#pandemic aftermath

[ecrivainsolitaire]

I wonder if we'll ever get over that panicked moment when you google a media creator you used to follow to see what they're up to lately, see that they haven't posted in years, do some nervous mental maths and then frantically stalk them over all of social media to get over the chilling worry that they might have died tragically young.

[somecommonbitch]

i kept waiting for frank to leave i kept waiting for the final straw and for bill to be alone in the world again and bitter and proven right by the narrative like he is in the video game and now i’m sobbing my eyes out

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Lacrimore

gothic fantasy

a medium travels to a mysterious island to do final rites for the aging scholar who lives in the sole crumbling mansion but finds him still alive

she decides to stay until he dies, hoping that the ritual will bring her the answers she’s been searching for since she lost her wife in the epidemic that swept the mainland

but the house’s few residents are unfriendly and the labyrinthine house itself is hiding dark secrets…

[inkshine]

remember when in 2020 people were like “man this is going to have such devastating impacts on people’s mental health in the long term” and now that it’s 2024 no ones really talking about it anymore, despite the effects still being very much there.

[noturmuse]

Man idk what they’re putting in these episodes but it’s definitely stronger than coke cuz I am beyond addicted I mean every episode is a masterpiece and I love the little changes they’ve been doing along the way it has made the show so special thus far

[jeff-the-kills-you]

reading a paper about aids and this quote rings true for covid as well: "Because the aftermath ideology convinces the American public that the trauma of AIDS is over, people living with the disease have been 'spirited' away and rendered ghostly."

[greenthestral]

The Global Divide Widens: How the Pandemic Caused the First Rise in Between-Country Income Inequality in a Generation

The COVID-19 pandemic, an unprecedented global crisis, has left no corner of the world untouched. As nations struggled to combat the virus and its economic fallout, an alarming consequence emerged: the first rise in between-country income inequality in a generation. The pandemic's impact on economies has been uneven, leading to significant disparities in wealth and prosperity among nations. This article delves into the factors behind this growing global divide, its consequences, and the urgent need for collective action to address income inequality on an international scale.

The Global Economic Shock

When the pandemic struck, nations scrambled to implement restrictions, shutdowns, and social distancing measures to contain the spread. These actions disrupted supply chains, hampered production, and forced many businesses to close temporarily or permanently. Consequently, economies experienced severe contractions, leading to widespread job losses and reduced consumer spending.

However, not all countries were affected equally. Advanced economies with robust healthcare systems and strong fiscal policies managed to weather the storm better than developing or low-income nations. They were able to provide extensive stimulus packages to support businesses and citizens, preventing a complete economic collapse. On the other hand, many developing countries lacked the resources and capacity to respond effectively, exacerbating their economic struggles.

The K-Shaped Recovery

As the pandemic raged on, a phenomenon known as the "K-shaped recovery" emerged, where different segments of society experienced divergent economic trajectories. This concept extended to the global level as well, highlighting the varying degrees of impact on countries.

Some developed nations witnessed a swift recovery due to their ability to adapt to remote work and technology-based solutions. At the same time, several emerging economies faced prolonged recessions and setbacks, pushing them further behind. The disparity in economic growth between these two groups of countries widened, contributing to the rise in between-country income inequality.

Trade and Travel Disruptions

International trade and travel restrictions during the pandemic significantly affected economies' interconnectedness. Many nations rely heavily on trade partnerships and tourism for economic growth, but the restrictions disrupted these crucial income streams.

For countries heavily reliant on exports, reduced global demand and logistical challenges hampered their economic recovery. Similarly, nations dependent on tourism suffered greatly as travel restrictions kept tourists away, leading to an acute downturn in revenue and employment in the hospitality sector.

Vaccine Inequality and Economic Recovery

Another critical factor influencing the between-country income inequality was vaccine distribution. Access to vaccines played a vital role in determining a nation's ability to control the virus, reopen their economies, and regain economic stability.

While some wealthier nations procured vaccines in abundance and achieved high vaccination rates, many developing countries struggled to secure sufficient doses. The resulting delay in reaching herd immunity and reopening their economies further widened the gap between countries' economic recoveries.

Tech Advancements and Disparities

During the pandemic, technological advancements and digitalization took center stage as businesses and individuals shifted to remote operations and online services. Developed countries, equipped with robust digital infrastructure and skilled workforces, were able to adapt more effectively to the changing landscape.

