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ladamedusoif · 11 months ago

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Visiting - Chapter 12: If I Must Have A Future

(moodboard by @agentjackdaniels)

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: Spring break comes to Barrow, and with it a European trip with major consequences for Ben and Lydia.

Word count: ~18k words (I'm so sorry but HEY LOOK THEY'RE BACK!)

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Warnings (chapter specific): Smut; quite a lot of smut really; oral sex (M and F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; fingering; praise kink; very mild submission kink if you squint; self-esteem and body/weight insecurity; anxiety; angst; family dynamics; strong language; alcohol consumption; references to past instances of emotional abuse; fluff

A/N: Oh, boy. This was a labour of love. An incredibly important part of their story, and one that took me ages to get ‘right’. This is not the end of Visiting - I’m planning about three more chapters, which will not be as long as this one. So there is still more to come from Ben and Lydia.

I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who was so kind and excited about the little Christmas one-shots I wrote for this pair - sometimes I feel like my dorks are the last kind of characters people want in this fandom, and it was lovely to see that they have readers who actually care (and even miss them!). Thank you too to everyone who voted in the poll about the chapter length. You wanted the full-on 18,000 words - you’re getting it.

And a special word for @agentjackdaniels, who screamed with me when we got one of the most Benergetic red carpet looks I’ve ever seen at the Emmys, who made my gorgeous new header image, and who has helped me see more times than I’d care to admit over the last few months that I matter and make a difference, especially around here. I hope I have done the same, too.

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

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

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

Further A/N at the end of the chapter.

The title of this chapter is a line from the Fontaines DC song “I Love You”, which is not terribly romantic, all told, but I heard it over the holidays and this lyric hit me hard: If I must have a future/I want it with you.

Taglist: FYI I’m retiring taglists as they are giving me so much trouble with people not getting notifications - follow me on @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. But just in case: @agentjackdaniels, @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“We will shortly be beginning our descent. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

You have never been one for sleeping on planes. Ben, on the other hand, has been snoozing away for the last two hours, the thin airline blanket comically small on his broad frame.

You put a hand on his arm to gently rouse him. “Love? We’re almost there.”

He blinks awake, eyes sleepy and hair askew, and stretches out his arms. “Mmmmfff. Hi, Lyd. You excited?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.”

You’d mentioned the trip shortly after Valentine’s, during a conversation after dinner about plans for the spring break.

Your spring visit home had been booked since well before Christmas. A few days at home, visiting your family and catching up, and then to Paris for a week of tying up loose research ends and some vacation time.

It sounded blissful at the time. Now, your anticipation was tempered with disappointment at the prospect of leaving him here.

“So, uh, what are you doing for spring break, love? You going west, or…”

He shrugs. “Ordinarily I’d try to get a few days in San Francisco. But everyone’s got plans and is out of town on various trips, so there’s no point.” He looks a little resigned. “So it’s time catching up on work and my reading here, I guess. Maybe do some prep for directing the student play after the vacation. When are you back from your trip?”

There’s a nervous knot in your stomach. Just ask. Just do it.

“Could you take your reading and directing prep on the road?”

He looks perplexed. You take a deep breath.

“What if you came with me?”

Ben’s eyes widen. “Come with you? To see your family?”

Oh, fuck. You’ve pushed your luck. This is too weird.

“No, don’t worry about it.” You stand up from the table and pick up your plates. “I just knew I’d miss you but it’s probably too much. It’s fine. Forget I said it.”

He follows you into your tiny kitchen and leans against the doorframe. “What if I wanted to come?”

“Wanted? I mean, you seemed totally stunned that I’d even ask.”

He shakes his head and smiles gently. “Not stunned, as such. Surprised, maybe? But not in a bad way.”

“Why surprised, then?” You cross the small linoleum floor and wrap your arms around his waist. He blushes, tucking his chin against his chest bashfully.

“I dunno. Just that you want to bring me home with you? It�� it means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me just to ask you, love. But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you with those big dark eyes and you feel your heart swell. “But I think I’d like to. As long as that’s okay with your family, of course? I don’t want to be in the way.”

You laugh and raise your eyebrows. “In the way? I think they’d be more excited about seeing you than me.” You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You know they think you’re great, you’ve been on the video calls. My mother asks me more about you than she does about myself.”

He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “It’s different in person, sometimes.”

You shake your head. “Mmmm, I don’t think so in this case. You haven’t been dealing with daily queries about the welfare and wellbeing of Ben Morales. And no, she doesn’t yet seem to realise she can just call you by your first name.”

He chuckles and holds you closer. “Guess I’d better go book some flights, huh?”

Ben pushes the luggage cart towards the sliding doors and out into the bright, bustling Arrivals area, where families wait excitedly at the barrier to greet their loved ones.

“LYDIAAAAAAAA!”

You immediately spot your parents, standing right in the centre of the barrier, aligned with the sliding doors. It’s still very early in the morning and you wonder how long they’ve been here, waiting at the perfect spot to see the two of you emerge.

You give Ben’s arm a reassuring squeeze as the two of you walk towards your excited family. “You’re not a stranger, love. They already love you. Remember that.”

Ben has barely exited the arrivals area when he’s enveloped in a warm embrace by your mother, who seems to have forgotten you entirely. Your father puts an arm around you and smiles widely while your mother coos over Ben. “And Ben Morales! Welcome, welcome. We’re so delighted to have you.”

Your mother has had her hair done and is dressed in an outfit that feels somewhere between “weekday lunch at a nice restaurant” and “Sunday best”. She’s also using what you and Kate refer to as her “telephone voice” when she speaks to Ben, more clipped and flatter than her usual tones.

“Mom, he knows what you sound like normally, you don’t need to put on the fancy accent.” You hug your father tightly and notice that his eyes are shining. He’s similarly neatly dressed, wearing a nice smart-casual pair of pants and a matching shirt and v-neck light sweater.

“I am talking normally!” your mother fires back, followed by a tinkly laugh as she tilts her head and smiles at Ben. He smiles broadly, though you know he’s shattered, and your mother gives you a look that says “See? Ben likes me.”

Your father shakes Ben’s hand before embracing him. “The two of you must be exhausted,” he says, arm still wrapped around Ben’s shoulders. “Let’s head to the car.”

Ben and your dad lead the way, your mother reaching for your hand and giving it a warm squeeze as you walk companionably a few steps behind.

“Welcome home, pet. I’m delighted he’s here too. We’re so happy for you.” She looks ahead and appraises Ben’s broad frame as he pushes the luggage cart and chats to your father.

“Grand big man, isn’t he?”, she says approvingly. “Don’t look at me like that, Lydia!”

“There’s milk there and bread and tea and coffee and a few biscuits and butter and a couple of bags of crisps and -“

“Mom, we’re fine. We’ll take care of ourselves. Okay?”

Your mother throws up her hands in resignation. “Alright! Just wanted to make sure you didn’t starve.”

Kate, Marc, and their little girls have taken over your parents’ house for the duration of renovation works on their own home, and in the interests of space (and your sanity) you’d booked a small holiday flat in your hometown for the visit. Now, with Ben in tow, the privacy of the flat was even more welcome.

“Thank you. I mean it. Now, can we please go and get some rest?” You hug her tightly and she kisses your cheek, before looking in Ben’s direction.

“Of course. We’ll see you later, though? For something to eat? Kate and Marc and the girls are that excited to see you, I think they might burst.”

You stand beside Ben, bringing your hand to the small of his back, and wave your parents off as they return to the car. They’re not even out of earshot when you hear your father saying “He wouldn’t let her lift a single bag! Not one! Helped her all the time. Lovely chap. Very nice. Far cry from the other fucker…”

Subtlety has never been their strong point. You just hope Ben is too jet-lagged to have heard what they said.

A relaxed family meal, she said. Nothing special, she said. Come over in the early afternoon. It’s just like a Sunday lunch, she said.

Your mother is reading Ben a list of menu options that’s longer than in some restaurants. His eyebrows rise and fall as he takes it in and considers the possibilities.

“Honestly, Mrs -“

“MARIE. I told you.”

“Honestly, Marie, I’ll just have whatever everyone else is having. It all sounds great. Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“I most certainly do not. You can have whatever you want. You are the guest.”

“Seriously. Whatever’s easiest.” He looks nervously at you and speaks in a low voice. “What is easiest?”

You shrug. “Probably the beef.”

He beams at your mother and tells her he’ll have some beef. She tilts her head, smiles delightedly at him, and does that tinkly laugh again before returning to the kitchen.

The meal is delicious but, inevitably, chaotic. Your three-year-old niece Cora, who had insisted on sitting between you and Ben (Benjamoo, as she persisted in calling him), realises quickly that the family-style service meant she could help herself to her favourite sides as and when she wanted, chubby little hands rapidly making a mark on the mashed potato and carrots. Your mother keeps asking if the food is hot enough. Kate and Marc try to talk to Ben while corralling little Evie and making sure she gets fed.

Your father, meanwhile, veers between talking delightedly to the little girls and engaging Ben in a rapidly-shifting conversation that covers San Francisco, transatlantic flights, whether Ben liked sports, and a detailed description of the plot of a film he’d watched the week before. You couldn’t work out which film it was, but you knew it had Kevin Costner in it. Mostly because your dad kept referring to him as “Kevin Costner”, rather than by the character’s name.

You rest a hand on Ben’s knee, under the solid dining table your father had made for the family home when you were barely two.

“You doing okay? I know we’re a bit much…”

His warm hand covers yours and he smiles softly.

“I’m great, Lyd. And you haven’t been to a Morales family meal yet - now that’s a bit much. Just you wait and see.”

You grin and lean your head affectionately on his shoulder for a moment, winding your fingers through his, never noticing the conspiratorial, knowing look exchanged between Kate and your mother.

You and Ben insist on clearing the dishes, making short work of loading the dishwasher before your parents can tell you off for letting the guest do the chores. Through the kitchen window you see Cora running towards her little plastic play house, on temporary loan to your parents’ back garden while Kate and Marc’s building work is being completed. Kate follows swiftly behind, waving a soft fleece jacket at her daughter.

After wrangling Cora into her jacket, she appears at the back door. “Cora wants to know if Ben can come and visit her tea shop. Not you, Lyd. She was very clear about that. Only Benjamoo.”

He smiles happily and puts down his dish towel, before making a sympathetic face at you and kissing your cheek. “Sorry, Lyddie. I guess I better take up my invitation.”

It’s a hilarious and adorable sight: Ben, sitting cross-legged on the mat beside Cora’s house, hair a bit messy and eyes still a little tired behind his glasses, broad-shouldered in his grey Berkeley sweatshirt and decidedly out of proportion to the pink-and-white plastic cottage. You can hear him giving Cora his order and talking rapturously about the “tea” she serves him in a little pink cup, while she giggles and claps her hands.

Marc and your father arrive in the kitchen, your brother-in-law carrying little Evie in his arms. “Evie thinks she’s missing out on the fun with Ben and Cora,” he announces, opening the back door. “And we want to make sure Cora doesn’t try to force-feed mud cakes to your boyfriend.”

You’d been so nervous about this - not because you thought your family wouldn’t like Ben, or vice versa, but because by definition the first visit to your partner’s family feels a little like an audition of some kind. It has the potential to go horribly wrong, no matter how well prepared you are, or how many video calls you’ve had over the last couple of months.

But here he is, now, integrated happily into your close-knit family of origin, getting on famously with your parents, sister, and brother-in-law, and making your beloved little niece laugh like a drain as he pretends to drink from her toy teapot. Like he was always here. Or always meant to be here.

There’s a surge of emotions in your chest: deep love and affection, above all, but with it a reminder that your future together is by no means assured. Assuming, of course, that he wants a future together.

“He’s good with kids, isn’t he?”

Kate’s voice startles you. “Where did you come out of?”

“I’m stealthy when I want, Lyd. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

You throw a bombastic side eye in your younger sister’s direction. “I know what you’re getting at.”

Kate shrugs, the picture of innocence. “I’m just observing.”

“Ben is a wonderful uncle. Just as I am a wonderful aunt. We like that. And that’s one of the things I love about him.” You lean on the kitchen counter, voice quieter. “So…what do you think?”

Kate arches an eyebrow in your direction. Your mother arrives in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as ever.

“What do I think of what?”

“You know what. Who. Him. Ben.”

Your mother laughs as she fills the kettle with water and puts it on to boil for some teas and coffees. She turns round to face her two daughters. “Well, Kate, I don’t know about you, but - he wouldn’t be for me.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Kate opens a cupboard and starts to take out some mugs. “I know what you mean, mom. Not really for me, either.”

“You know yourself, Kate,” your mother adds, finding a carton of milk in the fridge and filling a small milk jug, “Just not my thing at all.”

Anger spreads hot and warm across your face. “Good, because he’s not your fucking ‘thing’, he’s my thing and I can’t believe how two-faced you’re being. All sweetness and light and then saying he’s not really for you and -”

Your mother holds out a hand, expression deadpan. “Lydia, not everyone wants a man who’s kind and funny and genuine and clearly worships the ground his girlfriend walks on.”

“Exactly,” Kate chimes in. “Just because you love someone who’s really smart and nice and good with kids and is actually kind of cute in a dorky way doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

For a moment, your confusion and anger doesn’t quite let you hear what they’re saying. “I’m not asking you to be in love with him, I’m just - oh. Oh.”

Marie and Kate burst out laughing.

“Well, fuck the two of you. Forty-two years and you’re still winding me up.”

Your mother wraps you in a warm cuddle. “Ah, poor Lyd. We’re sorry. We just couldn’t resist.”

“He’s so lovely, Lyd,” Kate adds, embracing you from behind. “I mean it. Marc thinks so, too. I know I said at Christmas that he looked like he’d been engineered in a lab for you and it looks like I was right. And Ben’s even cuter in the flesh, not that I notice such things.” She coughs for dramatic effect. “What with being a married mother of two.”

“And he loves the bones of you, darling girl,” your mother whispers. “And sure, why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know about you, love, but I’m shattered.”

Ben glances over at you and wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to nuzzle against his chest. He holds up his copy of the script for Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, multicoloured tabs fluttering like tiny flags.

“I’m just going to work through one more scene, is that okay?”

You hum contentedly. “Of course, love. How’s it going, anyway?”

He flicks through a few pages, scanning his notes and annotations. The comparative literature students put on a play every year, towards the end of the second semester, and Ben had to step in at short notice as director after a colleague in French fell ill. “It’s a relief we’re doing it in the English translation, put it that way. I just don’t know why Jen thought I could take this on, after Michèle went on sick leave.”

You idly rub his tummy and kiss his side through his old shirt. “Because she knows you’re great and talented and the students love you, Mr Director.”

He huffs a laugh, marks up another section, adds a tab, and closes the book before taking off his glasses and shuffling down the bed and wrapping his free arm around you. He kisses the top of your head and holds you tight.

“Thank you for bringing me home with you.”

You open your eyes and glance up at him. “Sure they haven’t put you off?”

“It would take a lot to put me off, Lyd. Anyway, they’re great. It - it meant a lot, to be welcomed like that, by the people you love.”

He looks down at you, and you place a light kiss on his jaw, smiling at the bristle of his beard against your lips. His gaze is solemn and intense as he reaches for your hand.

“I’m serious about this, Lyd. About us. You know?”

“I know. I’m serious about us, too. Deadly serious, in fact.”

He smiles, eyes shining, and kisses you, soft and slow, pulling you closer and working a path of kisses down the side of your neck as your body writhes against his. Tiredness is forgotten, for the moment, as you slip your hand inside the waistband of his loose boxers and tug them down, fingers wrapping around his cock. Ben sighs against your chest as you stroke him, his mouth finding your nipples as his long fingers trace the wetness building between your legs. With one leg hitched across his, you angle your hips just so and guide him inside you as he whispers your name against your ear.

After you’ve made love, Ben falls asleep mid-cuddle, and you tuck yourself against him and close your eyes. But sleep doesn’t come easy. You should be delighted, after the beautiful day you’d had. But there’s an anxiety building in the back of your mind that you can’t quite shake.

Serious this relationship may be, but spring will soon turn to summer, and with it the prospect of being separated indefinitely by an entire ocean and several time zones. Kate was wont to remind you that you “could just do distance for a while”, and she meant well. It was intended to reassure you.

The problem was, the more you thought about what that option would actually mean, the less comfort it provided.

Over the next couple of days, you introduce Ben to the world of your hometown, to the places and people that shaped you. It is strange, at first, to see him, whole and present, in the spaces that defined your childhood. But it is a beautifully intimate thing, sharing memories with someone you love. You lay yourself even more bare before them, revealing the you that was before they knew you.

The two of you have, of course, shared so much about yourselves and your pasts with each other in the time since you met. But this was different. Walking with him, pointing out your old schools, old haunts, swapping memories and stories, introducing him to random relations you meet in the streets: you are quietly knotting the strands of your past - with all its love, loss, joy and sorrow - with the man who, you hope, represents your future.

Kate and Marc insist on bringing you to dinner one night. “It’d be wrong not to,” Marc had explained as you sat in your parents’ living room, Ben playing peek-a-boo with Evie while your mother looked on approvingly. “Sure we have built-in babysitting while we’re staying with Joe and Marie.”

Your mother’s expression shifted instantaneously, shooting daggers at your brother-in-law. “Cheeky.”

Your hometown is not known for haute cuisine, but Kate booked a table at the nicest restaurant in town and it has been a perfect evening: good food, decent wine, and the pleasure of seeing how well Ben, Kate, and Marc are getting along. You and Kate go to the bathroom at one point, and she eyeballs you as you top up your lipstick, side by side, in the mirror.

“Think he’s passed the audition, Lyd.” She pouts and blows a kiss at her reflection. “Oh, and guess what? We’ve got a special immersive cultural experience planned for the rest of the night.”

You swivel and glare at her. “And what does that involve, exactly?”

Kate picks up her handbag and does a little shimmy on the spot. “The Roxy, Lyd. The ultimate method of integrating your lovely Benjamin into your native place.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The Roxy was once the town’s cinema, built in the 1940s and made redundant by the coming of the multiplex in the 1990s. Its owners had moved swiftly, though, and transformed the Roxy into a nightclub. It was a site of memorable nights out dancing with your friends, of crying in the bathrooms when you realised your crush was interested in someone else, of bad kissing, of telling random men to fuck off when they told you to smile, of screaming with glee when “Hey Ya” came on.

If the Roxy was a taste, it would be peach schnapps and orange squash. Its smell, meanwhile, had lodged permanently in your memory: old cigarettes, sticky carpets, cheap aftershave, vanilla musk body spray.

She was not kidding. You and Kate sit on some banquette seating in a corner of the Roxy’s lounge - which was just a separate floor with slightly better, more old-school music - and take in the completely incongruous sight of Ben, followed by Marc, weaving his way through the habitual crowd of locals with your drinks in hand.

“Vodka tonic for Lyddie, gin and tonic for Kate.” Ben places the glasses on the table and nestles in beside you, giving your thigh a little squeeze. He reaches for his bottle of beer and raises it slightly. “Uh, cheers, I guess?”

Kate enthusiastically clinks her swimming pool-sized glass of gin and tonic off Ben’s drink. “Cheers! Now, you have to promise me you’ll dance. Otherwise it’s not full assimilation.”

You groan audibly and stir your drink with the straw as Ben chuckles. “C’mon, Lyd, you’ve got moves.” He raises an eyebrow at you mischievously.

You manage to stave off the inevitable for a while, finishing your first vodka tonic and about to suggest you go to the bar when a familiar opening melody sends Kate leaping out of her seat, excitedly grabbing her husband and beckoning to you.

“AS IT WAS?!? COME OOOONNNN LYYYYD!” Kate bellows back to you and Ben from the tiny dancefloor, where Marc is already showing off a move you can only describe as “rhythmic shuffling” while mouthing Harry Styles’ lyrics.

You look at Ben. He stands, removes his jacket, and offers you his hand, smiling expectantly. His hand rests gently on the small of your back as you join your sister and brother-in-law on the dancefloor, and he pulls you in to whisper in your ear.

“We can do better than them, can’t we?”

You laugh, leaning in as he wraps an arm around your waist, takes your hand, and helps you exorcise all those demons of heartbreak long past on the dancefloor.

As she clambers into a taxi in the early hours of the morning, Kate turns and yells “I’m telling mom you’re bringing a boy home with you from the Roxy!”, before collapsing in hysterics as Marc takes her hand and pulls her into the car. They grin and wave at you and Ben as it disappears up the street and back towards your parents’ house.

You lean against Ben as you walk back towards the little flat you’d rented for your stay at home, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s right, though,” you giggle, “I’m actually bringing the hot boy home with me from the Roxy. I’ve come a long way from endless rejection and the odd bit of bad kissing.”

Ben huffs a laugh as you open the main door of the building and climb the stairs to the apartment. “Well, fuckin’ good.” He adds a sassy little head movement for emphasis.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuckin’ good. Because what would have happened to me if you’d been swept off your feet by one of those bad kissing boys back then?” He follows you into the little entrance hall and, for all his joking tone, there’s a vulnerability lurking in his beautiful eyes.

You cradle his face in your hands. “I’d have found you one way or another, Benjamin.” A coy smile crosses your lips as you take him in - danced out, hair mussed, and so stupidly sexy you still can’t quite believe he’s real.

Your fingers hook inside his waistband as you pull him tight to you, leading him into the living room and pushing him against the wall as you bring a hand to his crotch. “And I’d like to make the most of bringing the hottest man home from the club for once in my life, if you don’t mind. Especially seeing as he was worth the wait.”

Ben’s eyes widen and he half gasps, half chuckles as you undo his jeans and slip a hand inside his boxers, stroking his cock as you pepper his throat with tiny kisses. He leans down slightly to bring a hand under the skirt of your dress, hitching up the fabric and slipping two fingers into your panties to play with your clit as he kisses you: hungry, urgent, wanting.

But you’ve had something else on your mind all night. You break the kiss and begin to sink to your knees, hands around Ben’s waist for balance.

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Let me make you feel good, darling.”

His breath hitches as he takes you in: hair a little messy, eyes wide and wild, lips slightly parted, the soft flesh of your tits rising and falling with your breathing.

“Fuck, Lyd, you’re amazing.”

“That a yes?”

He swallows hard and nods rapidly. “Fuck. Yes. Yes. Please.”

You lick your lips and smile as you carefully tug down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Your mouth presses into the softest, most sensitive parts of him: a kiss, a lick, a little nip to his belly; a course plotted down from his abdomen to the hardening cock you hold in your hand. You take him into your mouth, tongue swirling gently over the tip as you stroke him, revelling in the sensation and the moans of pleasure you’re pulling from the gorgeous man above you. Ben rests his hand on the back of your head and leans back against the wall, panting harder as you find your rhythm.

The ache between your thighs builds with his every grunt and groan. Your fingertips find your clit, rubbing little circles over it in a fruitless bid to find some relief. You ease his cock out of your mouth with a pop and Ben helps you to your feet before you take his hand and guide him to the couch.

You slip off your panties and encourage him to lie back on the sofa as you gather the skirt of your dress around your waist and straddle him. “Need to fuck you, my love.”

He grips the flesh of your hips and thighs, fingers pressing into your body as you take him inside you and begin to ride him, relishing the slow drag of his cock as you come undone. He looks beautiful underneath you, eyes wide and shining as he watches every move of your body.

“Fuck, Lyd,” he pants, smiling up at you. “You look incredible.” He reaches up and pulls down your neckline, groping your breasts and gazing at you like you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen: head thrown back, eyes closed, and vocal.

He begins to thrust up into you, finding a rhythm that complements yours, intensifying the sensation so much that you can’t help but cry out with pleasure.

“Yes, baby…fuck, that’s so fucking good, Ben, that’s fucking it, fuck!”

“Take it, Lyddie.” His dark eyes stare into yours, hands still gripping you firmly. “Ride me, take what you need…fuck, good fucking girl. I’ll give you whatever you need, whatever you want.”

And he knows what you need, in that moment. His thick fingers slip between your thighs and find your clit, circling it over and over as you keep on fucking him.

You come hard, the last flutters of your orgasm still working through you when Ben follows suit. He’s still inside as you bend forward to kiss him, trailing your hands over his beautiful face and through his damp hair. You rest on his chest and let the sound of his breathing start to steady you as he holds you close for a couple of moments.

“I love you so much, Lyddie,” he pants quietly, chuckling to himself. “You’re a hell of a woman.”

For your last day, Ben suggests that he might make dinner at the flat, as a gesture of thanks for your family’s hospitality. You suggest lasagne with some sides as a general crowdpleaser, borrow some dishes from your mother, and Ben gets to work while you lay the place settings.

The lasagne is cooking away happily when your mother arrives with Kate, Marc, and the girls. You look puzzled.

“Where’s Dad?”

Your mother rolls her eyes as Cora goes tearing off around the flat, Kate following swiftly behind. “He insisted he had to go to the football match tonight. Of course. Anyway, he said he’ll be here shortly.”

Ben emerges from the kitchen, clad in a navy and white striped apron you’d used back when you (briefly) did home economics at school. He kisses your mother and Kate on the cheek and hugs Marc, before bending down to give a delighted Cora a high five.

“I made you a present,” she says quietly, suddenly shy.

Ben brings himself down to her level. “A present? For me? That’s amazing.”

Kate rummages in her bag and produces a rolled-up piece of paper, handing it to Ben. “She did it all herself. Mostly.”

You stand beside him as he unfurls it and Cora looks down at her toes. The drawing features a large figure with a mop of dark wavy hair and a wide smile - “Benjamoo”, Cora points out helpfully - standing close beside a slightly smaller figure immediately recognisable as you. “Auntie Lyd,” she adds seriously, in case you weren’t aware.

The figures’ stick arms are touching. “Holding hands,” Cora says.

Ben looks at Cora, then up at you, and back to the little girl. “This is the best art anyone’s ever given me. I’m going to put it on my wall when I get home.” He stands, and reaches for your hand, noticing the tears threatening in your eyes. “Auntie Lyd will help. Won’t you?”

You nod and squeeze his hand. Cora starts to giggle and points at you and Ben.

“See? Holding hands.”

Ben and Marc pop out to the nearest supermarket shortly afterwards, when you realise you had neglected to buy garlic bread. You sit in the open-plan kitchen and dining area with your mother while Kate plays with her daughters in the living room.

“You alright, love?” Marie notices how you fiddle with the place settings and rub your fingers together, sure signs that something’s on your mind.

“Mmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, I’m… I think so.” You exhale. “I don’t know.”

Your mother gives you a little breathing room, waiting to see if you’ll open up more.

“It’s just… fuck. I don’t know. I - what the fuck are we going to do?”

She sighs softly and pats the back of your hand. “You and Ben?”

“Me and Ben. It’s spring break. And there’s no clear pathway about what we’ll do when my year in Barrow ends and I have to come back to my job over this side of the ocean.”

“Well, I mean… I know you hate the thoughts of it, Lyd, but have you talked about it? Kate’s right, you could always do long-distance for a while, until you knew what you both really wanted.”

You put your head in your hands. “We’ve said that we’re very serious about the relationship.”

“So then! There’s your answer. No?”

You look up at her mournfully. “Yes and no. Yes, we’re serious about each other. No, that doesn’t mean we have any idea how to manage the distance.”

Marie adjusts the salt and pepper cruets in the middle of the table. “People do it, Lyd. It’s a commitment but they make it work.”

You nod slowly. “I just don’t know if that’s what I want, at this stage in my life. We see each other every day. We’re practically living together.”

Your mother fans herself in mock horror. “And not a hint of a ring on the finger, goodness!”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Forty-two, mother dear. But yeah. I don’t know if I could go from that to not seeing Ben for weeks or a month or more at a time. Not now.”

“So what does that mean?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know. One of us moves. He moves for me. I move for him. But that means trying to find a permanent academic job and in both places that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“And if there’s no job? Distance as a temporary measure?”

You bite your lip. “But what if that’s still too hard?”

“So move.”

“But that means him giving up his life for me, or me uprooting for him, and being so far from all of you and from here and…” You look up at your mother, feeling like a scared little girl again.

“I love him so much, Mom. I never thought I’d love anyone like that. Never thought I’d even meet someone like that. And for him to love me in return…fuck.”

