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captain039 · 4 months

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Wasteland Heat (Redone)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Vault!Fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, AOB dynamics, heat, oral F receiving, smut, swearing, fallout stuff, implied cousin incest, virgin reader, drug usage, needles, plus size reader, sexual assault

Our man ghoul will show up in part 2 xD

Going off the show each episode sort of thing with more

Part 1

A ring on your pip boy disturbs your rest, you frown, glance at it and see the words 'Congratulations, you have been accepted for the marriage trade!' it makes you shoot up out of the white hospital bed and glance to the doctor looking at something on the terminal.

"Sir?" You call and he lifts his head with an overly fake smile.

"How can I help?" He asks.

"Ah, my pip boy says I've been accepted for the marriage trade?" You say through the glass window and he frowns just before the overseer walks through.

"Ah, you're awake my dear!" He says happily and you spot Lucy behind him with a smile on her face also. She holds up her pip boy showing the same message as yours and you frown showing yours also.

"Overseer?" You question and he looks to your pip boy with a smile.

"Both my lovely girls are getting married," He says happily and you freeze.

"Married?" You stutter out glancing at Lucy worried.

Your mother is the one who helps you get ready on the day of the trade. The overseer your stepfather hasn't answered any of your questions regarding why you're suddenly allowed out of the hospital area and getting married the same day. It's overwhelming going to other parts of the vault, following behind your mum as she shows you where she stays. She has a dress hung up, just below the knee, made with old curtains it looks like. You gulp a bit at it and follow her beckoning to the vanity desk. You stay quiet as she does your makeup, and hair and helps you get into the dress before giving you a big hug. You didn't hug back it had been too long since she deserved any of your affection. She would always fuss over you during the experiments, or 'doctor appointments' as she called them before leaving you in that hospital room to rest. She never hugged you after those, never comforted your crying during your teen years. You meet up with Lucy who frowns at you instantly knowing that something is wrong. She's been your sister growing up, she was the one who comforted you after those appointments or would spend time with you playing games and watching TV. She holds your hand as you walk down to the vault door that connects the two vaults, everyone from vault 33 behind you both. Norm is teasing Lucy about her future husband's looks while she huffs at him. You're too busy wondering what everything looks like and where you are in the vault, you think you took two rights and one left to get here, just in case you needed to run. Everyone smells so dull and mutated down here, nothing like what you half imagined. You were taught about the natural biology of Alpha, Beta and omegas, and the genetically made ones, but you didn't think it'd be a big difference, not that you've ever met another natural born. You reach the door and stop glancing at Chet who says there has been a malfunction, you frown seeing Lucy go over and whisper softly to him before squeezing his shoulder. The door opens with loud alarms that make you wince and look to the ground so the flashing lights affect you less. The door clunks open and a group walks through, your whole group tenses at their scents, they're all natural borns, you were warned about this.

"Welcome," Your stepfather says forcing his smile.

"I'm Overseer Hank Maclan" He greets.

"Overseer Maldaver" the woman at the front nods her greet.

"We're sorry about the recent passing of the old overseer and your crops, but as agreed we bring you seed for your new crops" your stepfather says behind you.

"Thank you, it was a tragic passing, but with these terms, we bring you two breeders" She says as two men step out of the darkened hallway and into your vault. You stand frigid as the blond stands in front of you smirk on his face scent too overpowering and wrong.

"What are your names?" Lucy puts on a smile.

"Monty" The man standing in front of her says the same weird smirk and gross smell.

"Ethan," The blond says and you nod words unable to form.

"I'm Lucy this is Y/n" Lucy introduces you instead and you thank her silently trying to avoid those overly dull blue eyes staring at you like you're a drug he is addicted to.

The ceremony went smoothly minus your kiss on the cheek instead of the lips act. The 32 vaulters acted a little strange but understandable from their lack of food for this long. You sit and enjoy your meal sitting next to Lucy as she tries to make conversation with her husband. You avoid all eye contact and dread when your stepfather says it is time to dance. You had never been in this part of the vault before, this was all new to you as you danced with your stepfather, then your husband. As the projectors set the sun low and night arrived you dreaded it. The touch he gave made you cringe and you tried your hardest to be a happy new wife.

"Show me our new home?" Ethan whispers and you nod and swallow silently before guiding him to your designated vault home.

"This is it" You say trying to act as if this wasn't all new and how different your life had truly been. You look around as the door hisses shut and arms snake around your waist making you tense.

"So jumpy" He whispers into your neck and you cringe. You want to break free from his hold but have to hold up the act.

"Can I freshen up?" You whisper trying to sound interested.

"Course you can" He chuckles darkly and lets go as you all but run to the bathroom. You close the door and lock it with a loud breath, you struggle to breathe as you switch the shower on and grip the sink. You pull out the pins in your hair, the feeling of it up too tight around your skull. You want to rip this stupid homemade curtain dress off but don't want to be left with no clothes on. You leave the shower on to act like you're in while you slide down onto the cold bathroom floor rest your head in your hands and try to take some breaths.

"Don't be too long omega i can't wait to have a taste" Ethan chuckles on the other side of the door and it makes you want to throw up. You turn the shower off curse the dress and slip it off too before wrapping yourself in a towel and dabbing on some perfume. You hesitate by the door before opening it with a smile as he turns around, suit already half off, arms tied around the waist. You stop in your tracks at the show of muscle and panic a little as he smirks and comes closer. He holds your arms leaning into your neck and inhaling before he pulls back with a frown.

"Why did you put perfume on?" He narrows his eyes at you angrily and you tense and gulp.

"I'm sorry, I can wash it off," You say pointing back to the bathroom but he just growls annoyed.

"Forget it, I will enjoy this while I can" He snaps and roughly drags you to the bed.

"We have our whole lives ahead of us!" You say panicked as he forces his mouth onto your jaw and neck, and kisses roughly. You freeze then, mind blank as he forces the towel to fall to the floor and sees you in your underwear. He gropes your covered breasts before your instinct kicks in and you clench a fist and punch his jaw. He's unprepared for it and you scramble back grabbing a kitchen knife and holding it towards him. He holds his jaw and smirks at you before speaking.

"I like it when they fight" He mutters going to storm forward as alarms blare. You frown distracted and the knife is knocked from your hands, you cry a little before dodging his grab and dart for the bathroom. You lock yourself in quickly and jolt when he bashes loudly on the door, yelling for you to unlock it. You go into the nearest corner and curl in on yourself, hugging your knees as you try to block out the banging, alarms and gunshots.

A loud gunshot goes off as does a thump before a knock comes.

"Sweetheart?" You hear your stepfather and quickly stand ignoring your current attire. You open the door, tears down your face as you hug him tightly.

"You're alright" He sighs in relief arms going around you tightly.

"Let's get you some clothes" He says and heads over to grab a jumpsuit for you before handing it to you. You slip it on and zip it up, wiping your eyes even though more tears just come out.

"Stick close ok?" He says and you nod holding his free hand and following him out of the vault room. It's a massacre, you head to the crops and see Lucy there, you call to her and she runs over and hugs you tightly before your pip boy alerts you of a gate opening and an intruder. You follow your stepfather through the vault before you see who is left from Vault 33 on their knees, beaten with the so called Vault 32 around them.

"I think I know who you are" Your stepfather mutters to the woman Maldaver.

"Everyone knows who I am," She says.

"I'm gonna give you a choice Hank, them or them" She points her gun to you and Lucy and the the rest of vault 33 on their knees. A gun cocks behind you, aimed at Lucy and another cocks and one is aimed at you.

"Life's full of little choices" She says and your stepfather grabs you and Lucy by the arms and drags you into a nearby closet.

"No, no Dad!" Lucy says as he locks the door on you both. Lucy bangs against the door but it's no use as the woman shoots your father in the back with tranqs and two men drag him away.

"Best do what you always do, Run," Maldaver says to the remaining Vault people and disappears down the vault gate. A beeping gets louder and the rest of your vault runs and disappears from view before an explosion goes off. You and Lucy jolt back as the flames hit the door but don't come in. You stare replaying what just happened in your head, the rush of it all as you grip Lucy's hand.

It feels like a long wait before you're finally let out by Steph. She hugs Lucy who hugs her back before she looks at you uncertainly but hugs you anyway. It's nice, the hug she gives before she leads you too back to everyone in the vault who has gathered in the crop field. You see Norm and sigh in relief as Lucy hugs him, you give him a small smile before sitting down by him.

"What has happened is a tragedy" Betty speaks up and you glance at everyone. You only know these people by name though, except Norm and Lucy and Doctor Anderson sitting on the left, the rest are practically strangers despite you all living together.

"But we are strong" Betty continues.

"And we will get through this" She finishes.

It's strange being out of the hospital room and around the Vault, you mainly stick with Lucy on cleaning duties, trying not to gag at the amount of blood that can come from one human. The Vault cleans up quickly and people are returning to regular life, except you. You stay in Lucy's room, well her past husband and her's room. There is a large double bed big enough for the both of you and you've made it your small sanctuary.

"I need to find him" She says one night in the darkness and you roll over to face her.

"If not someone else than me," She says rolling to face you.

"Lucy" you mutter unsure of what to say.

"What can I do?" You ask quietly.

"You can come with me" She says her voice determined but quiet like someone may hear.

"I just got out of the hospital area," You say.

"We can explore the world, find Dad and bring him home! I'll bring it up at the assembly tomorrow" She tries to talk it up but you shake your head with a sigh.

"I'm not built for up there" You mutter. You don't want her to go on her own though and who knows what they will do to you if she's gone. You weren't going back into that hospital area, never again.

"I'll go," You say after some silence and sense her smile.

The assembly suggestion goes down instantly so it's to you, Lucy, Chet, Steph and Norm to get out of this place. With the fight for Overseer place you and Lucy can make preparations in quiet and undisturbed. It takes two days to get ready, two days of pure anxiety just to see the Vault door entrance.

"I'm going with you," Chet says suddenly as he holds the Vault key in a shakey hand as alarms begin to ring.

"You can't" Lucy says and his lower lip trembles.

