#l.l. bean moment

[starsexplodeatnight]

Tf141 guys x Reader

Okay, Sooooo

I don’t know what this is per say, just

John Price x Florist!reader

Kyle Garrick x Dog-walker!reader

John Mactavish x Nurse!reader

Simon Riley x Preschool-teacher!reader

Price first!!!

This old dog is not having a good day. The first time you two meet? He’s looking to order a sympathy piece… a fallen solider. So, he’s not in the best mood when he enters your shop.

Then, you come out the back with your sweet smile. It feels like lip balm on chapped lips, soothing the cracks splintering his heart in this moment.

“Hi, I’m *Name*. Welcome, how can I help you?” With a soft look on your face.

Fuck him, he needs the kindness. You’re so understanding when he tells you, not overly patronizing just… kind. Understanding. You’d have to be, having to make arrangements and funeral pieces as much as you do.

While you’re quickly piecing the arrangement together you talk to him, just a natural flow of conversation. He does pause when you ask. “What do you want in the arrangement? What would you like it to look like?” “Sympathetic?” And you laugh. “Fair enough.”

He likes that laugh.

You hand him the arrangement and tell him how to take care of the flowers to make them last longer. Then give him this sweet, sweet encouraging smile…

Yeah, he comes back a week later. Up front asks: “You want to get dinner Love?” Makes you flush, your co-workers in the back giggling until you shoo them away. “That sounds lovely.”

‘Love really does bloom, doesn’t it?’ He muses.

Generally? Your life together is sweet.

You’re together for about a year before he proposed. He’s a man, he’s old enough to know what he wants. He wants to wake up with you ever morning with the safety of that ring around your finger. That, if anything ever happens to him? He could still provide even in his absence…

You hate it when he talks like that but, accept that you need to be realistic… deep down? It makes you feel loved. A painful, sorrowful, love.

He helps you when he can. Whenever he’s home? He’s at your shop helping you get any extra work done so you can spend as much time together as you can while he’s not deployed.

You need help assembling an arbor for a wedding? He uh- he has carpentry skills… let him help, love. He builds you the sturdiest arbor in the industry!

Deliveries? He’ll run those, he’s got time. He doesn’t mind. Warms his heart a bit to do some good delivering flowers to people… they get so happy when he shows up with flowers.

He helps you set up the flowers at weddings! He also refuses to do anything that puts him within the vicinity of the bride and her party! They mistook him as a stripper once, never again. Never again. He’s a happily married man, thank you very much!

What kind of male stripper wears a hat like his any way? Wrangler jeans and a L.L Bean shirt that’s probably older than the bride!!! It was actually very cute to see how steamed he was after that…

You make sure to give HIM flowers. Most men don’t get flowers until their funeral … You don’t want that to be John. He melts a little when you bring himself home flowers you arranged yourself just for him.

You’ve looked up and seen him leaning on the table with a rose between his teeth. As soon as you made eye contact, he wiggles his brows. It made you crack up, he did it just for that reason. A rare moment of silliness from your John.

Will judge other brides choices when you bring home the files for the weddings you’re hired for. But, nothing will ever compare to your wedding to him in his eyes because your wedding was the best. Ever.

He saved your bouquet, dried it and framed it. Gave it to you as an anniversary present.

He then played your wedding song and you two slow danced in a circle together…. Sigh…

Gaz!:

Kyle was on his morning run when he saw you. Across the street with a few dogs, you looked so fucking happy, that made you look so fucking pretty.

You’re wearing an over sized t-shirt, sweatpants and look frazzled as you wrangle 4 dogs at once. You don’t even notice the Adonis across the street as you try and regain steady footing as the dogs all do their best to keep you on your toes.

Brock the 3 year old yellow lab was a puller… and he is CHONKY so you didn’t have much time to pay attention to anything else.

Kyle now tries to ‘bump’ into you. Timing his run to make a meet cute happen. Fuck him if he’s already done his run and doesn’t see you only to spot you once he’s on his door step sweaty and gross! EVERY TIME!

He’ll try and go again even though his legs are burning. This? This stunt catches the dogs attention, not yours. You’ve got 5 today and they HAUL ASS to go see Kyle. And you’re just dragged to his feet.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! They’re all friendly, I swear!” You wheeze, Kyle laughs. “Don’t worry Luv! S’fine. It’s cute,” He’s not looking at the dogs, despite the Jack Russell ‘Shermie’ making eyes at him.

Ah ha! Kyle has ingratiated himself! He get’s so pumped as soon as he gets home! You invited him to walk with you! ‘Anytime!’ Fuck yeah! He does a fist pump and dances foot to foot.

He finds dogs are a good judge of character and, these dogs? They love you. And you are devoted to them despite them not being yours. He finds those qualities incredibly attractive.

Generally? You two are cute.

He’ll take the high energy dogs on jogs for you when you meet up. He can keep up with them! *subtle flex*

He despite his athleticism? He likes the small, slow dogs. Like the blind, cross eyed Shi tzu ’Louie’ and the grumpy old Bassett ‘Geraldine’

It gave him ample time to walk leisurely and talk to you… You, Gaz and Geraldine went on many walks together.

He love, love, loves whenever you send him a selfie of you and one of the dogs! He’s got a whole folder of them and the newest picture you send? That one is always his newest Lock Screen.

Has worn a dog papoose and, has carried a dog while wearing a dog papoose. He is not ashamed, you thought he looked cute. And he takes all compliments of any kind. Hell yeah he looks cute, thanks baby!

He loves those prissy little toys. ‘Teddy’ the Pomeranian is one of his favorites, Teddy just loves being held. Oh, Kyle looks so attractive holding that spoiled little poof… he’s so sweet and caring with it too. Fuck!

He holds you if one of your regulars dies. Losing an animal is hard, especially when you’d been walking that dog since it was a puppy… he’s here luv, it’s okay. His eyes are misty too because, he cared for that dog too.

He get’s a Bassett stuffed animal, ‘R.I.P Geraldine, you helped me find something worthwhile.’

He proposes to you that night.

You have a little Bassett hound topper on your cake as a small tribute to the dog that helped you get closer…

He will and HAS gotten between you and an aggressive dog. He doesn’t like hurting animals but, fuck if he was going to left anyone hurt his baby and her charges! Tries to beat the piss out of the owner.

His wedding gift to you? A dog. Not just any dog! He wanted to get you one that will keep you safe while he’s deployed and one that will help you handle your charges. So he get’s you a very highly trained Belgian malinois.

Her name is Gracie and she helps you both sleep better at night…

Soap!:

Oh, oh Soap. He get’s lambasted during a mission and gets put into hospital. His nurse? An over tired, over worked, grumpy woman who will not put up with Tom-fuckery during her shift.

In rolls in Soap: a battered pile of tenderized meat who immediately attempts a pick up line while she’s trying to make him comfortable. Oh, it’s going to be a long recovery.

Every goddamn shift! He’d light up every single fucking time you walk into the room! Oh, it makes you want to smother him with a pillow -cute aggression-

It’s not fair! You wanted to hate him! Be the grumpy bitch nurse and go on with your day! But, he makes it hard!!!

He seems so genuinely interested and not some creepy perv hitting on a nurse! He asks you how you are in such a genuine way, he leans in to listen, retains information! He does try and rile you up but, only because he thinks your ‘angry face’ is ‘cute’ the bastard! Who gave him the right to call you cute!?

And he loves, despite how angry you present yourself. You are the gentlest nurse, you care, you’re still a good nurse despite trying to act as jaded as the older nurses. You remember he does like certain foods, you get blood on the first draw and you always know what he needs…

God, it’s tumbling down the slippery slope faster than you ever imagined. You weren’t supposed to catch feelings! That’s not allowed!!! But when he’s finally discharged? He finds you, and offers to walk you home instead of going with his friends to celebrate his discharge.

He knew how much it meant to you for him to acknowledge what you’ve done for him… even behind the tough wall you put up.

He’ll always remember you stayed far past your shift to watch him when he spiked a fever and was critical…

You two are sour and sweet.

He rips those jaded glasses off your face and gives you a big kiss.

You’re kinda just- not codependent! but, something on the healthier side of that. You have a comfortable rhythm. He’ll go out with friends at night, stalling until you come off your shift and he can pick you up.

He gets to spend time with friends, you get to walk home knowing you’re safe at 2 in the morning… even if you have to steady him on the way home after one too many pints.

He has bought a sexy nurse costume for you. He mainly wants you to wear it, he has worn it as well…

He loves your stories! You have the best stories! He’ll sit you on the bar so you can regale his mates that story of that guy! “You know- that guy! The one that got that thing stuck up his ass!” “Which one?”

Sometimes you just, put your hand over his eyes. He looks at you with such fucking love it’s ridiculous. He just pushes further into your hand when you do this.

He will lie down and offer to be your dummy if you need a refresher on anatomy. Wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

It’s a personal victory whenever he makes you laugh.

He is lord and savior to the children in the hospital. He will come to visit the children’s care unit, full gear. You find him, and he is their god. They cling to his arms and legs, he’s still moving around, strong enough to keep on going even with 7 kids clinging to him.

He will use his little minions to his own personal advantage. Make them give you, like drawings and paper flowers just to see you smile. And for his own amusement.

It’s like Syd the Sloth and the tiny sloths.

He tells you he can’t wait until you have your own… you never imagined you’d actually ever get baby fever after working as a nurse again… Johnny makes that happen.

He makes you cry when he’s deployed. Wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, lass. Don’t cry! I ‘Ken you can put me back together if I come back in pieces.” He tries to joke, only makes you cry harder…

He holds you a little tighter after that one.

