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#im really sorry to those who were looking forward to it
sweetlilbird · 1 year
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Hi everyone,
I debated this for a while, mainly because I'm too stubborn to quit, but I think I'm going to go on a hiatus for a bit. School has been stressing me out so much and I'm going through some stuff mentally as well, so I'm going to pause my writing and just take a break from everything. You may see me post a little from time to time, but I'll probably be pretty silent on here for a while. I don't know when I'll be back, but I promise I will be! I don't intend to abandon any of my work, I just need some time to sort things out. Thank you all for your support this past year! Love you guys! ❤️
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a-kaash-me-outside · 22 days
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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚
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♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡
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- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]
on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 
after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.
fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good
he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.
in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.
the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”
the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 
when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.
the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”
you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”
the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”
you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.
he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 
you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”
he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”
you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 
when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 
but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.
your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 
“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 
he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 
“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.
you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.
“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”
his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 
you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.
there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 
when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”
in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 
he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.
“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]
you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.
you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-
you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 
but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 
you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 
toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.
now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.
“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 
you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 
“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 
“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”
“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 
you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 
“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 
you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”
“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 
“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 
one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 
one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 
but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 
“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 
“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.
“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 
you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.
“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 
you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.
“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”
you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”
he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”
“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.
“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.
“clearly,” you interject.
“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.
“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 
“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?
“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 
“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.
“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.
the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 
his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”
“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 
“whatever you want,” he answers instead.
you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.
“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 
“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”
and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?
“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 
“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 
“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”
“and do you?” you ask.
his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.
“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.
“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 
“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 
“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.
you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)
“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”
“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 
“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 
“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”
“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”
you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 
“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]
being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 
like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.
but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.
so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 
but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 
yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 
you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 
and it works for a while.
but not forever.
three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 
you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.
“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.
“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.
“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.
“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 
you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 
“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”
it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”
“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 
you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 
“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.
“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.
“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”
“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”
he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.
“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.
“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.
“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.
“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”
“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 
he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”
“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 
“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 
“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 
he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.
“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.
he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 
“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.
“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”
even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 
he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 
why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 
you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?
he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.
you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 
when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”
“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 
he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”
you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”
“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 
“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.
the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 
you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”
he nearly comes inside of you right there.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 
you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 
but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 
it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 
you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.
and then one night you can’t find your keys. 
you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 
when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”
you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”
he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 
you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”
“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 
you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”
from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”
“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.
he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”
“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 
15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 
your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 
you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.
“how do you know?” he asks.
“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”
“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.
you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 
eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.
“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 
he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”
you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”
it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 
it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.
in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.
you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 
you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 
you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”
you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 
“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”
“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 
he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 
and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.
you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 
nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 
you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 
nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)
he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 
he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”
you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”
“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”
“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”
it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 
now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”
“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 
he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.
“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”
he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”
you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”
“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 
“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”
“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 
he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 
you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 
“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”
you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 
“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 
“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:
>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby
<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)
>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????
<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!
>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 
<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(
>> nami <3 >> goodbye.
<< read << :(
>> nami <3 >> i love you
<< read << :)
you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 
arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 
he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”
if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 
he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 
by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 
“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 
he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 
“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 
everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 
it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 
when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 
you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 
the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 
“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 
he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 
“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 
sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 
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♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP
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ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)
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itsbeeble · 4 months
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Enchanted
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Summary: You lost each other once, holding out in hopes of crossing paths again. It's almost fate that you do, and Wonwoo doesn't want to let you leave him again
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, exes to lovers
Pairing: Idol!jeon Wonwoo x afab!reader
WC: 4.5k (i got REALLY carried away yall im so sorry)
Series Masterlist
18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT
WARNINGS UNDER CUT
Warnings: hurt comfort, ex high school sweethearts to lovers, mentions of someone trying to get a little too touchy feely with reader so if you aren't comfortable, don't read it (nothing bad happens AT ALL, the guy is just a dumbass, but i figured i would put a warning for all of you), unprotected sex, making out, fingering, choking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, kinda dom/sub themes again, mentions of drinking, swearing, marking, spanking, Wonwoo likes boobs, sexual tension, mentions of chemistry, idk there's a lot so let me know if i missed something important
Listen to Enchanted by Taylor Swift <3
A/N: Guys i wrote this all today/last night and i'm really proud of it. It's also the first smut fic that's like...i wouldn't call it intense but it's more than what I'm used to ig. I hope yall like it though <3. Also thank you to Fawn for beta reading again. teehee
You had always hated gatherings: holidays, work events, family reunions, weddings, you name it. You always hated being the only person there without a partner. Not that you felt the need to have one, but it got annoying when you got the same questions over and over and over again.
When are you going to settle down and marry a nice boy?
Your parents aren’t getting any younger, don’t you want them to have some grandkids?
What are you waiting for?
The truth is, you had the answer to only one of those questions. What were you waiting for?
It has to be some stroke of luck when the answer walks right through the door to your high school reunion decked in an all-black suit and the same nerdy glasses he’d had his whole life. 
Jeon Wonwoo. Your high school sweetheart turned drunk sob story to your best friends after a few too many cocktails. 
It’s ironic how the root of all of your relationship problems just so happens to hate your guts. Not that you blamed him for it. Everything that happened between the two of you, everything that went wrong in your relationship was because of you and your insecurities. Because you didn’t trust that the idol life wouldn’t ruin the two of you. If you were him, you’d cut contact and disappear as well.
Eunchae, your best friend from high school, nudges your arm, her eyes flicking between you and the man who hasn’t spotted your wide-eyed stare. 
“Did you know he was coming today?” She whispers harshly, jerking you out of your dumbstruck trance. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, awfully reminiscent of a goldfish.
“I— no, no I didn’t.” You feel out of breath, your heart beginning to pound against your ribs so hard that you fear the bones might snap. “Hana said that— that he didn’t RSVP.” 
You look up again, and your heart stutters in your chest.
He’s looking at you, through the crowd of people around him. Wonwoo had his eyes locked on you, his gaze unreadable from where you stood. It feels like he’s cast an enchantment on you, freezing you under the weight of his gaze. 
Your hands are shaking, and the drink in your hand almost spills before Eunchae grabs you. Someone steps in front of Wonwoo— a man, from here you can’t tell who— and your view of him is cut off.
You don’t see him try to gently nudge the man to the side while talking to him, trying to get a better look at you. You don’t see the disappointment when he finally gets him to move and you’re gone, out of his view. 
~
“Wonwoo,” one of his old friends, whose name has slipped his mind (Seonkyung maybe?), claps him on the shoulder. “You really have grown up, huh?” Wonwoo smiles politely, adjusting the expensive watch on his wrist. 
“I mean seriously,” another man comes forward, someone Wonwoo knows very well and for all the wrong reasons. Lee Jongdae, the man who planted seeds of doubt in your ear. The man who ruined something good, something that would have lasted. “You used to be like,” Jongdae raises his hand, waving it flat in the air next to his shoulder, “this tall? And now you’re a giant!”
“You must be getting all the girls, eh?” Seonkyung teases. Wonwoo wants to scream, wants to get out of this situation as fast as possible. “The idol life must make things easy, right?” 
“I don’t really go out much,” he shrugs, still holding that polite smile on his face. “The idol life is busier than you think.” Seonkyung scoffs at this. Jongdae narrows his eyes, but the near-mocking smile returns to his face.
“Come on~” Jongdae presses, “there’s gotta be some idol woman that you’ve snatched up. Someone has to have grabbed the attention of the great Jeon Wonwoo.” 
He hesitates. Yes, someone has grabbed his attention but it isn’t another idol in the industry. 
“Or, wait,” Jongdae’s hand collides with Wonwoo’s chest, something similar to malice appearing in his eyes. “Are you still hung up on that Y/N girl?”
Wonwoo goes rigid, and beside him Seonkyung gets quiet. Jongdae bursts into laughter, the sound ringing around the room and gathering the attention of a lot of people. Wonwoo feels his jaw tick in annoyance, fighting the urge to roll his eyes or knock the man to the ground. 
“No way are you still hung up on her!” Jongdae huffs out between laughs, seemingly uncaring that he’s the only one laughing. “Ten years, and you’re still going after someone who couldn’t care less about you anymore?”
Someone inside of Wonwoo breaks a little bit. Something inside him cracks, and his resolve crumbles slightly. He hadn’t expected the jab to hurt as much as it did, but god did it sting. 
“I never said I was hung up on her.” Wonwoo folds his arms over his chest. “Like you said, it’s been ten years. If she’s moved on then that’s her business.” 
“So it wouldn’t bother you if I got with her?” Jongdae takes a step forward, an eyebrow arching in challenge. “Because I won’t lie to you, she’s looking good.”
Wonwoo’s jaw ticks again, but he keeps a pleasant smile on his lips. Don’t say yes, don’t say yes. “Like I said, not my business.” 
That clearly isn’t the answer Jongdae is looking for, and a puff of pride fills Wonwoo. 
And then dread. He just gave the one man he would hate to see you with permission to do whatever he wanted. “Permission”, as if he has any control or say in the things, or people, that you do. 
~
When Jongdae approaches you, there’s an immediate pit of despair in your stomach, like some princess waiting to be saved from the tower she’d been locked in. There’s a menacing look in his eyes, and he walks with a swagger telling you that he’s used to getting what he wants out of a situation. 
“Hi, gorgeous.” You almost cringe at the first words out of his mouth, your lips twisting into an awkward, tense smile. 
“Hi…?” 
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jongdae continues, not waiting for you to say or do anything. He’s only focused on getting what he wants, that much is obvious from the way he smirks and glances around to find…someone. Who, you aren’t sure. “You sure have…grown up a bit, haven’t you?” 
“I mean…yeah I’m 27. I would hope I’ve grown up a bit.” He laughs a bit too hard for something you hadn’t intended to be funny. 
“Say,” he leans closer to you, and you press yourself back against the wall. His hand comes to rest on the side of your thigh, right near the slit in your dress. “Why don’t we get out of here? You know, go somewhere a little bit more…quiet? Maybe Mrs. Ji’s old chemistry lab?” 
Your body is tense, and you try to pull away from him. 
“No, thank you.” Your hand tightens around the small plastic cup of cheap wine in your hand. “I think I’m fine where I am.”
“C’mon, don’t you wanna loosen up a bit?” He coos, and his grip tightens on part of your dress. Your body tenses.
Then his grip was gone, and his body is hitting the floor, and people were beginning to surround you and Jongdae and…Wonwoo? 
Wonwoo is standing next to you, his black jacket seemingly gone, and the sleeves of his black button-up are rolled up to his elbows. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pulled into a thin line. 
“What the hell was that for, Jeon?” Jongdae pulls himself to his feet, trying to approach him, but another man steps forward. “Thought you said it wasn’t your business?”
“It wasn’t,” Wonwoo agrees, “but that was only until you tried to do that.” 
Something about Wonwoo being this protective over you, even after what you did, makes your stomach twist into knots. You have to remind yourself that he’s just doing this because he had to. Because this is what anyone would do, and your heart sinks into your stomach. 
“We were just trying to have some fun,” Jongdae snaps, “right Y/N?”
Wonwoo looks at you, and when you return his gaze it’s like you’re back in high school again. 
Do you want to leave? His head tilts ever so slightly toward the door. 
Get me out of here. You hope your eyes are portraying that thought perfectly, but the tight smile on your ex’s lips tells you all you need to know. 
“She’s not going anywhere with you, Lee Jongdae.” Wonwoo’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, and you find yourself tucking your body into his side just like you used to. 
Only this time, it’s like you fit perfectly under his arm. His very…very…very muscular arm and slim waist and when your arm wraps into the back of his shirt, you can just barely feel the tight muscles and—
Oh god, you’re gonna do something you shouldn’t if the two of you don’t leave right now. 
You’re lucky that Wonwoo is able to guide you away, and that Jongdae doesn’t try to come after the two of you. You figured that, while the man was stupid, he wasn’t going to try and harm someone making more than triple his annual income and with enough power to ruin his life with just one click of a button. Probably literally. 
~
“Are you okay?” Wonwoo has his hands wrapped around the headrest of the driver’s seat in his car, watching you as you pick at the skin around your manicured nails. You turn your head to look at him, pursing your lips. 
“I mean…I guess? He didn’t really do anything, thank god.” You let your hands drop to your lap and a heavy sigh escapes you when you let your head fall against your headrest. 
“I’m sorry that he did that.” Wonwoo’s voice is gravelly, and you have to take a moment to calm yourself before speaking.
