#if youre not feeling a weird sense of holiness when shagging are you even doing it right

[helaelaemond]

To Take Pleasure

Pairing: Osferth x female reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You share a lazy and passionate morning with Osferth. Oneshot pwp, established relationship.

Content warning(s): light edging, mild elements of very soft dom!Osferth, mentions of faith

Rating: E

Requests open

tagging: @sylas-the-grim / @myfandomprompts / @arcielee

small note: thank you so much for the encouragement and kind words on my last Osferth piece, it honestly means the world to me, thank you so so so so much. I read every tag and comment multiple times giggling and kicking my feet!

The morning is quiet. It is raining outside and the noise of it is comforting. It feels like home. Inside the bed chamber, only two creatures move. In the small bedroom, atop the warm bed, Oseferth winds his hand into your hair.

You lay under him and your whole body moves with the rhythm of your coupling. One leg is pulled up at your side on the firm mattress, allowing him to fill you from behind. He lays atop you, his back arched, and thrusts into you at a steady pace. Osferth gently pulls on your hair, and you lift your head up with a quiet moan.

“Oh, my lady,” he whispers against your ear. “Yes, just like that.”

You sigh and grind your hips against the bed in time with his movements. “Touch me,” you breathe.

“Aren’t I touching you enough?” he asks with a smile, and to illustrate his point, he lets go of your hair and runs a flat palm down your side.

Laughter catches in your throat and turns into another sigh of delight when he presses his hand under your chest and teases your nipple between his fingers. “Not there.”

His lips are still at your ear. “Tell me where, my lady. I’d like to hear you say it.”

When Osferth slows his movements to an intolerably slow pace, you swear quietly. “You know where I want you.” You drop your weight onto the bed and turn your head to the side, but it isn’t enough to see him. Your breathing begins to calm in this moment of respite.

“I do.” Osferth pulls out of you carefully and rests his cock on the crease of your backside. He is slick from you, and he moves against you. It makes his eyes roll back. “But I want this to last longer. You’re too close for that.”

You bite your lip. You prop yourself up on your forearms, and you raise your hips in an invitation. Osferth rises to his knees behind you and slips himself along your cunt. You both make noises of approval when his tip glides over your clit. Reaching between your legs, you press him between your folds and run his tip in circles where you want him. The tension in your lower stomach grows, and there are noises in the back of your throat with every breath.

“Easy, love,” Osferth soothes with a smile. Your pleasure is enough to have him crashing, but he means what he said. He wants it to last longer.

You let him go with a sigh.

“Are you ready?” he asks as he guides himself back to your entrance. He presses gently.

You whimper and nod, and you reach back a hand to find him. He weaves your fingers together and slides back inside you. “Oh God,” Osferth swears. The delight of it forces his eyes shut. “You feel so wonderful, my love. Oh, yes, you’re so good.”

You push yourself up, so you're both kneeling, his chest at your back, and you wind the hand you hold around you until his arm embraces you tightly. “Please don’t stop again,” you beg between gasping moans. “I’ll die!”

He chuckles, and the noise is broken by his own moans. “Then I won’t. Oh, love.”

With one hand still in yours, Osferth runs the other up to your neck, and he carefully grasps it, and he turns your head until he can kiss you. You part your lips eagerly, and you swallow his noises of delight and run your tongue over his as you fuck.

“Touch me,” you beg after a while. The only noises that sing above the rain outside are that of your coupling that has become more desperate. “Please, Osferth! I’m so close.”

He slams into you once, twice more, and suddenly pulls out from you with a groan. You fall forward onto the bed with a shout of frustration, and Osferth flips you onto your back before you can find release with your own hand. He drags you until your legs hang off the side of the bed, and then he is on his knees in front of you and his tongue is trailing up the inside of your thigh. “Don’t misbehave,” he tells you with a chuckle.

The frustration of your denied orgasm has your muscles tensing and releasing, and tears prick your eyes. But you like this game. You ask for it. You fling your arm over your eyes and nod, thighs twitching.

Osferth kisses up to your hip and then back down to your cunt, where he tastes the salt that has pooled to welcome him. He glances up at you and raises his head as he smiles. “My good lady.”

"My good Osferth." Your reply is strained, but it makes your heart leap to see how brightly it makes him smile. You run your fingers through his hair, and when you gently press the back of his head, he follows where you lead. His soft lips press between your legs and you sigh.

It makes your toes curl as he licks a long line from your clit down to your entrance; he uses the flat of his tongue to apply pressure, before ghosting the tip against you again and again. You hear his quiet gasp of need, and it's followed by the sensation of his tongue pressing inside you. He keeps his lips over his teeth as his tongue sinks deeper, and surely he can feel your heartbeat against his chin. On his tongue, you feel yourself getting fucked. He tilts his sharp jaw up, and you grind down to meet him, and there, yes, there, his pretty nose catches your clit.

"Fuck!" The word escapes you before you can stop it. Osferth is not one to use profane language. But he does not seem to be one to take a woman on his tongue, yet here he is.

Your legs press against his ears, and you manage to look down to see how proudly he wears your thighs as his crown. A bastard son of a king, looking so pretty, anointed by your cunt on his lips. His tongue is firmer now, and he presses it over your slit and to your clit. It makes your back arch. It makes your head thrash from side to side. He's good, he's so good to you, it makes you feel holy-

"You're perfect," you whine between gasps and moans. "Look at me!"

Without needing to ask twice, his eyes open and burn into you. He beholds you as he devours you, eyes round and blue, worshipful. Your brow furrows as pleasure mounts and mounts, and your mouth opens in laughter and delight. "Don't stop!"

Suddenly he's sucking around you and humming lowly, and it's almost enough to push you over the edge.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't-!"

And he does. Just as he brings you to the brink, he pulls off you with a pop, his mouth wet and cheeks and chin glistening. It makes you twist and turn in frustration, and your eyes stream in frustration.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles lowly and lies on top of you, his whole weight pressing you into the little bed. "This is what you asked for," he reminds you. Your legs are clamped shut under him, and so you can feel his hard cock, hot and throbbing, trapped between his stomach and yours.

You look up at him with watering eyes and defiance. But his expression is so soft and sweet, so delighted, that it soothes you. After a moment, you return his smile, although you can't stop yourself from whining slightly with every breath. "I did. You're right. But please... I need you."

"You have me, my lady."

In this brief pause, tenderness mingles with absolute desire, and you can see the deep affection he holds for you. You kiss him, and he welcomes your hungry tongue into his mouth with a strong hand on your cheek. There is a warm wetness against your stomach. He's so wound up for you, he's leaking and desperate. But he has more composure than you - he always does.

"Finish me," you beg against his lips. "Finish us."

Your words make him groan. He runs his hand from your cheek and down your side, squeezing your waist. "Onto your side, my lady."

He lifts himself up from the bed and watches you do as he asks, and then he settles behind you. Your back presses against his chest, and your head drops to the side when he kisses your neck adoringly. With a sure touch, he hooks his hand under the back of your knee, and he lifts it to give him the room to slide back inside of you.

"Ah, my lady." He moans against your ear as he finds himself home in you again. You like it when he moans. You told him this once, and it took him a while to get used to. It took practice. But now, although it's quiet, he gives you those noises. His mouth is against your ear, and his sighs and grunts and moans fill your senses. Between your legs, his cock fills you, too.

He winds his arm further around your leg to keep it lifted as his fingers touch your cunt again. They ghost over where your bodies join, and they catch your wetness and rub firm circles over your clit.

"Yes," you whine. "There."

The bed creaks under you as his pace quickens. The noises of his skin slapping against yours are obscene, and the groans of your name from Osferth mingle with them. He groans your name again and again like a prayer, like it's sacred. To him, perhaps it is. To him, you are sacred.

You fling your hand back to press against his slender hip as together, you climb higher and higher, and he reaches his peak first. He presses his cheek against yours where you lay, and the gesture itself feels as intimate as anything else you have shared. His whole body tightens closer to yours as his hips stutter and his eyes roll back and he pulls out just in time. Against your backside he grinds, and you feel his seed shoot hot up your back. His fingers still work you hard and fast, and as he comes down from his peak, you reach yours.

Your whole body jerks as you finally find your orgasm. Your legs clamp shut around his hand but he doesn't release you - his fingers dig into you and massage you until you whimper and squirm, until finally all the tension is released. His hand remains there, but it stops moving. As your cunt twitches in aftershocks, he holds it firm, keeping you stable, keeping you comfortable.

"Oh, Osferth," you pant. He sighs your name in reply. When your body begins to cool, and you return to yourself a little more, you roll onto your stomach and pull his pillow under your head. Your eyes close in bliss.

He gets up from the bed but returns before you have much of a chance to miss him. You feel him wipe a damp cloth over your back. It makes goosebumps appear on your skin. He always looks after you so well. "Thank you."

A few more moments pass, and then the mattress sinks next to you, and you feel him lie next to you. A gentle touch traces up your spine. He begins drawing shapes on your skin with a single finger. Eyes still closed, you smile. A kiss is pressed against your shoulder. Then, to your neck, and your cheek. Finally, Osferth leaves a tender kiss on your lips.

"You are very dear to me," he murmurs.

Your eyes open slowly, and you meet his blue gaze. "You're very dear to me, too."

He whispers your name, and kisses you gently again. "I didn't know..."

"What, Osferth?"

He mulls his words over before speaking them. He runs his knuckles along your cheek tenderly. "I didn't know that pleasure could feel like this."

"Like what?" you ask, smiling slightly.

"Like holiness."

You glance at his lips. How pretty they look when he whispers, and how pretty they look now as he licks them, waiting nervously for your answer. You can't stop yourself from kissing them before replying. "You make me feel holy, Osferth."

"As you do me." He murmurs your name, and strokes your hair. "I don't want to leave this room. I want to stay with you today."

"Then stay." Your voice is quiet, as sleep is calling you. "Don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me."

He smiles and kisses your cheek. "I'll do my best, my lady. I'll do my best to always be yours."

[astralaffairs]

put a ring on it 05 | philip hamilton

title: put a ring on it 05

pairing: philip hamilton x reader

words: 9.5k

warnings: another stupid cliffhanger, death mentions?, not much tbh

desc: You’ve never liked Philip Hamilton, and have always assumed the feeling has been mutual. But when you’re roped into pretending to be his girlfriend for a family reunion, you feel all your truths beginning to melt away, and find them instead taking form in his smile.

tags: @beepbeepstop @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @tf2germanvillain @ela-ena @abundant-stars @heytheredee-lilah @katierpblogg @thisshitfucks @celyndavies @quixoticallydelusional @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @yxseminx @sadhwstudent @aiifandomsunite @loonaynay @valleryhyde @lxncelot @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @alievans007@nyxie75 @ii-moonlight-ii @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @elegantbutedgy @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @someinsanefangirl @theirishhufflepuff @golddiggs-x @drreamhugs @sillyteecup @notebookgirl30 @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow @kmsmedine - lmk if u wanna b added

"Patsy, you've gotta help me. I'm freaking out."

You were slumped on the floor of the Hamiltons' bathroom by then, praying that no one would come and knock, ask to use it. To your relief, when you called, Patsy picked up the phone without hesitation - she'd been on alert, waiting for your SOS all weekend. However, the emergency call you were making didn't quite match the one she was expecting.

"Oh, god; what'd he do?" your roommate groaned from the other end of the line. "Am I gonna need to kick his ass the minute you two get back to town?"

"Shockingly, no," you mumbled, letting out a soft huff as your absent gaze fell to the green wall before you. "I... have a much different problem."

"What, did you fuck one of his cousins? Did the woman who offered to be your sugar mama a while back end up being his aunt?" Despite your state of panic, her words made you smile as you rolled your eyes. "Wait, holy shit, did you fuck him?"

You grimaced at her final question. While it didn't hit the mark, it was far too close to it for your comfort. "No, I absolutely did not."

"So what's the issue, then?"

"I... oh, god, you're definitely gonna make fun of me for this," you sighed, and Patsy didn't respond, instead waiting for you to continue. When you did, your voice was small, shaky. "I think I like him, Patsy. I really think I like him."

There was a skip.

"I'm sorry, is this some kind of a prank?"

"Patsy," you groaned, your head falling back against the bathroom wall, and she was quick to backtrack.

"No, no, I'm happy for you; don't get me wrong," she said quickly, pausing before she added, "I'm just surprised. What happened?"

"I don't even know. I just... he's really not the person I thought he was. So much of what I thought I knew about him was off base," you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. "How was I supposed to know he was secretly all caring and thoughtful? And he's so good with kids; god, it's adorable. Too much has changed this weekend; my head is spinning. I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, keep in mind that there's a reason he asked you to come home with him," she said matter-of-factly, and you furrowed your brow.

"What d'you mean?"

"Y/N," she sighed, "You two weren't friends. There was no world in which you would've agreed to be his cover story, but he still told his family he was dating you. You really don't think that was a little bit intentional?"

You scoffed. "Are you implying that he was projecting?"

"If the shoe fits."

"Patsy, it wasn't pointed; it was just convenient," you argued, pulling your knees into your chest, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear. "I'm his coworker. There are pictures of me and him together at work. I live far enough from the Hamiltons that it was easy to excuse the fact that I'd never met them."

"You're not his only coworker," Patsy replied, and you rolled your eyes at how certain she sounded.

"So who's to say I wasn't chosen at random?"

"Me. You spent years openly resenting him. You would've been the least convenient person in your office for him to pick," she pointed out, and you pursed your lips, playing absentmindedly with the edge of the shag carpet on the bathroom floor.

"I'm also the least insufferable," you replied. "Not to be anti-woman, or anything, but I don't have a single female coworker who I could spend a weekend with without going insane."

"Okay, so you can agree that he doesn't find you insufferable."

"That's a low, low bar."

"But don't you find it even a little bit weird?" You bit your lip at her words, and your brow was furrowed but your gaze empty. "Why would he need a fake girlfriend to begin with?"

That, however, made you wince. Even just hours before, you may not have known how to answer, but- "Actually, I have a hunch about that."

"Oh?"

"Unfortunately." You resented the sound of your own voice shaking as you remembered the scene you'd just fled, and apparently, any respite the phone call provided from the sinking feeling in your stomach was long gone. "His ex is here. She's crazy pretty, and she's totally sweet, and she's obviously still into him. She's even my dream girl. I think he asked me here to make her jealous."

There was a pause on her end of the line; all you received was static as she let out a sigh. "See, I don't buy that."

"Why not? It'd make perfect sense," you said irately. "He seemed to really want me to meet her, and, God, you shoud've seen how excited he looked to see her."

"If she's a family friend, you shouldn't be surprised that they're still on good terms. Haven't you ever stayed friends with any of your exes?"

"Not like that." You swallowed hard; Patsy couldn't see it, but your eyes were sullen, downcast as you recalled the interaction. Jesus, you'd been so stupid to get attached to him; it hadn't even been three days. You really, really should've seen something like this coming. You'd long known Philip to be self-interested, why should this be any different?

But he'd had no one to perform for when he'd spent the whole afternoon with you coddling his niece and nephew. He couldn't prove anything to anyone by the fact that you'd woken up in his arms two mornings in a row. He had nowhere to invoke how protective he'd been as his family dragged you this way and that, interrogating you all the while.

You realized you'd let your call go silent for several moments too long. "I dunno. It's just too complicated. I don't know what to think of any of it."

When she sighed, you recoiled at the loud rush of static that came from your phone. "I know you're not gonna like hearing this, but you need to talk to him."

"How the hell am I supposed to talk to him about this?"

"Be upfront. I'm serious, Y/N; your reservations about what you're feeling are all just you self-sabotaging, and you well know it." Though she wasn't wrong, her words left you on edge - if you were upfront with him, you hadn't a single clue how he'd react. "I know you haven't let yourself fall for anyone since John, but-"

"Please don't bring him into this," you said, the words weary. Patsy had known you for years; she could hear the grief building in the back of your throat before you could swallow it. She paused before speaking, and when she did, her voice was much softer.

"Sorry. I really didn't mean to, but..." You braced yourself for her to continue, your jaw tight. "It's the truth. It's been years. Don't you think it's time for you to stop holding yourself back from living?"

Your sigh was heavy; you would've even chalked it up as being born somewhat of your dramatics if not for the despair you couldn't stop from building in your voice when you responded. "Maybe it is. But I'm not ready to get hurt." The words were almost a whisper, as tearful as any cry. "I... I didn't even like Philip until two days ago; who's to say this won't just pass in another two?"

"I can't make that call for you, love," she replied, tone sympathetic. "But, please, don't self-sabotage out of fear. You deserve so much better than that."

"But I am afraid," you said, and you drew in a shaky breath. "How could I not be?"

"You've been working past all your fears for years, now. Years. It's time to stop being afraid."

"I..." you started, but you trailed off, knowing that putting up a fight wouldn't get you anywhere from there. "Thanks, Patsy. I think that, for now, I just need to clear my head. I don't want to do anything I'll regret."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything else. Love you, Y/N."

At that, you gave a watery smile. "Love you, too."

You didn't move from your spot on the floor until the incessant drone of the dial tone into your ear became unbearable.

It was only minutes later that, after you'd exited the bathroom, flushed the toilet and washed your hands for good measure despite not having used it, ran almost directly back into Philip. He was in the dining room, chatting with Maria when you found him - or, really, when he found you.

You were hesitant to approach the pair, but when Philip noticed you, you could see him cut himself off mid-sentence, muttering something more to her before he made his way across the room to you.

"Hey, Hamilton." You offered him a weak smile, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Since when are we back to 'Hamilton,' hm?"

"Sorry. Just what I'm used to," you mumbled, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Still?"

You shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Alright, princess." He shook his head lightly, amusement written into his smile. "Where have you been? When I came in to find you, you weren't around."

Again, you shrugged. You were on edge, suddenly seeming to be at a complete loss for words. "I just ran to the bathroom. I'm back now," you said lamely, and he grinned.

"I can see that. You wanna come with me to get something to eat?"

You took a deep breath, trying your best to settle your fresh batch of nerves, and you nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright, let's go." He tipped his head toward the kitchen, and when you started in his direction, he reached over, looped an arm around your waist as he began to walk with you, but the sudden contact made your skin jump. You tensed in his hold, and he glanced over to you with a furrowed brow, concern written deep in his expression. "You okay?"