He never wants you to have to put you through that, ever. He cringes every time he remembers he said that… that he thought it was okay to joke about putting you through that.

Marries you after he comes home from deployment. He comes back in better shape this time too. He’s got to be careful now, doesn’t he?

Ghost:

This man? This man falls for a preschool teacher.

He’s just sitting in the park, minding his own business when he see’s you pass with your little class walking behind you like ducklings. Fuck, when was the last time he’d seen someone so pure?

Your preschool was just on the edge of the park and you, with a few other handlers, were letting the kids explore the park under supervision. Their ‘task’ is to find the ‘fauna’ of the park!

Imagine his surprise when more than 4 of the little crotch goblins run up to him specifically. He thought he was scary to the little kids, well apparently not! You rush over to his rescue when you see them using him as a piece of playground equipment.

Oh, he looked so confused. Frozen like a deer in headlights as you stifle your giggle, peeling the 4 year old girl off his lap. “I’m so sorry!” “No, s’fine… cheeky buggers.” The kids all giggle, eager to play with him again.

Ghost then adds it into his schedule to mosey past your school every afternoon. You always know when he does because it’s always at recess and all the kids (except a few) flock to the fence to say hello to ‘Mr Ghost.’

He feels like a celebrity… softens his prickly heart to see all these sweet kids admire him… he thinks so poorly of himself, then he looks at these kids and you? You all look at him with such adoration…. Makes him feel like a human being again instead of a war machine.

And you look at him with such love. You find it sweet he takes his time to come see the kids, graciously accepting their pictures they drew of him.

He was kind of awkward at first, he’d stood ramrod straight like he would with his old drill sergeant and informed you of his record. He wasn’t a creep, he was in the military, and this was his little… respite from all the bile he had to face.

You couldn’t turn him away. You welcomed him every time you saw him over the fence. He remained behind the boundary of the fence and was . He was very grateful you didn’t think he was a creep and trespassed him from walking by.

You two were blissful.

You asked him out on a date. He asked you how many children you wanted… so sweet. lol

He finds you absolutely beautiful, bouncing one of your students on your hip whenever he stops by. He can’t help it. He can’t wait until you have kids of your own, you’ll teach them to be such wonderful human beings. He’ll teach them how to defend themselves and he’ll keep you all safe.

He becomes a bit of a helper around the preschool whenever he’s not deployed. He’s certified in cpr- why not? He mostly just watches the class room to see if any kid is doing anything wrong and preventing anyone from choking.

Kids take turns sitting in his lap whenever he’s sitting. He acts like he doesn’t care but you know he adores it.

Little girls will bring him stuffed animals and by the time class ends he’s surrounded by every stuffed animal in class. He remembers all of their names too. Oh, you can’t help it you get cute aggression with him!

Will walk around with your lipstick prints all over his balaclava. He will dodge envy attempt to wipe them off. They’re his!

After a long day, he’ll help you clean up the class room. In his mind he’s playing this scenario out, like you two are cleaning up after your own kids.

Hates the moms. He hates every single one of of the moms. They’re annoying. They’re coming after his fine ass because they didn’t find a man that treat them right, like he does you and he’s not putting up with it!

Asks you to give him hickeys once. ‘‘But love, yes.’’ After you tell him ‘‘no!’’ “We work in a preschool!” “And? They bite each otha’ all the time.” “Simon!”

He is their god, part 2.

They laugh at all of his stupid jokes, which in turn makes you laugh and now he’s a smug bastard.

Vibes with Bluey, you two watch it together. Aims to be like Bandit when he’s a dad. Takes it as a compliment when you tell him. “You’re pretty much a dead ringer for him already love.” Like, stunned for a second before he’s kissing your temple.

He hates deploying now.

All the kids cry when he does, it’s awful. Then, it makes you cry too. You were trying so hard to be strong and now you’re crying along with them.

Makes him feel like a worse monster than he thought he was.

Tada! Idk what this was! But there ya’ go! Enjoy!

[bythenarrative]

HCS FOR MAINE?? - 🦞

of course love :3 (i totally do not know who this is at all.... sarcasm)

Maine HCs!

One of the shortest of the states. I see him around 5'2 ish!

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't like seafood too much! I feel like the meat would cause texture issues for him.

His hair is a mix of blond, and ginger!

Seeing as Maine is a cold state, he's constantly wearing long sleeves, but the moment it gets to 50°F is when he whips out the shorts and tank tops.

Maine is one of the only states that can actually cook, besides the southern states. The midwest can't cook shit other than brats.

Seeing as Maine is home of L.L Bean... he wears so much L.L Bean it's not even funny.

Maine is the first state that sees the sunrise in the US, so naturally he's more of a morning person! He surprisingly gets up, and cooks breakfast.

He loves blueberries and donut holes! Seeing as Maines the largest producer of blueberries in the country... be adores them! And the donut hole was invented in Maine!

[shaunsummers]

Reunited, and It's in the Woods!

"Fleetwood Mac alright?" One hand on the wheel, another on her battered leather CD case, Shaun rifles through her collection as they made their way down the road. Of course, still surfacing often to keep her eyes on the road. Meeting the look on Lilith's face, she can only laugh.

"What? You should expect this by now, being friends with a dyed-in-the-wool dyke. Plus, it's a road trip. Can't go wrong with a little Americana." Before Lilith can protest, she wiggles the 'Rumors' album from its case, sliding it into the console. "Blame Casey for lending me the vinyl."

Glancing across the aisle, though, she can only crick a slight smile; the further they got from Williamsburg, the more Lilith seemed to uncoil and relax. Shaun had only gotten to see her once—she'd made good on that 'make-up' night, and cuddling was an understatement, not that she'd minded—so it was nice to see her again, knowing the stress of everything could be put on pause for a weekend. "Lucky you, I got the window fixed. So you've got an out if Stevie Nicks isn't worth living for."

Shaun just amplifies the pain by cranking up the volume, pausing to rifle for a cigarette. "Really, though...I'm glad we could do this." Though, surely to Lilith's chagrin, it only gets worse as 'Second Hand News' fades into 'Dreams'. Usually Shaun wasn't too forward in bursting into song, but she'd be remiss to not give into the good vibes that were already circulating. A pleasant weekend away in the woods, a full cooler of booze and steaks, and the company of wayward friends. She couldn't help to take a bit of joy in it.

"Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom Well, who am I to keep you down? It's only right that you should play the way you feel it But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had And what you lost

Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining Players only love you when they're playing Say, women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know"

While at first the sameness of Williamsburg transitioned to that of the city outskirts, it too eventually faded into smaller and smaller towns and taller and taller trees. As the towering of distant mountains moved closer, Shaun knew their drive was nearing its end. And thank god for the truck, for the dirt road curling around the sierra's base wasn't as closely maintained as she'd figure. She couldn't help but wish Tek the best of luck in her little beater. But as shit as the way up had been, she couldn't help but to find the quaint, old log cabin quite charming. Among a smattering of maples and oaks, the climb straightened out into a small jut of straight land before spilling downhill towards the lake. With its green tin roof and layer of red paint plastered over the door, and the distant shed with a weathered canoe tipped against its wall, she couldn't help but to think "L.L. Bean cover".

"Shit. Good job, Lilith." Shaun chuckles, pulling past the overhanging porch to leave room for the others. "I didn't know you were into Deliverance chic. It's even got one of those fancy fire pits." In the back, a swing, some wooden lawn chairs, and an overturned log circled the metal grate in its center, leaving plenty of room between it and a charcoal grill. "Want to christen the place? Check for badgers? I can start unloading." She cuts the engine, sitting contentedly in the cooler air gifted by the elevation for a moment.

[theheirloomist]

While watching 30 years of old family VHS tapes, Maggie Timblin noticed something incredible. Her father was wearing the same green shirt in many of the most precious moments. 

She posted her findings to TikTok and a million people went absolutely bonkers. The Heirloomist was one of them. We had to know more. 

Maggie’s father is Mike Girardi, a Marine who served working with the legendary Harrier Jet, which gave him extensive knowledge of planes, even from the ground.

“My dad retains information in an incredible capacity,” Maggie said. “So once he learns about something like an airplane, he can identify it even 30,000 ft in the air.”

Perhaps Mike’s uncanny ability to know a good thing when he sees it is the reason he’s been loyal to the same green plaid @llbean shirt for 30+ years.

Pictured is the shirt, a Christmas gift from Mike’s dad in 1988. The shirt has since seen everyday moments like cookouts and apple picking and momentous occasions as well. He held Maggie as a newborn in this shirt and now takes Maggie’s son for strolls around the neighborhood in it.

“One glance of my Dad walking by wearing the shirt and I can instantly think back to countless wonderful memories,” Maggie said.There was no question we needed to photograph it.

The shirt arrived at our photo studio well loved and faded from time. We used some photo magic to restore the fabric to its former glory. It worked.

“The rich depth of color makes the shirt look exactly how I remember it from my childhood,” Maggie said. 

And then she doubled down, sending us this picture of Mike wearing his shirt, surrounded by the entire family. Mike’s father, who gifted him the shirt in ‘88, is on the back right. 

Thank you for sharing your dad and his shirt with us, @italian__smile! Mike, we salute both for your service to the country and to your family. And to the fine folks at L.L. Bean who dreamt up this shirt so long ago, your work is the stuff heirlooms are made of.

#theheirloomist #celebrateyourstory #makeitpersonal #llbean #personalizedart #handmade #custommade #family #tradition #modernart #photography 

[degibusdesigns]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: L.L. Bean Mountain Moccasin Scuff Slippers 8 M.