In contrast, digital disparities in developing countries limited their ability to capitalize on technology's potential for economic growth. The lack of access to high-speed internet and digital skills hindered their participation in the global digital economy, perpetuating income inequality between nations.

Environmental and Social Impact

The pandemic's impact on income inequality goes beyond just economic measures. Environmental and social factors also played a role in exacerbating global disparities.

As the focus shifted to combatting the virus, several environmental initiatives and climate change efforts took a backseat. Developing countries, often bearing the brunt of environmental challenges, lacked the resources to prioritize sustainability during the crisis.

Moreover, vulnerable communities, already facing social inequalities, were disproportionately affected by the pandemic. The lack of adequate healthcare, education, and social safety nets in some nations exacerbated the divide between the rich and poor, both within and between countries.

Urgent Call for Global Solidarity

The rise in between-country income inequality during the pandemic highlights the urgent need for global solidarity and cooperation. Addressing this issue requires collective efforts and inclusive policies that prioritize equitable economic recovery.

International organizations, governments, and businesses must come together to ensure fair vaccine distribution, support sustainable development goals, and promote digital inclusivity. Efforts to reduce trade barriers and foster fair trade practices can also contribute to bridging the income gap.

Conclusion

The COVID-19 pandemic has been a catalyst for unprecedented changes on a global scale. While economies are slowly recovering, the rise in between-country income inequality remains a significant concern. The pandemic exposed existing fault lines and disparities, emphasizing the need for a more equitable and resilient approach to global economic growth.

As we navigate the aftermath of the pandemic, it is crucial to prioritize international cooperation and sustainable solutions. Only through collective action and shared commitment can we hope to address the challenges posed by income inequality and build a more inclusive world for all nations.

Disclaimer: This article is for informational purposes only and does not constitute financial, medical, or legal advice. Please consult with a professional for personalized advice.

What's In It For Me? (WIIFM)

In this eye-opening blog article, you will gain a deeper understanding of the far-reaching consequences of the pandemic on global income inequality. Discover how the COVID-19 crisis has widened the gap between nations' economic prosperity, impacting both developed and developing countries. Learn about the factors behind this unprecedented rise in between-country income inequality and explore the urgent call for collective action to address this pressing issue. Whether you're concerned about the global economy, social justice, or sustainable development, this article will provide valuable insights that resonate with every global citizen.

Call to Action (CTA)

Ready to explore the impact of the pandemic on between-country income inequality? Click here to read the full blog article and be part of the conversation about building a more equitable and inclusive world. Together, we can drive change and work towards a brighter future for all nations.

Blog Excerpt

The COVID-19 pandemic has left an indelible mark on the world, and one of its most concerning consequences is the first rise in between-country income inequality in a generation. As economies faced unprecedented challenges, the disparity in economic growth between nations widened significantly. Developed economies with robust healthcare systems and fiscal policies seemed to fare better, while many developing countries struggled to respond effectively, exacerbating their economic struggles. This blog article delves deep into the factors contributing to this global divide, the K-shaped recovery phenomenon, and the impact of vaccine distribution. It emphasizes the urgent need for international cooperation and sustainable solutions to bridge the income gap and foster a more inclusive world.

Meta Description (320 characters)

Discover the first rise in between-country income inequality in a generation due to the pandemic. Learn about the impact, causes, and urgent call for collective action in this insightful blog article.

[reasonandempathy]

Walz has served as Minnesota’s governor since 2019 after 12 years in the House of Representatives and now chairs the Democratic Governors Association. He has built a reputation as a folksy politician who can get things done, as Minnesota has adopted a number of progressive laws during his tenure. According to a poll conducted earlier this year, Walz enjoys an approval rating of 55% among Minnesotans. Since Minnesota Democrats achieved a legislative trifecta in the 2022 elections, Walz and his allies have used their power to push a slate of progressive policies. The governor has signed bills protecting abortion access, expanding background checks for prospective gun owners and legalizing recreational marijuana. “Right now, Minnesota is showing the country you don’t win elections to bank political capital,” Walz said last year. “You win elections to burn political capital and improve lives.” That philosophy has endeared him to progressives, who threw their support behind him as the veepstakes kicked into high gear over the past two weeks. They reshared clips of Walz lovingly mocking his daughter’s vegetarianism and tinkering with his car to paint him as the dad that America needs right now.

This is fucking awesome! Honestly, sincerely good news and a very promising pick for the potential Harris Administration. An aggressive, unabashed, popular, populist left-winger with a track record of enacting real, substantive help for people is capital-G Great.