“It isn’t like it’s your fault. You do know that, right?” Wonwoo shrugs.
“It kind of is, though. The only reason he went up to you is because of me. Because he wanted to get under my skin.” Oh? You arch an eyebrow, turning your body to face him. The slit in your dress shifts ever so slightly, exposing your bare thigh. Wonwoo turns his head away from you, his cheeks heating. 
“Why would he want to do that?” In your heart, you already know. The way the two of you easily slipped back into your old habits, the way he didn’t even hesitate to help you despite protesting that anyone would have done it. You knew, now, that he didn’t hate you. You just wanted him to admit it. 
Wonwoo lets out a heavy sigh and rolls his head to look at you. 
“You’re really gonna make me say it?” You nod, leaning your body across the center console to get close to him. You can tell he’s nervous, maybe embarrassed. 
“You know me, Wonwoo. I always get what I want.” You grin and Wonwoo turns to look at you again and suddenly you’re aware that you aren’t dating him anymore. That it’s weird for you to be that close to him. 
Your smile drops and you sink back into your seat. Wonwoo watches you, a frown replacing his previous smile. 
“I’m— I’m so sorry.” You press yourself as close to your door as possible. “I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Wonwoo fights the itch in his brain that tells him to grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it. He hadn’t realized just how enchanted with you he was until he saw you across the room for the first time in ten years. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having you pulled against his side, although you fit much better now that he’d filled out and grown into his body. Wonwoo hadn’t missed the way your breathing hitched when he pulled you against him, hadn’t missed the dazed look in your eye when he looked down to ensure that you weren’t hurt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I just— I shouldn’t have touched you like that—” 
“Y/N,” Wonwoo cuts you off. “You did nothing that I didn’t want you to do.” Your mouth snaps shut, and you look at him with wide eyes. He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I…I still— fuck this is harder than I thought it would be. For a songwriter, you would think I’d know how to confess that I’m still enchanted by you.” He laughs nervously, and when he turns to look at you, you’re smiling gently. You understand.
You stay quiet and then turn to him again. He’s facing you too, and your faces are inches apart. 
“I was enchanted by you too, Jeon Wonwoo.” 
And then your lips are on his, and it’s a searing kiss that leaves him breathless from the moment it starts. His hand rises to your cheek, gently pulling you even closer to him. Your hands wrap around the fabric of his shirt, and you whine when his tongue hesitantly prods at the seam of your lips. 
You open your mouth for him, and his hand slides to tangle in your hair and pull you impossibly closer, nearly across the center console. He roams your mouth, his tongue licking at every inch, sliding against your own as if this was the last time he’d ever be able to kiss you. Your hand slides down, tracing down to his tie, then to his abdomen and you can feel the muscles tightening wherever your nails trace. 
Your hand trails even lower, and you feel him freeze against you when you place your hand over his crotch. He forces himself to pull his lips from yours, a string of spit connecting your tongues, and his eyes flutter shut again when your hand squeezes lightly around his hard-on. 
“Don’t do this to me,” he pleads. “I’m supposed to be a gentleman.” You smirk, raising your lips to his ear. 
“What if I don’t want you to be?” A gentle kiss was placed to the corner of his jaw, and his grip on your hair tightened to the point of near painful. This draws a whimper out of you, right in his ear. He pulls you back, not harshly but enough for your jaw to drop. 
“Tell me you’re sure,” he practically begs. “Tell me that this isn’t going to be a one-time thing, that you want me as much as I want you. Tell me that you aren’t in love with someone else, that there’s no one waiting for you at home.” 
Tell me you love me.
Your hand slips to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing just under his eye. 
“You know that you’ve always been it for me, Jeon Wonwoo.” You promise, and your lips are against his again. It’s sweeter than the first but still filled with ten years of words left unsaid. “Take me home.”
~
The moment Wonwoo locks the door to his apartment, you’re pressed against the wall with so much force you’re surprised there isn’t a hole in the shape of your body. His hands are on your hips, your thighs, your shoulders, and your chest. Every time he pulls away from your lips, he catches one between his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh before shifting his focus to your neck.
“Wonwoo,” your voice is shaking, your hand tangled in the dark strands of his once neatly styled hair. “Wonwoo, please?” Another hickey blooms across your neck, another on your shoulder, then your collarbone. 
“Please what, baby?” He rasps, tugging the strap of your dress to the side until it slips down your shoulder and exposes more of your breast. “What do you need from me?” He slides the other strap down, and you gasp when his cold hands reach up and grab at the soft mounds on your chest. 
“Wonwoo— Wonwoo, I—” Your brain has gone to mush the moment his mouth lands on your nipple, sucking at it and nipping at the bud. You breathe out soft moans, your hands struggling to move to the back of your dress to reach for the zipper. 
It’s impossible to function with Wonwoo flicking his tongue against one nipple, his fingers kneading and twisting and pinching at the other. Your hands shake as you finally catch the zipper, yanking it down as quickly, yet gently, as possible. 
Wonwoo pulls away from your chest, breathing heavily, eyes filled with nothing but lust. He examines your body, entirely nude from your choice to go braless and pantiless tonight, and his cock twitches in his slacks. 
“God, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He hisses. You peer up at him with eyes so innocent, but you both know that isn’t the case. “Did you know I was gonna be there? Hm?” He grabs your chin in one of his large hands, yanking you toward his face until you’re struggling to even stand on your tip toes. “Did you know that I was gonna give in to you?”
“No— Wonwoo, I didn’t know—” His free hand collides with your ass and you cry out, stumbling toward him. “Fuck, Wonwoo!” His hand strikes your skin again, and a gush of arousal practically drips down your legs. 
“I think you’re lying to me,” he hums thoughtfully. “Lying isn’t nice, you know.”
“I’m not lying— Oh, Wonwoo please—” His free hand has slipped down to your core, delicate fingers brushing against your sopping wet cunt. “Please touch me, please, I need it.” 
“Yeah, baby?” One finger pushes between your folds, and your knees almost buckle. Your nails dig into his biceps, squeezing the taut muscle as he sinks two long, slender fingers into you. “Need it so bad, don’t you? Had you waiting for so long. Did you miss me, baby? Miss this?”
“Missed you so bad, Wonwoo,” you arch your back into him, your hips jerking against his fingers. He slips a third inside of you. “Miss— Missed the way you t-touched me.” He hums, curling his fingers up into you and you emit a desperate cry of his name. “Right there, Wonwoo! Fu—fuck, right there!” 
“Tell me how much you missed me, pretty girl.” He continues to curl his fingers inside of you, watching you and enamored by the way your eyes roll back, the way your jaw is dropped, and the way your chest heaves. “Tell me how much you need me.” 
“N-Need you so–o bad. No o-one makes me fe-feel this good— oh god,” you clench around his fingers, pulsing and dripping down his wrist. “No one el-se made me c-cum like you d-do.” A swell of pride in his chest, and his thumb presses hard against your clit. You spasm around him, your moans growing louder and higher in pitch. “So close, Wonwoo.”
“It’s okay baby,” he purrs, “you can let go. I’m here now, gonna make you feel good. Gonna make you so good, never gonna have to turn to anyone else again. Just let go.” 
You spasm again, and your body sags as your orgasm rocks through you. Wonwoo has an arm around his waist, his other hand still working his fingers into you and easing you through your high. 
It takes you a few minutes to come down, and by the time you do, Wonwoo has removed his shirt and kicked his shoes off. He’s watching you as you try to step forward, catching you when you stumble. You reach for the button of his slacks and he stops you, smiling when you pout. 
“I’m not fucking you here, baby. You deserve to be fucked in an actual bed.” You let him guide you to his bedroom— correction try to guide you. It’s like you’re addicted to the taste of him, your lips practically gluing themselves to his biceps, licking and biting at the salty skin. You can feel every one of his breaths as he walks, and his pace picks up until he’s flinging open his bedroom door and shoving you in front of him. You stumble a bit, and he pushes you again so you fall face down onto his bed. Wonwoo isn’t far behind you, his body leaning over yours and his hand on the back of your neck and preventing you from pushing yourself up. 
“Do you know how much I missed this? Being able to fuck you wherever, whenever, and however I wanted?” He hisses into your ear, and you feel his free hand slip down your back as he reaches for the button on his pants. His hips keep rolling into yours, and the little grunts and moans that he releases are almost enough to get you to cum again. “Do you know how hard it was to not imagine that I was fucking your sweet little cunt every time I found someone to spend the night with? No one matched up to you, sweet girl. No one got me to cum like you do, got me as hard as you do.” You whine when he kicks your ankles apart, your nails gripping the duvet for dear life. 
When you feel his tip prodding at your entrance, it takes everything in you to not grind into him. He’s breathing heavily into your neck, slowly slipping in. Your body twitches and you fling your hand back, frantically searching for his own to squeeze and distract yourself from the pain of him stretching you out. 
“So tight,” he presses his forehead against the back of your neck, his body shuddering. “Fuck, it’s like nobody has fucked since me.”
“N-nobody else felt as good as you,” you gasp out. “No one could stretch me out like you do. Just fuck me, please.” 
“Gotta let you adjust, baby,” he argues. “Still got about half left.”
You whine again, jerking his arm in front of you and letting your face fall into it. He groans when your teeth sink into his skin, biting and sucking and gasping against him until you feel his hips connect with yours. 
“You ready?” He rubs your back gently, and you frantically nod your head.
“Please, please, please, please—” His hips pull back and you release a guttural moan as he slams his hips into yours. Again and again and again and again. Every thrust sends the tip of cock full force into that soft, pleasurable spot inside of you and it feels so good, and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, and you don’t ask him to. Your mouth has fallen open, a neverending stream of cries and moans and begging leaving your lips.
His hands reach forward, and you feel a finger hook into your mouth on either side. It stings, the stretch of him holding your mouth open, and you feel your back arch, his cock somehow hitting even deeper inside of you. Drool slips down your chin and it’s so nasty but you can’t form the words to stop him. The only things that leave your mouth are nonsensical babbling and you feel Wonwoo begin to rise, taking you with him. One of his hands leaves your mouth and slips down to the base of your throat, and the other’s thumb hooks into your jaw and holds your mouth open. His hand squeezes around your throat, and you squeeze around his cock
“You close, baby?” Wonwoo coos into your ear but you don’t have the brains to form words. Your hips press back into his, one of your hands slipping down to frantically rub at your clit. You’re clenching rapidly around him now, almost in time with when he pulls out of you and you can feel him twitching inside of you. “Gonna cum again?” 
You try to tell him that, yes you’re so close and it feels so good and oh god Wonwoo please—
Your body shudders and a sound similar to a scream escapes you, your free hand gripping his forearm tightly and you can feel the skin tearing beneath your nails but neither of you cares as he pumps white-hot cum deep inside of you. His hips are still rolling, adding to the sensation of his cum inside of you. Your core begins to sting with overstimulation, and you try to pull away from Wonwoo with a whine. He just laughs, his hands settling on your waist and lowering you down onto the bed once his cock has softened. 
~
Your back is against his in the tub and he’s running a soft cloth along your body, along the marks on your body and the bruises on your hips. 
“You doing okay?” His voice is tender. “I know I was a little bit harsh on you.”
You chuckle. “Not like you haven’t done that before.”��
You play with the suds that float in the water, humming quietly. Wonwoo takes a deep breath, letting his head fall back a bit. 
“Why don’t you hate me?” You lean your head back on his chest, and he frowns at the question.
“Why would I hate you?” 
A shrug and you drop your arms into the water. 
“I threw away a nearly perfect relationship just because someone said you’d drop me the moment you found someone better in the idol industry.”
“So?” Wonwoo traces shapes into the skin of your thigh. “That’s not your fault. I get that it was scary. Neither of us knew what was gonna happen, you were already stressed about how things were gonna work with you being in college. I’m not gonna blame you or hate you for that choice. What matters is that we found each other again.”
Your cheeks heat up and you turn your body around in the tub to sit on his lap. He looks up at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. 
“Did you mean what you said?” You ask. He raises an eyebrow. “In the hallway. That I’d never have to turn to anyone else. Are we gonna…” Your voice trails off and Wonwoo raises his head to place a gentle kiss on your lips.
“I meant every single word I said tonight. I’m here to stay, Y/N.” His nose nudges against yours. “I was enchanted from the moment I met you, and I want to be yours again if you’ll let me.” 
You play with the strands of his hair, smiling like a madman. 
“And I meant everything I said as well,” You let your forehead rest against his, your eyes falling shut. “I want you to stay with me. Please.”
Wonwoo exhales softly. 
