#v:: emotional fallout

[jenny-dreadful]

.

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[reveluving]

heartburn ; the ghoul x reader

summary: kindness gets people killed in the wasteland, and yet, cooper can't help it when it's you.

warnings: s~mut obv (minors DNI!), pre-war performer/entertainer!reader (for your creativity!); now an immortal ‘smoothskin’, soft as hell but our lovely ghoul is still a loud mouth, age gap but not really (think of him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but both in 200-ish years old), typical fallout violence & explicit language, loads of banter & fluff!

a/n: it’s here! based on this because the brain rot was (and is) so real. decided to call this the ‘la rouge series’, just to make it easier for tagging and when any lil’ pieces/asks come in. hope you guys enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

» smut includes: possessive soft & slightly mean dom!cooper, ‘pretty girl’ & baby as pet names, dirty talk i.e. + about exhibitionism (it doesn’t happen tho!), body appreciation, nipple play, spanking, fingering, a bit of edging/teasing, unprotected s~ex (p in v), bits of aftercare but overall, coop likes it nasty.

'It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.' ;

It should’ve been uncomfortable; the sheen of perspiration building up along your body, despite the cooler night, albeit marginally as opposed to the day. Had it not been for the ceiling fan, no matter how slow it gets once in a while, you were indebted to its existence. 

Especially at this exact moment, throwing your head and watching the contraption spin above you as Cooper bucked up into you. 

Lucy had dozed off, you checked an hour prior, finding her asleep in the old guestroom when you stopped by. Maximus, too, snoring away on the wingback chair next to her. Whether it was because you entered with light steps or the duo were bone-tired, you had successfully spread the thin sheets over their figures before turning the table lamp off—all of which Cooper watched behind the door, feeling an overwhelming emotion brewing in him. 

You barely knew them, hell, he was there when you shot Lucy a chilling look, realizing she was the daddy’s girl, but beyond that, you also saw two souls who were… lost. A set of strangers who wanted nothing more than to do the good thing, even if you didn't agree with their beliefs. And yet, the old caring nature in you couldn’t help but offer at least some form of appreciation for their humanity. 

You held yourself back when Lucy babbled, even if—when you wanted nothing more than to cuss her father out. You didn’t lash out when she asked about your time in the shelters way before her mother was around. You acknowledged Maximus’s good intentions, even if they were a little gullible. 

Cooper noticed it all, and fuck, if your unmoveable kindness wasn’t disgustingly the sweetest and sexiest thing he had ever seen.

It all felt like a typical romance movie after that, when you crossed paths in the living room, with you on your way to the kitchen when he stopped you. Delicately (and uncharacteristically, you might add) holding your wrist and tugging you to his chest to stare into your dreamy eyes. How a smile naturally bloomed on your face as you reached for his jaw. He indulged in your cutesy behaviour, as he always does, angling his head to kiss your palm while your eyes remained locked. It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.

Not that you couldn’t handle them, if anything, putting him in his place wasn’t unheard of—you knew how to shut him up with that aura of yours from time to time.

But make no mistake; he knew how to get you tongue-tied, too.

He dipped his head, and the kiss that came was nasty. Swallowing your little gasp when he took hold of your jaw. 

“Here?” You whispered incredulously between giggles when he led you to the couch. All he gave you was a grunt, falling back into the seat and pulling you with him. Your legs snugged around his as he encouraged you to sit, not hover him. The soft tune that played in the kitchen reminded you of a scene out of a cheesy porno from your old days, and when he hummed along, you knew he had the same thoughts, too.

“It's our house,” He grinned, “Means our rules.” 

“Uh-huh,” You humoured, amused as you shook your head, but the use of ‘our’ did send butterflies to your stomach, “Mind elaborating, handsome?” 

He explained all-too-happily, “It means y'got every right throw y'guests t’the doghouse if they start yappin’ ‘bout indecency.”

You say that now, but you knew he would shoot one in between their eyes for ogling you clothed, let alone in your glory. He has done it before. 

Countless times.

But you’d kick him to the doghouse if he ever got blood on your floors. And just to piss him off further, you’d allow Dogmeat to sleep on the bed with you. 

“You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?” I snorted.

His eyes lit up, taking your words as a green light, “Y'offerin’?” 

You smacked his chest. “I know your games, cowboy. Room’s not far, y’know?”

“Aww, c'mon,” Calloused fingertips traced up your legs before slipping under the skirt, alternating between kneading and smacking your ass repeatedly to hear your squeaks, “When's the last time y'and I messed ‘round in the livin’ room?” 

“Just last week.” You huffed, partially from the way his hips rolled against yours.

With any lack of action and the undeniably warmer weather throughout the day, you thought it was time to enjoy the night breeze with a slit skirt. The hems were slightly burnt off from past confrontations, involving a near-fatal experience with a Molotov cocktail, but besides that, it was relatively intact. 

And just like you, it was Cooper’s favourite piece, too.

“Mm,” He acknowledged with a grunt, “Far too long t’me.”

He leaned back, arms spread across the backrest while looking at you expectantly

“Y’gon’ take it off f’me or…?” He asked. You rolled your eyes—as if you could ever refuse him. 

But you couldn’t just give it to him, right?

You sat back, poised and coy, toying with him when you gazed up at him through your lashes. In the mood to give him a little show as it seemed like your guests were going to stay out cold for a while.

You were definitely teasing him when you popped the buttons of your shirt, only to let it droop around your elbows, just enough to get a glimpse of your cleavage and pesky black bra. 

Reaching over, you dragged your index finger from his Adam’s apple, down to the collar. His overcoat long gone for your convenience, uncovering his chest without problems.

He was always intrigued, and if he was being honest, in disbelief by your fascination—by your need to have him unclothed in some form of way, despite his condition. The wariness grew over time, and he had not only relished it in but encouraged you for it, too. 

Bunching up and pushing your skirt to the side, his fingers rubbed your pussy through your panties. He sighed, feeling the patch of wetness that soaked through the fabric. He was excited as you were, eager to feel you against him as he shifted under you.

He raised his fingers to his lips, sucking on his middle finger sloppily and groaning at your taste before dipping them under your panties. He straightened, pulling you forward by the back of your head as he prodded a finger into you. The position had you arching, chest to chest as he forced you to moan in his ear. 

At your mewls, he was more than content to give you another, sinking his ring finger in bit by bit to feel you clench desperately. 

He revelled in the warmth, the tightening of your warm walls as if fearing he'd pull out. The more you felt him curl inside you, the more useless it was to muffle your cries. The embarrassing squelch didn’t help either, but how couldn’t you, with that romantic stunt he pulled moments ago?

He tapped on your hips, silently requesting you to hold yourself up for a moment while he shoved his pants down. His cock stood with pride, twitching at the cool air and the anticipation to feel what his digits were feeling.

Pushing your panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock to your pussy.  He was practically dreaming of feeling you sink onto him at once, already bucking his hips to fill you to the hilt. Instead, you took him in ever so slowly, bit by bit before raising your hips till there was nothing more than the tip of him in you. Taking him in little by little as he teased you with his fingers.

“Y'tryin’ t’kill me?” He gritted out.

“You can handle it.” You cooed back, already losing composure as you felt up his chest.

He groaned, eyeing you dangerously only to shudder when your thighs slammed against his. You felt full, hell, you were full, needing a moment as your fingernails dug into his skin. 

“Fuuuck,” He groaned, tipping his head back though forcing himself not to close his eyes to watch your tits bounce as you moved faster, “Look at y'go. Yeah, ride m’cock, pretty girl. Juuust like that.” 

His praises had you pulsing around him, but so did his desperation. Slowing down once again to feel him buck under you. 

But there was also something else about tonight.

Familiarity was putting his feelings lightly, unable to tear his eyes off as images of the same smile, maybe just a tad more innocent about the world, flashed before his eyes. Remembering his lucky encounters with you when you were both stars. When the two of you had dreams. When your worries at the time were nothing more than bringing joy to the people who watched you perform like you had hung the moon. 

He could never forget admiring you and your artistry, similar to how you marvelled at his productions in awe, even after when they were nothing more than a man on a horseback before it all went to hell. 

And to have him before you once more, albeit a bigger menace than you thought was possible, he was still your Cooper Howard.

Your cheekiness was wiped off when his hand dropped to your ass with a sharp smack, the slap drowning out the radio for a split second.

“‘Y'had your fun.” He growled. His hands held onto you so desperately, similar to the way you grappled onto his shoulders for support.

Your button-up was sticking to your skin just below your breasts, and as much as Cooper loved the little striptease, he wanted more. 

He pulled the article further down by your sleeves, where you shuddered at the feeling of Cooper’s lips latching onto your skin. The sensation rough as he nipped at your rib. He surged forward, salivating as he sucked and tugged on your nipple. He let out a heady groan, tasting a hint of salt while rigorously bouncing you up and down his cock. 

You were what pin-ups couldn’t emulate, what poets or authors couldn’t convey with mere words. 

Anyone, surface dwellers and vaulties alike wished they could have you.

He crept one hand in between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. He didn’t relent when you trembled, when you tightened as you came hard. Not even when you spasm, overstimulated when he continued to thrust in and out of you.

He held you down longer than you would've liked, too obsessed with the way your walls fluttered around him. Begging for some form of friction as you clamped him like a vice. The mewls that followed were music to his ears, frustrated in the cutest way when he did nothing more than flash you an infuriating smile.

A tight one, you noticed. Unable to hide his own need for long as your juices dripped down to his thighs. He was… a little sick in the head—who would’ve thought—abstaining himself from chasing the high for just a moment, just to amp up the pleasure and feel his desperation sated as if he finally deserved the ‘treat’.

“Coop…” You mewled, nearly choking on your spit as his iron-clad grip forced you to feel each and every ridge of him up to the brim, “Coop–! Please! Please move, please—fuck.”

Oh, how cruel of him to deny you. Especially when you sang for him so sweetly.

You raised your head, lips parted as his eyes bored into your teary ones. Even when you became lost in your lustful haze, only able to churn out nothing but his name as hushed moans, he couldn’t miss the small dazed smile flickering across your face. 

He couldn’t resist, reaching up to brush across the pads of your plush lips. And as hooked as you were over the proximity, you placed your hand over his, keeping it on your cheek. 

Your eyes screamed for him to go faster, to put you out of your misery. He pitied you to some degree when he rolled his hips.

“That too much? No, y'can take it. M'pretty girl can take what I give.” 

“Gonna fuckin’ come in’ya, y’hear me?”

“Oh, you’re tearin’ up, feels really good, doesn’t it, baby?”

He slammed you down as soon as he came, thighs sticky and flushed. His grinds slowed down, chest heaving till he had his last spurts of cum in you. He traced his hands along the bruising spots he had left on your hips, then up your sides, tickling you.

The corner of his lips twitched at your tired giggle, catching your breath with your face pressed against his shoulder.

“Y’liked that?” He matched your amusement, reaching over the dry towel conveniently draped on the arm of the couch and wiping off the sweat dripping down your back. 

“Mmm.” You hummed into his skin, already comfortable against him.

“Y’really liked it,” He reiterated, finding your playful eye-roll worth it, casually dragging the cloth under your chin and the area between your breasts before tossing it to the side. He let one arm outstretched on the backrest, “Y’need some water or somethin’?” You thought for a moment; you’d need a sip or two after all that, but you could hold it off for a few minutes. 

“In a bit,” You returned to snuggling in his arms, much to his satisfaction, “Can't you just carry me to bed?” 

“I would, but…” He trailed off. You followed his line of sight when it fell to his lap, not only reminding you of the mess but also if he stood up, well, you might as well fall with him if his pants dropped to his ankles. You knew he could clean you up and buckle his pants before carrying you to your room with no problem, he just didn’t feel like it.

And, well, you understood him.

“Fine,” You sighed, feigning resignation even though a little smile was playing on your lips. You knew each other too well, “But if I hear rushed footsteps or that girl yapping about ‘my eyes’, I blame you.”

“Not the first time you’ve ever blamed me for anythin’—m’poor ol’ heart,” He pretended to weep, placing a hand on his chest, only to catch yours when you tried to smack him for it, “See? Unloved, by m’own girl.”

You shared a laugh, and when he pulled his rest on your waist once more, you knew none of you were going anywhere. 

In minutes, you were finally able to take in your surroundings, recognizing the chorus playing in the background, a classic of Dean Martin’s, one that even Cooper couldn’t help but hum to. It was soft, no more than within your hearing range, even bobbing his head to the beat. You followed, too, and to your surprise, the two of you coincidentally sang a particular line together. 

♫ Your love made it well worth waiting ♫

♫ For someone like you ♫

You turned your head to head to the side before he could look at you after spotting the knowing smile he was sporting. And as the song came to an end, eyes droopy as he instinctively rubbed your back, his hat tipped down. 