Marie shifts closer and wraps her arm around your shoulders. “I know, love. I know. You love the bones of each other. And it’s real love. Everyone can see it.”

“What do we do?”

“Lydia, I can’t tell you what to do one way or the other. Only you know what’s right for the two of you.”

You lean your head on your mother’s shoulder and she gives your hand a squeeze. “I know. It’s just - fuck, why does it have to be hard? Don’t I deserve things to work out, for once?”

“You do, pet. Of course you do. No one deserves it more.”

“Sometimes it feels crazy, y’know? This time last year I didn’t know Ben existed, and now -”

“Now it’s like you’ve known each other forever? Like you can’t imagine life without him?”

You turn to face her, and smile. “Exactly.”

“That’s love for you.” Marie purses her lips, thinking. “I’m only going to say one more thing. Your happiness.”

“Huh?”

“Lyd, for years you prioritised someone else’s happiness over your own. I know, I know, that fucker moved for you when you got the job away, I know that. But apart from that…it was all you. All you, trying to keep someone else happy and cracking under the strain.” She inhales and exhales, trying to curb the fury that still burns in her when she remembers how you were treated.

“All I’m going to say is this: don’t worry about anyone else, Lyd. Not me, not Dad, not Kate, Marc, the girls, your job - nobody. Well, worry about Ben. But above all, prioritise your happiness. We have ours over here. It’s time for you to find yours.”

You hug her tightly. “One final question.”

She nods and waits.

“What does Dad think of Ben? I know it wouldn’t change my feelings but given everything from the shitshow, I’d like to know he doesn’t absolutely loathe him.”

She looks at her phone and pushes away from the table, walking into the living room and opening the door of the flat. “Ask him yourself, Lyd. Here he is now.”

Your father comes into the kitchen, talking about something that happened at the local football match he’d attended that afternoon and eyes already locked on the kettle, his mind focused on making a cup of tea.

“Joe? Lyd wants to ask you something.”

You roll your eyes at your mother. “It’s not a big deal.”

He turns around, tea caddy in hand. He’s been to this flat twice, you think, and he knows exactly where all the tea-making equipment is kept.

“Alright. Ask away, Lyd. Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just - Dad, what do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

“Ben. Me and Ben, specifically. But also just Ben.”

Joe switches on the kettle and leans against the kitchen counter. “Sure, my opinion isn’t what matters. What matters is how you feel. Isn’t that right?” He looks to your mother for backup.

“I said that to her, but she said she wanted to hear from you.”

He takes a mug out of the cupboard and drops a square teabag into it. “Lydia, is everything okay? Are you having any doubts about him, is that it?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Not a one.”

“And you don’t think he’s having any doubts about you? Because if he is I’ll fucking -“

“No, Dad. He… he’s very clear about how he feels.”

Your father nods in satisfaction. “Well, that’s reassuring. Would be strange if he wasn’t, given how he is with you. At least, what we’ve seen here.” He pours the freshly boiled water over the teabag and opens the fridge in search of milk. “But the point stands. You love each other, don’t you?”

You aren’t sure if your father has ever been so open or explicit with you in asking about a romantic relationship. Perhaps, you wonder, he regretted not being more honest about his concerns over the years of your longest one.

“We do.” Your eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly. You swallow hard. “We love each other very, very much.”

“Okay then.” He stirs his tea vigorously, the metal of the teaspoon clinking off the stoneware mug.

“But I still want to know what you think. It matters to me. Especially - especially after the last time.”

Joe pulls out a chair and settles at the table, your mother reaching automatically for a coaster and sliding it under the mug. “Lyd, you know what I’ve always said. There’s not one person walking this earth who deserves our lovely Lydia. Not one.”

Your heart sinks a little, and you nod. You’ve heard this a lot since your ex cheated and fucked off. You never really believe it.

“But.” Your father pauses and sips his tea.

“But?”

He looks at you and reaches out to touch your hand. “But - that lovely man you brought home definitely comes very close indeed.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and you can hear Ben and Marc chatting companionably and laughing together. Marc does a silly little dance into the kitchen, waving the garlic bread around like glow sticks.

“Now, please don’t destroy the garlic bread before it’s even gone into the oven, Marc!”

As your mother grabs the bread and sneaks a peek at the lasagne, now browned to perfection, Ben pulls you in for a quiet word.

“Lyddie, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

You lean against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m okay, darling. I just needed this. Needed you.” The oven timer pings and you look at him. “Time for Professor Morales to serve us his delicious lasagne. C’mon, we can plate up before my mother takes over.”

You thought goodbyes would get easier the longer you worked away from home, but the opposite turned out to be true. Your parents are doing their usual brave face routine at the airport: Joe clearly trying not to cry, Marie overdoing the levity to distract you and stave off her own sadness at seeing you go.

“Paris in the springtime, Lyd! It’ll be gorgeous. She’s a great tour guide, Ben, she knows it all.”

“She’s brilliant, Marie. But you knew that before the rest of us found out.” He reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as you start to feel the tears prickling.

He only lets go as you both embrace your parents in turn, Ben thanking them repeatedly for their kindness. Then, his fingers curl around yours again, holding you strong and steady at the entrance to departures.

“I love you both so much, you know? We’re so grateful.”

Your mother can’t hold back her tears any more, and her wet cheek presses against yours as she pulls you in for a final hug. “We love you so much. Both of you.”

She pulls away and holds your gaze. “Both of you. Remember what I said to you, Lydia. Remember that.”

You nod and give Ben’s hand a little squeeze. “We should probably head on through. Safe home - message me when you get back, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

You keep waving back with every sharp turn you take in the queue for security, until eventually your parents’ faces are obscured by the crowd behind you, and you face forward into the security area, still holding Ben’s hand.

“Paris par train ou Paris par bus?”

Ben shrugs as he pushes the luggage trolley. “You’re the expert, Lyddie. What’s easiest?”

You summon up the mental map of Parisian transport options that is always ticking over at the back of your mind. “Train is quicker but involves a change at Châtelet Les Halles - ugh - and then again at Bastille. Bus gets us to Opéra which means we can get right on to line 8.”

“Bus?”

“Bus.”

Ben stacks your bags carefully in one of the Roissybus’s luggage areas and exhales as he takes a seat beside you. “You know it’s been almost thirty years since I was in Paris?”

“Excusez-moi?”

He chuckles. “Came up on a very poorly-thought-out visit with some friends while I was on exchange in Málaga. Overnight trains, hostels, no money, cheap wine. I barely saw the Eiffel Tower, let alone anything else.”

The bus pulls out of Charles de Gaulle Airport and onto the motorway. You squeeze Ben’s thigh affectionately. “Isn’t it a good thing that you’ve come to Paris with a ready-made guide, then?”

He smirks and arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, I’m really looking forward to doing some, er, exploring with her.”

“Is that so?” You move your hand ever so slightly up his thigh, smiling with satisfaction as Ben gasps a little and shifts in the seat. “I always like to try out new pleasures here, you know?”

A wiggle of your eyebrows has you both giggling, leaning against each other as the bus makes good progress towards the périphérique, the motorway that rings the city, and into Paris proper. You start to point out landmarks, locations, shifting into a stream of consciousness that spans history, personal memories, places to visit, and random observations.

Ben smiles to himself as he watches and listens, delighting in your joy and excitement as you prepare to see your old friend - to walk her streets, listen to her voice, and write another chapter in your long love story.

The advantage of Parisian connections: your friend Sophie offered you her apartment in the 11th arrondissement for the duration of your stay, as she was away in the south of France. You meet her upstairs neighbour outside the narrow, early nineteenth-century building on a quiet street just off the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine and collect Sophie’s key, taking note of the door codes.

“Holy shit. Look at this place!”

Ben has carried the bags up the stairs - thankfully, Sophie’s flat is on the first floor - and followed you into the little apartment. You turn and grin when you notice how entranced he looks, staring up at the wooden beams in the tiny hallway, peeking out into the communal courtyard, tilting his head this way and that to check out the books on Sophie’s shelves.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You pick up your suitcase and lead the way into the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed as you take off your shoes and wriggle your toes happily.

“It’s incredible. Exactly what you might imagine a Parisian apartment to be.” He drops his own bags in the corner and joins you on the bed, flopping back onto the mattress and yawning.

You lie back and turn to face him, resting a hand on his stomach. “Let’s do some exploring. I know we’re tired, but I want to show you around, get some dinner, buy some wine…”

The featherlight touch of his fingers, working their way under your denim blouse and stroking the soft skin of your waist, sends delicious shivers through you.

“We could do some exploring here, right now…?” he asks, eyes twinkling and a smile on his lips.

“You know how tempting that offer is, Benjamin, but let’s restore our energy first, hmmm?”

Dinner is Vietnamese food from a tiny restaurant just around the corner, a staple favourite from your time living in the city, followed by a walk around the neighbourhood and a stop at a nearby supermarket, to stock up on some essentials and a bottle of wine. As you climb the stairs to the apartment, the fatigue from a day of travel and the underlying, gnawing anxiety about your future starts to hit you.

You should just say it to him. Ask him outright what he wants to happen.

You push the thought down, down, as deep as it will go as you settle on Sophie’s tiny sofa and watch Ben uncork the wine in the coin cuisine, the little kitchenette tucked into a corner of the living room. You spot a portable speaker tucked on one of the bookshelves and connect it to your phone, scrolling through your playlists until you find what you want.

“Never let it be said that you don’t cultivate an atmosphere, Lyd,” he says, handing you a glass of the purple-red wine and joining you on the couch. “Let me guess: this is a Paris-specific playlist?”

You hide your face behind one hand and peek at him through your fingers as he laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek as Serge Gainsbourg’s ‘La chanson de Prévert’ starts to play.

He rests his head on your shoulder as you listen to the song together. It’s a favourite of yours regardless, but tonight, with the man you love so deeply but still fear losing nestled in beside you, Gainbourg’s plaintive melody and lyrics about lost love are like a punch to the gut.

“Lyddie?”

Ben is sitting up, looking at you with concern. “You look so sad, all of a sudden - you okay?”

“It’s just the song, it’s so –” You halt yourself. No. Time to say it.

“I guess I’m just really feeling how close I am to the end of my time in Barrow, that’s all.”

His chocolate-brown eyes soften and he wraps you in a warm embrace. “Still got plenty of time, Lyddie.”

“And then?”

“And then…?”

“What happens? To us, I mean.”

He looks surprised at the question. “We’ll be okay, one way or the other. Right?”

But what does that mean?

You’re too tired to ask the question, you tell yourself. In truth, you’re too scared to - not because you fear his reaction, not at all. Rather, it’s because you fear that your concerns might upset him.

Ben’s head has barely hit the pillow before he’s sound asleep, one arm draped loosely around your waist. For you, though, sleep is elusive, arriving only as the dawn starts to break over the city of light.

You wake, exhausted, to the aroma of fresh coffee brewing and the sound of Ben pottering around the apartment, humming the melody of “La chanson de Prévert” to himself. With a groan, you remember you’d planned to do some research today and force yourself out of bed.

“Bonjour, la belle Lyddie! Du café?” Ben waves a little espresso mug at you and you nod weakly.

He is bright and cheerful as he moves around the kitchenette, pouring the coffee and joining you at the tiny dining table that acts as a kind of divider between the kitchen and the rest of the living area.

“Did you sleep okay?”

You look up, and his face falls when he spies the telltale redness in your eyes. “I’m taking that as a no. What’s going on, Lyd?”

A fortifying sip of the strong coffee. You sit upright and look at him, studying his beautiful face. “Darling, I meant what I said last night. About how anxious I am, how scared of what comes next, the…uncertainty of it all.”

“But we know we’re serious about each other? We talked about it,” he replies, sipping his own coffee. “You know that. Don’t you?”

“I do. I really do. And we are, but -” you pause to gather your thoughts. “But that doesn’t mean there’s an answer for what happens when I have to go home, and that’s eating away at me.”

He looks at you kindly, but you can see the confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean, exactly, Lyd? Surely we can see if circumstances change over the summer, and if not then we do distance until stuff gets figured out. Right? Things are going to be just fine.”

It’s so tempting to smile and agree, but you can’t. You owe him honesty, as much as you want clarity.

“Is that really what you want?”

“Distance? It’s not ideal, but if it comes to it I think we can make it work and - Lyd?”

You have closed your eyes, fearful of tears falling.

Say it. Say it. Be honest with him.

“I - I don’t think I want a long-distance relationship.”

Ben makes no effort to hide his shock. “You don’t want a long-distance thing?” He shakes his head in amazement. “Even if that’s the only option for the moment?”

“I just want certainty, not constantly saying everything would be okay or we’d see what happens when we don’t know that things will be okay, or what’s going to happen. I want you, love. I want a life with you, you know that. Don’t you?”

“But you don’t want long-distance with me.” His brow furrows and his jaw ticks as he stares at the floor.

“I don’t know, I mean I just want what we have now, I don’t know if I could cope with the implications of that kind of distance and -”

He exhales sharply, exasperated, and reaches for his light cotton jacket. “So it’s all or nothing. You would rather have no relationship than even try distance, is that it?”

Fury and sadness mingle and build in your chest. “Ben, that’s not what I fucking said.” Your hands fall to your sides, defeated. “I’m just - fuck, I’m not finding the words right now.”

“Well, if you find them later let me know.” He opens the door of the apartment and pauses for a moment. “See you, Lyddie.”

You sit staring into space for a good half hour at your appointed desk in the print room at the Bibliothèque nationale, before you open the grey archive box of lithographs you’d called up for the day.

The ritual of research is familiar and soothing, a useful distraction from the memory of the argument that morning. You set out your camera and prepare your customary scraps of paper inscribed with the call number of the collection, to make it easier for you to match up images with notes when you return to the materials at home. Wherever the hell “home” is supposed to be, now.

Assess each print. Study it. Immerse yourself in the details before photographing it and writing up your observations on your laptop. Repeat over and over, add to your research materials and stave off the metaphorical wolves circling in your brain.

Your stomach starts to rumble just before one o’clock. The garden courtyard outside the building that houses the print room is busy, with researchers and visitors taking an al fresco lunch and chatting over coffee. Salad consumed, you take your phone out of the transparent plastic briefcase you are required to use inside the library.

No message from him. Nothing.

You decide to make a call. She should be on her lunch now, too.

“Lyd! How are you? How’s Pareeeeee?” Kate’s voice is cheery and comforting, and exactly what you needed to hear.

“Hiya… um, can you talk for a few minutes?”

She immediately knows there’s something wrong and her tone shifts. “Of course, always… Lyd, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

Deep breaths. “Kate, I think I need to make a decision and I’m fucking terrified.”

Kate pauses, aware that she doesn’t need to ask you what this is about. “Okay. Talk to me. Let’s work through it.”

BEN: When do you think you’ll be finished for the day? We should talk. I’m so sorry about this morning x

LYDIA: Probably by 4.30 or so. Do you want me to come meet you?

BEN: I’ll come to you. You want food? It’s a nice day for a picnic dinner.

LYDIA: It is. Dinner is your choice. Meet me at the rue Vivienne exit at 4.30 or so? x

BEN: You say that as if I know where that is… I’ll find it. See you soon, Lyddie. Love you.

Ben Morales leans against the railings of the Bibliothèque nationale and looks at his watch. He’s early, so he meanders across the street and wanders into the Galerie Vivienne, admiring the fine detail of the mosaic floors and brass light fittings that adorn the nineteenth-century covered arcade. He pauses at an antiquarian bookstore and print shop, perusing the selection of vintage postcards displayed in wooden crates outside.

He’s standing at the entrance to the arcade when he looks up and sees you coming through the gates of the library, somehow managing to carry a backpack, tote bag, and small cross-body handbag all at once.

You don’t notice him at first, instead turning your head in both directions as you look for him. Ben’s heart soars when he sees you, in spite of the nagging ache he’s felt in the pit of his stomach ever since the argument you’d had that morning.

He calls out to you from across the street, raising his hand in an enthusiastic wave, and a warm, delighted smile spreads across your face when you realise he’s there, waiting for you. He’s as impossibly handsome as ever in his navy blue shirt jacket, white tshirt, and jeans, tote bag slung over one shoulder.

You keep Kate’s words from your lunchtime conversation in the forefront of your mind. “You know what you want, Lyd. You know what you need to do.”

“Sorry, I got delayed on the way out of the print room and then it always takes longer to pack up than I’d anticipated and then I thought I should pop to the bathroom before I left and then -”

Ben interrupts your explanation with a kiss and a hug. “I’m so sorry, Lyddie. I’m sorry about this morning.” He pulls away and holds out a small, flat brown paper bag. “A peace offering.”

The bag contains a selection of vintage postcards of Paris, postmarked in the early years of the twentieth century: Notre-Dame, photographed from the Left Bank; the place de la Bastille; the facade of the Bibliotheque nationale you’d just left.

“Some of your favourite places, right?”

You reach for his hand and lean in for a kiss. “You know me so well. Thank you, my love, they’re beautiful.” You spot a larger brown paper carrier bag in his other hand. “Dinner?”

Ben smiles, holding out the bag for your approval. “I ended up getting a selection of stuff from one of the Asian takeout places near here. And I picked up a bottle of chilled white wine, and some paper cups. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go, Benjamin - dinner at the Palais-Royal awaits.”

“I have to admit, I did wonder when you said we were going to a royal palace. Didn’t seem very…Lyddie.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow in your direction. You giggle as you reach into the bag of takeout and retrieve boxes of rice, steamed buns, gyoza, and nems.

“I mean, technically it was a royal residence. But the gardens - where we are now - were public, as were the arcades and shops.” You set the boxes of food on a green metal park chair, serving as a makeshift table in front of your bench. “And it was an important location in the revolutionary period, so…”

He grins and opens the bottle of wine. “Ah! There it is. That’s my Lyd.”

His Lyd. Affection surges in your chest, and you place a hand on Ben’s knee, giving it a light squeeze as he pours some of the white wine into a paper cup and hands it to you.

He raises his own cup in your direction. “To my clever, revolutionary girl.”

You swap stories about your respective days as you dig into the food: Ben describing his informal solo tour of literary locations on the Left Bank, you talking through your finds in the print room. He shows you photos he took of Richard Wright’s apartment building, of the original site of Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare and Company, and a selfie of himself looking completely perplexed at the plaque on the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine that refers to James Joyce as a “British writer of Irish origin.”

You burst out laughing at that one. “I’m so glad you found that. It annoys me every time I see it.”

“I sent it to Evan. He was not impressed.” He slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for another spring roll. “And then I went and sat in the Luxembourg Gardens for a bit, worked over a little more of the play, thought about Beckett in Paris, watched the world go by. I remembered you said it was one of your favourite places to just sit and think.”

He smiles softly, almost shyly, at you, and with a pang you remember that some serious conversation lies ahead, no matter how tempting it is to sit here forever in the Palais-Royal, eating your picnic dinner and drinking your wine surrounded by the ghosts of writers and lovers and revolutionaries long past.

Lemon-scented wipes remove the residual traces of nems and dipping sauces from your fingers, and Ben stacks the empty food containers in the brown paper bag before topping up your paper cup of wine. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you to hold you close.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to talk about earlier.”

You raise your head, turn to him, and nod. He rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles with his index finger on your leg.

“I’m sorry if it ever felt like I was dismissing your worries, Lydia. I - well, I guess I was avoiding the issue. Like if I kept saying things would work out, they’d just… work out.”

You smile gently and reach for his hand. “Without having to make the hard call.”

He squeezes your hand and nods. “Exactly. But I did a lot of thinking about that today. About the future, about what I want - what you want.” He gives you a nervous glance.

“You were right, Lyd, long-distance couldn’t give us…I don’t want long-distance with you, either. I couldn’t, Lyd. I want what you said you want - a life, us, together. Like now.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “I can’t imagine anything else.”

You bring your hand to rest on his and close your eyes, feeling tears prickling against your eyelids.

He takes a deep breath. “Lyd, look at me.” Your eyes meet his, dark and warm and serious all at once. “Lyd, I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s all I want, and - fuck, I think I’ve known I wanted that for a while now.”

You open your mouth to respond and he shakes his head gently. “Lyddie - Lydia - I want to be with you, no matter what it takes.” Another deep breath. “And that’s why - if you want, of course, only if you want - I’ll move back with you at the end of the year. I’ve got some job alerts set up, I’ll find something, you know? I - I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t give up your whole life, darling.” Your voice is quiet as you take in the significance of what he’s telling you, what he’s offering. To his astonishment, you burst out laughing.

“What’s funny, Lyd?”

“I did a lot of thinking today, too. You know you’re all I want, don’t you?” You look at him expectantly, and he nods. “And I was going to tell you that - if you wanted - I would try to stay in the US, so that I could be with you. So that we could make a life together, plan our future.” You turn to him and grin. “But now it seems we’re still going to be on opposite sides of the pond, just with swapped continents.”

Laughter rises from Ben’s chest, emerging as a bright, wide smile and eyes crinkling with delight. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you, over and over, before pulling away abruptly.

“Wait. You said I couldn’t give up my life, but you want to give up yours? And you know Barrow doesn’t do partner or spousal hires…”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be giving up my life. It would be living the life I want to live, with the man I adore. That’s better, no?” You reach over to brush an errant curl off his forehead. “Anyway, I can look for a position within commuting distance, right? I’d rather that than feel I had got a job I didn’t really deserve.”

He blushes slightly and looks at you from under his lashes. “Even so. I meant it, I would follow you anywhere. I’ll go wherever you want me to be, wherever you want to be.”

“Okay. How about this?” You sit up a little straighter, hands resting on his. “We’re clearly both prepared to move. So…we both start looking for jobs, you near my place and me around Barrow, and whoever gets an appointment first - that’s where we go.”

Ben looks into the middle distance and nods, turning over the proposal in his head. “That sounds like a plan, baby.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

He grins and kisses you softly. “It’s a deal.”

The evening is bright and warm as you meander hand in hand through the narrow streets of the Marais, heading east, homeward bound.

You spot a buzzy corner café and nudge Ben. “How about a drink, darling? Something bubbly, maybe?”

He smiles, and you know his eyes are sparkling behind his sunglasses as he squeezes your hand and follows your lead towards one of the small round tables arranged outside the café. The server is typically Parisian: efficient, polite but not overly familiar, and they take your order and return promptly with two glasses of champagne and little dishes of olives and mixed nuts.

“À nous deux, Paris!” Ben clinks his glass to yours and you giggle as the first sip sends bubbles bursting on your tongue.

“Quoting Balzac in the original French?! Where were you all my life, Benjamin?”

He shrugs and smiles to himself. “Could ask you the same question.”

Long, thick fingers begin to rub circles on the flesh of your thigh, feeling the heat of your skin through the light fabric of the button down sky blue shirt dress you’re wearing. You echo the gesture, tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and your expression becomes more serious, more intense, your voice quieter.

“I love you, Ben.”

He squeezes your thigh gently. “I love you, Lyd.”

Sipping champagne and nibbling on the snacks, you watch the world go by, content and cosy in the little bubble that is just you and him. You’re checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror when a realisation sweeps through you. Your eyes widen, mouth forming into a little “o” before stretching into a happy smile as you ascend the stairs from the basement to the main café and rejoin Ben at the table.

“So something occurred to me.”

He chases the last olive around the dish with a cocktail stick. “Mmmmm?”

“We’re doing this, aren’t we? We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. That’s what we’ve said we want. Right? I didn’t imagine that?”

Ben lifts his head, puts down the cocktail stick, and looks into your eyes with a bemused smile on his face. “No, you didn’t. And yes, we are.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles broadly. “And isn’t it fucking wonderful?”

You nod excitedly and a surge of laughter erupts from both of you, quietened only by a warm, passionate kiss. You break away and run your fingers through the messy strands of hair around his forehead.

“I know people might think it’s soon, love. But… it’s not. I know.”

“I know too, Lyddie. When you know, you know.” He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “And to be honest, I don’t think anyone who knows us will think it’s too soon.”

The server returns to take the empty glasses and dishes. “Autre chose?” [Something else?]

Ben winks at you mischievously and orders two more glasses of champagne.

The walk back to the apartment should have taken about twenty minutes. Or at least, it would have had you not both been tipsy, incredibly happy, and unable to keep your hands off each other.

It takes just under an hour for you to get from the Marais back into the heart of the faubourg Saint-Antoine, stopping here and there along the way to indulge in some making out in quiet side streets and passageways.

“I’m so glad there’s only one flight of stairs,” you hiss theatrically, Ben trailing a hand over your ass as you reach the landing and the door to the flat.

Once inside, you pull him tight to you and move swiftly in the direction of the small bedroom, fingers already hooked inside the waistband of his jeans as he holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, tongues sweeping over each other and lips pressed together so hard you swear they’ll be bruised by morning.

“Sit on the end of the bed, baby.” He nods and follows your instructions, undoing his jeans as he watches you standing before him.

You start to unbutton your dress, keeping your eyes on him as you ease it off and let it fall to the floor. Ben’s eyes roam slowly over you, mouth falling open slightly as he takes in the floral print of your panties, the light blue lace of your bra, the softness and curves of your body.

You move closer to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around your lower back and buries his face against your breasts while you languidly trail your fingers through his hair.

You pull back and look at him, immediately giggling. He still has his glasses on, and those coffee-brown eyes are half-hidden behind a fog on the lenses.

“Let’s take these off, shall we, Professor Morales?”

The combination of champagne and a decision about your future together has made you joyful, more confident - and more direct.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that, baby?”

Ben raises his eyebrows and his ears flush pink. “I don’t really think…uh…”

You kiss him, his hands moving to grab the flesh of your ass and pull you tight to his body.

“I think you’re hot as fuck, Ben Morales, and I’m going to tell you. And show you.” You wrap your arms around his neck and encourage him to move backwards a little, so that you can straddle him. “Lemme show you how gorgeous you are to me, my love. Hmmm?”

He grins, nods, and moans as his mouth passes over the velvet skin of your heavy tits. You help him out of his white T-shirt, and pause to take in the sight of him: your thighs framing his hips and waist, his hands resting on them; his tummy, somehow both broad and solid and yet soft, pressed deliciously against your own belly; his beautiful face, eyes filled with desire, and mouth begging to devour and be devoured.

The temptation is too strong, your hands moving to caress his face as your lips meet his again. You keep your forehead pressed to his as you break the kiss and whisper to him, murmuring about how his dark gaze can make you ache for him, what it feels like to have his lips pressed to your body.

Your hands move slowly across his shoulders and down his back, feeling the warmth of his golden skin, the strength underneath the surface. “This beautiful body, baby,” you murmur, placing tiny kisses to his collarbone. “When you’re above me, fucking me, or about to, and I look up and see you so fucking broad and solid…”

His breathing hitches as your mouth works its way down his chest and towards his tummy, lips and tongue picking out those little patches of freckles that you love so much, teeth sometimes scraping lightly over his warm, solid middle as you carefully move your body off his and onto the floor between his legs.

“You know how fucking sexy this tummy is, baby. Told you the first night we were together.” He looks sceptical and your hands roam over the warm softness of his skin, your cunt positively aching with need at the sensation.

“I’m serious, Ben. It’s so fucking hot, the way your body looks, the feeling of your tummy against mine…” You whine as you roll your hips and clench your thighs, and he sits up slightly to drag down his jeans and underwear, a hand wrapping around his cock as he seeks some relief of his own.

You reach for his other hand, holding it gently as you suck each finger in turn. “I love these hands, baby.” You kiss his palm and he gasps. “I love the sight of them, the feeling of them on me, in me, the things they do to me.”

His eyes are wide and dark with lust and adoration. “Fucking hell, Lyd, you’re incredible.”

And then your fingers join his, working the base of his cock and making Ben gasp with sheer pleasure. He moves his hands up to grope and caress your breasts, long fingers slipping under the lace of your bra to play with your nipples.

“Touch yourself,” he hisses, hands full as he massages the soft weight of your tits. You obey the instruction, keeping your eyes locked on him as you bring one hand to part your soaking folds while the other continues to jerk him off.

Ben watches for a moment as you rub small, firm circles over the aching bundle of nerves while pleasuring him simultaneously. “Fuck, baby, this is so fucking hot. You’re so good to me.”

You’re on your knees, now, and your mouth is actually watering at the sight before you. “Can I suck your cock, baby?”