“Always. I will always stay.”
~
Taglist: @juyeonszn @leejihoonownsmyheart @nobraincellmode
614 notes · View notes
disneyprincemuke · 3 months
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"wanna hang out?" * ls2
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it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago
pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver
notes: also nothing to do with vr, but ON GOD I'VE GOT SOMETHING PLANNED WITH THEM I- i am also making this a mini series, because i cant physically sit down and write anything too long because this ask was very long and i simply can't not break it down into parts im sorry anon i love you
| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |
"mate, just go up and him and say 'hi'. it's not that hard."
"i know, but i'm scared."
"scared? he's a 22-year-old. he won't bite you."
"you don't know that!"
"he's a really nice kid. just go up to him and ask him if he wants to hang out."
"okay, but only if you come with me?"
"you're a fully grown adult! you don't need me with you to play matchmaker to get a new friend."
"please, george? i'm asking you this one favour."
"no can do. look! there he is! go!"
that's the last thing you hear before you are rudely shoved out of alex's driver's room. you press your lips together into a thin line, fists balled by your side as you hear george close the door behind you. you knew hanging out with george in alex's room without alex is stupid.
you had simply noticed the american rookie quietly following the thai driver around, not making many conversations with other drivers during the pre-season test a couple of weeks ago. while you're very well equipped with making friends and incorporating yourself with the rest of your colleagues, logan seemed to be one of the people you found quite difficult to approach.
not because he's unapproachable. simply because he is also very quiet and reserved on his own. once upon a time, when you first joined formula 1 as the only woman on the grid, you were good friends with charles. that was before you had drifted apart amidst all the outright comparisons everyone would make, and eventually, you had fallen into his shadow while he achieved greater things in the sport.
you had learned to find solace in your own company for about a year or so, only speaking to whoever spoke to you. it wasn't until things started falling into place when toto wolff had picked you to race with mercedes, following lewis hamilton's retirement in 2021 after failing to secure himself a championship.
logan, who has just finished his climb up the stairs, flashes you a friendly smile as he fiddles with his keys. "hey," he greets you, before abruptly turning to unlock the door to his driver's room.
"hi," you smile, awkwardly wiping your palms against the material of your shorts. "i haven't had the chance to properly introduce myself to you. i'm (y/n)."
he pushes his door open, craning his neck to acknowledge you. "i know. i've been a big fan since you joined the sport," he glances elsewhere before meeting your eyes again, "i'm logan?"
"right, we already know that," you sigh, shaking your head. you take a step forward, maintaining your distance from the entrance of his driver's room. you don't want to wind up overstepping your welcome. "um, well, welcome to formula 1."
he smiles at you, slightly more genuine this time. you watch as he puts his bag down by the door. "thank you."
"no problem." you bite on the inside of your cheek, turning around to open the door to alex's driver's room. you hear the door creaking behind you, and you vaguely remember that all this awkward conversation wasn't initiated for nothing.
you turn back around and try to hold the door open. your palm meets the door, logan flinching back in surprise as you tilt your head to peek up at him. "have you had your lunch yet?"
he shakes his head. "why?"
"george and i are waiting for alex to finish his meeting with james before we go and grab lunch somewhere in the paddocks," you smile. "wanna hang out?"
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fayes-fics · 4 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.
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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! 🎄
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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.
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Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies
Lights divider by @/saradika [x]
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copypastedaphne · 10 months
Text
Much too elegant?
You had always been your fathers daughter. Perfect and poised, a beautifully stunning role model to all of Awa'atlu. Being the oldest daughter of your family, along with the most elegant na'vi of the Metkayina had ever seen, left you no time to focus on boys or any such thing. However, When Jake Sully and his family request shelter from your father, you cannot help but notice a tall blue boy in the background. As he looks at you, you are overcome by feelings you had covered up your whole life without even realizing it. And from the look on the majestic boy's face, it seems he feels the same as well...
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paring: neteyam x fem!metkayina!reader
genre: fluff/crushing, just really cute stuff!
word count: 800+
warning(s): body descriptions (not really a warning but yeah), reader is a daddy's girl, small hiss near the beginning.
notes: oh my god you guys this is my first post on here!! i'm so sorry if the little explanation thing at the top doesn’t make sense, i'm not very good at those...... bro im so happy to finally be posting! this is crazy. uhm please be nice bc i'm new at this but yeah hope you enjoy ♡
p.s: ( also, explain to me why when i looked up 'neteyam sully' on pinterest i literally thought that the fanart was from the actual movie. like wow people in the avatar community are so talented it’s beautiful. )
You exhale deeply as your father welcomes the forest people into your home. Scanning the crowd, you can only imagine the responsibilities you now held. As if you didn't have enough already.
"My children will guide yours, Jake Te'Sully." Your father spoke, silence flowing throughout the clan.
"But father-" Started Ao'nung, stepping forward to complain. You hush him, stopping his movement with your arm.
"Ao'nung." You hiss at your younger brother, eyes piercing into his as a warning. Ao’nung shut his mouth the second you had opened yours, not daring to speak again.
"Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us." Your father announces to the clan, "We will treat them with respect. We will treat them as our brothers and sisters."
Your father glances at Ao'nung as he says the last part. Jake smiles at Tonowari as your mother closes her eyes, clearly annoyed.
Subconsciously, you step forward, now standing in front of your father. "Who is the eldest?" You ask, scanning each of the brightly colored children.
A boy, much larger and taller than you, steps out from the family. You had not noticed him before and now you cannot even begin to figure out why. He seemed impossible to not notice.
"I am the eldest. My name is Neteyam."
Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice. It was like liquid gold, beautiful and soft, yet mighty and firm. You held eye contact, studying his warm eyes.
He was... handsome, no doubt about it. His strength could be seen just by looking at him. Scars littered his body and his muscles were very defined.
You could feel a dark shade of blue growing on your cheeks as he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the tattoos which you had received a year ago.
As the eldest daughter of Tonowari, who held the title for Olo'eyktan of the Metkayina clan, you could never be anything but perfect. The kindness and nurturing spirt of your father along with the elegance and seriousness of your mother had printed onto you the second you were born. With both of their powerful qualities you had always walked with grace and spoke with immense sophistication.
Growing up the way you did made distractions, such as the males of your clan, completely unrealistic. You had never once felt a burden on your title. You were the clan's pride and joy. The best at anything and everything you did, the most adored member of Awa'atlu.
Your father and mother were always supportive, even if they didn’t show it as much in public. And your father made sure to let you know who you were, never allowing you to feel ashamed or embarrassed of yourself. He wanted you to know your worth.
Although he had done his job, the feeling that consumed your body from the young boys stare was something not even your father could prepare you for. When Neteyam looked at you, you felt strange. Your body seemed to wish for him to look away only to let him keep staring anyway. Allowing him to analyze your tattoos and hair and body felt like some sort of honor.
This feeling was far different from when Ao'nung's stupid friends made even stupider comments about you and your title. It was far from that, for sure. You felt... well, flustered. It felt strange. Flustered was not a word you had considered yourself familiar with.
As the boy looks to your eyes again, you blink softly attempting to rid the warmth on your face. You gracefully brought your fingers to your forehead, bowing out of respect.
"Oel ngati kameie." You say softly, voice polished with beauty.
You could feel your father’s stare from behind you. If you did not approve of the newcomers, there was a strong chance he would not either.
Neteyam bowed back, "Oel ngati kameie." He spoke as his eyes followed your movements. Looking back at him, he seemed to be completely mesmerized.
Mesmerized by you.
You smile at the look on his face, a blush forming back onto your cheeks once again.
"My name is Y/n." You say, maturity showing through your voice as you speak. He glances to your eyes as you speak to him. "It is nice to meet you, Neteyam."
The blue boy smiles back at you gently, simply admiring your voice. You blink, tucking your silky long hair behind your ear. Your younger sister, Tsireya, takes a step forward next to you, beaming at the Sully family.
"Come, I will show you our village." Your sister smiles, her voice just as velvety and soft as her. It was not everyday that outsiders came into your village so you understood her joy.
Regardless, you tried your hardest to keep your calm. You already felt exposed from the way you had reacted to Neteyam looking at you, whether someone saw your coverup or not. You could only imagine what a mess you would be while spending time with him.
Following your siblings as they began to lead the Sully family around Awa'atlu, your eyes flickered back to the eldest. Neteyam was quiet and refined, well-educated and seemed to be just unbelievably perfect.
You didn’t even notice that your staring until Neteyam's eyes meet yours. At the sight of him catching you, you can only shy away. You silently curse to yourself as you catch a charming smile spread across his lips once more.
' Shit, Y/n. Get it together. '
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peachsayshi · 5 months
Note
aaaah that latest chapter hurts omg can i request a gojo fluff for comfort like reader sitting on his lap, peppering his face with kisses, spoiling him idk I WANNA TAKECARE OF HIM AAAAA
➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni   ➳  tags: fluff; early phases of an established relationship; satoru being a tad insecure
➳  notes: Im so sorry that im responding to this so late. im still not over *that* chapter. and I've been missing satoru like crazy >.< I hope you enjoy this fluffy drabble for your soul <3 let's show our boy some love
his cheeks, littered by your sweet kisses, turn crimson. satoru chuckles innocently, the glimmer in his eyes indicating that he's growing shy under the heat of your affection.
"you're so cute" you compliment, your fingers combing through the frosty blades of his soft, soft hair. you're still wrapping your mind around the fact that this gorgeous, breathtaking man is all yours.
he flashes you a dopey grin, but there's an expression of disbelief of someone who can't understand why he's receiving this love so generously.
"what's with you?" he questions, his nervous thumbs drawing circles on your waist.
you pout with confusion, twirling your arms around his neck. "nothing," you reply nonchalantly as you lean forward to peck his mouth, "just admiring how pretty you are..."
"yeah?" your boyfriend replies, his voice wavering with uncertainty and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. "you sure you don't need something?"
placing your hands on his broad shoulders, you press yourself up to look at him and make sure that he isn't teasing you with a joke that will have you lecturing him unnecessarily. upon meeting his gaze, you part your lips in surprise. his blue eyes are detached, shimmering with disappointment that he's actually anticipating.
you swallow the lump in your throat, wondering if up until this point he was simply treated as the "rich trophy boyfriend" by all his other exes.
satoru always played off those relationships as if they didn't matter to him, but you can see the scars that were clearly left behind.
you cup his cheeks in the palm of your hands, heart melting into his lap watching his face soften from the intimate gesture. you arch forward while guiding him to meet you halfway for a kiss, your thumb outlining his pretty pink lips.
"just need you, handsome" you whisper with a smile, before following up your statement with another kiss to the tip of his nose.
you lightly trace your index finger over the apple of his cheek, watching as he circles your wrist with his hand to peck the inside of your pulse point. he returns to rest his cheek against your palm, his crystal irises gazing up at you in awe and appreciation.
he nips at his bottom lip bashfully, "alright. I'll let you keep going. this...this feels really nice..."
your body blooms with love from his cute response. you kiss the crown of his head in adoration before wrapping him up in the warmest hug you can deliver.
➳ requests are closed.
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hhonghu · 11 months
Text
At your service, my love!