You couldn’t help it, craning your neck and planting one final kiss, to which he eagerly returned before your bodies melded into each other once more. Relaxed and protected from the dangers outside your safe haven, even for just a moment. So long as both of you were still breathing, you’d take the bull by its rotting horns in stride.  

♫ Everybody loves somebody sometime ♫

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: fun fact! ignoring the fact that the concept of the game is inspired by the 50s and burlesques would no longer be as famous then, one of the many entertainer options I imagine for the reader (depending on the fic) is burlesque (?) dancer, which very much inspired this piece! not necessarily as her job in the old days but someone who knows a thing or two about it! but again, as the reader, you have the right to imagine whoever you or your mc however you’d like! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Paladin Danse x f!reader || Under you || SMUT

Title: Under you

Rating: explicit, smut

Category: f/m

Fandom: Fallout 4

Relationship: reader x Danse (can be read as ss x Danse)

Characters: Danse, reader

Tags/ triggers: smut, pwp, power dynamics in a sense that he outranks her in bos and that's used as a flimsy thread for pwp??, desk time, p in v, doggy, threat of being caught, injury that's basically forgotten halfway through, argument, ooc

Wordcount: 2800

a/n: the first fanfic for fallout and first time writing in a while so its has its issues but we ignore that for the serotonins my boiiii Danse gives me

***

Opening the door to Danse's quaters onboard the Prydwen, you were greeted with his back towards you, broad shoulders covered by his BOS uniform. It wasn't every day you were faced with the realities of him outside of his armour.

However, you didn't look forward to this conversation given how he had left you at Knight-Captain Cade To get stitched up. His disappointment wasn't without merit, you had disregarded that order but with good reason, the civilians were the priority to you, not your own sensibilities of survival or self preservation.

You cleared your throat as you moved your hands to hook at your back. "Danse."You closed your eyes briefly and took a breath. "..Paladin Danse." You stated, keeping the clench of your teeth out of your voice as best you could ad you took the formal route.

He turned to regard you, eyes raking over you in a way that made you feel small before he took a breath.

"Did Knight-Captain Cade clear you?" He inquired, voice void of emotion as the remnants of the battle still courses through him, the images of your body bruised and bloody, the results still shining on the arch of your brow prominently. It's been a few hours and he's kept busy but it lingers on him, haunts him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"Yes." You stated. "Well after few days rest, its honestly not even that bad Danse." You pulled against your shirt to reveal the stitched wound on your stomach, slight redness to the skin but nothing that would cause any worry. "Few days and I'll be back to kicking ass like I never even left."

Danse stood frozen for a moment, hands tightening ever so slightly at the clipboard he was holding at the sight of the exposed skin, knowing he shouldn't feel this way and much less when it was such an innocent gesture on your part when all you wanted to do was set his mind at ease. But the problem was that he had imagined it, had imagined his hands curled around that very skin, indenstations on your hips, on the smooth skin.

He knew his duties and what should take precedence but thoughts sometimes got a bit jumbled around you, feeling something growing in his chest, movement within in a way he couldn't decipher, anger at your actions and fear at your failures which he could argue was because of his role as your sponsor but he knew there was more to it and he should probably create some distance... but at the same time he had been elated when you asked him to accompany you on your outtings.

"That's.. uh that's good. "he stated, averting his eyes for a moment to think as he cleared his throat. "We still need to discuss your performance on the battlefield today, (Y/n).“ he took on the professional demeanor as he placed the clipboard on a nearby surface.

"I understand." You stated as you moved a few paces in his direction.

"You failed to follow a direct order." He stated. "You know what I told you when I chose to sponsor you. You are my responsibility and I can't have you-" he sighed and ran his hand over his face as he boiled at the thought. "You have a duty to this team."

It was definitely not an opportune moment as you watched him chastise you to feel the warmth in your body, the firmness in his stance, the power as he spoke. The brief flashes of when he carried your body to safety. Your attraction to the man was your own issue to deal with but it always creeps up when you need it the least.

You had imagined it was the lack of action that had you so wanton for the man but after a few nights with your hand between your legs with his name on your tongue and even a few drunken nights in goodneighbour, you had come to the conclusion that there had to be a little more to it than that but even so, the knowledge didn't stop the way you felt weak with his attention solely on you, it didn't stop your gaze from lingering or the butterflies in your stomach as his voice carried within the room.

You swallowed. "There were civilians, Danse. I could not let them be another casualty of war."

"You shouldn't have disobeyed." He stated firmly, brows furrowed as his voice raised slightly. "We would've-"

"They would've died." You interrupted. "You can't expect me to watch that happen when we could-"

He was always softer when it came to you, he knew that, he would wager that you knew it as well. He dismissed and even ignored many actions that might've seemed harsh in anothers eyes but nothing quite like the action he would commit when his lips met yours, a quick action that his mind couldn't quite compute but at the same time he felt vindicated. An entirely unprofessional offense against much of what he told himself and how he arrived to behave but you felt so real with his hands pressed to the side of your face, so soft pressed to his lips, so warm and pliable when you didn't pull away.

"You need to learn your place." He whispered against your lips as he pulled away, hands falling to your hips and pressing into the flesh. So many thoughts circling that were both impure and against the ideals of the brotherhood when it came to subordinates and colleagues.

You bit into your lip as you looked up at him, not quite the place you saw the conversation moving but it was definitely not unwelcome, just surpising and a little distracting with the way his fingers pressed into you, causing your brain to play catch up and wonder if this was real or not and whether you could push forth in the direction you desperately wanted to go.

"Are you gonna show me where that is?“ you whispered, breathe feeling like it was sucked from your body as you anticipated his reaction. Damn the pulsing between your legs that could have you on your knees in front of this man with a mere motion, a mere sliver that he wouldn't reject it.

He was quick to move you after the question, pressing you against the desk and hovering above you as a few small objects from his desk tumbled to the floor.

"Do you want me to?“ he asked, searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, wondering if he read the situation wrong, part of him wanting you to be the one to stop this so he didn't go against any of the bos ideals but hoping to whatever merciless god was out there that you wouldn't.

"Yeah.."you said softly, pushing through some forced confidence as you cleared your throat, meeting his eyes with a new form of what you hoped was seen as assurance. "Yes."

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear as his eyes stayed trained on you, an act that felt soft and intimate in the way silence fell until his hand slipped into your hair, grip tightening and crashing his lips to yours once more. You gave as fervently as you got, hands pressed to his chest.

His own hand lingered at your chest, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and easily pulling it over your head and then came the bra, frustration evident as his need for you grew. An array of pushing and prodding as the frustration lingered in veins at the limitation the pieces of cloth supplied.

Finally he manages to push the small piece of clothing from your body to some place on the floor, watching you sit on his desk like this with an expression that anyone would call wanton. His hand cupped your breast in his hand, watching as you worried your lip between your teeth at the action. Softness even in sound when he ran his thumb over the bud.

He had been gentle in the journey to get you somewhat undressed but he hadn't forgotten the comment that lead him here, the boil within his blood at the thought of your actions and the unobstructed sight of the wound now before him. The image of you had not been enough to still the turmoil within him. The kindness he valued in you was the thing that would disregard order and yourself which brought him to this bridge but he could easily show you order, power, even show you your place as he had said. He would not be entirely wrong to say you place was under him but perhaps not in the sense that he would like and would enforce tonight.

He quickly undid the button of your pants, hands wrapping around your hips at a lingering thought, the need growing within him, a grip that lingered but didn't alarm you as he pulled you towards him but then a sudden shift as the direction changed, as he flipped you around, using his body to press you to the desk, hand pressing against against your upper back until you took the position he wanted. The new position added an ache to the wound on your torso, slight hiss that you doubt he even heard.

The desk was cool against your breast, anticipation as you kept yourself pressed to the surface, eyes looking behind at the man and only feeling the anticipation and want grow as his eyes travelled across your body.

"Such disobedience." He murmured as his hands slid down your back, fingers hooking in the waist and of the pants and pulling it over the curve of your ass along with your underwear. "Perhaps I had been too lenient with you." He stated, a tone that didn't quite match the content as his hands spread over your ass and squeezed. He lowered himself over your body, chest ghosting over your back as his lips pressed close to your ear and his own bulge pressing against your back side so temptingly. "I should correct that misstep, shouldn't I. Show you what insubordination gets you." He punctuated the word with the grind of his hips to yours.

You bit your lip as you spread your legs as much as you could given the pants around your thighs limiting your movement. Needing him to touch you in any way he wished, to use your body just as long as he touched you without all the layers between you.

The press of him eased up when he fiddled with his uniform, fighting to pry it from his body as quickly as possible at the sight of your pliable form. He hadn't bothered further than getting it passed his hips. For a moment he was dumbstruck, so many things he wanted but the uncertainty of whether he would get such a perfect opportunity to enact them made him slow to act, pressing two fingers to your entrance and spreading your slick and shallowly pressing into you to test the waters.

A whimper sounded past your lips as you closed your eyes at the feeling. It had been so long since someone else had touched you and though you had the nights where you had came around your fingers at the thought of him, it was miles apart from this, from his warm fingers spreading your cunt.

"That's a good girl."He commented, watching as his fingers disappear into your needy cunt, glistening in the light when he retracted, soft whimpers spilling from your lips and body rocking back against him softly. You were so compliant like this, such a pretty image that he would definitely be revisiting at a later time.

He removed his fingers from you, earning an annoyed sound and a glance back, he couldn't hide his glee at the state he could leave you in but at the same time, he needed to be inside you, needed you to clench around his cock and take him like you were meant to.

His hand wrapped around your hip, the other going to his cock and lining up. He pushed in slowly, groaning at the wetness until he settled, hips pressed to yours. The situation led you to believe he would give the time for you to adjust, he had always been accommodating and he had taken his time with pushing into you but he had other plans, other wants to allowed him to bypass that courtesy.

His hand slipped into your hair and tightened, pressing you to the desk if you just so happen to get any other ideas. His hips snapped, shallowly at first as he got used to the tightness. You cried out at the feeling, the pain that got dwarfed by the pleasure and he quickly pressed a hand over your mouth to silence your cries as he pressed closer to your ear.

"Wouldn't want anyone to come see what's wrong, would we?" He granted against your back, teeth scratching against your shoulder blade as he momentarily slowed his movements. "This is quite the position for a knight to be in."

Your hand wrapped around his wrist as his hips picked up the pace, closing your eyes as you took what he gave, imagining if someone did walk in, perhaps a scribe or Cade or even Maxson, seeing Danse give it to you, perhaps they could corroborate that this was real because it felt like you were floating, like he was splitting your skull in half and all you could do was think about how fucking full of him you felt. Punishment be damned, you needed them to know Danse was fucking you, that he chose you even if just a momentary lapse.

Suddenly he pulled out, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, you bit into your lip at the full sight of him, bare chest and cock at attention. He, on the other hand, had no notions of taking in the moment, taking hold of your legs and pressing them to your chest so he could get easy access to that tight cunt of yours, immediately pressing home at the first opportunity.

You moaned at the feeling, pressing your palm to your lips given his previous comments even with your own voyeuristic fantasies and the need to have him do it, to control every aspect of the situation, to set the perimeter and feel his hand press to the sides of your face as you just laid there and took it.

He could feel his end approaching, hand pressing and prodding at your skin at the thought of losing access, finally lingering at your clit at the thought of you coming on his cock.

"Hold this." He commanded, taking your free hand and wrapping it around your legs. You did as you were told, glossy eyes watching the man before you and then keening when he touched you, thumb rubbing against your clit in fast, tight circles and you knew you were done for.

"Danse.." you cried, hand slipping from your lips as you moaned into the air, neither of you seeming to care at the moment as his hips snapped into you with renewed vigor at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Please-I.."

"I know." He stated, interuppting your train of thought. "Be a good girl and come for me."

Again, you did as he asked, feeling the warmth spread throughout your limbs as your walls clenched around him. The cry that left your lips would most likely be heard past his door followed by the mantra of his name as you fought through the intense emotion.

He had to fight to keep moving past the the clench of you, giving a few shallow thrusts before he came inside of you, ropes of his come hitting your walls as he stilled deep inside of you with a grunt of your name.

A few moments passed of heavy breathing before he pulled out, watching as his come slipped out of you which he promptly pushed back inside of you with two fingers which elicited a whimper from you.

Coming back to his sensibilities, he retracted from you, softly removing your hand from your legs and setting them to the floor and pulling you to a seating position. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled your pants back over your hips and then picked you up bridal style, wordlessly. He hoped you were alright, that he hadn't made a mistake by giving into his most base desires for you. He cared for you and he hoped for more than the structure provided under this militarristic life but that was a whole other can of worms.