[nicsparkles]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: L.L. Bean Women’s Mountain Slipper Boot Mocs Size 8.

[ranawaytomaine]

Prospect Harbor, ME

Instagram — & don’t delete my caption, please.

[talkfantasytome]

Okay, so I'm not very good at coming up with prompts, but I am a sucker for accidental love confessions! Think it would be especially cute if they were doing something casual and Nesta absentmindedly blurts out the L word and is mortified.

Just posted the first part of this, from @littleloric's ask, with the "accidental" confession...now on to Nesta actually remembering what happened. 😂

Part 1

PS - don't hate me, but I'm basing Nesta's post-op experience on my own when I got my wisdom teeth out (in terms of pain, not the romance, sadly). So...sorry to all those who had bad experiences. 😬

Nesta woke up, snuggled beneath her covers, warm and relaxed. She couldn't remember getting into her bed, or much after her doctor sedated her, but a quick look at the clock told her she hadn't slept for too long. Her procedure was at nine, and it was barely past one in the afternoon.

After a big stretch, she pulled the covers off. And then quickly tugged them back over.

Why was it so cold? Why was it always freezing after a nap? It was what made Nesta hate napping.

Her eyes darted around the room and landed on a familiar, worn, Velaris HS Hockey sweatshirt. With a deep breath, Nesta shoved the covers off again and rushed over to the sweatshirt, throwing it on and slipping her feat into her L.L. Bean slippers.

It was a start.

After a few hops, she left her room and made her way toward the sound of the sink running in the kitchen.

She came upon a familiar, hulking figure hunched over the sink, washing some of the dishes she'd left in it the night before. Nesta paused to watch. To take in the defined muscles of his back as his arms moved.

After a moment she decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat softly.

The sink was shut off, and then Cassian was turning. He gave her a bright smile and walked toward her. "How are you feeling?"

"Good! No pain, yet."

"Really?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in shock. "You're a bit overdue for your next dose, so you should be feeling something."

Nesta stopped to think for a second, moving her jaw around a bit, but nothing. It felt completely normal. "Should I take the medication? Emerie was saying something about 'chasing the pain'..."

"Hmmm..." He scratched his head for a moment. "Maybe just start with Advil? And if you feel any real pain, then you can take the prescription? It's pretty strong stuff. Better not to take it if you don't have to."

"Yeah, I'd rather not get loopy again, either," she sighed. "I can barely remember anything from after the procedure."

Cassian stilled as he got out the Advil for her, his entire body stiffening. "So...you don't remember...anything?" he asked, his voice lower than it had been a moment before.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach at the question. What had she done that Cassian thought she might remember? Was it something he wanted her to remember? Or something he hoped she'd forget?

"Not even anything you said?" he added, finally turning to face her, handing her the Advil and a cup of water.

She accepted both, her face scrunching as she tried to figure out what he might mean. She was just downing a large gulp of water with the pills when the memory flashed through her mind.

I love you.

She barely managed to keep the water from being spat out of her mouth.

What was she thinking?!

Well, she probably wasn't thinking much at all.

Nesta couldn't believe she'd done that. What a stupid, idiotic, embarrassing thing to do. That's not how she was supposed to tell Cassian for the first time. It was supposed to happen at sunset, or in some pretty park, or by a waterfall on a picnic. Preferably after he said it first.

Her cheeks heated, and suddenly Nesta wished she was in pain. That she'd downed the prescription to escape this horror scene.

"Cass, I-"

Cassian stopped her with his lips, kissing her deeply as his arms wound around her waist and tugged her close. Nesta's hands lifted instinctively to his chest, grabbing his shirt to have something to hold on to.

It was just a few seconds before he was pulling away and resting his forehead on hers.

"I love you," he breathed.

Nesta couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Really?"

Cassian huffed out a laugh and gave her another quick kiss. "Of course I do. How couldn't I?"

"I love you, too," she beamed, her hands traveling up until her arms were around his neck and she was pulling herself as close as possible to him.

"So you've said." He grinned widely at her, but before Nesta could snap back at him, he captured her lips with his. "But I'm glad to know it wasn't just the drugs."

Nesta laughed with him at that. "No, not just the drugs. It's been a long time coming."

Cassian's smile widened into something so bright it had flowers blooming within Nesta.

With Cassian, why would she need a sunset anyway?

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @nestaisgod @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @lady-winter-sunrise @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @the-key-to-me-myself-and-i @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @cannellefawn @superspiritfestival @aks18

[ynscrazylife]

Hey?? I Recently found you and I most say that I adore your page, I saw that you write for Lena do you think that your write a request for her?. My idea is that Reader and Lena are in a relationship, but Lena has feeling for Kara so Reader decided to leave her, you decided if they go back together or not.

I Wasn’t Enough | l.l angst fic

Summary: Y/N and Lena are in love. However, when Y/N recognizes that Lena has feelings for Kara, their relationship gets put in jeopardy.

Authors Note: Thank you for requesting! I never understand the want for angst

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @sybil-moon-is-a-mess @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes

DCEU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @basiclesbianbitch @extraordinary-fangrl @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @harrypottercumslut

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here!

DCEU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/ikromanoff

Y/N hadn’t been able to contain her excitement when she was approved to work on an article on L-Corp and the woman behind it, Lena Luthor. She had found the woman’s story fascinating and wanted to shine some light on the shift from Luthor Corp to L-Corp, and this was her time to do so. 

The moment she set foot in Lena’s office, though, she knew she was screwed. 

She had seen the woman in pictures and watched her press conferences on T.V, but seeing the magnicant lady in person was a surreal experience, mostly because of how gorgeous she was. Y/N found herself instantly distracted, unable to keep from feeling dazed as she saw the brunette so graciously finish up typing whatever she was typing on her computer, stand up, and offer her the biggest, most charming smile Y/N had ever seen. 

“Hello! My friend, Kara Danvers, told me you were coming. I’m Lena Luthor, nice to meet you,” Lena’s voice which almost made Y/N swoon pulled her from her thoughts and she blinked, suddenly remembering what she was here for. 

(She couldn’t help but be in awe, though, because of how down to earth Lena was. She still introduced herself like a normal human even though of course, Y/N knew who she was!) 

“I’m, uh, Y/N Y/L/N! It’s nice to meet you, too, Ms Luthor - I, uh, apologize, I’m not usually this nervous,” she forced herself to say, lightly chuckling off the awkwardness. Crap, what was she doing?!

She shook Lena’s hand (and nearly fainted right then and there). “Oh, don’t apologize! No need to be nervous, darling - oh and you can just call me Lena,” Lena said, smiling and waving off Y/N’s concerns as she sat back at her desk.

Y/N had no clue what was going on. Lena seemed to have put a spell on her because the moment she said that, Y/N felt better about the interview, having been reassured, but then a whole new worry racked her body: Lena Luthor had just called her “darling”!!! The up and down of emotions was making her stomach do somersaults. 

The reporter took a couple deep breaths and cleared her throat so she wouldn’t vomit from being overwhelmed before sitting down in the chair across from Lena, beginning the interview. 

The rest was history and, seeing as they were both good friends of Kara’s, it wasn't long before she spilled the beans on her secret identity as Supergirl and the couple became unofficial members of the unofficial group, the Superfriends.

They were having their weekly game night, Lena sitting in an armchair with Y/N on her lap, Kara, James, and Alex on the couch, Winn on the floor, and J’onn in another armchair. Laugher and skies filled the room, accompanied with the faint smell of wine and the lipstick stains on the discarded glasses. 

“Damn, Luthor, you’re sneaky,” Kara grumbled as she fished in her pile of Monopoly money to get the correct amount she needed to pay Lena for landing on her property. 

Lena chuckled as Y/N took the fake money from Kara and handed it to her. “All apart of business, baby,” she commented. 

Everyone laughed it off, but Y/N tensed up. Was Lena flirting with Kara? She looked over her shoulder at her girlfriend and Lena furrowed her eyebrows before a look of realization washed over her face. She quickly shook her head, indicating that the nickname was harmless, and kissed Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N brushed it aside. It was just a meaningless comment. She slumped her tense shoulders, forcing her mind not to wander to the many “What If’s” that could possibly happen. What if it wasn't just a comment? What if-?

“Your turn, Y/N!” 

Y/N blinked, taking a second to realize what Alex said, and jumped up to grab the dice (she would have fallen off Lena’s lap had the brunette not wrapped her arms around her, and Y/N relaxed at her touch. 

She rolled it around in her hands before dropping it and moving her piece to her own property which she had landed on. As the game continued on, everything was normal. However, it was impossible for Y/N to miss the small talk Lena would occasionally make with Kara and how her comments were just on the line between cautious and flirtatious. She also noticed every time Lena would practically be giving the blonde heart eyes, but just tried to ignore it, telling herself that she’d talk to Lena later and everything would turn out fine. 

. . .  . . .  . . .   

“Lena, can I talk to you?” Y/N asked as they sat down for breakfast, both drinking coffee on the late Saturday morning. 

Lena glanced up from the newspaper she was reading and hummed an enthusiastic nod before taking a sip from her mug. 

Y/N nodded, eyes falling onto the table as she thought for a moment to sort out her thoughts. Taking a couple steady breaths, she asked, “Please don't take this the wrong way . . . Are you attracted to Kara?” 

Lena blinked, staring at her for a second before realizing she was serious. The CEO shook her head, forcing out a chuckle. “What? No. What makes you think that?” She said. 

Y/N couldn’t decide whether or not to be relived. She sighed. “Just some things you were saying and looks you were giving her last night,” she muttered. 