You exhaled shakily. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just fine."

He pursed his lips. "You're sure?"

"Of course. Don't worry about it."

"Okay." He didn't seem convinced, though, as he looked her over once more. "Can we talk later? In private?"

You could feel your heart rate begin to pick up with the hesitance in his voice; your mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. You managed a tight smile and nodded; his expression didn't change. "So, dinner?"

-------

The next hour was tense. You couldn't avoid Philip's skeptical, sidelong glances; you couldn't avoid how you shrunk away every time he came just inches too close for comfort.

The past few days had become comfortable, a difference you couldn't help but find pleasant, but it was a change so gradual you almost hadn't noticed — that is, until it came rushing toward you all at once. You were constantly on edge, and his concern only seemed to grow. You tried to relax, but your nerves wouldn't let you, not as you questioned every fleeting touch, every lopsided smile.

Within an hour, nearly all of the family had been herded back outside, something you didn't mind in the least — the overcrowded lawn gave you an easy excuse to ignore Philip, focusing your energy on his little cousins and siblings. (You and Eliza Jr. had established quite the rapport; she'd provided the imaginary tea and cookies and was now filling you in on all the real tea in her brunch circle, including the failed marriage between her Barbie and her stuffed crocodile. It'd been toxic for both of them, or so you were told.)

As hard as you tried to forget the unfortunate epiphany that afternoon had brought you to, it remained perpetually at the surface of your mind, coloring every one of your interactions with Philip. His concern appeared to be unavoidable, too.

"Hey, princess."

You jumped at the feeling of Philip's hand coming to rest on your shoulder, tearing you from your scintillating conversation with your new four-year-old (tea) drinking buddy. You glanced back at him with wide eyes, a hand on your chest as though to still the rapid thumping of your heart, and he stood there with an eyebrow raised.

"Jesus. You can't just scare me like that," you said, seemingly winded, and he only laughed.

"My sincerest apologies."

"Oh, I'm sure."

He swung a folding chair out from the table behind you, turning it so he could sit beside you, facing his little sister with a grin. "So, what have you and Y/N been talking about? Have you been spilling all the family secrets while I wasn't around to hear?"

She let out a huff, seemingly put-off by his appearing. "No, we've been talking about my drama."

You couldn't help but grin when she folded her arms, wearing a stubborn frown, and Philip turned to you with a brow raised. "And what drama might that be?"

"I've been persuaded to act as a divorce lawyer for a crocodile and a Barbie."

"Oh, really?"

You nodded your frank confirmation. "I'm responsible for dividing up the assets."

That coaxed a chuckle from him as he glanced to Eliza. "Seems like a big job. Why wasn't I offered the position?"

"'Cause you aren't as nice as Y/N," she said matter-of-factly, and your eyebrows shot up. "You can't be mean to them while they're going through a divorce."

"Seriously?"

"You heard her," you said, casting Philip a look of faux contempt. "You have to be gentle with their feelings."

"And I'm not good enough at that?" He raised an eyebrow, and although his smile was still light, your conversation still surface-level, the broader circumstances left a heavy undertone in his words that put you on edge. You forced a smile.

"I wouldn't know."

"No, he isn't good enough at it, Y/N," Eliza Jr. insisted, yanking you abruptly from beginning to overanalyze his words. "You can leave us alone, Pip. We've got it handled."

"You're just gonna send me away?" he asked incredulously. She shrugged, and he turned to you. "C'mon, back me up, here."

"Actually, you should stay," you agreed, but at the tension in your tone, he furrowed his brow. "I'm going to go inside for a little; I need something to drink." You turned to Eliza Jr. with a smile. "Is it alright if Philip holds down the fort for a while with the divorce? I give him my full endorsement."

She huffed, folding her arms. "Okay. But don't stay away too long; my Barbie needs you."

"Thanks, Eliza. He promises he won't let you down; don't you, Pip?"

Although you offered him a light smile, the skepticism in his gaze didn't dissipate. "Yeah, of course," he ultimately said, turning back to his sister. "So, fill me in. What tore their marriage apart?"

You couldn't help your soft smile at how serious he looked as Eliza handed him the plush crocodile, but when he shifted in his seat, you flinched, figured he was about to turn to see you standing there stating at him. When he didn't, you took a deep breath and continued back toward the house. You were struggling to keep your bearings. Keep it together, Y/N.

Unfortunately, you'd spent the weekend so focused on Philip (too focused on Philip) that you hadn't bothered to give the layout of the house a second glance. The minute you stepped inside, you were essentially wandering.

You greeted Philip's family (and non-family) members in passing on your way, struggling to connect names to faces and forgetting whether the man who asked where to find Philip was John Laurens or John Church. They asked you if you needed help finding something, but no, you assured them you were just making a run inside to retrieve something from your suitcase.

That was how you found yourself in a secluded little library off at the far end of the first floor. You sank into the cool leather couch with a sigh, glad to be able to finally catch your breath — you could still see the reunion just outside the window, though, and the thoughts that'd had your head spinning all day didn't care to subside.

You only realized you were looking for him after you found him, still seated with Eliza Jr., but it seemed Eliza Sr. had found a role in the divorce proceedings, and you laughed quietly to yourself.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You jumped at the gentle voice that came from the doorway off to your left. You'd thought you were alone, but when you turned, you found a woman walking in to join you who couldn't have been more than 45.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, standing up with wide eyes. "I didn't mean to intrude; I just—"

"No, none of that," —she waved off your apology, the wine in her tall glass sloshing about— "Eliza and Alex don't care where you go in their house. Their kids are seven too many for them to give a damn what happens to their property. You could trash the place, and they'd blame William."

You weren't quite sure whether you should stay, though. You froze in the process of standing up, eyeing the woman warily. She laughed. "What I mean is, relax. Geez."

Her easy nonchalance was putting you more at ease, and when you sat back down, she joined you on the other side of the couch. A moment passed, and you were about to fill the silence, but she beat you to it.

"So, I don't recognize you, which must mean you're the girl Philip tricked into coming home with him for a weekend," she said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of her wine.

"I..." you started, trailing off as you processed her words, and when she raised her eyebrows, you said, "yeah, I guess that'd be me. I'm Y/N."

"Oh, I know who you are. Think I've seen you in a few photos, but after the first five niece-in-laws, they all started to look the same," she sighed, clearly expecting you to commiserate with her. You were still stuck on trying to figure her out before you said anything you shouldn't.

She bumped her elbow into yours. "Don't look so scared. I'm not saying I'm expecting you two to get married anytime soon," she assured you. "Philip's never been great with commitment, either. You're the only long-term relationship he's had since high school, y'know."

So her quip about Philip 'tricking you into coming home with him' really was just a joke. The tension in your shoulders eased.

"I mean, we're taking things slow. One day at a time," you said, plastering on a smile. You hesitated. "But I'm sorry, have we met?"

She laughed, took another sip of her drink, and as she shook her head, you weren't sure what to make of how entertaining she was finding your question.

"No, no, not yet," she said. "I'm Philip's Aunt Peggy, Eliza's sister. Probably should've covered that before ambushing you in the library, huh?"

"That's alright." Your smile was candid, then. "It's really nice to meet you; Philip's told me quite a bit about you."

She cocked a dubious eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all." She was still eyeing you skeptically as she swirled her wine glass. "He's told me all your travel stories — I hear you're the fun aunt. Can you confirm?"

She shrugged it off, but her smile was wide. "Ah, he's just saying that because I sent the Hamiltons desserts in bulk when I was abroad. I'm just funding his materialism."

"To be fair, if any of my aunts sent me that much candy, they'd be my favorites, too," you reasoned.

"Aw, I'm his favorite?"

"Don't tell the others."

She snickered. "No promises."

"Well, if you do, don't rat me out," you warned, but your smile was amused. "You didn't hear it here."

"Alright, alright, I'll give you a pass," she sighed, "but only 'cause you're my favorite of the girls he's dated. You didn't hear that here, either."

"Don't make that call just yet," you said skeptically. "You hardly know me."

"No, but I've heard about you," she said. "I can tell you're better for Philip than any of his exes were. Just take me at my word."

"Seriously?" She nodded, and you eyed her dubiously. "What about Henriette? As far as your family's concerned, she can do no wrong."

The sidelong glance Peggy gave you was amused, but you shifted in your seat as she took a sip of her wine. "You don't need to worry about Henriette." Your eyebrows shot up. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a sweet girl."

The thought didn't seem quite complete, though, and you waited for her to continue. "...but?"

"But, well... at the end of the day, she was bad for him, and that was that," Peggy said frankly. "I mean, he broke up with her for a reason."

"He broke up with her?" The disbelief was clear in your voice, but Peggy didn't pay it any mind. She just nodded.

"Philip was head over heels for that girl, once upon a time." She turned to you, and your unease must've been written more clearly across your face than you thought. She gave you a comforting smile, rested a hand on your knee. "Don't look so worried, please," she reiterated. "Their relationship was unhealthy. Philip gave her the world, but she always wanted more. It took a toll on him."

"And what makes you think I'm any better?" you asked skeptically.

"Because he doesn't think you're perfect."

You furrowed your brow. "What?"

"I promise, that's a good thing," she assured you, but you weren't so confident in her words. She looked entertained at how taken aback you clearly were. In what world was that 'good'? "The reason none of his other relationships lasted was because he saw the women with rose-colored glasses. And I don't blame him; it happens."

"So, he's thought everyone else he dated was perfect?"

She nodded sagely. "He realizes that there are drawbacks to your relationship, love. There are drawbacks to any relationship, of course."

"Well, yeah."

"But he can actually see them, with you. And he still wants you. Don't discount that." She sounded wholly confident in her argument, but you only pursed your lips.

After a moment, she added, "He has a bad record of putting girls on pedestals. But I think he sees you for what you are."

"Someone with a lot of drawbacks?" Your gaze was still disbelieving as you eyed her, but she laughed.

"Well, I suppose." She turned to you. "But someone that's still worth it."

"Oh. Well, that's good, I guess." Your voice was soft, and Peggy squeezed your shoulder affectionately.

"It's rare, too. He's lucky to have found you." You pursed your lips. "So he'd better treat you right, or I'll set him straight. Just call up old Aunt Peggy; I've got your back."

The severity in her tone made you laugh, and she cracked a smile at your reaction. "I'll keep it in mind," you quipped. She nodded approvingly, and your smile was soft as she drained the remainder of her wine from her glass. "Thanks, Peggy."

"My pleasure."

Your eyes had wandered back to the window as you spoke, finding Philip easily as he crossed the yard with Georges and his wife, Emilie. They were talking enthusiastically; what they were saying was beyond you, but he laughed as Georges gave him a playful shove, and Emilie rolled her eyes at whatever he said next.

You didn't quite realize how soft your gaze was as you watched him, but Peggy did.

Moments later, when Philip happened to glance in your direction, he looked surprised to see you sitting there, but he grinned when he met your eyes. He gave you a short, timid wave, and you nodded back in greeting, the corners of your lips upturned. However, the interaction just drew Georges's attention to where you'd hidden yourself away, and when he saw you, his greeting was far more dramatic, waving, gesturing for you to come back out, apparently shouting something at you from outside (without a care in the world about the fact that you couldn't hear him). You couldn't help but laugh outright, returning his wave, and Georges turned to Philip. Whatever he said when he nudged him just made Philip shake his head, apparently exasperated.

"Do you love him?"

"What?" You turned with a start; Peggy's voice snapped you out of your reverie, and you felt like a deer caught in headlights. "Oh, I, um– Well–" You cut yourself off as she raised a concerned eyebrow, and you blinked hard, forced a smile as you gathered your bearings. "I mean... yeah. Of course."

You swallowed hard; how nervous you were was clearly apparent, and Peggy rested a hand on your arm, wearing an apologetic smile. "Oh, lord, I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that," she said. "I just assumed, y'know, after two years together, you two would've said that by now." When you pursed your lips, she was quick to backtrack. "And not that you should've! It's perfectly alright that you haven't."

"No, no, I mean, we have, I just..." you trailed off, unsure exactly how to justify your reaction. Peggy's dark brow knit.

"Then what's got you so nervous to confirm it? You two aren't having problems, are you?"

"No," was all you said, but there wasn't much conviction in your tone. When you met Peggy's gaze, you were relieved to see that the look in her eye wasn't of skepticism but was instead of concern.

"That answer sounded like it came with stipulations, love."

"No, it didn't," you assured her, but she raised an eyebrow. A beat passed. You swallowed hard. "It's just... how do you know if you love someone?"

Peggy tilted her head to one side. "Have you never been in love before?"

"I mean, I have," you acquiesced, and when you didn't go on, she filled the silence.

"So don't you know what it feels like when you're in love, then?"

"It's just... been a while." Your gaze drifted down to the printed rug before the couch, focus suddenly on how the toes of your shoes sank into the plush fabric. Peggy rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

You swallowed hard, gave her a reassuring smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it is, really."

"You can talk to me, y'know. I won't go spilling your business to the family."

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

"Well," you started, turning away from Peggy, gaze unfocused, "I don't know how I feel about Philip, honestly."

"You're sure there's no issue between you two?"

"It's nothing he's done," you said softly, and after you swallowed hard, you finally admitted, "but... I'm a widow. I haven't been with anyone else since my late husband, and it's been years, now."

"You're a widow?" she repeated, and you nodded.

"We married young. But since he passed, I..." You shrugged, feeling tears welling in the corners of your eyes. As you wiped them away, you offered her a weak smile in an effort to ease how silly you were feeling. "I mean, that was my last serious relationship. It's been hard to figure out how to proceed from there."

"I'm so sorry," Peggy said softly, and the concerned look she wore was genuine. "Come here."

She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side where you sat, and you gave her a grateful smile. "You're sweet, but I'm fine, honestly. It's been so long. But it might've left me with just a little fear of attachment."

"You poor thing; I can't imagine," she said, rubbing your upper back comfortingly. "But it's alright that you feel like this; you shouldn't feel guilty about being slower to open up."

"I didn't say I felt guilty."

"Do you?"

A long moment passed in silence, and eventually, you said softly, "...I mean, honestly? Yeah. It sucks to not be able to figure out what it is I'm feeling. I… I can’t help but think Philip deserves better."

"We've all been there at one time or another. Don't beat yourself up."

"How did you know you loved your husband?" you asked, and she pursed her lips, thought on it for a moment.

"Well, I'm certainly no relationship expert, so take this with a grain of salt," she said, "but I've told quite a number of people I loved them in all my life, and it took me quite a few failed romances to figure out which ones were real."

"Then how did you decide what love actually was?" you asked hesitantly, and Peggy's gaze was absent, faraway, but her smile was tender.

"I realized I was in love when being with them meant more to me than my freedom," she said. "That's why they never lasted. I spent my twenties traveling the world, jumping from job to job and partner to partner."

"'Partner to partner'?" you interjected, an eyebrow raised.

She shrugged. "Partner, significant other, whatever you kids are calling it these days."

"We say boyfriend, usually."

She gave you an amused smile with that, though, turning to again meet your gaze. "Oh, no, you misunderstand me," she replied frankly. "They were rarely men."

"Oh!" Your eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to assume—"

"That's just fine. No need to apologize." She shrugged, but she looked entertained at how panicked you were, immediately trying to backtrack. "But anyway, I was only willing to settle down with my husband when keeping my lifestyle would've meant losing him."

Your smile was soft. "That's sweet."

"Oh, is it?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Well, good. I half expected you to think I was talking nonsense."

Her candid surprise made you laugh. "No, I appreciate it. It's been nice to have someone to talk to about all this."

"I'm glad." She nudged your arm lightly, wearing a small smile. "And I know you'll be fine. Take as much time as you need to figure it out; I have a feeling Philip will be there waiting for you in the end."

-----

You didn't go back outside after that.

The weight of everything you'd just unloaded onto his aunt hit you like a freight train, and her words stuck with you. You were second-guessing everything that'd happened that weekend, replaying all the little things you took for granted: the enigmatic advice Georges had apparently given Philip when you first arrived at your office all those years ago; what his niece had heard him saying about you. His teasing comments, the stolen glances, the accidental, fleeting touches that lasted just a moment longer than they should've. It all added up to one larger picture that you weren't sure you wanted to see.

And your theory that you were there to make his ex jealous was blown wide open the minute you found out Philip had been the one to end things with Henriette. (No wonder she'd been trying to trudge up their old memories.)

You refused to think any further than that; you knew the conclusions you'd have to draw would make all this so much more real. And that thought scared you more than anything.

You were pacing the halls of the Hamiltons' first floor. The only reason you finally went upstairs was because one too many cousins had asked you where you were going — you’d been telling people you were headed up to get something from Philip’s room for nearly the past half hour.

That was how you found yourself seated on the end of Philip's bed, reeling from the afternoon's events.

You did retrieve something from your suitcase, ultimately. The deep-red, velveteen box was soft under your fingertips as you played with it anxiously, picking at the sides but never quite working up the nerve to open it. It wasn’t like it’d been that long since you opened it, either; it couldn’t have been more than a week, but this time, when you flicked it open, staring down at the gold band and its tiny diamond felt different.

What would John think if he could see you there?

Patsy was convinced he’d only want you to be happy, and that he wouldn’t mind who you were with. She’d tell you it was time to move on with your life. But did moving on have to mean leaving him behind?

And falling for someone else felt like abandonment of the worst kind. It felt like you were cheating on him, like you and he were falling out of love. As much as you still missed him, as much as you grieved for him, every day, the memory of what it felt like to be his slipped further away from your grasp.

You ran your fingers over the cold metal of the ring, and your hands shook as you slipped it onto your ring finger. For a fleeting moment, you could almost convince yourself that you were still somebody’s wife.

Light footsteps padded down the hall outside Philip’s room, and they were quiet enough that they didn’t snap you out of your reverie until the door’s hinges creaked. Your heart stopped.

And to your relief, the person who opened the door was just six-year-old William.

“Philip, are you…” He trailed off when he saw you on Philip’s bed, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Oh! Did you see Philip in here?”