He placed you in his bed, getting in behind you and wrapping an arm around your middle. He could steal this moment, could he not. If you were to resent him for his actions, at least he could pretend in this moment as you fall asleep pressed to his chest.

[astrojulia]

When I started the astrology course I found out that you can be a researcher in the area and you can publish official works on any topic and here I am, already training for that. The logical thought behind this post was: we always liked games, when the first decks were produced it was crazy, so I encompassed all the planets for this. But of course I had some focal points, which were: Mercury talks about digital communication and logical reasoning; Mars speaks of sports and competitive activities; Uranus rules over electronics and gadgets; Neptune speaks of fantasy and imagination; 5th house is connected to all hobbies and 11th to technology and the online world. In the signs I focused on Aquarius, Gemini and Aries, but everyone can be included in this as well as the planets.

Neptune/Moon in the 5th house, Jupiter in 9th house, Cancer and Sagittarius placements may enjoy story games, with deeper characters they can relate to and become emotionally involved with the story. Suggested Games: Spiritfarer, The Last of Us.

Venus in the 11th house, like games that allow socialization and that everyone can have fun together: Suggested Games: Fall Guys, Mario Party.

Mercury in the 3rd and 11th house, likes games that allow interaction with other people but also allows you to lie/bluff in games to win: Suggested Games: Among Us.

Mars in 5th/11th house may like farm games. Suggested Games: Harvest Moon, Story of Seasons, Stardew Valley, Slime Rancher.

Mars in the 1st house, may enjoy games that allow them to express their individuality and create their own character. Sun/Pluto in the 8th house may enjoy activities that allow them to explore their own transformation and evolution, such as playing videogames that involve role-playing or creating and developing a character. Suggested games: Fallout, Skyrim, Cyberpunk 2077.

Pluto/Scorpio in the 11th may like games with replayability since when they like a game it stays the same for several hours. Suggested games: Monster Hunter, Hades.

Sun/Venus in 5th may like music games. Suggested games: Project Diva, Just Dance.

Sun/Mercury in 5th also like games that allow them to create and use their creativity. Suggested games: Animal Crossing, Minecraft, Okami.

Uranus/Sun in 1st/11th likes activities that involves social groups and allow them to connect with others in a laid-back way. Suggested games: Stopots.

Saturn in the 10th house may enjoy activities that challenge them to improve and achieve mastery, Suggested games: Dark Souls.

Lilith in 10/11th house in women it can show that this girl has always been interested in games, but since she is a woman, she is not allowed to play because it is not seen as a woman thing (10th) or that she suffered so much hate for being a woman and playing online (11th) that she may play alone. Suggested Games: any single player that you like, really, just play girl.

Sun/Jupiter in the 9th may like open world/sandbox games where they can explore and see new horizons. Sun/Neptune in 12th house enjoy games that allow them to escape reality and tap into their creative and imaginative side. Suggest games: Death Stranding, Journey.

Mars/Sun/Mercury in Leo/Aries may like games that require quick reflexes and decision-making, they also like competitive games where there can be a number one. Suggest games: Mario Kart, .Forza.

Venus/Moon dominant have preference for games that have rich, immersive environments and a strong aesthetic. Suggested games: Gris.

Mercury dominant may like strategic thinking and problem-solving, such as puzzle games or strategy games. Suggest games: Alice Madness Returns, Portal 2.

Sun/Lilith/Moon in 8th house/Scorpio may like games that can shake with their emotional, talks about taboos and dense topics and changes their worldview. Suggested games: Disco Elysium.

Gemini/Virgo in 5th/11th house may like games that you need to quickly manage something or somewhere, like cooking simulators. Suggest games: Lemon Cake.

Sun/Venus/Libra/Pisces in the 5th/7th/11th house may love any dating simulator. Uranus in the 7th also would like some unconvencional dating games that which merges dating simulator with other types of gameplay. Suggest games: Dream Daddy, Boyfriend Dungeon, Arcana Famiglia.

Mercury in Capricorn/Virgo/10th house may like games that you need mastery and discipline, such as fighting games or games with steep learning curves, or just games that you can make combos. Suggest games: Devil May Cry, Bayonetta.

Mars in Aries/Sagittarius/Scorpio may like games where you can shoot things but also get involved with the history and the characters. Suggest games: Mass Effect.

Sun/Mercury in Gemini may like games where you can have different types of gameplay in just only one game. Suggest games: Yakuza.

Saturn/Moon/Venus in Cancer may like games with elements of caregiving or raising animals or characters. Suggest games: The Sims, Cult of the Lamb.

Pisces Sun/Neptune/Uranus can like games that explore mystical or supernatural themes. Suggest games: The Witcher, Silent Hill.

Where your Aquarius falls can also show what you generally look in a video game: 1st - character creation and first-person games; 2nd - games with an aesthetic you like; 3rd - games with many characters for you to meet; 4th - cozy games; 5th - rhythm games; 6th - life simulator games; 7th - dating simulator,co-op games; 8th - deep story games, +18 games; 9th - open world games; 10th - roguelike or city building games; 11th - online games; 12th - sandbox games

Sun in the 6th house may enjoy games that involve organization and strategy, such as management or simulation games. Suggested games: Planet Zoo, Football Manager.

Moon in the 1st house may enjoy games that provide an emotional experience and allow them to explore their own feelings. Suggested games: Life is Strange.

Jupiter in the 5th house may enjoy games that involve exploration and discovery, with a focus on learning and expanding their knowledge. Suggested games: No Man's Sky, The Witness.

Mars in the 7th house may enjoy games action gamesthat involve teamwork and cooperation, such as multiplayer games or co-op campaigns. Suggested games: Left 4 Dead.

Saturn in the 11th house may enjoy games that require planning and strategy, and that involve long-term goals and rewards. Suggested games: Civilization VI, XCOM 2.

Uranus in the 5th house may enjoy games that are unconventional and challenge the status quo, with a focus on innovation and creativity. Suggested games: Katamari Damacy, Journey.

Neptune in the 7th house may enjoy games that allow them to escape reality and immerse themselves in a fantasy world, with a focus on exploration and discovery, as well some good interactions with the characters. Suggested games: World of Warcraft, Final Fantasy XIV.

Pluto in the 1st house may enjoy games that allow them to explore their own identity and transformation, with a focus on personal growth and development. Suggested games: Persona 5.

Sagittarius in the 5th/11th house may like games plataform games where the objetive is really clear, there can be challenges to achieve it, but what you need to do is straight foward. Suggested games: Donkey Kong Country 1,2 and 3.

Saturn in the 11th house may enjoy games that involve building and managing communities, such as city-building or simulation games that allow them see how this society grows. Suggested games: Cities: Skylines.

Pluto/Saturn/Mars in the 11th house may enjoy games where you cause mass destruction. Suggested Games: Plague Inc.

Sun/Pluto/Capricorn/Scorpio/Leo/Aries in 5th, may like games that allow them to feel powerful and in control, such as action or adventure games where they can take on challenging foes and overcome obstacles. Suggested games: God of War, Assassin's Creed.

Mars in the 11th house may enjoy games that require quick thinking and strategic planning, such as real-time strategy or fast-paced action games that test their reflexes. Suggested games: Starcraft II, Doom.

Jupiter in the 10th house may enjoy games that involve leadership and decision-making, such as management or simulation games that allow them to run their own company or organization. Suggested games: Two Point Hospital, Tropico.

Venus/Taurus/Libra/Pisces in the 1st house may enjoy games that allow them to express their creativity and unique style, such as fashion or art-based games that let them create their own designs and aesthetics. Suggested games: Style Savvy, Art Academy.

Mercury in the 1st house may enjoy games that involve problem-solving and critical thinking, such as puzzle or mystery games that challenge their intellect. Suggested games: Myst, The Witness.

Sun in the 11th house may enjoy games that involve socialization and teamwork, such as online multiplayer games that allow them to connect with others and work towards a common goal. Suggested games: Dead by Daylight, Identity V.

Sun/Mercury/Mars in the 3rd house may like mobile games that are simple to play and that you can play it while waiting for your bus, for example. Suggest games: Candy Crush.

Aquarius/Uranus in the 11th may like games that are simply chaotic and really different. Suggest games: Untitled Goose Game, Cruelty Squad.

Venus/Mars/Saturn/Virgo/Aries in the 6th house, Saturn in the 5th house may enjoy games that involve self-improvement and personal growth, such as fitness or education-based games. Suggested games: RingFit Adventure, Brain Age.

Mars/Jupiter/Sagittarius in the 9th house may enjoy games that involve exploration and adventure, such as RPGs or action games that allow them to travel to new worlds and discover new things. Suggested games: The Legend of Zelda.

Mercury/Gemini/Virgo/Aquarius in the 7th house may enjoy games that involve communication and collaboration, such as multiplayer games or co-op campaigns that require teamwork and strategy. Suggested games: Overcooked.

Saturn in the 5th house may enjoy games that involve discipline and focus, such as puzzle or strategy games that require patience and attention to detail. Suggested games: Tetris, Legends of Runeterra.

Sources: PSD by wildfireresources on deviantart Futaba Render Template by sorberts on tumblr Template by minikyuns on deviantart

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part thirteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you and joel make your reunion official, and deal with the fallout.

a/n: brO I will fully admit I struggled a bit with this one - it’s mostly unedited but I’m still happy with where we’ve ended up. ANGST CITY BABY AS PER USUAL. and my askbox is always open if you’d like to scream about it 😇

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (with a slightly throwaway solution), light choking, very emotional sex (heavily inspired by a scene from outlander 👀), Joel’s head has been fully removed from his ass and Liv is making the most of it.

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works!✨

You feel like you’re moving in slow-motion. Every moment feels drawn out, the emotion tripled, the touch more sensitive, the sound more clear. You’re committing every second to memory, refusing to let yourself think this is a dream.

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

Don’t stay away from me, you want to say it a million times over. Don’t ever leave me, don’t let this world swallow me whole without you by my side. You know for a fact you don’t say the words out loud, but he seems to know them anyway. “Never leaving you, baby. Never in a million years.” The words are whispered into your skin, mapped out along the curve of your jaw.

You’re both slow, getting up off the floor. The peals of laughter taste like sugar on his lips, and your mouth chases his, hands reaching, searching, pulling at fabric and pushing at limbs. He hauls you up against him, lifting one thigh until it’s bent over his hip, presses his weight into you. Your neck arches and his lips glue to your pulse, sucking a bruise, tongue soothing the ache it leaves.

Take me to bed.

He does. With one more hungry kiss, he pulls away, planting his hands and pushing himself up, sliding his lips along your collar before he’s gone, shuffling backwards, getting to his feet. He holds both hands out to you, and you take them, groaning as he pulls you up, tugs on your arms, sends you sprawling into his chest.

Joel bands his arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, seeks out your mouth again. 

Never stop kissing me. Never stop holding me. 

The riot of butterflies zipping through you feels foreign, almost unfamiliar, but when he pushes his tongue past your teeth, memories rise to the surface, bright spots amongst the dark. Kissing in the paint aisle with coffee on your breath, in the bed of his truck beneath the stars, in the corner of the movie theatre in Austin, in the dead of night when you slept in his bed and sought him out with sleep in the corners of your eyes.

It all feels like a lifetime ago. It is, in a way.

The hand at your waist moves beneath your sweater, the flat of his palm against the small of your back. The mere touch of his skin to yours makes your blood shiver with anticipation and you curl your fingers in the front of his flannel, dark red striped with black. He adjusts his grip on you, slides both hands up your back, presses them to your shoulder blades, the soft pressure making your arms lift, wrapping around his neck, lips still glued to his.

His hands slide back down, rounding the curve of your hips, squeezing at the meat of your ass. He walks you backwards, out of the kitchen, towards the bed, and you waste no time taking over, turning until you’re the one pushing him, your legs crooked between his, boots shuffling together across the wood floor. When the edge of the mattress hits the back of his knees, Joel flinches, your mouths breaking apart.

“Liv, are you—”

“Joel Miller, if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear to god I will smack you with my baseball bat.”

He has the audacity to grin, a sly thing that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “You stashed the bat.”

You scoff, almost exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.” You almost roll your eyes, but he grabs you again, both hands on your face, fingers curling around your ears, sliding into your hair. You slide your own beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking out hot skin, but you freeze when your fingertips skim something raised, a line across his hip, unfamiliar. “What…?”

You half expect him to pull away when you lift the fabric, leaning back enough to get a good look. 