Lena scoffed, biting her lip before shaking her head more decidedly. “Do you really not trust me?” She spat out in a hiss, making Y/N recoil from the sudden harshness.

“What?” Was the only thing Y/N could say as she was dumbfounded.

Lena nodded slowly. “Why did I actually think that you’d be any different from everyone else in my life? You don’t trust me! You think I like Kara!” She said, on the verge of anger overtaking her. She pushed her chair back and stood up.

Y/N shook her head, needing a minute to process what was happening. “I didn’t mean it like that-” she began to say.

“Uh-huh,” Lena retorted mockingly. “I wasn’t planning on going into L-Corp today but I need to cool off.”

Before Y/N had even gotten out of the kitchen to follow her, she was met with the slam of the door bouncing off her walls. She stood, stunned.

What the hell had happened?

She spent the rest of the day in distress, replaying the argument over and over again in her head and each time it got worse. Each time in her mind Lena glared a little harder, was even more ruthless in her tone, or the door slamming was louder. Lena also let her phone calls go to voicemail, leaving Y/N in her thoughts. Was Lena right? Did she not trust her girlfriend? Or did she catch something that Lena didn’t even know about herself?

Did Lena like Kara?

She couldn’t decide.

When the keys were finally jingling in the door, Y/N jumped up from their bed and ran out to meet her girlfriend, her cheeks stained with tear streaks.

Lena didn’t look to happy, either. Her eyes were a little red and puffy and she was frowning.

“I did a lot of thinking today . . . And I talked to Kara,” Lena said, cutting immediately to the point. Her words, combined with her low and defeated tone, gave Y/N a sinking feeling in her stomach. “I’ve suppressed these feelings for a while, I realized, but . . . You were right. I like Kara. And . . . She likes me, too.”

Y/N felt like she was just hit with a truck. “What are you saying?” She asked, voice cracking from emotion as she sniffed and could feel big tears bubbling. “Are you planning to leave me for her?”

Lena didn’t look at her. She kept her gaze on the floor and opened her mouth to say something, which gave Y/N the slightest amount of hope, before it was ripped away from her when Lena stifled a sigh and shut her mouth.

There were a couple moments of silence that just pounded against Y/N’s head. “I should have know that I wasn’t enough for the CEO of L-Corp. That you’d want Supergirl,” she finally settled on saying. It was just filled with disappointment, sadness, and anger, lacking in bitterness or pity, as she realized that the fear she had ignored that Lena would fall for Kara was now painfully coming to life.

“I guess I’ll go pack my things,” Y/N continued, feeling lost and without any hope at all when Lena didn’t say anything, didn’t even try and tell her she was wrong. She sniffed and stomped her foot when her girlfriend was just content for her to walk away. “It’s good I didn’t sell my apartment yet. We’re done.”

With a glare, she turned around and angrily threw all her belongings into suitcases while Lena stood in the same exact spot, looking at the floor.

[strokes-of-everything]

This is incredibly self-indulgent, but I want to write a fic post-Re; surrection where Lelouch/L.L. just happens to plan pizza shop trips around the world as they hunt for Geass fragments so C.C. can experience pizza from all different cultures.

Chicago? Full on deep dish with too many toppings. A box-to-go gets blown away as they take pictures by The Bean.

Sicily? We get Mafia fragment adventures with the deep crust to go with it. Cheese-kun has a boat driver uniform the whole time.

Rome? Vatican-related Geass problems and a C.C. who orders multiple pizzas in restaurants because how DARE they only give you two basil leaves on a margherita pie?? She must have multiple to combine the toppings to adequacy.

France? Tarte flambé and cheesy romantic moments near the Eiffel Tower. L.L. abhors Versailles but C.C. makes him go anyway to send pictures to their friends. Nunnally specifically asks for garden photos of the both them because wholesome.

Iceland? Blizzard adventures and banana pizza because pineapple wasn’t a crazy enough topping for her try during their stop in Hawaii, and he wants to press the limits of this obsession to see how far it goes.

The possibilities are ENDLESS.

[lesbianrobin]

hello em i have a request. can u please rate mr harrington's looks/outfits i just feel like u have the best takes and i'd LOVE to know how you'd rank his choices 👀

this is the single greatest ask i’ve ever received. i will be ranking the outfits, not steve’s moral alignment or actions in each scene. in order of appearance:

The Introduction

4/10

hair is tragic

steve copied this entire fit from a mannequin in the ralph lauren polo outlet store

would honestly be a 0/10 except for the obvious valiant effort being put forth by his lower half to resist the sexless curse of khaki pants. the devil (st costuming department) works hard but by god steve harrington (joe keery’s body) works harder

nice brown watch that certainly came from a department store

also gains points for being next to nancy’s anemic librarian fit, thus looking better by comparison

The Rich Bitch

8/10

thank god he ditched the khakis

hair looks much less demonic

it’s a simple look but the sweatshirt rides up when he shotguns the beer

he also gets wet

solid 8 for sluttiness alone

The Whore

10/10

wet

please note that his chest is waxed. keep this in mind.

The Heterosexual

2/10

hair looks like he dipped his head in glue

bold choice with the grey pants. unfortunately that choice was wrong

matching outfits with your comphet girlfriend isn’t as cute as you think it is stevie

you only get points because despite that ungodly pastel stripe pattern the polo’s decently fitted and makes your arm look kinda nice

The Dickhead

3/10

glue head pt. 2

at least the stripes aren’t pastel this time

The Cuck

6/10

hair slightly less glue-y

yet another striped polo is peeking out unfortunately

but! it’s green and green looks good on him

finally wearing jeans like a normal fucking human instead of weird slacks

pivotal moment in steve’s fashion evolution from preppy male model to sexy morally upright king

his morals are stored in the denim

The Final Girl

9/10

an outfit with a character arc to rival steve’s own

pretty fucking good hair if i do say so myself!!

it’s fluffy!

that shit looks like if you touched it it’d be soft... no glue here!

finally not copying from the goddamn l.l. bean catalog

iconic green slut sweatshirt? check! jacket and nikes? check! fucked-up gorgeous face and baseball bat full of rusty nails? check, baby!

looks good on its own OR with some blood on top

overall a very solid look

The Darling Little Drummer Boy

7/10

babe no... please don’t go back to the khakis... they won’t treat you like jeans do...

not quite glue head but not his best

apparently steve owns a single green sweatshirt, a thousand striped polos, and one very precious christmas sweater

almost makes up for prep-related khaki crimes by being really fucking cute

The Simp

8/10

glue head is DEAD

further evidence that steve harrington’s entire closet is just striped polos

this is his fifth unique striped polo

most of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

actually all of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

he’s finally let go of the fucking pastels thank jesus

and you can’t see it but he did wear jeans with this fit i just forgot to make sure they were pictured and it’s 4:15 am so i don’t feel like going back to remake this collage

cannot tell if this is a lighter blue version of the jacket he wore three times in s1 or if it IS the jacket he wore three times in s1 and the color grading is just that different

either way he loves jackets and i think that’s very sexy of him

The Intellectual

9/10

i’ve been waiting for this one... turn it up!

literally invented vests

excellent hair

loses a point for unfortunately introducing steve’s SIXTH unique striped fucking polo

i can’t see the collar but i know it’s there i know you’re wearing another fucking polo steve you can’t hide from me

can’t decide if he looks gay or just really preppy but either way he’s got some repression going on

still a very solid look

The Oh No Oh God It Hurts I’m Looking Away I Can’t Watch This

10/10

yes that middle picture is absolutely to show off the texture of his blazer and not at all me making sure that if i have to see his heartbroken little face then you all do too

anyways i Know that blazer cost at least $100 like i Know that shit’s expensive

excellent gorgeous soft-looking hair that someone ought to run their hands through but only people who haven’t dated him for a year while pining after someone else

emotional devastation... but make it unbelievably fucking sexy

stevie baby i know you’re a colorful guy but please wear more black

The Meathead Jock

9/10

aw christ whatever happened to standards?

introduction of the blue nikes <3

god his hair looked fucking good here

could have gained that final point by using tube socks with blue and GREEN stripes to tie together the shoes and the gym uniform :/

shorts could be shorter but are an altogether appropriate and enjoyable length

fun sweatstain to customize the look <3

The (is there a word for victim of bullying?) Serious Athlete

8/10

the yellow stripe was more fun

still cute though

The Sudsy Boy

11/10

wet

suds indicate that he’s washing his hair, presumably with faberge organics. is this why he’s being bullied?

steve brings his faberge organics shampoo and conditioner and his farrah fawcett spray to school with him whenever he has basketball practice

steve either has shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray in his backpack at all times, or he has a separate gym bag that’s mostly haircare products

just need to make sure we all know that

excellent freckle showcase

his chest is still waxed. please, i beg, keep this in mind

one of his strongest looks

The Babysitter

10/10

his most versatile look to date

a different jacket than the one(s) he’s worn before but it still has the same kind of collar. steve found a jacket he liked and bought it in at least three colors

the whole thing fits So fucking nicely! shirt, jacket, jeans... baby boy is TAILORED

return of the white nikes with the red check indicate that they are his fashion nikes, while the blue nikes with the white check are his sport nikes. interesting.

this fit lasts like 48 hours and steve simply looks sexier as time goes on which is a testament to its quality as well as his inherent power

every new accessory elevates his appearance. roses, nail bat, rubber gloves, blood, sweat, band-aids, bandana, goggles... each element complements the look in its own way!

an overall win

The Chauffeur

8/10

we can’t really see the whole fit but he’s not wearing a striped polo so i’m calling it a win regardless of what’s on his bottom half

cannot give him a 10/10 though because he might be wearing khakis

red is such a nice color on him when it’s not just from his blood

i lied when i said he should wear more black he should wear more colors

that plain sweater absolutely cost $85 or more

hair looks very nice and soft

excellent look!