;; househusband!sub!aether x reader
cw: established relationship, ooc aether, rough sex, riding, exhibitionism, spitting inside mouth, masturbation, overstimulation, smell kink (?? aether smells your clothes), cockdrunk aether, consensual groping, teasing, nipple play, feminization (use of wife, pussy, clit, wearing of feminine clothing), implied small dick aether, reader has a dick
isn't it nice to have a special someone waiting for your arrival at the door? cooking and cleaning the house? making sure that you won't worry about the house? sighh,, or even better! making sure that their hole is nice and ready for you, spreading their legs the moment you walk into home in case your frustrated from work hehe enjoy your househusband aether!! <33 in here, i can see aether wearing those 90s vintage red dresses that women wear with those summer hats, pearl jewerly and heels clacking as he walks. he wants his image to scream that his spouse is rich lol let me know if i missed anything! ^^ im getting hungry rn
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househusband!aether who feels so blessed to have a spouse like you! you work so hard, keeping a company strong just so you can provide for him! he remembers when you cleared out a whole store just for him so he can shop as he pleased! househusband!aether who sighs in content, looking down the the ring on his finger. he smiles, he can't forget how you bent down in one knee and asked the special words.
househusband!aether being the envy of the women and men of the neighborhood he lives in. not only he tied the knot with a really rich person, he bagged the person who was the hottie of the neighborhood. people turning their heads as they watch aether and you walk down the street, hand in hand. househusband!aether who knows and smug about it. envious couples that pass by your mansion gates seeing aether pretty laugh as he sits on your lap, spoon in hand as you smile. househusband!aether who spots the couple and smirks. he put down the spoon then leaning to kiss you roughly. he moans into your mouth as you kiss him back. househusband!aether who opens his eyes seeing the couples envious expressions before walking away. that's right, be jealous of me. be jealous that i have the person you could never have.
househusband!aether who would wear a pretty flowy white dress as he attends a party you and him were invited to. househusband!aether who didn't wear panties, lifting his dress for you to see his bare pussy before bringing it down, smiling innocently at you. you narrow you're eyes at him before leaning down to whisper; "i won't be gentle." househusband!aether who goes around with is hand wrapped around your arm, greeting the people who comes to them. they bring you to the table, people already conversing to one another over food and drinks. househusband!aether who struggles to keep up decent expression as he feels you put your hand on his thigh, slowly crawling up his bare pussy. his breath hitches as he feels you stroke him, eyes looking at you, seeing that you don't seem affected at all! you continue to stroke him, pace getting faster and aether is about break. his deep breaths are starting to let out small whines, body starting to shake as he feels he's about to cum. he immediately grabs your arm, looking at you with his eyes and pleading, "[name].. please.. 'm gonna cum.. you're going to make me cuum..!". you didn;t stop, you pace going faster than ever and the coil snaps. he moans and bows forward, body shaking as he feels you not stopping, continue stroking him. all eyes were now on him, blushes on their faces as they watch him continue moaning and shaking. you smile, waving your free hand around. "sorry, my wife isn't feeling well. you can continue eating."
househusband!aether who wakes up before you, waking up in the early hours of the morning to prepare you for work. he stares up at you as you sleep peacefully, arms around his waist and breathing softly. househusband!aether who feels you up. his free hand landing on your torso and dragging it all the way up to your face, cupping your cheeks. your brows furrow as you stir, eyes owlishly blinking the sleep away and looking down at his soft face. "good morning, aether." househusband!aether who smiles and reaches up to kiss your cheek, "good morning, my love."
househusband!aether who whines as you put on your shoes. you didn't left him suck you off as you eat! maybe it was because he made you cum in his mouth twice the moment you woke up but still! househusband!aether who pulls in closer as you kiss him goodbye and whines into your mouth. you pull away and look at his face; face flushed and eyes begging you for more. you put your hand on cheek and tap it, "open your mouth, baby." househusband!aether who eagerly opens his mouth to you, watching intently as your mouth spits in his. "swallow." he giggles as he closes his mouth and swallowing, opening his mouth again sticking his tongue out to show you he swallowed. you smile and kiss him one last time before leaving for work.
househusband!aether who knows tends after the house. despite having maids that you said will do the work for him, he likes to do chores as well. he takes the laundry of both of your clothes to the laundry room. he kneels down and begins to put your clothes in the machine, then noticing your favorite shirt when exercising. househusband!aether who couldn't help but sniff it, your smell stuck on the shirt. flashes of your body as the shirts hugs you, stretching as you stretch you body. househusband!aether who leans back on the wall, sniffing your shirt as he lifts his, reaching for nipples with his ring finger and thumb, flicking and pressing it. "hnngh..! [name].. [name]♡!". he breathes in deeply, eyes rolling back as your smell hits his senses, fingers working faster on his nipples as his hips write around. househusband!aether who lets go of your shirt and lets his other hand play with his nipple and tugs harshly, toying it around as he feels the coil in his stomach about to snap. "haaa fhuck! fuckfuckfuck♡♡~!". he squeals out your name as he cums hard with a last tug on his nipples.
househusband!aether who hangs out by the pool, wearing a skimpy black one piece and a nice pair of sunglasses atop his head. "[name]! are you coming?". househusband!aether who smiles as you stop in your tracks, taking in his look. "see something you like?", he leans in teasingly, you seeing the outline of his pretty nipples poking out. you clear your throat, "you look good." househusband!aether who pouts before heading for the edge of the pool, "then come on! join me, [name]!". you join him, stepping in the water before plunging in. you both have fun, swimming around and chasing each other. aether calls time out and sits by the edge, feet in the water. "[nameee].. the water is getting cold." he calls out to you and you come close, about to suggest to get up and rest. until aether reaches up for the back of his neck, tugging the ribbon that kept his swimsuit and letting the top part fall, reavealing his nipples to you. "see [name]?" he whines and brings your hand to his chest, your palm feeling the hardness of it, "my nipples are hard now!" househusband!aether who gasps as you lift yourself to catch his nipple in your mouth, hand twisting and turning the other. he immediately wraps his arms around your head and legs around your shoulders, moaning out loud as you suck harder, tongue flicking back and forth. "hghkk! harder! play with harder! sho gooood♡♡~~!". he squeals out your name, back arching closer to you as he cums, clutching your hair tightly.
househusband!aether who beams when you say you tell him that you will be free from work for three days, jumping and wrapping his legs around your torso as you carry him. "finally! finally, finally, finally! i get to have you.. i finally get to have you all for myself, [name]." househusband!aether whos eyes roll back as bounces himself on your cock, chanting your name incoherently. "yesyesyesyes, fhuck, yes! your cock..~~!! soo deep in meeee~~!". you hold his hand tighter, intertwined with yours as he plunges your cock deeper in him. "yeah? it's all yours, baby. you'll get to have my cock in you for how long you want." househusband!aether who bounces harder, free hand coming up to his nipple and toy with it, tugging it hard. "[name]... [name]! i'm gonna cum! pleasepleasepleaseplease play with my clit♡♡!". househusband!aether whos back arches as you you stroke his clit, your hips meeting his thrusts and going faster, hitting his prostate. all the sensations, all the stimulations made him cry out, voice screaming out as he feels himself cum. he keeps tugging and playing with his nipple, grinding back into your dick as he tries to prolong the pleasure he feels coursing through his body. "[name]... [name].. more! i want more more more~~♡!".
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kvrokasaa · 3 months
Note
hi there!! you have wonderful work :) i was wondering if you could write for akaashi, kuroo, and atsumu with a girlfriend who finds out her friends are fake (talking crap, bullying her, etc.). i just wanna know what the boys would do about it. im sorry if this is too specific!
a/n: AHHH my first request!! Don't worry anon, this isn't too specific :), thank you hsjdhsjahdj
Fake Friends
Includes: Akaashi, Kuroo, Atsumu (separately) x Fem!reader
cw: cussing, bullying, spitting, hitting, hair pulling, slapping, implied slapping, corny chemistry joke.
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Akaashi wasn't too concerned about friendships, relationships, or anything of the like. That's what he used to think, until he met you.
Before he met you, he would walk home alone, he would only hang out with his team when they celebrated a win. But now he has someone to walk with him, someone to hold when he needs the comfort. He has someone who he can rant to when he needs to.
Those few things are the reasons why he loves you so much. But he wonders if he's ever going overboard when ranting to you. He never hears your side of things, he never hears you complain about things. He wonders why. Maybe you're just not comfortable with sharing?
He finds out the reason after just a few days of worrying.
Akaashi came to pick you up from your class, ready to walk you to your next like usual. But he hears some noises, which isn't out of the ordinary. But he hears girls saying mean things, almost like they're patronizing someone.
And when Akaashi opens the door a little wider, not enough to be seen but enough to see what is going on, he sees you. You're at your seat, head down while your hair covers your face. Three girls surround you.
One points her finger at you, "what gives you the right to think you can blow us off?" She gives you a stern look. But this wasn't something a friend would say, no. She said it in a vial and cruel tone.
"You should know by now that you're nothing but a dog for us."
Another girl laughs at the statement, her hand covering her lips as she looks down at you. The third girl sits on the desk facing you.
"Answer me, you bitch!" The first girl grabs your hair, which makes you look up at her. Tears are flowing down your cheeks.
"Aww, she's crying. Fucking pathetic." The girl sitting on the desk starts laughing at seeing your tears. She puts her hand out, showing her rings to your face, "come on, mutt. You know what to do."
Just as you're about to lean forward to kiss her rings, Akaashi stalks towards the girls and slaps the girl's hand out of your face. He has an angry expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips in a straight line.
"What gives you the right to treat my girlfriend like a dog?!"
Akaashi clenches his jaw. He's seen enough, no wonder why you were always so quick to do something for him. You're used to this kind of treatment.
You look to the side, eyes wide at the seen in front of you. "Keiji, it's not what you think!" Akaashi's head snaps over to you, are you really defending these girls? How long have you been accustomed to this kind of behavior?
But Akaashi doesn't respond, he only grabs your hand and leads you out to the hallway. "Those aren't your friends. Do you understand?"
You can only nod in response, your eyes brimming with tears, afraid that he's mad at you now. But Akaashi pulls you into his chest, hiding your face from anyone who passes.
"Don't let people like that control you, Y/n. You're too good for that."
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Kuroo had a goofy smile on his face, ready to tell you another science joke. He knows you hate them, that you cringe every time you hear one. But you still smile at him, you still laugh at his stupid jokes.
He rounds the corner, about to make it down to your street, but he catches sight of five people on the sidewalk in front of him.
Two boys and two girls surround another person that is sitting on the ground. They all have a big smile on their faces as they yell at the fifth person. Kuroo isn't one for confrontation, when he sees something like this happening, he usually just threatens to call their parents or something of the like.
But as he walked closer, he realized that you're the one on the ground, a big, ugly handprint on your cheek. Your head is down, tears streaming down your face. Kuroo can't even imagine how you managed to fall to the ground.
All thoughts leave his mind when he sees one of the boys lean down and spit on your shirt. Kuroo's eyes widen, and he grits his teeth. Did that scumbag really just do that?!
"What makes you think you can be with Kuroo?" He hears one of the girl's voices shouting at you. She points her finger at you and sneers, "did you get with him because you knew I like him? Answer you ugly whore!"
Kuroo grows tired from hearing these words. He walks over to the scene, but not before hearing an insult from one of the boys.
"You're such a fucking pig. Always stealing guys, you'd really let anyone use you, huh." He laughs.
Kuroo starts walking faster, and once he gets to the scene, he grabs the guy's shirt, pulling him back and pushing him. The guy falls to the floor and looks up, he glares at Kuroo.
But before anyone can try to throw a punch or slap, Kuroo grabs your hand and takes off, running down the street.
Once you both get to a safe and secluded place, he immediately pulls you into a hug. Your tears start flowing down your face as you hug him back.
"Carbon and hydrogen went on a date. I heard they really bonded."
You pull back from the hug and playfully slap Kuroo's chest, "'s stupid." He smiles when he hears you laugh through the tears.
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You never thought you would be dating Astumu Miya. You always thought his fangirls were a bit too much, and maybe they'd even threaten you.
But now you're having the time of your life because of him. Every worry ceases to exist when you're around him. He just has that effect on you.
But that doesn't mean his fangirls wouldn't try to hurt you in any way.
Over the time your relationship started, you gained new friends. You didn't recognize them as Astumu's fangirls, so your worries were unfound. Oh, how wrong you were.
One of his fangirls, Hana, managed to squeeze her way into your life. She was nice at first, gaining your trust, making you feel good around her. She was so nice that you considered her your best friend.
But once she gained your trust, she immediately turned against you. She would copy you, steal your clothes when she slept over, blame you for things that aren't your fault - she would do everything in her power to make you feel horrible.
Astumu didn't catch wind of this problem until a few months after it started. At first, he thought that you two were super close. He thought that someone was on your side.
But he knew he was mistaken when he started noticing the signs of her behavior changing. One of the main things he noticed was when you tried to talk, she would interrupt you and start talking about her day or other trivial things. She would take credit for your ideas. She even stole the necklace that he gifted you for your third mensiversary.
Astumu could only sit back and watch you let this happen. He knew that you didn't have many friends, so you didn't want to lose her.
But after a few more months, he knew that he had to put a stop to this. He knew when he saw you looking at yourself in the mirror after your 'friend' told you to lose some weight.
"Astumu would look better with someone who doesn't look like," she paused, "that."
While you were talking to Astumu in your bedroom, he comes over frequently, with your 'friend.' She interrupted you again as she stood up and smiled at him.
"Y/n, just stop talk-"
She was cut off by Astumu's glare, his jaw clenched, and his eyebrows furrowed. He looked pissed, and the girl had her eyes widened at his expression.
"When my girl speaks, you sit and fucking listen."
His tone was harsh, cruel, making the girl sit immediately.
But she couldn't listen to another word, she was scared out of her mind. She huffed and stormed out of your bedroom, grabbing her coat and shoes as she ran off.