He grunts his consent. “This…” You flick your tongue over the tip. “This is fucking gorgeous.”

“Please, Lyd.” You look up at him and he whines a little, completely turned on by the sight of you between his legs, one hand now caressing the firm muscles of his calf and the other holding his cock in place. You oblige, expertly trailing your tongue along his full length before beginning to take him, bit by bit, inside your wet mouth.

Ben cries out your name as you continue your ministrations, looking down at you with his eyes blown wide. “I‘ll come if you keep going, baby,” he hisses. “Wanna fuck you, please. Please. Need you.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip one last time before releasing him, bringing your hands to rest again on his legs, fingers massaging the muscles of his thighs as you hum in satisfaction.

“C’mon, Lyddie.” He gestures with his head and you stand. He pulls you to him with one hand, palm and fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tugs down your panties with the other. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, and his eyebrows quirk with surprise.

“You’re fucking soaking?”

The tone of his voice makes you laugh, and he chuckles against the warm softness of your belly before kissing it, over and over, as your fingers wind through his curls.

“I told you, love, you’re so fucking hot. Don’t even have to touch me and I’m ready for you.”

Ben grins wickedly as you push him back onto the bed and straddle him again, reaching down and stroking his cock a couple of times before you ease him into you and sink down, moaning loudly as he stretches you, fills you, takes you. You’ve had each other so many times now, and yet the sensation of him inside you remains new and thrilling.

You start to move, shifting and rolling your hips in a careful, deliberate rhythm that has the two of you sighing and gasping with deep, delicious pleasure. You lean forward to come closer to him, desperate for his touch, for the warmth of his chest against yours. He eases down the straps of your bra a little and caresses your tits as he starts to fuck up into you, meeting your movements.

He lifts his head up, greedily seeking your lips. His hands trace the curve of your back down to your hips and ass as he watches your bodies moving together, and he smiles wistfully as he brings a finger to your clit. “God, I love fucking you, Lyd.”

You giggle and cry out at his touch, riding him harder still as you edge closer to coming. His finger draws firm, tight circles over the swollen bud, tracing the familiar path he has carved out in you so many times. “Fuck me, baby - gonna come, don’t fucking stop - you gonna come?”

He closes his eyes tightly as the fingers of his other hand press hard into your thigh, breath hitching and voice raw. “Mmmmhmm. I’m so fucking close. Hold on, can you?”

You nod and try to temporarily quell the orgasm that’s been building in you since you got him home, Ben slowing his finger’s steady movements over your soaking clit.

And then the pace increases again, and you’re there, and he’s there. Together.

Morning announces itself with a rustle of paper and a delicious, buttery aroma. Eyes blinking open, you become conscious of Ben’s soft lips on the nape of your neck - and aware that the enticing smell is right under your nose.

“Bonjour, Lyd.” Ben is holding an open paper bag just under your nose. “Croissant?”

You turn to face him properly and sit up in bed beside him. “Hi, darling. How long are you up?”

He reaches into the bag and takes out a croissant, before placing it on a plate and handing it to you. “Not that long. You looked so beautiful and content, I didn’t want to wake you.”

The flaky, buttery pastry melts in your mouth as you sigh with pleasure. “Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing compares.”

Ben stops just as he’s about to bite into his own croissant, throwing you a cheeky glance. “Nothing? Nothing compares? You’re sure about that?”

You rest your head on his shoulder, the cotton of his long sleeved T-shirt soft and comforting against your face.

“Nothing compares… in the world of baked goods.”

He nods, satisfied, and takes a mouthful of the golden viennoiserie.

“Oh, fuck. Maybe you’re right, Lyd.”

You giggle. “Thanks for these, love. You’re so kind.”

Ben shakes his head. “As if you wouldn’t have done the same.” He chews thoughtfully on the pastry. “Anyway, I feel like I still need to make it up to you. Yesterday morning, I mean.”

“You apologised, love, and we sorted things out. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “I just feel bad. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad. Should have known by now that you struggle with this kind of uncertainty.” Ben reaches for your left hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry, Lyd.”

“Thank you, Ben. But we’re fine. I mean it. That’s what makes a relationship work, isn’t it? Learning about each other and knowing when we need to learn or listen more.”

He nods. “Exactly. And that’s why I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter where that is.”

The rest of the week is spent partly in research libraries, at least in your case, but mostly in the streets and cafés and galleries and museums of the city you love so much with the man you adore.

You watch with quiet joy as he sees Manet’s Olympia in real life for the first time, shaking his head in admiration and awe as he takes in the painting. He steps back and folds his arms.

“She’s really something.”

“She sure is. I’d be that confident too, if I was as gorgeous as her.”

He arches an eyebrow and looks at you. “You are. Much more so.”

You huff a laugh as you link his arm and wander off to see Courbet’s Burial at Ornans. “You want me to pose like one of Manet’s French girls, Ben?”

“Wouldn’t say no, Lyd.”

At Harry’s New York Bar, the legendary cocktail bar near the Opéra, you cuddle up in a cosy corner of the piano lounge in the basement, and drink French 75 cocktails while the resident pianist plays Gershwin late into the night. You follow your own tailor-made walking tours, spotting literary landmarks and movie locations. A night in a Saint-Germain bar ends with a visit to the late-night bookstore L’Écume des Pages (and an inevitable bag full of newly-purchased books). Ben oohs and aahs over the bouquinistes’ boxes that line the walls overlooking the Seine, unable to resist a quick perusal of their selection of rare books and vintage magazines. You share a Paris-Brest pastry from Angelina, moaning appreciatively as you devour the delicious dessert. Together, you drink coffee and sip wine and talk and laugh and people-watch to your heart’s content.

You could never tire of Paris. Even so, Ben’s wide-eyed excitement and enthusiasm makes everything new: the landmarks, the streetscapes, the food, the drink, the sounds and smells.

And you. He has made you new, too.

You feel it in the way he looks at you when you wave your hands and wax lyrical about god knows what painting or book or historical event. It’s in the reassuring weight of his arm around your shoulders as you wander through the narrow back streets, feeling like you’re ten feet tall. It’s there in the hundreds of little opportunities he finds during each day to touch you: the small of your back as you enter a building, the back of your hand as you sit together on the Métro, the side of your mouth as he brushes away an errant croissant flake.

It is in the moments when you stop on the street and pull him to you for a kiss, unconcerned by the Parisians tut-tutting as they have to walk around the two of you. It’s in the moans he pulls from you, and you from him, when you are tangled in bedsheets at night, or in the morning, or even - after a lunchtime trip to the movies that escalated into some heated back-row kisses - in the middle of the afternoon, languidly stretched out naked for him on the bed.

Just like one of Manet’s French girls, he joked.

Most of all, it’s there in the light that always seems to be shining in your eyes whenever you look at him, knowing that he is yours and you his.

“You’re a tolerant man, Ben Morales,” you say with a chuckle as you walk through the imposing gates of Père Lachaise cemetery one bright morning. “Willing to hang out in Parisian cemeteries with me as I fangirl over the tombs of people no one has cared about for a hundred years or more.”

Ben looks at the list of names on the cemetery map and smiles at you, squinting slightly behind his sunglasses. “I rather like your Gothic side, Lyddie. And I appreciate this too, you know - I want to find Balzac and Proust’s tombs, while we’re here.” He drapes an arm across your shoulders as you climb steadily up one of the winding paths leading through the oldest part of the cemetery, stopping here and there to look at some of the more unusual tombs and memorials.

There’s a certain part of Père Lachaise, its highest point, where you can look out and see the city unfolding below. You lead him there and sit on a bench, keen for him to take in the view. Other visitors and tourists meander past with their maps, chatting in various languages about Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison or any number of the luminaries whose remains lie alongside those of many more ordinary Parisians in this leafy enclave.

And then it’s just the two of you, side by side, contemplative. Little birds chirp and chatter in the trees, their song a moment of peaceful stillness in the bustling city.

Paris has a tendency to look particularly magical when you’re entering into the final hours of a visit. This evening, the fading spring sunlight cuts a path along the street below, gleaming off the windows and shop signs that line the ancient thoroughfare.

“My heart always breaks a little when I have to leave.”

Ben finishes combing back his hair, still damp from the shower and curls starting to form at the nape of his neck. He turns from the mirror just inside the door of the apartment, adjusting the collar of his white shirt.

“This isn’t the last time, Lyddie. Not for you, not for us.”

You nod sadly, picking up your purse and slipping into a pair of dark red patent ballet flats. “I know. I’ve been telling myself that for twenty-odd years, but it never gets easier. Stupid, huh.”

He shakes his head as he reaches for your hand. “Not stupid. You love this place, and twenty-odd years is a long time to be in love.” He looks you up and down admiringly. “You’re all fancy.”

You cock your hip and strike a pose as Ben laughs. “I like to dress up for my long-term lover, the city of Paris, Monsieur Morales. Anyway, you’re all fancy too.”

“Not like you, I’m not. You look…” He exhales as he takes you in. “You look like you walked out of a perfect French movie.”

Even you have to admit he’s got a point. Sure, the outfit had been a bit of a splurge, a treat to yourself from the BHV department store. But a classic, knee-length little black dress would never go out of style. At least, that’s how you justified it. That, and the fact that it hugged your body just so, working wonders with your curves, somehow narrowing your middle and accentuating your tits and hips in a manner that was impossibly elegant and incredibly sexy. It was a marvel.

For once, you got a flash of what Ben always told you he saw when he looked at you. It made for a pleasant change.

This evening you have accessorised with a vintage brooch and chunky brass earrings, the gold necklace Ben gave you for Valentine’s Day a permanent fixture around your neck. The spring evening is warm enough for you to get away with a dark red pashmina shawl in lieu of a jacket, though you worried bare legs might be a step too far and decided not to forego your black hold-up fishnet stockings.

Ben slips into his olive green suit jacket and you squeeze his hand. “Thank you, my love. You look beautiful, too.”

He does. But then, he always does: his beauty is easy, natural, effortless; as obvious to you when he’s bleary-eyed and bed-headed in his old t-shirts and pyjama bottoms as it is now, with him suited and booted and looking every inch the debonair Parisian intellectual in his clear-framed glasses.

For an instant you wish you could travel back to your broken-hearted self all those years before, to tell her that a better day would come, that real love would find you when and where you least expected it, and that it would arrive in the form of a man as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside.

Most people would say the two of you are a little overdressed for your dinner destination. But then, you aren’t most people.

You catch a glimpse of the two of you reflected in a shop window as you walk along boulevard Henri IV. You, black dress and red accessories; Ben, green suit with his top shirt buttons undone, hair combed back and starting to form soft waves a little as it dries. The fact that you are both wearing sunglasses only enhances the sense of slightly retro European chic.

“Look at us. Not bad, hmmm?”

Ben stops, puts down the wicker basket he’s carrying, and winds his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your neck. “Perfect.”

You stroll past a little park near the river, pointing out a reconstructed bit of the Bastille to him, and wander in the direction of the Pont Marie and onto the Île Saint-Louis. It’s a little out of the way for where you’re going, but you have a good reason. He asked you a couple of days ago what your favourite view of the city was, and you intend to show him.

The evening sky is streaked with a palette of pale blues, pinks, oranges and reds as you reach the Pont de la Tournelle and stop to lean on the parapet of the bridge.

“This is it.”

He stands beside you and rests his hands on the parapet, following your gaze westwards along the river, taking in the silhouette of Notre-Dame - still obscured by scaffolding - painted against the vibrant canvas of the sunset, and the curve of the quaysides as the Seine splits around the Île de la Cité.

“This is my spot. When I stand here I feel as though I could wrap my arms around the city and as though it wraps its arms around me.” You look at Ben, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. That’s a bit weird, I know. I am aware that it is a city and I cannot hug it, please don’t run away.”

He looks at you with affectionate bemusement. “You know how beautiful that is, to have those feelings and be able to articulate them like that?” He reaches for your hand. “It isn’t weird. It’s you, and it’s wonderful.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. “The first time I came to Paris after…everything, I came here the first night. I stood here and I looked at the cathedral and the city.” You pause as the memory resurfaces. “And then I had a massive cry. See? Weird.”

Ben shakes his head and chuckles, pulling you close to him. “Not weird. Catharsis.”

“I guess it was. I was still here. Notre-Dame was still here. Paris was still here. It gave me a sense of hope, I think, for the first time. Like, I knew things would get better.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?” He kisses your forehead and leans in to murmur, cheekily, in your ear: “So did things get better?”

You wrap your arm around his waist, slipping it under his jacket so you can feel the strong muscles of his back under his shirt. “Eh, I guess you could say that.”

Dinner is simple: a baguette, a selection of cheeses and charcuterie, and a bottle of champagne. But you’ve made the effort to bring proper glasses and plates from the apartment, and you can’t fault the location: watching the river from the Quai Saint-Bernard on the left bank, waving at the people on the big tourist boats - the bateaux-mouches - as they pass.

“Hell of a view,” Ben muses in between mouthfuls of baguette and Brillat-Savarin cheese.

You gaze across the river at the Île Saint-Louis and smile contentedly. “It is perfection.”

He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. “I was talking about you. But Paris isn’t too bad, either.”

He looks back at the river, a smile playing on his lips, and you take a moment to admire a perfect view of your own: Ben’s handsome face in profile, hair moving gently in the breeze, the light tan he had acquired after a week of wandering in Parisian spring sunshine complementing the patches of grey-white hair at the hinge of his jaw.

You can’t help but marvel a little at how fucking gorgeous he is. Well done, Lyd. In that instant, as you take him in, you concentrate on the wonderful feeling of calm and safety that suffuses your body when you’re with him.

You’d only realised after the abrupt end of your last relationship that you’d spent a decade and a half walking on eggshells, constantly anxious and never wholly comfortable - even with someone who claimed to love you. You feared suggesting the simplest thing: a movie, a dinner, a holiday, lest it prompt a negative reaction or criticism.

With Ben, though? Even with the ongoing uncertainty about where, exactly, your future would be, you had never felt anything other than safe. With a clearer path ahead agreed together, the residual anxiety faded, too.

It was a new and marvellous feeling.

As the evening draws in, a little group of musicians set up nearby on the quay, accompanied by a cluster of couples who immediately began to dance to the band. Ben turns and smiles at the spectacle.

“They do this as soon as the weather gets warm here,” you explain, smiling widely as the dancers move around an open area on the quayside. “Sometimes it’s French classics, sometimes American big band, sometimes Latin, sometimes a more contemporary mix, like tonight.”

Ben stands up, dusts off his pants, picks up the picnic basket and extends his hand to you.

“Would you like to dance, Lyddie?”

How can you refuse, when he’s looking like that and asking you in that voice and smiling at you with such love and affection?

“I’m not good at this sort of thing, Ben, I warn you.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. “Bullshit. Now: dance with me, Lyd.”

You get to your feet and he leads you in the direction of the makeshift dancefloor, leaving the picnic basket to one side as he brings you into a dance hold and begins to move, pulling you close to his body as the band and its female lead singer begin a cover of Mitski’s “My Love Mine All Mine”.

The rest of the city falls away as you dance with him, nuzzling against his neck as his hips sway gently, rhythmically against you in time to the slower tempo of the music. Ben’s lips press softly to the top of your head, and you hum in absolute contentment.

“I love this song, you know.”

He chuckles. “I do. You sing it very beautifully in the shower, sometimes.”

“I doubt it’s beautiful.”

“Trust me. It’s beautiful.”

You nestle against him and sing along, joining in with the lyric that always made you think of him, of how he had broken through your sturdy defences, smoothing and healing the jagged, broken pieces of your soul: “My baby, here on earth/Showed me what my heart was worth”.

You sing the words quietly against his chest, feeling the vibrations from your voice meeting the rhythm of his heartbeat in a curious music made of two lovers. As the song draws to a close, Ben tenderly lifts your chin and kisses you, enveloping you in those strong arms. Cologne, coffee, bread, paper, something that is just his: his scent, the scent of love and safety.

His big hands skim appreciatively over your figure in the new black dress as he inhales your own perfume, nose buried in the crook of your neck. “Delicious, gorgeous girl,” he murmurs against your velvet skin. “You look incredible tonight, you know?”

Ben pulls your body even tighter to his and you whine softly, the press of his broad form to yours enough to send a rush of wetness to your core.

“I think we need to get back to the apartment, my love.”

Ben sits at the end of the bed, wearing his shirt and boxers, watching as you take off your jewellery in front of the bedroom mirror. There’s something fascinating about the ritual: how you take out your earrings and put them in their box; the way you tilt your head forward as you remove your necklace.

He still can’t believe it, sometimes, the kind of love he has with you. He’s been desperate to get you home ever since you danced close and slow on the riverbank. That fucking black dress. Driving him slowly crazy all night, every time he looked at you. It’s the way it hugs your hips, accentuates the ample, full curves of your tits, and reveals just enough of your skin to make him want to ease it off your soft, welcoming body.

His cock twitches at the thought.

He stands up and crosses the floor, standing behind you. His hands gently caress you as you smile at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

“I love this.”

Ben kisses the top of your arm. “I love this, too.”

His lips find their way along the line of your shoulder until they reach the crook of your neck. A little tug to the zipper of the dress and his mouth moves downwards, kissing and sucking at the back of your neck, hands roaming over your body and grabbing handfuls of you as he goes.

He’s pressed against your back, murmuring your name. The extent of his desire is already very much in evidence.

“Fuck, Lyddie.” His breath is warm and urgent against your neck.

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve wanted to take this off since the minute I saw you in it.”

You chuckle. “Looks that bad, huh?”

Lips still on your neck, he caresses your breasts as he shakes his head. “Looks too good on you.”

Ben licks a stripe up the side of your neck and you whine with pleasure, closing your eyes and reaching to caress his face.

“Can I take it off, my love?” His voice is lower, smokier.

You nod, locking your eyes on his. A frisson of excitement courses through your body as Ben eases down the rest of the zipper and eases you out of your little black dress, letting it pool at your feet.

“Oh, fuck me. These new?”

When you bought the dress, you’d bought new lingerie, too. A bra in caramel and black lace whose delicacy belied its incredible construction, supporting your breasts perfectly. Matching underwear, high-waisted and full but completely sheer, made out of the same black lace that trimmed your bra.

And of course: the stockings.

You nod and close your eyes, trying to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror. You looked alright in the dress, but you still can’t quite face the body underneath it. Ben’s breath ghosts across your shoulder blades as he fondles your tits and kisses the top of your spine.

“Open your eyes, Lyd.”

You hesitate.

“Lyd. Open your eyes.”

You obey. But you keep your gaze fixed on him, afraid of your own reflection, of a body that you still cannot believe anyone like him would ever really want.

“Lyddie, please look.” Ben’s voice is firm but pleading. “Look at your beautiful face. Look at this gorgeous, sexy body.”

He trails a finger along the contours of your breasts, tracing the lace trim of the bra. He brings his hands to your waist, to your hips, pulling you back against him ever so slightly so that you can feel how hard he is.

You don’t think you’ll ever love your body. But, watching Ben drinking you in with his eyes, running his fingers over the black Parisian lace that clings to the most sensitive and sensual parts of you, you understand that you love the way he loves your body.

“This is what you do to me, Lyd, and I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives that you are the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” You turn to face him, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you deeply.

He breaks away and looks into your eyes, dark irises searching yours. There’s a vulnerability there, a hint of doubt, lingering in spite of his words.

“What is it, Lyd?”

You shrug, fingers lightly caressing the curls and waves that cluster around his ears. “I love that you think I’m beautiful. I… still don’t know if I ever will.”

He kisses you again, softer this time. “Can I at least try to convince you? Show you?”

You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’d like that. Could… could you, like, take charge? For tonight?”

He quirks an eyebrow and returns your kiss, humming against your mouth. “Take charge?”

You feel embarrassment rising in your throat. You’d never really felt able to just ask for what you needed like this before. Old habits die hard.

“Ben, I never felt safe enough to ask a partner to take the lead like this…not before you.”

His expression softens. “I’d give you anything, Lyd. Anything you want.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, chin resting on your shoulder. “And I feel safe with you, too.”

You tilt your head to kiss him. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to take charge and show you exactly how fucking beautiful you are, how sexy you are, how fucking happy I am that I get to be with you.” He pauses to kiss you again. “And if I have to, like I said - I’ll do this every day for the rest of time, if necessary, until you see what a perfect goddess you are.”

Another, deeper kiss; the sensation of his broad hands on the soft skin of your tits and belly, pulling you tight to him, the press of his erection against you as he guides you to lean back against the wall and slips his fingers under the crotch of your panties, parting your folds and working your clit and pussy until you’re panting with desire and need.

For a moment, you think he’s going to fuck you. But then slowly, steadily, Ben sinks to the ground in front of you, mouth and teeth and tongue finding the softest, most yielding parts of your body as he works his way to his knees.

Ben looks up at you, eyes glittering with lust and adoration. He is a supplicant before you, ready to worship, to seek and give a pleasure as sacred as it is profane. He venerates your body with his mouth. His tongue traces the outline of your hips, his lips kiss the softness of your lower belly, his teeth scrape across the thick flesh of your upper thighs. He tugs the panties down completely, parting your legs and helping you out of the garment.

“I want you to keep the stockings on, okay?”

You nod your assent. Those perfect dark eyes find yours, a flash of mischief crossing his gaze as he gently pushes a finger inside you before placing both hands firmly on your hips, pressing into your flesh.

And then he tilts his head, just so, and you cry out as he brings his lips to your wet pussy, mouth and tongue working your entrance as his nose rubs with precision against your clit. You buck slightly against him but he holds you in place, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he goes down on you. The warmth of his breath against your core makes your cunt clench around nothing, desperate for him.

You wind your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, holding him in position and throwing your head back as you revel in every lap of his tongue, every brush of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, every nudge of that beautiful nose against your clit. He’s eating you out like you’re his last meal, your moans and writhing body seemingly only serving to spur him on.

Even so, Ben senses that you’re holding back. The position is incredible, the sight of him, the sound of him, the feel of him making you want to come harder than you’ve ever done before. But you worry about whether your legs will give way - whether you’ll hurt him if you fall forward.

“I’ve got you, Lyd,” he murmurs, face still buried between your thighs. “Let go. I’ve got you. You’re so close. Come for me. Want you to come like this.”

With his fingers fucking you and his lips sucking and licking at your clit, your body yields and you cry out as you come against his face.

He stays on his knees as you ride out the orgasm, thumbs rubbing a gentle circle against your hips, before scrambling to his feet and wrapping you in his strong arms. Your legs are still trembling as you lean in and kiss him like your lives depend on it, tasting yourself on his lips. He manoeuvres you to the bed, laying you down with the utmost care.

You look up at him as he shifts into position above you, the low light catching the traces of your release that glisten across his face and his beautiful eyes flitting greedily over your face and body. You reach up to unbutton his shirt and he shucks off his undervest. An electrical current of desire courses through you as you rake your hands over his broad shoulders and down to that soft tummy you love so much. His eyes are warm and wanting: your darling, your lover, your partner. You are safe in his hands, and you are ready to give yourself entirely to him.

A little smile quirks at his mouth as he lies down beside you, turning on his side and trailing his long fingers across the velvet skin of your tits, still enclosed in the delicate lace of your bra.

“Do you know how much I want you, Lyd?” he murmurs, mouth working hot, needy kisses across your breasts.

“Tell me.”

“Want you all the time.” You can feel his cock hard against you. “Want to have all of you, want to touch and kiss and fuck every last inch of you. I’m going to use my mouth on you now, baby, okay?”

He nips and sucks at the soft flesh of your belly as you moan, pussy aching for him. “And the more I have you, the more I want you.” He finds your soaking folds again and drags two fingers through the slick, bringing them to your lips so you can suck them clean. “I love you. And I can’t get enough of you.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan as he pulls you to him and quickly takes off your bra, mouth finding your breasts and tongue swirling over your nipples. You slip a hand between the two of you, tugging down his boxer briefs and wrapping your fingers around his cock as you stroke him, feeling him becoming fully hard under your careful touch.

“Do you think you have another in you, my love?”

You nod.

“Use your words, Lyd.”

“Yes. I think so…fuck, yes sir.”

He groans loudly against you and slips his fingers back through your soaking folds, chuckling a little at the whine of pleasure you let out as his warm breath ghosts against your ear. “Fucking hell, Lyd. You look so fucking beautiful. Such a beautiful woman.” He hooks his fingers against the perfect spot inside you and you buck against him, hand still working his dick. “And such a pretty pussy, so tight and so wet for me.”

He eases you into a different position, your back against his chest as his erection nudges against you. First his hands, then - with a shuffle down the bed - his mouth caresses the plump flesh of your ass, lips and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin as you whimper. He shifts your leg up and nestles himself into position.

“Can I have you, darling?”

You whine into the bed, feeling your orgasm building and building. “Please, baby, I need you inside me - fuck, baby, please…”

“I thought I was in charge?”

His voice is low, honeyed, hot as he whispers in your ear. It tips you closer and closer to the edge.

“You are… I just want you so fucking much.”

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?”

“Please. Fuck me, my love. Hard as you want to.”

“Fuck, Lyd.” With a groan and some muttered expletives, Ben sinks inside you, pausing for a moment to enjoy the sensation. “Always feels so incredible inside you, baby,” he pants, one arm holding you around your tits and the other against your belly. “Just - oh, fuck - just perfect.”

It is perfect - perfect angle, perfect feeling of him stretching you, of his hands on you. He drags himself out of your cunt slowly, steadily, making you whimper at the loss of him. A snap of his hips and he’s buried inside you again, beginning a hard rhythm that has you crying his name into the bed as he fucks you, fast and deep, the softness of your ass cushioning his thrusts as he showers you with praise. His good girl. His beautiful woman. His love.

His. His. Only his. Repeated. Possessive. Perfect.

He shifts his hand from your belly to your pussy, working tight circles over the swollen nub of your clit as you get closer and closer, mouth sucking on the delicate flesh of your neck, never letting up the rhythm until you cry out and come on his cock, the wetness audible as he fucks you through it.

“Good, baby?” He pulls out as you’re still coming down, easing you onto your back and settling himself on top of you, carefully parting your legs.

You look up at him, cockdrunk, seeing stars, and with no way to express how you feel other than a satisfied whine as you pull him to you for a hungry, sloppy kiss. Ben smiles and chuckles against your lips as he reaches down to gently hook an arm under your knee as he sinks back into you with a guttural moan.

He picks up the pace again quickly, taking you harder now, rougher, even, and gripping the headboard of the bed with his free hand. His hair is dishevelled, errant short curls falling over his brow as sweat runs in rivulets over the freckles scattered underneath the hollow of his throat and lips finding yours as you start to babble to him incoherently, surrendering to the sensation.

He drops his hand from the headboard to find yours, pressing your hand and arm into the mattress as he holds you down while he fucks you.

“Talk to me, Lyd. Tell me. See how much I want you? Tell me.”

You mutter filthily about how deep he is, how big he is, how you love having him inside of you, how much you want him - need him - to fill you up. But then you look at him - at his beautiful face, screwed up and teeth gritted as he makes love to you - and another urge takes over, displacing the dirty talk with something no less intense, but softer, all the same.

“I fucking love you, Ben - fuck, keep going, that’s so good, fuck…”

He groans and reaches for your breast, groping it as he nears his own release. “You’re mine, Lyddie. All mine.”

“Yours, Ben. Every bit of me. Yours, forever, like you’re fucking mine.”

“My woman…my - oh, fuck - my good fucking girl.” You know he’s really close. “Keep talking, Lyd. Want to hear it.”

“You’re mine, baby - oh god, Ben, that’s so fucking good - all mine. I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

Ben rests his head against your neck, panting and moaning as his rhythm falters. “I’m all yours, Lydia, always - f-fuck, I’m gonna…”

You hold him tight, hands across the breadth of his back. “You’ll never be alone again, baby - fuck, Ben! - gonna take care of you, gonna be our own little family…”

He positively growls as he comes inside you, your head knocking against the headboard as he snaps his hips against yours before collapsing against your body. You hold him tight, gentle, slow, one hand winding through his curls and the other reaching for his hand as you plant soft kisses along his hairline.

He eases himself out of you with a final kiss and flops back onto the mattress beside you, still trying to catch his breath and with the most beautifully blissed-out expression on his face.