“Hey, William,” you said, but your accompanying laugh held a hint of anxiety. “Philip isn’t up here; sorry. Last I saw him, he was out in the backyard.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Can you help me find him? Daddy needs him, but I don’t wanna make him sad ‘cause I don’t know where Pip is. I think he’s hiding from us.”

“Yeah, sure; I’d love to help,” you answered, and your endeared smile was candid. His determination was almost making you forget about your ring entirely.

“Thank you.” He seemed more than ready to drag you out of Philip’s bedroom, watching you eagerly as you hesitated to stand and go with him. You’d hoped he’d go ahead and let you catch up with him momentarily, but he stood there and watched you expectantly where you sat on the bed, and you apparently had two options: take the ring off then and hope William didn’t realize it was a wedding ring, or wear it out and hope you can find a time to hide it discreetly. The only issue was that you had no pocket to leave it in.

“No problem; let’s go.” You ended up choosing the former. William’s eyes didn’t leave you as you popped the ring’s box back open, and when you heard him gasp, your miscalculation became obvious.

“Is that a wedding ring?” he asked, and your eyes widened.

“No! No, it… I mean yes, but—”

“When did you and Pip get married?” Oh, fuck. Your pulse was pushing into overdrive. “Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? What about Mama and Pops?”

“We didn’t… we didn’t not invite you, but—”

“But I wasn’t there.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, stifling a groan when he wore a deep frown. “Did your parents come?”

“No, they—”

“Why didn’t you and Pip tell us?” he asked. “It was a special location.”

Special loca…? “Special occasion?”

“That’s what I said.” He wore a pout. “Well, now we’ve gotta go tell everyone, c’mon.”

He turned and started running, and you swallowed hard. Oh, shit.

“Wait, William, come back!” you called after him, and you scowled when he didn’t stop. You had to finish putting the ring away before you could start after him — going back out to his family with it would only spell disaster. “William?”

By the time you took the ring off, tucked its box back into your suitcase, it seemed he was out of earshot. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, he was nowhere to be found; he’d weaved between his family members’ legs until he was out of sight.

Well, you were certainly, thoroughly fucked.

You began to wade through the crowd in the kitchen, eyes darting around the floor for any sign of a retreating William, going through room after room to no avail, but your heart rate was steadily increasing with every moment you didn’t find him.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes until one of Philip’s family members approached you.

“Y/N?” Frances Laurens— no, Frances Henderson, who’d taken her husband’s name the previous summer, approached you from behind, and you spun around abruptly in surprise. “Hey, when were you going to tell us that you and Philip were engaged?”

Your throat tightened. “What?”

“William just told us.” She nudged you with a lopsided grin. “Congrats; welcome to the family.”

“Oh, no, there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“Wait, you’re getting married?” The William who interjected into your conversation was, unfortunately, not the one you were looking for. Instead, you followed the voice to find the younger Mulligan son standing with a beer.

“No, no, it’s not like… William just— well, not you William, William Hamilton—”

“Hey, William just told me you and Philip were finally getting married. What made you decide to tie the knot?” That was Georges, and your head jerked in his direction.

“Oh, thank god there’s going to be another woman at family dinners when he’s in town.” Angelica Hamilton approached from your left.

“Wait, what? Do you have a date for the wedding?” You hadn’t a clue which of the Lafayette sisters that was (well, you knew it wasn’t Henriette). “You better invite all of us. You might need a big venue to fit the whole family.”

Oh, god, you were in deep. It seemed William had managed to do quite a bit of damage without a whole lot of time.

“I need to talk to Philip,” you said, voice breathy. You knew you sounded winded, but his family all wore wide grins, patting you on the back or squeezing your shoulders — the Hamilton-Schuyler-Lafayette-Laurens-Mulligans were certainly a touchy-feely bunch.

“Yeah, where is your fiancé?” Georges asked, scanning the room.

“He’s not—”

“Hey, Philip!” It seemed he’d found him, yelling across the dining room, and Philip started toward you with his hands in his pockets, watching the crowd that’d formed around you curiously. “You ever planning on telling us you proposed? Or were you gonna wait till you had your firstborn, huh?”

Georges’s grin was wide as he shoved Philip affectionately, but Philip’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“William spilled everything. Congrats, you two,” Frances said, and when Philip met your eyes, you looked defeated.

“Oh, did he?”

“Relax, we’re all excited for you. No one’s mad that you hid it.” Apparently, you weren’t the only one who heard the tension in Philip’s voice as he glanced between you and Angelica warily, and she squeezed your upper arm with a smile. “It’s great news.”

“Yeah, no wonder you finally brought her home.” The Mulligan son— shit, his name was escaping you. Was it Wyatt? Winston? No, shit, what were you thinking? He was also William; how the hell did you forget—?

“I’m sorry, what exactly did Will tell you?” Philip asked hesitantly.

“He saw Y/N with the ring a little while ago. Not sure why you decided to hide such big news from us, but—”

“Right, can I have a word with my fiancée real quick?” He met your eyes with an urgent look, and you winced. “In private?”

“Oh, c’mon, it was an honest mistake; don’t be too hard on her,” Georges said. “Does it really matter? We were gonna find out anyway, so—”

“We’ll be back down in a bit.” Philip spoke through clenched teeth as he cut Georges off, walking toward you, and he grabbed you by the bicep, grip tight as he pulled you toward the doorway. Your breath caught when you stumbled forward. You were out of earshot before any of his family members could get another word in, and you struggled to keep pace with his long strides as he continued toward the staircase.

“Come on.” His voice was low when you reached the home’s entrance hall, and when he started upstairs to his room, you were quick to follow him. He locked the door behind you.

A moment passed in silence as he turned around to face you. The tension in the air was thicker than your ass.

He folded his arms.

“Care to explain why my entire family thinks we’re engaged?”

“It’s…” You rubbed your forehead as though it’d relieve your throbbing headache. “It was an accident. I swear it was; William just… he saw me with a ring, and he thought—”

“Why the hell did he think we were getting married? What’d you tell him?” Philip’s voice was rising as he spoke, and you had to swallow the lump building in your throat.

“I didn’t tell him we were engaged,” you defended. “I was just putting my ring back in its box, and he made an assumption. That’s it.”

“What ring?” he asked. “You aren’t wearing a ring. I haven’t seen you with a ring all fucking weekend. Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Of course not.” You huffed. “What, do you think I did this on purpose? That I wanted your family to think we were engaged?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

“No; why would I?”

“Oh, be honest, Y/N. You just agreed to come home with me this weekend so that you could fuck with me, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry, do you really believe I’m just here to make your life harder? That I want to push you deeper into your stupid fucking lie?” you asked incredulously. “I came to cover for you. Because you told them we’d been together for two years.”

He scoffed. “Please, like you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to mess with my personal life. Let’s face it; we both know you’ve never liked me.”

“We weren’t friends, but I’ve never had any sort of vendetta against you.” Your scowl deepened, and you shook your head in disbelief.

“You told me that you were the one person in our office who hated me. Word-for-word,” he retorted. “Did you do this to get back at me for using you as my fake girlfriend?”

“I don’t hate you.” He didn’t think that it was reasonable for your tone to be that defensive. “I've never hated you; I… I was just being dramatic. And even if I did have it out for you, I wouldn’t do this to your family.”

“Then why didn’t you tell William that we weren’t engaged?” he asked. “Hm? What the hell happened that my entire family managed to learn that you’d told him we were getting married in all of five minutes?”

“I tried to tell him we weren’t, but he was asking about the ring, and—”

“You should’ve told him it wasn’t an engagement ring!”

“I tried to! He asked if it was a wedding ring, though, and…” Your voice trailed off. The smallest shreds of a sob were building in your throat, and you were trying to speak through them, but your chest was tightening.

“And you didn’t set him straight?”

“It was a wedding ring, Philip. He stopped me before I could explain that we weren’t getting married, and by the time I could go after him, he was already downstairs. I lost him in the kitchen; I couldn’t stop him,” you said. “I swear, I tried to prevent this.”

A moment passed in silence. His gaze was absent, fixed on the floor, and he was shaking his head ever-so-slightly in disbelief.

“Why’d you have a wedding ring if you didn’t come here planning to fuck up my family life? If you didn’t wanna bury me further in this stupid lie I told to get my family off my back?” he asked. “Were you wearing the wedding ring?”

You nodded. “He came in, and I tried to hide it before coming downstairs, but—”

“Why the hell were you wearing a wedding ring?”

“I only put it on for a minute!”

“Why do you even have one? And why would you bring it home this weekend?”

“It’s…” Your jaw ached as you tried to keep yourself from crying. You blinked back the tears that stung the corners of your eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. You didn’t want him to see the old emotions that were breaking loose. “It’s old. I got it years ago.”

“What? Why?” The incredulity in his voice was making you cringe, and he threw his hands up in frustration. “What am I supposed to do with this, Y/N? You really expect me to believe that you wearing a wedding ring around my family was completely innocent? That you didn’t—?”

“I’m a widow, Philip.” You nearly had to shout to be loud enough to cut him off, and while he’d begun pacing in agitation, your words made him freeze.

He turned to you. “...You what?”

“I’m a widow,” you repeated softly, and his wide eyes met yours as he saw the tears building in them.

“I…” He started to reply, but his voice faltered. All the anger had been wiped from his expression, replaced quickly with surprise, apology, worry. “Shit, Y/N. I… fuck, I’m sorry, I had no idea.” His voice was quiet.

“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known.” You wiped at your left eye when the first tear rolled down your cheek. “It’s not like I ever talked about it.”

When he took a seat beside you on the bed, his hand came tentatively to cover yours. You drew in a shuddering breath. “Still. I’m sorry I… well, that I blew up like that. I didn’t mean to bring up your past like this; I—”

“It’s fine, Philip. Really.” You laced your fingers into his, squeezed his hand reassuringly. “No one expects a 26-year-old to be a widow. I don’t blame you.”

He nodded when you glanced up at him, and goosebumps ran up your arm when he swept his thumb over the back of your hand. “What was his name?” he asked quietly, and you pursed your lips.

“John.” You sniffled. “We met in high school, got married just after we graduated college.” Although you paused, he didn’t say anything, giving you room to pause, take a breath, and you knew that if you wanted to go on, he was there to listen. “We… god, we were so happy, for a while. I followed him to New York for college; I swore I’d never plan my life around a man, and I knew he wouldn’t ask me to, but I didn’t want to live without him. I was so sure that we wouldn’t break up, so I didn’t think we had anything to lose.”

Your voice was devolving into a croak as you went on, and you had to swallow your whimper when you came dangerously close to crying. He could hear your words breaking.

It caught you off guard when Philip wrapped an arm around your waist, pulled you into his side. The action was hesitant, and his grip on you was soft; he half expected you to recoil from his touch, but when you pulled closer, leaned against him, he held you close.

“He died almost two years after we graduated,” you murmured, cheek pressed against Philip’s shoulder. His shirt was damp from your slow, silent tears. “No one saw it coming. He was shot when someone broke into our house. It all happened in less than an hour, and then he was gone.”

Your voice broke altogether with your final few words. You could no longer keep down the sob in your throat, try as you might to keep speaking through it. You drew in a shuddering breath, but when you exhaled, you were crying audibly, tears flowing freely. “Shit, I… I didn’t mean to dump all of this onto you. You didn’t need to know all my…” —you hiccuped— “all my stupid fucking trauma, but—”

“Shh, relax. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you, and the warmth rising in your chest wasn’t something you wanted to be able to explain when he turned toward you on the bed, wrapped his other arm around the back of your shoulders and pulled you into him. “C’mere. I’ve got you.”

As much as you were caught in your head, struggling to claw your way out of the memories you’d buried yourself in, you couldn’t have been more present in that moment. Philip smelled like the sun, like freshly-washed cotton, like lazy mornings after a long night of sleep; he smelled like something you couldn’t describe as anything other than warm.

And so you let yourself cry. You didn’t explain anything further; he wasn’t going to ask, didn’t need to know how you’d moved across the city within a week of John’s funeral to get away from everything that felt so painfully like him. He wasn’t going to pry. If you wanted to talk, wanted to tell him anything, needed someone who was just there to listen, that was your prerogative, and he wouldn’t try to force it. You were free to take your time, safe in his arms.

He rubbed your upper back, and your eyes fell shut.

“Thanks for being here,” you mumbled against the scratchy material of his button-down. “I… I’m sorry I made such a damn mess of your family life. I didn’t mean to; I swear, I—” You were cut off by a hiccup, a shuddering sob, and he held the side of your head against his chest, stroking your hair absentmindedly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You did nothing wrong. I’m gonna be just fine, alright? It’s you I’m worried about.”

You wore a watery smile at his words. “You’re too nice. I… I fucked up, and you don’t have to pretend you’re alright with it.”

“I’m fine. Honest.” Only when your breathing evened out did he lean back, lift your chin to look at him. He offered you a small, lopsided smile. “So, I guess we’re gonna have to go back down there and tell my parents we’re engaged, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Don’t look so sad, princess; this is supposed to be a celebration.” The guilt weighing on your shoulders must’ve been written across your face, and as he nudged you lightly, his words made you laugh.

“Mmh, we’ve really hit a relationship milestone, haven’t we?”

“Looks like it,” he said. “So, what’s the story? How’d I propose? Was it oh-so-touching, or did I butcher it ‘cause I was an emotional mess?”

“Well, you had a whole speech prepared,” you informed him, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

“I did?”

“You did.” You nodded. “Only problem was that when you got down on one knee, you were crying too hard to be able to actually get through it. You were just so moved by how beautiful I looked that night, and you couldn’t keep your feelings in check when you thought about spending the rest of your life with me.”

“You sound like you’ve really thought this out,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been fantasizing about it. I know how incredible and attractive I am, but I didn’t think we were on that level yet.”

“Of course not. Don’t worry.” You couldn’t contain your entertained grin. “This was all Theo’s fantasy that she told me while you were ignoring her. She’s still really convinced it’ll happen, so I guess now you have an instruction manual for your engagement with her.”

That made him laugh outright. “When Theo and I get engaged?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Now you’re really talking nonsense.” He shook his head, but as he eyed your expression, the tear tracks on your face, his brow furrowed with concern. “...Are you alright, Y/N?”

You nodded, swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” The calloused pad of his thumb ran over your cheek, wiped your tears away, and you found yourself staring. The look in his dark eyes was heavy; god, you could’ve drowned in it, and his eyes were watering, too, no doubt from watching you cry, from seeing how much pain you were in, how deep your grief ran.

He wished he could take that all away from you. If he could shoulder the burden for you, no matter how heavy, he’d have done it in a split second — even if you didn’t want him, even if you’d never look at him in the same way that he looked at you, he knew you, and he knew you didn’t deserve to suffer like this. He cleaned the smeared mascara from under your eyes with the end of his sleeve as though somehow, some way, that could alleviate your suffering.

And you couldn’t see all of that. But you saw how he looked at you. That much was unmistakable.

He held you as though, if he let go, you might break, and in that moment, part of you felt like you might. He’d never thought he’d really be holding you like that.

But there was so much care in his gentle gaze, although you had no way to know all that was going on beneath it. You felt safe, safer than you’d felt in a long time as he rubbed circles into the small of your back, shifting you onto his lap, and he was so close, his face just inches from yours. If you leaned forward just a little, you could kiss him.

And when your gaze trailed down to his lips, downturned in a concerned frown, as consumed in you as every other part of him, you did. You finally took the opportunity presented to you, and you didn’t intend to let yourself continue to squander it.

Sitting on his lap at the end of his bed, you kissed him.

[hankwritten]

Disapprobation

Demoman/Soldier, 3k Warnings: Mild Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia

n. Moral disapproval; condemnation. Tavish’s life has a lot of shouldn’ts

Tavish’s life has a lot of shouldn’ts

For instance, he really shouldn’t be risking life and limb to meet up and have drinks with some barmy American he met at a projectile weapons convention. He shouldn’t be breaching contract over a bloke who’s got so many screws loose he could open up a hardware store, shouldn’t be sneaking around when the best case scenario is a few good laughs and the worst case scenario is losing a multi-million dollar salary.

He shouldn’t keep his lunch in the same place he keeps his potassium chloride. He shouldn’t drink so much, but he’s heard that one so many times anyway it’s hard to pay attention to. The voice of self-preservation is constant and buzzing, putting a churning in his gut, reminding him that he could be making friends with folks who aren’t a walking death sentence. He shouldn’t be going out for ribs. He shouldn’t be accepting invites to Las Vegas for the furlough.

He definitely shouldn’t be pressed into the mattress, another man’s tongue in his mouth.

The hotel bed creaks as Jane kisses him harder, and he thinks, oh god he wishes he could just not think. Their bodies are hot pressed against each other, their fancy jackets gone for the evening as they’re down to their undershirts as insubstantial barriers between skin on skin. Jane is heavy on top of him, and he shouldn’t like how that feels, to be held down while he and his best friend suck the air out of each other’s lungs. Jane has each of his wrists pinned to the sheets, and he shouldn’t like that either, how Jane’s taken control, how Tavish is slowly letting himself come undone.

There’s this plop at the loss of suction as Jane lifts his lips off Tavish’s and onto the Demoman’s neck, whisper-hissing, begging, praying, “Tav, Tavish. Oh god Tav.”

It’s slippery where time is now and where it was minutes ago before he was like this, before he was craving Jane's everything. It happened because they were laughing or maybe fighting or maybe…no they just tripped. They tripped and Jane landed on Tavish, and it wasn’t different at first. It just knocked the wind out of him. It wasn’t until Jane was chuckling and trying to push himself up that they had stopped, that they’d locked eyes and Jane’s smile had slowly fallen away, a mask lifted to something underneath. It was hunger, small and fiery at first when Jane’s eyes openly raked Tavish’s body, not disguising the fact as they took in his state of undress since—unlike Jane—Tavish had been successful at getting out of his dress pants. The hunger had grown hotter, burned brighter, a bonfire as someone kept shoveling more on, and Tavish drank in being looked at like a dying man in the desert. He’d never been desired like that, not in his entire life, and when Jane finished his tour of Tavish’s body he couldn’t suppress the hitch in his breath when their eyes finally met again.