What has he done, specifically?

Abortion rights

In a 1995 ruling, the Minnesota Supreme Court upheld abortion rights in Minnesota. In January 2023, Walz signed the PRO Act��(Protect Reproductive Options Act) into law, making abortion a "fundamental right," as well as access to contraception, fertility treatments, sterilization and other reproductive health care.

The law made Minnesota the first state to codify abortion rights in the aftermath of the U.S. Supreme Court's 2022 ruling in the case of Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, which nullified Roe. v. Wade after nearly 50 years of precedent. In April 2023, Walz signed the Reproductive Freedom Defense Act into law, shielding women and providers from any legal action originating from the patient's state.

Pro-LGBTQIA+ legislation

In March 2023, Walz signed an executive order to protect the right of residents to have access to gender-affirming health care. Weeks later, he signed the "Trans Refuge" bill, banning the enforcement of arrest warrants, extradition requests and out-of-state subpoenas for those who traveled to Minnesota for care.

"When someone else is given basic rights, others don't lose theirs," Walz said. "We aren't cutting a pie here. We're giving basic rights to every single Minnesotan."

Paid family, medical and sick leave

In May 2023, Walz signed a law creating a state-run program to provide paid family and medical leave for Minnesota workers, funded by a 0.7% payroll tax on employers, by 2026.

Legalization of recreational marijuana

In May 2023, Minnesota became the 23rd state in the nation to legalize recreational cannabis use. Three months later, people 21 and older could start to possess certain amounts of marijuana at home and on their person, in addition to legally growing up to eight plants at a time.

Restoration of voting rights for former felons

In March 2023, Walz signed a bill that restored the right to vote to more than 50,000 convicted felons who had already served their time.

Universal school meals

Amid the increase in food insecurity for many Minnesotans during the pandemic, and the subsequent strain on the state's food shelves that remains to this day, Walz signed a bill in March 2023 that ensures all K-12 students in the state have access to free breakfast and lunch on school days.

Do you know what makes this even better?

Fuck 'Em. I know negative partisanship is important and can help motivate right-wingers to vote, but they're going to vote anyway. And him being afraid of Walz is just a sign that he's a good pick, in policy and politics.

[odinsblog]

A humanitarian crisis is what happens after a natural disaster like a tsunami, or a hurricane, or an earthquake. A humanitarian crisis is when an unexpected accident happens. A humanitarian crisis is what happens to marginalized communities in a pandemic. Indiscriminately bombing a population of noncombatant civilians and then intentionally depriving them of food, water and medical access is a deliberate war crime, NOT some random act of nature. Words matter. Calling the aftermath of bombing civilians “a humanitarian crisis” is no different than using the passive voice to describe Israel’s war crimes without directly attributing them to Israel. Please do not let the well documented displacement, and the meticulously planned out ethnic cleansing and genocide of Palestinians… don’t allow that to be whitewashed and erased away into some kind of unfortunate “accident” of nature.

And don’t even get me started on the tired media trope of labeling non-white starving people, “looters” when they take food to feed their families…

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 42!

another lovely reading week! i really need to sort through my marked for later list though, it just keeps growing... a task for next week, perhaps?

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! note that unlike in previous weeks, this list contains some fics that are set during season 8, so be careful if you don't want spoilers!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

drench yourself in words unspoken | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 26.2k | T

the one where everything in canon is the same, except eddie diaz is secretly a bestselling romance author, and nobody knows. Yet. romance writer eddie is brilliant, the vision!! and this is so well-written <3

lazy sunday (lay with me) | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 1.3k | G

Buck wakes up to sleepy morning couch cuddles with his second favorite Diaz boy AKA Eddie is clingy in the morning. clingy eddie is so special to me <3 this captures that soft moning atmosphere perfectly!

line | the_one_that_fell/@buckvalentina | 4.4k | E

Eddie and Buck cross a line in an El Paso motel. okay but this fic. THIS FIC. they absolutely would do the in person phone sex no touching thing. it's so them i'm obsessed

please, i've been on my knees | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 11.6k | E

Buck discovers he has a kink. this is the most recent addition to the list, i only read it this morning! and wow what a way to wake up... a good day to be me. it's sweet and funny and hot and i loved research!buck <3

pumpkin spice and everything nice | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 4k | M

Buck tries to get Eddie to accept one pumpkin spiced flavored something in his life and eventually finds success (in love and edibles). no but this fic is so right buck would love pumpkin spice and eddie wouldn't!! such a fun read!