“I’m just going to clean up and take these stockings off, my love,” you murmur, shifting your body to the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

Ben grins and giggles to himself as he looks at you. “I am fantastic. Don’t know my name or what year it is, but I am fucking fantastic.”

You pad back from the bathroom as quickly as you can, discarding your stockings and climbing back into bed beside him. He’s reaching for you before you’ve even settled your body on the mattress, broad hands gently rubbing your belly, your hips, the line of your breasts. His breath is steadier now, face and body completely relaxed in the gorgeous afterglow.

“You are such a beautiful man.”

Ben opens one eye and meets your gaze. “Hmmmph?”

“I said, you are such a beautiful man. Don’t dare deny it.”

He smiles softly, closing his eyes again as your fingertips trace the line of his nose, brush against an errant curl, find the outline of the little bare patches on the side of his jaw. Your thumb swipes gently across his lower lip, fingers seeking out the texture of his moustache.

You go to speak, and stop yourself.

“What were you going to say, Lyddie?” His voice is heavy, sleep beckoning him.

“Nothing, I was just - no, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing stupid could ever come out of your pretty mouth.”

You giggle quietly and bring yourself even closer to him, resting your hand on his chest. He reaches up to hold it.

“It’s just that… I don’t know. When I look at you like this, at all the little things that are just uniquely you, it feels like everything fits. You know?”

He opens his eyes again. “Everything fits?”

“It’s like, ‘aha. Yes. That.’ Like I was always meant to be looking at this face. Like there was a bit of me that I didn’t even know I was missing and it just was…it was you. Even if I didn’t know it.”

He smiles and leans in for a soft kiss. “And now everything fits.”

He wakes her with coffee and kisses, knowing how much she hates prising herself from the warmth of their shared bed. A little incentive, a way to help her avoid panic later in the morning, one of those tiny acts of love they perform for each other every day.

She orders a taxi for a couple of hours’ time and strips the bedsheets, casting an eye over their shared luggage waiting for departure as she joins him in the living area. Having put the sheets on a wash-dry cycle, her hands rest lightly on his broad shoulders as she quickly kisses him on the cheek and heads for the bathroom to shower. Instinctively, she gathers all but their essentials - toothbrushes and paste, shower gel - and slips them in a ziploc bag, ready to go into one of their cases.

Once he’s showered, they continue their seamless little ballet of co-operation and partnership as they prepare to depart: a reminder to empty the trash here, an almost-forgotten phone charger spotted there, last few belongings squished into their hand luggage, and a final check on their passports and tickets. She checks every drawer and cupboard one more time while he places their trash bag in the small communal dumpster in the building’s courtyard.

It is a banal ritual: unthinking, unrehearsed, instinctive. But there’s something in the way they slot together so neatly, the way they complement each other, the easy, naturalness of it all, that speaks to a sense of partnership that works as well in the routines of everyday life as it does in the bedroom.

He carries the cases down to the main hallway as she checks the apartment’s small windows and locks up, following him downstairs after she drops off the key to Sophie’s neighbour.

He’s outside, standing with the bags on the pavement outside the building. The G7 taxi pulls up almost immediately, and he can’t help but smile with pride when he hears her confidently chatting away in French to the driver as they load the trunk with their luggage.

Her hand finds his in the backseat, head resting against his shoulder. Partners. A team.

As the car heads northwards towards the edge of the city, he casts a glance at his phone. Two new job alerts, for positions at institutions in Europe.

He resolves to check them out properly once they get home. For now, though, just a squeeze of her hand, a kiss to the top of her head, and a silent resolution that he’d follow her to the ends of the earth.

*******

Further A/N: I'm going to make a separate post with more details on the music, the locations, and the food in this chapter...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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musetta3 · 1 year ago

Note

alright tell me about the skyrim prompts!

Hi Viking! 'Skyrim Prompts' are just what they say on the tin: prompts that tell the adventures of Iseult, my Dragonborn, and her reluctant companion, grumpy Vilkas. It's an enemies-to-lovers story that's grown on me; writing these two is a lot of fun!

A squeaky hinge cut through his words. Vilkas glared. “Who dares enter?” He asked. “The Harbinger—” his words trailed off as none other but Iseult the Black let herself into Kodlak’s chambers, her servant hurrying after. “My Thane, you’re not supposed to just let yourself in,” Lydia said, “let me at least announce you.” Iseult waved away her words, “no need: I’m not some poncy noble from the Cloud District, Lyd. Well met, Master Kodlak; I’m here to join your guild—” Vilkas frowned at her rudeness. “No.” Her eyes widened, “w-what?” “I said. No.” Vilkas sat back in his seat, leveling his sternest glare. “Applications are closed.” “What? Word in Riften was that you were hiring.” “‘Hire?’ We’re not petty mercenaries or bandits, my lady; ours is a fellowship, with an honorable and long history. We don’t ‘hire’ anyone.” He couldn’t help but smirk at her exasperation. “I’m in charge of recruitment, not Master Kodlak.” Kodlak turned to him, “what are you doing, boy?” His words were low, rushed. “ You can’t just turn her away, we need new recruits—” “She’s more trouble than she’s worth.” It was, perhaps, a bit petty of Vilkas to use his authority this way; any warrior in his right mind would have leapt at the chance to have the Dragonborn of legend join their ranks. But Iseult’s reckless entrance and distinct lack of propriety irked him, spoke more of her character than a hundred Lydias trying to vouch for her did. Iseult the Black was reckless, self-entitled, and a terrible candidate for following orders, if he ever saw one. It was a dangerous combination, one that Vilkas refused to entertain even for even a moment, despite the wolf-blood stirring in his veins. If he accepted her into their ranks, she’d be nothing but trouble, a detriment to all… including his concentration, looking as lovely as she did. Iseult, meanwhile, leaned in, narrowing her eyes. “Wait. I remember you. You’re that flustered man from the well: Master Vilhelm—” “Vilkas,” he corrected, tone clipped and tart. “My name is Vilkas.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “My condolences. Now… Let. Me. In.” “No! You—” “Must first pass the trial,” Kodlak interrupted. “Every recruit must prove themselves worthy of the Companions.” Vilkas stared at him. “B-But, Master! She’s—” “How many times must I tell you not to call me ‘Master?’” Kodlak muttered, shaking his head. He led the way to the door, explaining the glorious history of their fellowship. Iseult stuck her tongue out at Vilkas over her shoulder and followed, quite pleased with herself. Vilkas couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Divines,” he cursed. “We’re doomed…"

#skyrim #wip #wip titles game #vilkas #vilkas skyrim #vilkas x dragonborn #enemies to lovers #skyrim fanfiction #iseult #my fanfiction #musetta writes

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realityescapee01 · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Little Sunshine (part 2: approval)

<< part 1 here |--| part 3 here >>(when done)

Steo | Stiles x Theo | First Responders prompt @steodiscord | contains some sm ut

Stiles is 3 weeks in to his medical training as a senior med student. He has to make good here because this will decide which hospital he'd be a doctor in.

He has to focus. But a certain firefighter is making that a little difficult.

Waltzing in with all his hotness and attention on Stiles. Applying pressure of pursuing him, gifts and go-out-with me statements. Throwing out pickup lines to him whenever he is there.

Focusing is becoming harder and harder for Stiles.

"Why?!?" -Lydia asked, rather too loudly.

"Can we tone it down, please?" -Stiles changing into the doctor uniform.

Stiles can't believe Lydia was scolding him right now. "Like, why did you stop???"

"Are you serious? I don't wanna lose my v-card at the back of a truck. I got spooked! I don't know what to do!"

"I'm sure Theo knows what to do."

"Yeah, but what about me? I don't know, I got scared, I backed out. Sorry."

"Did you tell him that? That you're a virgin?"

"No. I'm too embarrassed."

"Good. Don't let him know. For now."

"Why?"

"If you tell him, and if Theo is just in it for the wham bam, that's all he's gonna have in mind: V-card. Must claim. But I don't think Theo is just up for a hookup though. So, just hold out. I know it's hard, given how gorgeous Theo is. How hot Theo is. Very difficult to resist, especially now that you got a preview of the goods, by the way, how big is it?"

"Ohmygod, Lyds!"

Lydia just grinned at Stiles before she got called for an emergency. Stiles was saved. He let out a breath. Good. He isn't gonna divulge that information to Lydia. To anyone. But Stiles thought back to it...

It is... quite big. Maybe around 6 or 7, have quite a girth too, that vein underneath, and that pinkish ti- Stiles shook his head and slapped himself quite a few times.

"Dr. Stilinski?" -head nurse was looking at him.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I've been paging you. You're needed at room 2."

"Oh! Sorry." -Stiles hurried.

-+-+-+-

Theo walked into work, looking very happy.

"Ooohhhhh! Someone's happy! Hit the home run?" -Jackson wrapped his arm around Theo's neck.

"Spill." -Brett did too, from the other side of Theo this time.

"Geez!" -Theo fought to get out of the double headlock. Then he just smiled at the two. "Good. Had a nice night. Drinks and dances." That's all Theo said. He never told on his s-x life, ever. Besides, they didn't really do it last night.

"Raeken!" -Chief Stilinski called him into his office.

'Oh, shit!' -Theo told the two to go check and ready their rig, as always.

"Raeken... what did you do to my son?"

"I... brought in a patient to Med yesterday, and I asked him out for drinks. And we did. We had some drinks, talked a lot, and then danced."

"And?"

"And... We got some take out, curly fries, on the way home."

"And then?"

"And then... that's it, Chief."

Chief wasn't buying it. He recalled what happened last night...

"Dad, that's not very nice." -Stiles pertaining to him shutting the door on Theo's face. "Theo was kind to me tonight."

Stiles thought of how Theo reacted when he chickened out halfway through having s-x. Most guys won't react too good at that. Maybe you'd get a beating or get dropped somewhere or shamed. But Theo didn't.

"How long?"

"How long w-what?" -Stiles was still a little horny and his mind is still in the gutter.

"How long have you been dating Theo?"

"Oh. Not too long. This is first night out. But we've been talking a while whenever he's at Med."

"Do you like Theo?"

"Well... we get along pretty well. Haven't talked to someone like that in a long time." -Stiles then smiled, longingly, remembering how good he felt talking to Theo about things he geeks out about. And Theo absolutely getting him. They connect well.

Chief Stilinski wanted to say more but stopped because he saw the look on Stiles' face. And it's not as if Theo is a bad guy. Theo is a good guy. A great guy. And chief saw all that at work, you could tell a lot about a man by the way he works. And Theo works exceptionally. It's just the hooking up often bit he doesn't approve of.

"Okay, Stiles. You're old enough and I trusts your decisions, but always guard your heart. Also, if Theo hurts you or tries anything unsavory, you tell me, okay?"

"Yeah. Of course, dad."

Stiles turned to walk up to his room and that's when chief noticed the fresh hickeys on Stiles' nape. Chief wanted to take back everything and take Stiles away from here. Hide him from Theo. He just couldn't believe his sweet baby boy is all grown up.

"That's all, chief." -Theo swore.

"Theo, I can't control you or Stiles, but just know, if you hurt him in any way, if I ever saw him cry or sad, you're done for."

"Yes, sir... but that's not gonna happen. There's no way I'd hurt Stiles."

Chief Stilinski stared at Theo. Theo looked very serious. Very determined. "I will remember that, now, get out!"

"Did you get the father's blessing?" -Jackson asked the moment Theo came back.

"Not exactly." -Theo slumped on their table.

But his phone beeped and he instantly smiled. Ever since he got Stiles' number, they began chatting and getting each other's social media account.

And Stiles enjoyed scrolling through Theo's IG photos, especially the gym series. They were chatting good mornings, how's your sleep, how's the day going so far, etc etc. Only being cut short by the alarm. Theo and his squad were called for cleanup and fire concerns. A condemned and foreclosed warehouse just collapsed.

They headed to the scene and was surprised to hear a homeless man calling from inside. He got pinned down by his foot. He was squatting in the warehouse. Theo assessed the situation. They can't take off the big chunk of cement just like that. The medics said it would cause the patient to go into shock and they have to get him to Med asap, but all the rubble blocking the way would make that impossible. They needed doctors.

Medics called to Med for assistance. Theo and his crew took the fire out and secured a safe pathway to the victim.

Theo was hoping it was Stiles. And it was.

"Hey." -Stiles waved at him.

"Hey, sunshine... hey, doc."

"Bring me up to speed on the way inside, Lieutenant Raeken." -Stiles' attending asked.

Theo guided them inside, telling them to watch their heads. Theo told him everything the medics said earlier about the situation. They reached the patient and saw for themselves the damage.

The doctor assessed, asked how long it's been, what the medics administered, etc etc. Stiles was looking at the man too, he was sad because he knows the foot is beyond saving.

"We have to cut your leg off." -the doctor announced.

"No! Oh no no no!!!" -the patient began to panic and started squirming about.

"Hey, hey, hey!!!" -Theo held the man down. "Let them do their jobs. Let them save you, man."

"No, please, there must be another way!"

"I'm sorry, your foot is long dead. Stiles, tourniquet and be ready to dress once cut."

"Okay."

Stiles did, made a tourniquet from cloth and a piece of metal lying around. To use to turn and tighten the cloth. Stiles worked calmly but swiftly, almost like in a trance. And Theo was loving it. Not it was his turn to be in awe of Stiles' work.

Stiles handed the saw over to and the doctor began cutting the leg. Once amputated, Stiles worked fast to dress the wound.

"All done, doc." -Stiles wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Good work. We're good for transport, Lieutenant." -the doctor addressed Theo.

"Okay, Brett! Jackson! Come in here, put him on the backboard and into the ambo, now."

Theo guided Stiles and the doctor back outside.

"That was an awesome job, Stiles."

"Really? Thanks. I just assisted."

"You did great, sunshine." -Theo kissed Stiles' forehead.

"Uh-y-yeah." -Stiles was blushing. And his attending was staring at him too. "T-Theo..."

Theo saw what Stiles was worried about. "Sorry. Lunch later?"

"Okay."

Theo headed to coordinate with city works, they need a report. Brett walked beside Stiles as he was heading back with the doctor.

"Hi, I'm Brett." -Brett helped Stiles carry his things.

"Oh, thanks. Nice to meet you, Brett."

"Yeah, and that one over there is Jackson. Theo's kinda late introducing us to you so I decided to take matters in my own hands... Thanks, Stiles."

"Thanks for what?"

"Theo's never in a bad mood now. He doesn't come to work grumpy and barking orders, clean this, clean that, etc etc."

"Oh, okay." -Stiles laughed. He was boarding the ambo they used to get there, Brett handing him his stuff. Stiles nodded to Brett a goodbye and looked at where Theo is.

Later that day, as planned, Theo and his crew spent lunch at Med cafeteria. Theo spending it with Stiles. It was just an hour so Stiles had to say goodbye to Theo quite quickly.

"I'll get going, now." -Theo hugged Stiles.

And then there was music of the wedding theme. Jackson was playing it through their rig's speakers. The two were laughing hysterically inside the truck.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" -Theo ran to their truck. And killed the speakers.

Stiles was laughing at how the two were teasing Theo relentlessly.

"I swear, if you two fall in love for real, I'm gonna get you back for this!"

Stiles heard Theo as they drove away; Theo waving at him.

So they went on with their day. For Theo, that was the last call for them today. For Stiles, he had lots more of situations. And had to stay for an extended shift. He was tired. Theo felt sorry for him so he thought to come over and bring dinner.

Stiles was thankful for that. His day became better. Theo waited for him in the lobby and drove him home.

So the days passed like that. There are toxic days, where the two of them have so many work and barely see each other, and there are okay days where they can call and meet each other.

And every day that passed, Stiles' fear or doubt of Theo slowly disappeared. Spending more and more days getting to know each other. Calling at nights, when they're both out of shifts, saying goodnight, sweet dreams, and sometimes falling asleep on video calls.

-+-+-+-

About 2 months in in his training, on his way to Med, Stiles saw a homeless girl, OD'ing on the sidewalk. Stiles helped her and brought her to Med. Stiles insisted she should go into rehab, but the girl didn't want to. She chose to stay with the other homeless like her, in an abandoned warehouse.

"Thanks, Stiles."

"Erika, if you ever change your mind, I'm here, okay?"

"Thanks."

Stiles os a good judge of character, and Erika is one good person. Just out there, got lost in the way. But he knew deep down, Erika is a good person. He walked Erika out the ER.

And that was the last he heard from Erika.

So when Erika suddenly contacted him, saying, she wanted to go to rehab, straighten her life out, change and be better, Stiles was supportive. Erika asked for help, saying she wanted to move out of the warehouse, Stiles volunteered to drive her to the rehab.

Stiles arrived at the warehouse. There he saw many other teens, homeless, some stow aways, living together there. And they were having a party as of the moment.

They went straight to the balcony where Erika 'lives'. They were packing up when they heard screaming from below.

A fire broke out.

Because the warehouse is small, there are lots of objects littered around, and they are overcrowded in there, the simple fire immediately grew. The people in there began to panic. They started pushing against each other to escape. Some got out, some got stomped on by others.

"Ohgod, Stiles!" -Erika was on her way packing a bat when the chaos broke out.

"Erika, don't go down there! Call 911, now!" -Stiles stopped her from going down and joining the chaos on the ground floor.

Stiles looked around and saw others climbing onto to the windows and jumping out.

"There!" -Stiles pointed at the window in their side.

They began opening it, but it was weld shut with bars from outside. No way they're fitting through there.

"Fuck!!!" -Stiles dropped the bat he use to break the window. Stiles looked below, they have to get down somehow, somewhere, or else the smoke rising from the flames would suffocate them. "Erika! Slide down there!"

Stiles pointed at the pole leading to the back end. Erika did and kept asking Stiles to follow.

They landed at the back of the warehouse, but there are too many rubbles, broken furnitures and appliances blocking the way. There is no way they'd get those out of the way in time. They can't go back either, too many flaming objects on the way. And the smoke is too thick to see clearly by now. Stiles and Erika started coughing. Stiles heard the sirens closing in from outside.

He hoped it was his dad or Theo, better if both. He pulled Erika down and hid behind some cover, then he took his phone, and called his dad.

Chief Stilinski assessed the situation and ordered his crew. Theo wasn't with him because it is Theo's squad's off day.

He ordered a vent for the roof, asap, and sent in firefighters to search and rescue any remaining people inside. That was just the moment he realized Stiles was calling him.

"Stiles?"

"Dad! Dad, I'm inside!" -Stiles coughed.

"Stiles! What?!! Hang on, son. We're getting you out."

Chief Stilinski saw all his firefighters busy. He saw the fire continue growing and he knew, they are in a time crunch. He wanted to come in and get his son but he couldn't, everyone else needs him out there to oversee the operation.

"Chief! Chief! Put me in there!" -Theo arrived in a hurry. Most probably Stiles called him too.

"Theo... alright, suit up! Get my son." -Chief grabbed Theo by his collar.

"I will!"

Theo rushed to get geared up. He took a line, a rope, and tied it to the pole outside the door and then went in. He saw how difficult the layout of the place is. It was like a maze.

"Fire department! Call out!!! Stiles?!?" -Theo pushed through the thick smoke. Helping someone else to get outside whenever he comes across them.

"Here, hold onto this rope, follow it, it would lead you outside!" -he told the person he found on his way looking for Stiles.

"Stiles!!!"

"Theo! Over here!" -Stiles banged the furniture around him, to lead Theo to their location.

"Keep hitting it. You're doing good, sunshine." -the sound is helping Theo a lot. It is hard to see through the smoke now.

Erika helped Stiles to make sounds back there. A few more moments and Theo found them.

"Stiles!" -Theo was handing him the oxygen mask.

"Theo, her first! Erika first!"

Erika was heaving already, having a bad case of asthma. Theo have the mask to Erika and helped her up.

"Stay close behind me, Stiles. Hold onto this rope."

The three of them began walking outside. They were almost out when a beam fell, separating Erika ahead of them.

"Stiles!" -Erika cried out.

"Go ahead! Go outside! Ask for help!" -Theo ordered her out.

More beams fell, making Theo and Stiles step farther back into the warehouse.

"Shit!" -Theo knew they're in danger. The fire had been going on for a while. He knew what's gonna happen next.

Erika came bursting out the door. "Help, inside. Stiles. Beam fell. Blocked way. Please." She said in between gasps and trying not to pass out.

"Get her to ambo now!" -Chief Stilinski helped her up. "Theo? Theo, report!!!" he then shouted on his radio.

"Chief-chief. I'm here. I'm with Stiles, we're trapped."

"Theo..."

"I know, chief. I know." -Theo said, sounding forlorn.

Stiles didn't like that.

"...Stiles, can you hear me?"

"Yeah! Dad!"

"Son... I have to make a call... this fire's been burning too long, things happen and... We have to water it down. Or it will collapse."

"Water down?"

"Theo... you have a better chance of surviving if we water it compared to the whole thing collapsing on you."

"I know, chief." -Theo held Stiles tighter to him.

"... Stiles, son, I'm sorry. I love you."

"Dad, what are you saying?!?"

"Theo, please, find a way to get through this."

"Yeah. 30 seconds, right, chief?"

"Yeah. I'm calling it."

Then the radio was cutoff.

"Come on, Stiles we have to find a place to hide."

"What is happening?!? I don't get it, Theo!!!"

Theo looked frantically around, for something, somewhere.

"Theo! Hey!!! Talk to me!"

"We'll be cooked."

"W-What???"

"When the water rains down to kill the flames, there's gonna be steam... very hot steam."

"Theo, I don't wanna die!"

"It can be survived, but very rarely. We gotta find something. Somewhere...10 seconds." -Theo was keeping track of the time.

-+-+-+-

"Chief?" -one firefighter asked, ready to open the water valve.

"I know!" -Chief Stilinski wiped his tears and called it. He could only hope Theo was able to do something. "Water, now."

Chief Stilinski had too. If he could, he would run in there, get his son out himself, but he had sworn a service. To look after the city, the citizens and his firefighters.

Then his radio turned on, he heard Theo and Stiles talking.

"Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Theo!!!" -he never heard Stiles so scared like this before.

"Stiles, I got you, breathe, come on." -Theo

"I don't wanna die, Theo!"

"I'm here, sunshine, I got you. Just stay close to me."

Stiles started crying and Theo kept saying 'I'm here, I'll protect you.'

"Ohmygod, here it is!!! Theo!!! Ahhh! It's so hot!!!"

Then the line was cut off.

Chief Stilinski walked away from the scene, that broke him, he could have possibly heard the last moments of his son.

He watched as the water stopped and the steam stopped as well.

"Chief!" -Brett and Jackson arrived at the scene, they saw in the news. They saw Theo's truck and put two and two together. Figuring out the only reason Theo is there on his off day: Stiles.

"Theo?" -Jackson was eyeing every ambo in sight.

"Inside." -Chief Stilinski. "Talbot, Whittmore, my son is in there too... I can't... I can't." Chief leaned on the truck.

"We got it, chief."

The two geared up and went inside with the others, to retrieve Theo and Stiles.

Inside, they saw the chaos. Burnt objects, old broken appliances and furnitures dumped in there. Bodies of unfortunate victims.

"Hey." -Jackson, called out to Brett, in a broken voice.

At the back, they saw two bodies, hugging each other.

Without a word, without talking to each other, they knew. They know they work very dangerous jobs but they never wanted to retrieve each other like this. Brett and Jackson was to walk out when a large, industrial cooler opened and out came Theo and Stiles.

"T-Theo!!! Holy shit!!!" -Jackson ran to them.

Stiles took the oxygen mask off and coughed. Theo was clearly in pain, something about his back.

"Haha! Fuck! Fuck!!!" -Brett was almost crying. "Chief! They're here! They pulled though!!!" he reported over the radio.

Chief Stilinski ran inside and hugged his son.

"Ohmygod! Stiles!!!"

The two were crying.

"How?" -chief looked over at Theo, he has a burn on his back. And large, industrial cooler, open beside them. Chief then figured out, Theo must have seen it and used it.

Stiles coughed. Chief hurriedly walked him out of there.

Brett and Jackson helped Theo up.

"Man! I thought... we're gonna bring you out in a body bag!" -Jackson was crying. Legitimately crying.

Theo was beyond exhausted, and through pain, with a hoarse voice, he tried to laugh.

"Guys, I'm too good for that... But, if this ever happen again, I'll make sure there'd be only one body bag; and that's not gonna be Stiles'."

-+-+-+-

Outside, ambos and medics are ready to attend to them. Chief Stilinski walked over to Theo.

"Raeken, kid, hey."

"Hey, chief."

"How's your back?"

"Burned... but not too bad. Not even a 1st degree."

"Good. What happened?"

"I saw a place to hide, but it's broke, won't shut completely. I used our coat as cover, it's not perfect but it worked a little bit. Shared my oxygen with Stiles. And hoped for the best."

"It was... you did great... Thank you, getting my son out alive."

"Of course, chief."

"I think... you should go on that ambo." -chief pointed at where Stiles was. Stiles would very much like for Theo to ride with him to the hospital for further checks.

Chief watched Stiles and Theo...

"Raeken..." -he was just nodding his head and smiling. He scolded himself somehow.

Turns out he has nothing to worry about at all.

-+-+-+ (to be continued) +-+-+-

thank you. more on my master list here

I also have an AO3 account

this story's ao3 link here

my art/design shop here (for fanart and other things I do)

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Like the gifs used here? See source under them. Reblog, do not repost. Thank you all gif creators here ♥️

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo x stiles #theo #stiles x theo #theo raeken x stiles stilinski #teen wolf #imagine #theo raeken #stiles #prompt #first responders

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lumiereandcogsworth · 1 year ago

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5, 18, and 29 🤗

5. Guilty pleasures? honestly genuinely i don’t know. i feel like i’m pretty open about my interests? and i don’t think i feel guilty about them?? even the weird shit i watch on youtube sometimes (i went through a phase of watching a lot of bug videos. like ant colonies and shit, i also went through another phase of watching food decompose over a time lapse) i don’t feel guilty about it afjdkf it’s just part of my silly goofy personality <3

18. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever bought? either my phone or my tv. phone i think was halfies with my parents and it’s been some years for both so i don’t remember which i paid more for. (tv was second-hand from my brother so that’s why i’m not sure)

29. How different is your actual adult self from how you pictured it when you were little? this is so wild because i was Just talking about this with a friend and also discussing it in a blorbo context (👀) but anyway FOR ME? i was actually quite scared of growing up as a kid. like to the point of having meltdowns every time my mom tried to have The Talk with me. i did eventually get through that but uhhh i didn’t much envision myself as an adult. i wanted to be a kid forever. i think i had the standard movie assumptions of, go to college get a good job meet someone fall in love get married have kiddos. all probably starting around the age i am now, LMAO. i did the college thing!! and i like my job!! but anyway, ah. ya know, i just figured the future would happen and that was scary enough for me to close that door.

i do like actual adult lydia, and i think little lyd would like her too. i sometimes wish i could talk to her to calm her nerves about all this, but i’d be lying if i said all those nerves were completely gone, lol

get to know me Qs!

#thank!!!#alex tag #answered

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my-name-is-siduri · 1 year ago

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I hope you don't mind me expanding on this, OP. I have a few thoughts about this.

Like you said, the earliest sources we have about valravns* have different tones. I'll go over the three you've listed as well as one of my own:

1) The creature specifically referred to as 'valravn' does not appear until Valravnen, at least according to this source I found online. This is not to say that there weren't valravns before then (see point 4 below for some speculation about that), but we have no surviving records of them.

As I can glean from the internet, the earliest forms of Valravnen were created at some point during the 16th or 17th century, though I can't find the exact date anywhere. The first solid date I can find online is 1803, which is quite a bit later. In any case, in Valravnen we see a tragic figure that's been transformed into a valravn by a troll woman, a curse that has to be broken for him to regain human form. In some versions, the curse is simply broken by him helping out his sister and making a wish. In others, he has to eat either the eye of his infant niece or drink her heart's blood, in both cases killing her (although she is later revived). And in yet others, he remains cursed and never becomes human again.

While no doubt the audience feels sympathy towards this cursed valravn, we can already see that valravns are capable of very dark acts.

2) If you don't mind me asking, which noble family are you referring to? I've never heard anything about this and I am very interested in finding out more about them.