"Who else will protect you!" He whispers yells and she sighs. You see her grab a tranq from her pocket and press it to Chet's hand.

"Sorry Chet" She mutters as the door slowly opens with creaks and loud groans.

"Don't do it!" You hear behind you making you glance at the two members of the council. You and Lucy are already across the bridge though and the sun blaring on your faces.

"Come back here right now young ladies!" The older one says. You feel Lucy grab your hand and look at her, she gives a small nod which you return and you both step out into the blaring sun and sandy terrain. The alarms stop as the door seals shut again and it's just your harsh pounding heart and breaths. It's a little difficult to breathe but you get used to the warmth and the sound of sand under your boot as you follow Lucy silently. You go past rubble and some skeletons before you see what Lucy was going to, the ocean. The rasps of waves on sand filling your ears, the sun shining down on your face.

"Okey Doky" Lucy says.

Next part ->

#fallout tv series #aob #x reader #lucy maclean #cooper howard x reader #The ghoul #the ghoul x reader

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chaithetics · 4 months

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frothing at the mouth for any norm fics

Gaps of Sunlight

Pairing: Norm Maclean (Fallout) x f reader Word count: 4.5K Gif by @klausbens Warning: Barely proofread, pining, longing, maybe a little fluff and angst? a jab at Chet's weird crush, this is set before the events of Fallout S1 so some 'foreshadowing' I guess but doesn't have any spoilers! Mitski inspired! A/N: Ask and you shall receive 🙏(translation: thank you for enabling me!!!) This is my first time writing Norm and it's the most fun I've had with writing a fic in a long time! I feel like I'm a more descriptive writer and I haven't had an idea flow like this in quite a while. I feel like this is similar to 'Porce and the Shark' in terms of writing? Idk how well this flows as a story lol?!?! I've barely written any angst and I haven't really done any yearning, so I hope this is good! So please validate, I just felt like I was never going to finish or/fix it enough so I thought I'd post it as is. Thought about the queen of angst, @inknopewetrust's work a lot when I started writing this. Comments and reblogs are really appreciated 🫶

You lay in bed as you couldn’t help but think about it all. Once again. You could go outside to the corn fields but all that could offer you was a projection from a time and place well before you were even conceived as an idea. You’d never really know what the sunlight felt like, how it would heat your chin and what it would be like to bathe in that light. You had tried to live vicariously through that with what approved, classic literature had survived the war and through the vaults. Shakespeare didn’t offer you much beyond metaphors that were just out of your grasp with relatability to your environment, you hadn’t particularly enjoyed Chaucer, an opinion you’d kept from your father. While the Brontë sisters were able to perfectly let you know what rain in a different continent would’ve felt like against your face and how it would’ve smelt and made your shoes feel to run across an English countryside, they never enlightened you about what being bathed in sunlight would feel like. There were only so many times you could read and annotate Homer’s works awaiting a revelation.

Despite how everyone else moved around Vault 33, it was impossible for you to not help but wonder more of life. What it all was, and what it all meant.

You pull yourself out of a possible mental spiral and quickly get ready for the day as it eases on just as every other day does in the Vault. There’s breakfast with a pleasant conversation with your family, and you teach English classes to the youth of Vault 33, you participate in other extracurriculars just like most of the other Vault dwellers but teaching takes up the bulk of each of your days. You don’t mind that at all though, you enjoy it, even on days where everything feels like a complete rut. The mornings when the blue of the vault suits feels like too much, the pleasantries feel more like programming than authentic connections.

It had started like every other day and classes had happened accordingly, there was now the communal reprieve of lunch. As you slowly chew you look up and see him across the dining hall, despite being from the poster-perfect vault family, he’s Vault 33’s very own black sheep, Norman MacLean. He’s sitting there silently while his dad and Lucy are happily chatting away. Each taking turns trying to lure him into conversation, which he rejects each time with a quick, blink and you’ll miss it shake of his head. The same expression he always wears these days and has for years is etched onto his face, a chronic look of apathy.

You can’t help but stare at him for a moment, watching the way he looks on almost blankly. Even from across the room, you can see every thought in those brown doe eyes as if he’s saying them aloud. How is it that he’s still so misunderstood?

You’d grown up with Norm, he’d always been nice to you, even when you were at school. But that wasn’t exceptional, that was the whole thing with vault-dwellers, being nice people, even from a very young age. It’s not exactly a melting pot of cultures in the Vault like you know the surface once was but the culture is to be nice, chirpy, and practical.

Norm was nice, he had a quiet charm, he’d be a good politician, just in a different way and style as his father, he was practical but he didn’t have a cheery disposition. He lacked enthusiasm and at times it seemed to almost fascinate him how much that little rebellion could bother people. He didn’t put himself out there and you remember how he was smart, he knew answers to the questions that were asked but he’d never put his hand up for them.

It made you wonder at times if he was scared of his own voice. You feel your eyes squinting as you look at him wondering that question, as if studying his jawline for another minute or watching him lift his fork up to his mouth will tell you.

With a deep breath, you tilt your head discreetly to look around to see if anyone noticed your infatuated staring but nobody seems to. You still put a polite, chirpy smile on your face in case anyone did. That should be enough for anyone to notice anything your eyes might’ve been betraying.

Your mind still stays on him, because as always, you might see him better than anyone else but he is still a puzzle with pieces you have yet to find the corners to.

You’re sitting near the cornfield, trying to live vicariously in a world that’s not yours, one that will always be out of touch, just trapped into ink on a page and repeated for the ears of children, to fulfil a mission. But it’s his voice that pulls you out of the inner world of classical Greek horrors.

“Sunny day today.” He says as he looks down at you as you sit on the chair and look at his standing form. He says it as if it isn’t sunny every day with that projection meant to convince you of what the surface once knew and not instead fall flat and be more reminiscent of golden Hollywood-esque crops on sets of the films that have survived. Norm’s voice is quiet, he’s just as soft-spoken as you remember him being so long ago. His tone is bored, but it doesn’t deter you, how could it when he’s standing in front of you looking into your eyes?

He looks into your eyes, taking in the colour, worried that someday he could forget the flicks closest to your eyes. They might rearrange if he doesn’t look at them for another ten seconds to appreciate them. He could forget them. But he never would.

“Just like your disposition.” You quietly tease, offering him a shy smile.

Just as if it’s somehow not always sunny, a rare occasion worth being spoken about, so is his unchanging character. But beyond adding in a couple of cups of more confidence perhaps, you don’t think there’s much else that could be worth editing.

“And for that exact reason, I’m surprised I’m getting a job transfer with the reasoning being my enthusiasm levels.” He says with a breathless chuckle.

You tilt your head as you look up at him, he’s still standing, the toe of his shoe almost toying with something invisible on the artificial emerald green grass. You’d put your thumb in your book when he’d arrived but now you put your bookmark in and gently close it. Placing it gently on your lap.

It hadn’t been that long since you’d both finished your education, having had jobs and duties in the vault was important for its efficiency and functionality. But still, this wouldn’t be Norm’s second job. You were still the teacher you’d been assigned at the start of your adult life, most people in the vault only ever had one job, sometimes they would change and so have had two in their whole life and of course, there would be a change of two or sometimes three for overseers, but three while still being so young was very rare. You had questions and internal crises about this world all the time, there was always a moment somewhere in your world that you felt slightly out of place. But still, contentment had found a way to settle in your bones much easier than it did for him.

“What were the enthusiasm levels?” You ask quietly, slowly blinking. You already know the answer.

Norm looks down at the ground, at the grass he could tug out and it would just never grow back. No matter how desperately everyone would want to pretend it would. His foot is so close to yours, mere inches away, the toe of his shoe could just brush against yours and no one would know.

“Nought.” He says with disinterest, he slightly shrugs his shoulders as his eyes stay planted on the ground.

“Something will stick eventually.” You say.

You say stick, you don’t say that there will definitely be something he loves or that it’ll all be okay, it’s not what he wants to hear and you don’t know if there’s a role in this world that you both live in that would fulfil him as much as his father is fulfilled by being Overseer. He appreciates that. But he needs to change the subject.

“Is a literature teacher always reading?” He questions as if it’s a riddle that might amuse him.

“More likely to happen than finding them counting.” You say as you tilt your head. You don’t remember the last time he approached you for conversation, or the last time that he did and there were this many words. It would’ve been back when you were younger, still classmates. You can’t track an exact memory down which surprises you.

“So, what’s that one?” He asks looking at the book in your lap for a moment before his eyes slowly gaze back to your face, making eye contact for the first time in over a minute. You can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up at this. You feel seen as his eyes rake up and take in every facial feature and unique mark on you.

Everyone makes a false and fatal assumption about Norm. They assume that because he’s not extroverted and over-the-top warm like Lucy or Hank, that he’s not charming. That’s complete crap. You know it’s false. He’s not the same as his family or a lot of the people in your home vault but without a doubt, Norman MacLean oozes charisma. He knows just when to turn it on and how to utilise it in the best way with each person. And right now, it’s working on you.

“The Three Theban plays, by Sophocles.” You whisper as your eyes bore into him, you don’t dare to blink. Too scared that he might just disappear if you do, and that when your eyes open again, this will all be confirmed as another of one of your many daydreams about him. “They’re tragedies, I’m reading Antigone, at the moment.” You feel yourself latching each word onto the next word as if you’re climbing a ladder and need to build more rungs at the same time, there’s some intrinsic need in you to draw this out for just a few more moments. His presence gives you some kind of glow. You finally blink, your eyes not able to hold it anymore, he’s somehow still standing in front of you once your lids open. You immediately wonder if you’ve said too much and try to fight the urge to sigh but the urge to not let on how embarrassed you feel is more of a priority, you need to keep that internal.

“And what has that taught you?” He asks with a small smile.

Someone else might’ve found the tone cold. If someone else had asked that exact question, it might’ve felt condescending. But you know exactly what it is.