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protective men protective men protective men protective men!!!! HGSHGHASG
I love when men are protective of their woman!!!
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sunkifye · 3 months
Text
don’t kiss me under the mistletoe
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pairing— non idol nishimura riki x female reader
genre— enemies to lovers, high school au
synopsis— it was the biggest (holiday) party of the year, so it was no surprise that you saw your enemy, who also happens to be your ex-crush, there. you just weren’t expecting to see him under the mistletoe next to you.
featuring— minji from newjeans
warnings— cursing, kissing, partying, riki is honestly really mean (im sorry!!)
word count— 3.1k
author’s note— merry christmas to those who celebrate! and happy holidays!!
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“I seriously can’t believe they’re dating,” minji, your best friend, whispered into your ear.
“really? I saw it coming,” you shrugged before taking a sip of your drink.
“what?! how?? they’re literally best friends,” minji asked, pouring fruit punch into a plastic cup.
“that’s exactly why I saw it coming,” you explained.
“I guess so,” minji agreed. “they’re totally gonna be the it couple of the year aren’t they?”
“for sure”
“ugh I’m so jealous” minji complained.
“me too,” you sighed. “I wish I had a-”
someone had aggressively bumped into your shoulder, launching you forward towards minji.
“excuse you!” you yelled out at the person who bumped into you.
“who? me?” a familiar voice asked.
you looked up to see the culprit standing before you, nishimura riki.
“yes you nishimura! do you seriously have no manners?” you scolded the boy just to receive an eye roll from him.
“to be honest,” he said, taking a step closer to you. “I don’t really care.”
oh how he made your blood boil.
he began to walk away from you, but after taking two steps he turned back around.
“oh and I forgot to mention,” he said, looking down at you. “you should probably stop daydreaming about things that’ll never happen…”
“because you’ll never get a boyfriend,” riki said with a smirk on his face before finally walking away from you.
oh he’s really done it now.
you started to march towards riki just for minji to put her hand on your shoulder and pull you back.
“just let him go,” minji said with a sigh.
“no way! I’m not letting him get away with saying that to me,” you replied, ripping minji’s hand off of your shoulder before beginning to walk after riki once more.
“nishimura!” you shout at the boy. “who do you think you are?!”
“better than you,” he says, turning his head around to look at you.
“well, news flash! you aren’t,” you yell at him. he scoffs as he turns his head back around and continues to walk away from you.
“don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, quickening your pace so you could catch up to him.
“why? do you want my attention or something?” he asked, smirking as he turned around to face you.
“ugh as if,” you grumbled, furrowing your eyebrows.
“as if!” riki said in a high-pitched voice, mocking you.
he lets out a laugh before walking away, but now he’s walking backwards just so he could look at you.
“you should really be nicer to people,” you reply, following him once more.
“I am nice!” he defends himself, placing his hand over his heart, pretending to be offended by your words.
“yeah right,” you say, rolling you eyes.
“just not to you,” he adds, continuing to walk backwards—which in all honesty, was a really bad idea.
since riki was facing you and not looking at where he was going, he bumped into a small table that was placed up against the wall in the hallway. the sudden movement of the table made a glass vase, which had a bouquet of white roses in it, fall over and onto the floor.
CRASH!
the vase had shattered on the floor, leaving the roses in a puddle of water on the ground, surrounded by shards of glass.
“look at what you did!” riki blamed you, pointing to the mess on the floor.
“what I did?! look at what you did!” you retorted, “this is your fault. if you were looking where you were going then maybe you wouldn’t have caused this mess!”
“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me then I wouldn’t have-”
“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me first-”
“well maybe if you hadn’t showed up to this party then none of this wouldn’t have happened!” riki spat out at you.
“what…” you mumbled in utter confusion.
“you shouldn’t even be here. these parties aren’t for people like you,” he stated, looking down at you.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, crossing your arms.
“you’re a loser y/n! you always have been and you always will be,” riki stated coldly.
your eyes widened at his words. you knew he was mean, but to say something like that? you stood there looking at him, not able to fathom the fact that you once had a crush on the boy standing before you.
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you were in your second year of middle school when you developed feelings for your first crush, nishimura riki. he was friends with some boys in the higher grades and was quite popular among the students in your grade. you began to crush on him a week after school had started since he sat next to you in history class. your feelings for him grew as school went on because you saw him everyday and you even had to do a project with him once.
it was the middle of the school year—about february—when a girl you were kinda friends with told you to confess to riki, telling you that he would totally go out with you and that you would have a boyfriend for valentine’s day. you, being young and naive, trusted the girl’s words and decided to tell riki how you felt.
big mistake.
it was lunchtime and you entered the cafeteria, looking around for riki’s table. you found him in almost an instant, especially with how loud his friends were. you walked up to his table and with a sudden rush of confidence you tapped on his shoulder.
“huh?” he uttered, turning his head around to face you.
“hi,” you said quietly.
“hi?” he repeated, scrunching up his eyebrows.
“riki, I really really like you,” you blurted out, causing riki to raise his eyebrows. his friends were biting their lips and covering their mouths, trying to hold back their laughter, which you failed to notice.
“and- and I was wondering if you would go out with me,” you added, looking at him with hope in your eyes. he turned his head, looking around the cafeteria, then looking at his friends, before setting his gaze back on you.
“who are you again?” he asked, genuinely confused. his friends continued to try to hold back their laughter, which they were failing at miserably. you ignored them as you kept your eyes on riki.
“I’m y/n, we have history together,” you said, hoping he would remember you. “you sit next to me… a-and we did a project together a few weeks ago,” you added, just for him to furrow his eyebrows once more.
“I don’t recall,” riki said before turning his attention away from you as he began to eat his lunch. you stood next to the table, dumbfounded as you watched him eat his sandwich. suddenly, he stopped eating and turned to you again.
“why are you still here?” riki asked in a rude tone. you honestly couldn’t comprehend anything that was happening in that moment, but you decided to speak anyway.
“I-I thought-” you stuttered.
“listen, uh… what’s your name? y/n or something, right? whatever it doesn’t matter,” riki said, looking up at you. “I don’t like you, alright? and I’d never go out with you.”
hearing his words felt like a knife just stabbed you in the heart. he seriously couldn’t have rejected you a little nicer? out of embarrassment, you turned away and quickly ran out of the cafeteria. as you left, you heard riki’s obnoxious friends burst out in laughter.
“wow riki, look at you!” one of his friends cheered.
“who does she think she is?” another one of his friends asked in between laughs.
“I know right, what a weirdo,” riki laughed. your eyes welled up with tears as you ran to the closest bathroom.
ever since that day, riki started to tease you in any way possible: making fun of you in class, calling you names, bringing up how you had a crush on him, and when his friends were around, he would be extra irritable towards you.
that was the first and last time you were confessing to someone ever again.
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you turned away from riki, careful not to step in any shards of glass, and walked away from him. you felt tears begin to well up in your eyes.
“no no no! don’t cry!” you told yourself as you fanned your face, hoping to stop the tears from falling. you had to get out of here. you had to find minji.
you pushed past people in the crowded house, trying to find your best friend. luckily for you, she was standing where you last left her, by the drink table.
“y/n!! there you are! I thought you left me for good,” minji half-joked as you ran up to her.
“I wanna go home,” you muttered, making minji’s cheerful expression change into one of worry.
“what happened?” she asked you, looking deep into your glassy eyes. you opened your mouth to say something but no words came out.
“Y/N! WAIT!” you heard a voice yell. you turn around to see riki pushing past people, making his way towards you.
you turn back around to face minji. you didn’t even need to tell her what happened because after seeing riki, she already knew.
minji was about to say something when you walked away from her, wanting to get as far away from riki as possible.
you made your way through the living room, trying to get to the front door. as you squeezed past people you heard riki’s faint voice calling after you. you walked faster, stumbling as you bumped into the upperclassmen that were crowded by the couch. you saw the front door down the hallway.
“it’s the final stretch,” you thought as you approached the doorway that connected the living room with the hallway. but before you could step out of the living room, you felt a hand grasp your wrist, tugging you backwards. you turn around, stopping in your tracks when you see that riki is the one holding onto your wrist.
“y/n-” riki said, breathing heavily.
“what?!” you snap, ripping your wrist out of his hand.
“uhm…” he uttered quietly. you rolled your eyes before turning around and trying to walk away.
he grabbed your wrist again.
“don’t go,” riki begged. you spun around to face him and he looked kinda…upset?
“why? you said that you didn’t want me here just a second ago,” you protested. he let go of your arm.
“I-” riki started before getting cut off by someone yelling.
“LOOK WHO’S UNDER THE MISTLETOE!” you heard an obnoxious voice shout.
you examined your surroundings, trying to figure out who just screamed, but instead you saw a bunch of eyes on you. by instinct, you tilted your head up, shifting your gaze to the ceiling above you. there hung the festive plant from the top of the doorway you were standing under. shit.
you averted your gaze away from the mistletoe and instead locked eyes with riki, who for some reason, looked very calm about this situation. you on the other hand—felt like you’ve completely lost your mind.
“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” people started to chant.
you turned towards the hallway, hoping to run away from this horrid position, but there was a crowd of people blocking your way. instead, you turn the other way. maybe you can leave through the living room? wrong. there were even more teens standing in a crowd next to you, you couldn’t even see into the living room with how many people were gathered there. you had no chance of escaping this.
“so…” you heard riki mumble. you turn your head to look at him.
“so?” you repeat, furrowing your eyebrows. he doesn’t elaborate.
you sigh before deciding to speak up.
“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” you scream at the top of your lungs, causing the crowd to stop chanting.
“you all are out of your mind if you think I’m going to kiss him,” you say, emphasizing the word “him” in an offended voice.
“but you guys are under the mistletoe! you have to kiss!” someone yells, breaking the crowd’s silence.
“yeah!” another voice shouts, “you can’t break a tradition!”
the crowd cheers, beginning to chant, “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” once more.
you glance at riki, whose expression is unreadable. you stare into his eyes as you fiddle with your fingers, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this situation.
suddenly, you felt pressure on the back of your head, pushing you forward.
the last thing you saw was a hand behind riki’s head, pushing him towards you, before your lips collided into his.
there was no way in hell you were kissing nishimura riki right now. what kinda sick dream nightmare is this?! you know your past self would be ecstatic to know you were kissing your first ever crush, your “dream man.” how disgusting.
you felt your face heat up with every second that your lips were against his. was it from anger? embarrassment? or from the feelings you still had for him since middle school? the feelings that you shoved deep down into your heart, ignoring them since he rejected you that one day.
the kiss felt like it lasted forever, when in reality, it was just a small peck that was over in seconds.
you stared at riki with wide eyes after pulling away from the forced kiss. after locking eyes with him for a split second, you immediately turn away and start to run towards the front door, squeezing past the people who were blocking your way.
you push open the door and breathlessly stumble outside into the cold. you deeply inhale through your nose, taking in the sense of freedom, before exhaling through your mouth as you slowly walk down the snow covered driveway.
“I have to call minji,” you thought to yourself. you reach down into your bag just to realize that you didn’t have your bag with you—or your coat for that matter. well now what? you needed minji to drive you home and you needed your stuff that you left inside. you shivered at the thought of entering the house again—or maybe it was because it was below freezing out and you had no jacket on? you couldn’t really tell.
just then, you heard the front door creak open. you turned around in hopes of seeing your best friend there, holding your things, and ready to drive you home. but no. it was him. seriously, out of all people it had to be him?!
you watched riki close the door behind him before jogging down the driveway.
“y/n can we talk?” he panted as he approached you.
“talk? there’s nothing to talk about,” you protested.
“well actually there is, we literally just ki-”
“can we just forget about it?”
“what?”
“forget that it happened, okay?” you demanded, wanting nothing more than to just go home and lock yourself in your bedroom.
“what if I don’t want to forget about it?”
“huh?” you mutter, making riki go silent.
“why…?” you ask, in an almost inaudible voice.
“please don’t make me say it,” he begs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
“say what?” you reply with genuine confusion. he takes a slow, deep breath before answering.
“I really like you y/n and I have for a while.”
what. the. actual. fuck.
“that…doesn’t make any sense,” you ramble,“why- then why did you reject me back then?”
“I wanted to impress my friends and if I rejected you… I thought that maybe they would think I was cool,” riki admitted shyly.
“that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you snapped.
“I know I know, but please let me-”
“don’t you think you're a bit too late?” you asked coldly, causing his face to fall.
“I…” he mumbled before stopping himself.
