. Inside, the cold of the bag making your fingers ache, a welcomed burn to distract your busy mind, while Andrew was taking a sharp inhale.

“I heard you, you know?”

His voice was quiet, low and deeper than usual. He blinked, focusing on you again, trapping you into these hazel orbs you adored.

“When you talked to Craig, in the kitchen. I heard you. I was right behind the door.”

“That’s creepy,” you tried to deflect the impact of that revelation with humour, speaking the silliest thing you could have uttered. It still made Andrew break, laughing despite his best effort not to.

“I was sent to put the napkins away. But then… I heard you. Didn’t interrupt. Wanted to know what you would say.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, the ghost of a frown forming a crease across his brow.

“Did you mean any of that? Or was that just… one more lie?”

The bag of vegetables slipped from the hold of your numb fingers and fell, but Andrew stopped you as you reached for it, holding your face in his hands to force you to look at him.

“Did you mean what you said? About me? About us?”

“What does it matter?”

He knitted his brows, tightening his hold on you. You noticed the way his breathing stuttered, grew shallower.

“What does it matter?” he repeated. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t feel that for me. So… what does it matter?”

He let out a shaky breath, almost a sigh.

“Why did you kiss me like that, though?” you asked, tears shining in your eyes but you were determined not to let them fall. Your tone was almost bitter as you questioned him. “On the couch. You kissed my cheek… God, that was so much more than what it should have been…”

He blinked, trying to read behind your words for their true meaning. He didn’t find it, reached in the dark and his hand closed on nothing.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just… I didn’t mean to.”

“Why did you kiss me like that? That was so out of line…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Why did you do that?”

Slowly, he shook his head. He looked almost stunned by your question.

“You really don’t know?”

He leaned back against the counter, and pulled you with him, until your faces were so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips.

“You really don’t know?” he asked again.

“I don’t know…”

“Did you mean it? When you said… when you said that you wanted me. Did you mean it?”

“I said a bit more than that…”

“I’m not foolish enough to hope for the rest to be true as well, I’ll settle for a ‘I vaguely like you’.”

It was your turn to chuckle even if you didn’t want to.

“If I answer earnestly, you’re going to hate me for wanting more and breaking our friendship.”

He shook his head, leaning closer, until his forehead rested upon yours. At long last, you reached up, holding on his forearms for support, and to make sure he wouldn’t go away…

You heard him wincing as he spoke, heard it in the way his voice was shaking. You had closed your eyes, and so had he.

“Let’s be honest with each other. Please… I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of denying the way I feel for you, or what I want when it comes to you, I’m tired… I’m tired of letting you slip away. So, please. Please be honest with me. I can’t keep on holding onto some mad hope. I can’t keep on pretending that I don’t… That I…”

He struggled to breathe for a moment, you tightened your hold on his arms but remained there, eyes closed, leaning against him.

“I kissed you like that because… because I wanted to. Because I let myself slip into yielding. Because I couldn’t help it. Because… because it hurt so fucking much to hold you like this, to be close to you in this way, to act the way I have longed for for years under some pretence, under a mask, as a lie… when it wasn’t a lie. When I… I wish it wasn’t a lie. I wish it could be for real.”

He sighed, long and painful and full of hurt, and you reached up to kiss him before he could say anything else.

If your first kiss at your parents’ house had been passionate and quite messy because of it, this one was slow, taking its time to learn each other’s taste and lips and mouth. You had no idea for how long you kissed, all you knew was that, while it lasted, there was nothing else in the world but Andrew kissing you; and that when it ended, you longed for it to start again.

“I meant it,” you whispered, bearing your soul in a confession that was so raw you couldn’t summon anything but a murmur, eyes still closed and lips barely parted from his. “What I told Craig, I meant it. I mean it. I want you… And this whole day has been torture for me too.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t either…”

“I almost said it a thousand times. Never had the courage.”

“Please… have it now, and kiss me again.”

He obliged, without protest or hesitation. You were lost in his embrace all over again, and rested your head against his chest when you eventually pulled away.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice muffled by his cardigan.

“We could go on a date.”

“I want to be wined and dined, just so you know,” you joked, making him chuckle.

“Duly noted. Anything else, for her ladyship?”

“I don’t know… I’m… I’m so fucking scared, to be honest.”

“Because everything is going to change?”

“Because it might not work out. Because… you might leave me, and I might give up and a thousand things can go wrong, and…”

But he softly shushed you, running his hand through your hair.

"Look, I… I’m not going to pretend that I’m not scared to bits by this. I feel like we have so much to lose. But I… I want you so badly. I want you so much, I’m ready to take the risk. We can take things slow, we don’t have to rush through this. I just… I feel like I'm truly myself when I'm with you. I want to be myself when I'm with you. So now, if you're scared, don't call it love yet. But whatever you want to call it, it's incredible, and I'm not going to give up on this. I'm not going to give up on us. I can promise you that, at least. That I’m ready to fight for this, for you.”

He was surprised by your chuckle.

“You’ve fought already. If you can call it a fight…”

“Yeah, exactly. I mean… he was about to seriously kick my arse but I did have a few seconds of manly glory there.”

You both laughed at that, the tension receding as a result.

“Perhaps, at the end of the day, that plan of mine wasn’t so bad,” you joked, making Andrew laugh harder, shaking his head.

“It was definitely a terrible idea. The worst idea you’ve ever had. Look at all the trouble it has caused!”

“Are you calling me trouble?”

“Of the worst kind.”

You were happy about this kind of trouble though, as Andrew was leaning down to kiss you once more, holding you close, unwilling to ever let go.

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