Norm knows better, not better than you, he’s not that kind of arrogant. It’s because he’s always known that he knows better than most in these reinforced concrete and metal walls you all live in. But you live in a meritocracy. Everyone is in constant pursuit to be kind and to better and upskill as a contributing member of Vault society. Of course if someone’s openly reading it’s an academic pursuit, to be more well-read, that they can learn an important tale and moral lesson, or to use it as a quote to whip out at a convenient time in a council meeting or for intellectual criticism of another philosopher or writer’s thesis. And you both know it’s why each book that was chosen for survival by Vault-Tec was carefully curated, all in the name of intellectual pursuits and other reasons beyond either of your imagination.

“Just further proof why we have rules against familial relations.” You reply after a slow blink, you remember what his sense of humour used to be like in class, how teachers would occasionally stifle an eye roll and sigh or would take a moment to then replaster their smile back on. You look at him, and your eyes can’t help but take in the shape of his nose as if you hadn’t already committed it to memory a thousand times before now.

“Hah.” He says quietly, as if it’s amusing, which he finds to be a little as he lets out a small chuckle and his mouth quirks up and that makes you happy. It’s an expression that doesn’t grace his handsome face often. “Might need to pass that on to Chet, if that’s the case, I doubt he’s read it.”

You let out a chuckle at that, and Norm’s brow furrows for a mere second as he takes you in. His mouth is still in a small smile but not many people find his humour to actually be humorous, his father and Lucy love him but he earns more small sighs and tired smiles from them than anything close to a laugh.

“I’ll let you know when I’m done with this copy.” You reply with another slow blink.

You watch his mouth, mentally tracing his lips with your eyes as he sucks his lips for a moment and nods, his eyes dropping to the ground again. It’s only then that you realise how close the toes of your feet are to each other. He couldn’t be looking down because of that, or thinking about that though. You are cursed to yearn in silence. “Appreciate it.” He says with a small smirk as he looks up at your eyes, he raises his eyebrows slightly to replace any verbal goodbyes and he walks off.

Norm leaves you as he found you minutes before, all alone in false sunlight with a book in your hands. You still haven’t found the missing puzzle pieces.

It had been four days now. Four days since you’d had that conversation with Norm, there had been plenty of stolen glances, and a few returned smiles when your eyes met across corridors or the dining hall, but Norman MacLean was still, one of the only things occupying your mind.

You wouldn’t complain, why would you? How could you when the fact that those glances, and snippets of conversations were now a supercut in your head that provided comfort whenever you started to get into another emotional crisis about vault life and what the history was that had brought everyone to this point. But still, you couldn’t help but sometimes worry over this yearning. How unrequited it could be. How unrequited it felt.

You felt a hunger in the pit of your stomach each time that you saw his shadow, each time you two made eye contact you couldn’t help but feel as if it was a caress on your skin, even though the only time he’d touched you was to help you up when you’d fallen over outside when you were seven. He’d insisted on being the one to put the excessive amount of band-aids on your grazed hands. Hank had stood back and watched, finding it endearing, how concentrated Norm’s face was at such a young age. Maybe they should’ve thought about trialling him in medicine, but no, he probably still lacked the desired enthusiasm during the first-aid training vault-dwellers did.

You were seated with your family for a council update, everyone gathered to sit on the folded chairs, you and your family were always extremely punctual, you sat with them on one side while the other was still a row of a few empty seats.

As people slowly trickle in you see Norm come in, he looks mentally fatigued as he looks around, you turn your head to face your family so you don’t catch his eye in hopes of him not noticing your stare. How pathetic would he think you are if he saw you looking at him like a wide-eyed puppy, begging for love? You can imagine, but you don’t want to know. After a moment you hear somebody sit down next to you, the chatter of people finding seats fills your ears but you don’t hear any from whoever sits down. You feel their arm brush against yours, you know it’s nothing but you instinctively turn to see who it is and to give them a polite and welcoming smile.

It’s Norm. Of course, it’s Norm. But why is it? He’s just facing ahead so he hasn’t acknowledged you yet, although you’re sure he can see your smile and look in his peripheral vision. “Hey.” You say quietly in a warm voice as you look at his handsome side profile, he shouldn’t look that good. His face shouldn’t be so perfectly sculpted. “Hi.” He says quietly as he tilts his head giving you a small look that seems dramatically playful which makes you smile, and let out a silent chuckle. Norm’s face turns back ahead to face the front where his father now stands and the council sit. Your eyes follow his gaze and you turn back in your seat to look straight ahead as Hank MacLean starts his updates in his usual down-to-earth, selfless leader tone.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a sign, him choosing this seat, you even wonder if his arm brushing against you was intentional as he sat down and then again you wonder if you were being crazy for wondering that. As Hank’s words go on to fill the air, they don’t really fill your head, that’s too busy being at full capacity with thoughts of Norman. You rub your chin after a moment, hoping the feeling of your fingertips and nails against your chin might create a sensory distraction. You get a completely different kind of sensory distraction when his arm gently brushes against yours as he leans back in his seat, he adjusts himself so that your shoulders are touching and you can feel his arm against yours. You can’t help but silently gasp, hoping he doesn’t hear it and your breath traps itself as you hold your breath. Feeling far too scared to move. It has to be intentional, you look at him through the corner of your eye as you try not to move. He’s still looking ahead, his expression unfazed as he looks at the people in front of him but he’s still sitting in that position. He hasn’t moved his arm.

It’s intentional.

You try to breathe again as your cheeks heat up, and you bite the corner of your lip. The feeling of his arm against yours sends shivers up your spine and you can feel the warmth of that small point of contact radiating throughout the rest of your body.

The connection you feel with Norm is deep and for the first time in quite a while, this simple gesture of touching arms makes you wonder if these years of yearning maybe aren’t unrequited. You feel your shoulders start to slowly rise and fall again at this thought, this movement hasn’t disturbed Norm away. A smile grows on your face like the corn that’s picked around the year, as you smile and look ahead. The meeting continues like this, it isn’t till the end that you lose that gentle, physical touch, sweet connection that you long for as Norm gets up and leaves to carry on with his day, you smile as he stands up, he gives you as small smile and walks away. You’re now touch-starved all over again, and you think it feels more hollow after feeling a touch from him.

Maybe one day it won’t be just your arms touching but instead your hands, your hands will brush against each other and then your fingers will interlock together. You’re better at camouflaging but you’re certain that your souls are made of and connected by the same things.

It’s been what feels like an eternity since you felt Norm’s simple touch, it’s occupied every thought and been the reason behind nearly every smile since it happened. The question is though, has it been haunting Norm at all? You know he isn’t seeing anyone, secrets like that don’t exist here and it would certainly be talk with how introverted Norm is.

Hours is the amount of time you’ve spent trying to think of a reason to approach him but nothing feels right and you decide against it anytime you get close to it. You try to find any excuse to visit him and the one you can think of is beyond pathetic, and you know that.

You find another copy of a collection of plays and decide to give it to Norm, for him to decide whether he wants to read it or to fulfil a bit. It’s not a good reason, but it’s the best you’d been able to come up with. And at least with the book in your hands there would be some comfort in the pages, the smell of them and the remaining dust that haunted the corners that had been facing the wall. It can ground you and be something to hold onto anxiously while you make a fool of yourself. Norm conveniently answers after you’ve knocked at the MacLean family unit. He looks at your face and raises his eyebrows slightly, his face switches from an apathetic expression to one a bit warmer. “Hey.” You say, smiling at him but you think it must come off as panicked and scared as you look at him with wide eyes and feel an anxious parasite growing and feeding off of you in your brain.

“Hi.” He says as he steps back letting you come into the unit. You walk in, and it’s nice and tidy but it’s the same as essentially your family unit and every other unit in Vault 33. You blink as you look around for a couple of seconds and your eyes land back on him, he’s been watching you the whole time.

“After Lucy?” He asks and you feel your cheeks heat up, you liked Lucy, she was an extremely lovely person and you did consider her a close friend. “No.” You shake your head, the admission makes you feel like coming here was an even worse idea than what you thought it was just a few minutes ago. “I brought a copy of tragedies, in case you needed any dark reading, or wanted to… pass them on…” You continue and bite your lip for a second.

Norm lets out a little chuckle that shakes his shoulders for a second but it’s borderline silent, almost not real. He looks into your eyes and takes a step closer, you’re not sure if he’s going to do the hospitality script you learn from a young age of offering a glass of water or cup of old Joe.

Instead, he quickly steps closer and Norm places his hands on the back of your neck, you sharply exhale and you know that the hair on the back of your neck is standing up. The feeling of goosebumps on every inch of your skin overwhelms your senses as his lips finally crash down.

His lips are slightly chapped and you can feel that against yours, the fine lines and cracks as they press against your mouth. There’s nothing you can do but melt into his touch as you’re overcome with warmth. But there isn’t anything else you’d want to do anyway.

There’s nothing else you can imagine feeling that feels this good. You kiss him back instinctively and put your hand into his hair as he deepens the kiss, his hair is soft and you run your fingers through it as you feel his tongue, and it’s a clash of your mouths against the other.

You immediately wonder if the physical warmth of where your bodies come into contact, his breath against your face, his warm lips, and the warmth that envelops you internally is what sunlight feels like. This feeling basks you in what you imagine would be similar to being basked in the light of sunrays would.

You don’t know how long this lasts, it feels like a sweet lifetime but still deliciously short as you kiss and feel his hair while his hand is gentle on the back of your neck. Like all things, it eventually ends. You look at each other with widened eyes and pant as your lips are no longer in contact. Your cheeks heat up and you almost want to giggle. You see his face is flushed and his eyes shine, you think it’s adoration but you could be projecting.

“My dad will be back soon.” He whispers knowingly as his eyes look glassy. “Oh.” You look around as if that’ll help you feel more composed. You weren’t expecting this to end so abruptly, this felt like something straight out of a dream and now it was a cold end, something want to shapeshift into a nightmare. You know you should leave, you’re feeling far too flustered to try and have a conversation with Hank and you know this isn’t a conversation Norman wants to try navigating around with his father. “We um… Well, we need to talk…” You breathe out.

He smiles and whispers your name, the tone is reverent as he says each syllable. “Not now.” His eyes look a little less glassy but it’s still a visible sheen and you can see it, the sun has withdrawn a little.