The Sailor Man

9/10

very precious

absolutely the best hair i’ve ever seen

baby boy got highlights for his hot girl summer!

bright colors make his very red lips pop

shorts could be shorter

love the little accents! especially the white pockets and belt

excellent color coordination on steve’s part with the blue sneakers (notably different than his s2 blue basketball nikes) and the red bruising/blood

i hope you remembered that steve’s chest was waxed. as you can see his chest is now unwaxed. some change between s2 and s3 drove this decision, presumably either his breakup with nancy or the fact that he no longer showers in front of other guys at school. up to your interpretation

shock blanket at the very end is a nice touch so we don’t forget he’s traumatized

The Drowned Rat/The Man Overboard

10/10

wet

shorts could be shorter

the decision to purchase and wear a hoodless raincoat is absolutely ridiculous and stupid

however it is also very steve harrington and i value self-expression

The Chick Magnet/The Flaming Homosexual

100/10

what can i even say about this fit?

the absolute best pants he’s worn thus far. amazing fit, excellent classic wash. i say this as a former american eagle outfitters associate and the winner of my freshman year dorm’s “best at folding jeans” award

manages to make blue jeans with a half-blue denim vest work effortlessly

bold primary colors make him stand out without being too gaudy

excellent pairing of t-shirt with simple stripes and vest with simple color blocking to create a complex yet cohesive and flattering look

simple brown belt gives the look a put-together yet down-to-earth vibe

hair has only gotten better

still wearing that same brown watch that he’s had since the introduction

this man looks like he waxes his chest

this is steve in his final form

thank you for your time

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Fear

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only Warnings: Cursing; canon-typical violence; character injury; angst. This one is angsty ‘cause we haven’t had an angsty one yet. Whoops. Notes: The next one will be more chipper, promise. Summary: You’re not ignorant to the fact that what the guys do day in and day out is dangerous. 

Your world doesn’t stop when it happens. 

It feels like it should, but it can’t. You’ve still got shit to do, the rest of an op to help coordinate, even as your insides are squirming and you think you’re going to be sick. You’re not ignorant to the fact that what the guys do day in and day out is dangerous. You worry about all of them, you always tell all of them to be careful.

But that doesn’t matter now, you can’t really dwell on what you have said or what you should’ve said, because you can still hear the odd gunshot coming through your feed and god, what the fuck is going on over there? You can hear Nick telling one of the guys to stay still and Henderson to keep applying pressure. And then Nick is telling you to call in a medic because Borracho has been shot.

--

When you do get to the hospital, the team’s all there. You don’t have to ask; Nick is up and telling you: “He’s in surgery right now. Bullet hit him in the abdomen,” Nick pats the spot on his own torso, on the left, just under his ribs in an approximation, “Doc says he got lucky, it didn’t hit anything vital.”

“It went through his tac vest?” You hiss. 

“We were one short, he gave his to the witness,” Connors grumbles. 

Stupid bastard. Stupid noble bastard. When you see him, you’re gonna kill him. 

You want to ask more, but you hear your name being called. You turn to see Gabriel, Megan, and Borracho’s mom, Regina, coming down the hall. They need answers; you can ask your questions later. --

You don’t register much after the doctor says, “he’s going to be alright,” because that tiny bit of you that’s been ready to kill him this whole time just crumbles. Cause yeah, you’re still out in the waiting room, and you’re still worried, but Borracho was doing his job, and you may or may not already be planning to buy him his own tac vest for Christmas. Maybe L.L. Bean has them and you can get it personalized? “Can we see him?” It’s Gabriel that asks it; you haven’t even bothered, for the simple reason of the doctor’s answering question of, “Are you family?” They are. You’re not. They’re allowed in; Gabriel is already starting down the hall to his brother’s room. Regina and Megan turn back to you, apologies poised on their lips, and you wave them off with a thin smile and tell them that it’s alright, that you’ll see him later, that he needs his family right now. Megan wraps her an arm around her mom’s shoulders and gives you a thankful nod before following Gabriel. You’re alone for a split-second. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the vending machine next to you, and the buzz-crackle-mumbling of someone being called to the O.R. on the hospital’s intercom overhead. Then Nick’s hand is on your shoulder, and he’s telling you that one of them will drive you home. You shake your head, tell him that you can get yourself back. “How’d you get here?” Nick asks. “I… I um…” You drove. You drove, but you barely remember doing it. The guys are watching you, all of them. They’re waiting for the tears. But you’re not going to do that here; besides, they’re just as worried about Borracho as you are. You want to be there for them just as much as they want to be there for you. You can fall apart later. -- Visiting hours are over before the doctor lets anyone but Borracho’s family in to see him, so you and the guys decide to clear out (well, the guys decide to clear out, you know that you’ve gotta go with one of ‘em). Megan does come out to tell you all that he’s stable, and sleeping, that the doctors expect him to only be in for a few days before he’ll be able to come home, barring infection or complications. She promises to text you with updates; you tell her to call if she or the family needs anything - food, clothing, a babysitter - anything. She gives you a tight hug, and when you lean away, a few tears have leaked from her eyes. You reach up and carefully smooth them away, giving her a small smile. “He’s gonna be alright,” You remind her. “He’s gonna be alright,” She repeats back to you, because you both need to be told. -- The ride home is silent. You’re in the passenger seat of your car as Nick drives; Henderson, Zapata and Connors are following in the car that they all rode over in. You’re staring down the dashboard like you could melt it. When Nick pulls up in front of your place, you mumble your thanks. You both get out. Nick doesn’t toss you your keys like he would on another day. He walks around the car, puts them in your hand, claps you on the shoulder and tells you to get some rest. Before he can get in the car with the others, you call out to him. “You get the fucker that did it?” You ask. He nods. You nod in turn before you go inside. That’s been weighing on you. You’ve hadn’t been able to ask at the hospital; you’ve been worried about someone coming back to snag Borracho, maybe finish the job, but if Nick says they’re gone, that means they’re gone. You shut the door behind yourself and look around. Your apartment feels off -- weird. Like someone snuck in and moved everything two inches to the left. It’s a few moments of quiet before you realize how tired your body feels, how hollow. You drag yourself into the bedroom, barely kick off your shoes before you fall onto the bed. You need to rest now. You can fall apart later. -- Henderson seems stunned to see you when you come into the office the next day. He glances at Connors, then Zapata. “If I see money change hands, I’m gonna slap all three of you,” You warn as you lower yourself into your desk chair. The guys turn back to their work. Nick comes over to your desk a few minutes later. “You sleep?” He asks first. You nod. “You see him?” He asks next. You haven’t. He’s still resting; his family has been taking shifts at the hospital, and you wanna be there, you do, but they told you that they’ve got it under control. And fuck, you wanna argue, but you don’t wanna push back on this, not right now, not with them. “He’s in good hands,” Is your answer. “... If you wanna take a day…” Nick almost looks pained as he offers it. You glance up at him. “We still have work to do?” You ask. “Yeah.” “Are you all takin’ a day?” “No.” “Alright then.” You put your headphones in, and you turn your music up, and you fight the urge to look at the little post-it notes you keep in the front of your notebook. -- “Hey, sweetness.” If your eyes had been closed, you almost could’ve almost trick yourself into thinking everything’s normal, the way he mumbles it -- it’s the way he mumbles it when you wake him up in the morning. But you don’t have the beeping of a heart monitor and the harsh bright of overhead lights to contend with in your bedroom.