“Joel—”

“Outbreak day,” he says, the words hushed, the tone in his voice making your eyes dart back up to his. His hands have slid down to your neck, and you can feel the edge of his thumb rubbing along the hinge of your jaw, the movement soothing. You let your fingers follow the shape of the scar again. “Bullet just skimmed me.” He inhales sharply, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes shutting tightly. “Same soldier that…” The words trail off, but you put two and two together, taking a deep breath.

Same soldier that shot Sarah.

You move your hands away, instead focusing your fingers on the buttons of his flannel. “I like this shirt,” you murmur, tilting your face in his grip, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Might have to steal this one.”

“You have one of my shirts already,” he replies, his thumb moving up the slope of your cheek. “Saw it in your closet.”

You lift a brow, silently exhaling, grateful for the change of subject. “You went through my stuff?”

He catches your bottom lip in a gentle kiss, his mouth along your jaw a moment later. “Didn’t go through your underwear, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t be mad, if you had,” you reply, letting your lips curve into a wicked grin. He makes a grumbling noise, giving you a harder peck, and you nearly moan.

“You have my shirt.”

You nod. “I had another one, too, but I got caught in the bombings, and it got shredded.”

His brow goes hard, and your hands move to his belt, tugging at the buckle, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. The movement makes his face soften slightly, and he grumbles again, eyes screwed shut. “Don’t like the idea of you, out there, all alone, fighting for your fuckin’ life.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” you tell him, working the button of his jeans neck, letting your fingers graze the skin above the band of his boxers, through the happy trail of hair that leads beneath the elastic. “I had to get to you.”

“Were you hurt?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, and you nod, the tip of your nose dragged along his. “Show me.”

You pull back slightly, reluctantly letting go of his waist, crossing your arms and yanking your sweater over your head. Joel inhales sharply, dropping his hands from your face. He grabs your wrist first, taking in the jagged scar that runs the top of your forearm. “I was holed up in a bookstore when they started bombing,” you tell him, recalling as he lets his fingers skim your skin. It makes you shiver. “Lucky a damn shelf didn’t fall on my head.”

“I remember…” he starts, lifting your arm until your hand rests on his shoulder. He turns his head, leans his cheek against your wrist. “When I called that first night, you said that Dean…that he scratched you, or…?”

You nod, turning your scarred shoulder towards him. “That’s right. You told me to patch myself up.”

His fingers graze over the scar, following the lines in your skin. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, and your shoulder rolls back and he grips your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, his voice low, forehead leaning into yours. “I’m sorry I was an ass, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry I—”

“Joel—”

“I’m never leaving you again, you hear me?” You’ve got both hands in his hair now, and the shine in his eyes makes tears crawl up your throat. “I won’t ever lo—”

“Joel.”

“I should have been here,” he says, his voice thick, and a tear slips down your cheek, hot as anything. “I should have protected you, I should have told you to stay in Austin, I never should have let you go.”

You tighten your grip on his hair, pushing yourself further into his grasp. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, you understand?” When he doesn’t respond, you tug on his hair, forcing his eyes to yours. “You’re here now. We both are.”

The next kiss he offers destroys you. It’s like he’s devouring you, drinking the air from your lungs, tasting every inch of your mouth, pulling you back to the thrill and pleasure and love you felt in Texas so many years ago. There’s nothing slow about his movements now, hands roving your body, careful around your ribs, but mapping you out, relearning the curve of you. There are other scars on you, tiny marks collected outside the wall, too-close run-ins and that one time you fucking tripped and fell on your knife, but he doesn’t ask about those, too preoccupied with your mouth.

After a while, he sinks down, sits at the edge of the mattress. He spreads his knees wide, brings you between them, undoing your jeans with ease, pushing them down your legs. He leaves a hot trail of kisses along your waist, hooks his fingers in the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down too. Joel’s head dips lower, one hand pushing your legs apart, and you gasp when he licks at you, nose buried right between your thighs.

You gasp, tugging on his hair, and he pulls back, eyes on your face, lips shiny already. You’re quivering, having him this close again. “D’you have any idea how much I’ve missed the taste of you, baby?”

The words alone are enough to make your knees go weak, and you open your mouth to say something, but only a moan comes out, his head lowered to you once more, both hands an iron grip on your hips. It’s ecstasy, the feeling of his mouth, the press of his fingers, the softness of his hair. It makes your toes curl, makes stars shoot across the backs of your eyelids.

“Joel.”

He moans into you, and you pull hard on his hair, gasping for air when he detaches from the nerves between your legs. You feel staticky, your fingers and toes tingling as you tilt his head back, bend down to kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. You go to lift your leg, to plant your knee on the bed beside him, but Joel stops you, getting to his feet.

“What—”

His fingers fly down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning as he goes. Your chest is heaving, eyes darting all over him as more bare skin is revealed. You can see the scar just above his hip now, raised and shiny. He has other scars, just like you, tiny marks and wounds, proof of life, proof he survived. You can’t help but reach for him, running your palms up his chest as he shrugs out of his shirt. 

Joel kisses your forehead as he drapes the shirt around you, helping you slide your arms through the sleeves. Faintly, you hear the soft thud as his jeans hit the floor, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he sinks back down onto the mattress. He curls his other hand around your leg, tugging at your knee until it’s fit against his hip. You adjust your weight, lifting the other leg to match, and settle into his lap, feeling the light scratch of the hair on his legs against your thighs, the prod of his covered cock against your core.

“D’you need me to—” he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off, your faces so close together that your nose brushes his again.

“I just wanna feel you.”

Joel watches, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils wide, as you grab his wrist, lifting his hand to your mouth, laving your tongue along his fingers, tasting the salt on his skin. His gaze is glued to your lips, your tongue, and when you slide his index and middle into your mouth, your eyes lock to his, and his grip on your waist grows impossibly tighter.

You lean up slightly, lifting your weight off him as he pulls his hand from your face, slipping between you, freeing himself. He fits his face into the curve of your neck, sucks at the thin skin over your pulse, and you let your eyes slip shut. Your fingers curl in the cuffs of his shirt, the fabric worn soft between your knuckles. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of him. 

His hand drags slowly against you, making your back arch when you sink back down, feeling the hot press of him inside you, scrabbling at his shoulders as his mouth moves up your throat, seeks out your lips once more. You’re gasping as you seat yourself fully, his cock filling you to the hilt, and Joel kisses the noises right out of you, moving both hands to your hips, guiding you along him.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, teeth nipping at your lips, moving along your jaw. You’re a mess, the feeling of him, of being full of him, after so long is so achingly familiar that all you can do is hold onto him, pushing both hands through his hair, keeping him as close as you can. It’s a stretch, there’s no denying that, just riding the line between pleasure and pain, but you don’t care, letting your knees slide wider on the bed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace, letting him push agains tall those devastating places buried inside you.

It makes you feel alive.

“Missed you,” he breathes into your skin, hips jolting up into yours with every drag of his cock. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ minute. Never stopped thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“Joel—” you croak out, that coil in your belly snapping tight when you feel his teeth scrape beneath your jaw, one hand dipping back to grab a handful of your ass. But every movement is slow still, a drawn-out instant that blurs the line between past and present.

It sparks something in you, something that’s been waiting to be unleashed for God only knows how long. A near toxic mix of anger and longing and pain and love, emotion spilling out of you unbidden. You shove at his shoulders, catching him off guard as he falls back. He reaches for you, and you bat his hands away, planing both of yours and chest and grinding down on him.

“You were an ass to me, Joel Miller,” you grit, pleasure setting your nerves alight. You can feel your orgasm barrelling towards you, but you hold back, bearing down on him, revelling in the sound he makes when you clench tight.

“I know,” he starts to say, his voice gravelly. “I’m sorry, baby, I—”

You move one hand from is chest to his jaw, your fingers spread along the side of his neck. You lean forward just enough that his eyes meet yours, and everything in you buzzes at the lust-filled look in his eye, his parted lips, his heavy breaths. Something possessive and feral makes your heart racket.

“You ever treat me the way you have these last few weeks again, and I swear to God—” the words are punctuated by deep rolls of your hips, long drags that make his chest stutter, “—I will make you regret the day you met me, you understand?”

“Liv, ba—” he starts, and you squeeze your fingers either side of his throat. 

“Do you understand?” you repeat, and lift yourself off him, until just the tip of him is notched inside you.

“Yes,” he breathes, and you slam back down, mouth seeking his, drinking down the groans the spill out of him. Everything in you is tingling, white sparks behind your eyes, your blood singing in your veins. He grabs hold of your wrists and leans up, chest pressed to yours, a grunt on his lips and a gleam in his eye.

The world tilts, and your back hits the mattress, Joel still pressed deep within you. He moves up the bed with you, covers your body with his own. He cages his arms around your head, pushes the hair back from your face. You drag your nails up his back, dig them into his shoulder blades slightly. You want to mark him, you want to shout his name until your lungs give out, you want to—

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs to you, his mouth an inch from your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “My brave girl.” He rolls his hips, and your back arches off the mattress. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

You croak his name, tossing your head back as the familiar feeling creeps up your spine, the world being yanked out from under you, everything going impossibly tight and good and—

He grits out your name as you cum, your nails dug so hard into his back you’re sure you’ll draw blood, but Joel doesn’t seem to care, continuing the slow drag of his cock against your every nerve, his face fit into the curve of your neck, peppered kisses at your pulse. It’s just as intense as you remember, with him, that feeling of weightlessness seeping into you, everything relaxing as he keeps moving, seeking out his own pleasure, and you can’t help but clench, spurring him on.

At the last second, he pulls out, making you both groan, cumming hot across your bare stomach, just missing the fabric of his shirt. He slumps sideways, falling onto the mattress beside you, keeping his arm across your body, fingers wrapped around your bicep.

“M’sorry,” he grumbles, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Wasn’t sure where to…”

You just laugh, moving his shirt out of the way. “It’s fine, Joel,” you murmur, reaching out and stroking your knuckles along his cheek. “We’re good, just for future reference.”

His brow raises slowly. “Hmm?”

“McCoy has a few…habits,” you tell him, sighing when his hand moves up to your face, cups your jaw. “I smuggle his shit in from the outside, and he gets me the pill from the pharmacy in exchange.”

“Why would you—” he starts to ask, but cuts himself off, eyes slipping shut. “Right. Cowan. Of all the guys you could have…”

You slide your head closer to his, until you can kiss him softly. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it.”

Joel grunts, pulling you even closer still, a hotter kiss pressed to your mouth, tongue tasting yours. “You were the only thing that ever did.”

“You’re a romantic, Joel Miller,” you grin, rubbing your nose against his.

He grins back. “Only for women who put their hands around my throat and threaten me like you did.”

You chew your lips, heat sparking between your legs again already, turned to flame when he releases your jaw and lets his hand rest on your thigh instead, fingers curling along your sensitive skin. “Oh, you enjoyed that, did you?”

“Fuckin’ right, I did,” he grumbles, and then his mouth finds yours once more.

+

You’re up just before the sun is.

You don’t bother with the clock, turning back over, burrowing deeper into Joel’s side, the blankets covering you both. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on his stomach. It makes you smile; some things never change, and you’re grateful as hell for that.

The pair of you never left the bed last night. After you cleaned yourself up from the first round, it had very quickly devolved into a second and third. Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you, and you couldn’t keep yours off of him, touching and exploring each other until the last dregs of sunlight disappeared. He made you feel things you’d thought were long forgotten, mere memories of what you’d shared in Austin, renewed completely, leaving you reeling.

You lit candles along the windowsill, played music low on the radio — a copy of the same Led Zeppelin cassette you’d once played in Joel’s truck — and polished off the bottle of whiskey. And you talked. 

For hours.

You talked until your voice grew hoarse, and Joel’s just got more and more gravelly with every story he told. There were things he still wouldn’t tell you, things he said he was ashamed of, but you understood. There were some stories that required more than just whiskey, ones you weren’t ready to share. You weren’t the same people anymore, but a combination of new and old, survivors, people who had done what they had to to make it out alive. Make it back to each other.

Joel refused to let you out of his grip, and you were more than happy to oblige, content to stay perched in his lap as you spoke. His hands wandered, along your ribs, over your stomach, brushing the hair back from your face. You returned his touch in kind, palms riding the curves of his chest, the width of his shoulders. Your attention veered off more than once, distracted by his fingers sliding between your legs, lips finding yours, rasped words in your ear.

God, I missed you. Love you. Need you.

And now, waking up, your body not so shockingly aches for more. You cuddle closer, humming happily when his arm curls around your shoulders, head turning and his lips moving across your forehead.  You sling your arm across his stomach, rubbing your thumb across his hipbone. His legs flex beneath the sheets, tangling with your own, dragging you closer.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his eyes still shut, removing his hand up and down your arm.