He’d swallowed when Jane leaned closer. He’d closed his eye as Jane had pressed that first, tentative kiss against him.

Now his back arches, shoving his stomach up into the human canopy above him. His nipples are hard and he didn’t know they were so damn sensitive until they scrape against the solid plane of Jane’s chest and he whimpers. He shouldn’t be doing that either. He’s a damn mercenary, a Demoman, and he shouldn’t...

“God Tavish,” Jane’s muttering in his mouth in-between rough kisses. “I fucking. I love you. Want you so damn bad.”

And Jane must be a fucking mind reader because those words are a switch in Tavish’s brain. He can’t censor the moan that comes out of him, no matter how weak, how pathetic he sounds as his hips jerk upwards. Jane is moving his arms, and it takes him a second to notice that Jane is taking time to pin down both his hands with one of his own, and his free one now slides down until it can toy with the edge of Tavish’s undershirt.

“Jane…”

It’s the only thing he’s said in ages. He shouldn’t be saying anything at all, let alone confessing what’s coursing through his system, revealing how I want you isn’t quite right but I want you to want me is just so damn conceited. So the only thing he can do is breathe Jane’s name in a plea.

The roaming hand snakes up under his tank, the pretense of attire gone as the too-cold fingers press against unbearably hot flesh. Jane further displays his mind reading powers tweaking Tavish’s nipple with his thumb, clawing out another gurgle from the Demoman.

It’s so dangerously similar now, edging so close to fear, the shouldn’ts piling in his head as his breath increases. He tries to lift his arms and can’t. He tries clear his mind and can’t. He tries to make his voice behave where his body will not, as Jane’s knee begins to move up-

“Jane,” he yelps, only this time he says it in panic as his eye snaps open and he jerks upward. “Shit Jane- shit we need to stop. We’ll- shit.”

Jane freezes. The constriction around Tavish’s wrists lessons, and then disappears entirely and Jane rears back onto his haunches. Tavish wriggles until he’s against the headboard, panting heavily.

“Holy shit,” he coughs.

“You alright Tav?” Jane is looking sideways at him, but not in the way Tavish is expecting. The expression on his face is inscrutable.

“No. No! Of course not, we almost just-” The ghost of Jane’s body is on him, the memory of seconds ago where his hand was so close to Tavish’s waistband. He tries to shake it away. “If I hadn’t said something just now, we would have both crossed some damn lines.”

“Uh. Yeah. Probably.”

Tavish looks up and is bludgeoned upside the head with understanding. He realizes why Jane’s expression is so damn weird: he���s not ashamed. He’s not ashamed in the slightest.

“Jane,” Tavish says cautiously. “You know why we can’t do this, right?”

This when they’re still half-undressed on the bed together, breathless and sweating and the only thing keeping them back is Tavish’s self control. No one else’s. He’s alone at the wheel and Jane’s only refraining out of personal respect, not any sense of how screwed they are.

Jane squints at him. Thinking hard, peering deep into the soul he sometimes claims a RED can’t have, (and at the next drunken moment declaring that if it existed, it would be the purest, bravest soul in the damn world.) “Because you are…no longer in the mood?”

“Because we’re in enough trouble as it is!” Tavish throws up his hands. “Do you know how bloody condemned we are? Already RED and BLU can catch wind of us at any moment, I can’t go into half the places you can in this blasted country, and we want to add shagging each other in our Vegas hotel room to that bloody list?”

Jane’s forehead wrinkles, his features that Tavish has only ever seen go soft in the past few minutes now toughening up again. “Were you not…wanting that?”

“Fuck, Jane of course I wanted it,” the admission falls out too quickly. Too late to grab back and saying it aloud is its own line crossed. Having already failed to keep it packed down, he tries to at least get to his point. “I just shouldn’t.”

Jane stares at him blankly.

“Right. Of course.” Tavish presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Look at who I’m talking to here. Man who’s never suppressed an impulsive urge in his life.”

“It is not an impulse Tav.” Jane almost sounds…offended. Or something like it, as though he's irritated he has to make such an obvious correction. “It’s not an impulse if I’ve thought about doing it nearly every day since I’ve met you.”

That desire, that hunger Tavish had seen. He knows Jane has looked at him before, can now recognize it for what it was, those eyes flickering at him sometimes with the smolder beneath. It feels unwarranted. He feels undeserving, that Jane has been fancying him for months, and he diverts, “if that’s what you want, there’s a lot better sheep in the field.”

Jane narrows his eyes. “Gross.”

“Ach it’s an expression-” Tavish huffs. “Look, if men are to your tastes, you can find a hookup that’s a lot less dangerous. You don’t have to lower your standards just because I’m…around.”

“My tastes?” Jane scoffs. “What do you know about my tastes, DeGroot? Every time we go to the pier, you get me the wrong flavor of ice cream—even when I tell you exactly what kind to get.”

“I told you lad, they were out of ro-”

“My tastes,” Jane carries on, “are rocky road and handsome Scotsmen. So you can take that to the bank and sign it.” Jane crosses his arms.

A new, cool feeling runs down Tavish’s spine, the freezer-burn of fluster. “Jane,” he groans, running his hands over his scalp, craning his neck backwards until Jane finally falls out of his vision. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“I don’t understand why it’s can’t be easy. I love you. You, uh…” Jane trails off. “Like me. I think.”

Not since they stopped groping each other has Tavish wanted to touch him this bad, to assure him that he wants what Jane had given him, wants his hands, his mouth, to feel him again-

Tavish lets out a strangled cough, hard minutes of trying to cool off down the drain. Jane notices his state, the dilatation in his eye, and that only adds to his embarrassment. “Ach, please Jane. It’s not that simple. I just need you to listen, just a few minutes.”

“Fine. I will listen. But then you have to listen while I tell you what I think.”

Tavish allows it. He starts, “doing...” He waves his hand, disturbing the humid air between their still cooling bodies. “This, would be risky. More dangerous than anything we’ve ever done.”

“Un. Like. Ly,” Jane scoffs. “We’ve been sneaking around for ages by this point, and we’re damn good at it. Face it maggot, you didn’t want retreat with your tail between your legs until sloppy makeouts came into the picture.”

Tavish folds his arms. “I was thinking about it before then too. That we should break it off.”

“Ah bub bub bub!” Jane points out gleefully.

“It’s ‘bup bup bup’.”

“Quiet. You thought about it, but you didn’t actually do anything. So what is it Tavish? What’s the difference between then and now?”

An awkward silence hangs between them.

“…C’mon lad, don’t make me say it.” Tavish tries to look away, but he can still feel the solar rays of Jane’s glare socking him in the jaw. “Ach, it’s- what we got here isn’t right Jane. It’s not a natural thing for a pair of mates to do.”

“Ha! Natural?” Jane laughs. “I don’t buy that ‘natural’ crap from hippies and I certainly don’t buy it from you. I do not care about how natural the devil’s lettuce is! I do not care how much natural they cram into those granola bars, or how much fiber will help my bowel movements! Natural is for suckers.”

Tavish stares at him, long and hard, and finally, finally something small and brittle inside him crumbles away just enough that he’s hit with a weak chuckle. “You know, sometimes I don’t know how crazy you really are, and how much is just insight disguised as malarkey.”

“Good,” Jane smirks. “Keep it that way.”

“But still we need to-” Tavish rubbed his eye. “We need to think about this. It feels like I’m the only one here who’s trying to keep us both from getting killed.”

“Why?”

“Well someone has to, and it certainly isn’t going to be you.”

“Why?” Jane is angry now. “Why does one of us have to be holding the goddamn reigns? I didn’t ask you for ribs because I thought you would keep me back, I asked you for ribs because you broke that cop’s back and it was the most glorious display of patriotic strength I have ever seen!”

“Patriotism for where, exactly?” Tavish asks tiredly.

“You damn know well where. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

So Tavish doesn’t deign him with anything, just sits there massaging his head. He knows his rationality is eroding. That Jane is sitting here chipping away with his donkey’s indifference, his stupid, (literally) hardheaded attitude that Tavish can’t just turn away from.

“So,” Jane says. “I listened. Now you listen.”

“I barely got a word in edgewise,” Tavish complains.

“And they were all bad words. Now,” Jane sits crosslegged, stripped in the half-light coming in from the window, painting him radiant. “It’s clear you have some hangups about your latent bisexuality.”

Tavish puts all the power of a two-eyed stare out the focus of his singular optic, hoping the pure concentration gets his disdain though.

Jane carries on. “It is nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Ach, it's just that...I shouldn’t have wanted…shouldn’t have even…”

“You and your damn shouldn’ts,” Jane frowns.

The frustration, the embarrassment, all the waves of different emotions Tavish has been put though are washed away in the new torrent of shame. “Ah fuck.”

“Tavish,” Jane says sternly as Tavish begins to clutch his head. “I have been dying to put you in a supportive yet comforting hug for the past twenty minutes. Permission to embrace you?”

Fuck he could use a hug right now. He could use Jane right now. He nods.

He leans in to the enveloping warmth as Jane holds him in a touch that is scored all different than before, yet the same strange intimacy he’s starting to suspect relates to what Jane said before that knee-shaking I want you so damn bad. That he didn't say that in the heat of the moment or because he feels sorry for the sad Cyclops that happens to be his friend, but because he genuinely wants this as much as Tavish does.

Oh god does Tavish want this.

“Tav, has that stupid voice in the back of your head telling you not to do things ever made you happy?” Jane asks the back wall over Tavish’s shoulder.

“Kept me safe,” Tavish sighs.

“That’s not what I asked, private,” Jane reiterates. “Has it made you happy? Has it ever actually helped you find the man you’re supposed to be?”

Tavish thinks long and hard, bringing his hands up run shaky fingers through Jane’s hair. “No,” he admits. “I don’t think it has. You?”

“Me? I crushed that voice years ago under the heel of my American-made double buckle combat boots. Like a goddamn ant.”

Tavish snorts. “Figures.”

They stay like that, holding each other, for a long time. They stay like that until the neon pizza sign across the street winks off, until the digital clocks on the matching nightstands read long past 4am.

“I don’t know what to do about this,” Tavish admits finally.

“Fair. Even if you did, I wouldn’t listen. You’ve changed your mind so many goddamn times tonight I’d tell you you’d have to sleep on it first before I believed you.”

“I have not,” Tavish laughs. “Just…there’s a lot. And I’m scared. I’m scared every day RED or BLU’ll find out and we’ll be…” He sighs. “I guess it wouldn’t matter at that point if we were friends or…anything else. We’d be dead either way.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Tavish leans back and finds it in him to grin at this stupid, crazy, reckless man that is certainly going to get them both killed. No, no he’s not going to think like that anymore. They’re in this together, and they’d share the blame just as much as they shared each other.

He squeezes both hands to the side of Jane’s face and says, “I love you too, you crazy, crazy Soldier.”

It’s worth it to see the light flare up in Jane’s eyes, the dopey grin that springs to his face. “Well, then that makes you just as crazy as me.”

“Aye, I suppose it does.” He presses his forehead to Jane’s. “We’re already doing a spicy shimmy on what’s taboo and what isn’t. I suppose we shouldn’t give a damn what’s considered crazy.”

Jane’s face is so beautiful, the only shame being how long shouldn’t has kept that realization at bay. But Tavish quashes it, watching as a new question forms in Jane’s brow.

“I know I told you to sleep on it but,” Jane bites his lip. “Can I stay here? While you do that.”

Tavish likes Jane's warmth against him. He likes him here, where their atoms are pressing out against each other in the closest the universe can approximate as touch.

“Aye. Come here.”

They lay down on Tavish’s bed, and Jane rolls around until he’s nestled in Tavish’s arms. As their breathing slows, in sync then out of sync then back again, Jane says, “even if you weren’t freaking out, it’s a good thing you stopped us when you did. We don’t exactly have any condoms.”

Tavish’s jaw locks, and he quickly scoots his pelvis back a few inches. “You’re doing that on purpose,” he snarls into the nape flush with his nose.

“Maybe. I’m craaaaazy, remember.”

Tavish hates him, and loves him more in that moment than he ever has. If this is the night where he’s cut everything off, where he’s chosen this Soldier over the world’s approval, then so be it. He makes a little mental image of an ant, and steps down.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Ace!Draco x Ace!Reader Headcanons:

A/n: so hey y’all. Guess what. I’m ace. That’s a new thing for me. Well not new but ya know like coming out of the closet new. So here’s to pride month and all of my other aces out there 🖤🤍💜 and here’s a bit of my journey... (slightly PG 13) ((and I know we’ve all seen gay/pan/bi Draco, but let me remind you of the 1% and shed some light into what ace can be))

You’re with another guy (let’s call him Steve) and you’ve been dating for a while

You’re a hopeless romantic and just love love but as soon as Steve pushes past second base you sort of shut down because it feels wrong

But it takes some time Steve insists it feels weird when it’s new so you ease into physical affection and then eventually to the devils tango

You lie awake in bed afterwards just wondering why you’re so conflicted. You loved the intimacy with Steve and the affection... just not the sex itself

His words swirl in your head “it feels weird because it’s new” so you keep doing it because you love Steve and you love being vulnerable but something still doesn’t feel right

You don’t say anything and sometimes you just give because you don’t want the sex but you still want that intimacy with Steve and it’s not like he’s complaining

Fourth year comes and so do the students from other schools and Viktor Krum and all of the girls and some guys are just drooling over him

And you can’t find the reason why... sure his face is symmetrical... and well you guess his eyes are a pretty color but you don’t see the reason to get all worked up

Then it dawns on you. You’ve never found anyone attractive. Not even Steve. Not that he wasn’t attractive maybe he was... you just didn’t see it as a factor into liking/loving/dating him. Body’s were cool and all but you didn’t really have a //type// ever. You looked for the right personality

You knew about asexuals your best friend is one you just never thought it would be you because you’re so different from your best friend she didn’t want a partner, but you craved it and you look into it a bit more and BY GOLLY EVERYTHING MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE

You voice this to Steve, scared because well there are just so many things to worry about. Is he gonna think you never enjoyed sex with him? Is he gonna day it’s his fault? Is he gonna say you’re being ridiculous? Is he gonna brush it off? Despite being with him for so long you’re still scared but you trust him... so you tell him

He just sort of looks at you after you finally get the words out. He says he supports you and doesn’t mention it again. So you ask him what he’s thinking and oh boy. “Well I don’t like the idea of my girlfriend saying she doesn’t want to have sex with me. That’s not pleasant. And it’s going to be hard for me because if you turn me on and I can’t do anything with you... but maybe you’ll find out one day whatever is blocking you from this will fade.” He smiles like he hasn’t just crushed your entire world

You excuse yourself and find a room on the seventh floor and just burst in and start sobbing

Full on hysterics, you scream when someone touches your shoulder: Malfoy

You wait for him to make fun of you. Or to snap. Or do something that’s just so like him to do while you’re vulnerable and crying and he just... “did you break up with Steve then?” It’s sort of teasing but not completely there’s some concern there too

Through hiccups and tears you confess your heart to the Slytherin because what else do you have to lose at this point

He sits beside you and starts to talk himself. There’s something that he’s fidgeting with in his hands. You think he has pretty colored skin and very slender fingers... you wonder if he plays the piano or burns easily in the sun

“When I was younger I never really was attracted to girls. Or boys for that matter. I thought I’d grow out of it or find “the one” and I’d finally feel attraction... but... it never really came.” His voice was soft.

You gape at him and wonder if he’s doing this to taunt you. He keeps twirling whatever’s in his hands

“I want the companionship,” you sniffle. “I like the vulnerability... I just don’t want the...”

Draco nodded. Like he understood. And you wondered if he did. He finally holds out what’s been twittering in his fingers: a pin. Four colors: black, grey, white, purple. Four stripes.

You have a good idea of what it is, but you’re not sure. You’re not sure about anything because you barely know what asexuallity is and that you might be it

“Despite popular belief,” Draco muses softly. “I do crave the companionship too. I’m just not too good at showing it... most people just want one thing...”

A watery laugh escapes your lips and you wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry for throwing this all at you,” you whisper, hugging your knees.

“Don’t apologize for feeling something. Or rather not feeling something,” a familiar smirk appears.

“I feel things just fine,” you laugh and shove his arm playfully. “I just...” he nods again.

“Take it,” he offers the pin. “You don’t have to wear it and show people, but you don’t have to forget that it’s who you are and how you feel”

You look at him because holy hell who is this and what have you done with Draco Malfoy. And he seems to pick up on that and laughs, standing, offering his hand. “I told you. I like the companionship... I’m just not good at showing it,”

You understand him a bit better. And you understand yourself a bit better. The pin is clutched tightly in your hands as you leave the room of requirement Draco explains its where he goes to think and feel safe and escape having to play sexually charged games in his common room and was very surprised you got in as well

You spend a few more days with Steve moping and depressed whenever you’re around him because you just feel so ashamed every night you look at the pin that Draco gave you and smile. “This is who I am,” you whisper to yourself

You break up with Steve the next day because he can never understand what you’re going through and the sudden change in your relationship boundaries have wounded his ego and he always makes you feel bad about it

You feel free for a while, smiling at Draco in the halls. And maybe he smiles a few times too. It’s like you’re both in your own secret club and no one else has any idea and it’s kinda fun

One night after a house win in Quidditch Steve has too much to drink and finds you in the library and is very animate about showing you that you can still enjoy—

Your scream gets caught in your throat and you’re terrified and Draco is just there he’s also avoiding the after party in his common room

Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Draco Malfoy

You crumple into Dracos arms sobbing as Pince has someone else take Steve to the hospital wing

Steve never comes back: Draco sent a letter to his father and Steve was expelled on the spot. His case eventually gets dropped and he’s off the hook but Draco blackmails Steve so hard

Hell hath no fury like a pissed off protective Draco Malfoy

You don’t feel safe anymore. You’re so scared of everything that Draco is really the only one who can calm you down. Not only are you scared to come out but you’re scared to be alone with any guy

Which means a lot of nights with Draco in the room of requirement. It’s a different sort of companionship now. There’s not anxiety... just vulnerability

You reach out and take Dracos hand one night... and he just intertwines his fingers with yours. His hands are warm despite the icy complexion and you smile to yourself

You two start dating. Well, companionship. To everyone else it’s dating though. Neither of you are ready to come out just yet.