“Not now?” You repeat, it comes out as a shaky question though as you feel every muscle in your body tense.

This is rejection, this is what puts all those protagonists you’ve read of into a depression that only the seaside can cure if anything can cure it. Being in this vault, you don’t think you can ask for cornfield projections to change to windy cliffs with waves crashing and the artificial grass to be replaced with manmade sand. You’d always wondered about the sunlight but now you’d have to wonder what sand from a beach felt like as well.

“No.” He whispers. “That isn’t fair. Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” He blinks and his cheeks are flushed as he looks at you.

“When?” “Maybe when you finish the book, not a copy, your book.”

“Not a copy?” Your face scrunches up, as your brain runs screaming.

“No.” He answers. “Yours probably has thoughtful annotations or something right?” He asks.

“Or something.” You whisper back.

“I’ll read that.” He says.

You nod, as you pick up the spare copy and walk out from the MacLean unit, you don’t feel like you’re controlling your body right now, it must be some form of muscle memory. Maybe you need to read and reread every book in the vault to further investigate if what you just felt was sunlight. Or, you wonder, are you still under gaps of sunlight, missing Norm more than anything?

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ladamedusoif · 1 year

Text

Visiting - Chapter 11: My Favourite Work of Art

(Moodboard by @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: Work stresses and the pressures of an impending public talk threaten to derail Ben and Lyd's attempts to do Valentine's Day their way, while news spreads of their romance among the student body.

Word Count: 10k (I'm...sorry?)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (series and chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots to lovers; smut; fingering; oral sex; safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; alcohol consumption; praise kink; self-esteem issues; body and weight insecurity; office sex; students thinking people in their 40s are 'old' (they aren't); some references to previous emotional abuse; references to stress; some minor angst; fluff central and I'm loving it

A/N (further notes at the end of the chapter):

The title for this chapter comes from Chet Baker's 'My Funny Valentine'.

youtube

Thank you to everyone who's shown so much love for this pair so far - every comment, reblog, like, interaction, ask is just a joy to me.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

Cross-posting to AO3 (and if you're reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments - I love you, thank you!)

@julesonrecord and @lunapascal - thank you, extended family members of the dorksicles.

Taglist:

@lunapascal , @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @javierisms , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“Okay - dirty gin martini for Lyd, whiskey sour for Evan, and for me, a negroni sbagliato -”

Ani pauses, looking expectantly at you and Evan.

In unison, you look at each other and pronounce: “with Prosecco in it”, in your sultriest tones, before giggling as Ani settles back into their dark red leather chair, drink in hand.

Evan raises his crystal-cut tumbler. “To us. And to our people.”

“Our people?” Ani arches an eyebrow.

“David, Cass…” He turns in your direction. “And of course, the other half of dorkdom’s greatest love story: Benjamin.”

You roll your eyes, raise your glass, and take a sip of the ice cold cocktail. “To our lovely people.”

Ani and Evan sip their drinks contentedly. You’d tried to meet for a drink every week or so, schedules permitting, since you came to Barrow, and Evan had been adamant that the routine would continue now that you were, in his words, “sickeningly loved-up”.

“Speaking of our lovely people,” Evan asks, reclining in his chair, “what are your V-Day plans?”

Ani scoffs audibly. “V-Day. Fuck, Ev. Me and Cass are going to a nice hotel for the weekend at the end of February, and I’m sending her one of those ridiculous heart-shaped cookies on the day, iced with the message Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism.” They trace their hand through the air, as if illustrating the inscription. Then, a little more quietly: “And, uh, a nice bouquet of her favourite flowers, obviously.”

Evan sighs happily. “I knew you were a romantic, Ani Sen. We’re sending flowers too - David said some shit about how we’re appropriating and queering the established gestures of heteronormative romance, but I know he just wants some cool blooms in his apartment.”

“Everyone loves getting flowers,” you add. “I bet even the most performatively straight dude wouldn’t say no to a really nice hand-tied arrangement.”

You become very aware that both Evan and Ani have trained their gazes on you.

“And what, pray, has love’s young dream cooked up for the great festival of lurrrrrve?” Evan rolls his rs with relish.

“Uh…” You stare at the olive in your glass and take a fortifying sip of your martini.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet. It’s just been so busy and stressful lately - for Ben especially, but for me too. I’ve got that big public talk at the end of next week, you know, and he’s got that big submission to the college board about the diversity and inclusion plan, and that’s due on 15 February, of all days, and it’s hard, because it’s all still so new and so lovely, and we’re having such a gorgeous time, and we love each other so much and we’re trying not to be stressed, but we kind of are, and yeah - yeah. I guess it just hasn’t been on our radar.”

Ani squeezes your hand gently. “Oh, babe. It’s okay, it’s not like it actually matters, right? If your relationship has to conform on one day, then you’ve got bigger problems. And you two are so happy. Even if a bit stressed. Right?”

You nod. “Really, really happy. Fuck, it’s just my overthinking shit again. Should we do something, is it bad if we don’t, is it too late to arrange something at this stage…”

Evan clears his throat. “Girl, you’re spiralling. Again. Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t feel you have to do something just because of me asking.” He sips his whiskey sour as you smile over at him.

“I am making him a gift, though.”

Evan and Ani wheel around in their seats dramatically.

“OH FUCK YOU MISS OH NO PLANS SO STRESSED OH DON’T MIND ME JUST MAKING A GIFT!” Ani shrieks.

You lean over in your seat, laughing hard, grateful for all the love in your life here: the warm, platonic love of your friends as well as the extraordinary, unique love you shared with Ben.

Deep down, though, you know you should probably ask him about Valentine’s Day. Just in case.

“Hi baby, it’s me!”

You close Ben’s front door behind you and drop the key he’d given you on the hall table. The house seems oddly quiet. It wasn’t particularly late, and you could see the lamps were on in the front room, so you assumed he was up. You take off your coat, hang it up, and wander in the direction of the living room.

Since getting together properly - becoming an “us”, as you’d said that cold Saturday morning a month before - you had not spent a night apart. Within a week, he had a drawer at your place and you had one at his; there were two toothbrushes in each of your bathrooms, now; and while you still valued having your own place, for now, you had begun to settle into a kind of loving domesticity stretched across two locations.

If you’d been twenty years younger, this would have been moving worryingly fast. Now, though, it felt right in every way. You’d both been through enough to know what you wanted, and to know how you felt about each other. Even in the midst of a stressful time, each passing day only deepened the love that was still so new. Each tiny act of love, however practical or mundane, strengthened the bond between you.

An example: Ben was astonished when, one evening at your place when you realised he’d not only removed your laundry from the dryer but carefully folded it and placed it in the basket, ready for you to put away (he still didn’t really know where everything went), you’d thrown yourself at him for a huge hug, tears in your eyes.

“I just folded your laundry, baby, it’s not a big thing! Why are you crying?”

You looked at him, slightly blurry through your tearful gaze, thinking about what you could say to explain. That you’d spent over a decade in a relationship where your partner wouldn’t even think of taking your laundry out of the dryer, let alone folding it and neatly leaving it for you to put away. That you’d become so attuned to a partner doing absolutely nothing to make your life better or easier that you had come to see even the tiniest gesture as a major one.

Instead, you’d leaned in and kissed Ben softly on the mouth. “I’m crying because I’m so happy. Because you’re the kindest, most loving man I’ve ever met. And you love me.”

You open the door into the living room now, slightly mellow after your martini, and discover Ben sitting up, asleep on the couch: glasses askew, papers and notes for the diversity initiative scattered around his sleeping form, and (somehow, miraculously) his laptop still safely on his knees, his broad hands resting lightly on the keyboard.

Your heart melts at the sight. You tiptoe carefully over towards him, afraid of startling him and sending the laptop flying.

“Ben?” you whisper, very gently stroking the crown of his head before lifting his laptop onto the coffee table. “Hey. It’s me.”

He blinks awake and his eyes pop open as he turns and sees you, smiling warmly at the sight. “Lyddie. Hi, darling. Shit… was I asleep?”

You sit beside him on the arm of the couch, not wanting to disturb the random spread of paperwork, and feel his arm wrap around your waist. “You were. Fuck, baby, you’re working too hard on this.”

He shakes his head drowsily, rummaging around for his notes and looking for his laptop. “It has to be perfect.”

You put a hand on his, to still his movements. “No such thing. And even if there was, it won’t be perfect if you’re writing it half-asleep, Ben.” You look in the direction of the kitchen. “Did you at least eat?”

He nods and smiles cheekily. “I did, but only because some sexy art historian came over last night and brought enough lasagne to feed the five thousand. Or at least, to feed two academics for a couple of nights.”

“Sexy, huh?” You lean closer to him, admiring the line of his neck as he looks up at you, eyes scanning your upper body for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well, now that I know you’re fed and watered…why don’t you put away the work for tonight and take a sexy art historian to bed?”

Ben trails his hand under your sleep shirt, gently stroking the soft flesh of your breast with his thumb as you kiss languidly, your hand reaching into his boxers.

He shifts on top of you as you tug down his shorts and hitch up your knees. You feel him resting hard and heavy on your soft belly as he continues to kiss you, one hand caressing your face with the greatest care.

But it’s pretty obvious he’s fighting sleep. His eyelids are heavy, he struggles to keep his eyes open, and when they’re closed - even as he kisses you - you feel like he might just nod off there and then. No one wants their boyfriend to fall asleep on top of them, of course - but he’s got a good excuse. And he’s trying so valiantly to stay awake that your heart swells with affection.

“Baby,” you murmur. “Baby?”

“Mmmmmfh?”

“Baby, look at me.”

His beautiful dark eyes barely peek at you from under his heavy lids, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Darling, you’re nodding off. You need to sleep, love.”

Ben looks disappointed in himself, even as he shifts his body off you and back to his side of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Lyd. I shouldn’t be falling asleep on you like that, that’s not fair.”

You turn to face him and reach for his hand. “Ben, you were asleep on the fucking couch at 9.30pm. You’re getting up really early to go to work on the project. It has nothing to do with me or you or what we feel for each other.” You kiss him softly. “You’re just really overworked.”