“Hi,” you whisper back, lifting your jaw to kiss at his scruffy one. “It’s early, go back to sleep.”

Joel groans, burying his face in your pillow, his head ducked beneath yours lips near your ear. “W’bout you?” He squeezes your shoulder. “Stay.”

You have time to make up for, questions that still need answering, decisions to make. You want to assume that he’ll stay with you here, in your apartment, that the bed that has only been your own thus far would now belong to you both. Waking up like this, beside him — a luxury you’d never allowed yourself to grow used to back in Texas — nearly makes up for it all.

But with the threads of sunlight just starting to spark the sky, Joel beside you, the phantom feeling of him all over you, the heaviness of all the whiskey looming in the back of your throat, the guilt comes too, the unfairness of your situation, to one specific person.

Nick.

Joel had asked only once. Only one question, only one thing he was curious to know. And the answer had come so quickly, fallen out of you so fast that the guilt had started there, only to be pushed away by Joel, not by his words or his reassurances, but just his presence.

Did you love him? Do…do you love him?

No.

The answer was easy. And, you hadn’t lied to Nick. You’d never said the words, no matter how many times he’d had that gleam in his eye, when you disappeared out the fire escape, or ran into him out on patrols. It would have been a lie, plain and simple, and you refused to be that person. You had wanted to give him more, had felt like it was something deserved, even if it wasn’t something you were able to give. After five long years, you’d started to resign yourself, half convinced that no one was ever going to answer your radio messages, or walk through those gates, back into your life.

But then…Joel did.

You have to end it, with Nick. Officially. There’s no getting around it, and part of you wonders if he’ll see it coming, if he’s expecting it. In the weeks that followed him bringing Tess and Joel through officially, your stint in lockup, the beating from Angie, you’d made yourself scarce. The weight of Joel’s indifference was one thing, and the last thing you wanted was Nick’s sympathy. It felt false, no matter how you looked at it.

It was a good few days before you saw him on the streets again, and he’d balked at the bruise on your face, the slight stagger to your walk. You gave him the short version, that you’d definitely pissed Angie off at the pharmacy, and maybe you had the beating coming. He’d given you a once over, took your chin in his hand and inspected your face, told to come see him later that night.

“I shouldn’t,” you said, trying not to sound too dismissive, shaking your head in his grip. “I’m staying at Deanna’s, promised the kids a bedtime story.”

“Come after.”

“And get caught out after curfew?” you’d shot back, stepping out of his reach. “The last thing I need is another stint in lockup, don’t you think?”

“Liv—”

“I’ll see you around, Cowan.”

You’d turned on your heel, stalking off in the same direction you’d came, even though it wasn’t where you were going. You didn’t miss the hurt look on his face, the use of his surname rather than his first clearly not what we was expecting, but your face and ribs throbbed with every step you took, and you found you didn’t feel so bad about it.

He’d come by Deanna’s once while you were there. A few words were exchanged, you’d kept yourself busy with a game of Candyland with Emily, and Deanna and Nick talked in the kitchen, their voices hushed. He ruffled Henry’s hair and pinched Emily’s cheek before he left, and ducked down to leave a kiss at your temple. It made your cheeks flare with heat, and you’d followed him out of Deanna’s apartment, caught him in the hallway.

“I never thanked you properly. For getting Joel and Tess through.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, for just a moment. Turned his head enough that you could just see his face, his hard expression. “Don’t mention it.”

That was the last time you saw him.

You’re reluctant, sliding out of Joel’s grip, out of bed. He makes a noise that sounds nearly like a whine when you disentangle yourself fully, and you lean over him, pressing messy kisses along his cheeks, over his lips, his jaw. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back.”

“Where y’going?” he grumbles out, chasing your mouth. “Come back t’bed, baby.”

“There’s something I gotta go,” you tell him, kissing his cheek, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’ll come back and make you breakfast, hmm?”

“Mmm,” is the only response you get, and he’s asleep again, buried in your pillow.

You can’t bring yourself to shed his shirt, so you do up the buttons instead, find a pair of black jeans that are still wearable, shove your feet in your boots. Pulling on your coat, you grab your keys, and pause, turning and glancing back towards the bed. Joel’s still asleep, flat on his back, lips parted, soft snores filling the apartment, and despite the guilt rioting in your stomach, you smile. He looks peaceful, for the first time since you saw him again. He looks like your bed is where he belongs.

You yank your eyes away, slipping out the door as quietly as possible and locking it behind you.

It’s just past the morning curfew, when you step out of the building. The streets are mostly empty, soldiers coming off evening patrols, the day shift switching out. You take the quick path to the barracks, sliding up the fire escape, knocking softly at the window.

Nick’s awake, pulling on his gear, and his eyes meet yours through the glass as he walks towards the window, sliding it open. “What are you doing here so early?” There’s a bit of curiosity in his tone, but otherwise, his voice is flat, unflinching.

“I need to talk to you.”

He steps out of the way, and you clamber through the window, ignoring the ache in your legs, no doubt a consequence of your evening escapades. If he sees you flinch, he says nothing.

Nick goes and perches at the edge of his bed, and you stay standing, near the window. A quick escape. “What’s going on, Liv?”

“I can’t…we, I’m not…” You sigh heavily. Might as well just fucking say it. “I slept with Joel.”

He barks a laugh, and you nearly flinch. “Am I supposed to be surprised?” He leans forward, clasps his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “When?”

“Last night. I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t expect you to keep…treating me, the way you have. I don’t expect any more favours, or—”

“What would you have done,” he starts, getting to his feet, cutting you off, “if I had said no? If I had refused to bring them through?”

Your back straightens at his harsh tone. You’re not expecting forgiveness, or for this to be an easy conversation, but you already don’t like where it’s going. “I would have found another way. I would have made another deal, or let Angie beat me to death, if that’s what it took. I would have done anything.”

Nick just stares at you, for a moment, those strange eyes of him going dark, nearly black, darker than you’ve seen them in a long time. “You really love him that much.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I never stood a goddamn chance, did I? Could you ever have loved me, like that?”

You shake your head. “I can’t love anyone the way I love him.”

“I never should have fucking…” He trails off, rubs a hand over his face. “Did you ever even give a shit, really?”

“Nick, don’t—”

“Well, now’s the time for honesty, Liv! Answer the fucking question.”

“Of course I give a shit!” you throw back, taking a step forward. He stares down his nose at you. “Of course I care about you, Nick, but this is not…It’s him. I’m sorry, I truly am, but it’s always been him. It’s always gonna be him.”

“Get out.”

“Nick—”

“Get the fuck out. And do me a goddamn favour and keep your smuggling bullshit away from me. I know I can’t stop you, and there’s no point in me reporting you, you’d just rat me out.”

You balk, faltering back a step. “You really think that little of me? You honestly think I’d rat you out after this?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I do.”

You inhale sharply. You knew it would be bad, but you didn’t think this bad. “I never meant for it to happen like this. I never thought he would show up. Don’t you get that?”

“Just…get out of here, Liv. Don’t come back.”

+

There are tears in your eyes, the whole way back. You take the long route back to your apartment, keeping to the streets, pushing your way through people. Every word Nick had said rings in your ears, your throat thick and your cheeks stinging. You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears from sliding down your face.

When you get through the door, your eyes go straight to the bed, and your heart leaps into the throat when you see it’s empty, the blankets rumpled. A single tears slips out then, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your coat.

“Liv?” Joel’s voice calls, and your head snaps towards the kitchen, seeing him standing there at the counter, no shirt, jeans still unbuckled. “Baby?”

You throw yourself at him, headlong into his arms, and he catches you, holding you against his bare chest. The tears come freely then, a whirlwind of emotions, and Joel just holds you through it, fitting his face into the crook of your neck, rocking you slightly, one hand buried in your hair.

PREV | NEXT

[paingoes]

Rubies

Communication

authors note: kitty uses the word ‘nonverbal’ here in a way that isnt really medically accurate. thats kind of a whole discussion im not gonna get into now but tl;dr delta has selective mutism and autism but he isnt “nonverbal” per se.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, discussion of past captivity, past abuse, discussion of war, (internalized) abuse apologism, dehumanization, emotional whump)

================

katkittykat: hiiiiii :3c

nodiving: hey

He glanced over the top of his laptop screen, across the room where Kitty was curled up on the armchair. She flashed her teeth at him when she smiled. Her nails clicked against the keys when she typed.

katkittykat: this is so smart lowk idk why i didnt think of it sooner

nodiving: yeah

nodiving: i’ve seriously been drafting forum arguments in my head this entire time

nodiving: all of them probably think they won just cause i termed

nodiving: would it be weird if i just pick them back up like nothing happened

katkittykat: ya u might have to let those go tbh

nodiving: :/

It was very hard to type with the cast on. It took him much longer to write than it normally would. Luckily, she didn’t interrupt until she heard the typing stop.

katkittykat: so like whats the deal w u

katkittykat: are u not talking cause ur scared to?

nodiving: no

nodiving: yeah

nodiving: its not that im scared necessarily its just that its very very unnatural for me 

nodiving: it still feels rude and overfamiliar to me even if i know you dont see it that way

nodiving: this is a lot easier thank you

katkittykat: you dont have to talk if it’s uncomfortable !!!

katkittykat: its cool if ur nonverbal we can just keep texting like dis

nodiving: i think i do want to though

nodiving: its just hard

nodiving: please dont like…stop talking to me

nodiving: im trying

katkittykat: u will have to deal w us talking to u FUREVER !!!! >:3c

nodiving: <3

katkittykat: aaaaaaaah <33333

He hesitated a long time before typing the next message.

nodiving: do you think i should have stayed

katkittykat: what???? D:

nodiving: on a purely strategic level it seems like this was not the most optimal outcome

katkittykat: urghhhh 

katkittykat: well on a ~purely strategic level~ im not the best person to ask tbh

katkittykat: like im ngl galatea was NOT prepared for sudden reunification and thats why levon is so pissed at us X)

katkittykat: but it would have been hard no matter what and if the war had gone on we wouldve had to fight along 2 different fronts which is also noooooot good

katkittykat: and if we had to do that. we would have had to fight you! which would have been v v v not good  X(

katkittykat: so idk if there was really a better outcome? and even if there was like

katkittykat: its not ur problem

katkittykat: ur not just a chess piece to be moved around

nodiving: i kind of am though

nodiving: theres obviously been a huge fallout because of this and it feels wrong to write all of it off just because of. my rights or whatever.

nodiving: i feel like i kind of jumped the gun leaving when i did

katkittykat: aw jeez :(

katkittykat: i was curious abt that tbh i assumed there was some final straw for u but i didnt wanna pry obvs

katkittykat: seems like it was bad ?

nodiving: i dont know 

nodiving: i was more scared by the escalation it represented than anything that actually happened so i feel like i may have overreacted a little bit

nodiving: its hard to explain

katkittykat: ur ok! u can talk abt it when ur ready

katkittykat: but fwiw i really doubt you overreacted

nodiving: thank you

katkittykat: if anythin u seem to be kinda? downplaying it????

nodiving: it really wasnt that bad

nodiving: i could have gone longer

katkittykat: idk delta it kinda seems that bad

katkittykat: i think u got used to it

katkittykat: but that doesnt mean it wasnt bad

He gave her a nervous glance from across the room, his hands stilling on the keyboard. He reluctantly began to type again.

nodiving: did you say i didnt have to talk about it

katkittykat: yes!!!! mb

katkittykat: do u wanna play league omg we actually have time now

nodiving: yessssss

===========

nodiving: hi

sunspot: Hi Delta!!!! :)

sunspot: How are you !!!!

nodiving: im ok

nodiving: im sorry i was such a dick to you before 

nodiving: i was looking at the old messages again i feel really bad

sunspot: No you’re totally good! We were being really pushy i get why you were upset

sunspot: We were just worried for you honestly even when we didnt know you that well

sunspot: It was scary when you would just disappear for weeks at a time like that

sunspot: We just wanted to make sure you were safe

sunspot: Still do!

nodiving: thank you 

nodiving: i was scared too

nodiving: can i ask you something

sunspot: Yes please!!!! Yes I thought youd never ask!!!!

nodiving: is levon going to kill me

sunspot: Oh no

sunspot: He explicitly promised me not to

sunspot: Delta please do not tell me you have been worrying about that this entire time

nodiving: it stood out as a distinct possibility 

sunspot: Didnt he promise he wouldnt hurt you?

nodiving: yes

nodiving: you understand why i may be a bit hesitant to take him at his word

sunspot: Yes I guess thats our bad 

sunspot: But i really don’t think he wants that for you

sunspot: Do you think he’d wait for you to heal just to kill you at the end?

nodiving: not sure

sunspot: That was rhetorical! The answer was no.

nodiving: then what

sunspot: a good question

sunspot: I wish I had an answer for you and I really cant apologize enough for putting you in this situation but I'm afraid it could get very messy for a little while

nodiving: messy how

sunspot: In the broadest possible terms

sunspot: They dont really know what to do with you

sunspot: So that is something we are all going to have to figure that out together

=============

LEVON: Kitty.