Sometimes you get taunted by other girls because “you’re dating the most attractive guy at school and you don’t even snog him” and other comments and Draco constantly gets “so how far have you gotten?” or other sexual remarks about you and you’re both just frustrated

You snap one day and scream “can’t I just want to be in his company without having to shag him!? What is wrong with you people!?” I’m the middle of the Great Hall and everyone is staring at you

You sink down into your seat and wish you could disappear but your best friend beams at you and Draco wraps an arm around your shoulders

That night you sort of just rant to him and he listens “how can people just want to hook up? Like why would you want to have a one night stand? Shouldn’t we be worth a bit more than sex? It’s just so wrong!” You’re pouting and Draco finds it endearing

You go to his house over the summer and his mother raises an eyebrow at the sight of you with his son because she totally knows about Dracos sexuality who do you think gave him the pin but she’s happy to see that Draco found a companion she wants what’s best for her son and wants him to be happy

Which means she lets you two sleep in the same bed because she knows it means something different to you two. When Draco tells you that you’re safe to come out to his mother you about sob because you’re still so scared. He holds you

In fact, Draco’s learned that he loves your touch and comfort. They give him warmth and make him feel more human and less estranged. It’s taken some time, but you two are very affectionate, it’s just not sexual which is a total relief to you because you’ve been craving it

One night, you and Draco are in nothing but your underwear because it is hot and the summer hello and just holding each other, talking and vulnerable. Your hands explore his chest and stomach and his are tracing your soft curves with no expectations

You start crying because it’s all too much because it’s exactly what you’ve wanted. For someone to understand to your core what you need and Draco just does and it finally feels right inside

You two have almost no boundaries. You’re not really attracted to him physically and he’s not really into you like that so you’re free to walk around in just his shirt and he can wear nothing but boxers and it’s just normal

It’s also a journey of loving what you see in the mirror. Just because you’re not attracted to anyone else doesn’t mean you can’t think what’s in the mirror is beautiful. You’re your own standard of beauty.

Some nights you just explore boundaries with Draco. Kissing, cuddling, gentle touches. You want to know what makes him tick.

He loves neck kisses and you love collarbone kisses. You like his hands holding your thighs as you’re draped over him and he likes feeling your weight over him and your soft skin. Neither of you prefer snogging much. A kiss here and there but making out doesn’t appeal to either of you

You two also adore having a friend, a companion, a mate. You go to the movies or read books to another. He does play the piano and he plays for you. You reach him how to knit and sew and he teaches you how to waltz and color match

At school you two hold hands in the hall and share soft conversations and most nights end up in the room of requirement or his dorm sleeping together

You wear the pin he gave you on your robes next to your prefect badge and he gets another one and wears it and finally the rest of the school understands

You smile because you’ve found your companion and he’s found his and you don’t feel so lost or alone anymore

.

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[megabadbunny]

love don’t roam

“It’s just sex, Rose,” says the Doctor.

“Oh, is that all?” Rose asks exasperatedly.

(A shag-or-die fic; please check tags for potential warnings. <3)

***

“Welp,” says the Doctor appraisingly, glancing all about the room. Rose watches as he catalogs everything from the vaulted ceilings above them to the intricately-patterned gold-paneled walls surrounding them to the rich marble floors beneath them, polished so thoroughly they might as well be mirrors. Withdrawing the sonic, he scans the ceiling and walls and floor, even the lanterns hanging in the corners, their yellow light flickering cheerfully between filigreed panes. His attention lands on the bed, last, scanning over the velvet midnight-blue drapes and golden tassels, the four posts towering high above, the plush pillows and silk brocade lying atop the mattress below.

“It’s got buckets of atmosphere,” the Doctor concludes, and to Rose’s horror, he starts untying the belt to his ceremonial robe. “Shall we get this over with, then?”

“Are you sure we’ve got to?” asks Rose, nervously worrying her lip between her teeth. “I mean…are they really gonna be able to tell, if we’ve…?”

The Doctor pauses, eyebrow piqued. Waiting for her to continue.

Sighing in frustration, Rose rolls her eyes, fidgeting in her robe as she begs her cheeks not to flush.

“Had sex?” she says, and tries not to choke on the words.

“They’re not watching us, if that’s what you mean. The fertility rite is sacred, to be observed only by the physical participants and the gods above.”

“Oh, is that all?” Rose laughs weakly.

“But they do supposedly have their methods of checking, yes. Nothing too invasive,” the Doctor continues, clasping his hands behind his back. “Again, it’s a highly sacred ceremony; they consider your body to be, quite literally, a temple, therefore performing any kind of invasive procedure would be akin to defiling the temple, which is a crime punishable by death. Thus high priests and priestesses are typically chosen from a pool of candidates whose senses are highly attuned to hormones and pheromones.”

Rose fiddles with her earring. “So what, they can smell if I’ve shagged someone?”

“More or less.”

“And if I haven’t? If we don’t?”

Tugging on one ear, the Doctor averts his gaze. “Difficult to say, exactly, but the outcome would be…less than ideal, to be certain. Refusal to engage in the rite would be a crime akin to blasphemy or heresy. And societies like this don’t respond to that sort of thing very nicely.”

“So there goes our chance of saving the queen, is what you’re saying,” Rose murmurs. “Why didn’t you look into all this before you signed us up for the weird secret fertility-death-cult?”

“That would be because it is, as you so accurately described it, a secret fertility-death-cult,” the Doctor replies pleasantly.

Rose glares at him. “You know, if you were any other bloke, I would’ve thought you got me into this on-purpose.”

“Good thing I’m not any other bloke, then,” the Doctor says cheerfully, hands moving back to untie his robe.

Rose’s pulse thunders madly in her ears. “Wait!” she calls out, smacking her hands over his. “They’re only checking me, right?”

“Right. You’re the temple, the holy vessel—the sacred figure, as it were.”

“Okay. So what if I just like…touched myself, instead?” she asks, cringing even as the words leave her mouth.

“Touched yourself?” the Doctor asks. Looking down at her hands, clenched atop his but still very much touching each other, he frowns. “How would that help?”

“No, I mean like—like masturbating,” Rose says, her cheeks absolutely scalding.

“Well, it depends. Which do you find less awkward, sex with your best mate or masturbating in front of your best mate?”

“I don’t know! It’s all awkward, isn’t it? Being forced to shag someone?” Rose blurts out, wrapping her arms round her midsection protectively. “What about everyone else who joined up with us—are they all going through the same thing right now? Have they got to do the fertility thing, too?”

“Well, yes, but I imagine they’re doing so voluntarily.” The Doctor tilts his head, suddenly thoughtful. “In fact, they all seemed rather eager about it.”

Groaning, Rose turns away to flop down on the bed, burying her face in the duvet. A dip in the mattress lets her know the Doctor has sat next to her; her cheeks flush even more, if that’s possible, and she wishes that the bed would swallow her whole.

“You know, any other bloke might consider all of this a blow to his ego,” the Doctor teases.

Rose laughs curtly, the sound muffled by the duvet.

“Would it help if I turned out the lights?”

Begging her stupid body to please stop flushing, Rose slowly sits up in the bed. “The lights aren’t the issue, Doctor.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what is? I was given to understand you had a fairly easygoing attitude about this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Sexual intercourse,” the Doctor replies.

Now Rose’s laughter is verging on the hysterical. “That doesn’t mean I want to shag just anyone!”

“We’re not talking about just any old anyone, though. We’re talking about me.”

Rose buries her face in her hands, wishing this was all some stupid horrible dream, willing herself to wake up. Any time now would be great.

“It’s just sex, Rose,” says the Doctor.

“Oh, is that all?” Rose asks exasperatedly.

“It is. It’s just bodies and fluids and friction.”

“Oh, great,” Rose mutters. “That makes it so much better.”

The Doctor draws in a long breath, as if he’s drawing deep from the well of his patience. Rose half-expects him to say some silly snide or flippant thing; she jumps when he pulls her hands back from her face, instead.

“Rose,” he says, and in any other circumstances—fuck, in any other circumstances, the way he’s looking at her, gaze soft, stupid kissable mouth open and questioning, would make her stomach flutter, her heartrate hammer to match. “There are multiple ways we could go about this, you know,” he tells her. “Methods that don’t involve vaginal penetration.”

Rose’s ears burn like they’re on fire. “Please stop talking now.”

“I’m just saying, I’m quite dexterous, in multiple senses of the word. Orally and manually talented, if you take my meaning.”

“I really wish I didn’t.”

“Just let me know what sort of stimulation works best for you, and I’ll make it happen. You can guide me along the way, direct me towards your pleasure; I’m a very fast learner, as you know, and I’m confident I can bring you to a very enjoyable orgasm.”

“Oh my god,” Rose groans. “Please stop saying words like vaginal and penetration and orgasm. This is bad enough as it is.”

Huffing in frustration, the Doctor pushes off the bed. “Blimey. I’m just trying to make this easier, Rose. Easier for both of us!”

“It’s not about whether or not it’s easy,” Rose argues. “Easy isn’t the question. Easy isn’t the problem. It’s…”

The Doctor stares at her, eyes wide, brow furrowed in confusion. And just—

God, Rose just can’t bring herself to say it.

Because it isn’t just the horrid awkwardness of this whole contrived situation. Even if this giant weight weren’t looming ominously over them, Rose can’t—she just can’t think about him like that. She’s not allowed to. She won’t let herself. Because the Doctor is above all of that, isn’t he? He’s nearly immortal, practically a demi-god, virtually unreachable, functionally untouchable. The Doctor cares for her—of course he does, Rose knows that, she’s not stupid—and they hold hands and they share adventures and they share their lives, to a degree, but that’s it. She can’t ask for more. She can’t even think about asking for more. That would make her selfish, and stupid, and silly, wouldn’t it? It would be like a moth striving to kiss the sun. Wouldn’t it?

Rose may not know much about mythology, but she knows enough to realize what happens to demi-gods and the unlucky mortals who love them.

“It’s just wrong,” Rose says quietly.

The Doctor’s expression cools. “Wrong,” he repeats, voice flat.

“I don’t mean like that. I mean like—having sex because other people are making you, that’s wrong,” Rose quickly amends. “Sex should be something that people do, because they want to. It should—it should mean something.”

The Doctor watches her, his face inscrutable.

“I mean—I know that’s not how it works for everyone,” Rose adds, thinking of Jack and his easy flirtation, that megawatt grin that guarantees a good time to anyone willing and able within a ten-mile-radius. “And that’s fine, for them. But that’s not how it works for me. I can’t just separate sex from my feelings. I can’t just turn it all on and off like that.”

“I understand that, Rose, and in any other circumstances, I wouldn’t push you on this—wouldn’t even dream of it—”

“Then why are you doing it now?” Rose demands.

Scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably, the Doctor averts his gaze, looking uncertain and, dare Rose think it, the slightest bit worried.

“Doctor,” Rose says, suspicious now, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t want to add undue pressure to the situation,” the Doctor says carefully, “any more than I already have.”

Rose shakes her head. “What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer, his mouth pinched in discomfort, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

Huffing in irritation, Rose pushes off the bed. “Look, we’ll find another way to save the queen, yeah?” she says, walking toward the exit. “For now, let’s just—”

“Stop,” the Doctor bites out, grabbing her by the arm.

Rose obeys, only because she’s surprised at the firmness of his grip. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Let’s just leave, Doctor. Please.”

��We can’t,” he says, but he won’t meet her gaze when he says it. “I’m sorry, Rose. We can’t.”

“Why not? What are they gonna do, if we try?”

“It’s like I said earlier,” the Doctor tells her, slowly. “Refusal to engage in the rite is a crime, akin to blasphemy or heresy. And it is punished as such.”

Rose thinks on those words—uncommon words, to her, blasphemy and heresy, it takes a moment for her to properly place them—but after a moment, she remembers school lessons about witch hunts in the Middle Ages, about horror stories from the Inquisition, about Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Visions of hangman’s nooses and guillotines and deep, dark lakes fill her mind.

The blood rushes from her head, leaving her feeling very swimmy, all of a sudden. “So what,” Rose laughs weakly, “if I don’t do this, they’ll kill us?”

“Not us, Rose,” the Doctor says quietly, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “You.”

An odd ringing sound fills her ears as his words sink in, and the sudden desperation behind them.

Rose shakes herself. “That’s stupid. Don’t be stupid. You’d never let that happen. We can just—”

“We can’t though. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s no way out,” the Doctor replies, frantically running both hands through his hair. Rose wishes he wouldn’t; it’s unbearably sexy, all wild and rumpled like that, and that is not the sort of thing she needs to be thinking right now. “I checked earlier, with the sonic; we’re sealed in, and those seals are deadlocked,” he continues. “The doors can only be opened from the outside. And outside of this room, the temple and the surrounding grounds are patrolled by guards and their beasts. There’s no way to escape, no way to leave until the priests and the guards fetch us in the morning. And their weapons—you saw what they can do, you saw it firsthand. One hit would be enough to kill this body, and that’s saying something. But that’s not the end of the world; it’s unfortunate, uncomfortable, but I’d just regenerate.”

“What do you mean, just regenerate?” Rose demands. “Nothing just about it!”

“But you—you’d never be able to survive that weapon, Rose. You’d be dead in an instant. I’d be powerless to stop it.” The look on his face wills her—begs her—to understand. “I’m sorry.”

Her knees suddenly weak, Rose sinks to the floor and sits, rather than let herself fall.

“Why?” she asks, from very far away.

The Doctor sighs. “The same reason any group like this puts their members through the ringer: they’re looking for absolute dedication. Absolute dedication, total obedience, unquestioning, unwavering loyalty, to the gods, and to their priests. They want to make certain they can say jump, and we’ll pull out the trampoline, no matter what, whether they’re watching us or not. But ultimately, Rose, it doesn’t matter why.”

He kneels to the floor opposite Rose, taking both of her hands in his. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,” he tells her earnestly. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve learned more beforehand; I should have known. I shouldn’t have rushed into this so blindly. And I know you want to try to fight back anyway, and…”

The Doctor swallows loudly. “And if that’s what you really want to do, then we will,” he tells. “I’ll do everything in my considerable power to get you out of here, to save you. But you’ve got to know that I can’t make any guarantees. Not this time.”

“Are you totally sure this isn’t some silly plot that Jack cooked up?” Rose jokes feebly.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know it’s a rubbish choice. But it’s still your choice.” He drinks in a deep inhale. “And whatever you choose…that’s what we’ll do. Okay?”

Rose’s hands feel very clammy in his. “What about the queen, though?”

“Don’t think about her right now. Right now, I need you to think about you.”

Gaze drawn to the floor, Rose tries to think. Almost anything would be better than forced intimacy with an otherwise uninterested and unwilling partner; anything would be better than making things awkward or strange or strained with the Doctor. It would be different if he’d expressed an interest in anything beyond holding hands and slightly-too-long hugs and the occasional platonic cuddle on a cold night out or sleepy night in. But he doesn’t need anything more than that, because he’s not some hormone-addled human enslaved to the driving need of his baser instincts. He doesn’t want intimacy, of the physical kind or otherwise. And the thought of pushing him to do something he doesn’t want or need, straining their friendship in the process, makes Rose feel sick.

And it’s probably not any easier for him, she realizes. The Doctor has likely already calculated every potential scenario. He must have done. And if he’s truly convinced that they can’t safely escape, if he’s run every possible equation and all of them have come up bleak…

Well. At least this explains his weird bullshit cavalier attitude earlier. He really wasn’t trying to pressure her. He was trying to convince her that it was all easy lighthearted fun. Trying to coax her into it, despite any discomfort he may personally have, despite any of his own misgivings, so he didn’t have to tell her just how thin the line is, that her life is hanging from.

(Just how afraid is he, she wonders, of losing her?)

“This is stupid,” Rose announces. “We shouldn’t be stuck in a position like this.”

“I know,” says the Doctor, mouth pinched in discomfort. “But I could always,” he starts to say, and stops, considering. “Would it help if I—”

Rose looks up at him, biting her lip.

“I could make you forget, after,” the Doctor says, his tone carefully neutral.

Something twists deep in Rose’s chest. “No. I don’t want that.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No,” Rose says again, louder this time. “God, Doctor. That’s even worse!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I’m really so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, to make it up to you, to make it easier—”

She shakes her head sharply, cutting him off. “Just—tell me we’ll still be best mates, afterward,” she tells him. “Say it and mean it.”

“Of course we will,” he says, his voice soft, and god, Rose can’t decide if the stupid prettiness of him is making this situation any better, or so much worse. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“As if any of this is easy.”

The Doctor smiles at her. “Oh, but it is. As easy as we want it to be,” he replies, that cheerful mask of his sliding back into place like it never slipped at all, and he springs up from the floor, offering a hand to help Rose up. “After all, like I said earlier, it’s just fluids and friction, Rose. Just bodies,” he says, punctuating the word by drawing Rose up and close, the motion so sudden it makes her gasp, “drawn to each other like gravity.”

The instant switch in tone is almost enough to give Rose whiplash, but not enough to keep her from flushing warm everywhere they’re touching. “Just like gravity?” she manages to say, desperately trying not to notice he’s pulled her hips into his.

“Just like gravity!” he confirms, one hand grabbing her by the waist. “It’s a force of attraction, you see,” he continues, while his other hand reorients itself around her fingers, “which exists between any two masses.”

And just like that, they’re dancing, now, just the two of them, silly and carefree and not a thing wrong with the world. “Of course, traditionally the term refers to mass and its relationship with the nearest orbital body, but it can also refer to two bodies pulled together,” the Doctor continues, spinning Rose and drawing her back in, “by an irresistible—one could even argue magnetic—force.”

“Never knew you were such a romantic,” Rose laughs, steadfastly ignoring how warm she feels at this close proximity, how she can feel his double heartsbeat tapping steadily against her own.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor says with a wink, and that is precisely enough to distract Rose from realizing that he has stooped to leverage an arm under her legs so he can scoop her up, bridal-style. Rose shrieks as he draws her up and close, scrabbling to ensure her robe hasn’t flown open to reveal anything (as if he won’t be seeing it all in a few moments anyway, but she’d at least like it all to be exposed on her terms). “For example,” says the Doctor, beaming at her as he carries her toward the bed, “I am, in fact, deceptively strong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes. Positively riddled with manly muscles, this body is.”