He trails his long fingers over your hip. “Well…maybe. But I want you, darling. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Of course I do. And you can show me tomorrow, hmmm? So get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”

He grabs you with a growl and pulls you in to him, holding you close as you squeal delightedly. “You too, baby. I’m a man of my word.”

“And I’m a woman of mine.”

The two of you blink awake at 6am after a blissfully uninterrupted night of sleep, feeling thoroughly restored.

“My lovely girl.”

“My handsome boy.”

A lazy kiss and cuddle soon becomes more urgent: hands roaming under each other’s nightclothes, seeking to discard them as quickly as possible; soft giggles as your head gets stuck in your sleep shirt turning to gentle sighs of pleasure as he dips his clever fingers between your legs; low moans from him as you straddle his body and take him inside you; cries of mutual pleasure as you come in quick succession.

You turn your heads to face each other as you flop back onto the bed, sweating, sated, and wide awake. Ben looks at his phone.

“Not bad going for quarter to 7 in the morning, huh?”

You laugh out loud, turning to rest a hand on his tummy. “What’s that Dusty Springfield song?” You sing lightly: “Just a little lovin’/Early in the morning/Beats a cup of coffee/For starting off the day”

Ben is staring at you like you’re a marvel. “Well, shit. You really can sing. Is there anything you can’t do?”

You flash him a sceptical look. “If I start listing all those things, we’ll be here all week. But thank you.”

He reaches over and pulls you to him for another cuddle.

“Hey, Ben?” you ask, head resting on his shoulder. “Do you…do you want to, like, do something, for Valentine’s? I understand if it’s not your thing, I’m not a fan of the cheesy stuff but I thought -”

“Fuck. I got you a - no, never mind what I got you. But I completely forgot about making actual plans.” He traces a line along your shoulder. “Other than spending time with you, of course.”

“You know that’s fine with me, love.”

He shakes his head lightly. “No, we should at least go for dinner.” He kisses your forehead, nose pressing against your scalp. “It’s been a very long time since I had a Valentine.”

Later that morning, you pop your head into the faculty office, where Susan is typing rapidly and humming contentedly to herself.

“Hi, Susan. You don’t happen to know what room Ben’s in for his ten o’clock lecture, do you?”

She looks up at you and beams, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I remember this phase with Nick. Couldn’t stay away from each other.”

“Well, uh, not quite…” You hold up the dark blue hardcover notebook in your right hand. “He needs this for the session and I’m not sure if he knows he left it at home. I’d like to get there before the lecture starts, so if you know the room…?”

She gives her head a little shake, as if snapping herself out of her reverie, and with a few clicks of her mouse brings up the master timetable. “Okay… yep. Aubyn Building, room 015 - that’s the small-ish lecture theatre on the ground floor.” You thank her and are about to dash off when she calls you back.

Susan’s smile has become slightly menacing as she stares you down. “We’re all so happy for the two of you. But don’t you dare hurt that lovely man.”

You gulp audibly. “I promise I won’t. Um…yeah. See you later, Susan.”

You arrive at the lecture room with five minutes to spare, and most of the students are already sitting in the tiered rows, chattering brightly to each other as they whip out their laptops and tablets to take notes (or, let’s face it, do anything but take notes). Ben, dressed in a chartreuse green sweater with the collar of his white button-down shirt just visible, is standing at the podium and staring into his messenger bag with a puzzled expression. Though the lecture theatre is not particularly large, he’s wearing one of the radio mics available in the bigger teaching rooms, to ensure his voice will carry without strain.

You bounce quickly down the steps in your denim pinafore dress and floral-print blouse, brandishing the notebook. “Looking for something?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to make a fuss in front of Ben’s entire sophomore option class.

He raises his head and turns, smiling in surprise and delight. “I was starting to wonder if it had fallen out on the way over here this morning,” he says, taking the notebook and looking at it like it’s a Shakespeare First Folio. “I’d have been in trouble without this today.”

You shrug. “You’d have been fine, you know this stuff inside and out. But I remember you making revisions to the lecture in the notebook, so I’m glad I got it to you in time. See you later.” You turn and walk back towards the stairs to the exit.

“Thanks baby, love you.” Ben’s tone is casual, because telling you he loves you is now a kind of reflex for him, and vice versa.

Except right now, he’s got a radio mic on, and his sweet, nonchalant declaration of love has just been broadcast to the entire lecture theatre. You’ve never seen a classroom full of chatty students fall silent quite so quickly before.

You try to look back as subtly as possible. He’s flushed pink at the podium, the colour stark against the white of his collar and the green of his sweater, eyes wide and panicked behind his glasses as he stammers and stutters. All the while, the students swivel their heads looking at the two of you, whispers and giggles starting to build in their ranks.

“It’s okay!” you mouth to him. “See you later!”

The eyes of the students bore into you as you make your way towards the classroom door, trying desperately to avoid any accidental eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a handful who are also taking your class this semester - some of whom you’ll see for a seminar in just two hours’ time.

Oh, fuck.

As you walk back to your building you try to reason with yourself. It’s not like you’re hiding your relationship, even if you’re not going around broadcasting your feelings for each other to all and sundry, and it’s not inappropriate or against the rules for you to be together. The students would probably have worked it out at some point. Hell, you got the feeling some of them already thought you were together. And it’s not like Ben had uttered something graphic or overly intimate, right?

All he said was he loves you. In front of a whole class of students. Who heard every word.

You buy a coffee from the little cart outside the library and try to reassure yourself. “It’s fine,” you think to yourself. “They’ll forget it quickly and move on to the next drama.”

Your seminar with the sophomores has been reassuringly drama-free thus far, save for some knowing glances from the students who’d been in Ben’s lecture earlier that morning. The students are working in small groups on exercises you’ve set around image analysis, using iPads to zoom in on a selection of visual sources and referring back to the set text for that week as they put together their commentary.

You glance out the glass-panelled door of the classroom, just in time to make eye contact, unexpectedly, with Ben as he moves down the hallway. He grins at you, and your face immediately breaks into a smile.

“Omigoooood, they’re so fuckin cute!” It’s not clear if the student realised quite how loud they were being, or whether they meant for you to hear, but their whispered comment immediately attracts your attention. They flush and sink down a little in their seat, looking like they might be about to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry Lydia, I didn’t mean…”

You bite your lip and think for a moment, folding your arms as you bring yourself to sit on the desk at the top of the room. “Y’know what? Get it out of your systems.”

The students stare at you, open-mouthed. “You mean…?”

“I mean: get it out of your systems, in whatever way you want. Within reason and appropriate personal boundaries. But only if you promise to focus on the sources afterwards, okay?”

They nod, looking at each other as if to confirm that they’re not being set up. One girl shyly raises her hand. “Um…so are you and professor Morales…”

“We are a couple, yes. Next quest-“

The babble from the students drowns you out.

Awwwwwwww she’s so fuckin cute I mean of course he would wanna be with her dude he was never with Professor Arden what the fuck dude girl don’t get upset you were never gonna get with a professor I don’t care what you read in stories I thought they were together already do you think they’re getting married omg what if they have babies no don’t be silly they’re probably too old it’s just so nice that old people can fall in love

At the sound of “old people” you call a halt. “Alright, I think you’ve got it out of your system. Fair?”

A student near the back lifts their hand. “You’re happy, though, right? You look happy.”

You nod and smile. “Yeah, I’m happy. We’re happy. Okay, so, if we return to what Hall says he-“

Another hand. “Does this mean you’re gonna stay at Barrow?”

You feel your heart sink and you try to keep a bright expression on your face. “Haven’t got that far yet.”

A girl near the front looks panic-stricken. “Oh my god. Is Professor Ben gonna leave with you?!” Her classmates look equally stressed out by the thought, looking at you as if you’re about to take away their favourite pet.

“I… no? I don’t…uh…” You try valiantly to suppress the panic building in your own chest. “Like I said. Haven’t got that far, not for you to worry about. Okay?”

They nod, but eye you suspiciously for the rest of the session.

Ben is packing up his things when you knock on his office door later that evening, ready to go home. It’s his busiest day in the week and you haven’t even been able to meet for lunch or a quick coffee. He looks up from his bag, smiles at you, and then immediately flushes pink again.

“I’m so, so sorry about earlier, Lyddie, I completely forgot where we were and then the radio mic and oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so-“

You stop his anxious train of thought with a little kiss to the lips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been fretting over that all day?”

He shrugs, but his eyes answer in the affirmative. You move in for a little hug.

“Darling, it’s fine. They’d have found out sooner or later, even if I wasn’t quite expecting a mass announcement to your option class.”

“I know, but… fuck. You know what students are like.” He closes the flap on his bag and reaches for his woollen coat and sky-blue scarf, hanging on the coatstand. “Evan told me that - and I quote - our ‘shenans’ had completely derailed his queer theory workshop group, because they wouldn’t - and I quote again - ‘shut the fuck up about it’.”

He switches off his desk lamp and you both move into the hallway, Ben turning back to lock his door. You stroll down the corridor and around the corner towards the stairs that lead to the main entrance.

“I should probably warn you,” you offer, “that you might hear some rumours about you leaving.”

He turns abruptly, looking completely lost.

“Remember you walked past my classroom today? Well, my seminar group asked me if I was staying, because of us. I said I didn’t know…and then one of them asked if you were going to leave when my year was done.”

His eyes widen.

“And you said…?”

You have no idea if your answer is what he would have wanted you to say to them.

“And I said no, I don’t know, haven’t got there yet, etc.” You exhale. “I just worried that you might hear it back once it’s been filtered through the student rumour mill a few times.”

Ben reaches for your hand as you reach the door of the building, giving it a squeeze. He’s quieter, not saying much but continuing to hold your hand as you walk with him towards the staff secure bike shelter, where he unlocks his bicycle and pops his messenger bag in one of the panniers on the back.

“Oh!” he exclaims as he finishes affixing his bike lights, “I do have some good news.”

You raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Lino’s had ONE table left on Valentine’s Day. Now, admittedly it’s at 5pm but if you’re okay with an early dinner…”

“Early dinner means more time at home with you for, um, dessert?”