While I don't know what the context of this valravn coat of arms is, it should be noted that heraldic beasts have a wide variety of meanings and reasons for their depictions. Sometimes it's because the family wants to channel what the animal represents: a lion is used to show ferocity and nobility, for example. Other times, the depiction has a more practical reason. Perhaps someone's land is known for having many deer, so a deer is put on their coat of arms to represent 'we have a lot of deer on our land.' And in some cases, the heraldic animal is actually depicted negatively. Saint George's dragon, for example, is depicted on coats of arms as a representation of triumph over evil.

As such, it is not guaranteed that the usage of a valravn means the family is saying "we approve of this animal and think it's great." There are many possibly reasons for its inclusion and we'd need more context to understand why the family used it.

3) Danske Sagn: Som De Har Lyd I Folkemunde was first published in 1892, 99 years after the Valravnen date I listed above. You can read it online here. I assume this is what you meant by the third source you listed, even though it's from the late 1800s and not early. (If you meant a different text, please let me know and I'll take a look!) This is the book where we get the most used quote about valravns and the very one I have pinned to my valravn sideblog. Here's a translation:

If a raven eats the heart of an unburied king or chieftain that died in battle, the raven transforms into a valravn. This transformation gives the valravn great intelligence and superhuman strength, but it often turns them evil and manipulative as well. They are terrible creatures.

"They are terrible creatures." The passage does not say it's guaranteed they will become evil and manipulative, but I have to imagine that the use of 'often' implies it's fairly common occurrence.

4) We know that the themes and symbolism of intelligent ravens feasting on the bodies of fallen kings can be found throughout history. For example, the 9th century skaldic poem Hrafnsmál depicts a valkyrie speaking with a talking raven that has done just that. If we assume that Hrafnsmál is depicting some sort of proto-valravn, it's worth analyzing the poem:

[The valkyrie asks,] "What is the matter with you, ravens? From where have you come with gory beaks at break of day? Flesh hangs from your claws; the stench of carrion comes from your mouths; I think you lodged last night near where you knew corpses were lying." The grey-feathered sworn-brother of the eagle [raven] gloated and wiped its bill, and gave thought to an answer: "We have followed Haraldr son of Hálfdan, the young king, since we emerged from the egg."

The tone taken on here seems to be that the valkyrie is scolding the raven for its behavior ("What is the matter with you") while the raven seems to enjoy what it's doing ("gloated"). What the raven is doing is not something completely hated, it would appear to be something that the valkyrie does not entirely approve of. The raven feels no shame in what it's doing.

Now I do want to say this interpretation might be inaccurate. Another translation I found of this poem depicts the interaction more neutrally. I don't know what tone the original text takes on since I can't read it. But if the first source has held on to the original tone, it's worth including.

Now onto the point I'm trying to make here...

I fully understand the frustration with the way valravns are interpreted in the modern day. Believe me, I have some very choice things to say about the way that pop culture has interpreted for a lot of different folklores. Have you seen what people have done to Greek mythology? And don't even get me started on the treatment of indigenous folklore, it's outright disrespectful.

With that said, I do think there is a place for antagonistic valravns just as much as there is for sympathetic and neutral ones. I agree that making them 'evil' is grossly glossing over a far more nuanced tradition, but let us not forget that in several versions the Valravnen killed his own infant niece (even if he later revived her and it all worked out) and that our 1892 source called them "evil and manipulative" and "terrible creatures."

I think it's safe to assume that it was always established that valravns are dangerous creatures that are not necessarily on humanity's side. Does being at odds with humanity make them evil? Well that's a philosophical question far outside of the scope of this essay, so I'll just settle on saying it's fair for them to serve the role of antagonist in stories just as much as anything else.

(Full disclaimer, I will admit I've fallen victim to this in my own story. I do my best to depict the 'bad guy' valravn as having more of an alien, bestial mindset rather than just being pure evil, but I fear he comes across as just evil anyway oops.)

In conclusion: I completely agree that it's inaccurate to depict valravns as straight up evil bird bad guys, and I have full sympathy for your frustration with it. But, it is valid to use them as antagonists to stories and/or have them do less-than-savory things. Several sources from the 1800s and possibly much earlier depict them behaving as such.

*On the internet in English, anyway. It's entirely possible that there's more information out there, be it written or in someone's oral history. But I wouldn't even know how to begin to seek that out, and it would probably be impossible for me to do so anyway, as I only know English and am located in the US. I do my best, but I have limited resources. For all I know there's some Danish book that hasn't been digitally scanned out there that explains in detail how everything I've written above is wrong.

Hooooowww did people 1) hear the folksong Valravnen about a knight who's been transformed into a bird (likely an eagle, not a raven) and can only break the curse by killing a baby, 2) see that one (1) now-extinct noble family referred to their heraldic beast, a wolf/bird, as a 'valravn', and 3) read one single 1800s countryboy's explanation that valravnen is like an evil valkyrie, and SOMEHOW extrapolate from those three wildly unrelated sources that "The Valravn" (because it's never a folkloric concept with different interpretations, it's always a single specific creature) is a were-wolf/raven who haunts battlefields to drink the blood of slain warriors????

Please stop depicting 'the' valravn when you don't even know what it is, I'm begging on my fucking knees, I hate the way recent Danish folklore-inspired popculture has latched onto this figure and keeps depicting it in wilder and wilder ways😭😭

If you want a folkloric evil bird creature in your story please just use a fucking dragon or gammen. Use a damn cockatrice or vættehane, idgaf. Please just stop muddying the already-confusing lore of valravnen. The figure has been abused enough already and you are making my hobby as a folklorist very difficult😥

#Feel free to reply! I'd love to hear your feedback on what I've written here #I know it's a lot to read valravns are a personal obsession of mine could you tell #valravn #folklore #Sid does writing #Sid posts

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wizisbored · 2 years ago

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7, 31!

7 - tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

the first one i actually wrote down was im pretty sure a harry potter missing moment thing of a torture scene. so yeah i have literally always been like this. and by 'write down' i mean it was actually physically written on a few pages ripped out of a school exercise book.

there might have been some odds and ends of harry potter and fnaf stuff between that and the first time i actually posted something when i was like 12/13, but i dont remember them, and this one i posted was something i had been daydreaming i think before i even knew fanfic was a thing. its still up on my long-abandoned fanfic.net account, its called 6072 and its a wolfblood fic. it was sort of the start of my now established whump fic mo of 'character(s) get captured, imprisoned/exploited, escape, go on a big ol hike' that i still think of as a '6072-plot'. examples include igtlt, wildfire, snakeoil, the ghost jars au, and kinda the infernal children but not quite.

anyway 6072 was about what if humans found out about wolfbloods and imprisoned them all out of fear and then a slave trade started and then a wolfblood resistance. i have no idea where this was going to end but i do remember it featuring an oc whos sister had died before the main characters showed up in that particular location and had her body dumped in a ditch so once again yes i have always been like this. it also featured my strange fixation with making all the dialogue 100% accurate to the characters accents in a way that made the dialogue near unreadable and in hindsight was probably offensive. im so sorry to any welsh people that read it.

31 - tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

taking 'my characters' to mean ocs, i fucking love making and writing the most horrible awful little guys when i need an antagonist. theres something so fun about an absolute piece of shit. most recent example would be appero from netherborne - though i write about him more than i just write him - but the main example of that is jeremiah from wildfire. terrible terrible little man who gained a fucking hate club in the comments. i need to go back to that fic just for my boy jer.

but to expand that to my take on canon characters. of course theres making them shitbags too (snakeoil beetlejuice, lab 4 hidgens, igtlt peip) but i also really love writing all my various lydias. bugebroph in particular is so fun because she has so much freedom and is also kinda a brat so theres a lot to do with her. netherborne too, feral cat energy ftw. i have a feeling infernal children lydia is gonna be fun too, once i get past its opening scenes. gonna be fun to have her adapt to her new life after being relatively privelidged. (shes like your cowboy lyds in that way. not gonna lie your western au was a big inspiration for the infernal children)

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avaliveradio · 2 years ago

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Reshaping by Njordlyd is about Beginning a Journey

Reshaping…

Reshaping, “to give a new form or orientation to” ….. something, to shape something again and / or differently. This track is a sort of bridge from Phase One (2021 - 2022) to Phase Two (2022 - 2023) and the recent album “Getting Closer”. It’s the 1st track on the album and the 4th promotion track. The track is not an alternative version, however it does contain quite some “reshaped” elements from the track “Circles” (from April 2021). It’s meant as the opening track for the album and further transition into the second track Dark Ride (which is the alternative version of Circles) and the overall concept of “reshaping”.

A new year has just started, …. 2023, the beginning of yet another journey. “Reshaping” is also the beginning of a journey. The sounds of “early morning”, somewhere on a train, metro or some kind of public transport. Resting, calm …… gathering your thoughts for the day or the time to come, good or bad. Spiritually left with your own thoughts. Surrounded by people, a slightly busy surrounding or atmosphere. Recharging ……. RESHAPING!

“Reshaping” - track one (1) on the album “Getting Closer”

“Getting Closer” is my first full album as Njordlyd. It is an industrial and dark ambient-styled concept album featuring 10 tracks with an extensive selection of samples, stretched sounds and field recordings. Track 1 is an introduction to the album, and contains elements and samples from Circles (the first single from phase 1), as well as it is an introduction to “reshaping”. Track 2-6 are all alternative versions of each of the 5 singles from Phase One (April 2021 to March 2022), in chronological order, starting with “Dark Ride” (which is the alternative version of Circles). Track 7 is a bridge between track 1-6 and the remainder of the album, taking the concept of “reshaping” further, with track 10 closing off the album. I have deliberately chosen not to make the album a continuous piece of music, where all tracks are interwoven. Instead I have used short fades (in and out), to give it some sort of transition between the tracks and many distinctive sections.

When creating “Getting Closer” I was inspired by KLFs “Chill Out” album and Burials latest release “Antidawn”. Both albums also contain an extensive selection of samples. I have always been fascinated by the endless possibilities that sampled, stretched and pitched sounds provide (especially in combination with field recordings). The field recordings play an important role on this album. It gives all the tracks a sort of lively feeling and provides many distinctive soundscapes. Moving vehicles such as trains, trams, metros and cars (amongst others). Water dripping, rain falling, breaking waves and birds pitched beyond recognition. I am fully aware that there is not a lot new to this, that it has been used many times before. I just find it amazing how these type of samples and sounds can be used to blend into “something” like this, how a sample of e.g. a train approaching or leaving, can sound like a filtered synth sound.

The album title “Getting Closer” is simply a reference to getting closer to how I want to create music (way of working) and what kind of music (style). I hope this “collection” of tracks and soundscapes will bring you as much pleasure as it was for me to make it. I cannot remember having enjoyed making music as much as with this album and the forthcoming EP “Correlations” (March 2023).

youtube

The Name “Njordlyd”

Njord was the Norse god of the sea, sailing, fishing and fertility, and a name that I really like. “lyd” means sound, so Njord is a kind of pseudonym, combined with what I do (music), which is related to sound, hence Njordlyd (Njord’s sound).

Danish musician and producer Njordlyd is a creator of thoughtful and mellow musical landscapes, organic compositions and soundscapes, combined with experimental micro sounds. The best way to describe the very detailed, layered and personal musical universe of Njordlyd is ambient and downtempo electronic music.

"When creating music, I let the sounds, ideas, mood, and current inspiration control me until a certain point, where it all turns, and I naturally take over the control."

The Person

"creating music is when I feel I am who I am and where I can be who I am"

I started listening to music when I was around 11 and have been directly involved with music since 1991, where I was involved in several underground music projects, collaborations and releases. The period from 1998 and until the end of 2014 was a phase of self-discovery, where I was absorbed in the process of music creation, learning and focused on defining my sound.

Towards the end of 2014, I began making music as Njordlyd (my current project) with the release of Silent Echoes (EP) in 2015 and the 2-track single Ghost Running in 2017. In 2021 I started working on a 3 year plan, with 3 phases. Each phase runs from April to April. As part of Phase 1 (April 2021 to April 2021) five 1-track singles has been released: "Circles", "Subconsciously", "Perception", "Voices" and "Clouds".

Last year (2022) saw the first releases from Phase 2, with the 2-song single / ep (Interlaced) in September and the album (Getting Closer) in mid November.

Social Links & Website: Links:

https://www.facebook.com/njordlyd

https://www.instagram.com/njordlyd/

https://njordlyd.com/index.html

https://njordlyd.tumblr.com/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCY0Gph0wNtr9gU4Umua0SYg

https://twitter.com/cmfaarvang

https://njordlyd.bandcamp.com/

https://soundcloud.com/cfaarvang

More like this…

#Njordlyd #instrumental music

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redthoughtsblog · 3 years ago

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Bloodstained

It started when things got bad.

Like, really bad. Like, certain death, bad. It was the sort of bad that clouded over everything - a solid, tangible thing, and damn near impossible to see past. It was the finality of death lurking so near that had them all acting so unlike themselves.

They had sensed it before the first attack. Months before the first person was killed, Lydia had spent an entire night screaming, being held down by Scott, and sedated by Deaton, and shielded by Parrish. Parrish lasted for an hour or two before passing out from the pain, his ears and nose bleeding as he hit the floor, which Deaton had seemed mildly concerned about before he stuck a fucking horse needle in Lydia’s arm and gave her some pills. Stiles lost count of how much medication Deaton had put her on about halfway through the night.

“For the pain.” Deaton had said when he had given her yet another injection, and his gaze fell on Scott. And when Scott’s veins blackened too quickly and he was left unable to breathe for a minute, Liam stepped up. And then Derek. And then just about everyone else who thought they had a hope in hell of taking her pain away and making it bearable for her.

She told Stiles the next day that it hadn’t even made a difference. She hadn't even noticed they were taking her pain, because it was just that excruciating. She didn’t speak about what she saw, but, less than a week later, Stiles walked in on her scrubbing her hands so hard they started bleeding.

“There’s so much blood, Stiles.” She had whispered, even when her hands were cleaned and dry and Stiles’ arms were wrapped around her. “I can't get it off. It won’t come off.”

“It’s all off, Lyds.” He said softly, pulling away from the hug and showing her her hands. “See? There’s no more blood. All clean.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and glassy. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. “You don’t get it. It’s still there, Stiles. I can still see it.” She let out a shaky breath. “I can always see it.”

“See what?”

She held up her shaky hands, tears rolling down her face. “My hands are covered in blood.”

In the months that followed, everyone started acting more impulsively. They had already been through something like this before with the beast. They were too familiar with having too much at stake. The whole town could feel it.

A lot changed in those four months. Scott and Malia broke up on a whim. Lydia and Parrish got engaged. Peter, of all people, was settling down with some beta from a nearby pack.

And, of course, Stiles and Derek decided it was time they started including more benefits in their friendship.

It had happened after a fight. It was the first time they had fought the coven up close, and it was painfully obvious that they were out of their depth.

Derek was taking quite some time to heal afterwards, and Stiles was trying to avoid his dad's lectures about Stiles and his pack being out past the town curfew (which seemed irrelevant when facing down the most powerful coven in the world but, eh, parents), so he was stalling by staying at Derek’s for as long as possible.

“Shouldn’t you be healing by now?” Stiles asked, his chin hanging off the back of the sofa as he watched Derek lift up his shirt and inspect the gash on his stomach.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?” Derek said, dropping his shirt with a glare to cover up the wound.

“I’m serious, Derek. We don’t know anything about these people. Can witch magic kill werewolves?”

Derek sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know, Stiles.”

By this point, as the resident human, Stiles had picked up some supernatural survival skills. Argent had showed him how to use a gun last year, and Derek had been teaching him how to fight for at least six months by now. Stiles had also done extensive research on natural magical healing remedies, so he was something of an expert in the field.

And Derek was not looking good.

“Can I take a look at it?” Stiles asked, curiosity leaking into the edges of his words.

Derek frowned. “What about my personality makes you think I’d say yes to that?”

Except, Derek did say yes, eventually. In the middle of the night, he stumbled over to where Stiles was crashing on his couch, and he shook him awake, despite having insisted that he was fine just a few hours earlier.

“St... Stiles.” Derek’s voice was raspy, and Stiles shot up instantly at the sound of it.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Stiles said, and his voice was only slightly slurred from sleep.

“I started...” Derek looked down at his shirt, where his hand was pressed to his stomach, blood staining his hand and shirt red. “I started bleeding again.”

“Shit. Okay, okay.” Stiles sat Derek down on the sofa and turned on all of the lights, which he regretted doing almost instantly. Derek was looking paler than he’d ever seen him, sweat sticking his hair up in odd ways, and there was much more blood than he was expecting. “Okay. It’s gonna be fine. This needs to be off, okay?” He said, lifting up the bottom of the t-shirt Derek had been sleeping in.

Derek lifted up his arms to let Stiles pull it off of him, and Stiles ignored how intimate it felt. He knelt down beside Derek, inspecting the area for a few moments, before frowning.

“It’s...” He trailed off, leaning in closer to get a better look.

Stiles must have been silent for a moment too long, because Derek let out a soft growl. “What is it?”

Stiles shook his head. “It should be getting better.” He murmured to himself, before calling Deaton and telling him to get to the loft A-fucking-SAP.

Deaton responded by asking why Derek hadn’t come to him about this hours ago, because didn’t you know that werewolves don’t heal from a coven’s magic if it’s strong enough? And didn’t you know that if the magic runs deep enough in the wound, you can die within the hour? Stiles asked him how he could have possibly known that, and Deaton had ignored him and told him that he was lucky there was a simple solution - to sew Derek up. And it just so happened that Deaton was out of town this weekend, which was the biggest inconvenience Stiles had experienced in a while.

“Okay, I’ll get us to Melissa.” Stiles said, hurrying to help Derek up, but Derek stopped him.

“Stiles, I’m...” His breaths were heavy and uneven, and his voice was weak as he looked down at his stomach. Now the blood was covering his hands, and really, how was there this much blood, that couldn’t be good. “You gotta do it now. It’s...”

“Deaton, I gotta do it now.” Stiles said, and his voice was shaking, but his hands were stiller than ever, so that was a good sign, right?

Stiles worked on distracting Derek, keeping him awake as he literally sewed him up, rambling his way through it, as though this was just your average Tuesday. Which, it kind of was for Stiles.

“I bet you’re glad it was me who decided to crash on your couch.” He was saying, pushing the needle through Derek’s skin, focusing on his own words, rather than the fact that the needle was going through Derek’s skin. “I carry a first aid kit everywhere, which has, coincidentally, worked out perfectly.” His fingers slipped a few times, all of the blood making it difficult to keep a hold of the right things. “You don’t have a single band-aid in here, dude.” He forced himself to hear past the ringing in his ears that seemed to get louder every time he focused on the blood. So much of it. Too much. “When you’re all healed up, I’m going out and I’m getting you all the essentials. Can never be too careful, right?”

In the back of his mind, Stiles was registering the fact that Derek was humming along to his conversation, and he was eternally grateful to know that Derek was, at least, still conscious.

By the time Stiles finished up the stitches that Deaton had coached him through, he was fairly certain Derek wasn’t going to die anymore. He was already looking less pale, and he was returning to a normal temperature, so Deaton wished them goodbye with clear instructions to call if anything else happens.

When the phone disconnected, Stiles and Derek sat for a few moments in complete silence. Stiles watched Derek carefully, making sure he really was okay, and Derek simply took a minute to get his breath back to normal.

Stiles realised that his hands were still very much on Derek’s stomach, and that was very much not where his hands should be, so he removed them. He probably would have washed the blood off his hands, helped Derek get ready to go back to sleep again, then passed out himself, if Derek hadn’t made that noise when Stiles stopped touching him. It was almost a needy whimper, and it made it seem as though Stiles’ hands were supposed to be back on Derek’s stomach.

They both stayed like that, in silence, for a minute. Derek’s eyes were slightly wider than usual, as though he had just realised that he had made that sound out loud. And Stiles was sure his face looked the same, because he suddenly realised how close he and Derek were. In fact, they were in a very... compromising position.

Derek was sitting shirtless on the couch, his legs spread wide to make room for where Stiles was sitting, wedged in between Derek’s thighs. Stiles supposed that the whole mortal danger portion of the evening had distracted him from how fucking close he was to Derek.

Stiles wasn’t sure quite why he did it, but he felt himself reaching up to Derek’s cheek, smoothing away some hair that was stuck to his face. They both seemed to hold their breaths at that, neither of them daring to move.

Derek seemed weirdly okay with Stiles touching him like this, so Stiles let himself drag his hand down, over Derek’s jaw, down his throat, down his chest, before it finally came to a stop right over Derek’s stitches. Derek was breathing heavily, as was Stiles, and both of them had been looking at each other for so long.

Stiles didn’t think much about it before he did it. All he could think about was how much of Derek’s blood was on his hands - how much of it was stained down Derek’s cheek, jaw, throat, chest, reminding Stiles of exactly where he had touched Derek. And then Stiles was kissing him, hard.

The kiss was all heat and years of built up anger and bliss, aside from Stiles’ hand, which still rested over Derek’s stitches with a feather-light touch, marking where Stiles couldn’t touch roughly.

By the time they were finished the first time, they finally realised they were covered in blood.

The second time was spent in the shower.

The third time happened because they were finally clean, and wasn’t that a cause for celebration?

They didn’t have the energy for a fourth time that night, but they kept hooking up after that. It was the most satisfying coping mechanism Stiles had had in a long time. They would see each other after pack meetings, after fights, when they were stressed, angry, happy, when they were bored. They saw each other a lot.

Which was good, because it meant Stiles was able to keep an eye on how the stitches were healing. They were healing as though Derek wasn’t even a werewolf, which worried Stiles at first, but he silently and selfishly loved knowing that it would eventually scar.

They never spoke about what they were. Now was not the time for things such as communication. Now was the time for being dumb and reckless, because who knew if they would make it out alive?

It only occurred to Stiles that he wanted to make it out alive when he was standing with his pack, ready to fight the most powerful witches known to man. He felt the air around him pulse with magic, he heard someone screaming in the distance, and he saw Lydia looking down at her shaking hands as though she could still see the blood dripping off of them.

That was when he realised that he wanted to make it out alive for Derek. With Derek. Because, fuck it, they had already almost died enough for one lifetime.

He realised it as his heart sped up and his throat went tight and his whole body trembled under the weight of the air as they all stood, waiting for the coven to come. Waiting for death.

He guessed Derek realised it at the same time, too, because his fingers laced with Stiles’ and the last thing Stiles heard before the coven finally came into view was Derek’s whispered voice.

Four whispered words, and then the air thickened unbearably, and then they were here.

“Stay alive. For me.”

#sterek #stiles #derek hale #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #post season 6 #teen wolf

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rtfics · 3 months ago

Text

Before Blocking this asshole I looked at "his" bio:

First of all,

Second,

Here's a Fun Fact, kids:

A lot of we girls have always preferred older men. Always.

And when we were teens a lot of us had older lovers/boyfriends. Me, for one. When I was 16/17 I had a lover who was 40.

It was great!

Another Fun Fact: Being 17 and having a 17 year old boyfriend doesn't mean you won't be abused, bossed around, and controlled. Teen boys these days are even more abusive than they were when I was a 17 (I write mysteries and talk a lot with police, detectives, etc., and teen boys these days are fucking threats.)

I hated boys my age. They were inexperienced, arrogant, stupid, ignorant of the world, insecure but pretended they were self-assured, and had no idea how to be romantic.

My older lovers were patient, romantic, funny, confident, experienced, and knew about what a female's body was like and what she may or may not like sexually. They even asked what I preferred.

I was never groomed or seduced. If anything, the men were wary about approaching me, until I made it quite clear that I was open to be wooed.

Sure, sometimes an older man is a predator. News Flash: SO ARE TEENAGE BOYS. Whatever your age is, you need to do serious vetting on your potential partner, whatever his age is.

So this "she (Lydia) was a teenager" bullshit doesn't fly with me. I was Lydia's age in the original movie when I started seeing my 40-year-old lover. If I'd seen Beetlejuice when I was 16-17 I would have Shipped Lyds and Beej SO FUCKING HARD.

Just like Winona Ryder.

If you're a minor you don't have enough life experience to know shit about the world and how other people live their lives. You get your moral ideas from Insta and TikTok, because you don't have enough brains for critical thinking. You follow what other people say, because you're too much of a coward to form your own, independent thoughts.

Until you're old enough to pay all your own bills, work full time, feed yourself, and deal with people who don't think like you do, your stupidity gets

In light of the new Beetlejuice movie, I just wanna let ya'll know that Beetlebabes fans are not welcome on my page. They met when she was a teenager, and the fact shes an adult now does not take away from anything that happened in the first movie 😊 I urge all shippers who have not seen movie one to please fucking watch it.

Edit: also Jeffery jones supporters i forgot about him

#Beetlebabes #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice 1988 #older men younger women #antis #beetlejuice and lydia #beetlejuice & lydia #lydia deetz #beej x lyds #beetlejuice x lydia #lydia x beetlejuice #beetlelyds

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super-unpredictable98 · 2 years ago

Text

Straight Outta Czechoslovakia | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’ verse

An oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 5,3k

Warnings: Strong language, smut

a/n: Happy holidays everyone! So we decided to do some seasonal fics for our favorite timeline anomaly causing deviants. We have a couple of Christmas ones coming soon, but for now... Happy Hanukkah my dear mutuals and readers.

(Masterlist)

"My dad is very excited to celebrate with us, he hasn't done this in a really long time so please just... don't do anything stupid," Lydia asked, handing each of them a blue kippah. "And keep these on."

"As if we ever do stupid stuff..." Nate scoffed.

“D’yeh put this on your head? How d’yeh keep ‘em on?” Nats asked, turning the kippah over in his hands.

"Yeah, let me do it," she grabbed a couple of hairpins to keep them in place with all the curls. "You're gonna like it, it's exciting, and the food is amazing."

“I’m so excited,” Win exclaimed.

“And hungry,” Nats added, grinning as he bowed his head for Lyds to affix his kippah.

"Of course you're hungry, like always," Lydia laughed, pinching his cheek. "But I'm excited too, It's been ages since I've been there... you all look amazing."

“She's right, you look rather handsome,” Winnie murmured, looking Nate up and down as she took his arm. She was wearing a surprisingly modest outfit for the synagogue.

"You two are still hot, even with all the coverage," he tugged at her blouse to look at her chest. "No bra! Oh, I like that..."

“Hands off,” she hissed, smacking his hand away, though she wore an impish grin.

"What? It's alright, you're my wife!" He tried not to laugh. "It's not wrong t'do this, I'm just checkin' on the goods."

"They'll still be there when we get home," Win laughed.

“Is there anythin’ important we should know?” Nats asked, gingerly touching the top of his head as he straightened to make sure the skull cap wouldn’t come off.

"Hmm no, it's pretty simple. We'll just watch the service, light the candles and enjoy the party," Lydia took his hand as they headed to the door. "Dad asked us to meet them there."

"C'mon, let's go meet mum and dad," Nats exclaimed, pulling Lydia along with him.

The walk to the synagogue would be a little longer, so they decided to take the car, which ended up being a fifteen minute drive.

"Shalom!" Charles held his arms open when the quad arrived. Simon and Alisha as well as Linda were already inside.

"Shalom!" Win exclaimed, hurrying to embrace her father-in-law. "It's so good t'see everyone."

"We missed you," Nate joined the hug, always happy to see him. "Thank you for invitin' us!"

"Of course! Are you kidding me?" He laughed.

"We're excited to celebrate with you," Nats exclaimed, slinging his arms around Charles. "Plus Lyds said there's gunna be some kick arse food later."

"Oh, I was sure that you'd be looking forward to that," he chuckled. "Yeah, I even made challah, lots of it."

"Daddy! I miss your challah so much..." Lydia groaned.

"I know, that's why there's a basket full of them at home, all for you guys."

"Shall we get inside?" Win suggested, eager to see what the synagogue looked like.

"This is where we separate," Lyddie gently kissed each of her husbands and took her wife's hand. The interior of the building was quite beautiful, grandiose but without being too flashy. "Women on this side, men on that side. We'll see you at dinner."

"Wait! We can't sit with you?" Nate frowned.

"So sorry, babe, it's tradition."