“Only the manliest of muscles,” Rose laughs.

“Indeed, so very manly, that you’ll soon be rendered utterly immune to its irresistible charms,” the Doctor tells her, stopping at the edge of the bed. “Devastated by the pristine gorgeousness of this positively godlike form.”

Rose instinctively loops her arms about his neck, only to look up and realize that, goodness, his face is close to hers, isn’t it? Certainly close enough for a kiss, if they both wanted. Which she doesn’t, Rose reminds herself. Because that’s not what this is about. It’s just a silly adventure, hardly different from any of their usual antics. And one day, they’ll laugh about all this together.

Because that’s all this is. Just a load of dangerous silliness. Like any other day, for them.

“Devastated, huh?” Rose laughs breathlessly. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, I know you will,” says the Doctor with another wink, setting her down on the bed. “Now,” he says, stepping back, withdrawing the sonic again, “where did we land, on the lights situation?”

Biting her lip, Rose wonders how he’d react if she asked him to leave the lights on; all jokes aside, she really doesn’t mind the idea of being devastated by this gorgeous body of his. “Erm. Off, I think,” she answers, internally kicking herself.

Nodding, the Doctor aims the sonic at the nearest lantern, dimming it and all the others in the room until their synthetic flames flicker a subdued amber hue, casting the room into semi-darkness. Once Rose’s eyes adjust, many of the details in the room are now obscured for her, but she still can easily make out the Doctor’s motions as he pockets the sonic and unties his robe. Rose quickly averts her eyes, no matter how much they may long to linger, as she sheds her own robe, dropping it off the side of the bed, feeling more naked and exposed than she ever has in her entire life, lights off or no.

“Come on. Budge up,” the Doctor says, bumping her knee with his, and Rose scoots back on the mattress to make room. The Doctor pulls up the duvet after her—for modesty’s sake, she supposes—and she wriggles her way down in. The Doctor climbs in next to her and she turns on her side, facing him.

“All right,” says the Doctor cheerfully. “How do you want me?”

Rose stutters in surprise, and thank god the Doctor dimmed the lights, because she doesn’t think she could bear for him to see just how utterly bright-red her cheeks are flaming right now. “Wow,” she says. “Right down to business, huh?”

“I’m sorry, would you prefer to engage in a bit of pillow talk, first?”

“Erm,” says Rose, her mind going blank.

“Sweet talk?”

“Er.”

His voice drops a register. “Dirty talk?”

“How about we don’t talk at all,” Rose says quickly.

“But then how else are we supposed to communicate? Isn’t communication supposed to be key for this sort of thing, isn’t that what all of your trashy mags are always wittering on about?”

Rose quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve read my trashy mags?”

“A few of them, sure.” He shrugs against the bedclothes. “You sleep a lot. I get bored. And some of them have remarkably insightful social commentary.”

“Maybe I should just masturbate after all,” Rose mutters.

“If you like,” says the Doctor, shrugging again. “It’s up to you.”

Rose picks at the duvet. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a preference? Between…”

“Involvement versus observation?”

Rose’s pulse roars in her ears, threatening to drown out all other sound. “Yeah. I mean…just doesn’t seem fair, if I’m the only one getting anything out of this. You know?”

He smiles, the expression almost tender. “Don’t worry about me, Rose. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” he continues, chipper once more, “I am getting something out of it: the knowledge that, one way or the other, Rose Tyler is about to have a very pleasant orgasm.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “How is it so easy for you to talk about this, all of a sudden? Is it a regeneration thing? I feel like the other you would have chewed through his own leg first.”

“That was different,” the Doctor replies. “That was a defensive measure against you insulting my manliness—have I mentioned it, before, just how very manly I am?”

“A time or two,” Rose chuckles.

“But this, what we’re doing here? It’s just science. We’re proposing theories and conducting experiments in an effort to generate a specific outcome. Granted, it’s a little more personal than usual, involving components and variables that are typically considered rather private, but at the end of the day, it’s just another brand of science. That’s all.”

“Right,” replies Rose, chewing her lower lip. Science. That makes sense. That makes it a little easier. Doesn’t it? “So we’re just—we’re just like, doing science together, yeah? Just using bodies instead of beakers, or whatever.”

“Exactly,” he says, with a smile, and Rose forces herself not to look at his mouth.

Science, she reminds herself. It’s just science.

Rose draws in a deep, calming breath. “Okay,” she says, letting the breath slowly out. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do some science.”

She edges closer to the Doctor in the bed, and he follows suit, until the two of them are just scant inches apart. In the semi-dark, Rose can just make out the contours and plains of his face, his eyebrows lightly drawn together, his eyes half-shuttered, his mouth so very, very close to hers. Once again, Rose wonders if she should kiss him. Wonders if he wants her to.

“Erm,” says the Doctor, clearing his throat. “So,” he tries again, his voice just a bit uncertain, now; it’s like the bravado-façade has slipped a little, now that they’ve made it this far, now that they’re so very close. “You never did say. Earlier. How you wanted to do this.”

“Oh, yeah.” Breath hitching in her throat, Rose closes her eyes. Maybe this will be easier if she can’t see him at all. “Erm,” she says. “I guess…you should touch me?”

For several long moments, nothing happens. But then a rustle of the bedclothes lets Rose know that the Doctor is moving in, the mattress shifting with his weight, pulling her closer to him. Their bodies pressed together now, Rose feels more of his skin on hers than she’s ever felt before, and her body is warming to him rapidly, in a way that’s got nothing to do with the duvet covering them. Because despite everything else, at the end of the day it’s still the Doctor, it’s still him, and her stupid body doesn’t care that this is a horrible situation contrived out of a cheap romance novel; all her body knows is that he’s close, closer than he’s ever been before, and he smells so good, and his skin is touching hers and it’s new and it’s awkward but it feels wonderful and already her body wants more.

Reaching up, the Doctor’s hand ghosts along her jawline, uncertain, soon retreating to the safe territory of her shoulder. “How would you like me to touch you?” the Doctor asks quietly.

God, she wants to kiss him. God, she wants to kiss him so badly.

She thinks about guiding the Doctor’s hand immediately between her legs, but doesn’t know if that’s too much, too soon. Probably they should start out slow, right? But what does slow mean, in this situation? Does slow mean she should start by touching herself?

(Shouldn’t slow start with both of them wanting this?)

Rose starts to reach down, to stroke herself, but that would mean sliding her hand between the two of them, and that would mean touching his naked skin, touching him, and she doesn’t know if that’s allowed, and the thought of it is a little overwhelming at the moment anyway. So she turns over in the bed, facing away from the Doctor, the better to touch herself without worrying about whether she accidentally comes into contact with him, too.

“Maybe just,” she says, feeling very strange about all of this, “hold me, for now.”

She hears him nod, his hair rasping against the pillow, and the Doctor loops an arm around her waist, spooning her. Her bum nestled against his pelvis, Rose is suddenly very aware of the size and shape of him, and fuck, even though he’s perfectly calm and settled behind her, just that hint of contact is enough to make her nipples stiffen, make moisture well up between her legs. Embarrassment and guilt try to crawl their way up her throat but Rose tamps them both down—it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, she tells herself. This is good. This is helping her get wet. She can use this.

Sliding her hand down between her legs, Rose strokes her inner thighs with a featherlight touch, teasing herself first. Rubbing in gentle circles, she inches her way upward, her fingers glancing against her lips. She imagines it’s the Doctor’s hand instead, drawing closer and closer to her clit, and she feels herself slicken and swell with anticipation.

She pictures his fingers drawing upward, slipping between her lips, delving in to find her wet and wanting, and her hips buck involuntarily at the thought, as she caresses herself the way she imagines the Doctor would, teasing and stroking and just a little more pressure, just a little bit more friction. It feels shameful, almost, thinking of the Doctor while she does this (she usually tries so hard not to, she tries so hard), but he more or less told her it was all up to her, didn’t he? How much he was involved? How much, and in what way? And besides, how is she supposed to not think about him when he’s holding her so close, and they’re both naked, and his hand is clenching against her stomach, and he smells so fucking good?

Biting down on her lip so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t draw blood, Rose buries her face in her pillow, swallowing her arousal and shame. She’s properly wet, now, and positively throbbing between her legs, but as good as this feels, it isn’t enough. Her body is begging for more, more pressure, more friction, more contact, more him. And he asked her, he did, he asked her how she’d like to be touched—

Steeling herself, Rose reaches up to grab the Doctor’s hand, shifting it from her stomach to her breast. She feels him tense behind her, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t resist, his hand cupping her gently. Chest heaving with exertion and anticipation, Rose guides him upward, until his hand covers her breast completely, her nipple scraping against his palm. She thinks she hears him swallow (so much for all that suave indifference he was projecting earlier) before he moves in, his face pressed to the back of her neck. He kneads her breast, catching her nipple between his long, elegant fingers, sending little shocks of pleasure shooting straight between her legs. The sensation is enough to make her arch her back, her thighs tensing, muscles clenching slickly with want.

“Fuck,” Rose gasps, surprising herself, but if the Doctor minds, he doesn’t say; if anything, it seems to spur him on, his touch growing firmer, and if Rose didn’t know any better, she’d think he was pressing his lips to her neck. Her hand sliding back down, Rose seeks out her clit straightaway, stroking herself harder, now, her hips rocking to match. “Fuck,” she bites out again, as something winds taut deep inside her, as tension coils tighter and tighter, and she gives up any semblance of composure as the Doctor grasps her breast and she fucks herself with her fingers, rutting harder and harder against her hand and the Doctor until she’s so wet she’s coated the insides of her thighs, and she imagines him hardening behind her, imagines him thrusting in response, and—

And oh, oh fuck, she’s not imagining that part, she’s not imagining it at all. He’s hard against her arse, fully hard, rocking against her, and not a second after she realizes it, the Doctor seems to realize it, too. “Ah—I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly against her neck, and he freezes behind her. “Rose, I didn’t mean to—I’m—”

“Don’t stop,” Rose chokes, arching back against the Doctor until his hand abandons her breast in favor of grasping her by the hip, a low groan tearing out of him. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Rose knows; it’s just friction, it’s just science, it’s just bodies reacting the way bodies do when pressure and movement and warmth and hormones are involved, but she’s too far gone to think clearly about any of that now, and with each thundering bleat of her pulse in her ears and between her legs all she can think about is how very much she wants him to fuck her, and now. “Don’t stop,” she says again, her hand flying up to grasp him by the back of the head, fingers clenching in his hair, and he stifles a moan against her neck, his hips pushing into her as if they’ve got a mind of their own. “Please don’t stop,” Rose pleads, and he doesn’t (thank god he doesn’t) and he thrusts forward again, his cock trapped between her upper thighs, stroking firmly against her slick and swollen clit.

“Rose,” he says helplessly, fingers digging into her hip as he thrusts. His other arm snakes between Rose and the mattress so his free hand can stroke her breasts, teasing her nipples while she ruts against his cock. By now she’s so slippery-wet that he could probably enter her with no resistance, none at all, but instead his fingers plunge between her legs, stroking her clit. She cries out, clenching deliciously. The Doctor buries his face against her neck as she fucks his fingers, his cock thrusting wetly between her thighs and her folds, hitting her with every stroke.

Nearly overwhelmed with sensory stimulation, with the smell of sweat and the slick sounds of sex and the feel of the Doctor moving against her, it isn’t long before Rose feels her climax begin to build, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke and thrust. Panting for air, Rose grabs a handful of the Doctor’s hair, her nails raking over his scalp, and he inhales sharply, hissing against her skin.

“Please, Rose,” he gasps between the searing, openmouthed kisses he presses to her neck, his thrusts growing shallow and quick, “please…”

She cries out as the tension inside her snaps, muscles contracting violently and flooding her body with pleasure. The Doctor follows soon after, spurting between her thighs, his groans muffled into her skin. The two of them slow to a halt, hearts racing, breaths ragged, and the Doctor removes his hand from between her legs, slumping against her after. They lie like that for a long few moments, each of them catching their breath as the sweat cools on their skin.

“Fuck,” the Doctor eventually announces, utterly winded. “Just…fuck.”

Rose laughs shakily. “Yeah. That was, uh…”

She searches her mind for suitable words, any words, really, but her brain has gone pleasantly blank, filled with nothing but that blissful post-sex buzz.

“…yeah,” she finishes, laughing.

“Indeed,” he pants against her neck.

“Just. Wow.”

“Yes. An apt summary.”

“A hell of a religious rite.”

The Doctor tenses at that. “Rose, I’m sorry. I really didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize,” Rose says quietly, grabbing his hand before he has a chance to move away. “Don’t you dare.”

He hums unhappily into her skin. “You’re far too forgiving.”

“I’m not. I’m exactly the amount of forgiving I want to be.”

The sound he makes suggests he doesn’t entirely believe her.

“By which I mean,” Rose says, “as long as we’re fine, I’m fine. Cos—cos we’re okay, right?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “You and me?”

“Of course we are. This just isn’t how I would have liked all this to happen, is all. It isn’t how I would have planned it. You know?”

“I know,” Rose tells him.

Then, after a second, the Doctor’s words properly register with her.

“Wait,” Rose says, mind racing as she sits up in the bed, rewinding the last few moments. “What do you mean, how you would have planned it?” she asks, staring down at him.

The Doctor shrugs, and is she imagining it, or did his eyes flicker down to her naked breasts just now? “For starters,” he says, “typically you don’t have the threat of imminent death involved in this sort of situation, do you?”

“No, I meant—have you thought about this, before?” Rose asks, hardly daring to hope. “Like, you’ve imagined it? Us having sex?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, yes,” he admits, as if it were obvious. “Haven’t you?”

Rose can barely believe what she’s hearing right now. “I mean, yeah,” she stammers, something deep in her chest warming nicely at the confession. “I mean, sort of. I mean, I tried not to, I never thought you’d—”

And that’s when the irritation kicks in. “You git!” she shouts, swatting at his shoulder. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? That would have made this whole situation so much easier!”

“Not like you ever said anything either!” the Doctor shoots back accusingly, rubbing his shoulder where she smacked it. “Why are you so surprised, anyway? We flirt constantly!”

“You flirt with everyone! We both do!”

“Yes, but it’s different with you,” he insists. Then, looking the slightest bit unsure of himself, he adds, “Isn’t it?”

She hates how right he is. “Of course it is,” Rose huffs in annoyance. “Don’t be stupid.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a smile. “Speaking of pillow talk, I think yours could use a little work.”

Rose glares at him. He smiles beatifically up at her, all boyish charm and stupid cheekiness and post-sex-glow.

She hmphs. She also hates how pretty he is. Just for the record.

“And if your trashy mags have taught me anything,” the Doctor continues, tugging on her arm, “it’s that post-coital sessions typically involve a good cuddle.”

With faux-reluctance, Rose inches back down in the bed, sliding back beneath the covers—facing the Doctor, this time. “Would’ve thought you’d skittered away, by now,” she says wryly. “Would’ve thought this bit was too domestic for you.”

“Nah. Besides, exceptions can be made for cuddles.”

“Of course,” Rose laughs, her tongue peeking out to moisten her lower lip. Drawn to the motion, the Doctor’s eyes flicker to her mouth for just a second before darting back away.

Huh. So she’s not the only one who’s been looking. She’s really not.

(How did she never notice any of this, before?)

“So, erm,” she says tentatively, because they’ve come this far, haven’t they? “What did you imagine? When you thought about…”

He meets her gaze evenly, and fuck, he’s gorgeous like this, with his mussed hair and his knowing smile and his distracting nakedness lurking just beneath the duvet. Very distracting nakedness, she thinks.

“…us?” Rose asks.

Blinking in surprise, the Doctor quickly glances away. “Nothing all that specific,” he tells her, and is he the one blushing now? “Didn’t want to cross any lines, do anything inappropriate, of course.”

“Not even in the safety of your own head?”

“Nope. Not even then.” He sighs. “Very few explicitly wicked thoughts in this brain, I’m afraid. I guess I’m just a saint.”

“Uh-huh. What about now, though?”

“What about it?”

Rose licks her lips again, and he’s definitely blushing, this time. “You a saint right now?”

The Doctor hesitates, gaze fixed on her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Rose teases. “We’re still doing the sacred rite, remember? So this is just like a confession.”

He chuckles. “A confession. All right.”

“Tell me what you’re imagining, Doctor.”

“Shall I confess all my wicked thoughts to you?”

Rose leans in a little closer. “Please do.”

“Well,” he says, Adam’s apple bobbing. “At some point, I’d imagine we need to finish dismantling this little cult we’ve stumbled onto.”

“True.”

“And save the queen.”

“Yes,” replies Rose patiently. “And?”

“And in the meantime,” the Doctor says, his gaze soft and dark and locked on hers, “I’d imagine a kiss is in order.”

“Yeah?” Rose breathes, a thrill running through her from head to toe. “Would I kiss you, or would you kiss me?”

“Oh, I’d kiss you, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Definitely,” he says, and he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

Rose hums happily against his mouth, her hands landing lightly on his chest. His skin is soft beneath her palms, and even though he’s still cooler than she is, she swears she feels him warming, his heartrates speeding up at her touch. His mouth opens, deepening the kiss, and Rose’s tongue darts out to taste him, glancing against the swell of his lower lip as they part. He watches her through half-mast eyes, after, a soft smile playing across his lips. Something about it is enough to make Rose’s heart trip over itself, just a little.

“So, erm,” Rose says, grinning at him, “how did that compare to your imagination? As good as?”

“Better, I think,” the Doctor replies, with a grin to match hers. “But I’ll need to collect a larger data sample, just to be sure.”

“For science,” Rose laughs.

“For science,” he agrees, and he kisses her again.