LEVON: How are you, my sweet?

KITTY: omg hiiiiiii

KITTY: im rlly good actually things r rlly good!

LEVON: Any progress?

KITTY: ya i think so :)

KITTY: hes opening up a little hes still like. v v shy in person? but not as scared i dont think 

KITTY: hes very polite

LEVON: Poor thing.

LEVON: Does he have sensory issues? I hear that’s a big thing with psychics.

KITTY: ummm yeah hes v twitchy. i think he gets his signals crossed a lot but idk if hes aware of it? he just gets all hackle-y at literally nothing sometimes

LEVON: Interesting.

KITTY: how are things back there

LEVON: Well, it’s a shitshow. You’ll find out soon.

KITTY: eek

KITTY: um can i tell u smth

LEVON: Of course.

KITTY: i dont think hes ready yet 

LEVON: You have the rest of the month.

KITTY: no even then i just dont think hes gonna be ready

KITTY: he needs more time

LEVON: I feel like I’ve been more than generous in letting you keep an unsupervised superweapon(!) in your house for two months without disturbance 

LEVON: I’m not saying I’m going to put him through the ringer or anything but he does need to come back to base.

LEVON: You’re coming with him, so I don’t see what the issue is.

KITTY: will we b able to see him then :?

LEVON: Sure.

KITTY: can he room w me :3c

LEVON: Nope.

KITTY: why D:

LEVON: Security reasons. 

KITTY: levon :(

LEVON: This isn’t coming from me.

KITTY: but ur the boss!!!!

LEVON: Yes, but this isn’t an absolute monarchy. I’m still obligated to follow protocol and I’m obligated to listen to other members of the council.

LEVON: Who I should add, are a LOT less okay with this than I am. 

KITTY: ok i get all that but listen like

KITTY: i dont think u understand how fragile he is rn

LEVON: I think you may actually be underestimating him.

KITTY: uh wat do u mean by that

LEVON: He’s held his own within Empire for nineteen years. That’s not for the weak. He can handle a little strain.

KITTY: lol is that what u call it

KITTY: a little strain?

LEVON: Relatively speaking, yes. I’ll do what I can to make it painless for him. Personally, I think he’s innocent.

KITTY: he IS innocent

LEVON: Can you prove it?

KITTY: ITS SUPPOSED TO BE THE OTHER WAY AROUND!!!!

LEVON: That file you sent me. You made it, didn’t you? You’ve seen what’s on there? The casualty count?

KITTY: but thats not his fault!

LEVON: And I agree with you. But that’s what we’re going to have to establish. 

KITTY: but i dont want him to :(((

LEVON: What you want is not necessarily the basis upon which the courts operate.

==========

katkittykat: doing ok????

nodiving: yeah

nodiving: in my room

katkittykat: what do u do in there

nodiving: kinda just been sleeping a lot

nodiving: im really tired all the time i dont know why

nodiving: i didnt use to be

katkittykat: ur sleep debt is probably insaneeeeeee that why

nodiving: yeah

nodiving: im sorry that im like this btw

katkittykat: u dont need to apologize for resting bby theres nothing 2 b sorry for

nodiving: not just that i mean everything

nodiving: i know im not normal 

katkittykat: u rlly rllllly dont need to worry abt that around us i promise we r all freak bitches

katkittykat: i like talking to u tho and i think its ok if u dont realylly feel “normal” right now u dont need to b

katkittykat: u can just b urself and if u dont know who that is rn thats fine too becuz u have the rest of ur life to figure it out

katkittykat: i will still want to hang out w you anyway <3

It took a long time for him to respond. She thought he may have fallen asleep again.

nodiving: why are you being so nice to me

Her turn to hesitate. That was more of an Apollo question — he could explain it ad nauseam. She didn’t know what answer she could possibly give him, if he even really wanted one. 

There was so little she knew about Delta. Each glimpse she got of what his life had been like painted a worse picture of it. They always said he’s been through a lot when anyone asked; it was a convenient euphemism for a whole array of issues. He tried so hard to play his cards close it to his chest. It felt like a betrayal then, the way the signs slipped through. 

nodiving: you dont have to be

She frowned as she slowly tapped at the keyboard.

katkittykat: i wanna be tho

katkittykat: cause i like u

katkittykat: <3

Another moment of silence. She braced herself. There was no way she could try and unpack all of that herself. She hoped she would not have to. She would do it wrong.

nodiving: <3

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[ladamedusoif]

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'.

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.

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.

[marley-manson]

Xena season 4 finale(ish) post, warning for spoilers for certain mutuals who are currently watching the show, or anyone else.

FANTASTIC climax to Gabrielle's arc this season, good god. When she throws that fucking spear... chills. This is another contender for favourite Xena scene of all, it's so incredibly effective. The way these last few episodes have really hammered down Gabrielle's pacifism with her arguments with Amarice, her choice to let Brutus go instead of having him executed, her stupid powder and non-lethal fight shenanigans, the return of Eli in this episode - and it's all there just to make the moment where she picks up that spear as impactful as possible, and it works. Even her first kill and that fallout all the way back in season 3 now feels like it exists just to set up the emotional impact of this scene, it's that good.

And god the scene itself is amazing to watch. The way she mows down soldier after soldier as brutally and efficiently as possible, the way she visibly shifts from fighting to protect Xena to lashing out in frustrated rage as she realizes that escape is impossible, her lack of regret afterwards. The cheffest of kisses.

This episode was fantastic in other ways as well. I love that the show makes it clear that Xena only lost here because Callisto is a fucking cheater lmao. She would've killed Caesar when she intended to if Callisto hadn't intercepted her chakram, and she would've escaped the prison if Callisto hadn't broken her back. Caesar didn't defeat Xena, Callisto did, and only because Callisto has ghost magic going on. And that's very fitting too, because if it was just Xena vs Caesar it might've felt a little thin for an epic conclusion - but with true fan-beloved archnemesis Callisto involved, it feels appropriately impactful. Also love that Xena intended to just quietly assassinate Caesar lol. Circumstances are a little different than The Debt, since Caesar did declare his murderous intentions first, but the vibes are similar and I love them.

Also Caesar's sexualized vulnerability in this ep sure was a choice, but a good one imo - the sex nightmare (including a prolonged shot where they're positioned to mimic gender-reversed missionary) as well as Callisto getting handsy with him. And again like, idk exactly what the intent was here, but the vibes do feel like a call-back to his dubconny sexual encounter with Xena, and the fact (? taking their exchange in When Fates Collide into account, when Xena says she must've been his worst nightmare) that he was/is afraid of her. Idk, it adds a nicely complex layer to their interactions and mutual enmity, not quite undermining Xena's resentful hatred, but suggesting it's a two-way street, and for a good reason, especially with v traumatized Callisto drawing a parallel between the two of them in how Xena fucked them up. And given that they both simultaneously die by each others' hands-by-proxy in a pair of intercut scenes at the end, it does fit this story nicely. Both achieve a cathartic, and arguably deserved, vengeance.

Idk if I can say that was the intent definitively, I mean, the show also just has a hard-on for dominant women lol, it doesn't frame Xena as an actual rapist at any point, and it certainly hasn't made an impression on fans either based on the fact that I've like, never seen this dynamic between them discussed before. But Caesar waking up in terror after dreaming about Xena fucking and then stabbing him - in a context that suggests this is a recurring nightmare, given Caesar saying "dreams" plural and the fact that he hasn't even seen her recently - sure is a striking image to start us off with and contextualize Caesar's obsessive hatred, yk?

Oh man and finally I adore Callisto in this ep, and not just because she looks good with short hair lol. Also like, that shot when Xena and Gabrielle are being brought out to the crosses and she catches a snowflake on her tongue like a delighted child might be my favourite Callisto moment of all <333 And speaking of that moment, the direction and editing of this episode was also just amazing. Beautiful, many striking images, excellently paced.

Basically this was a nearly perfect episode, extremely satisfying and poignant and engaging and intriguing, and if it had actually been the end of the series it would've been a very fitting end. In some ways seasons 5 and 6 almost feel like bonus seasons lol, take them or leave them, with this as the true thematically resonant and emotionally satisfying ending.

[sagstelliums]

(Top to bottom) what’s people’s karma for messing with you?

Pile 1

I see that people have to face failure and messed up plans when they mess with you, things go to crap and plans don’t work out. People deal with disharmony in their relationships and friendships, they start dealing with liars and start having bad dreams. They may even deal with losing money or things that were valuable to them, they start feeling less motivated and sluggish. They deal may start getting more bugs in their house like flies/spiders/roaches or anything that’s around them, people may start to get bite by bugs or get infestations. Signs- Gemini, Libra, Leo. Iitials- B, U, G, Y

Pile 2

I see that people’s creativity goes down and people start to have a mental fogginess, people that mess with you start dealing with alot of fallouts in their relationships/friendships. They start feeling more emotional and depressed/hopeless, I see that their finances start to crumble and the people they rely on aren’t really there for them. People start dealing with hard times out of no where, things that they want to work on never come into fruition. Signs- Gemini/Capricorn, initials- D, N, O, C, T

Pile 3

When people mess with you everything in their life comes to a halt, people’s life start feeling really stagnant in area of life. People start facing heartbreaks with finances and love, people start being mean/snappy with them out of nowhere. People become stuck where they’re at and they have a harder time get out of ruts, they face a lot of karma especially if you have prominent Venus/Saturn placements. Signs- libra, Capricorn, Taurus, Aquarius, Pisces, Gemini. Initials- A, F, S, R, V, Q, T, C

Pile 4

When people mess with you they start having a hard time growing, they start having bad luck like losing things or even people stealing from them. People that mess with you start struggling financially and they have to start budgeting more, people start dealing with unhappiness in their home life or with their friends. They start depending on other people since their finances get so bad, they start feeling isolated mad unmotivated. Signs- libra, Gemini, Aquarius, Aries. Initials- H, K, Q

Personal readings are always available please watch my 18+ pick a card reading on YouTube

[backjustforberena]

i wish we had gotten the immediate reactions to rhaenys’ death. i think it was a beat that was v much missing.

i will say, i think the corlys and baela scene was on of the best of the season. corlys’ grief, and him lashing out in anger, wanting to just be DONE with it all, but not wanting to be home. the home that he shared with rhaenys, with laenor, with laena, because they’re all ghost now, his own failings haunting him. and baela bringing him back from that, bc she IS laena but more importantly, she IS rhaenys, a spitfire woman who is unafraid to tell him when and how he is wrong.

and she was rhaenys ward for six years in his absence, and rhaenys told him time and time again that driftmark should pass through laena’s line. of course she would make a good heir. his offer makes sense, as does her refusal of it.

the ep left some things to be desired (why must we skip past the immediate emotional fallout hotd!?) but i thought that was good. it makes me curious about his next interactions with alyn. and we haven’t even seen him interact with addam yet.

I was not too keen on this episode. After what should have been seen as a massive curveball, turning point, moment of crisis or whatever you want to call it, for all involved, the aftermath was rather... sanitised. A little predictable. A little repetitive in terms of character beats, with no real escalation or sense of urgency, which is sad. And I do think that a lot of that comes down to, as you say the "immediate emotional fallout".

I think that's been a flaw in the writing overall. We've got a lot of these little skips that actually uproot us. It's hard to get inside a character's head and motivation when they are halfway through an action. We don't see what propels them. Only the course they are on. We don't see them meet people, only treat with them. We don't see them receive news, only consider it. And that's disconcerting. You spend half of the scene trying to work out why it's happening, or else wondering nothing at all. Niether strategy promotes worthwhile engagement.

I do think the immediate reaction to Rhaenys's death was missing but I think it was more than that. We also don't have an immediate reaction to the fall of Aegon either. We don't know how that news was imparted or taken. And we should because we need to not know where it's going to go or what the path to take might be - we should see the bloodshed (metaphorically) before we go about cauterising - if nothing else but to feel the effect of a crisis averted. Or a consequence damned.

I loved Corlys and Baela's scene. It felt present. It felt like he was focused on his loss, not just on the war and therefore it came from within himself, rather than outside of himself, as, I felt, was the case in things such as Rhaenyra's reaction (aka the A,B,C of that scene is covering the loss of Rhaenys but ultimately introducing the idea of persuading Corlys as Hand and setting up the Baela and Corlys scene).