Regina had warned you that he’s still hopped up on pain meds and pretty tired.  And it’s only been three days, and you know that he lost a lot of blood, but damnit, Borracho looks small and sallow in that hospital bed. “Hey there,” You speak softly as you pull a chair up beside his bed. You're sitting on the right side of him; the chair one on the left is piled high with his mom’s purse and her coat, and one of the niece’s diaper bags. You take his hand in both of yours, a gentle grip, like he’s gonna turn to dust in front of you if you clasp too tight. You haven’t seen him in three days but it’s felt like a fucking year. “How are you feelin’?” You ask. He chuckles, mumbles, “Like I got shot,” And you push out a laugh and give him a smile, because that’s what he needs right now. You can tell him that you hated hearing him say it later. -- “This is payback for when I got that concussion, isn’t it,” Connors grumbles as he grabs his jacket, heading out for the third time that day. Borracho’s on the last day of his first week of desk duty. He’s been home for just as long. “How else are you gonna learn, Connors?” Is Borracho’s answer, and the guys crack up. They laugh, because they’re coping by making light of this, because this wasn’t the first incident, and it won’t be the last. Those are just the facts. And they can make light of this, because Borracho’s in one piece. You can’t, though. You haven’t worn your headphones in the office so much since those first few months at the department. The guys don’t question it; Nick doesn’t push you to interact like he did last time. They just let you at your work. Look, you’re fine. Things are fine. Borracho’s back to being home with you, sleeping in your bed. His stitches have been taken out, they say he’s healing up well. He’s fine. You’re fine. -- “I’ve got it.” You can’t count how many times you’ve said that since he got out of the hospital. Listen, you’re not babying him, it’s just -- well at first, he still had residual pain. And you don’t mind grabbing things for him, you really don’t. So if he was hungry, you’d grab him food, or if he wanted more coffee, you’d get up and get him some. Problem is it’s been about three weeks now and you’re still saying, “I’ve got it.” You can see that it’s starting to wear on him a little bit, but it’s automatic now, you can’t bring yourself to stop trying to help - even when he hasn’t asked you for it. So when you see him reach for something in the cabinet, and he winces just a little at the stretch, you hurry over, and bat his hand away with a mumble of, “I’ve got it.” “Cut it out,” He chuckles. You freeze with your hand wrapped around a box of graham crackers, and turn your head to blink at him. “...I can get things for myself, sweetness,” He adds, softer, “‘Sides, I’ve gotta get used to moving around again. Just lemme grab ‘em. Okay?” You let go of the box and nod, and he pecks your lips before you can step away. You settle back down on the couch, your stomach twisting, your emotions a mottle of uselessness and idiocy. Borracho sits down next to you a few minutes later, slings his arm around your shoulder. You take a nibble of the graham cracker when he holds a piece in front of your mouth. You don’t lean into his side - it’s his left side. You’re sure the spot is still tender, you don’t want to aggravate it, even when Borracho’s arm tightens around you and he tries to coax you closer. -- You blink at the light as it’s flipped on. You’re frowning - for a couple of reasons. The first is that the room that was just dark is now bright as hell. The second is that Borracho is also frowning - at you. “What’s going on?” He asks quietly. “What are you talking about?” You shake your head. He tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Come on, you know I know you better than that.” You’d taken your time coming to bed. Borracho had gone in ahead of you, but you’d stayed on the couch, zoning out to some television show you really didn’t care about. He’d been touchy all night - hands skimming over your thigh, your arm, your side; kissing your cheek, your neck. You’d pecked his lips a couple of times, but you hadn’t reciprocated otherwise. Thing is, it’s not just tonight. You’ve barely touched Borracho since he’s been home. You don’t know what it is. It’s not that you don’t want him, you do, you always do, but you just… “You can turn the light back off,” You turn back to the dresser and grab your pajama bottoms, “You should be sleeping.” You cringe when you hear the thud of Borracho’s feet on the floor of your bedroom, and then he’s touching your shoulder and carefully turning you to face him. “What’s going on?” He presses, “Sweetness, I’m sorry if I seemed harsh in the kitchen earlier--” “It’s not that,” You shake your head. “Then what?” He’s looking over your face, “You’ve been acting like I’m about to disappear--” “You scared the shit out of me!” And then you slap your hand over your mouth because fuck. You yelled, and you’d told yourself that you weren’t going to do this. What happened wasn’t his fault - it wasn’t his fault that they didn’t have enough tac vests. He took the initiative to protect their witness. You tell yourself that every time you see that damn scar, every time you see him wince. You shake your head, lowering your eyes from his stunned face. Your eyes are watering and you need to move. You make to step around him, but Borracho gets in your way, and hooks an arm around your middle and hurries to say, “Don’t, hey-- talk to me--” You’re still shaking your head, but you can’t stop the tears now, so Borracho gathers you into his chest as you fall apart against him. Neither of you speak; you can’t, couldn’t even if you tried. He just wraps his arms around you and keeps all of your shattering pieces together. You couldn’t do this before. You felt like you didn’t have permission. The guys needed you to do your job, and then his family had needed you to keep your head, and then-- and then he was out of the hospital and home with you and what was the point of crying about it? You’ve been walking around with panic and pain and worry for a month and the dam has finally fuckin’ broken. When you’ve calmed down a little bit, the two of you crawl into bed. Borracho shuts the light back off. He takes one of your hands and slips it over his side and gently presses it to the puckered skin of the scar. It brings a fresh wave of tears, and you turn your head and press your face into the pillow to hide from him. “I’m sorry, sweetness,” He mumbles, letting you lift your hand away from the scar to rest on his chest, where you can feel his heart beating steadily. You know he isn’t doing it on purpose; you know he’s trying to help, to show you that he’s healing and that he’s alright, but he doesn’t quite know how to. You’re not sure how to make this better, either. “Can you stay home tomorrow?” He whispers the question when you’re half asleep. You sniffle and nod a little bit, and press your face into his neck. You shyly let your hand slide back down to the scar. Your fingers smooth over the raised skin before you settle your palm over it. -- Borracho lowers himself onto the couch beside you, tucking you against his right side as you cradle your mug of coffee. The morning’s been slow. Borracho’s been moving around you like you’re a skittish little thing. You’ve been staying out of his way in the kitchen and the living room and the hall, letting him do things for himself and shaking this urge to be his shadow. “Megan said she didn’t understand how you were so calm the whole time.” “...Well, unfortunately, now you know,” You grumble, looking down into your mug. You’re still embarrassed for yelling; you’ve apologized three times now. Borracho’s hand runs up and down your shoulder. He’s patient, quiet. You finally manage, “I’ve never… Been with anyone that puts themselves in danger like this every day. When it happened, I was in work mode, and then when I got to the hospital, I was just...I don’t know, I was trying to find ways to fix it, cause… Cause when it happened, I wasn’t anywhere near you, I couldn’t do anything. And then I couldn’t see you at the hospital, since I wasn’t family,” You feel Borracho tense up beside you, but he doesn’t stop you, “But I could run errands for your mom, or look after your sisters’ kids, or grab Isobel coffee, something. That helped. It was distracting. And then we were back in the office and you guys kept joking about it, and-- and I know, I get it, you guys have to sometimes, but I just couldn’t.” You shut up, biting down on your lips as you feel tears springing up again. You don’t know how; you could’ve sworn you’d cried everything out last night. Borracho doesn’t interrupt you still, just squeezes your shoulder encouragingly. “I’m sorry I babied you so much when you got home,” You add once you’re sure you’ve pushed the tears away, “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve had something like this happen. I was trying to fix that, too.” “You weren’t babying me...At first.” He’s teasing you now, and you’re smiling a little despite yourself. Borracho presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, “There’s my girl.” “And I’m sorry for yelling.” “I know, sweetness.” “But I will probably yell again if you ever do a dumbass thing like removing your tac vest again.” “Understood.” “And the guys. They will not escape my wrath, either.” “Your wrath?” “My wrath.” 

[degibusdesigns]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: L.L. Bean Mountain Winter Chelsea Moccasin Boot Slippers 9 M.

[nicsparkles]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: L.L. Bean Women’s Mountain Slipper Boot Mocs Size 8.

[ranawaytomaine]

As of today I've been in Maine for 2 years 🎈So on the blog today I tried to answer some questions I've gotten about moving here and life in Maine as someone "from away."

Instagram — & don’t delete my caption, please.

[bellafarallones2]

So I wrote more Vincent/Apollo - this is roughly a sequel to ThisWasInevitable's excellent fic but all you need to know is that Vincent and Apollo met on The Bachelor. I would categorize this as PWP.

The sky was blue, the air was crisp, and Apollo was almost shivering in one of Vincent’s sweatshirts: autumn hit hard in Vincent’s hometown in the suburbs of Minneapolis, especially compared to Georgia. (Apollo had joked it wouldn’t be the peach state anymore without him, and Vincent had laughed and patted his butt and said that it was true.) That was why, in mid September, they took the Subaru to L.L. Bean to get Apollo some cold-weather clothes.

The handles on the front door of the store were shaped like canoe handles, and Vincent held the door for Apollo and then followed him in. “Where do you want to start?” said Vincent. “Sweaters or a real winter coat?”

“Sweaters,” said Apollo, already leading them past the camping equipment and brightly-colored kayaks into the men’s clothing department. Looking at the price-tag on a button down patterned with tiny blue sailboats made him feel light-headed. Sixty dollars for a shirt? “Holy shit that’s expensive.”

Vincent laughed. “It’s because they’re made to last.”

Apollo looked over at him, and put out his hand for Vincent to squeeze. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Picking out flannel shirts was a far cry from Apollo’s original designer dreams, but he loved how Vincent looked at him as he came out of the dressing room, how he ran his hands appreciatively over Apollo’s shoulders and commented on the softness of the fabric. Apollo didn’t think he’d ever worn a cable knit sweater before in his entire life (maybe in a family Christmas photo when he was eight?), but he found one he liked in a lovely jewel blue. It sort of made him look like Vincent. Even better, it made him look like Vincent’s.

When Vincent’s arms were full of flannels and quarter-zip sweatshirts, they moved on to the winter coats. The label on the coat Vincent suggested promised to keep the wearer warm at temperatures down to -45°, which didn’t even sound like a real temperature. Apollo figured the next time he visited the surface of Mars he’d be all set.

When they were done Vincent whipped out his credit card (and green L.L. Bean rewards card) to pay for everything, and Apollo carried all the bags back to the car like the strapping young thing he was.

“Thank you,” Apollo murmured once they were back in the car, and kissed Vincent deeply across the console. “You always take such good care of me.”

“I can’t have my handsome husband being cold,” Vincent teased. “Besides, you’re good at showing your appreciation.”

When Vincent talked like that, Apollo really wanted to. As a teenager his father had given him and Indrid a clothing allowance, and then when he turned 18 and moved out he’d bought his own clothes, thrifted designer or Forever 21. Having someone help him pick out clothes and pay for them was strange.

At home, Vincent carried his new sweaters upstairs and cut the tags off and hung them up in a neat row in the closet. Coming downstairs again, he found Vincent on the couch reading a magazine, but he put it aside and spread his thighs obligingly as Apollo sank to the floor at his feet. Apollo always liked the way Vincent looked down at him, making him feel small and safe and beloved, like the spoiled pet that he was. “Will you let me suck you off?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Vincent cupped Apollo’s cheek and ran his fingers up through his hair. “But why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable?”

Apollo nodded, and Vincent helped him up and led him by the hand into the bedroom. Kissing him, Apollo undid Vincent’s belt and his pants and pushed down his underwear, and then the front of his shirt was concealing his genitals (can’t have that) so Apollo unbuttoned the shirt and took Vincent’s cock in his hand and stroked it gently.