  ***

thanks/blame goes to @galiifreyrose​ & @saecookie​ for encouraging/inspiring/enabling me, thank you darlings ( ˘ ³˘)❤

[hardyshoe]

benefits- a roger Taylor series

par five

warnings- language

a/n-this isa bit of a filler chapter but chapter six is the one I'm most excited about writing so expect that very soon. thank you all xx

*phone ringing*

“darling I know your there, I need to speak to you don't hang up” finally one of them called, it wasn't Rog but you were so glad to hear Freddies voice.

 in the last few weeks you'd started to feel really quite down, not leaving the house was really starting to take its toll. however the fear of people knowing kept you holed up inside. seeing how easily Mary had figured it out you couldn't risk having people knowing and the information somehow getting back to him. he still didn't know, not at all. it felt weird that he didn't to you because by now you'd gotta used to the thought of the babies, which at the last doctors appointment were confirmed to be a boy and a girl. you were more than exited to meet them and the weeks just kept going past and your belly kept growing. that was another reason you hadn't left your flat, it was so much effort.

“oh Freddie, I have missed you”

“I know dear and I've missed you too, but we need to talk about roger”

 shit did he know? no there was no way he could Mary had sworn not to tell and you'd seen her just last week.

“oh?” you tried to keep calm but it didn't work and you could only muster a questioning sound.

“hes been off for the whole tour and I know the two of you hung out a few days before we left, did something happen. oh my god! the two of didn't shag did you?!” he didn't know, thankfully.

you sighed and tried to explain, “no we didn't shag Fred, we had a fight actually. he decided not to tell me you guys were leaving until two days before the tour started and anyway I've been too busy to forgive him,” this was partially true, in the last few weeks you had begun to buy things for the babies and set up your old study space as a bedroom. however you were so big it was taking quite some time as you constantly needed to sit down.

 “are you serious? he told us he wanted to tell you when we found out about the tour, we agreed seeing as you two are quite close. so we kept our mouths shut but two days is not enough time.”

“nice to know someone agrees, he seemed surprised when I told him to leave after he dropped that on me. it broke my heart Fred, he knows how proud I am of him, of all of you. and he also knows I don't have any other friends except you guys and Mary. god its been lonely Freddie” 

 Freddie started to apologise on rogers behalf but soon resided to slagging him off for his behaviour. it made you giggle and your hand fell to your rounded stomach where the babies were kicking. “I know, your daddy is a dumbass isn't he?” 

 “what did you just say?” shit had you just said that out loud? 

“...” you were frozen where you were, unable to form words from the incoherence in your head.

“y/n your gonna need to explain that. by the sounds of that you've got a baby. WAIT ARE YOU PREGNANT?” this was not good, so very not good.

“you can't tell anyone Fred, I mean it. you and Mary are the only ones who know and I would like to keep it that way”

“holy shit your pregnant. how far along are you?” he hadn't asked THAT question yet, how you'd get around it this time you didn't know.

“seven months on Friday” that was something you hadn't gotten to terms with yet, in four days you'd have three months to go and you felt anything but ready.

“sorry dear I don't think I heard you, I thought you said seven months.”

 it was that that made you realise how absurd the whole situation was from his perspective, you'd spoken with him once at the start of the tour for a few minutes but that was before you found out about he babies. so for him he was speaking to you again for the first time in half a year and suddenly you’re nearly seven months pregnant. “I did Freddie”

“so you mean to tell me you knew about this before we left and you didn't tell me? I'm offended” he feigned sadness in his tone but you could tell he was a little concerned.

“uh no actually I didn't find out until about 11 weeks”

“oh okay, that does make me feel better. but wait you said...” he paused for a minute, here it comes “oh my god! is it rogers?”

“Freddie please don't tell him I couldn’t live with myself if I wasn’t the one to tell him. Im just so scared he won't want me”

“I won't tell him darling its not my place. your secret, despite the fact it is very large and very shocking, is safe with me. so this means you and roger did shag.”  he laughed to himself after saying that and you to chuckled, it was a bit wild.

“look you lot get back on Saturday right?”

“yes dear”

“come and see me when you get back i’ll fill you in on everything then okay?” as much as you wanted to talk with Fred all afternoon, you were exhausted he hadn't quite thought about the time difference and with all your current expenses you couldn’t afford the phone bill.

“alright sounds good, I cannot wait”

 somehow him knowing was relieving and soon you'd have him to talk baby stuff with. you'd spared Mary from your endless talking about the twins. but now it hit you that in less than a week they would be back and then there was no hiding it.

-Sunday morning-

 “y/n darling I'm here” he called from the other side of the door in a singsong voice and you jumped up, well it wasn't really jumping in your state. you swung the door open and fell into Freddie’s arms, longing for the physical contact.

after a minute he drew back and looked you up and down. “my god your huge!”

you chuckled, “yeah that does tend to happen Fred, can we sit down?”

“course darling” the two of you sat down on the beat up couch and he started asking questions.

“y/n I don't want to sound rude but you’re like really big.”

 you shot him confused look, “well there are two babies in there I'm not exactly gonna be little am i?”

“did you say two? you mean your having twins?” had you not told him over the phone, it was unlike you to leave something like that out.

“yes I did, a boy and a girl” hands on your stomach again you smiled down at your belly.

he gasped “you have got to stop dropping this on me my heart can't handle it”

that lightened the mood and you chuckled at the look on his face. you gushed about the babies and how big they were, told him of how you found out and how brilliant Mary had been the whole time. he could sense your nerves about the topic of roger so he avoided it, though he was curious. 

“do they ever kick?”

“oh you wouldn't believe how much” you giggled and put his hand on you tummy where a few little kicks where coming from.

“how roger could turn away from this is beyond me,” he clamped his hand over his mouth and began apologising profusely.

“its alright Fred, I wish he was with me it is hard sometimes. and it kills me to go to the doctors and see all the happy couples doting over their babies and knowing I'm never going to have that.” again you felt the tears welling in your eyes.

“don't say that, rogers a good man he’ll understand, it was just a one night stand right?”

you shook your head and stared at the floor, almost guiltily. “no, not even close. it was about six months of casual sex. friends with benefits at best”

“I had no idea, well your chances just got a lot better, roger usually doesn't even call a girl after sleeping with her let along keep it up with her for six months. he must be in love with you thats the only explanation”

“I wish he was Fred” you choked out between sobs, this was something nobody knew not even Mary. if anyone should know Freddie should, he’s know what to say.

“you love him don't you?”

you just nodded. not quite able to explain.

[tf2headshotcanons]

How would the mercs react to their s/o being a virgin? Love you! 💝💝

And I love you too, Random Citizen! (This is a duel reference, 10 points each!)My virgin senses are tingling! Too much? ;D Imma trilp.Demo: He just laughs. Not at them, but just finds it amazing that someone their age is still a virgin. Actually, he worries that they'll be used in one of Merasmus' spells for their pure blood. Hot dawg! He's casual aboot it ( ;) ). Honestly, he acts as though it's nothing, because he knows overthinking is just plain harmful - and that kids, is why he drinks :D He tells them not to worry. Meanwhile, he sets up a nice dinner date and a movie at his house. To which they get freaky deaky. But he makes it so casual and relaxing they they're both bantering with each other.Engi: Eughhh, do you wanna know? WELL TOO BAD! As well all know, Engi is very soft spoken, polite, maybe a bit awkward. But like an onion, this mofocker has layers ("Stop singing!"). He's really a kinky cowboy - kinda like those strippers. Just imagine that around Spy! Anyhow, he's comforting and gentle, promising them that he'll make their first time special. And does he fuck! Now I'm not sure if any of y'all know about this, but if you've ever watched Green Mile, you'll know there's a scene were he cuddles his wife from behind in the kitchen - which ultimately escalates to sex. That's honestly how I picture Engi instigating it. It's so heat of the moment and spontaneous that the lover doesn't actually have time to think nor worry about doing something wrong. BUT they do consent! And the eughh? Welllll eheheheh~ he may involve his mechs~ Whaaat? You asked!Heavy: We all guessed this one. He doesn't flinch, but raises a brow. Admittedly, it's odd, but he doesn't think bad of them. It's actually kinda cute they'd save themselves for the one - for HIM! It's in honour and duty to make the first time the best time. Like Spy, he starts slow - either by hand or orally - before moving on to the Great Beyond. His love making is very slow and gentle, not rough like the other Mercs would expect. Hes arguably the true gentleman. He wants this to be perfect. It's almost set up like a Honeymoon.Medic: Out of all the Mercs, Medic's probably the dickhead out of them all when it comes to virgin lover. Why? Because this motherfucker sold his soul, so I'm guessing virgins are kinda scary. He probably laughs at them and finds it weird. Oh! But this is the PERFECT opportunity to experiment. When he gets them to agree to losing their virginity, he does not hold back! He's rough, kinky, weird! He's the BDSM psycho everyone makes him out to be and full of dirty talk. Surprisingly, this is exhilarating and addicting to his love. From their, they're the fuckin opposite of pure XDPyro: Pyro is... Judging by his innocent nature, he may be a virgin himself. OR. Or, he's Superman in the Sheets. Pick ya poison. Either way, when he's informed, he just cuddles them because they're so pure and cute! Much later, they're probably play fighting or watching something they shouldn't, and get it on. It's sudden, it's fast, and it's bloody wild! What a way to lose ya V card!Scout: Starting with Scout, now a small counter argument. Spy denotes Scout as a virgin. Although being a virgin is not bad, Spy (who can read people like the Monthly) uses it as an insult - to his own son! Now Spy is in the know, he's the Merc sentinel. Nothing escapes him. Simply put, he knows that sexual experience means a LOT to Scout, and if he's lacking wellll... He feels less of a man. In ED, he obviously says "Wanna do it?" To the "Tramp" HOWEVER in A Cold Day in Hell, he tells an imaginary Pauling that he's "saving himself". Now, I'm not sure which actually came first, but going on the comic's information, it's clear that he's actually holding out for "the one". So as much as he wants experience to be a "sex bomb", he really wants his first to be with someone important to him (and we can probably chalk this up as inspiration from his single Ma). TLDR? Well, what I'm trying to say is that Scout is also a virgin, and they've been holding out for each other. How sweet! He doesn't laugh and even awkwardly confesses he's one himself. They're first night - whilst lacking experience - is very passionate and important, both learning the ropes about each other. They're both awkward, but it's actually the special day for them. Scout takes the piss a lot, but he's actually... Quite kind about this. Oh, but he doesn't know when to shut up. *Matthew Santoro Voice* He gets freaky~!Sniper: Oooo tricky dicky thicky ricky. Now, I waved between seeing him as a virgin, and seeing him as someone who pays for prostitutes on lonely nights to get rid of the urge. So I'll do an even split. Virgin Route: He's... Surprised. How can someone as gorgeous as his lover not be taken like that yet? In a way, it's a confidence booster as he awkward admits to being new on the playing field too. He worries about getting it wrong or not pleasing his lover. He worries too much, actually. The first time is passionate but arguably more awkward than Scouts. But he works to keep them happy and satisfied, even if his first time is a bit shitty. Hooker Route: Similar awkwardness, especially because he has an emotional attachment to the person he's shagging now. He can just be rough, selfish and distant like he can with a prostitute. He tries his heart and soul to make it as loving and passionate as possible, so a lot of kisses! But he also doesn't judge, but he is shocked.Soldier: Holy fuckin Dooley. I-I... Don't want to think about it actually XD Hahah! Well, he's taken back, and maybe doesn't believe them. Who hasn't had sex!? It's awesome and fun! You're missing out! His intentions are pure and he means no harm, but his humour and forwardness can be a little off putting to his love. But that's just Sol for you! However! He promises you that he'll give you real passionate sex, the American way! Yeah, now you feel my awkwardness, hahah! But uh, yeah! He wants them to feel the love of sex and get intimate with them, when they're ready he takes the lead. Though I promise you he'll do something stupid like coat himself in honey so you feel more relaxed. He'll also be humorous and encouraging, definitely handing out compliments. That's... Uh Solly, I guess? XDSpy: Next! Hmm now this is kinda Scout inspired. I'd imagine with all his "expertise" that Spy may actually see himself as some kind of sex God (or at least one of Pyro's creepy cherubs!), so he knows different types and been with plenty of people, including more than his fair share of virgins. As a result, it's not new to him, and most likely not a surprise. If it is, he gives a small look of shock but changes quickly to compassion. Because it's someone he loves, he's rather gentle and comforting, heck, believe it or not, he's probably proud and amazed someone could be a virgin for so long in such a sexual world. Either way, he starts slow - specifically, he'll either start with his hand or orally - assuring them that they can stop at any time. He melts them into it. When he's not busy being a cunt, he's actually one of the more sensual and sensitive lovers. And despite his pickiness, he's actually the last to judge. 🐑🐑🐑🐑🐑🐑Hey mate, I know this is more on a personal level (and I'm not trying to call you out or anything), but if you are a virgin and are genuinely worried what others think, I'll tell you this. Someone who truly loves you won't judge you or think you're "prude". They'll accept your choice and listen to you if you're ever uncomfortable. Trust your instincts, alright? Anyone who judges is probably Fried Chicken Tramp level Anyways ;D And if it makes you feel any better, I'm 19 and "pure". Take it from me, it's like being a unicorn nowadays - ONLY LET THE WORTHY RIDE YOU! ... Bit much? 😭 Either way, take care, you little nugget, you!

[st33d]

Sandman

I’ve tried a lot of sandbox games over the past year. Mostly driven by acquiring a PC and leaving my Mac to its scheduled obsolescence. Playing games on a Mac is like playing Doom on a calculator. You celebrate that it works, it actually works, but it usually fails to be more than a proof of concept. When I switched back to a PC I discovered an entirely new realm of stubborn design. At least it wasn’t getting slower with each update and it deigned to play all manner of toys. Being quite turgid for roleplaying games I set about catching up with every RPG the Mac had denied me and checked out some more for good measure.

A common feature I discovered in many of these games is what I call the Back Breaker. You lift the game up high, then crash it down over your knee, broken. You are now free to explore the game how you choose - all of its secrets are laid bare. A lot of people get very upset at the inclusion of Back Breakers in what they hope will be a game with an ever ascending skill requirement. The notion that the audience is primarily there to explore is an insult - where, they ask, is the game? Personally I like this feature, I like that the end game is to become a god. This is why a lot of you will disagree with my assessments.

Skyrim

The sticking point for many people with this one is the combat. It’s dour grey-brown landscape invites a comparison to Dark Souls (I’ll get to that one in a bit) so people like Matt Lees will remark that Skyrim is an inferior counterpart. If you’re looking for tight combat in Skyrim, then like a 1st edition iPhone 5, you’re holding it wrong.

It insists you take it seriously over an unskippable introduction to the most tired hook that any roleplaying game can throw - the prison break. After shaking your screen as hard as it can with an assault by a dragon you are thrown into a scant and confusing interface in a land of ugly robotic people who are super fussy about what time they’re willing to sell things. On my 1st playthrough it got dark, so dark I couldn’t loot the mages I was killing for their expensive robes. I quit and rerolled a khajiit, purely because the wiki told me they had nightvision. It wasn’t until much later I discovered that there were many means of creating light, some of them causing fantastic AI behaviour (I nicknamed the spell Magelight; aggro-ball). Some short way into the terrible main quest line I thought, “sod this”, and went in search of the mage college to learn how to blow things up like some of the monsters were doing. This haphazard adventure was some of the best gameplay I’d ever encountered. A scared lowly girl-cat, picking her way through a hostile landscape in hope of learning real magic. Typical that when I finally arrived at the college I encountered the first blatant design wall in the shape of an unclimbable pillar that the college sat on. I barely had the mana to cast the spell that would prove me worthy to train there. A few hours later I was the archmage of the college. It would take many more hours before I mastered glitch-riding: taking the cereal box collision space of my horse and rubbing it against the prettiest parts of the scenery until it yielded to let me ride vertical. Out of the many hours of play the only real low point was getting turned into a vampire, I had to look up a wiki on how to cure it and reload many times because the quest to stop vampirism is broken.

There are many Back Breakers in Skyrim - I chose twin dremora lords that I chain-summoned to lock up the AI. But truly it is Skyrim’s pretty mountains and their unresolvable collision meshes that are the best. Only after hours of play does one develop an art for sniffing out details that defy edge-case-programming. Skyrim is a perfect mess. I know why they keep re-releasing it, they got lucky. One need only play the Dragonborn DLC to see Skyrim at its worst. It is a hard game to recommend, for it is not really a game, it is a thing both ugly and beautiful.

% out of 10

The Witcher 3

“Stick with it”, they say. Few games deserve such an epithet as this one. The controls are fiddly. One’s inventory is so dense with options that I didn’t realise that my potions refilled themselves until I’d nearly finished the game. After which my character sported full-body-priapism as I quaffed every decoction available. The turning point from hating this game to loving it was a side quest where a character caught Geralt off guard when being subject to the witcher’s advice - the townsfolk declared him a freak not because he was like Geralt, but because they were intolerant of homosexuals. I then got drawn further into the man’s drama. Every single story this game presents is trying to be Not So Simple. It’s a manifesto that leaks into the game’s bestiary that tells you not only what a monster likes for dinner, but your best tactics for killing it. But then, it’s Not So Simple as killing a monster, there is always another layer to each story.

It took at least three score hours of gameplay before I started skipping some of the many cutscenes. One of them was the infamous sex-on-a-stuffed-unicorn. It was a fault of the main storyline being so lackluster. I never really cared for Ciri, I found her even more fiddly to control than her tutor. But the extra layers that surround it: the Bloody Baron, stupidly shagging Keira Metz, the numerous detective scenes - they all carry this game. It is a shame it takes a few hours for it to reveal itself.

I must commend the map design for being sensible enough to be broken into several parts. You first explore a tutorial village before moving into war torn Velen and its haunting soundtrack. Here you work until you can gain passage to the north, the islands, and your home. Many sandboxes simply give you one map to conquer and contort it to stop you wandering into the final challenge. It’s refreshing to move on to a clean map, full of new challenges and surprises.

I couldn’t be arsed to play Gwent.

Trophy out of Archgriffin

Zelda: Breath of the Wild

This game has three stages: Delight, Depression, and Exploration.

Delight

Oh wow, there’s so many things to do. And so many things interact with one another. The sense of discovery comes not only from reaching new locations, but also finding new ways for elements to interact. Of course wood burns. Of course burning creates an updraft. Of course metal conducts electricity. Even after many hours of play there are still new things to find. So strange that the game is as dense as it is... empty.