"Ha ha," Win joked, sticking her tongue out at them as she followed Lydia.

"That's okay, we get t'sit with dad," Nats said.

"And Barry! That's pretty nice, quality man time," Nate flexed his biceps dramatically. "It's been a while ey?"

"Some people say they do that to prevent people from being distracted, but you're so distracting to me..." Lyddie whispered in her wife's ear.

Win smirked at her words. “Don’t worry, I’ll try not t’be too distracting,” she teased as they took their seats with Linda and Alisha.

As Nats took his seat he glanced across the aisle to where his wives were seated and blew them a cheesy kiss.

"I'm sure you'll all be quite distracting later at dinner..." Lydia giggled quietly, pretending to catch her husband's kiss and bring it to her lips before drawing a heart in the air with her fingers.

"It's really impressive and kinda sickening how clingy you are still, after what? 10 years of marriage?" Simon smiled as Nate winked at his wives.

"What? You and Alisha are having issues?" Charles asked.

"Yeah, I guess you can say so, but not marriage issues."

“What kind of issues?” Nats asked, shifting his glance to Alisha.

"We've been planning for a baby, it's been years," Simon explained quietly. "Now that we're actually trying, we're not having any luck."

"Baby? Jesus, we're too young for that!" Nate yelped.

"Nathan, we're 33."

“Oh, right,” Nats mumbled. “When you’re immortal time kinda loses meanin’.”

"Don't worry, Si, it can take time," Charles murmured as the service began. "And you're still young, despite what you say. It'll work out."

Once the service began, Win listened raptly, holding Lydia’s hand. It had been many years since Lyddie had last been there, but it felt like she never left. The prayers were still deeply rooted in her brain and she found that comforting.

Nats, on the other hand, tried to pay attention, but his eyes kept slipping to the girls while his thoughts kept returning to what Simon had said. Would the girls ever want children?

After lighting up the candles, men and women were allowed to mix again for the party. There were kids running around and spinning dreidels, the teens were isolated mingling amongst themselves, and everyone else was talking, eating, and dancing.

"What's that face?" Lydia asked, noticing how distant Nats was.

"Hmm?" He asked, pulled from his thoughts. "Oh, just thinkin' bout somethin' Barry said, but it's not important," he added quickly.

"What? If it's bothering you, it's important. I know you," she insisted as she made his plate, getting him a bit of everything: kugel, brisket, latkes, challah...

"It's not really botherin' me," he shrugged, not really wanting to bring up children right at the moment. "Oh my God, this all looks amazin'," he groaned, changing the subject.

"Find us a table, I'll make Nate's and Winnie's plate so we can all sit together," Lyddie suggested, handing Nats a few chocolate coins. "Until then you can munch on the gelt."

"Looks like you were able t'survive the service without us," Win teased, running her hands over the collar of Nate's dress shirt.

"Barely! I nearly died," he cried, throwing himself into her arms. "I can't be away from my girls for too long."

"You poor thing, you," Win laughed, patting his back soothingly. "Well, you have us now."

"Really?" He tried to get another peek at her chest, but Lydia smacked his hand.

"Pervert!" She scolded. "Your brother is securing our table, we'll be right there with the food."

"You'll get a good look when we get home," Win promised, following after her wife while Nats sat down to save their table.

"Ooh chocolate," Nate was quickly distracted. "You look weird, more than usual, is this about Barry havin' unprotected sex with Lisha?"

"Yeah, I guess. D'you think th'girls will wanna try for kids anytime soon?" He asked, watching his wives move across the room.

"Them? Hell no," Nate snorted peeling the gold wrap from a coin to pop in his mouth. "They love the freedom. If they ever want kids, that's not happenin' for ten, fifteen years."

"How d'yeh know though? What if they wanna settle down and have babies?" Nats asked, frowning as he noticed a man eyeing the girls.

"They like to travel, tour around the world, go out and drink until morning, shag all over the flat... can't do all that with babies," his twin shrugged following his brother's gaze and huffing. "Ugh, another one."

"I have a weird feeling," Lydia murmured as she got the second plate ready. "It's like a weird numbness mixed with my heart racing, I usually feel it when I'm about to-"

"I have never seen you two before, I would remember two beautiful faces like yours," a voice like Nathan's called, but he had a different accent, English was definitely not his native language. He looked somewhere between the boys and Sean.

"Oh!" Win exclaimed, looking the man up and down. "This is my first time here," she said, letting him take her hand to kiss.

"Encounter a variant... hi, yeah, we're trying to get back in touch with our spirituality," Lydia grinned, letting him take her hand next. "I'm Lydia, this is Win."

"I'm Eli. Nice to meet you, ladies," he certainly noticed the wedding rings, but that didn't seem to intimidate him at all. "I haven't been coming every week as I wish, but I'm happy I came today."

"A Jewish Nathan variant?" Win whispered, leaning in toward Lydia. "What are th'odds?"

"There's a priest one, I guess that makes sense," she waved at Eli, happy he didn't fluster them further, hopefully he would see them with the boys and back off. Right?

"Y'gotta be kiddin' me," Nats groaned. "Should we go over there?"

"We trust them! We trust them! I don't think we- I'll go," Nate marched across the room to make sure that bastard knew they were taken. "Hey wives, I'm kinda hungry..."

"We're coming," Lydia laughed, giving him one of the plates she was holding. "Come on."

"It was nice t'meet you," Win said, wearing a grin as her husband pulled her away. "You're still jealous after all these years together?" She teased.

"Nice to meet you, Eli! Chag Sameach!" Lydia shouted as she followed them.

"As long as these twats with our faces keep tryin' t'get in your knickers... yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous," Nate scoffed.

“How many times do we hafta tell you two you have nothin’ to worry about?” Win sighed.

“At least once more,” Nats muttered.

"You have nothing to worry about," Lydia grinned. "Now let's eat, let's see how you like my ancestors' food."

"A Jewish Nathan... what even is Nathan without religious trauma? Bein' raised with that catholic guilt is part of my charm," Nate mumbled, his mood quickly changing when he took a bite.

Win rolled her eyes, but she too moaned softly as she began to eat.

"Oh my God, why haven't you ever made this kinda food for us before?" Nats asked, looking at Lyddie.

"To be fair, I don't know much about Jewish food, but I'm sure dad still has grandma's old cook books and I could learn," she smiled, attacking her father's challah. "I really wanna connect with my roots, both from my mum and my dad."

"I really like this, and the rabbi seems like a nice guy, maybe we should convert," Nate suggested.

"And have you circumcised? No way," she laughed. "Besides, you're not ready to give up bacon and cheeseburgers."

Nats winced at the thought. "On second thought, I like the beast th'way it is."

"We can learn the recipes together," Win exclaimed, taking another bite. Though they were sitting with their husbands, she could still feel Eli's eyes on them.

"Yeah, I'd love that," Lydia agreed, also noticing how the man was still staring with a smirk. He wasn't intimidated by the husbands, he was glad the husbands looked like him. It must mean he is their type.

"Why is that wanker still lookin'?" Nate nudged his brother's arm.

"He's definitely bolder than any of th'other... us'es," Nats muttered, shooting a glare at the other man.

"That's cause you haven't met the German bartender... I wonder how he's doing," Lydia giggled, sharing a look with Win. "When was the last time we saw him? Four years ago for B's hen party?"

"WAIT what you talkin' about?" Nate frowned, nearly choking.

"Nothin', nothin'," Winnie was quick to say, thumping Nate on the back.

"Lyddie!" Nats whined. "Why are we just now hearin' about this?"

"What? He's never done anything, he's just... chronically horny," she shrugged. "None of us ever slept with him, or kissed him."

"You're bein' weirdly specific," Nate gasped. "What have you done with this fella?"

"Nothing!"

“That sounds awfully suspicious,” Nats grumbled, picking at his food.

"We... danced with him, and it was ten years ago! So did Kelly!" Lydia yelped, carefully omitting the part when she touched his abs. "Can I remind you that you two tried to get a girl's number on your stag night? It's been ages."

“Only t’prove we could!” Nats exclaimed.

“Well, perhaps I’ll prove I can still dance with a man and not shag him,” Win countered, standing to go ask Eli to dance.

"All Alisha saw was you hitting on a girl so we danced and- Hey! Honeypie! What about me? I wanna dance with him too," Lyddie followed.

She always felt rather stupid, like her wife's appendage. The variants talked to her only because Winnie was there too.

"Hey, would y'like t'dance with us?" Win asked, ignoring the Nathans' incredulous stares as she stood at the edge of Eli's table.

"Won't your husbands mind?" He asked so cynically, it was clear the answer wouldn't change his intentions.

"A dance is just a dance..." Lydia murmured, making sure her father wasn't watching.

"Of course, it'll be my pleasure," Eli took both of their hands, heading to the dance floor.

Win smiled at him, hoping it would drive her husbands crazy. “This is my first time celebrating Hanukkah, won’t you help make it memorable?” She asked, sharing a grin with her wife.

"Of course, making things memorable is what I do best. Too bad they are watching, I could make much better memories if we were alone," Eli teased, leaning closer so only the two of them would hear.

“You’re terrible!” She laughed. “I’m surprised you’re still single.”

"I don't really plan on marrying, my fiancé left me during a trip, I've never seen her again," Eli sighed. "I think my chance is gone, I simply try to enjoy myself while I still can."

"Don't say that! I'm sure you'll find someone to spend your life with," Lydia said, his trick working perfectly.

"That... that fucker! He knows they're taken!" Nate growled, eating very angrily what was left on his plate.

“They’re not gunna do anythin’, they’re just tryin’ t’rile us,” Nats muttered, leaning back in his chair to watch them, though his blood boiled.

"Well it's their loss, I could be fingerin' Win under the table and givin' Lyds sexy treats..." he grumbled.

“We could get them back by leavin’ em high and dry when we get home… but they could always just get each other off,” Nats pointed out.

"Hmmm technically yes, but I could casually have smoke and do that thing with my shirt, that would make Winnie want me specifically," Nate quirked an eyebrow. "Y'can do the same with Lyds."

Nats’ lips twitched impishly, understanding the idea immediately. “Deal.”

“You mean, you like to flirt with every girl you can?” Win asked, leveling Eli with a knowing look.

"No, but when I see two girls as beautiful as you... I can't miss the opportunity," he grinned. "You're married, not dead. A kiss wouldn't be the end of the world, right?"

"Kiss?" Lydia breathed, terrified when she twirled, ending up in his arms.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid we’ll hafta pass,” Winnie said, placing her hand over his mouth to prevent him from pressing his lips to Lyddie’s.

"Y-yeah, you are very handsome and your accent is adorable, and I heard you speaking Yiddish, that was..." Lydia cleared her throat. "But we really love our husbands."

"Pity," Eli didn't seem defeated, he still had hope if they kept meeting every week or so, he was bound to be successful at some point.

“I think we better be getting back. Thanks for th’dance,” Win said, taking her wife's hand and pulling her away.

"See you around," he winked at them discreetly, reaching for a cigarette in his pocket.

"I was not gonna kiss him, you know that right?" Lydia whispered.

“I know, but I thought he was gunna kiss you,” she whispered back. “How mad d’yeh think the boys are?”

"He was, I was petrified," Lyddie cried. "They must be fuming right now!"

"Oh hi, you're back," Nate leaned back calmly. "Had fun with the knockoff? He seemed handsy..."

“Almost as handsy as you,” Win quipped, perching in his lap.

"But I'm your husband, I've got rights," he whispered, kissing her neck gently before pulling back. "Don't worry though, I won't bother you today."

“Oh?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is this payback for dancing with Eli?”

"Maybe, maybe I'm just tired after such a long day," Nate faked a yawn. "

“Oh I see,” she said, knowing what he was up to. “That’s alright, I’m pretty tired too,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Maybe we can take a nap together when we get back," Nate didn't back down, the way she smiled at that man still burned in his mind.

“Sounds nice,” Win mused, turning her face into the crook of his neck, her nose brushing his throat as she took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

That sent shivers down his spine, but he took a deep breath, if anything she was probably just as needy. Or so he hoped.

“Have fun?” Nats asked, trying to act cool and aloof.

"Um yeah, he's very charming and it just proves that we can be around the variants and not do anything indecent," Lydia didn't want to admit she freaked out when he tried to kiss her, but she was quite startled.

“Yeah, I guess it did prove that,” he mused. “Hey Charles, can you tell us what th’meanin’ of Hanukkah is?” He asked, changing the subject.

"Well um, it's the festival of light to celebrate taking back a temple in Jerusalem that has been defiled, it's about reclaiming our faith," Charles explained, noticing something seemed slightly off.

“That’s so interesting,” Nats exclaimed, reaching for another slice of challah.

"Yeah, and after the temple was cleansed they lit a candle that should only have had oil to burn for one day, but it lasted eight days, that's why we light the menorah and celebrate for eight days," Charles added. "Is everything okay with you four?"

"Yeah, it's wonderful," Lydia smiled.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Nats agreed, slinging his arm around her shoulders.

"Good, that's good," Charles nodded, looking at his wife who shrugged.

"Are you still hungry, baby? Do any of you want anything else?" Lydia asked.

"I'm full," Nate murmured, holding Win close.

"I'm good too," she said, offering Lyddie a warm smile.

"Me too," Nats said, though he frowned slightly. "Actually, I'd like t'dance with my wife, if that's alright," he said, taking Lydia's hand.

"Of course," she felt her heart race, there was no comparison dancing with any other man. "I hope I didn't upset you, Eli tried to kiss me... he didn't though! We rejected him."

He tensed for a moment before letting out a relieved sigh. "I'm not gunna lie, I was pretty jealous earlier, but... I know you or Win would never actually do anythin' with that prick," he admitted, taking Lyddie into his arms to sway to the music.

"Awww of course not! I never did anything bad with any of your variants... not intentionally, there was that one time in Belfast, but I thought that was you and I felt horrible," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "We're you gonna tease me and leave me hanging?"

"That was th'plan, but I don't' have th'heart for that," he admitted, resting his cheek against her head.

"I didn't want to make you jealous, I thought he was nice... but I didn't want to shag him," Lyddie whispered. "But it's cute that you didn't have the heart to torture me."

"I know, th'only reason you're drawn to those damn variants is cause they look like me," Nats murmured, huffing a wry laugh. "I love yeh too much. I'm gettin' too old t'play head games."

"I love you too," she stroked his hair with a frown. "You're not old, I like your silly games and I don't want you to mature. I just want you to be you."

"Would you ever wanna have a baby?" He asked suddenly, the question bursting out of him out of nowhere.

"What? Where is this coming from?" She laughed, in contrast with how sad his previous statement made her. "I mean, maybe one day? Definitely not now or anytime soon."

Nats frowned at her reaction. "It's just... Barry said he and Lisha were tryin' for one and it made me wonder if you wanted to as well," he muttered.

"Not now... we're too young for that, I wanna go to college and do so many things before I can settle and have kids. Why? Do you?" Lydia asked.

"N-not really. At least, not yet," he admitted. "But I started thinkin', and I got worried that you wanted to and just weren't sayin' anythin'--"

"If we got pregnant by accident, I'm sure we could make it work, but I promise when I'm ready I'll let you know," she assured. "We have so much to go through before we do that."

"Yeah, course," he breathed, relief filling him. "Hey, is that dick watchin' us?"

"Yeah," Lyddie smirked. "Kiss me, you're the only one I wanna kiss and he'll see that. But kiss me like you mean it."

Nats didn't need telling twice, dipping Lydia low and kissing her like he meant it.

"Perfect," she mumbled, definitely feeling warmer after seeing how passionate her husband was. "Wow, I think he knows now..."

"Good, cause you're mine," Nats drawled, setting her back on her feet.

"You're so sexy right now," she cried. "I really want you."

"Oh yeah? Should we go somewhere?" He teased.

"Yeah, but where? We can't fuck in a temple, that's too much even for me," Lydia mused. "Let's get outside."

"You got it, Mrs. Young," Nats chuckled, taking her hand and pulling her outside.

——————————————————

"Wanna get a smoke? Or would you like t'dance too?" Nate asked casually.

"I could use a smoke, actually," Win said, slipping off of his lap.

"Awesome," he pulled his old lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Did he... try anything?"

"He went for a kiss with Lyds, but she pulled back and I put my hand over his mouth," Winnie said as she followed her husband outside, the chill of the winter air pebbling her skin.

"In front of everyone? The nerve!" He looked back over his shoulder, spotting Eli and with a simple gesture making the chair move from under him. "Doesn't matter..."

"Yeah, I think he might be a bigger player than you were," she said, taking a cigarette and leaning in to let him light it for her.

Nate chuckled, but that comment somewhat hurt him. "He's older... than I was, than I am- look," he covered the flame with one hand before closing the lighter and looking up at her.

Win frowned. "I love you, you know that, right? I wouldn't have married you otherwise," she murmured, holding his gaze.

"I love you too, it just made me feel had t'think he's more... charming or somethin'," he admitted before taking a drag and turning his head to exhale.

"Nathan... no one's more charmin' than you," she sighed incredulously, surging forward to kiss him.

He finally smiled against her lips, happy with her response. "The only reason we worry is cause you're both so outta our league."

"We chose you," she whispered against his lips. "That's all that matters."

"We're the luckiest fellas in the world. I was pretending, by the th'way... I do wanna get handsy with you and I'm not too tired," Nate breathed.

"I know," Win laughed, dropping her half-smoked cigarette to the ground before pulling him closer and placing his hand on her chest. "How about we get handsy now?" she whispered.

"Ooooh you're such a bad girl!" His hand slid down to her ass. "I could make us invisible and we could... have some fun."

"Is this blasphemous?" She giggled, letting her hand slip down his chest.

"I mean... I don't think so? We're not in the synagogue, we're just next to it," he lifted her skirt pulling her knickers to the side to feel her up.

"You're so bad," she breathed, shivering in the cold.

"You're the one who suggested it..." Nate huffed a laugh. "It's cold isn't it? Wanna do it in the car?"

"Mhmm," Winnie shuddered. "Please? Warm me up, babe."

"Don't worry, I'll make it hot in no time," he joked, unlocking the car for them and turning the heating on before he went back to kissing her. "Better?"

"Much better," she purred, hiking her skirt up for him. "How can I resist you?" she asked between kisses.

"You don't," he groaned as he tried to undo his trousers and free his cock. "You surrender and I shag your brains out."

"Is that how it happens?" She chuckled, her laugh husky as she slipped her knickers down, a little awkwardly in the cramped space.

"Exactly, can't resist your sexy husband," he slid into her, kissing her neck roughly, trying not to mark her too obviously so everyone else wouldn't see when they went back inside.

As Nate's lips connected with Win's neck, she let out a low moan, her cunt clenching around him tighter. "I love you so much. You're so perfect."

"I love you too, you feel so good," he murmured against her skin, biting her gently. "I wanna mark you up so bad... when we're back home I will."

"Do it," she whined. "I want them t'see. I want them t'know I'm yours," she breathed, catching his lips momentarily, sucking on his bottom lip as she pulled back.

With her blessing, Nate started to leave hickeys all over her neck and her shoulders. Everyone from their family was pretty used to seeing that sort of thing and everyone else didn't matter.

"Feel better knowin' I'm yours?" Win asked when he finally pulled back to admire his handiwork.

"So much better," he tried to catch his breath, the windows were steaming up and he was starting to sweat, but nothing he couldn't fix once they were done. "Y'look so hot like this."

"Now fuck me, baby," she purred, grinning up at him, her arms snaking around his shoulders. "I wanna be full of your spunk when we go back in," she drawled in his ear.

"You want more, do you?" He picked up his pace, thrusting with abandon and letting out all that pent-up frustration from earlier. "Yeah, y'little tart?"

"Yes!" She cried. "You're so sexy when you're a sweaty mess," she whimpered. "I'm so close."

"Come for me, baby, all over my cock," he breathed, ready to blow as well. "Milk daddy's cock."

Win threw her head back in the cramped space as she came, her nails biting into Nate's shoulders. "Oh fuck, baby!"

"That's it... You're so good t'me," he huffed, climaxing only a few seconds after and nearly collapsing on top of her. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby. More than anyone in th'world. Well, other than Nats and Lyds," Win chuckled. "I think I worked up an appetite after that. Shall we go back in?" she asked, running her fingers through his curls to push them from his sweat slicked forehead.

"Yeah, let me fix this mess, get us presentable again," Nate used his magic to get them dry and make the clothes brand new. "There we go, let's get in there."

——————————————————

"I'm glad you don't wanna play this mind game, too bad about the hours of teasing I'd happily endure," Lydia giggled, leaning against the wall once they were out of the building.

"You're terrible," Nats murmured, pressing her up against the wall, his hand slipping up the outside of her thigh. "We can always go back to th'teasin'."

"I think it's a little late for that," she took her knickers off from under her dress and handed them to him. "I'm already very horny."

He laughed, balling up her panties and stuffing them in his pocket. "How would y'like it if as punishment I didn't give these back once we're done?" he teased, freeing his cock and hiking her leg up to slide into her, making sure no one could see them.

"I think that's very interesting... I like your ideas," she moaned, holding onto him for support. "Oh, I really needed that. I needed you."

"Yeah? I needed you too, so fuckin' badly," he groaned, wasting no time in thrusting into her roughly, setting a quick pace.

"I don't like making you jealous, but you fuck me so good when you're jealous," Lydia wrapped her arms around him tighter, seeking his lips.

Nats moaned into her mouth, chasing his pleasure, one hand slipping between them to circle her clit with his fingers.

"Oh! Natty, I'm getting close! Keep going, just like this," she gasped, urging her husband to look at her. "I wanna see you when you fill me up, daddy, please?"

He pulled back, pressing his forehead to hers, panting hard as he fucked her, feeling his balls clench before spilling inside her.

She came almost instantly as he filled her, that sensation never failed to make her melt in his arms and explode with pleasure. "Feeling better? I sure am..."

"You know it, Lollipop," Nats sighed, pulling out. "I love yeh so much."

"I love you too," Lydia fixed her hair and her dress before stealing another kiss. "This is how it's supposed to be, I'm happy like this."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, tucking himself back into his pants and letting the glamour around them disappear. "Wanna go back in for the rest of the celebration?"

"Yeah, I think we better," she grinned, taking his hand. "I definitely need to replenish my energies after all of this dancing and shagging."

"Me too, I'm starvin' all over again," he laughed, noticing the way the windows on their car were fogged up.

"Looks like our other halves also decided to make up," she smirked, opening the door to get inside.

"Sure does," Nats chuckled, his hand slipping down to the small of Lydia's back as they reentered the synagogue.

"Perfect," Win exclaimed, letting Nate help her out of the car and back inside.

"There you are!" Charles cheered when the four of them finally met again at the table. "Had fun?"

"Lots," he smiled triumphantly.

Win adjusted her cardigan, but there was no way it was going to cover all the dark hickeys Nate had left behind.

"Nice," Nats murmured, eyeing her neck.

"Thanks," Nate high-fived his twin. "It's an art."

"Pervert..." Lydia laughed quietly, munching on her sufganiyot.

"I'll be right back, gunna grab some more food," Win murmured, rolling her eyes.

Up at the buffet table, she ran into Eli who looked her up and down, an eyebrow raising at the state of her neck. "You look like you had a good time. I was surprised earlier, women usually like me."

"Yeah well, your face is nice and the rest of you is too, but... You're not them," Lydia joined them, grabbing some grape juice for herself.

"You're definitely good lookin', but we're happily married," Win said apologetically.

"I can respect that, but if you ever change your mind... you know where to find me," Eli gave them one last look before joining his brother at the other side of the room.

"Wow, he's insistent!" Lyddie breathed. "Kinda hot, but I love our little morons."

"Me too, I wouldn't want anyone else," Winnie sighed, gazing across the room at their husbands.

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @salvador-daley @firstpersonnarrator

#misfits fanfic #misfits #misfits nathan #nathan young #otp: the quad #nathan x lydia #nathan x win #nathan young x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #timeline anomaly verse #fic collab

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

Text

Grant You a Universe | Luke Patterson

Requested: Yes/No

wait because here me out, Luke as a quarterback AU like— imagine that, yeah imma request that, a luke quarterback au pls 🥺BUT HES THE COCKY GET ALL THE GIRLS QUARTERBACK YEAH YEAH AND READER IS POPULAR BUT THEY DON’T DATE BUT EVERYONE WANTS THEM TO BE THE POPULAR COUPLE CLICHÉ OMG

A/N: This is the longest I ever worked on a fic, I think? I hope you like it!

Pairing: 90′s!Luke x Reader

Song(s) used: None (WHAT?! Yeah, I know, shocking!)

Warnings: Cheating, implied abuse, party, drinking, someone is drunk, aggression

Words: 6,868

The first time he saw her was Freshman year during football tryouts. While he was on the field, trying to pay attention to whatever the coach was blabbing about, she was running around it. Her ponytail whipping around her head as her feet pounded against the red gravel of the race rink. She was a flash of pink and brown hair, but it was enough for Luke to become infatuated with her. He didn’t even care when he became the quarterback that year. All he cared about was her. He needed to know who she was and ask her on a date, even if it were the last thing he did.

The first time he ever spoke to her was a few days later, after their first game in Freshman year. She was sitting in the bleachers, cheering on the team, and Luke couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter as this beautiful girl cheered him on with every touchdown he scored.

After the game, she came down to say hi to Bobby, the team’s Running Back and the girl’s best friend. Luke knew this. He had seen the two of them together a lot during lunches and in the hallways, but never dared to ask the boy that became a friend of his too, what this girl’s name was or what her deal was.

But the fact that she came to say hi to him, gave Luke an opportunity to talk to her, too. “Hey, Bobbers, nice touchdowns,” the girl teased her best friend, who hadn’t scored any today. He did assist on some of Luke’s touchdowns.

“Oh, shut it, y/n,” Bobby muttered and shoved her in the shoulder. He turned when Luke patted him on the back as he joined the group. “Good game, Patterson,” he said to the floppy haired boy next to him. The boy who couldn’t keep his eyes off his best friend for one second.

“You too, Bobbers,” he repeated y/n’s nickname for her best friend, earning an eyebrow raise from the girl he’s been crushing for a week straight now. Even her eyes were captivating. The dark brown reflected gold in the setting sun.

“You making fun of my nicknames, Patterson?” she asked, one corner of her mouth tugging up into a smirk. The boy became a stuttering mess at the teasing tone in her voice.

“No, I uhm… I-I…” he scratched the back of his neck at a loss for words. “I’m Luke, by the way.” Y/N giggle reached his ears like a sweet lullaby. She shook her head at the boy.

“Oh, I know.”

Her straightforward reply haunted his brain for years to follow. He never knew what it meant but it became the thing that started a blossoming friendship. A friendship that made them the infamous ‘it-couple-that-wasn’t-a-couple’ by junior year. A title neither of you wanted, being in the ‘popular’ clique was already too much.

“Chicaaaas!” Luke called out as he and Bobby walked into the student lounge where y/n and Lydia, her best friend and captain of the cheerleading team, were having some tea and chatting about girl stuff -- as Luke himself liked to say. “Party tonight at Alexis Bryan’s place, are we going or?” he rubbed his hands together as if he’d just concocted the greatest scheme of all time.

Y/N smiled up at both boys and said, “Lyds and I were actually talking about having a sleepover tonight and making a puzzle together.” The two boys groaned and rolled their eyes at her answer. “What?” she asked.

“You sound like two grandmas!” Bobby exclaimed and ran his hand through his dark hair.

“Hey! No hate against grandmas!” Lydia exclaimed with a scowl on her face. Bobby raised his hands in defense before everyone turned to Luke, who was looking down at y/n.

“I don’t know, Luke… I really don’t feel like running into Matt tonight.”

“Come on, y/n. I’m literally nothing with my party partner in crime!” His eyes begged and pleaded, which was something y/n hadn’t quite learned how to resist yet. She’d tried to. Many a time. But she always had to give in eventually.