I do, however, dislike the alienation between a Velaryon identity and a Targaryen one, especially in Baela ruling herself out of ruling Driftmark, despite her blood claim and her investment in the island, having lived there for years and years.

For all that Baela says that Rhaenys wasn't just Corlys's to lose, branding her only as a Targaryen Princess felt a bit of a disservice as well. You can be both and honour both. You can be Velaryon and Targaryen and if anyone emulated that, to the fullest, it was Rhaenys. She was Lady of the Tides, as much as the Blood of the Dragon. And she took pride in both. It's sad that the writers have gone this way, though I can see why, I suppose. And it was, ultimately, a comparison done to persuade Corlys.

What Baela says to him is what Rhaenys would say. And that's what he sees and responds to. She was so like her grandmother, and her mother. I think that's what prompts him to try and name her heir - to hold onto that which he feels he has lost or is slipping away.

I'm not sure what's next for Corlys. I really enjoyed his grief. I hope we see him exhibit some of that impulsive reaction when he faces Rhaenyra as well. For all Rhaenyra bemoaning her lack of ability to perform any action - asking Corlys to be Hand was something she could have done herself. And, arguably, should have.

[atonalginger]

Snippet Sunday Monday-Funday!

Thank you for the tag @eridanidreams!

I've been meaning to share stuff and then the wednesdays and sundays roll by and I forget. And yes, it is Monday but hey! Still a good time to share!

I haven't been writing as much as usual do to a lot of stress this past month compounding with the stress I've had all spring-summer with a medical issue I think I've finally gotten squared away! and Hopefully September treats me better....

Now what to share...that is the question. I couldn't decide and expressed as much in the coemancer discord and @silent-moons-camp suggested a sentence of each thing I mentioned I could share. And I think they might be onto something so I'm going to do something like that. More than a sentence but not too much from several points in the upcoming Wild West party fic. All under the cut because otherwise this post would get unruly! There will be shenanigans. Angst. Emotions. Del getting gussied up.

first is some cat burglary shenanigans. Rokov and Doc Melody end up breaking into the Delgado Manor in the Core District for...reasons and have very specific instructions from Del.

Retrieve a specific old stuffed chihuahua from his childhood room.

Trash that fucking room

So...

When he stepped through the side door he saw the bag near the door already full. A commotion down the hall, complete with what sounded the hiss of a hull leak, made him freeze in place. That’s impossible, he thought as he furrowed his brow.

“I got the puppy,” Jay said, her hand appearing out of the doorway with the gold toy chihuahua in her hands. It was tattered, the red collar faded from time and little bald spots on the fabric, but otherwise in good condition. Signs of a toy well loved, “don’t worry I’ll leave some for you.”

“What are you doing in there?” he asked, hesitant to take a step with the call of the Blackest Sea still hissing in the house.

“He said to wreck the room,” the puppy bounced upward as she shrugged, “I thought you were excited for this.”

“I was…” Rokov walked down the hallway and accepted the toy from her. He could see loose stitches that struggled to hold the tail and several of the legs on. The stitches were rougher and with a black thread that stood out from the gold fabric. Someone hurt you and then put you back together. Question is who and why?

Rokov looked into the room and saw a mass of stuff: furniture, posters, loose objects, papers, bedding, and more, being pulled to a point near but not on the ceiling. The force ripping, tearing, and cracking the various materials as they tangled around one another. As he stared the hissing stopped and everything fell to the floor.

“What was that?”

“A gravity well,” Jay answered like it was no big deal, “I’d never really used it before, could never get the timing right in combat for it to be effective and if I’m not careful it could pull Sam into it.”

“You…how?” Rokov asked as he carefully tucked their prize into his coat pocket, “what are you using to do this?”

“Focus on the task at hand,” she reached up and gave his cheek a pat.

--

Next is angst. Fallout of the score of mementos brought back from the manor.

“What happened?” she pointed to the missing eyes.

“My little sister wanted to play with Marisol and I said no. She ran to Papa and he made me hand her over. Lupe was so mad at me at that point that she hurt Mari to punish me. I found the all the parts but could never figure out how to fix the eyes. She’d broken the stem with the sewing hole and glue never worked.”

“Poor Marisol,” Sophie gave the ashta a few loving strokes and then laid her back on top of the bag. He figured she’d go for another toy, continue exploring his past, and was nearly knocked over with the big hug his little bunny hit him with. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her as she mumbled into his shoulder, “I’m sorry she did that to you Papa.”

“I am too, conejita,” he closed his eyes and settled onto the floor with his back to the bed, “To be fair to Lupe, she was very little when it happened. Younger than you. That destruction was her mimicking what she’d seen.”

“But you didn’t hurt your friends,” Sophie let go and went back to the bag to look at the others, “did you?”

“No,” he watched her as she pulled a stuffed trilobite, red with most of the limbs missing. Her jaw dropped as she looked over the mostly flat friend, her little hands tracing over the places where little legs should be.

“Did tia do this too?” Sophie held old Rio out to him.

He accepted Rio with a sad smile, marveling at just how flat she’d become from all those years in the bottom of that chest. He ran his fingers over the textured fabric before sitting the trilobite on his knees, “no, Lupe was innocent here.”

“What happened?” Sophie asked.

“I made my Papa mad,” he said in a hushed tone, “I was your age. Don’t remember what caused it, not that it matters. But he took Rio’s legs for it. Abuelo Rafa stitched up her body when he got home that night after he couldn’t find her legs.”

“And this one?” she held up a stuffed mossgnath, Paz, the tail and several legs reattached and the neck permanently bend after the foam rod was ripped out.

“Papa,” he admitted.

She sat down next to him with Paz still in her arms and leaned her head against his arm, “and all the other friends in that bag?”

He hugged his little girl tight, his nose buried in her blonde waves as he fought back more tears. She hugged him back, a little hand clinging to his flannel shirt tight. She didn’t need her Papa falling apart, now or ever. He was one of her rocks, a protector, someone who ensured she was safe and happy. It was all in the past anyway, he kept reminding himself as he pushed the painful emotions back into their holes, it shouldn’t hurt anymore.

--

for something lighter here's some Manny and Cora

Cora turned her body and brought her leg up onto the bale, her shin pressed against Manny’s thigh with her foot playfully hooking the outside of their knee. They placed a hand on her ankle, a subtle smile curling their lip as their cheeks turned red. Cora noted the reaction and tapped her foot against their knee a few times, “so a meeting of the black sheep?”

“Something like that,” Manny nodded, “Without getting into the weeds, Abuela Rosa stole something from her mama while she was on her deathbed. Something that was supposed to go to this cousin’s mother. Apparently Tio Gabi now has this thing. And he wanted to give it to his cousin because it’s technically hers by rights and family tradition. She was touched but refused to take the thing, insisting he keep it.”

“She’s scared of Rosa.”

“Si,” Manny made a face, “and I can’t blame her. Neither can he. She had an idea of what he could do with the thing and even put it in writing but it wasn’t what he’d hoped.”

“He wanted to fix something broken in the family,” Cora said, “wanted to feel like he could right a wrong.”

Manny tapped their index finger against Cora’s calf, “exactly.”

“We should let him know Sophie’s worried about him. He might be able to explain that he wasn’t so much sad as disappointed and that everything’s fine.”

“Good idea,” Manny grinned more openly, “you always know what to do.”

“Not always,” Cora shrugged, “I just get lucky.”

Manny laughed, “don’t be modest, it doesn’t suit you.”

--

And Del getting gussied up for the big party

He finished buttoning up his collar and carefully tied his red silk bow tie in the mirror, fluffing the loops and smoothing the ends so it looked nice and full for when the guests arrived. He wasn’t sure how long it would last seeing as he made it all of an hour yesterday before he pulled it loose. He was used to a scarf looped loosely around his neck and shoulder, not this thing tied snugly around his throat.

Delgado grabbed his black jacket and shrugged it on, smoothing the lapels and freeing his bow from the collar. He usually hated wearing suits, an early life of being made to dress up for bullshit he didn’t care about coloring his opinion of them, but he had to admit he looked pretty good in the mishmash of late 1800’s Earth fashion. There was more color, patterns, and life to the suit. It didn’t seem to be about being uniform with everyone else like the suits of today and instead allowed a man to express himself.

He walked back over to the desk and picked up the pink silk square, quickly folding it up and tucking it into his jacket pocket. It was funny the little things he retained from his youth, the pocket square folds his abuelo taught him being one of them. He chose a rose fold, a forgiving fold as there were no precise corners that looked like a budding pink rose in his pocket.

[desceros]

hi, just gonna start this off by saying I'm in love with your stories!! Like Dood, I've read your stuff an unhealthy amount of times. I was just wonderin'... *twiddles fingers* if you ever get time, could you drop some tips on how you write your stories? And what I mean by that is, like how you develop your main character and their relationship with the turts, then how you plan your story without getting stuck? Because your stories are flawless and I always have trouble getting past plot holes! (btw, sorry if this was a lot! I completely understand if you don't have time to answer this!)

uwahh, thank you so much!! i love hearing that people enjoy my writing, heehee = v= and i'm also a sucker for this kind of question so thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about it :D

sooo usually i start with a plot nugget (e.g. "a meet cute at the aquarium where you see someone cute through the tank but don't catch their name"). then i think ok, who does that mesh with, pairing wise? for that fic, euclidean line, i wanted to write rise donnie and he fit the prompt very well, so that settles that. sometimes it's 'oh this prompt begs for this character, so i'm going to be writing him now i guess.' just depends.

with the plot nugget usually comes a vibe, and that vibe kind of dictates the mood of the fic. sometimes my fics are humorous (think goldilocks), and sometimes they're more somber (think EL). with that vibe comes the, uh, "mood" of the reader insert character. since i knew EL was going to be a study of donnie's emotional fallout with krang, i wanted to have a reader who was good at dealing with emotions to be a kind of guiding light for him. goldilocks has a chaotic reader to match the chaotic feel of that fic. etc. that gives me a feel for what the reader's personality is going to be, and from there, i can construct other pieces of things like how they react with the other turtles. leonardo is going to react differently to a sassy reader dating raph than he is to an emotionally-sensitive reader dating donnie, after all, so their relationships kind of fall into place once i know who the reader is.

i like to have a "best friend" character for the reader outside of the romantic relationship. it helps the reader feels like a person with a life outside of the romantic relationship, and it also gives them a chance to have conversations that drive a plot beyond just "when are the main characters gonna smooch". not that that kind of thing isn't interesting (i'm a romance writer for god's sake!), it's just not the only thing i like to have going on. so sometimes i pick the best friend at random (e.g. in amaranthine, i wanted to practice writing raph so i made him the best friend character), and sometimes it's pretty important to the plot (e.g. in the tea fic where splinter being the bestie is actually pretty important to the emotional core of the fic). i match the reader's personality to the best friend character as well, and this helps me create a multi-dimensional person. like... what kind of person would leo pine after, but who is also drinking tea all the time with splinter? what kind of person would donnie want to explore pain kink with, but is also best friends with raph? that kind of thing.

as for the plot and how to avoid plot holes, what i like to do is have a connecting thread that weaves through the entire fic. going back to euclidean line, that fic was all about the jellyfish. you and donnie meet at the jellyfish tank because the two of you are drawn to them, comforted by your different traumas by the idea of existing in the life of a jellyfish. so then you take all of the events of the fic and you pin them to that thread. so little things like... meeting at the jellyfish tank. the smut making them feel like they're floating like a jellyfish. painting a jellyfish for his lab. it gives your fic a sense of continuity that ties everything together, and also gives you an emotionally cathartic line to end on. euclidean line ends with the two of you feeling like jellyfish together. the tea fic ends with leo saying your tea is better than splinter's. the bruise fic ends with the same 'donnie thinks about it a lot' line from the opening. it's a kind of... cheat sheet for satisfying bookends.

from there you just expand out and add plot lines one by one. euclidean line had the romance plot line, but also the meeting the hamato clan plot line. it's the same idea with that one with the tension of you the reader knowing that these are donnie's family, but the insert-chan not knowing. they all build on the same idea, creating continuity through the fic.

then, at the end when you finish your first draft, you go through and you just make sure all the little loops are closed. sometimes i'll catch things that i included at the beginning and either take them out because they didn't go anywhere, or i expand on them a little so that they end in a nice bowtie with everything else. eventually you get to where you just kind of... keep all of them juggling in your head and weave them in organically (which is how you end up chronically writing 30k one shots, oops).