“can you please give me a second chance?” riki pleaded, his eyes glassy.
“why should I? you never even gave me a first chance,” you retort while crossing your arms.
“I know, I messed up badly and I really regret that,” he confessed in a shaky voice, “I'm so sorry y/n. I really am.”
the logical part of you wants to scoff at his words, reject him, give him a taste of his own medicine. but the other part of you consists of the feelings you have for him; the feelings you’ve been ignoring for years, not wanting to accept the fact that you were still infatuated by your first crush. you wanted to be with him. you always have.
“I can’t forgive myself for making you hate me but-”
“hate you? I don’t hate you,” you replied as you tugged on the end of the sleeve of your sweater, making it cover your bare hand.
“wait, what?” riki said with a glint of hope in his eyes.
“I hate that I still like you,” you admitted softly, with a small smile appearing on your face.
your words made his face light up in an instant, his bright eyes looked like they held galaxies in them.
you shifted your gaze from his eyes to his lips, which felt so warm and soft against yours a few minutes ago. now they were cracked and more of a purple color due to the chilly weather, but you still wanted to kiss them nonetheless.
you look into riki’s eyes again before taking a hesitant step towards him, your feet crunching on the snow beneath you. it seemed like he was able to read your mind because he copied your actions, taking a step towards you. leaving barely an inch in between the two of you, riki cupped your face with his hands as he pulled you in for a kiss. you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. it felt so good to finally be able to embrace your feelings for him.
after you both pull away, you notice small white specs falling onto riki’s hair. you tilt your head up and look at the sky just to see snow dancing down from the flurries above you. you look back at riki, both of you wearing cheesy smiles on your faces due to the sudden snowfall. he pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, embracing his warmth.
“promise me you won’t push me away ever again,” you say almost inaudibly, speaking into his skin as you hug him tighter.
“I promise,” riki replies, laughing lightly.
“and don’t be so stupid!” you scold him half-jokingly, making him laugh even harder.
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note : the more I continued writing this, the more I hated it. I feel like the ending is really rushed so I’m very sorry 😭 I feel like I could’ve done better but I wanted to write something and have it up in time for xmas. ANYWHO, thanks for reading and I’ll be back to updating chapters for rage quit. and once again happy holidays!!
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eternalxvenus · 8 days
Text
⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 4 ࿐ྂ
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summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain.
wc: 1.8k
notes: i really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! part 5 will be the final chapter for this series! (there were a few people who asked to be in the tag list but i can't find the asks in my inbox anymore im so sorry!! if you happen to see this comment/message me again to be added!)
previous chapters: part 1 | part 2 | part 3
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You woke up this morning and felt so much better than you had in the last few days. Rafe not only cleared everything up, but he also practically poured his heart out for you. Now you both would head back to OBX and hopefully everything will be normal. Both of you know Topper lied and you'll probably have to talk to him about it, which is something you weren't looking forward to.
Leaning over the bed you glanced down to see Rafe's shirtless body still sleeping. You got off the bed with your blanket and snuggled up next to him on the floor. Immediately, you question how he was able to get any sleep down here. As you tried to get comfortable, Rafe stirred awake. You looked up at him with an apologetic expression. "Good morning. I wasn't trying to wake you."
He groaned softly, looking down at you before smiling at you. "Sure you didn't. Good morning, sweetheart." Rafe rolled on top of you, leaning in to give you a kiss before you stopped him.
"Morning breath," you said with a shake of your head, placing your hand over your mouth. He gives you an unamused look before moving your hand away.
"I don't care about morning breath. I gotta make up for all the time I spent not kissing you these last couple of days."
Rafe gave you one long kiss on your lips. It was so soft and caring like he wanted to express all his love for you with the feeling of his lips on yours. He slid his hands down to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. "God, I missed you, baby. You have no fuckin idea," he whispered.
You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. "I missed you too." Sitting up, you moved from under his hold and leaned against the side of your bed. "But we aren't having sex in my parents' house, especially while they're here."
He placed his head in the crook of your neck before sighing, "It's okay, I can wait." 
"Alright, let me up so I can go brush my teeth and get ready," you giggle, pushing him off you lightly. He rolls onto the floor dramatically. "I'll be here waiting."
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
While you were going around getting ready, Rafe's eyes followed your every move. He knew that he probably looked creepy staring you down like this, but he was just appreciating you and how he was so lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend. Rafe was attracted to you the moment you both met at the country club. Your confidence, your style, even the way your perfume still lingered in the air even after you left.
He'd never admit it but you had him wrapped around your finger the minute you agreed to go on a date with him. You were too good for him, so accepting and supportive even when he'd try to push you away. Love wasn't enough to describe how he felt. He was fucking obsessed. Willing to do anything and everything for you. His personal heaven.
The sound of snapping brought him back to the present. "Hello? Did you hear me?" Rafe shakes his head. You roll your eyes, something he can never take seriously when you look so damn stunning. "I said I'm ready to go."
He gave a brief sign of acknowledgment so you'd know he heard you, but his eyes were focused on eyeing everything from your hair to your shoes. "C'mere, I wanna hold you for a bit," he said softly. He rarely ever heard himself like this, the soft side of him being reserved for those special moments with you. The moments when his heart felt like it was beating so fast it would come out of his chest, or his face would heat up with a light tinge of pink on his cheeks.
You made your way over to him and straddled him on the bed. "What, you miss me giving you all my attention?" you teased.
Rafe gave a small smile before kissing your forehead— He knew better than to mess up your lip combo so soon— "Yeah, something like that."
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
Since Rafe had brought his truck with him to the mainland, he drove you both back to the ferry going to OBX. He didn't talk much during the drive or the ferry ride back but he kept his hands on you at all times— holding you in his lap, putting a hand on your thigh, or an arm around your shoulder— he was keeping you close.
Once you arrived on the island, you thought Rafe would take you straight home or to Tannyhill until he mentioned having to stop somewhere first. You didn't think anything of it but when you saw The Boneyard coming into view you looked over, confused. "Rafe, what are we doing here?"
"I just gotta take care of something alright? Stay here I'll be right back." He got out of the truck and started making his way toward the sea of people drinking and hanging out.
With a sigh, you got out of the car shortly after, following behind him. Immediately you saw him heading in Topper's direction, making you pick up your pace to catch up to him.
Rafe reached Topper just before you did and was staring him down with his arms crossed. "What's up, Top?" he said in a harsh voice. Topper gave a confused look at his attitude before trying to seemingly move on. 'Hey Rafe, what's good, man?"
When you reached them you put your hand on Rafe's arm in an attempt to pull him away. "Come on Rafe, please just do this later." You didn't want to make a scene with all these people here or risk him getting in trouble, but he ignored your attempts.
"Do you wanna tell me why you told my girl I cheated on her?" his voice was eerily calm as he spoke, you almost wished he were yelling instead.
Topper looked at Rafe in silence before he shrugged. "Listen, man, you were coked out of your mind and got all up on your ex. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even remember. But it's on video and everything, I was just trying to look out for her and do the right thing."
By this point, a few people who were close enough to hear the conversation had started watching, eager to see what was going on. Kelce, who had been standing next to Topper, looked just as confused yet interested as everyone else.
"Oh, so you have the video? Let me see it then." he urges.
Topper rolls his eyes but takes his phone out and plays the video. It's the same one he had sent to you that you now know is old. "See man? I'm sure you regret it or whatever but it happened. You fucked up." he has a small smirk on his face as he said it like it was the hard truth.
Rafe licked his lips and nodded. He pulled his phone out and showed Topper the photo that was actually from the party. "You took this photo at the party, right?" Topper nodded "So?" A chuckle left Rafe's throat. "So... I'm wearing two completely different outfits. Why don't you show me the date on the video Top."
Topper was silent for a few moments before his smirk dropped and an angered look took over his features. "You don't fucking deserve her, Rafe! You know she'd be better off with me. You'd choose drugs over her, you would choose yourself over her!"
Your eyebrows shot up at his outburst. Topper was jealous. Rafe got closer to him, getting into his face. "I should've known you'd go after her. You were the one who convinced me to do the coke after I told you I'd quit you fuckin' prick!" Topper shoved Rafe but he only stumbled a little before lunging at Topper and throwing a punch. Kelce and a few other Kooks who were close by rushed over to try and break it off but Rafe wasn't letting up.
"Rafe! Stop, let's just go!" you shouted, trying to get his attention. Someone had finally gotten them off of each other, and Topper was bleeding from the mouth with and his eye was starting to swell. You could see the blood on their clothes and on Rafe's knuckles. It was unlikely someone would call the cops but you wanted to get out of there before things could get worse. Before you could get far enough, you heard Topper yell "She's just another piece of ass anyway!"
Pulling Rafe away from The Boneyard and back towards the truck, you sigh, noticing the bruise forming on his cheek. Both of you got into the truck and Rafe started to drive to your place, still pissed off.
"You didn't have to do that Rafe..." you tried to keep your voice soft, not wanting him to think you were angry.
Rafe scoffed, "That fucker deserved it. He's lucky I don't kill him." You said nothing for the rest of the ride, and neither did Rafe.
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
After what felt like forever, you saw your house come into view. The truck rolled to a stop, and Rafe shut off the engine, placing his head on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," he muttered. It almost seemed like he felt... ashamed?
"I'm sorry for doing that... I let him get to me. I shouldn't have gone in the first place." he explained. You felt bad that he was beating himself up for letting his anger get the best of him.
You leaned over the center console to place a kiss on his non-bruised cheek. "It's okay. Let's just get inside and forget about it."
Rafe nodded, and you both got out of the truck to head inside. You made him take off his dirty, bloodied clothes and put them in the wash, leaving him in his boxers. With a little convincing, he allowed you to tend to his busted knuckles and ice his bruise for a while. There was a silence between you that was both comfortable and strained up until you'd gotten in bed.
You were laying on his chest tracing shapes along his skin while he stroked your back soothingly. "Hey Rafe," you spoke softly looking up at him. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. "Yes, sweetheart?"
"I thought of something you could do to make my birthday up to me, at least a little bit."
He opened his eyes looking down at you lovingly. "What is it? Name anything and I'll make it happen."
You bit your lip to try and suppress your devilish smile while climbing on top of him in a straddle position. Leaning in close, your lips ghosted his as you whispered, "How about some belated birthday sex?"
part 5
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wonijin · 7 months
Text
EARTH ARCADE!READER/AHN YUJIN
headcanons and moments between earth arcade member!reader and ahn yujin.
tags: 1.5k words of pure fluff.
warnings: none probably
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you were the 5th member of earth arcade. a young actress that has been garnering attention recently.
laughter echoed throughout the stairway. suddenly, nervousness prevents you to climb the last few steps of the stairs . you peek in the corner to see a familiar face facing the doorway, lee youngji.
deciding there’s really no choice but to move forward you enter the doorway, bowing and greeting. everybody paused for a second, then chaos ensued.
“woah!” lee eunji, a comedian you often see on TV, exclaims before reciting your lines from your latest drama.
mimi, from oh my girl, joins in not soon after. even going as far playing the role of your scene partner.
“thank you for having me. nice to meet you.” you greet politely.
“gosh. you’re so formal.” younji poked fun good-naturedly at your antics despite bowing in response. “don’t worry. im sure she’s going to be infected by your rowdiness soon enough.” eunji quickly replied earning a loud laugh from mimi.
“wait. wait. do you know anybody in this room?” this time it was producer na who took a jab at your surprising awkwardness.
“well, i know you.” you look straightly at producer na. he chuckled at your honesty.
“i know everybody from TV and mostly from social media. this is my first time meeting everybody.”
before you can react, you hear youngji let out a load “oh!”. you turn towards the door to see ahn yujin, one of the literally and figuratively hottest idols in the industry.
you’ve only seen her on your screen. now, your mouth gape at the sight of the real thing. ahn yujin in the flesh.
withouth thinking, you bowed repeatedly like an idiot. “oh my gosh, what an honor!”
“miss y/n l/n. oh my god.” yujin ran over to you. and the sole reason you stopped your continuous bowing was to admire her. ‘wow, she’s so close.’
your eyes popped out their sockets as she takes your hand and shakes it gently. “im a big fan. i watch your dramas religiously. i can name all your projects, i’ve watched each of them at least twice.” she professes, not once pausing.
“thank you. what an honor. im a big fan of yours as well. wow, you’re hands are so soft. sorry, im being weird. its just- wow.” you breathed out.
laughter echoed through the room as everybody watched your exchange.