“Come here, sweet thing,” said Vincent, guiding Apollo up between his legs as he lay back on the bed.

Vincent preferred to do this in bed. He wanted Apollo to be comfortable, not kneeling on the hard floor. Apollo didn’t much care where they did it. He stroked his hands down Vincent’s thighs and took his still-soft cock into his mouth, heard Vincent sigh. He played with Vincent’s balls and stroked the tip of his tongue down the underside of Vincent’s cock and felt him get hard.

He felt safe, with his head between Vincent’s warm thighs. He liked the way Vincent smelled, too. Familiar.

Before Vincent he didn’t do this with anyone often enough for their smell to be familiar, certainly not often enough for their smell to feel like home. And before he’d always tried to show off, make his partner cum as fast as possible, but now he had the luxury to linger.

Vincent was stroking his hair. “You’re allowed to touch yourself, you know. I want my good boy to enjoy himself.”

Apollo pulled off just enough to speak. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Of course, darling.”

Eventually Vincent’s hands tugged more insistently in Apollo’s hair, and Apollo swallowed around him and felt him cum, warm in his mouth, warm like a sixty dollar sweater that’d last him years.

He caught his breath resting his cheek against Vincent’s thigh, and then Vincent pulled him up to sit in his lap and kiss him some more. “How do you want to cum?” Vincent said.

“Mmm,” Apollo murmured. “Want your fingers.” He hadn’t even noticed how hard he was. Vincent made it easy to stop focusing so much on himself.

“Of course.” Keeping one hand on Apollo’s shoulder, Vincent reached over to the drawer on the bedside table for lube and gloves. Apollo shifted, clinging to Vincent’s neck, and one gloved finger teased his hole. “Good?”

“Yes please,” said Apollo, and Vincent slipped one finger inside him. He went slower than Apollo would jerking off: Apollo didn’t mind a little burn but Vincent was always so gentle, waiting until Apollo was whimpering for a second finger. He massaged his prostate and jerked him off and Apollo was drowning in pleasure, it felt like Vincent was everywhere. So close, inside him, surrounding him, cooing praise into his ear - what a good boy you are, you take me so well.

“Daddy,” Apollo gasped, and felt Vincent smile against his cheek.

The daddy thing was their little secret. He’d called Vincent it a few times when they were on television together, but it had always been jokingly. When it had come out in a breathy moan afterwards, after Apollo had sworn off doing things for the cameras, he couldn’t claim any such excuse. Luckily Vincent’s cock had jumped when he said it. He wanted - he wanted to be taken care of, alright? Was that too much to ask? He was gorgeous and brilliant; he deserved it. And it wasn’t an all-the-time thing, just when he was feeling particularly submissive, particularly needy, sitting with his legs spread in Vincent’s lap with his eyes screwed shut.

“Let daddy take care of you,” Vincent murmured, and Apollo came hard, his whole body tensing.

Vincent cleaned him up and kissed him, and Apollo let himself drift, until Vincent was solid against his back and Apollo could curl up against him like taking shelter from the wind in the lee of a hill. “Thank you for the clothes,” Apollo murmured, and was asleep before he heard Vincent’s response.

--

Vincent never thought he would have this. He was old enough when he met Apollo that he’d given up on finding love. He’d gone on the Bachelor mostly on a whim and knowing it would make for a good story if nothing else; he knew perfectly well television romances rarely worked out long-term. But it had been months, now, and he was still waking up with Apollo beside him. Apollo, who was young and clever and good-looking as Vincent was middle-aged and boring.

“You’re not boring,” Apollo had said once. “You’re stable. I like that. I know you won’t suddenly change your expectations for me. You make me feel safe.”

And by God did Vincent like making Apollo feel safe. He liked being the only person who saw the softness Apollo hid from the rest of the world.

(He’d never felt possessive about a partner before he met Apollo, but now he felt like if Apollo slept with someone else he might die. Or commit murder. One of the two. It would be infinitely worse than Apollo just leaving him.)

So tonight, when Apollo slid into his lap after dinner, the first thing he said was “I love you.”

Apollo looked surprised. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Vincent grabbed his face and kissed him hard, felt Apollo roll his hips.

For a few moments they just breathed, holding each other. Finally Apollo spoke. “Can we do tonight?”

Vincent stroked his hip thoughtfully. He was referring to a scene they’d been planning for weeks. “Yes.”

His arm looped around Apollo’s torso was a restraint, now, and he brushed a piece of fluff off Apollo’s shorts. Apollo’s inner thighs were always maddeningly sensitive, and even that light touch was enough to make him squirm. Now Vincent rested his hand more deliberately on Apollo’s leg, pressing down slightly, fingers edging close to the seam of his shorts.

“Do you like it when I touch you inappropriately, Apollo?” Vincent’s authority voice also never failed to get Apollo going.

“Yes,” said Apollo, voice barely a squeak.

“Do you want me to do bad things to you?”

Apollo didn’t immediately respond, and Vincent took the opportunity to palm him through his shorts. So sensitive, he was, so vulnerable underneath Vincent’s searching fingers. “Y-yes.”

“Hm. What if I told you I wanted to tie you up? Would you let me do that?”

“Yes, yes sir, I’d let you, let you do anything you wanted to me.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” said Vincent approvingly. “Now, up. Come with me.”

He led Apollo to the bedroom and spread him out on the bed. “You do too much of your thinking with this, sweetheart,” Vincent murmured, groping Apollo’s dick through his pajamas. “But that’s okay, we can fix that. Stay right here.” One last affectionate squeeze and Vincent was gone, digging through the toy box under the bed. He came up with a cock cage, clear plastic. Apollo was half-hard from anticipation and Vincent touching him, so the ring didn’t fit. He looked up at Vincent, as though hoping that Vincent might let him get off one last time as he pulled Apollo’s pajama pants down around his knees.

Vincent tutted. “You young men, so excitable.” He wrapped his hand around the glass of ice water dripping condensation on the bedside table, and Apollo realized what he was going to do an instant before he did it and tried to squirm away, but Vincent’s grip on him was too strong, and Apollo shrieked as Vincent’s cold hand touched his dick. “There we go,” said Vincent, and locked the cage closed.

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut. This was because of him, because weeks ago he’d said I want you to take advantage of me and they’d talked about it and Vincent had ordered different cock cages off the internet to test which kind was the most comfortable for long-term wear.

And now here they were. Apollo opened his eyes. “How - how dare you!” he sputtered, pulling on the cage just enough to make his balls ache, enough to establish that it wasn’t coming off without the key that had just disappeared on a string beneath Vincent’s shirt. “You old fucking perv, you, you-”

“I’d be polite if I were you, seeing as that’s the only way you’re going to get to cum.”

“It’ll, it’ll make my dick shrink!”

“Are you telling me that you, Apollo Cold, the brilliant and beautiful, depend on your dick size for self-esteem?”

Apollo mumbled something unintelligible, mollified despite himself by the praise.

Vincent pulled him into his lap and kissed him deeply, tugged his hands away from fiddling with the cage. “You’ve been acting so recklessly, going around asking older men to do dirty things to you. Maybe this will help you control yourself.” Apollo’s legs fell apart easily as Vincent teased his nipples, moaning in frustration as his dick tried to get hard but couldn’t. “See, this is good,” said Vincent. “You’ve always been embarrassed about shooting off too fast and now I can fuck you for as long as I want.”

“When do I get to cum?”

“When you ask nicely and I feel like unlocking you. Supervised, of course.”

“Can I please cum?”

“Not tonight. It’s time for bed.”

Apollo groaned in frustration.

“I’m an old man, I need sleep.” Vincent opened his arms, and Apollo surrendered. If he fought he wouldn’t get to be held.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, and he groaned again when his phone went off the next day at 5:45 in the morning. Fuck. He’d forgotten he had an opening shift. He shut the alarm off so as not to disturb Vincent, still asleep, and kissed him on the cheek.

Apollo worked at Starbucks. He was good at it, he made good use of the employee discount, and swearing off Instagram had cut him off from a major source of income as a former reality star.

While he was pulling his pants on he remembered they were out of Pop Tarts and his heart sank, but when he went downstairs and opened the cabinet to scavenge for breakfast, he found a brand-new unopened box. The brown sugar cinnamon kind, his favorite. His heart panged. Even though Vincent only ever had oatmeal for breakfast like an old man, he’d noticed the Pop Tarts were gone and bought more.

At work Apollo folded his black apron up before he tied it, tight to make his waist look narrow. Luckily the apron meant nobody could see the bulge he felt in his crotch.

--

He got home from work before Vincent did, dying of horniness. A customer had given him their number, which always annoyed him, but less so than usual with the reminder around his cock of who he belonged to. Of Vincent.

Apollo kicked off his clothes and lay sprawled facedown on Vincent’s king-sized bed. Maybe he was imagining it, but with his dick caged every sensation was more vivid. The quilt against his bare skin, rubbing up on his nipples and the sensitive skin of his thighs. His hair curled against his neck. The sound of his breathing against the pillow.

Apollo ground his hips against the mattress, and reached down between his legs to grope the cage, but it didn’t do anything. Vincent hadn’t told him he couldn’t use toys, though, so he grabbed lube and his favorite dildo, the one that vibrated and hit his prostate just right, but when he pressed the ‘on’ button, nothing happened.

Apollo flipped open the battery casing at the bottom. Empty. That cruel bastard. Vincent always thought of everything; of course he’d think to take the batteries out. Apollo lubed it up and eased it inside him anyway. Fuck, that was good. His hips rocked of their own accord, fucking himself on the plastic. His cock tried hopelessly to twitch.