songs and poems and promises | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 4.9k | E

“Stubble’s kinda crazy,” Buck says, “And it actually kinda drives me crazy. I didn’t think I’d be into that, you know? But it’s cool. Like, he’s a man, you know?” [...] “It’s just like, you know, even though it doesn’t feel as good, there are still all these new things that I didn’t expect I’d like so much.” in just a few lines this captures the firefam dynamics so well!! and the buddie is also brilliant of course. i had a great time with this one <3

stop waking me up in the middle of the night | reincrimination/@reincrimination | 2.3k | G

“Do you not like sleeping with me, Diaz?” Buck hazards, taking a swig of his nearly-empty bottle. [...] “If you would stop waking me up in the middle of the night, I might like it more,” Eddie sighs, half-genuine in his annoyance. “Buck kicks like a racehorse.” pandemic era buddie bed sharing fics hit so hard <3 this is lovely!!

sweetheart (you look a little tired) | EiraLloyd | 14.6k | T

five times Buck tried to cheer up Eddie with baked goods, and one time Eddie tried to cheer up Buck with baked goods. i love baking and i love buddie so basically this is perfect for me <3 had a lovely time reading through this earlier this week!!

the kiss that lingers | greenbergsays/@greenbergsays | 10.7k | E

5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't. birthmark kisses my absolute beloved <3 soft and sweet and so them!!

too often the power of touch is underestimated | xjustlikeyou/@xjustlikeyou | 15.3k | T

Five times a touch knocked Eddie off his feet, and the one time he got to return the favor. buddie and eddiekaren bestieism what else could i possibly want <3 so good!!

the sincerest form of flattery | canadadry | 1.7k | NR

in which Brad Torrence only almost passes out, and observes the aftermath. brad torrence is the gift that keeps on giving <3 i loved his inner dialogue here!!

touching me, touching you | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 7.1k | E

Buck and Eddie wake up one morning able to feel each other's touch. They make the most of it. i love the premise of this fic so so much, it's so cool?? and executed so well <3

what's your love language? | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 18.3k | E

After finding out that Eddie doesn't know what his love language is, Buck sets about finding out for him. He begins a five week experiment, one for each love language, to figure out which will make Eddie feel the most loved. this fic makes me go !!!! inside. i love the way buck goes all out to make eddie feel loved while also thinking it's the most normal thing in the world. and that ending!

you bring me comfort | thewolvesof1998/@thewolvesof1998 | 4.2k | T

Eddie is touched starved and just needs a hug instead, instead he has his sweater. i've read this so many times by now, it's an absolute favourite!! i'm a big fan of giving eddie comfort in whatever way he wants or needs <3

[realcleverscience]

More evidence that republican reagonimics is literally killing us.

highlights:

In 2021, 1.1 million deaths would have been averted in the United States if the US had mortality rates similar to other wealthy nations,..

"Think of people you know who have passed away before reaching age 65. Statistically, half of them would still be alive if the US had the mortality rates of our peers. The US is experiencing a crisis of early death that is unique among wealthy nations."...

The US had lower mortality rates than peer countries during World War II and its aftermath. During the 1960's and 1970's, the US had mortality rates similar to other wealthy nations, but the number of Missing Americans began to increase year by year starting in the 1980's, reaching 622,534 annual excess US deaths by 2019. Deaths then spiked to 1,009,467 in 2020 and 1,090,103 in 2021 during the pandemic. From 1980 to 2021, there were a total of 13.1 million Missing Americans.

The researchers emphasize that this mortality crisis is a multiracial phenomenon and is not specific to minoritized groups. Black and Native Americans are overrepresented in these measures... Still, two-thirds of the Missing Americans are White, a result of the larger population of White Americans, their older age distribution, and death rates that are significantly higher than other wealthy nations...

They connect the large excess mortality burden to the failure of US policy to adequately address major public health issues, including the opioid epidemic, gun violence, environmental pollution, economic inequality, food insecurity, and workplace safety. The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated many of these issues, particularly among lower-income and minority groups, and now that most of the safety-net policies created during COVID-19 have expired, vulnerable groups have lost vital support.

"We waste hundreds of billions each year on health insurers' profits and paperwork, while tens of millions can't afford medical care, healthy food, or a decent place to live," says study senior author Dr. Steffie Woolhandler, Distinguished Professor at the School of Urban Public Health at Hunter College, City University of New York. "Americans die younger than their counterparts elsewhere because when corporate profits conflict with health, our politicians side with the corporations."...