WOW that got super long, but i hope i answered your question?? if not you can ask something more specific and i'll try to dig in but this is probably a pretty good overview, heehee. the best advice i can give to you is just never to give up and always keep writing what YOU want to read, because the love of what you're making is really the thing that'll keep you passionate and excited to go forward. good luck, and i hope this helps you a little! :D

[khruschevshoe]

Stolen Earth/Journey's End v. A Good Man Goes To War

aka: The Importance of Character in Avngers-Assemble-Style Plots

There's something to be said about the reason why Stolen Earth/Journey's End works for me in a way that A Good Man Goes to War doesn't (despite them both being big, Avengers-assemble-style, finale-esque pieces of bombast) and it's very simple: we have spent Seasons getting to know the characters in Journey's End, with each one of them hitting the climax or the end of their character arc, all the way from the three main companions (Rose, Martha, and Donna) to even Mickey and Jackie and Jack and Sarah Jane and Harriet Jones, while we literally have no emotional connection to ANY of the characters in a Good Man Goes to War other than the Doctor, Amy, Rory, and I guess maybe River but she does nothing but exposition/plot twist dump at the end. Sure, there's the cameo of Captain Henry and his son from Curse of the Black Spot and it's fun to see them for a hot second, sure, but all the other characters we have never met before. The Doctor has the big exposition discussion/Colonel Runaway speech/discussion of anger/big Melody-as-a-trap reveal with Madame Vastra&Dorium, characters we've never met before.

As for the characters we know, Amy gets very little emotional fallout from the body horror situation of realizing you're pregnant and have been kidnapped other than a tiny little exchange with the Doctor regarding the nature of the Flesh (she does get to be horrified by Melody's disappearance, but that ends by the end of the episode). Rory gets a little something regarding protecting Amy but he gets very little emotional development/reaction in this episode other than crying when he meets Melody. Most of his time in the episode is spent randomly being badass/threatening the Doctor with a sword when the Doctor asks for permission to hug Amy (which 1) is incredibly sexist and very much not in keeping with Rory's character so far and 2) doesn't even make sense because the Doctor LITERALLY HUGS AMY earlier in the episode). The Doctor gets plenty of emotional reactions/realizations/regret this episode, but the structure of the episode/conceit of the Avengers-assemble-style story leads to a lot of flash without a lot of substance to back it up, unlike Stolen Earth/Journey's End which only works as well as it does with all of the plot/world-building shit/fan-service/plot twists it throws at you because it is almost all in service of character development. Ends to Martha's Doctorification arc, the Ten/Rose plot line, Donna's tragic ending, Mickey&Jackie's friendship, HARRIET JONES ARC MY BELOVED, even Jack getting to reunite with Rose. Even the more fan-servicy bits like bringing in the characters from Torchwood and the Sarah Jane Adventures works because those characters are well-established with seasons of character development behind them, even if mainline-only watchers of Doctor Who aren't aware of it.

Stolen Earth/Journey's End is all about the character of the characters and A Good Man Goes to War is about cameos/introducing characters/exploring the agency of well-established characters and I think that's why one of them works far better than the other.

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Porter Gage x f!reader •°• Under management △SMUT△

Title: Under management

Rating: explicit, smut

Category: f/m

Fandom: Fallout 4

Relationship: reader x Gage, ss x gage, female overboss x Gage

Characters: Gage, reader

Tags/ triggers: Mild dubious consent if you squint, p in v, pwp, smut, vaginal fingering, no aftercare, OOC

Wordcount: 1470

a/n: idk how I feel about this one yet, but it's finished and that's something to be happy about.

When he had offered to be the man behind the overboss you didn't think he meant it quite as literally. He had been quite to the point in that initial conversation, most of it purged from your memory under the exhaustion and blood loss, but you remembered the ease in which he shot down your objections and took the back-seat, come to think of it, he did like the proverbial back-seat in most of your interactions...

Many a times he found himself behind you, hand anchored to the back of your neck as he took the time to tell you how good you take him whilst filling your cunt up to your skull, pressed against the old mattress as you cried out. It had barely been a few days when he first found himself pressed to the hilt, a quick motion that ended with you bent over the countertop, stools rolling on the floor from the jagged movement.

You could feel it as you walked through the parks, his eyes on you as he trailed behind. A quiet patience, control that seemed to snap once his eyes were the only ones on you, when he could maneuver you as he liked, where he dragged beyond the title of overboss even when still referring to you as it.

You should not like that fact, you rolled the thought over in your mind, cloudy intention in the sanctity of Fizztop Grille. Barely even a word exchanged until he once again maneuvered your body effortlessly onto the bed, pants already dragged to the floor and fingers pressed to your clothed core, biting into your lower lip as you looked up at his hulking form.

"Like that?" He asked, but didn't wait for a response, merely dragged your underwear to the side and pressed a finger into your tight heat.

You sucked in a breath at the feel of it, body tingling under the promise of the sweet release, yearning for the press of him once again. Your hands pressed to his shoulders in a keening display as your body opened up to him, a softness beneath the jagged movement as he took the time to pull at the threads of your body.

You mulled the emotion in your head as your head tipped back and sucked in another breath, repeated the mantra that it was just pleasure, it was just the raider way, thoughts that crumbled under the weight of his lips pressed to the side of your face, of the words layered upon your skin.

You were easy, you wagered. Something easy to manipulate and fashion into what he wanted, to artificially move into a position to take control of. The notion only made real in your mind by how you responded when his free hand moved up your body, slipping under your shirt and wrapping around your breast. You pushed into him as he played with the weight of it, whispering his name under the threat of your release building in your lower abdomen.

He was gracious enough to press his thumb to your clit as your hips jerked pathetically against his fingers. Your hands clenched against his shirt, biting into your lower lip hard enough to draw blood when you chanced a glance up at the man. His eye was focussed on where his fingers disappeared into your cunt.

"G-Gage.." You whimpered, that lead his gaze to your face. "I'm so... Close."

The smirk on his face was unmistaken as he shifted his weight a little to better regard you.

"Show me." He stated simply, doing more purposeful movements with his hand. " I want you to come on my fingers... boss."

By now he must've realized what the term does to you, had to have felt the way your cunt flutters against him when he uses it. He didn't say anything on the matter, but he purposefully used it in your most heightened state, pushed you into clenching around him.

You came with his name on your tongue, nails digging into your palm as you clenched them against his chest, chest pressing into his chest as the sensations ran through your body, for a moment consumed.

You bit into your lip when he removed his fingers from your cunt, small sound falling from your lips. He sat back, fingers pressing into your skin as he dragged your underwear down your legs. He watched on, attentive in the way his eye lingered on your body and settled between your legs. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh, keeping your thighs spread for him in his assessment. He glanced up at your face as his hand covered your sex, and he then slid a single digit through your slick folds.

"You are quite something..." His voice carried across the room, fingers wrapping over your hip. "Spread out like this, all for me." He didn't plan on wasting much more time, as he pulled his cock free with a few jagged motions to his pants and slapped it against your cunt, a chuckle reverberating at your sound of surprise. "Such a pretty little thing."

He shifted a little to get a better angle, lining up to your entrance and swiftly pressed onward, not enough to be able to thrust to the hilt at first, but he quickly worked his way inside, quick sharp motions that sucked the air from your lungs.

He quickly found a rhythm, much less pressed on you than where you connected, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he used the leverage to pull your body towards his as he thrusted, watching as his cock reappeared and then disappeared again inside your warm cunt.

"That's it..." He grunted through the motions. "So fucking tight... So good for me, boss."

You bit into your fist, eyes closed under the assault, sensation pricking at your skin as you were submerged under the feeling of his cock filling you up again and again, feeling your body rock against the mattress as he used your body for his own pleasure.

Lost in the pleasure, you didn't quite notice the shift until he pulled harshly at your wrist, dislodging the appendage from your lips and pressing it beside your head, fingers locking to keep it in place as he hovered over you.

"Let me hear it." He stated as he looked down at you, dragging your thigh over his hip as he took you. "Don't you dare fucking hide it from me."

You whimpered at the request, soft babbling under the sensation that turned louder until you called his name in a plea that you weren't sure exactly what you were asking for.

His hand left your wrist, sliding between your bodies and pressing flat against your clit, pressing a kiss against your exposed neck when your head moved to the side.

"I want you to come with me inside you." He spoke against your skin, the finger on your clit rapidly moving at the tail-end of the sentence. "I know you can do that for me."

You could feel your thighs quiver at the sensations that wrecked your body, your own fingers pressing into the skin of his back. You closed your eyes, with all the turmoil and confusion he caused, you rarely found the courage to not give into whatever he asked. You relented to the pressure in your lower abdomen, crying out his name as you gave in.

Your walls clenched around him, his hand digging into your hip in his effort to keep fucking into your tight cunt as you fell. You watched your expression shift, body shake, and he swore he could thank whatever god was out there to have you land in his lap so beautifully, so obediently.

"That's a good girl." He breathed, hips sloppily thrusting forward until he stilled, pressed deep into your cunt as he came, ropes of warm seed painting your insides as he grunted against your neck.

He was never one for intimacy or showing affection, but he couldn't help the way his eyes washed over your flushed face, but neither would you see it and ultimately, he pulled out without a word and flopped down beside your half dressed body, placing himself back in his pants before zipping up, like nothing had even happened. The only evidence the sweat on his skin and the liquid spilling from between your legs.

He was courteous in his own way you suppose, when he handed you a glass of water and the fact that he didn't kick you out of the bed, or leave himself until some time had passed after the deed, but perhaps it would've been better if he had, then you wouldn't have any hope to cling to that this could be more than what it evidently was to him.

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Masterlist

[zirawrites]

How would Fallout 4 companions react to seeing Sole dancing around in a skimpy outfit on stage as their performer if the Third Rail decides to do some big band thing?

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mCwI9o7Zu6g

Cait: Cait threw her head back in laughter, and raised her beer towards the stage. "Yer mental, Sole! Absolutely mental!" She cheered Sole on the entire dance, and acted as a bodyguard whenever someone with a wandering gaze got too close to the band.

Codsworth: "Nothing wrong with letting loose, sir/mum." Codsworth wriggled at the corner of the room in a nervous dance. He was supportive of Sole, but wasn't too keen on the other patrons heckling his nearly naked master.

Curie: Curie gasped when Sole stepped out in their glittering yet somehow obscenely sheer costume. Magnolia had become quite the influence on her companion, and Curie would need to have a private word with her about redirecting Sole's focus on science. But Curie couldn't be anything but giddy for her friend when she saw how happy Sole looked on stage. Curie shouted for an encore after the song ended.

Danse: Danse's cheeks flamed red. He already didn't like Sole -- or any Brotherhood soldier -- hanging around the likes of Goodneighbor. But when Sole jumped around the stage with a wide, enthusiastic grin, Danse found himself smiling. It was nice to see his friend enjoy themselves after all they did for the Commonwealth. He still chastised them after the song, just to make sure Sole didn't confuse his amusement with acceptance.

Deacon: "Hell yeah!" Deacon stayed among the crowd, making sure all the attention was on his hopping, flailing and utterly ridiculous partner. However, he still cheered them from the sidelines like the rest of the raucous dancers. When Sole finished the song and left the stage, he slung his arm around their shoulders. "Next mission we're totally going as rock stars. Trust me on this one."

Hancock: Sole barely started their dance when Hancock jumped up on the stage to join them. He couldn't let Sole have all the fun. The two swung each other around like absolute fools until Sole ended up wearing Hancock's coat and he somehow had on someone else's hat. It was definitely a party neither of them would fully remember by morning.

MacCready: MacCready felt a mixture of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. He loved seeing Sole cut loose, but he didn't necessarily want to catch a glimpse of skin better kept under armor. "Don't hurt yourself up there!" he heckled as Sole did an impressive spin; their outfit lifting higher than MacCready would have liked. "And if you get cold, my duster is available for rent."

Preston: "Get it, General!" Preston was completely supportive of Sole jumping around the stage. It didn't necessarily advertise the Minutemen in the most wholesome sense, but Preston thought it was good that the Commonwealth saw Sole as a regular person. Maybe a half-naked, slightly tipsy person, but a normal Wastes survivor nonetheless.

Piper: "Goodness, Blue!" Piper tried to look away from Sole's exposed legs, but her companion kicked just past her face as the band's song picked up tempo. It was impossible not to notice just how free-spirited and scantily clad they were. "If you need me, I'll be at the bar." Piper was lying. She watched in amusement from the front row.

Nick: "For heaven's sake." The poor synth detective wasn't sure how to react to Sole's dancing. He loved the music, but didn't exactly want to see his companion half-naked in front of all of Goodneighbor. Nick settled on watching with a weakly encouraging smile, silently willing the dance to end.

X6-88: X6 didn't think this was the sort of future for the Institute that Father had in mind. He watched in bemused horror (quite an unsettling emotion) until Sole finally descended the stage. "If you don't put some clothes on, at least dismiss me so I can go back to the Institute and beg for a memory wipe."