Depression

Ugh, I don’t have a horse and I’m in yet another blank area. Ugh, I lack just enough stamina to climb this mountain, I’ll have to start all over again. Ugh, I can’t stay in this area because I take damage and the food I eat to stop it only lasts ten minutes. Ugh, I complained about all of this online and everyone keeps saying, “I don’t have a problem, the game works fine for me, Git Gud.” As often as I meet people who have played this game in excess of 100 hours, I also meet people who have played it for less than 10. If you are unlucky, if you don’t make the right connections, if you don’t stumble upon the right thing, this game is truly depressing. Made more so by the amount of people who cannot fathom why anyone would have trouble with the game. And yet there are many that do. It is not really that they need to be better at games, it is merely because they have not found the Back Breakers. Or worse, they do not appreciate them.

Exploration

After needless hours of collecting (grinding) you find yourself in possession of armour. You upgrade the armour again and again and suddenly the cloud of depression is lifted (if it was ever there). You are free to explore any edge of the island, you simply need to wear the right threads. At this stage of the game you have found many secrets but still keep finding more. Korok seeds, the OCD baiting puzzles, become a delight to find. It’s hard to remember the game ever being frustrating, but it remains in the back of my mind. Zelda BotW has a hump, a hump that some people will feel very aggrieved to surmount. Do not be surprised when you hear of someone bouncing off this game - it really is torture for people with precious little play time or patience.

Perhaps I should say something about the shrine dungeons or the 4 beast dungeons. They exist. There, I said it.

96 out of 120

Path of Exile

I tried this many years ago on my Mac using some sort of Windows executable wrapper. It did not work. I tried again when I got my new PC, I was underwhelmed. I tried yet again two weeks ago - holy shit this is the best action RPG I’ve ever played. The fact that it’s also free is sort of a weird blessing. You can only buy cosmetics and extra slots, so it even has a total lack of pay-to-win going for it. At least they get to keep expanding and updating it, which is probably why my recent play through was so smooth.

Diablo 2 is one of my all time favourites. It’s a concise loop of murder, loot, sell. But not without flaws. It has cruft, tedium, and imbalance in spades.

Path of Exile shuffles the formula and bets the whole thing on loot. Skills are loot. Money is loot (you pay with scrolls and item modifying tools, no gold). Equipment is loot. Yet playing it like Diablo is quite a silly thing to do - you get almost nothing from items you try to sell to vendors, so you no longer make trips back and forth with junk items. Leveling up is spent on a massive passive skill tree shared by all the classes, so the game sees no need to forestall leveling because it’s not the gatekeeper of mechanics. The items are. This occurs by way of gems that you socket into items, a bit like Diablo 2 and 3, but instead of boring damage bonuses you get entirely new mechanics. If you play with several characters in the same league they can share these items as well (providing they are strong enough to wield them). A mere ten levels into the game I had a full on rave of undead surrounding my witch character like she was the hottest new DJ at a halloween party.

I refrained from playing on hardcore because the game is online only and my internet sucks, but the game does boast a challenge that is mandatory hardcore. A multi-part dungeon that rewards you with a new section for your skill tree. Complete it without dying and you get to specialise. This is further complicated by deadly treasure rooms you must salvage keys from in order to unlock the many chests at the end. This was quite an exciting challenge with real stakes and real swearing when I let my greed get the better of me.

So what of its flaws? It takes a few goes to shake off the Diablo conditioning, so it’s not until you hit act 2 and try again from scratch that you figure out a strategy for building a character. The passive skill tree has a handy search feature and after I typed “minion” into it I was determined to carve a path through the best parts. If you don’t plan your route, you miss out on your mana rocketing back to full, your health restoring, or in my case: zombie disco. It’s online only and if you insist on playing over the weekend it can be a very choppy experience. The chat is a sewage pipe, a stream of edgelord douchebaggery. Go into the options and turn it off. I’ve yet to meet anyone that wants to form a party and every time I look at it I’m certain I don’t want to. There’s little to say of the story, it’s not bad though. I appreciate that it doesn’t try to get in the way like Diablo 3′s did. Perhaps if they had taken their loot thesis a step further they could have buried it in the game’s items. Then all this hoarding would have expanded into something like an archaeology dig. A missed opportunity.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O out of Shiny Armour

Shadow of Mordor

It’s quite cool and exciting to begin with. We’re in Mordor with lots of grim orcs and cool cutscenes, and... is that a bush? Oh okay, it just popped into existence. Nevermind. Well at least sneaking around is fun... my finger hurts a lot though because they want me to hold down the trigger button for ages. Yeah, ganking orcs is cool, it’s real fun shooting them in the head... oh, I have to do these crappy sword fights where I only press two buttons throughout the whole thing.

This game is like someone who seems fascinating and pretty from afar, but soon as you talk to them at length you begin to realise that they’re quite boring. They just say the same thing over and over. It’s a sausage party that gets slowly more off putting as I play. The developers don’t even seem to know that women exist outside of being trophies or reasons to be angry about stuff. The main draw in this game is apparently the battles with the orc leaders, which I found to be the most boring part of the game. I hated the sword combat and it kept dragging me back to it. After doing every arrow and dagger challenge I could find on the map I left the game and never played it again.

Gollum out of Mordor

Dark Souls

in my game Ending I structured the second level so that the player would step forward and get a slap to the face in the shape of an unfair death. This was my opening salvo, death is your education. So after persisting with Dark Souls I’m somewhat nonplussed. I get it. By repeatedly killing the player they form a mental map of the area. By repeatedly killing the player they encourage experimentation.

Except that this doesn’t always work. There has to be some investment on the behalf of the player or this magic completely fails. If the player feels like they can walk away, they will. And they do. It’s why I believe Dark Souls is such a hit with game reviewers, they are beholden to persist, and in doing so the game makes a believer of them.

I on the other hand couldn’t care less. A tedious march through the same janky fights to get to the same boss I still don’t understand is nothing more than that. I tried a variety of combat techniques, from trying to interrupt attacks, to blocking, to evading, all of it very unsatisfying. What little progress I made illuminated the premise, to internalise the map and hone my skills, but I was not impressed. I enjoyed not one second of it, I only endured. I experimented and I explored, but never was I delighted.

The very worst thing that Dark Souls has given us is complacency towards killing the player. I have heard designers remark that it didn’t matter that the player died in that spot in their game because Dark Souls kills the player all the time. It makes me want to shake them. Dark Souls does not kill you all the time, it kills you for a specific reason. See, I get it, I get Dark Souls, I just don’t enjoy the combat.

Soul out of Estus

Divinity Original Sin 2

I had the worst time with Divinity Original Sin. My two characters insisted on bickering and ruining every conversation - no matter how many times I reloaded a scene they would find a way to trash it. I eventually found myself locked out of every quest in the game and unable to fight my way past monsters higher than my level. I was playing the game to forget about a failed relationship where my ex would find excuses to start arguments. It was about as bad an experience playing a game I could ever hope for.

To say the sequel is an improvement is true. To a point. Somehow I’ve done it again and gotten trapped in an area with no quests to advance and monsters too powerful to fight past. I’ve muddled my way past some really irritating quests with obtuse requirements that I’m told can be solved in many ways. Except that when you fail to chase a particular lead it’s really frustrating to have to try a dozen different tactics to shake out a solution. It feels like I’ve picked up my PC and I’m rattling it over my head until the game agrees to let me move on. People keep telling me I can solve situations in dozens of ways, but all of them seem very specific and very intent on being a dick about it.

The combat is as amazing as it is chaotic. Environmental effects are at the fore, making it feel very D&D-like as you slow people down with oil and then ignite the oil and so on. The story I felt was okay, but the tone is all over the place, making it impossible to give a shit. Some nice touches with elves gaining visions from eating flesh and anyone can choose perks for talking to animals - but I found it more infuriating than cute after searching an entire island to solve a riddle, only to have a rat explain to me that I had to talk to some NPC again in order to shake, shake, shake out the solution. For every ounce of fun I got two ounces of frustration and misery.

1 out of 2

Dungeon World

Out of all the table top roleplaying games I’ve tried, this one was the most robust for casual play. Especially seeing as roleplayers are the most unreliable people on the planet. The resolution system it employs forces a plot twist every time you use it, so it’s impossible to plan anything. It’s not for everyone, you end up with a very gonzo story without the fiddly depth that other roleplaying games manage. On the other hand it’s a dream to be the Games Master and watch a story unfold instead of meticulously planning it and seeing a conclusion land that tears apart your ideas instead of adding to them. I wrote a full guide of how I run this game over here. The campaign is effectively a sandbox, I let people explore and fill in the map as we go - which is why I mention it. I’d like a computer game that approached it this way, not like Dwarf Fortress where a randomly generated overworld is dumped on you. Instead I’d like a piecemeal discovery of the world, one that reacts to the tensions you’ve created. Perhaps I’ll have to do it myself.

Story out of Players

[mildlymaddy]

Because @moondoggiestyle posted this, and because @ferryboatpeak​ then made it even worse, and I want to give you both a taste of your own medicine! >:p

Lilo ficlet, or what really happened after the Brits, nsfw, canon (therefore infidelity is implied, fair warning)

“Holy fuck you were an embarrassment tonight,” Louis tells him as soon as the front door to Liam’s house swings shut behind them. It should sting, but Louis’s voice is full of mirth, and the way he pushes Liam back against the coatrack makes something hot churn deep inside Liam’s belly. “You really got piss drunk, didn’t you, Payno?”

“I’m not that drunk,” Liam says, because he’s not, really. He was just really, really happy to be in the same place with Louis again. To get him all to himself, too, not having to share with the boys or anyone else.

“Of course you’re drunk,” Louis says, in that tone of voice that warns he’s going to lose interest if Liam doesn’t play along.

If Louis wants him drunk, he can be drunk, Liam thinks as Louis’s fingers come to play with the buttons on his shirt. Louis’s quiff has wilted down, strands of hair falling every which way. Liam likes him even better this way. He’d never admit it to anyone, least of all Louis, but he’s always thought Louis was at his best stumbling off stage after concerts, tank top sticking to his skin from sweat and the countless bottles of water they spilled on each other, smelling of sweat and gatorade, hair shot to shit and pupils wide with adrenaline. Louis’s not meant for red carpets. He’s meant for dirty back alleys and smoke-filled rooms.

Liam realizes he’s been in his thoughts for too long when Louis takes a step back, eyebrows twitching with obvious annoyance. Liam’s screwing this up, and he doesn’t even know what “this” is. On instinct, he reaches out, grabbing Louis’s elbow, thumb pressing down against the fabric of his fancy jacket in a silent plea. “Was just happy to see you,” he says, letting his lips stretch into a smile he’s only half-feeling.

It seems to be the right move, anyway. Louis steps forward again, a glint in his eyes, and his fingers go back to Liam’s shirt buttons, tapping one with a fingernail. “Bit clingy, too,” he says, off-handedly. “Wonder how many people are gonna think we’re shagging once the vids are out.”

Louis’s head is tilted down, but his eyes are sharp as steel when he glances up at Liam, pressing his entire palm in the center of Liam’s chest. Liam tries to even out his breathing, but he knows Louis can feel how hard his heart is beating.

“I’ve always been clingy,” he says, slipping his other hand under Louis’s jacket to rest it on his hip, as if to demonstrate. You made me clingy, he wants to add, because it’s the truth.

“Not quite that much.” Louis steps back, and Liam’s about to protest, when Louis fists a hand around Liam’s shirt and tugs him forward, sharp and quick. Liam stumbles, catches himself with a hand to Louis’s chest. He barely has the time to register the frantic beating under his palm before Louis turns them around, shoving Liam backwards. Liam lands on the nearby couch with a thud, mouth dry as Louis deftly straddles his lap, taking a hold of Liam’s hands and placing them back on his hips before resting his own hands on Liam’s shoulders. “You’ve been gagging for this all night, haven’t you?” he asks, sharply enough for Liam to know he’s terrified of the answer he might get, because the more scared Louis is, the harsher his bite.

It’s a bit mean-spirited, but Liam doesn’t answer. Let Louis find that out for himself. As if the answer wasn’t written all over Liam’s face anyway, in the way he’s not pushing Louis away, in the ease with which he tips his face up as Louis leans down, desperate for it to happen, so fucking open to anything Louis might decide to give him. Louis’s got the upper hand to a degree where Liam feels like little more than a pawn.

It’d make him angry, if he wasn’t so fucking turned on.

Louis’s fingers stray from Liam’s shoulder to the nape of his neck as he bends ever closer, and Liam can already feel Louis’s breath against his lips, every puff of air smelling a little stale, too much alcohol drunk on an empty stomach, when Louis comes to a stop, lips less than an inch away from Liam’s. “Why d’you even have a couch in your hallway?” he asks, and the words don’t make sense at first.

“I… to sit when I put on my shoes?” Liam says dazedly, eyes fixed on Louis’s mouth. “I don’t know… decorator said it’d look good.”

“Weird,” Louis says, before leaning down and kissing him.

For all that he’s thought about it, Liam finds himself too shell-shocked to do much of anything, brain struggling to deal with the sensory overload between Louis’s dry lips pressing demandingly against his, the pressure of Louis’s fingers on his shoulder, the heavy weight of Louis’s arse on his lap.

“Gonna kiss me back?” Louis asks after a second or ten, frowning down at Liam. “Been all over me all night, just to get cold feet?”

Louis presses his hand more firmly against Liam’s shoulder, shifting his weight to his knees as if to get up, and Liam lunges up, sliding a hand to the back of Louis’s head and forcing him back down, catching his lips in a searing kiss of his own.

It’s better not to think too much about any of it, Liam decides. Act like he’s still buzzing from the alcohol and the thrill of having Louis next to him in front of the cameras, of seeing how close he could get until Louis would push him away. (He didn’t push him away, not once. Liam’s pretty sure at some point he pressed a giggling kiss to Louis’s neck in front of a journalist and still Louis let him).

So he doesn’t think, not even as Louis tugs at his shirt, half ripping the buttons away, biting on Liam’s bottom lip in a way that is more painful than hot before slipping his tongue into Liam’s gasping mouth. And he certainly doesn’t think about how he’d always pictured things to go, playfighting and gasping laughter, the both of them in some hotel room somewhere, fast friends and unattached, the natural ending to years of a bond the likes of which Liam never thought he’d forge with anyone.

He doesn’t think about it at all, but he gives as good as he gets, upping the ante with every touch, meeting each peck of Louis’s lips with a bite of his own, every stroke of his fingers with a scratch, every breathy moan with a growl.

He only stops when Louis brushes his lips against his ear and whispers, each word like electricity shooting from the tip of Louis’s tongue to the center of Liam’s brain, “How about I fuck you, Payno?”

Because that is… more than he bargained for, even though he didn’t know he’d bargained for anything when Louis invited himself back to his house an hour ago, reminding Liam that he’d promised him a cuddle. There’s stuff Liam can brush under the rug, justify to himself as remnants from past longings that required some form of completion, and there’s stuff you can’t walk away from. Letting Louis fuck him definitely falls into the second category.

Louis must feel his reticence somehow, because he looks up, eyebrow cocked. “What, afraid you won’t be able to get it up?” he asks, and there’s an unbearably cocky edge to his voice that Liam can’t ignore, because he’s never been able to walk away from one of Louis’s challenges, no matter how stupid the idea, no matter how great the cost. He grabs Louis’s hand and presses it against his crotch, letting him feel exactly how easily he’s gotten it up.

Louis’s eyes go wide for a second, before squinting again, a new challenge just found. “I bet I can make you come three times,” he says, and Liam’s not proud of it, but he whimpers. That only seems to make Louis keener, hands working on the zipper of Liam’s trousers, knuckles pressing against Liam’s pants in a tease.

“How much?” Liam manages to ask, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to get some control over all of this.

Louis looks pleased. “Twenty quid?” he asks, cupping Liam’s crotch in his palm and grinning as Liam bucks up into it.

“God you’re a cheapskate,” Liam grits out, even as he bites down on a groan, desperate to shove Louis off so he can get his kit off and feel Louis’s fingers on his naked cock at last.

“Alright,” Louis says, pressing the ball of his hand down against Liam’s cock. “I bet you two grand I can make you come three times.”

“... alright.”

The glint in Louis’s eyes as he leans down to fasten his lips around Liam’s neck is almost enough to make Liam come for the first time.

--

Somehow things go on from there, one dare after another, Louis goading Liam on with every “Sure you’ve got it in you, Payno?” and “Unless that’s too much for you”, as if Liam needs any of this, needs any incentive at all to want to cup Louis’s arse in his hands and push him down against him, or lick his way through the ink scrawls on his chest. One overpriced piece of clothing after another ends up on a pile on the floor of Liam’s hallway as they work their way down to bare skin and piping hot flesh, Louis marking Liam’s body in a way that will no doubt land him in trouble later on, not that the red marks Liam’s fingernails leave down Louis’s back will be any easier to explain away.

But that’s part of the game, right? It’s all about seeing how far Liam will go, after all.

There are moments, though, when Louis throws his head back against the couch cushions, sweaty hair curling on his temples, the fingers of one hand desperately trying to grab a hold of Liam’s buzzcut as Liam’s mouth slides hot and wet over Louis’s cock… Moments, when Louis rocks into Liam, eyes wild and unguarded, fingers entwined with Liam’s to keep his hands on either side of his head…

There are moments when each of Louis’s “what’re you waiting for?” sounds like a “please” and every “fuck” sounds like “I love you”, and Liam forgets to pretend that this means nothing, that this is only one big dare, the logical conclusion to a game of chicken that started pretty much the day they met each other.

There are moments when Liam looks into Louis’s eyes and forgets not to see what’s there.

--

The next morning Louis’s gone before Liam wakes up. There’s a lukewarm cup of tea on Liam’s kitchen counter and a post-it on the front door (“You owe me 2 grand”).

Liam dumps the tea in the sink before pouring himself another cup in the same mug, sitting down at his kitchen counter in the cold February light, his body still awake with the ghost of Louis’s touch.

He leaves the post-it on the door.