Even now. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re gonna have to promise to dance with me!” Luke rolled his eyes at the compromise, but couldn’t help the smile finding its way to his cheeks. No matter how hard it was for y/n to say no to Luke, it was twice as hard for him to say no to her.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

That night, as y/n took her scalding hot shower in preparation for the party, she reminisced over the past few years and how much her life changed since she started high school. Her mind wandered over the first day, when she clung to Bobby’s bicep because she was so scared of all the new things around her. She remembered how tiny and scared she felt, but all of that washed away when Bobby reassured her he wouldn’t leave her side. Only when he went to try out for football and she tried out for the running team. Then her mind jumped to the day she met Luke at the football game and how he immediately caught her attention. Ever since that day, her life had become this big-ass chaos. If it weren’t for Luke, she would probably just be part of the sprint relay team. But thanks to being so close to the quarterback, y/n was popular by association. Though, she wouldn’t change it for the world. What she would change was how all her dates had always been scared of Luke. All except for one. Matthew. He somehow managed to get through Luke’s and Bobby’s shield of brotherly protection -- as they called it. The two had been together for a few months until the whispers started. Whispers about Matthew cheating on y/n, or y/n cheating on Matthew with Luke. None of which was very healthy for the relationship, so they broke it off.

It would’ve been friendly if she didn’t see Matthew the day after their break up kissing one of her teammates. That’s when she knew the whispers about him weren’t just rumors. Even up until this day, she wondered if her sister ever had a thing with him, like the whispers suggested.

As her Ace of Base CD played on her stereo, she started to make a move-on with her outfit and makeup. She opted for a black body con dress with spaghetti straps that accentuated her curves in just the right places. For her makeup, she decided on a neutral look and swiped the light browny color across her eyelids.

By the time she started applying her mascara, there was a light tapping on her window. She turned around to find Luke on the small balcony at your window. He was wearing his Screams from The Attic band tee with the sleeves cut off and his trusty black jeans, decorated with the infamous chains and blue rabbit’s foot.

She opened the window door to let him in and turned to grab her shoes. “Hey, you re--wowza!” he cut himself off when his eyes took in every inch of the girl in front of him. A blush crept to y/n’ cheeks as she strapped the black heels on. “That’s a fly outfit, girl.”

“Thanks, Patterson. Let’s bounce, yeah?”

Luke climbed over the stone enclosure of the balcony and carefully let himself hang down from the bottom before letting go and landing gracefully on his feet. He whispered a ‘yes’ under his breath before looking up to find y/n climbing over as elegantly as she could. Though, with that dress on, she was about to flash someone and the lucky recipient of the little sneak peek was of course Luke.

“Is today a special occasion?” he asked. Y/N turned her head to look down at Luke while hanging onto the balcony for dear life. “You only wear red lingerie on special occasions.”

“Why are you looking down my dress, you creep?” The giggle that followed the words reassured Luke that she wasn’t offended by it. It was a typical thing to bicker about in their friendship.

“You flashed your knickers at me, Peaches, don’t blame me.” He held his hands up in defense, shooting her a sheepish look. Y/N scoffed at that and rolled her eyes before dropping down to hang from the balcony the same way Luke had done.

“You are so lucky I love you,” she mumbled and then screamed, “Patterson, think fast!” She let go, and hoped Luke would be fast enough to catch her since she wasn’t going to stick the landing on her heels quite as much as Luke did. Thankfully though, Luke’s fast reflexes made him move underneath her just in time to catch her, bridal style.

Their eyes locked for a moment, both of them suddenly realizing how close they really were. A smile made its way to y/n’s features and she leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek before flicking her legs out of his grasp and patting his chest twice.

“Thanks, buddy. That was like a crazy trust fall.”

Leaving Luke behind to reflect on whatever just happened, y/n skipped towards Bobby’s car and got into the passenger’s seat. She planted a kiss on Bobby's cheek and then turned around as Luke got in the back, finding two other boys she knew all too well.

“‘sup homies?” she grinned cheesily at the blonde and brunette she knew as Alex and Reggie. The two other members of Sunset Curve, the band Bobby and Luke formed when they met in freshman year.

The two boys smiled back at y/n while Luke gave her a glare, probably because she stole his seat in the front. However, y/n didn’t care or notice, for that matter. Her mind was wrapped up in something else instead.

“So, Alex…” she started, capturing the blond guy’s attention. “How was your date with Driss?” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and it sent a scarlet color up to Alex’s cheeks. Even though his parents didn’t care for his sexual orientation, he was glad his friends supported him, even if that meant y/n’s curiosity in his dating life.

“It was okay…” he replied humbly, but y/n wasn’t y/n if she let this slide.

“Where did he take you? What did you do? What did you wear?” she gasped, “Did you kiss?” The boys collectively chuckled at y/n’s antics. All of them had endured her searching for cute date stories.

“He took me to this really pretty lake where we had a picnic and we screamed into the dark,” he reminisced dreamily with a tender smile on his face. Y/N’s heart melted at the sight of Alex’s happiness. It was about time he got a happy ending too.

“Did you kiss?” she repeated her question.

Alex exhaled, a pout forming on his face as he said, “No… But! He did ask me for a second date tomorrow!” Y/N’s face lit up entirely as she clapped her hands giddily, making Alex laugh.

“I am so happy for you, Alex.” She reached out her hand between the two front seats, and Alex grabbed it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

The car abruptly came to a stop, causing y/n to lose her balance a little. “The hell, dude?” she asked Bobby, glaring at the driver.

“We’re here, so unless you wanna continue this little tea party, get out of my car!” Y/N glanced at the other boys, who were equally as confused about the boy’s sudden behavior.

“Someone needs to get laid tonight,” y/n muttered while she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of Bobby’s jeep, the boys following suit. She came to a halt in front of the house, looking up at the castle of a house. Music was thumping through the white brick walls and people were bustling about on the front lawn, smoking, drinking and talking.

“You ready?” Reggie asked, placing a hand on y/n’s left shoulder while another hand grabbed her right one. Looking up, she found Alex smiling down at her with that reassuring smile of his. When she felt another hand on her right shoulder and a kiss to the back of her head, she knew she was good to go. She had all her best friends with her. She would be fine, even if she ran into the devil’s spawn.

“If you wanna dip, just give us the sign and we’ll bounce,” Luke told her as he stood behind her. Slowly, but surely, y/n began to nod her head, mentally preparing herself for what’s about to come.

She'd made up a million of scenes where she’d confront Matthew, coming up with the wittiest comebacks she could possibly think of. The perfect monologue that would forever be stuck in her head since she was too much of a shy girl to actually say those out loud. She might seem like a clever, obnoxious popular girl, but deep down, she was still the little geek from Middle School at heart.

“Good to go,” she mumbled and started her way up to the house with Alex’s hand still in hers and the other boys safely surrounding her.

As they walked into the house, they turned a few heads and with it began the rumor mill, like it always did. There was always something to spill about the group, it seemed.

“Y/N!” a loud shriek brought y/n back out of her thoughts. When she looked up, she found Lydia walking up to them with arms wide open. As she hugged her best friend, y/n could smell the alcohol on her.

“Hey, Lyds,” y/n chuckled, “Been here long?” She pushed the strawberry blonde hair off her and took in her presence. She was wearing her lucky red dress with the plunging neckline, which was enough information for y/n to know her best friend was drinking for some courage to get a boy into her bed.

“About an hour,” she slurred, and then her eyes fell on the boys behind y/n. Another shriek deafened y/n as the girl stumbled into Reggie’s arms for a hug. The boy giggled, steadying the tipsy girl. Each on their turn, the boys handed the drunk girl off to the next, knowing she wouldn’t stop until she had hugged every single one of them. “So, what are we thinking, shots?” she asked as she leaned on Bobby’s shoulder for balance.

“I think you need some soda,” Bobby replied before grumpily grabbing Lydia’s hand and leading her towards the kitchen. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched the two walk off. Something wasn’t quite right with her best friend, she just couldn’t place a finger on what it was.

“What’s gotten his panties in a twist?” she asked the others, who all simply shrugged.

Within the first ten minutes, the group was split up. While y/n was talking to her running team, Alex was occupied with Driss, Reggie was playing beer pong with some people and Luke was, unsurprisingly flirting with some girl.

Luke was notorious for his flirting with girls, so it didn’t surprise y/n too much when her eyes fell on the popular quarterback, surrounded by a bunch of cheerleaders. Though she had to admit, she loved it most when the flirting was directed at her instead of other girls.

When their eyes locked, Luke shot her a wink with that overconfident smirk on his face that made y/n roll her eyes. After blowing him a kiss, y/n walked back into the kitchen for a refill of her beer. If she was going to survive this party, she was going to need some more party fuel.

“Hey, y/n!” a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the kitchen. When she looked up, she found Astrid and Alexis Bryan, hostesses of tonight’s soiree. It was Astrid who’d called her name. Y/N raised her red cup at the girl as she made her way over to her, leaving her sister by herself. “How you doing?”

“Pretty good. Nice party you got going on here,” she answered, nodding her head to the dancing students in her living room. Astrid chuckled and sipped from her own beer while leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, it is pretty rad,” Astrid mumbled, “Though, we have to thank Alexis for that. Could never have done this myself, but she did, so…” A snicker left y/n’s body as she softly tapped her foot to the beat of the music and her eyes scanned the party.

“Let’s go dance, hm?” Astrid held out her hand for y/n to take, which she gladly did, and let the girl lead her towards the dance floor while sipping her beer.

It’s about time y/n let loose for once. She always used to get so worked up at parties, knowing Matthew was going to be there and she’d tell the boys she wanted to leave before it ever got any fun. But this time, she wasn’t going to let a boy ruin her fun. She was here now, she looked bomb and was having fun with some of the girls from her class.

“Y/N!” Lydia’s voice shrieked once more as she joined y/n on the dance floor with a red cup in her hand while the other landed on the back of y/n’s neck, pulling her in to kiss her on the cheek. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/N glanced over at Bobby, who was keeping an eye out for Lydia from a few feet away.

“I tried to give her soda,” he shrugged. Y/N rolled her eyes as an amused smile made its way to her cheeks. “It’s your best friend,” he added with his hands raised in defense.

Y/N reached out and grabbed Bobby’s wrist, pulling him into the group to dance. He was hesitant at first, but eventually gave in and sang along to the song at the top of his lungs while supporting Lydia in a dance.

Soon, Reggie and Alex had joined the group too, and y/n just knew tonight would be amazing. All she ever needed were her friends, some good music and booze.

“Having fun, sweetheart?” Y/N’s skin crawled upon hearing the voice and feeling the familiar hands on her waist. That amazing night did not include him.

She stopped moving all together and stepped away from him, only for him to pull her closer.

“Let go, Matt!” she yelled and tried to step away again. He twirled her around, leaving his hands firmly on her waist. His bright blue eyes looked down at her with that familiar smile of his playing at his lips. A smile that used to make her heart swell now felt like a violation.

“Ah, you still remember the sound of my voice,” he cooed. One hand came up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you, y/n. I know we broke up, but I realize now that it was a mistake. We’re perfect for each other…”

Y/N almost melted as the words reached her ears until she was reminded by the past they shared. Until she was reminded of what he’d done to her and how much it had hurt. All the pain and sadness suddenly came back to her. She was feeling all of it again.

She took a step back, finally freeing herself from his claws. She said, “Don’t.” Her eyes were dark and angry, her face stoic. A whole new side of y/n Matthew had never seen before. As he muttered her name, he took a step closer, wanting to hold her in his arms again. “Don’t take another step in my direction,” she said, now a lot firmer than before. “Don’t ever think you can apologize your way back into my arms, Matt.”

The commotion had grabbed everyone’s attention so much so that even the music had stopped abruptly. Luke got up from leaning against the wall with a girl pinned against it, when he heard y/n’s voice raise, while her other friends perked up too.

“Please, y/n… You’re the only person I ever loved. You’re the only person I still love.”

Y/N scoffed at this and shook her head in disbelief while kissing her teeth. “Do you think I’m naive, Matt?” Matt looked up at her, pleadingly. “You really think I’d fall for your lies? After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve done to me?” She didn’t care who was watching, she needed to get the monologue she’d thought of in the shower out of her system. It’s now or never.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, y/n… I thought we broke up as friends?”

A collective gasp fell over the whole entire room, followed by the usual whispers.

“Yeah, we did. Until I found out you already had your tongue down Sam’s throat the day after. The day after, Matt! I know you were seeing her and so many other girls while we were dating. I hear the whispers too, you know? And I thought, I really thought you were speaking the truth when you told me none of the whispers were true.” Her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and bit back the tears. She had to stay strong.

“Fine, the rumors were true, but so what, y/n?! The whispers about you were true, too!” The volume of his voice grows, his tone sharper, firmer. Back when they were dating, y/n got scared whenever the volume of his voice rose, but not this time.

Y/N shook her head, her tongue gliding over her teeth. “You hear whispers from people around you, saying I slept with Luke when you know damn well that Luke’s like my brother and we don’t look at each other that way. When you hear whispers, you have to scream and you’re screaming at me for being disloyal when the only one who was ever loyal in our relationship was me. I know about whispers, Matt. I saw the way you looked at my sister. At Alexis. At Amber. At Sam. So don’t you dare say I was ever the only one you loved. Because you, Matthew, don’t love anyone or care about anyone but yourself.”

Luke jammed his hands into his pockets as he listened to y/n’s words. Even though they hurt, he couldn’t help but feel proud of her for standing up to her oppressor. He watched as y/n said her final words before running up the stairs, leaving everyone confused and in a humble of even more rumors and whispers. Shaking his head, he followed y/n upstairs, finding her on the balcony at the end of the hallway.

“So, you finally did it, huh?” His voice made her jump slightly, but she calmed down straight away when realizing it was just him. “Your monologuing in the mirror paid off.” He went to stand next to her, leaning against the concrete enclosure.

Y/N wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, chuckling. Of course Luke would know she’d been practicing in her mirror. This had been brewing for a while and now that it was finally out in the open, lingering in the air in that living room down there, she didn’t know if she should feel relieved or scared.

“Hey,” Luke nudged her with his shoulder, shooting a small smile, “I’m proud of you.”

Her lips curled up into a smile before she wrapped both arms around his bicep, her head resting against his shoulder as she took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I said all of that in there,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, me neither,” said Luke and he pressed a kiss to her hair before laying his head down on hers. “Did you see Matt’s face though? He was genuinely scared of you just then.”

Y/N scoffed and let go of him, making her way to the small bench in the corner of the small terrace. “I doubt he was scared of me. What he was, was shocked because I never talked back to him whenever we fought.”

Luke turned around, but kept leaning against the fence, crossing his arms. “I’m glad you finally did. That asshole needed to know that what he was doing wasn’t cool. He needed to know that that’s not how you treat a woman.”

Y/N raised her eyebrow at him, leaning back on her hands. “And you know how to treat a woman.” Luke wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, so he didn’t answer straight away. He mulled over a good answer as he walked up to her, taking a seat next to her on the bench, their shoulders touching.

"You know how I’d treat a woman?” he asked.

“Please, enlighten me,” she replied.

Luke inhaled deeply before the words poured out of him like he’d been the one monologuing this in front of his mirror. “I would treat her like a goddess. I would build her temples out of words and love and affection. I would make sure she was happy and satisfied before my own needs were fulfilled. I’d write songs to her and she’d be my muse for my music. I would build empires of paragraphs, castles of melodies inspired by her. I would flood her senses with words and make sure she knew all of that was for her. I would build her a whole new world. I’d grant her a universe filled with words and music of love.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Woah, Patterson…” Luke shrugged and offered her a shy smile before looking out into the dark night in front of them. “Careful or you’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“That’s the intention,” he muttered, but his words were overpowered by Lydia’s shrieking.

“Here you are!” she yelled, then turned her head to someone inside. “Bobbers! I found our love birds!” She turned her head to the two on the bench and smiled. “Come on, you guys! There’s a party downstairs! We need to celebrate y/n’s greatest victory ever!”

“We can dip if you don’t wanna go back out there,” Luke told her as she stood up.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she smiled thankfully at him before reaching out her hand for him to take. “Come on, let’s get jiggy!” Luke smirked before gently placing his hand in hers and letting her pull him up to his feet.

Together, the two of them followed Lydia and Bobby back downstairs to the party, their fingers laced together as they made their way through the crowd. As if on cue, the people started to whisper again as they passed, but y/n didn’t care. She had her best friends with her, she just stood up to her ex-boyfriend, and she found out her best friend was a feminist. There’s no better night than that. She was not going to let it get ruined by a few whispers.

For the rest of the night, y/n danced and partied with her friends until the sun came up again and it was time to head home. Like every other party night, the six of them ended up in Bobby’s garage. Luke and y/n snuggled up on his couch, Bobby and Lydia in a sleeping bag together, and Reggie and Alex spooning on an air mattress.

Can’t get more perfect than that.

New week, fresh start, people always said. Y/N used to think of it as bullshit, but this time around, she could actually feel it. She felt refreshed, as if a whole new world opened up to her. As if she’d started a new chapter, nay, a new book. One with a happy continuation. One without Matt.

Monday also meant practice after school. For all of them. The football team had practice out on the field while the sprint relay team ran around it and the cheerleaders practiced on the sidelines. It was the one extracurricular they did together without actually doing it together.

“Hey, y/n…” a voice she recognized as Sam’s made her look away from the boys on the football field. Her voice sounded ambivalent, which confused y/n as the girl would normally be chirpy and cheery.

“Hey, Sam. ‘Sup?” y/n gathered her long hair in both hands and tied it up at the top of her head with a bright pink scrunchie.

“I just--I wanted to apologize for what I did…” she mumbled, her eyes cast on her fidgeting finger. Y/N had never seen her teammate like this. The otherwise lively sport nut now sounded guilty and like the light had been snuffed out of her. “I knew you and Matt were together and I still let him…” she trailed off as though saying the words would make them true.

Y/N flinched at the mention of the boy’s name. She had hoped it wouldn’t have been brought up and besides the occasional whisper she’d caught during lunch, the objective had been quite successful. Until now.

“I really don’t wanna talk about him right now, Sam,” y/n muttered, and when she looked up at Sam, she knew she had to say something to ease the girl’s mind. “But this wasn’t your fault. Matt should’ve not tried anything with you. He was the disloyal one, he was the one that cheated on me, not you.” A teasing grin played at y/n’s lips when she continued, “You know, unless you’re gonna tell me now you doped yourself up for practice and are gonna make me lose.”

Sam worriedly looked up, but when she noticed the grin on y/n’s face, she immediately calmed down and couldn’t help but laugh.

She shook her head, “No, I’m no cheater.”

Y/N’s lips curled up into a smile as she grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it, letting her know the two are on good terms. Nothing should ever break up the team, especially not a boy.

“She's talking about you, y/n?”

Speak of the devil…

Y/N turned around to where the voice came from, finding a tense Matt in front of her. She should’ve known there was no way of avoiding him all day today.

“I knew you were lying to me. I knew you and Patterson were a thing and you cheated on me with him.” His voice resounded across the entire area, attracting everyone’s attention with the sudden commotion.

The football team stopped their exercise half-way, much to the coach’s dismay, and the cheerleaders broke up their human pyramid to find out what was going on. Luke, Bobby and Lydia were the only ones of each team to give incentive to the rest of the team to walk up to the ex-couple fighting.

“And you just kept on guilting me because I was the only one to be disloyal,” Matt grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I heard the whispers, y/n. I heard what happened the other night!”

Y/N’s eyebrows rose, unimpressed at his outburst. “What did you hear this time, Matthew?”

“You and Patterson getting dirty on the balcony at Bryan’s party!” he spat, and drops of saliva actually found their way to y/n’s face. She kissed her teeth before wiping her cheek with one forceful finger.

“Have you learned nothing, asshole?!” y/n shouted. She wasn’t going to keep her cool anymore. Ever since Friday, she learned that she was able to stand up to herself, no matter how scary Matt could get.

She stepped forward, erasing the space between the two as they stood chest-to-chest. Seeing this, Luke halted and averted his eyes. He thought this situation would actually give him a hand at finally asking y/n out for real, but it seemed like the two were about to make up.

“Didn’t you learn about whispers being just that, whispers? Nothing happened between Luke and me. Not when we were dating, not at Alexis’ party. And the fact that you even dare to insinuate I would be capable of cheating just shows once more that you don’t know me and you don’t care about me.” She pressed her index finger to his chest harshly. “You are a selfish, self-indulgent prick who doesn’t deserve all the wonderful women that have thrown themselves at you. You don’t deserve anything and--” y/n flinched as she watched his hand come up and two hands pulled her away from Matt.

“Patterson, stay out of this,” Matt growled. Y/N opened her eyes at the mention of her best friend’s name, finding him between her and her ex now. As she turned her head, Bobby was standing behind her, his hands on her shoulder.

Matt turned back to Y/N, the growl persistent on his face. “No,” Luke said, capturing Matt’s attention once more.

“No?” His voice was abrasive, a tone y/n had gotten used to over the years.

“No,” Luke repeated. He glanced back at y/n before jamming his hands into his trousers and looking at Matt again. Though Luke was a lot smaller than the broad, tall teenager in front of him, his confidence was twice the size of the other footballer. “Technically, you’re pinning me down as a home wrecker, so you pretty much pulled me into this yourself.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows at the new-found confidence. Luke was cocky and flirty around girls, but he’d never been this overly confident version of himself towards his teammates. It was refreshing to see this entirely different side from her best friend.

“Well, yeah, because she clearly did cheat on me with you. Why else would you guys be fooling around after her little outburst to me?” The overconfidence Matt normally carried had now washed away. He hadn’t seen this side of the quarterback yet either.

Luke let out an airy laugh, and retorted, “Yeah, well, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, his green eyes looking up at the big, burly footballer. “There’s this misconception about our relationship, you see? Y/N and I are the best of friends, and I get it we’d look super hot together as a couple, but the sad truth is -- well, sad for me -- that Y/N has always been too busy being loyal to an asshole like you to see that. So, despite popular belief, y/n and I are just the best of friends and she deserves the world, more even, she deserves a whole-ass new universe. Which is something you can’t give her.”

Y/N stared at her best friend in awe. She had never seen this side of him but she couldn’t say she disliked it. In fact, there was this attractiveness about an overconfident Luke defending her against her ex-boyfriend. And reciting the words in her mind, she realized something she hadn’t seen before. Luke was in love with her and he’d tried to tell her so many times before, but she took it as harmless flirting.

Moreover, y/n realized she was in love with her best friend too.

“But you, Matthew McSomething,” y/n chuckled at Luke’s name dig at the Scottish boy, especially with the added bonus of an attempt at a Scottish accent, “You are too self-indulgent to even give her a fraction of a world. So, unless you can actually give her more than that, stay away from her…”

“Or what?” Matt snarled.

“I’ll put you on the bench for the rest of the season. And we all know you can only get the girls when you’re on the field, don’t we?”

Matt’s eyes widened at Luke’s words as the panic set in. Matthew McGregor was nothing on the bench. Even worse, he was less than nothing. On the bench, he’d get associated with Bruce Frederickson, coach’s nephew who was just there because he was family and not because he was actually good at football.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Luke murmured and then turned to the coach, who, too, had joined in the drama. “I think we can hit the showers now, can’t we, coach?” The tall man nodded his head slowly, unsure about what had just happened to his star player. He’d only ever got this confident on the field, never off. Even the coach knew that.

As all teams dispersed, y/n grabbed a hold of her favorite cheerleader’s arm, pulling her aside while Luke and Bobby walked away. They didn’t even notice y/n’s panicked rush.

“Lyds, I think I’m in love with my best friend,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide, her tone hurried and filled with panic. The strawberry blonde’s lips curled up into a grin as she patted her best friend’s hair.

“Oh, we know, sweetie…” she said, confusing y/n even more, “It’s about time you admitted it.” Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head as she anxiously played around with the friendship bracelet around Lydia’s wrist.

“I’ve been dreaming about my knight in shining armour since I was ten, Lyds. I never thought I would find it in my best friend. My best friend, Lydia!” The girl let out an endeared laugh as she tucked a flyaway behind the other girl’s ear.

“I know, sweetie.” Her hand landed on y/n’s cheek and her thumb gently swiped across the skin. “Now, go! Tell him!”

“Yeah! Right! Right!” she vigorously nodded her head, but she didn’t move a muscle.

“Y/N… You’re gonna have to move if you wanna go and talk to him.”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she shut it again. “Right, yeah…” she swallowed a lump as the fear sank in. She had never had to tell her best friend she had feelings for him. All of this was new to her. How does one even confess that?

“Sweetie, you can do this, okay? Just follow your gut.” Lydia’s tone was stern, but it was exactly what y/n needed to hear. “Like how you don’t calculate your moves on the track, but you just go! Like Gail Devers!” The mention of y/n’s absolute favorite athlete made her look up.

“Gail Devers was actually very meticulous,” she corrected her best friend’s metaphor.

Lydia deadpanned, “Not the point, y/l/n.” She placed her hands on y/n’s shoulders and turned her around, pushing her towards the field. “Now go! Shoo!” She waved her hands in a dismissive manner, and after one more hurried look, y/n sprinted across the field. “Atta girl!” she heard Lydia yell before making her way into the school, through corridors until she reached the boy’s locker room where Bobby had just walked out of.

The boy glanced at her, and when he realized what she was there for, he nodded his head towards the closed door, giving her permission to go inside. He said, “He’s the last one in.”

Y/N kissed Bobby on the cheek before opening the door. She was met with the stench of sweat and deodorant, but it didn’t phase her. Not today. The girl was on a mission.

She weaved through the rows of lockers until she found him standing near a bench, zipping up his trusty black jeans, shirtless. Her eyes scanned his entire physique from head to to toe until she realized she was actually checking out her best friend in a way she hadn’t done before.

“Y/N?”

For a second, she tried to calculate her next move, but then decided to throw it all overboard, and instead marched up to him. She grabbed his face with both hands and brought him down to meet her lips. His breath hitched in his throat before melting into the kiss and bringing his hands up to her waist, pulling her closer into him.

“Give me that whole-ass universe,” she muttered as they pulled away to come up for air. Luke huffed, a relieved smile pulling at his lips. This was what he’d been dreaming of for so long; kissing her, holding her, cherishing her.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied before kissing her again. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages,” he added, his words disappearing into her mouth.

“Oh, I know.”

With the same words their friendship started, started a whole new chapter in their lives and their relationship. Everything would change now, but neither of them cared. They were granted a whole new universe.

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti

Charlie/Luke taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp #luke patterson #charlie gillespie #luke patterson x reader #luke jatp #luke patterson fic #90's!Luke #90's!Luke x 90's reader

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oflowtides · 1 year ago

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The more Lydia talked, the more Kirby felt like his jaw was going to drop. He was grateful for the fact that he was already sitting down, since it felt like his knees would have given away with the relief that coursed through his body. Shaking his head quickly, small curls whipping around his face, he did his best to let her finish without interrupting - but it wasn’t easy.

“No, I-” He paused, laughing a little. “I don’t. I don’t regret it. I’ve just never really done something quite like this before, I thought maybe an apology was in order, in case you were... I don’t know. Mad?” He took another deep breath, the ringing still particularly annoying, but at least he wasn’t shaking anymore. “Of course I wasn’t willing to cross that line. I’ve had my defenses up for years, and you just made me so fucking happy I didn’t... want to lose that.” He gave her an almost shy look. “I rescind my apology then - unless you remember me saying something embarrassing, then I apologize for whatever weird shit I said when I was drunk. But...” The edge of his lips twitched up in an attempt at finally trying to smile through all this. “It sort of feels way better. Having all this out in the open and not trying to desperately hide how I feel about you all the time.” Another pause before he was reaching across the table, palm up. "But jesus fuck Lyds, I like you a lot."

normally she was able to keep a façade, her features cool as a cucumber even in times of distress. maybe it had been a defense mechanism built up from childhood that wasn’t even necessary. but now, sitting in front of kirby, she found herself picking at her fingers. it was the only thing she could think to do while the coffee in front of her went untouched, a million thoughts passing through her mind all at the same time. lydia was scared that if she spoke, her words would come out in a jumbled mess that would make her feel insane at the end of the day. but she had a burning sense to tell kirby how she felt, and as she waited patiently for him to finish, she took the opportunity to swallow the dry lump in her throat.