Actually, he remembered now. Last week the batteries in the TV remote had died when Vincent was at work and Apollo had disemboweled the vibrator to replace them rather than trying to find new ones. He could go looking now, if he wanted; they were probably in some neatly-labeled box in a closet somewhere, but that would require standing up.

The tip of the dildo found his prostate and made him sob. He fucked it in and out until a pathetic dribble of fluid leaked out of his caged cock.

He’d shaved his pubes the day before yesterday so the hair wouldn’t get caught in the cage, and it had felt weird, but the way Vincent pinned him to the bed as soon as he’d come out of the shower more than made up for it. You look good, all smooth like this, Vincent had said. Makes me want to lick every inch of you. He’d come hard that night, with Vincent’s clever tongue tracing up his taint.

Lost in the fantasy, Apollo looked up vaguely when the bedroom door creaked open. Vincent was standing there in his work clothes, suit and tie and green-and-gold argyle socks. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Am I in trouble?” said Apollo.

“Of course not, baby,” said Vincent. He shut the door behind him and moved to the end of the bed. “May I join you?”

“Please.”

Vincent kissed him so hard he almost forgot about the toy inside him, hips twitching as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on Vincent’s shirt. “Please,” said Apollo again. ��Please fuck me. Want you. Also where do you keep batteries?”

“On the third shelf of the linen closet. What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” said Apollo, pulling the toy out of him and leaning around Vincent to throw out the condom that had been on it. He undid the buckle on Vincent’s belt and then yanked down his pants and boxers just enough to wrap his hand around Vincent’s dick. “This is the only D I care about right now.”

Vincent laughed as he got his pants the rest of the way off and crawled onto the bed, between Apollo’s spread legs. The cage was so small he could wrap his hand easily around the whole thing. “You’re so hot like this, all locked away safe.” He pressed a kiss to the skin just above the cage. “This belongs to me.” He grabbed Apollo’s ass, lifting his hips up and pulling to expose his hole. “This too. All mine.”

“All yours,” Apollo agreed. “Now fuck me or I’ll go find someone who will.”

The thought of Apollo fucking someone else, which they both knew he’d never do, was one of the only things that got Vincent to really lose control. He sucked a hickey into Apollo’s neck, and then Apollo was too busy getting fucked to think about the cage, about the way his cock was dripping, riding the high of just-before-orgasm that didn’t end, just a pleasant heat low in his stomach. There was no point in touching himself, so he touched Vincent, kissing him and running his fingers through his neatly-combed hair.

Vincent came inside him, and Apollo kept squirming even after he pulled out, from the cum dripping out of him. It always felt strange, his hole stretched open. He just managed to gasp out “unlock me?” in between kisses, and Vincent produced the key from somewhere and there was a little click and Apollo’s cock was free again, heavy and hard.

“You need a shower,” said Vincent. “We both do.”

“Alright,” said Apollo, and allowed Vincent to help him to his feet.

The shower in the ensuite bathroom was easily big enough for both of them, with water pressure that always felt like a massage and a very versatile detachable showerhead. When Apollo moved in Vincent had put up extra shelves in the shower for all his products.

Apollo reached down to touch himself, but Vincent gently took his wrists and guided his hands away. “Hands on me, baby, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

He did. He always did. Apollo clung to him as he carefully rinsed the cum out of Apollo’s hole and cleaned his ass and thighs with a soft wash cloth, gentle enough to feel like foreplay on his dick and balls.

Apollo watched as Vincent washed himself as well, Vincent’s eyes closed against the soapy water and his dark eyelashes curled up on his cheeks. Wrapped up in a fluffy towel it only took a gentle push to get Apollo sprawled on the bed again, Vincent lying between his legs, still touching his dick. Checking to make sure the cage hadn’t chafed or pinched, Apollo realized. He lost himself in the feeling of his cock soft and vulnerable under Vincent’s hands, only looking up when he heard Vincent picking up the cage again.

“Aren’t you going to let me cum?” Apollo asked, hating how plaintive his voice sounded.

“You didn’t ask for that,” said Vincent. “I can if you want me to. But if you wait until tomorrow I’ll give you a special reward.”

“What kind of a reward?”

“Any kind of reward you like, baby boy.” Vincent rubbed his thumbs gently against Apollo’s inner thighs.

Apollo sighed. He couldn’t believe Vincent was seriously doing the marshmallow test in bed with him. But he was still going to take it. Vincent’s rewards could be amazing. Vincent sucking him off with a plug in him had given him probably the strongest orgasms of his life. But there was something else… “Will you let me fuck you?”

Vincent’s eyebrows went up in surprise. They’d never done that before. They’d made each other cum lots of ways, and Apollo had fingered him a few times, but every time they’d actually fucked Apollo had bottomed. The few times they’d tried to do differently Apollo had gotten impatient watching Vincent open himself up and Vincent had laughed and indulged him. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Then I want that. ”

The cage closed, and the lock went click. Vincent moved upwards to kiss him. “I look forward to it.”

--

The next day Apollo wasn’t working, so he cooked dinner and cleaned the house. It probably would have been more fun if he’d had a French maid outfit to really set the mood - maybe he should talk to Vincent about that. In any case, Vincent was very complimentary when he got home, and after dinner cuddled him without teasing until Apollo asked if they could please get on with the fucking.

Unlocked at last, Apollo lounged naked on the bed, watching Vincent undress, returning his jacket to its hanger and putting his underclothes in the hamper. “How do you want me?” said Vincent, turning back to the bed.

“...Can I hold you while you open yourself up?”

“Yes.”

Apollo scooted up to lean against the pillows, and Vincent sat between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest and tried to resist the urge to hump his back. He wasn’t going to let himself cum until he was actually inside him. He couldn’t see what Vincent was doing, just hear the soft wet noises of him fingering himself.

“Tell me about your day,” said Vincent after a few moments of (to Apollo) awkward silence.

“My day?”

“I like hearing your voice. And it’ll distract you from anticipation.”

“Alright. I… went to the grocery store for stuff for dinner. I sent you that picture I saw on Twitter of someone’s pet turtle trying to go down the stairs.”

“It was a good thing to see, coming out of a budget meeting.”

Apollo kissed his neck for awhile, and finally Vincent lifted his head. “I think I’m ready.”

Apollo startled. He’d almost forgotten what they were actually doing. He crawled around to look. Vincent’s hole was pink and wet and open around his thick fingers. “Can I touch?” said Apollo, fascinated. In answer Vincent just spread his legs. Apollo teased the rim of his hole with one finger, watched it twitch, felt it swallow his finger up when he pressed it inside.

Vincent laughed. “Pass inspection?”

Apollo turned his head up to kiss him. “So I just… stick it in?”

“Any way you like.”

In the past they’d fucked mostly missionary, since Apollo liked to be kissed, so he figured he might as well try that. Sometimes Vincent had him bounce in his lap, but Vincent was big, probably seventy-five pounds heavier than Apollo was, so that wasn’t going to work. Apollo got lube on his hand, stroked himself to full hardness, and pressed in. But the angle was awkward, he couldn’t sink as deep as he liked to, even as Vincent groaned in pleasure. And thrusting was… his hips weren’t used to that motion, his quads weren’t used to the stretch.

Was this what it was like for Vincent? Was the length that felt so satisfying not even Vincent’s full cock? He could see the cock in question lying there hard against Vincent’s stomach, and it seemed a damn shame not to be using it for anything.

“Can we switch positions?” Apollo said.

“Sure,” said Vincent. “Want me on all fours? I believe that’s traditional.”

“Yes please.” How was it that Vincent managed to be so in charge even on the bottom, guiding Apollo along? And how was it that Apollo bent so easily to his suggestions?

Vincent hauled himself up, supporting himself on his hands and knees. Apollo knelt behind him, kneading his ass for a moment. Vincent’s back was scattered with pale freckles. It was easier to sink in deeper in this position, and fuck, Vincent felt good, hot and wet and tight, groaning Apollo underneath him.

The actual fucking was still awkward. He had strong fucking kegels, could squeeze a dick like nobody’s business, but topping was different. He wasn’t sure he was good at it. And they weren’t touching enough, so Apollo rested his cheek on Vincent’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest from behind, reaching around to jerk him off.

“Thank you,” Vincent gasped, and Apollo realized he was dripping precum onto the sheets. As for Apollo, well. He was young, he hadn’t cum in two days, and also it was Vincent underneath him, the smell of Vincent’s stupid drug-store shampoo and the sound of his breathless praise.

He came hard, and clung tightly to Vincent’s back until he came as well. Then they collapsed together, Vincent rolling them over to avoid the wet spot on the sheets.

“I hadn’t expected fucking someone to be so much work,” Apollo remarked, before resigning himself to getting up to change the sheets. He knew once he started cuddling Vincent he wouldn’t want to get out of bed again.

“Mm. Now you appreciate everything I do for you.”

Apollo paused to kiss him. “I always appreciate you.”

Sure enough, he fell asleep that night curled up against Vincent’s chest, and woke up with morning wood reminding him that Vincent hadn’t locked him back up afterwards. Vincent was already awake, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about whatever it was Vincent thought about. At this angle Apollo could see the wet convex of his eyes.

“You didn’t put the cage back on,” said Apollo.

Vincent turned to him. “No, I didn’t.” He tilted his head just enough for a kiss. “My mistake. I didn’t think you’d be so desperate for it, but I’ll put it back on if you want me to.” His hand slipped easily under the waistband of Apollo’s pajama pants. “I never can say no to you.”