“its like one fan girl meeting another.” mimi exclaims. “their eyes turned heart-shaped for a moment like those cartoon characters” eunji added.
your eyes find yujin’s only to find hers already looking you.
yujin was a big fan of yours even way before meeting you in jiraksil. what she didn’t know was that you were bigger fan of hers.
you rummage through your luggage until you found what you were looking for. if the people around you didn’t know any better they would've you were a thief thirsty for something valuable.
“y/n, you look like a racoon in a garbage can.” mimi jested.
“aha! found it!” you exclaimed, holding up a package in the air like its a trophy.
eunji steps closer to inspect. “its an…album.” she traced confusedly.
“yep.” you walked towards yujin who was watching the entire scene unfold through the comforts of her bed.
you held the album with both your hands and extended your arms towards her, looking similar to a school girl confessing to her crush by giving chocolates.
“will you please sign it.” you shut your eyes tightly, like a school girl afraid of getting rejected.
in the show, you play the good-for-nothing chaos maker role together with younji.
“oh come on. do i really have to pair up with you?” yujin complains but her wide smile betrays her.
“how could you say that?” you exclaim then proceeds to chase yujin around, puckering your lips and making kissing sounds while opening your arms. you both run around, you chasing her and yujin trying to escape your grasp. she squeals and giggles. and when you did catch her you wasted no time in tickling her.
“somebody get these two love birds away from me. i can’t watch any longer.” younji makes a gagging noise.
nine times out of ten you mess up causing you to receive an earful from a perfectionist yujin.
“you should've known that! it was so easy!” yujin berates you. but despite her words, her smile beams at you brightly.
“how would i know that? that song is practically ancient.” your hands fly up in the air defensively.
“even i know that.” yujin retorts.
“that’s because you’re like a grandma in teenagers body. a normal person your age wouldn’t know that.” you argued.
“what?!” yujin looked at you dramatically like you’ve done an unspeakable crime, like you just kicked a dog.
“there they go again. they’re like an old married couple.” eunji deadpans at the camera.
yujin likes annoying and bullying you as a form of showing her adoration.
“eunseo-ah! i got something to tell you!” yujin stand from the couch abruptly to recite your lines from your drama.
usually, you take pride in your work but yujin had impersonated you for the nth time today that you can’t help but cover your ears.
“somebody please! make it stop!” you plead. the other members chuckle at your misery.
“eunseo-ah! i’ve like you since we were kids! please go out with me.” yujin continued, this time much more dramatic than the last.
she's reenacting a scene from one of your most famous dramas. a scene where your love interest, which yujin is embodying right now, is confessing love to your character, eunseo.
“eunseo-ah! eunseo-ah” the idol shakes your arm giddily as you look straight. she takes entertainment at your exasperation. and continues to mimic your characters from various dramas for the rest of the night.
yet she never fails to show her adoration towards you in other ways.
“eunji, what do you think?” yujin asks the older girl who was browsing at the rack of clothes.
“it looks amazing on you! you should buy it!” eunji encourages the younger girl.
“oh! it isn’t for me. its for y/n” yujin clarifies.
“im sure she’d be happy to receive that. in fact, im sure she’d be over the moon with anything you give her.” eunji recalls how much you dote on yujin. “you could get her a random rock and she’d probably treasure it like it’s from space.”
yujin’s cheeks flared red at the thought. eunji laughs at her embarrassed state. “you’re both such dorks.”
in the end, yujin couldn’t decide which one you’d like best so she bought three different clothes for you.
your relationship peaked in the wake up mission where you secretly help yujin because you felt bad for her.
you found out yujin’s mission when you entered the shower after her. the shower reeked of garlic. you had to laugh at the absurdity of the smell. in addition, there were bits and pieces of garlic skin on the floor. putting two and two together didn’t take long after that.
the lights were out. youngji and mimi were asleep but you were unable to. so you ventured out until you heard noises. it was faint but your mind is still alert from all the caffeine you took that day.
heading towards the noise, you found yourself before yujin and eunji’s room. you carefully open the door to meet yujin’s wide eyes.
yujin looked like a lunatic holding the pestle midair with her crazy eyes. you chuckle lightly, tiptoeing towards her. “you’re too competitive for your own good.”
“don’t tell anybody.” yujin quickly pleads.
“there’s no one to tell anything to.” your words put her at ease. at much ease someone mincing garlic in the middle of the night could feel.
“why are you still awake anyway?” she asks you silently. “i don’t know. i guess my body was itching to pester you.” even through the dark, yujin’s smile still shined bright. and you hoped the darkness was enough to hide the redness of your cheeks.
fans adore your dynamic with yujin. the push and pull relationship you both have managed to gather a lot of attention on social media.
“everybody, slow down. i can’t read your comments, they’re too fast.” you squint at the screen. you were live on instagram, hoping to interact with your fans.
after the live chat had slowed down, one comment managed to catch your eye.
“are you wearing yujin’s shirt?” you looked down at the said piece of clothing. sure, you had no memory of buying this particular shirt but that goes a lot for your other shirts as well. some were sponsored, gifts or bought while drunk. you assumed it was one of those three.
until, a loud ping came from your phone and a notification popped at the top of your screen.
yujinnie: yes, that’s mine. i put it on your suitcase so it’ll remind you of me ;).
you smile like an idiot while reading the text. then, you realize something. yujin is watching this live because how else would she send that in perfect timing.
your face flush at the thought of her being amongst the thousands watching you right now. and you flush a shade darker, because she must’ve witnessed you grin at her text.
the comment remained unanswered as you decided to keep this detail to yourself.
even after filming season one, yujin continues to support you by posting scenes from your drama. her instagram quickly transformed into a fanpage because of how often she would fan girl about you.
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seeingivy · 8 months
Text
blessing
megumi fushiguro x gn!reader
you and fushiguro talk about names
content: nothing, light mentions of blood
an: your consolation prize - a megumi draft while I edit you belong with me gojo. if your name has a meaning, im sorry it doesn't anymore.
--
“Do you think names are important, Megumi?” 
Megumi flutters his eyes open and squints in the dark to direct his gaze to you. You’re splayed right against his bare chest, nimble fingers drawing indiscernible shapes onto his skin. He knows you can’t sleep after missions, which is the only reason he allows your needless rambling at four in the morning. 
“Is this another of those angel sign things Nobara taught you?” he groans, lifting a hand to place it in your hair, the smell of your strawberry shampoo wafting into his space. 
“It’s angel numbers and astrology signs.” you respond, lightly nudging him with your elbow.
“That stuff isn’t real.” 
“Maybe not Megs, but it’s fun to think about.” 
You look over at him and Megumi can feel his heart thumping in his chest, your expectant eyes staring at him as you wait for a response. And he hates that your stupid eyes always make him give in. 
“Okay, fine. Tell me.” 
You grin and readjust yourself so you’re propped up on his chest, so you can get the perfect vantage point of the grumpy face he’s going to make at you. 
“Some people think names have power. Like, depending on what the meaning of your name is, that can affect how you act and who you are and stuff.” 
He frowns, reaching forward to flick you on the forehead, before grabbing your hand and resting your knuckles against his lips. 
“So you’re saying, if we named our kid asshole, he’d be an asshole?” 
“Our kid would be an asshole because you have an attitude problem. Not because we named him asshole.” 
He rolls his eyes, reaching forward to pinch your cheeks. 
“But think about it, Megs. For example, Yuu’s name means relaxed and caring. Don’t you think that fits him?” 
“Itadori is anything but relaxed, Y/N.” 
“Okay, well. It’s half true. Nobara means thorny. Doesn’t that compliment her cursed technique?” 
“Uh huh. I still don’t buy it.” 
“Or Gojo-sensei. Satoru means understanding, like enlightenment. He’s literally the strongest sorcerer.” 
Megumi wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you up closer to burrow his face into your neck. He loves the smell of your shampoo, of your flowery perfume - but loves it even more when he can smell it on himself the next day. 
“You talk too much, Y/N.” 
“Do you know what your name means Megumi?” 
“No. I’ve never really thought about it.” 
“Your name means blessing.” 
Megumi has never wondered about his name or what it means. All he knows is that when he was younger his dad and Tsumiki’s mom disappeared one day, leaving the two of them alone. That is until Gojo showed up. 
And unlike you, he’s never really thought about these things. Star signs, Enneagram personality types, birth charts, angel numbers. According to you, they’re little signs - from the celestials, the universe, something out there bigger than you two. 
Granted, he knows you’re being silly. That you don’t really believe it. But he can’t help but wonder. If his parents saw him and picked out the perfect name. Or if they saw a baby book and closed their eyes and pointed till they found one they liked. If they named him blessing, because they thought he was one. 
If they were intentional in their love for him, like you have been for the past year, the two of you have been dating. You leave a glass of water on his nightstand, so he makes sure to drink water in the morning. Pick up his drycleaning when you’re on your way home, insisting that it’s no trouble and you’re already there. Tell him to throw pennies in fountains and make a wish just because. 
“I think it fits perfectly, Megs.” you whisper, tracing a little star onto the side of his arm. 
He doesn’t respond, his blue eyes focused on the ceiling above you too. 
“I just mean. Gojo-sensei was probably really lonely after everything that happened with Getou. But you were around and he had you with him, so he wasn’t really lonely. And-and I know Yuuji appreciates being here with you and that he really admires you. Nobara too and-” 
“Y/N.” 
You think back to the mission, earlier today. And it keeps replaying through your mind, every time it’s quiet enough to think about it. 
You let your guard down for a few seconds. A few seconds too many because when you and Yuuji turned around, he was on the floor - thick, red blood spilling out of his forehead. And really, if you weren’t busy discussing what souvenirs to buy on the way out, if you were paying attention, maybe you wouldn’t be the one dragging him back to Shoko’s and watching from a distance with such an intense guilt that it made your stomach burn. 
“I think you’re a blessing too, y’know? Maybe I don’t say it all the time, but I do. I guess it’s just hard to say how you feel sometimes when…I don’t know, we could die tomorrow Megs and-”
Megumi brings his hand back up to your hair, brushing through the tangles at the back as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You know Megumi. His hand in your hair - to drop it, to let it go. The kiss on your head - that he’s already looked past what happened. 
“What does your name mean, Y/N?�� 
“Dunno. Couldn’t really find it in the books or anything.” 
--
You wake up to the left side of the bed empty, the mattress cold and missing a Megumi shaped space. His glass has been drained on the nightstand, meaning he’d probably left already for breakfast. You quickly pad back to your own dorm and pull your uniform on, before joining them all for breakfast. 
You join the three of them at the desk - already loudly arguing about god knows what. You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder as you slide into the seat next to him, granting you a small smile from him. He places a hand on your thigh and squeezes, another one of Megumi’s silent messages. 
You’re okay. 
Nobara and Yuuji are holding up the name book you had looked at the day prior, Nobara pinching the end of his ear as they argue. 
“This name thing isn’t true. You’re full of shit.” Yuuji complains, pushing the book towards you and Megumi. 
You open up the book, already open to Yuuji’s name at the end of the book. 
“Who the fuck said I thought it was true? It’s just fun to look at.” Nobara responds.
“Well, why did you bring it up? You’re acting like you’re connected with some celestial body shit but you’re just making stuff up.” Yuji responds, standing up. 
The three of them stand up, packing up their things as they get ready to head to training on the field with the second years. You’re still stuck on the book - flipping through to check everyone’s names. Gojo, Shoko, Toge, Maki. 
As you flip through the pages, you note a dark indentation on one of the pages in the middle, and quickly try to flip through to find it again. 
“You coming?” Megumi asks, bag slung over his shoulder at the door. 
“Yeah. I’m coming, give me a second.” 
The three of them shrug as they walk out, their incessant chattering still heard from the window outdoors. You finally find the page and the dark blotches of writing at the bottom. 
Someone’s written in the book, with a black marker. You recognize the handwriting immediately, Megumi’s freakishly neat handwriting inscribed in the book. 
Y/N. Meaning: love or warmth. 
You quickly shut the book and run out, where the three of them are already walking to class. Nobara and Yuuji are now peering over her phone, looking at god knows what, which you take as your opportunity to grab Megumi and lightly drag him back. 
“Megs.” 
“Hm?” 
“Did you write in the book?” 
He rolls his eyes, lightly nudging you with his elbows, as you guys keep walking on. 
“No. I didn’t.” 
“Yes. You did. I know your handwriting, idiot.” 
“No. I didn’t. And even if I did, so what? The book was missing your name.” he responds, pinching his eyebrows as he looks at you.
“Okay. So you did write in it. But you can’t just give my name a meaning, we don’t even know if that’s true.” 