He rolls his eyes, smiles, and gives you a soft kiss before putting on his bike helmet. Errant curls stick up here and there through the vents in the blue plastic and you melt all over again.

“I’ll see you at your place? Hope you’re ready for my famous enchiladas!”

You nod and wave before turning in the opposite direction towards the pedestrian route, leading off campus and towards your street.

As you walk, you find it difficult to shake off the memory of how quiet he had become after you told him about the students and their questions. Would he have answered them differently?

Regardless of how happy and comfortable and forever your relationship feels right now, you know deep down it’s far too early to talk about the future in that much detail. You don’t want him to think you’re asking him to make a call - make a commitment - that he’s probably still a long way off even thinking about.

You also know, though, that there’s an invisible countdown to the day you’ll need to have the conversation, and that it started running the moment you first kissed.

“Lyddie? You ready? Gotta go, my love.”

Ben calls to you from your living room. You’re standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, stomach twisting with nerves ahead of your public lecture, and you wish to God you looked…well, better.

Your slides are prepped. Your notes are ready. You’ve run through the talk’s outline with Ani as well as Ben. “You got this,” you murmur to yourself, and try to suppress the voice that wants to chime in with a jibe about your body, your grey hairs, your wrinkles.

You blot your lipstick and emerge into the living room. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ben turns, mouth slightly open, and raises his eyebrows as his gaze takes you in from head to toe.

You tend to wear skirts and dresses when you teach. But for this talk, for whatever reason, you’ve pulled out a scarlet red pantsuit, high-waisted pants cut slim to the leg and tapering to end just above the ankle, jacket with wide lapels and long enough to end just below your ass. Underneath, a vintage-style cream satin blouse, buttoned to the neck and a black velvet ribbon tied under the collar in place of a necktie.

Black velvet pumps on your feet, oversized brass earrings, a vintage brooch your grandmother had given you on your lapel, and a slick of Lady Danger across your mouth.

He runs a thumb over his lower lip.

“Oh, god, it’s shit, isn’t it? I should have known I couldn’t get away with this, not with my fat arse and stupid tummy and ugh, it’s like I don’t realise how shit I actually look until -”

“LYD!”

You take a step back. Ben didn’t yell, exactly, but you’ve never heard him speak so firmly to you.

His face softens and he moves to hug you. “Aw, god, Lyd, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just - please stop picking holes in yourself. Please. You do it so often, it’s like an involuntary response.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’d never lie to you, Lydia. So believe me when I say: you look fucking incredible in that.”

You giggle, head resting against his chest. “You’re just saying that.”

He breaks away, meets your gaze, and sighs. “I said I don’t lie. And I say you look…” his eyes flit up and down your body appreciatively. “You look perfect. Smart, and stylish, and so goddamned sexy I don’t know how I’m going to get through watching you in that for an hour.”

You burst out laughing. “Alright, darling man. You’ve convinced me. ALLONS-Y!”

You steal a glance at your watch as you reach the last paragraph of your paper. For once in your life, you’ve got your timing spot on.

“To bring this talk to a close, let’s situate these visual representations of revolutionary military masculinities across painting and print can help to shift our understanding of what it meant to literally embody the values of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic empire.”

The final slide. The final points. A confident “Thank you.” And, to your delight, sustained applause in the packed lecture theatre. You look up towards the back rows, dead centre, where Ben, Ani, Evan, Jen, and David had said they’d be sitting - far enough away from the front so that you won’t see them and get distracted, but within a clear line of sight from the podium in case you panic and need some reassurance.

Ani is pumping their fist in the air, whooping and hollering. Evan is applauding hard, mouthing “YES, GIRL!”

Ben isn’t taking his eyes off you, a huge smile on his face as he applauds and applauds, not showing any intention of stopping. He looks…proud. You look up at him, shrugging and mouthing the words “Was it okay?”

He nods enthusiastically, and mouths back: “You’re fucking amazing.”

When the questions and discussion are over, and the majority of the audience have filed out of the theatre, Ani and Evan come down to the rostrum to invite you and Ben for drinks to celebrate what Evan was calling “your triumph.”

“I’ll even buy you champagne,” he promises, hugging you tightly. “Well. Maybe one glass. Or two glasses. I’m not made of money.”

“I am there. I can think of nothing better than a glass of champagne right now.”

Ani grins. “Hey, Lyd? We’ll be at the Lake Bar in the hotel. You guys can just follow us whenever, you probably need to leave stuff in your office anyway. Sound good?”

You turn back to Ani and nod. “Sounds very good. The Lake Bar! Fancy pants.”

The Lake Bar is tiny but formal, the only bar in Barrow’s only hotel and certainly not your usual haunt for drinks with friends. It’s also probably the only place you could get champagne for many miles.

“Text me when you guys are heading out, okay?”

You nod as they walk up the steps of the lecture theatre and begin to pack up your notes. It’s just the two of you, at last.

“You okay there, Benjamin? I’m just going to leave this stuff in my office, and then we can -“

Before you can finish your sentence, he’s cupping your face in his big hands and kissing you like a man off to war. You reciprocate, opening your lips gladly when his tongue sweeps over them and moaning softly into his mouth. You can feel the shiver of pleasure that runs through him.

You break away, his hand stroking your cheek affectionately. You reach out to wipe the traces of your lipstick off his mouth.

“So it was okay, then?”

“Yeah, it was okay, I guess.” He laughs, warm and deep, and takes hold of your hand, leading the way quickly up and out of the theatre and in the direction of your office. You giggle as you try to keep up, Ben looking back at you every so often with a huge smile on his face.

You turn on your desk lamp, shuck off your tote bag full of notes, and exhale, stretching your arms and rolling your shoulders. “Fuck, I’m so relieved that’s done. Can I have a congratulatory hug?”

Ben drops his coat on the spare chair and wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your hands feel the stretch of the cotton plaid of his shirt against his broad back, and the sensation goes straight to your core.

“I’m so proud of you, Lyddie,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking amazing. Watching you do your thing up there, so smart and funny and bright and engaging and -”

You can feel his cock hardening against you, even through his dark jeans. You raise an eyebrow and lean back to look at Ben.

“Um… does the sight of me in full academic flow do it for you, Professor?”

He blushes a little and gives you a flash of his most puppy-dog expression, brown eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Y’know, I think it does. Especially in this outfit. Fuck, you look so good.”

He tilts his head, and the sensation of his soft mouth and coarse beard against the delicate skin of your neck makes you sigh with pleasure.

“Tell me.”

He chuckles lightly as he continues to ghost kisses against your throat. “It’s fucking sexy watching your mind work like that,” he says, voice low and warm, as your hands move up his chest to start loosening his tie. “Such an intelligent, gorgeous girl.”

His praise makes your cunt ache for him. You perch on the edge of your desk, the position so familiar from the night of the holiday party a couple of months before, and grab a tissue to wipe off what remains of your lipstick before kissing him hard as you reach for his waistband. He holds you up with one broad hand at your back, as he hastily works your blouse open with the other.

Ben’s about to slip his fingers under your waistband when this fantasy scenario made real is abruptly interrupted by a cheery, southern English voice greeting you.

“Hiya!”

“What the FUCK?” Ben swivels around, holding an arm across your chest in a chivalrous attempt at giving you privacy, while trying to buckle his belt with the other. You do up your blouse as best you can and thank the universe that you hadn’t got as far as shedding your pants yet.

“I thought you’d locked the door,” you mutter, as you stand up and Ben shifts behind you so he can do up his waistband.

“I thought YOU had locked the door.”

To your astonishment, though, the owner of the cheery English voice doesn’t seem to have realised that he’s interrupted anything, or noticed your hasty efforts to make yourselves decent.

In fact, he’s kept up a stream of consciousness chatter since he came into your office, oblivious to your and Ben’s panic. When you finally direct your attention to him he’s saying something about Napoleon and pyramids while searching for something in the brown satchel he’s wearing across his body.

“I…hi?” He pulls out an iPad covered in what look like stickers depicting Egyptian deities and looks up at you, mouth slightly open.

“Hi. I’m sorry, can you repeat all that, please? We…I mean, I didn’t catch a lot of it. Who - who are you, again?”

The man gives you a lopsided smile. He’s small, angular, and dark, wavy hair parted at the side and falling untidily over his eyes. There’s what can only be described as an aura of chaos surrounding him.

“I’m Steven!” He seems surprised that he’s having to introduce himself. “I’m a postdoctoral fellow in archaeology - well, now, actually I’m an Egyptologist by trade, in point of fact, but you don’t have an Egyptology department so I’m in archaeology, haha.” He steps towards you, flipping open the cover of his iPad. “I was at your talk just now - really good by the way, really liked some of the paintings you had in the slides - and I thought blimey, wonder if she’s got thoughts on Denon’s Description of Egypt, and then I thought oh well Steven you’ve got it on your iPad don’t you? And I said right well I bet she’d like to talk about that and I looked up your office and-”

Ben has moved to the door of your office and looks pointedly at you over Steven’s head as the postdoc swipes frantically through his files, trying to locate the book in question. “Professor? I’ll be in my office, whenever you’re finished with, um, Steven.”

“Aha! Here it is in all its glory.” Steven has found the digitised copy of the huge, early nineteenth-century study of Egypt, undertaken to document the expedition led by Napoleon in the late 1790s. You smile politely and shrug in Ben’s direction as he sighs and heads in the direction of his office.

You’d managed to keep your chat to a minimum, in part by promising to meet Steven during your office hours that coming week. A familiar silhouette appears at your open door.

“You finished talking Egyptology, Lyd?” Ben leans against the doorframe.

“I am. He’s a sweet kid, really. I mean, I don’t think he’s that young, but…” You give your head a little shake, as if resetting yourself. “Anyway. Let’s go. I’m surprised Evan hasn’t left us some furious voice notes.”

Ben steps into your office, shutting the door very carefully behind him and swiping the air to dismiss the idea as he strides towards you. “Pfffft. They’ll be alright, they’re in a bar.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling the curls at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “Darling, we’re already running very late…”

“So?” He guides you back to sit on the edge of your desk and resumes his trail of kisses down the side of your neck.