“i don’t know why you’re apologizing, kirby.” it came out suddenly, bluntly, and as lydia met kirby’s gaze, she gave her head a shake. “just because you respect me doesn’t mean that you crossed some sort of line here, y’know? or does respecting me mean that you can’t also be attracted to me?” her eyebrows were furrowed now, gaze dropping for just a moment before she was looking back up at him. “i’ve had feelings for you for a really long time, kirby. longer than i care to admit right now sitting in this kitchen. and from the sound of it, my feelings were being reciprocated this entire time, but neither one of us was willing to cross that line. maybe, instead of apologizing for last night and acting like we regret it, we should be taking it as some sort of sign. maybe that sounds crazy, but i definitely don’t regret what happened, and i wish you wouldn’t apologize for it.”

#kirby cerulli ; threads #kirby and lydia 2

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bytheangell · 3 years ago

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A Lot In Common

Femslash February Prompt: Strangers ( @shadowhunterbingo fill: Blind Date) (Read on AO3)

This isn’t the first time Lydia’s been in Magnus and Alec’s apartment to discuss official business. It’s less stuffy than having it in one of the offices, and honestly, after a full day of bureaucracy what both of them need is a place to unwind, have a drink, and actually discuss rather than debate whatever topic the two of them need to cover together. It’s a system that’s worked out rather well for the two of them so far.

The only problem is when the Lightwood-Bane household gets social calls, which seems to be a frequent occurrence for someone as popular as Magnus Bane. Lydia’s in the middle of making a very solid argument against Alec’s last point of contention when there’s a knock on the door, followed by the door immediately swinging open despite no one getting up to answer it.

The woman who stands on the other side of it is beautiful, Lydia immediately thinks, in one of those classically understated sorts of ways that many might overlook at first glance. Lydia isn’t one of those people, however, and doesn’t even realize she’s staring until the other woman hesitates in the doorway.

“Is it a bad time?” The woman asks, her eyes on Lydia who finally remembers her manners and tears her gaze away to look back to Alec.

“No, no, Magnus will be here any minute, he’s just running late. Come on in, Tessa. This is Lydia Branwell. Lydia, Tessa Gray.”

The name rings a bell, and it takes her a moment to place it as the warlock Alec’s mentioned quite a few times recently who is a friend of Magnus’ and involved in the Spiral Labyrinth.

“Nice to officially meet you,” Lydia says, doing her best not to stare even more as Tessa enters the apartment and closes the door behind her.

“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you, actually,” Tessa says.

“Oh?” Lydia asks, eyebrow raised.

“All good things, I promise,” Tessa says with a light laugh.

“Tessa, why don’t you join us for a drink until Magnus gets here?” Alec suggests, already standing up to offer her a seat.

This surprises Lydia, though she supposes if Tessa is a friend then it isn’t that strange.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Tessa insists.

“You aren’t!” Lydia promises. “In fact, I’d love your opinion on…”

Magnus, as it turns out, runs very late, but Lydia doesn’t mind. She ends up getting along wonderfully with Tessa and hardly notices when Alec disappears to take a call and doesn’t come back for nearly thirty minutes.

In fact, she’s quite disheartened when Magnus does finally arrive and pull Tessa away… and while she could be imagining it, Lydia thinks she sees the same flash of disappointment in Lydia’s expression as she leaves.

---

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alec asks Magnus once Tessa and Lydia leave for the night.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Magnus says.

“Lyds is going to hate me setting her up,” Alec points out, and not for the first time.

“You aren’t. We’re just going to cross their paths until they figure it out on their own.”

Alec knows that’s a technicality. He also knows that both of these women are smart enough to catch onto what they’re doing sooner rather than later, and both will likely spurn the idea out of spite once they do.

He supposes he can only hope their interest in one another is piqued before that.

---

It takes Tessa an embarrassingly long time to realize what Magnus and Alexander are doing, mostly because she can’t believe one of her oldest friends would even bother to try and set her up. Magnus knows she has no interest in another relationship, he knows she has not the heart for it, no matter how well she and Lydia seem to get on.

Tessa knows she has to say something now before things go too far, but she doesn’t want to lose Lydia as a friend. At this point the two of them have begun spending time together on their own, meeting over drinks or lunch, sometimes under the guise of discussing policies and laws and reference texts but increasingly often just to enjoy each other’s company. Tessa doesn’t want to lead Lydia on, but she doesn’t want to lose Lydia from her life, either.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” Tessa finally brings herself to say.

“That sounds ominous.” Lydia doesn’t say more than that, waiting to hear what it is that’s on Tessa’s mind.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed-”

“Alec and Magnus trying to set us up?” Lydia finishes for her, a small smirk on her face. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

“The thing is,” Tessa continues, forcing the words out before she can lose her nerve. “I’m never going to love again. I’ve had my true loves and I’ve lost them, and I know that I’ll never be able to give my heart to another in the same way again. It wouldn’t be fair to expect you - or anyone else - to love me in a way I cannot return. So if that’s all this is, I will not hold it against you if you’d like to leave.”

Tessa expects any number of reactions - anything from anger to confusion to sadness - but what she does not count on is the smile that begins to form on Lydia’s face at her confession.

“Oh, those clever boys,” Lydia says quietly, more to herself than to Tessa.

“Am I missing something?”

“I lost my own soulmate, John, several years ago,” Lydia supplies. “And feel much the same way about my ability to fall in love again.”

Tessa’s breath catches in her chest as the pieces fall into place. It isn’t that Magnus thinks he can convince her to love again, it’s that he knows Lydia will understand exactly why she can’t… and that might be enough for both of them.

“So where does that leave us?” Tessa finally asks.

“I like where we are,” Lydia admits, “and I’d like to stay and see where we’re going.”

Tessa considers this offer for several long minutes before finally nodding.

“I’d like that, too.”

It’s scary, terrifying even, to allow herself even a fraction of the emotion she’s blocked out for so long. It may not be love, but it’s something special, something unique that she hasn’t felt for anyone else, and she’s curious enough to want to see where it leads as well.

#lydia branwell #tessa gray #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #lydia/tessa #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #mdsff

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msmarvelouswinchester · 4 years ago

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Lost Years

Summary - After spending five years in LA, Dean comes back to Lawrence and meets up with his bestfriend or rather his then bestfriend. Y/N isn't exactly happy on seeing Dean either. Will he be able to fix his strained relationship with her?

Pairing - Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Cheesy fluff, angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of divorce, parents separation, drinking, bad dates, kissing, unprotected sex 18+ (wrap it before you tap it), p in v smut, oral sex (fem receiving), sex in the Impala.

WC - 5.3k+ (....oops)

Square filled - Angst ( @girl-next-door-writes ) and “Why the fuck would you laugh at that?” ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @downanddirtydean's 500 followers writing challenge (Congratulations again, Lyd). Prompt is in bold.

This is an AU. Flashbacks are in Italics.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thank you so much, hon) and thank you to @whatareyousearchingfordean for giving this a read and leaving some valuable comments❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Fuckin’ brilliant!” A weary exclamation left the woman's mouth as she read the text displayed on the device's screen in her hand.

There was a very significant reason why she didn't believe in blind dates, but Jo had been stubborn and insistent. And with Valentine's Day approaching, Y/N didn't want to spend the day in her pjs, crying over The Notebook again. So she had agreed to give a chance to Jo’s friend, or to be more precise, her friend's cousin. His name was Gabriel, and from what she had heard from her mutual friend circle, he seemed to be a decent guy.

But now all she wanted was to go back in time and change her decision to give into Jo’s request, because looking at the empty chair in front of her, she regretted allowing her friend to even try to interfere in her love life.

She signaled the waiter to bring over her check after downing the entire glass of wine. The restaurant was quite busy tonight. It was packed with people on this fine Saturday evening - from lovestruck couples to families with crying kids, Y/N found herself feeling quite lonely as she had stupidly waited on her date to show up for such a long time. Heat crept up her neck in embarrassment when the waiter showed up, the latter’s eyes filled with sympathy as Y/N paid the price of her drink.

Within no time, she was out of the restaurant.

Glancing down at her green dress, she swore under her breath. She tried to book a cab to return to the comfort of her home when her eyes caught the glowing signboard of The Roadhouse right around the corner of the street. The only thing she could think of was to get black-out drunk now. Y/N, still in her high heels, trudged down the path to Ellen’s bar.

Dressed up all for nothing. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went inside the establishment, heading straight towards the counter and taking a seat there. Like any other weekend nights, the place was stuffed. Y/N let her eyes trail over the many patrons of the dingy bar, landing finally on the middle-aged brunette who ran the place

“Ellen!” She called out to the woman.

“Hey, honey,” she approached Y/N, all the while glaring daggers at the drunk she had just previously been arguing with, “A bit overdressed for this place, don't ya think?”

“Your daughter is officially fired from matchmaking services,” Y/N sighed.

“Boy troubles, huh? What can I get ya, hon?” Sympathy was evident in Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. Y/N was as much of a daughter to her as Jo was. The girl had been through so much heartbreak, all Ellen wanted was to see a smile on her face.

“The usual,” Y/N gave a sad smile.

“Rough night indeed, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. The woman in question shrugged defeatedly. Ellen patted her arm in comfort before she left her to arrange for her drink, leaving Y/N to wallow in self-pity.

She thought back to when her life had taken such a traumatic turn. All her friends were either getting engaged, married, or popping out kids. But not Y/n... she was in her late twenties now, and she couldn't even find herself an eligible man.

Ellen pushed the glass towards her. Sighing, she picked it up as she admired the liquid in it. She drank slowly, every sip creating a burning sensation at the back of her throat. Fingers still wrapped around the glassware, she set it down, looking around the bar. The place was filled with mad chatters and howling laughs along with the music blasting from the stereo placed on the deck inside the room, a stark contrast to how lonely she felt. She signaled Ellen for another round, who nodded before giving her that sad understanding smile Y/N was now starting to hate. Frowning, she dropped her head and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, where did that pretty smile for yours go?” Y/N was quickly pulled out from her daze by a very familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard in a few years. It couldn't be him, he was supposed to be in LA!

“Ella?” The term of endearment brought back dozens of memories, some good and some bad, but all were about him - the freckled face teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest in the summertime she had once fallen for. It brought up the painful memory of their first meet which she had tried to forget so hard.

She remembered the day of their first drama practice when Dean had grudgingly walked into the room. He had reluctantly agreed to play the Prince in the Cinderella act after Cas who was supposed to be the Prince had accidentally ended up with a broken leg. He didn’t know her name, so he had called her ‘Ella’ to get her attention which was the start of their epic friendship.

Y/N didn't dare to turn around to look at him, after all, he wasn't the scrawny teenager from Lawrence anymore. He was now the lead singer and guitarist of a popular rock band with a fancy name and songs that were in the top ten of Billboard music charts. Yes, she did keep up with his rising fame, sometimes even listening to one of his songs before she was once again reminded of the heartbreak he had caused.

“You can't even look at me.” His voice was barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear as he slid into the stool beside her.

Gathering enough courage, she raised her head. “Dean.” His name rolled off her tongue so easily, but her heart ached for the past. Dean cracked a smile at her as his emerald eyes did not leave hers once. It was as if he was memorizing every tiny detail of her face and if anyone would've asked him, he would've replied that he was.

Y/N hadn't changed much over the years he had spent in LA. She was still the same girl he had first met in school and the last time he had seen her at their graduation. She was a shy girl but they had clicked instantly. Growing up, she was his best friend, his person, his escape.

“Dean Winchester has walked into my bar. Must be my lucky day!” Ellen’s voice thundered across the room, grabbing the attention of a few intoxicated people. “How's LA treating you, boy?”

“Ellen! It's awesome to see you again.” A grin broke out on Dean's face as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the lady into a bear hug. “LA’s pretty okay. It is as good as the industry can be.”

“Heard some of your songs, I knew you had the talent,” Ellen said, jabbing her finger into his chest to prove her point. “Now what can I get ya? On the house.”

“A beer will be just fine. Don't want to show up to the Winchester house drunk!” He chuckled.

“Alright, coming right up. Y/N, honey, you want another round or a glass of water?” The lady asked.

“I'll be leaving in a few. Glass of water it is, El.” She replied but was then interrupted by Dean.

“One drink, with me. It's on me, Ella.” There it was again, that fucking name. A few years ago, that name would have made her cheeks heat up but now, it just made her blood boil. She clenched her hand into fists, tears pricking at her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Do not call me that.” She hissed, surprising Dean. Y/N turned towards the man, finally taking a good look at him. He had changed a lot, had become more handsome but LA had not modified his clothing style because he was still wearing his signature flannel and jeans accompanied by a jacket. She wondered how many girls had stopped him for a picture or an autograph on his way back to Lawrence, jealousy seeping into her. She hated the way he still had that effect on her.

“Y/N-” She knew what he was going to say. ‘I am sorry’, but she wasn't ready to forgive him now, if ever.

“No. Don't.” She stopped him mid-sentence, hands digging into her purse as she pulled out the money for her drinks, dropping them on the counter.

“El, I am going home.” Ellen, who was silently watching their whole exchange, nodded her head before asking, “Want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I'm going to crash at your place. I need to have a word with Jo.” Y/N said since it was near impossible for her to walk back to her house, considering she was quite tipsy and still in heels, but she also didn't want to wait until the woman called a cab with Dean Winchester anywhere nearby. After getting her belongings, she got out of the barstool and left the place on wobbly legs. Her feet would no doubt be screaming in pain the next day.

Stepping out, she inhaled deeply, letting a few tears fall as the cool air hit her face. After their graduation, Y/N had sworn she would try her best to forget the older Winchester. She wasn't quite successful in her aim, because many times she would come across his gorgeous face on the cover of a magazine or his song would be playing on the radio, striking up old memories of their time spent together in high school.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step forward, only to misjudge the cobblestone path and end up losing her balance. She braced herself for the impending fall but was saved by a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” Dean said, letting her down gently. “Lemme see, did you hurt your ankle?” He went down on his knees in front of her, pulling a low gasp out of her as he examined her feet.

“Were you following me?” Y/N gritted out those words.

“No.” He shook his head but she clearly saw through the lie.

“I’m fine. You can go now.” She said, her eyes looking everywhere but the man.

“Come on, don't be so stubborn. Get in the car, I'll drop you off at your house or Jo’s place if you want.” He said looking up, trying to catch her eyes but she was adamant about not giving him that satisfaction. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering before she answered.

“Leave me alone.” She muttered, a tear running down her cheek. All that preparation for not breaking down in front of Dean and her body still betrayed her. The man got up. Y/N noticed that he was now wearing a cap, probably to hide from any bystander who might recognize him.

“Y/N/N, I-” Dean was at a loss of words. He hated seeing her so heartbroken and he loathed himself for being the cause of it. He tried to reach out and hold her hand but she recoiled back, making him wince. “Please, Ella.”

“Stop calling me that, Winchester. How many times do I have to repeat that?” Her voice came out as a little whine, making Dean chuckle. He missed it - her tone, the timbre, the intensity in her pitch, and the words it said, which used to be his voice of reason; he missed his best friend. “Why the fuck would you laugh at that? I am not doing stand up comedy out here.” Y/N was still the strong-headed girl he adored.

“You'll probably hurt yourself if you walk in those heels again with how tipsy you are right now. Get in the car, I know you missed cruising around the town in Baby because she missed you for sure.” And that thankfully got the exact reaction out of her that he had anticipated. She finally looked right at him, her face lit up at the pretense of seeing the beloved black car again.

“I thought she was in LA with you.” Y/N said and then it dawned on her, “Did you drive across the States?”

“Damn right I did!” He beamed in reply like he had won a trophy, his heart swelling with happiness when he saw the smile forming on her face mixed with awe and surprise. He still had to go a long way to get her back, but he had to take baby steps. At least he managed to make her smile. “So? Want to go out, just like the old times?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Y/N’s lips and Dean knew he fucked up right then. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the good ol’ days. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry-”

“Just drop me off at Jo’s. That's it.” She said, lowering her gaze. He waved her over to the direction where his car was parked. Y/N started to walk along as Dean wordlessly followed her.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't do well in social gatherings and this was her graduation ceremony. One wrong step, one wrong word, or a wardrobe malfunction, and the day could turn into a disaster in an instant.

“Honey, you're gonna be excellent out there! We're all very proud of you.” Mary said while hugging Y/N tightly as they both waited on the former's older son to come downstairs who was running late, as usual. She had grown incredibly close to the Winchester family over the years. They were her rock, especially Dean who was there with her at every step as she went through the separation of her parents.

“Are you and John going to join my parents at the ceremony? Someone needs to stop them before they end up killing each other.” She grimaced.

“Isn't this going to be the first time they are together in one single room, since their….you know-” Sam asked as he came out of the kitchen, a green smoothie in his hands. Dean might have been her best friend, her confidante, but Sam was the little brother she never thought she needed.

“First get that green drink outta my sight, I already feel like I'm gonna throw up. Second, you can speak about the divorce. It's not taboo and it was a long time coming. Everyone knew that.” Y/N reluctantly said. The separation of her parents might have been foreseeable but, nevertheless, it still hurt her to see her parents walkout in two separate ways once the divorce was finalized. The house had become much quieter these days which she was thankful for but she also felt the evident absence of her father.

“Mom and Dad will definitely be there!” Dean announced loudly as he came down the stairs. “Come on let's go. Don't wanna be late for our own graduation ceremony!” She could always count on him to make her day better.

“I should have told you.”

“W-what?” Y/N asked dumbfoundedly as Dean’s gruff voice broke her out of the reverie and pulled her back to reality. A minute passed when she noticed even if his hands were on the steering, he wasn't driving anymore.

“This-” she looked out of the window, “this isn't Jo’s place.”

“No, this is our place,” Dean said.

“Dean.” This was the last place she wanted to be at, let alone be here with Dean. It had taken every ounce of her strength to not run back to this place over the past few years whenever she missed her best friend, only to realize that he had left her in the dust on his path to fame and didn't care about her as much as she used to think. Too many memories were attached to this particular place.

“I missed this, Y/N.” He said, killing the engine and slowly opening the door on his side. Y/N understood what he was trying to do and her mind screamed at her in protest to not follow him but her heart told her to follow the man it belonged to.

Dean finally stepped out of the car and walked over to the closed door on her side. She opened the door herself before he could and stepped out as well with a huff. The place was the same as it ever was. “I haven't been here since graduation.” She blurted out.

“I should have told you,” Dean said as they started to walk to their spot. Y/N chose to remain quiet. “Ella, please say somethin’.”

“I am not your Ella anymore, Dean. Stop calling me that.” She said but this time it wasn't a whine, instead, she yelled it out. She was sick and tired of yearning for the man who had broken her heart several years ago and now she was scared that he was gonna leave her once again.

“You'll always be my Ella.” He said.

“The Prince didn't lie to Cinderella and leave her behind but you- it hurts me to remember how close we were then. You left me without even a simple goodbye, so no, I am not your Ella anymore.” She flinched when he reached out for her.

He had stopped walking now and so had she. Dean moved closer to her before standing exactly in front of her. His hands lightly traced her jaw as she looked up at him. She looked just as enchanting under the moonlight as he remembered. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. She had given up fighting herself now, driven only by instinct. All the walls that she had put up came crumbling down with one touch of his.

“Why do you think I didn't say goodbye to you?” Dean whispered.

“Maybe all the years that we spent together meant nothing to you.” Her voice was like a melody to his ears but the words broke his heart even further.

“Because it was too damn hard. When RC Records called me up three days before graduation, you were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn't, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn't have made it to where I am right now.” He said, not a trace of mirth on his face.

“I wouldn't have held you back.” It was simple. Y/N always wanted to stay in Lawrence and look over her mother's bakery shop, and that's what she ended up doing. She now owned the shop and her business was thriving. Dean had wanted to become a singer ever since he was ten when he was forced to play the Prince, opposite to Y/N’s lead. He had found his passion and she had always encouraged it, even when John had strongly protested against him choosing music as his major. “You know I always supported you.”

“I know that, but thinking about not seeing you every day made me not want to go. I kept imagining you upset and that's why I didn't have it in me to tell you about my break.” He said. Y/N grabbed his hands pushing them away from her face.

“You ended up making me sad anyway. So why the fuck are you back?” She was enraged.

“Ella-” Dean tried to come closer but she stepped back, “I came to see my family.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here with me?”

“Because you're the most important person in my life and every day I spent away from you, you were the only person on my mind.” Dean smiled.

“What?”

“You were the first thought when I woke up and the last thought when I went to sleep.” He said and pulled her close when she finally stopped fighting. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I know I am late and probably missed my chance, but five years in LA have taught me to take the risks. I love you, Ella.”

“I can't-” Dean’s smile felt but he quickly recovered.

“I-I understand.” He let out a dry chuckle, “You got a man back at home waiting for you. He sure is one lucky bastard.”

“No. You do not fucking understand! You are just so in your head, it's just-” She flailed her arms around in utter frustration. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move on? I have been on so many dates but no man was ever enough for me, all because of your sorry ass! The Graduation Day - I knew you always thought of me as your best friend, so I had decided to ask you out myself,”

“Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. You have to fucking listen about how much pain you put me through these five years! The next day, I went to your house only to hear from your parents that you were on your way to LA. I fucking hate you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I still love you, Dean!”

His eyes widened in surprise as he kept opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. He was unable to form a coherent sentence and so he cupped Y/N’s cheeks in his big, warm hands once more, but now he dipped down, tilting his face and pulling her in for a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lips, making her moan into his mouth. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she found herself completely enamored by him. Her hands snuck to the back of his neck as she steadied herself. Her knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, her whole body tingled and toes curled up as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

“De,” Y/N tried to catch her breath when Dean finally let go of her lips, already missing the feel of her on him.

His hands traveled down her body, making her gasp aloud at the feel. He lowered his mouth as he started to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Dean, please. Don't.” Her three short words made him stop.

“Alright.” He gulped.

“I don't want to get my heart broken again, Winchester, I don't think I can survive it again.” Y/N knew he would return to LA within a week, and so she didn't want to take this any further. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

“I won't. I am not going back.” Y/N looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, “I don't care about my career anymore. Five years without you was like living in hell and my bandmates are probably so tired of hearing how much I missed you. I will write my songs from here in Lawrence if it means that I'll be closer to you.”

“You would do that for me?” She asked sincerely.

“I would. I was a stupid kid back then but now I have realized that nothing's more important to me than you. I don't want to lose my Ella ever again.” He said, “I'm sorry for taking so long to understand that. There is no way-” His words were cut off as Y/N captured his lips with her own. The sudden kiss caught him off guard but he quickly pulled himself together to kiss her back. “Shit, Y/N-” he gasped when he felt his dick twitch. He picked her up in quick motion and went towards the car. Y/N giggled when her back lightly collided with Baby’s door. Dean dropped his head, nipping at the pulse point on her neck.

“Dean-” She moaned, which was better than any music he had ever made as his hands slipped under her dress, his fingers hovering over her soaked panties. Her thighs clenched in anticipation.

“You have no idea how long I dreamt of having you. You're soaked, sweetheart. ” He huskily said, his fingers hooking on the waistband of her cotton panties. “Tell me to stop and I will, in a heartbeat. No questions.”

“N-no. Don't stop.” Y/N cooed. Dean dragged down her panties which pooled at her feet. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Thankfully, there was no one around but the thrill of being out in the open with Dean got her even more hot and bothered. Her hands grasped onto his biceps tightly so that she wouldn't topple over when Dean slipped a finger into her tight pussy. Her mouth fell open, her head dropping on his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, every drag of his finger pushing her closer to the edge.

Dean felt his pants tighten as he heard the sweet moan of his name leave her lips. Her raspy voice was one he could hear all day long, her heavy pants tickling his skin. With one hand he unbuckled his belt, trying to relieve himself a little, but when a cry of pleasure left her lips as he slipped in another finger, he hoped that he wouldn't cream his pants like a freaking teenage boy.

Y/N felt the coil in her stomach tighten as she inched towards her climax. Dean quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside her and brushing her g-spot, each time eliciting a low moan out of her. “Dean….” She couldn't form any coherent words other than chanting his name over and over again and a moment later, the coil snapped as she felt herself coming undone. He delicately pulled his fingers out of her, which were covered in her juice. Dean reached behind her, yanking the door open as he nudged her to go in. She readily obliged and slid into the seat with shaky legs. He climbed into the backseat after her, closing the door behind him.

Her dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing her glistening pussy. Dean’s eyes darkened at the sight before him as he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the front. He pushed her dress further up. She raised her hands as he successfully got her out of the garment and unhooked her bra. Y/N moved further back into the seat, her back resting against the door on the other side as Dean started to leave kisses down her body.

“Have you ever thought about this? ‘Cause I did, every freaking day.” Dean asked, kissing the valley between her breasts, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“E-every time I touched myself, I thought of you.” She said, gasping out loud at every word when his mouth found her breasts and started to suck on the soft skin, flicking a nipple with his tongue and twirling the other within his fingers.

“Oh-” Dean raised his head to look at her before he moved south, “Did you think about me between your legs just like this-” He said as he left kisses along her thigh, his stubble creating soft burns on her skin in its wake that she would definitely remember. He finally stopped at her nether regions, his hot breath fanning against her throbbing pussy. “Did you think about me tasting you like this?”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth latched onto her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking at her aching nub. Her hands traveled down to his head, her fingers getting tangled up in his soft hair and pulled at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck-” She exclaimed as Dean hungrily devoured her, his tongue repeatedly assaulting her sensitive pussy, sucking needily on her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back in pleasure as she felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over her. “Shit!” She gasped as Dean’s tongue lapped her juices hungrily.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” He panted before he unbuttoned his pants pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection sprung from his confines. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have-” Y/N sensed his uneasiness.

“I’m on the pill.” She smirked as she stared at his toned body.

“Well, I’m clean.” She reached out to touch his stomach, hands then traveling down to his length. Dean dropped his head, biting down on his lips, “Y/N-” He pushed her hands away, smirking as he ran his hand along his hardened cock, giving it a few strokes, the tip beaded with precum. He looked at Y/N once and lined himself with her dripping entrance when she gave him a nod to go ahead.

His swollen tip teasingly nudged at her opening before he pushed himself into her.

“Shit Y/N-” Dean grunted, simultaneously as Y/N hissed out at the painful sensation at the beginning as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust around his size before she told him to move. He circled his hips as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside her, before pushing back in again, deeper than before.

“Holy fuck-” Y/N moaned out when he quickened his pace, hitting her g-spot repeatedly with every thrust as they both inched towards their release. Dean kissed her as he continued to thrust deep into her, their breathing growing erratic, the windows of the chevy fogged up and the car filled with their groans and moans as they both chased their release. She hooked her arms at the small of his back as he started to nibble at her sweet spot. His hand moved south, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit which further edged her.

“Shit De!” Y/N cried out loud as her walls fluttered around his pulsating length when she felt herself coming undone. Dean’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted into the crook of her neck before he spilled into her with one cry of her name, painting her walls with his seed. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath before he gently pulled out.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Dean panted, beads of sweat lining his forehead as they both laid in each other’s arms, basking in the post-coital bliss. “Was this better than your fantasies? ‘Cause, ‘twas surely better than mine.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grab a piece of cloth to clean themselves up. “We should have done this sooner.”

“If only you hadn't been such a coward.” Y/n teased with a giggle.

“Your dumbass could have called me up. I wasted five years being one, terrified to hear how much you hate me.” He grumbled, cleaning up the mess on the seat. Honestly, she could have but she didn't ‘cause she was scared to hear the truth as well; that Dean had truly left her.

“So, you’re sayin’ we’re both a couple of dumbasses.” Y/N chuckled, putting on her bra.

“Your words, not mine.” Dean gave her a sly smirk. “The Winchester household will be so delighted, once they know I finally got my head out of my ass and looked at the beautiful woman right in front of me.” He was right in every sense. The Winchesters, all of them had always believed that those two would end up together. Everyone saw how in love they were except Y/N and Dean.

“Isn't it too early for the introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-family thing?” She asked which got an eye roll out of the man. “Panties?”

“I don't have them.” Dean sneakily raised his hands.

“I saw you stuff them into your pocket.” He grabbed her dress from the front seat, throwing it at her.

“Put this on, or preferably, just don't.” He gave her a boyish smile, getting a raised eyebrow in reply, “Oh I'm not done with you. Gotta make up for the lost years, sweetheart.” Dean's eyes darkened at the thought as Y/N gulped, knowing she wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks.

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