“All words have made up meanings. If someone came up to us and told us that trees are actually called birds, we’d start calling them birds.” 
“Okay but-” 
“I decided. That’s what your name means. Because that’s what you are. Now, be quiet and focus on training.” he responds.
He drops your hand and walks past, stretching in between Nobara and Maki as the group of them start stretching out. He looks over and gives you a soft smile, the one he only reserves for you, and you can only think that you truly are blessed, to be loved by someone like him.
--
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manicpixiefelix · 1 month
Text
head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}
Part 14.
Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.
{ masterpost }
Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.
Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)
A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!
TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)
----
Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.
That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.
Felix, Felix, Felix.
Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.
Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?
And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.
Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.
So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.
But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.
Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.
So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?
But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.
"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.
"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.
"Shag, of course."
Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."
It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.
"Assuming what?"
There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?
Not quite, it seemed.
"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.
Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.
Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.
For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.
Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.
Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.
Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.
"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."
Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.
"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.
"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."
"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.
Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?
Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.
"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.
It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.
They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.
"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."
"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"
Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.
"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."
For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.
"Then we're lucky to have you."
Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.
"What are friends for?"
Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -
Felix, Felix, Felix.
Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.
Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.
That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.
Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.
"Ollie!"
Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.
"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"
This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?
"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.
Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.
"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.
"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.
"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."
You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.
"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"
And you're off again.
"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.
"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.
Our Y/N.
Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.
We love Ollie!
We do love Ollie.
Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.
"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.
"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.
"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.
Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -
"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.
"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.
All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -
He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Your room!"
It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.
"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."
And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -
"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.
Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.
Library?
His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.
So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -
God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.
Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.
This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.
The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.
Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.
There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.
The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.
How strange. How... human.
There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.
It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.
Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.
Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.
For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.
There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.
Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.
God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.
Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.
But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.
Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.
Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.
Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.
"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"
"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.
"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.
And you're fast asleep against him.
The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.
This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.
"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.
"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.
"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.
But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.
Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.
"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -
"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.
"I liked you better when you were asleep."
"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -
"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.
"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.
After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -
"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."
Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.
"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.
Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.
She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.
As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.
Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.
Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.
His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.
In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.
Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.
"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.
"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -
"Just my old boxers."
You snicker. Felix grins.
"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.
But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.
Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.
"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."
"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."
The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.
"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.
There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.
"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."
When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.
"What?"
All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.
Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.
Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.
"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.
"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.
"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.
"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.
"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"
Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.
But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.
"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?
"Contacts?"
"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"
"You know my prescription?"
"Yeah?"
"How...?"
You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.
Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.
For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.
"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.
"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."
And he's not sure why, but he believes you.
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harleehazbinfics · 4 days
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Sly
a/n: im brushing up on how to write for lucifer. i missed him 😭
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During the fall of man, there was chaos among the order of the angels. With heaven's very own Lucifer being the catalyst of it all, it had sent all the elders in a frenzy and leading to his eventual fall from grace.
You were but a child when it all happened. They all used his name as a threat, to scare off angels that dare defy the rules. However, you didn't quite understand why he was condemned from heaven for merely dreaming, and why couldn't he be redeemed by asking for forgiveness. Isn't that what your principles were? You confronted your mother about this, but in fear that she would lose you she begged you to stop speaking about the matter.
From then on, you stopped talking about it. Up until a fateful occurrence.
You were rushing your way towards your office, a tall stack of papers in your arms and as you guessed it, rushing when you can't even see in front of you is a really bad idea.
"Oops, I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" You cried holding the remaining paper in your arms. The person who bumped into you used their magic to lift sheets of paper off the ground and back onto your stack.
"Oh, it's fine. What's the rush?" A familiar voice of a man calls while he was helping you.
"I need to bring this report to the virtues. Hopefully, the meeting hasn't started yet," you explain, "Thank you, Sir Michael! Would you like to walk with.. me.. there..?"
You look up at the male in a daze as you figure out it wasn't Michael at all. Though they look similar and act the same way, it definitely wasn't him. He wore a distinct white top hat with a snake coiled around the base with accents of red, you trailed down to his face seeing his apple cheeks and awkward sharp toothed smile from being mistaken for his brother as he clutched onto his apple cane.
"O-oh! I'm terribly sorry for not noticing, Sir Lucifer!" You apologized, cheeks heating up from embarrassment.
"Oh it's fine. I get that a lot," he chuckles charmingly.
You blush at your mistake and how irrefutably handsome he was. He has a kind smile that seemed to wane ever so often with how downcast his eyebrows fell. It was as if he felt uncomfortable being here.
Your tug your lips into a thin line before cheerfully saying, "Is there anywhere in particular you're going? I'd love to be your escort!"
He seems dumbfounded at how an angel was kind enough to talk to him so candidly. Weren't there tales about his disobedience spread across of heaven? If this matter didn't require his attendance, he would have never come at all. However, seeing your gentle kindness made it seem worth while.
"Oh, couldn't possibly bother you. Aren't you late for a meeting anyway?" he refuses gently, pointing at the papers.
"Oh, it's fine!" you blush, "I'd be honored to spend some time with you!"
He quirks his eyebrow at you with a smug smile, making you splutter at your mistake, "I meant--as your guide! Yes! I don't have those kinds of intentions towards you! I apologize if it seemed that way!"
He gives you an attractive laugh and uses his magic to lift the paper off your hands and levitate beside you. Saving you the trouble of carrying them everywhere. He gestures his hand forward and replies, "Then shall we?"
You beam him a smile and escorted him to his meeting room, while giving him an update on the changes that were made since he's been gone. He looked less tense when you first bumped into each other and even chimed a joke or two in your conversation.
Not before long, you arrived at the door now carrying the paper in your hands. Giving him a big smile while he carefully walks forward to the door.
"It was nice talking to you, Sir Lucifer," you say a blush adorning your cheeks which he found adorable on you.
"I enjoyed our time together, (y/n). Hopefully, we can meet again someday," he replies with a smile of his own.
You gave him one final smile and started to walk down the hallway. But before you could take your 2nd step, he says something that made you blush from your cheeks to your ears and nape.
"By the way, you can just call me Lucifer. I'm divorced," he calls with a flirtatious smirk before entering the room.
His gesture makes you blush from the top of your head to your toes at his comment, calling him sly in your head. You shake your head trying to gain your composure as you trotted to your office. But it doesn't wipe the stupid smile you had on your face.
🔗All OTHER Lucifer Fics Taglist:
@bonnie-02, @marxo5, @whaatttlaufey, @froggybich, @rybunnie, @midorichoco, @bontensbabygirl, @janey, @akiqvq, @wonderlandangelsposts, @spoiled-slutt, @preciousbabypeter, @roboticsuccubus83, @simbalioness, @reachthestars, @atlas-rin, @luc1fersducky, @lovestruck-enby, @azullynxx, @delightedtosee, @s2tng, @cherry-4200, @aria-tempest, @lvstyangel, @0strawberrysorbet0, @corvid007, @kaminarithebest, @selvyyr
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hobie-enthusiast · 10 months
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LITTLE CREATIONS !
— ‘Omgg if you're down and it spikes your creativity!! Could I request a Hobie little writing with a gn!reader who likes doodling on stick papers and sticking them on Hobie's guitar when he isn't looking? And one day he catches them red-handed? Just plain fluff tbh <33’
— hobie brown x gn!reader
— lots of fluff, just cute relationship stuff, some cutesy hc’s at the end too
— hobie knew where the mysterious stickers were coming from, but he just never wanted to stop it
— this is adorable oh my god. im such a sucker for cutesy relationship stuff. the creativity just flowed for this so well (directly reuploaded from my old acc @/hobieenthusiast)
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Hobie was very attentive to the things he loved.
He was possessive over those things. You were a perfect example. Now that he has you, he never wants to let you go. His friends are another example. The Spider-people he’s grown to enjoy were something he would never trade.
His guitar was yet one more example of Hobie’s possessive nature.
He never truly allowed anyone to touch it. His instrument was what he used to make art. He’s had it since he was a young teen, the paint was chipping and many stickers he’s created or been gifted littered the body.
So he obviously noticed when new stickers started showing up.
The first creation he noticed was a small night sky, with star constellations being the focus. The constellations were Pleiades and Taurus, thought Hobie couldn’t name them off the top of his head. It was charmingly drawn, and stuck right underneath the strings.
He had his suspicions of you drawing it the first time he noticed it. He knew you liked to doodle in a small notebook, so you were his first thought.
The next one after that was a spiked butterfly. The butterfly had some out-of-the-lines green colouring, with spikes coming from the wings. It was a really nice drawing that Hobie appreciated, and was yet another sign it was drawn by you.
After that, he found some stickers of his favourite band logos, little star sketches, his logo as spider-man, and so many more. All those building up and covering the original colour and decal of the guitar.
Hobie didn’t mind the drawings. Actually, it was quite the opposite. He looked forward to seeing what you were gonna create next.
Whenever he’s over at your place, he’ll purposefully leave the room for a little to give you time to stick them. He notices your silly grin when he comes back, at his cluelessness when he takes his guitar home.
Little did you know.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Hobie sat on your bed, strumming mindlessly on his guitar. You sat over at your desk as you sketched and doodled on some stick paper. Music played in the background softly, a mixture of your faves and Hobie’s as well.
Hobie sighs, placing his guitar at the end of the bed. “‘m gonna go grab a drink.”
You nod as he passes, ruffling your hair as he leaves the room. You glance over to see if he left before smiling softly, standing and walking to his guitar.
Carefully, you peel your doodles from the sticker sheet, finding open spaces to place them on. These new ones were of his cross logo on the back of his Spider-man jacket, as well as a small spider hanging on a web. They were coloured with blue and red splotches in the background.
You put the first one on, admiring how it fits so well with the others. Like a puzzle piece. You reach for the second one, ready to stick it on, when..
“Well well. Seems ’ve caught the culprit.”
You turn around, sticker still in hand as you laugh nervously. “And here I thought I had more time.”
Hobie gives his signature smirk as he walks to you, taking the sticker from your hand. He observes it, noticing the beautiful red and blue splotches behind the spider.
“Sorry if you haven’t liked ‘em.” You say as he stands there, still observing. “You never really said much about them so I assumed you didn’t mind and that it was okay but if it’s not I can always stop and-”
Hobie chuckles, stopping you. “[Name]. Never said I didn’t like ‘em, aye? Actually quite like ‘em.”
“Really?”
Hobie nods as he places the sticker on his guitar, smoothing it out. It blends well with the others, bringing yet more charm to the cluster and disorganized mess. Something Hobie absolutely enjoys.
“Why don’t you tell me about ‘em?” He asks while sitting back on the bed. “Been curious ‘bout the constellations for ‘while now.”
“The constellations..” You start, tracing the design on his guitar. “They were in the air March 18th and April 24th. Pleiades and Taurus.”
Hobie’s eyes widen for a moment. “Well now that’s..”
“Our first date.” You finish with a soft smile. You glance up at him. “And the day we became official. Or the day you decided you like some labels.”
Hobie rolls his eyes. “An’ that’s a secret ‘tween you and me.”
You continue to tell him about the different doodles you drew. You explained the thought process behind them all, going into the colour schemes and why you chose those specifically.
The entire time Hobie couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He thought you were mesmerizing, the way you talked about something so passionately.
“…and with the letters I tried capturing how rebellious it’s supposed to look, kind of like your jacket.” You finish, pointing the last one out.
Hobie nods, hand taking yours. “They’re all well done. Ya gotta keep makin’ ‘em.”
You smile and nod excitedly, already thinking of the next designs you have for Hobie’s guitar.
Maybe Hobie’s earlier rule about never letting anyone touch his guitar had its exceptions. After all, rules were always meant to be broken in his eyes.
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— after he confirms that it’s you putting the stickers on, he insists on watching you draw them
— you’ll sit on his lap and aimlessly doodle in your stick paper notebook as you lean back against his chest
— you ask for his opinion, but he always assures you they look perfect
— “that one ‘s well drawn, sweetheart”
— “you’re so talented, darlin’”
— “can’t wait for everyone to see ‘em”
— he’s practically your biggest supporter
— also don’t be surprised if one day he gets one of the doodles you stuck on his guitar tattooed on him
— what can he say? he’s obsessed with anything you give him
— he will also let everyone know who the amazing artist behind his stickers are
— “yeah? my amazin’ partner drew ‘em. they’re one of a kind”
— hobie will always anticipate new stickers from you, even after his guitar is filled
— please just start stacking them after that
— hobie’s completely obsessed with you and any reminder of you on his weapon of art is something to die for in his eyes
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