“So…” You pull him close to you, fingers hooked inside his waistband, and moan as his hands rove up your body, grabbing handfuls of you through the silk of your blouse.

He quirks an eyebrow and smiles, looking down at your fingers already working to undo his belt buckle. “You want to stop, Lyd, and we’ll stop. Do you want to stop?”

You lean in and kiss him as you discard your suit jacket, push yourself further back on the desk, and guide his hands under your own waistband.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

“How many drinks have we had now? Two?!” Jen looks at her phone and shakes her head. “I’m starting to worry.”

“I’m not,” Evan mutters darkly over the rim of his glass. “I’m gonna win our bet, Jennykins.” He shifts his gaze towards the door of the hotel bar. “Aha! Right on cue.”

He leads the group in a slow, sardonic hand-clap as you and Ben walk sheepishly over to your table, apologising profusely as you take off your coats and hats.

“Guys, I’m so sorry!” You settle into a cosy leather chair beside Jen. “A postdoc called to my office to talk about the Egyptian campaign and…”

Jen looks at you, then at Ani, who looks at David, who looks at Evan, who casts an appraising eye over Ben.

“Well, I’ll take that twenty bucks now, Jennifer. And Benjamin? You owe each of us a drink.”

“Me?” Ben looks incredulous. “Why?!”

Jen pats her old friend’s arm and shakes her head sympathetically. “Hon, your shirt isn't tucked in properly and Lydia seems to have lost her little necktie. Be real.”

Ben’s ears turn a deep pink as he stands up and fishes for his wallet.

He’s up very early on Valentine’s Day, the looming deadline for his report and funding application pulling him, reluctantly, out of your arms and your bed.

You stir under the comforter, propping yourself up to watch him dress. You bite your lip as he pulls on his white undervest, admiring the way the ribbed cotton fabric fits so beautifully over the solid breadth of his torso and tummy. He slips on a pale blue shirt, leaving it open as he looks for his pants.

You can’t help yourself. “Ooof.”

Ben turns around as he grabs his pants, and quirks a smile at you. “Ooof?”

“Just like what I see, that’s all. Ooof.”

He grins as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I look forward to hearing more about this later, Lyddie.”

You reach around and wrap your arms around his middle, kissing the back of his neck. “Happy Valentine’s, darling.”

In truth, you didn’t mind the extra couple of early morning hours on your own, as it gave you time to finish and wrap Ben’s gift before heading to work. You’re brushing your teeth when you hear your door buzzer sound.

“Delivery for, uh, Lydia?” It’s barely 9am on Valentine’s Day and the delivery guy already sounds like he’s in the throes of an existential crisis.

You run down to the main door and sign for your delivery: a perfect bouquet of palest pink camellias, wrapped in brown paper. You smile as you inhale their scent, and immediately put them in a vase.

LYDIA: Thank you for the flowers, love. They’re perfect. And camellias! You really didn’t have to.

BEN: No flowers for my girl on Valentine’s? Who do you think I am?!😉

BEN: (I read an article about how environmentally-unfriendly roses are at this time of year and they suggested camellias. I’m so glad you like them.)

LYDIA: I love them. And I love you.

Before you leave for work, you take one camellia bloom from the vase and cut it slightly shorter. You wrap the stem in moist paper towels, then in plastic wrap, and place it carefully in a ziploc bag to bring to your office.

“Check her out. Fuck, I love her.”

Over coffee, Ani is showing you photos they’ve got from Cass, who received her enormous Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism cookie bright and early that morning. In one, she’s holding up the heart-shaped biscuit triumphantly; in another, she’s snapped it in half with a raging expression; and finally, there’s one of her eating an enormous chunk of it, face slightly smeared with half-melted chocolate chips and frosting.

“Aww!”

Ani stares at you. “What?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever actually said that in front of me.” You smile gently. “I’m so happy for you two. Looks like Valentine’s really is changing you, huh…”

“You shut the fuck up right now or I will lick that ridiculous cupcake you’ve got.”

They’re pointing aggressively at the college canteen’s special baked offering for the big day, a red velvet cupcake topped with an extraordinary amount of frosting and covered in edible red glitter.

You chuckle and stick a finger in the frosting, picking up a generous amount before popping it in your mouth. “Aha! Touché.” Your phone lights up with an incoming call from Ben, and you swipe to answer with your clean hand.

“Hi, love! You okay? You must be really up against it if you can’t even come for coffee…”

“Uh… yeah. It’s…yeah.”

You get up from your seat, mouthing to Ani that you’ll be back, and move into the hallway. “Ben? What’s wrong?”

He exhales. “They’ve asked for another section to be added to the proposal by tomorrow. I thought I could get it out of the way quickly but then I realised it needed more data and I’m trying to find that and put the details in and it’s just complicated and I dunno it’s not really hanging together and -”

“Ben? Breathe.”

He inhales and exhales slowly. His voice is quiet and hesitant.

“I don’t think I can get it done by five, Lyd. I’m - fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so disappointed in myself, and I’ll try so hard to make this up to you, I promise.”

You lean against the wall as a group of chattering students ambles past. “Darling. There’s nothing to make up to me, nothing at all. We’ll have dinner at the weekend or something, I’ll see you later tonight, it’ll be perfect.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can almost feel his disappointment through the phone.

“Ben? Honestly, I don’t mind.”

He sighs. “Okay. I love you very much, you know?”

“I do. And I love you very much too. I’ll pop by with some coffee later, okay?”

You hang up and rejoin Ani in the staff lounge.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” You’re thinking, trying to formulate a plan. “Hey - what are you doing around five this evening?”

The desk light is on in Ben’s office when you call by later that evening, but there’s no sign of him. You peer through the glass panel, and there he is: sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of his desk, printed-out drafts of the various sections of the proposal spread out in front of him and a pot of coloured highlighter markers to hand.

His tie is loosened, top collar buttons undone, and his brown-framed glasses have fallen forward on his nose. From the looks of things, he’s been running his hands through his hair a lot, curls standing on end and falling this way and that, the light catching the streaks of silver that pepper his dark hair.

He looks tired, but he breaks into a wide smile when he sees you and pushes himself up to standing as you enter the room. You place the large insulated bag and jute grocery tote you’ve been carrying on a chair and he wraps you in a warm, tight hug.

“Is it weird that I really needed this hug?” he mumbles into the crown of your head.

You smile and breathe in his familiar scent: more top notes of coffee today, the spicy undertone of his cologne, the clean smell of his shower gel - your shower gel, actually - and the hints of paper and pencils that seem to be part of his olfactory essence.

“Not weird at all.” You pull away and look at him, gently caressing the side of his face. “I hope you’re hungry, by the way.”

Ben looks puzzled as you reach for the two bags, unzipping the insulated carrier and flooding the office with the delicious scent of good Italian food.

“Lyddie, what the fuck is going on?”

You reach into the jute bag and retrieve two plates, two tumblers, some cutlery, and a bottle of red wine, placing them on Ben’s desk.

“If Ben Morales can’t come to Lino’s, then Lino’s will come to Ben Morales. Okay if I move some of these papers, love?”

He nods, brow furrowed as he tries to make his overworked brain understand. You shift his work materials out of the way and lay out two table settings on one side of the desk.

“Mixed mushroom fettucine, right?” Ben nods again, and you place the takeaway container on one of the plates. “And the carbonara for me, and some sides of green salad and that gorgeous focaccia they do… Okay! Sit.”

Ben pulls a chair up to the desk and opens the container of pasta, sighing happily at the aroma. You open the wine and pour a small glass each, and are ready to settle down to your own meal when you realise you’ve forgotten something.

“Shit! Wait. Hold on.” You reach again into the tote bag and pull out two of your vintage candlesticks, cheap finds from thrift stores over the years, as well as a pack of tall white candles and some matches. Their soft light flickers against the walls of books, illuminating the lines and contours of your faces as you share this most idiosyncratic and intimate of Valentine’s dinners.

Ben raises his glass, and you clink yours off it. “How… how?”

You shrug, twirling some linguine around your fork. “I promised Ani I’d cover for them at the next open day if they drove me over to Lino’s. The guys over there were only too glad to box up the food as a takeout - especially when they heard who it was for.”

Ben sips his wine. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you. And I still feel bad that our first Valentine’s Day plans were a bust.”

You reach for his hand, rubbing your thumb over his tattoo. “You deserve everything good because you’re you. Our plans weren’t a bust - we’re still having dinner, aren’t we?” He smiles as he concedes the point.

“And… first Valentine’s Day, hmmm?” You raise your eyebrows.

Ben looks into your eyes as he turns your hand over to hold it in his broad palm. There’s a voice inside him that wants to tell you straight out, here and now, that he wants this for the rest of his life, the rest of your lives: you, him, an “us”, forever.

But there’s another, louder voice that tells him it’s still a bit too early for that. He doesn’t want to spook you, or make you think he’s asking for some kind of commitment so soon.

So he just raises his eyebrows and grins at you. “First of many, I hope?”

His key turns in the door at about 10pm. You pop your head round the door of the living room as he’s walking down his hallway, coat and bag already discarded near the front door.

“Is it…?”

“It is…done. And sent.” He does a series of air punches as he saunters towards you, and you wave your arms in the air with delight before leaning in for a kiss, taking his hands, and pulling him gently towards the living room.

“So - there are about two hours of Valentine’s Day left. Not that expressing and celebrating love is a one-day affair, of course.”

“Of course!” he nods with exaggerated seriousness, before his expression shifts to one of surprised delight when he sees the candles flickering around his living room, the bright fire that’s burning in the small stove, and the champagne on the table.

The soft light catches his sparkling eyes. “Oh, you’re too cute, Lyddie.”

“But if you’re too tired…”

He pulls you to him and kisses you hard, hands gliding down the silk fabric of the vintage robe you’re wearing and seeking out handfuls of you along the way.

“I will take that as a ‘no, I am not too tired, Lyd’.”

He arches an eyebrow and takes off his glasses, the lenses already a little fogged up. “Definitely not too tired.” He looks you up and down, admiring the loose folds of the printed silk. “That’s a beautiful thing.”

“Picked it up for next to nothing in a second-hand shop years ago.” You preen a little to show it off. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

He nods solemnly, and you undo the belt of the robe, letting it fall open as you stand in front of him.

“Oh, my god.” Ben moves close to you, slipping his long fingers under the edge of the robe to reveal the soft flesh of your bare shoulders and the full, plush outline of your naked breasts. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That is indeed the plan, love.”

He pauses and chuckles, then eases the rest of the robe off you and places it on the armchair before exploring the contours and creases and folds of your bare form with his gentle fingertips. His mouth is open a little, as if he’s astonished by the sight of you: illuminated in candlelight. Soft. Warm. Curvy. Inviting.

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

You tilt your head in the direction of the fireplace and the cosy fire burning in the stove. He sees the soft blankets and pillows laid out on the rug in front of the hearth, and he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You start to undress him, loosening his tie and helping him out of his shirt and pants.

He moves as if to take off his undervest and boxer briefs and you still his hands. “Uh… maybe keep the vest. For the moment.”

The light from the stove casts shadows over you, body writhing on the blankets as Ben works another orgasm from you with a quirk of his thick, talented fingers.

He’s focused his attention on you, on your pleasure, since you’d stretched out together in front of the hearth. “It’s only fair,” he’d whispered, kissing your neck and collarbones, his warm, solid frame resting above you. “Want to show you how much I love you - all of you.”

With his mouth and fingers leading the way, he had taken you on a kind of guided tour of your own body, praising every bit of you as he went. The curve of your hips. The specific shape of your mouth. The softness of your belly. The strength of your thighs. The line of your neck. The velvet weight of your breasts when he holds them in his big hands.

He sucked lightly on your nipples, tracing his thumb over the pebbled skin. “These are spectacular tits, Lyd. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

You’d laughed and wound your fingers through his hair. “Did you often imagine what my tits were like before you actually got to see them, or…”

He groaned in embarrassment, burying his head against your chest. “Maybe a little.” He lifted his face slightly and looked up at you. “I was admiring respectfully. You can’t blame me, they’re fucking amazing.”

He quickly worked his way down your body, running his mouth and tongue over the soft flesh of your middle and settling himself between your thighs before reaching his hand up to part the wet folds of your pussy, sighing happily as he did so.

“And this is…so beautiful.”

He trailed two fingers along the wet seam, slipping the tips into your cunt, before they were replaced by his lips and tongue.

One orgasm. Two. And now, what was this - three?

You whine with need. “Please, baby. Want you now.”

He shifts his body on top of yours and kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around him, then leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Can I roll you over and take you from behind?”

You kiss him again before shifting onto your front, enjoying the sensation of the soft blankets against your naked breasts and belly. Ben grabs another pillow and places it under your head. His weight on top of you is warm and grounding, the broad span of his shoulders eclipsing yours.

He brings his lips to the back of your neck as he gently slips inside with a long, low moan, feeling the plush flesh of your ass against him as he bottoms out. Even as he starts to move, even as he picks up the pace and fucks you harder, he’s ever the conscientious, considerate lover. Every now and then he leans in to ask if you’re okay, if it feels good for you, to tell you how beautiful you are, and to remind you how much he loves you.

You can tell he’s close, and you know another peak is building in you. You reach up and pull one of the cushions from under your head.

“Can you pull back just for a second? Wanna lift my hips up and…”

He does as he’s asked and you slip the cushion under your hips, adjusting yourself until you hear him groan with pleasure and you know it’s just the right angle for the two of you. Ben slips a hand under you to cup your breast as he fucks you hard, pulling one final climax from you just as he cries out your name and spills inside you.

He pulls out and reaches to turn you round, bringing your bodies flush together and covering your face with soft kisses as you run your fingers through his damp hair. You drag up one of the blankets to cover your bodies, and you lie there, entwined together exchanging gentle kisses in the glow of the fire.

Disentangled and cleaned up, the two of you nestle together on the couch to drink some champagne: you back in your robe, Ben in a soft old t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more glamorous, Ben.”

He cuddles you closer. “Best night ever, and it’s all down to you.”

He puts his glass on the side table and reaches beside the couch to retrieve a small gift bag. “Happy Valentine’s, my love. I only wish I could give you everything.”

You smile and shake your head. “I’ve got everything I need.”

The gift bag contains a rectangular jewellery box and what feels like a gift-wrapped book. “I should explain why there’s no card,” Ben says, looking a little anxious. “They were all just a bit… cringey. Is that the word? They just weren’t you. So… the book is a gift but also a card. Kind of. If that makes sense. Does that make sense?”

You kiss him lightly and open the paper to reveal what looks like a mid twentieth-century hardback book, wrapped in a bright blue dust jacket. You laugh when you look at the author’s name and title:

H.E. BATES

LOVE FOR LYDIA

“You know I’ve never actually read this?”

Ben smiles broadly, his eyes crinkling. “Neither have I, but… well. It’s self-explanatory.”

You open the book and read the inscription on the inside.

To Lyddie, for whom my love would fill countless volumes. B x

Tú

que ayer sólo eras toda la hermosura

eres tambien todo el amor, ahora.

You

who were merely all beauty yesterday

are today all love, as well

J.L. Borges, ‘Sabados’ (1923)

“I know it’s a little bit soppy.”

“Soppy?” You’re wiping away tears with the sleeve of your robe. “Ben, this is - I don’t have words, it’s beautiful. Perfect, in fact.”

“Do you want to open the other one?” He gestures towards the jewellery box, resting on your lap.

“Ohh, baby.” Inside is a fine gold chain with a little gold disc hanging from it, no more than a centimetre and a half in diameter. It’s delicately engraved with your initials, arranged in a sort of cypher design.

It is elegant, beautiful, and you can’t quite believe that someone would love you enough to even think of a gift like this, let alone give it to you. The inner doubts about whether you ‘deserve’ this kind of love are mostly under control these days, but never too far from the surface.

“It’s so perfect, darling, it’s… It’s…it’s too much, Ben, I don’t -“

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve this.” He looks deadly serious. “Do you want to try it on?”

The gold feels warm against your skin, and you admire the way it reflects the candlelight as you lean in and kiss him before standing up and fetching a gift box that you’d hidden behind the TV.

“Okay, now it’s your turn, Benjamin.” He takes the gift box and carefully takes off the lid to reveal something neatly wrapped in tissue paper underneath.

You settle back beside him on the couch. “I really hope you like this, and that you don’t think it’s inappropriate. But - tell me if it is, okay?”

He nods, a slightly suspicious look in his eyes, and begins to fold back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a crisp, white cotton poplin shirt with a camp-style collar decorated with red embroidery. His initial uncertainty rapidly gives way to recognition as he lifts the shirt out of the box.

A little while ago, not long after you had officially got together, you had been chatting one evening about the family photographs on display in his living room. Your gaze had settled again on the photo of his father as a young man, so uncannily similar to his son.

“Other than the hair and the fact that your eyes are exactly the same as your mother’s, you’re a carbon copy of him. You just need a similar shirt and you could recreate the image.”

Ben had picked up the photo so you could look at it in more detail together. “He had this shirt for years. It’s a traditional style, but they come in all sorts of variations. His was gorgeous, though - that embroidery was like a dark red, I think. I loved it when I was a kid and he wore it, he just looked so cool.” He’d smiled warmly at the image of Diego Morales, captured forever in his youthful prime. “Fuck, I miss him so much.”

You leaned in and cuddled him. “Do you have one? Of the shirts, I mean”, you’d asked, and Ben had shook his head.

“Never found one that was as nice as Dad’s.”

It is a relatively simple design - short sleeved, button-up, with four pockets, two on each side - but you have added embroidered details to each of the pockets, to match the collar. The shirt itself was an easy enough job - after doing your research on the exact style and its history, you’d made it one Saturday when Ben was doing an open day at the college and you could lock yourself away in your apartment. The embroidery had been more challenging, especially as you were trying to approximate what you could make out of the pattern on Diego’s shirt.

Like Ben, you were unable to find a Valentine’s card that didn’t make you want to vomit. So you have, instead, stitched a tiny message along the fabric facing just inside the collar - his initials, your initials, and the year.

Every stitch and every seam was, in its own way, a tangible expression of how much he meant to you.

Ben is silent as he looks at the shirt, taking in the details. He runs his fingers along the hand embroidery and feels the small pearl buttons. You worry that this might actually be too much - too intimate a gift for so early in a relationship, too close to the grief he felt for his father - and that you have got this horribly, desperately wrong.

“B-Ben?”

He turns slowly to you, tears in his eyes, the shirt still in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I just -“

He places the shirt back in the box and pulls you close to him. He struggles to get the words out. “Thank you. Thank you, Lyd, this is - wow.” He looks at the shirt again and bites his lip. “It’s the most beautiful gift I think I’ve ever been given.”

He notices the tiny lettering inside the collar. “Oh, fuck me. You made this?!”

You bury your head against him, mumbling into his chest. “Yes is that weird oh god is it weird?”

He laughs and wraps an arm around you. “How could you making me a version of my dad’s guayabera be weird? It’s… fuck. I love it. And I love you. So fucking much.”

“I’m so glad you like it, darling.”

His gaze is earnest as he reaches for your hand. “It means the world to me. You mean the world to me.”

You take the box and place it on the coffee table so that you can cuddle in against his broad, warm chest, bringing an arm around his middle as he enfolds you in his strong, safe embrace.

You mean the world to him. He means the world to you. Isn’t that all that matters?

The countdown to the hard decisions might be rapidly running out, but for tonight, at least, they could wait. You close your eyes and focus on the reassuring rhythm of Ben’s heartbeat.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N:

The song Lydia sings a line of to Ben after their morning exertions is 'Just A Little Lovin'', by Dusty Springfield.

youtube

The shirt Ben's dad is wearing, and that Lydia recreates for Ben as his Valentine's gift, is inspired by the traditional guayabera summer shirt that is thought to have originated in either Mexico or Cuba, but is worn throughout Central and parts of South America in the summer months.

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