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Maybe you’ve been asking yourself:

1. “How could Donald Trump have won 51 percent of the popular vote?”

2. “How hard is it to immigrate to New Zealand?”

3. “What the actual fuck?”

Fair questions. Let’s try a thought experiment. Could Tuesday’s election results have been any worse?

Well, what if, instead of 51 percent, the Republican nominee had won 59 percent? Or 61 percent? And what if he had won 49 states?

Those aren’t hypotheticals. Those were the results of the 1972 and 1984 landslides that reelected Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan.

With thumping victories like those, what could possibly go wrong for the winners?

If history’s any guide, some nasty surprises await Donald Trump.

In 1972, the Democratic presidential nominee, George McGovern, won just 37.5 percent of the vote, carrying only Massachusetts and the District of Columbia for a total of 17 Electoral College votes. He didn’t even win his home state, South Dakota.

In 1984, Democrat Walter Mondale did carry his native Minnesota, but that was as good as it got for him. In the Electoral College, he fared even worse than McGovern, with a whopping 13 votes.

In the aftermath of these thrashings, the Democratic Party lay in smoldering ruins, and Republicans looked like indestructible conquerors.

Now, some might argue that those GOP victories, though statistically more resounding than Trump’s, weren’t nearly as alarming, because he’s a criminal and wannabe autocrat.

But Trump’s heinousness shouldn’t make us nostalgic for Nixon and Reagan. They were also criminals—albeit unindicted ones. And they were up to all manner of autocratic shit—until they got caught.

The Watergate scandal was only one small part of the sprawling criminal enterprise that Nixon directed from the Oval Office in order to subvert democracy. For his part, Reagan’s contribution to the annals of presidential crime, Iran-Contra, broke myriad laws and violated Constitutional norms.

The hubris engendered by both men’s landslides propelled them to reckless behavior in their second terms—behavior that came back to haunt them. Nixon was forced to resign the presidency; Reagan was lucky to escape impeachment.After the Watergate scandal forced Richard Nixon from office, this bumper sticker helped Massachusetts voters brag that they handed him his only Electoral College loss in 1972.

Of course, Trump would be justified in believing that no matter how reckless he becomes, he’ll never pay a price. He’s already been impeached—twice—only to be acquitted by his Republican toadies in the Senate. And now that the right-wing supermajority of the Supreme Court has adorned him with an immunity idol, he’ll likely feel free to commit crimes that Nixon and Reagan could only dream of. Who’ll stop him from using his vast power to persecute his voluminous list of enemies?

Well, the enemy most likely to thwart Trump in his second term might be one who isn’t on his list: himself. The seeds of Trump’s downfall may reside in two promises he made to win this election: the mass deportation of immigrants and the elimination of inflation.

Trump’s concept of a plan to deport 20 million immigrants is as destined for success as were two of his other brainchildren, Trump University and Trump Steaks. The US doesn’t have anything approaching the law-enforcement capacity to realize this xenophobic fever dream.

And as for Trump’s war on inflation, the skyrocketing prices caused by his proposed tariffs will make Americans nostalgic for pandemic-era price-gouging on Charmin.

It's possible that Trump’s 24/7 disinformation machine, led by Batman villains Rupert Murdoch, Tucker Carlson, and Elon Musk, will prevent his MAGA followers from ever discovering that 20 million immigrants didn’t go anywhere. And it’s possible that if inflation spikes, he’ll find a scapegoat for that. (Nancy Pelosi? Dr. Fauci? Taylor Swift?)

And, yes, it’s possible that Trump will somehow accomplish his goal of becoming America’s Kim Jong Un, and our democracy will go belly-up like the Trump Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City.

But I wouldn’t bet on it. I tend to agree with the British politician Enoch Powell (1912-1998), who observed that all political careers end in failure. I doubt that Trump, with his signature blend of inattention, impulsiveness, and incompetence, will avoid that fate.

And when the ketchup hits the fan, the MAGA movement may suddenly appear far more fragmented and fractious than it does this week. You can already see the cracks. Two towering ignoramuses like Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert should be BFFs, but they despise each other—the only policy of theirs I agree with.

If things really go south, expect MAGA Republicans to devour each other as hungrily as the worm who feasted on RFK Jr.’s brain—and that, my friends, will be worth binge-watching. I’m stocking up on popcorn now before Trumpflation makes it unaffordable.

One parting thought. Post-election, the mainstream media’s hyperbolic reassessment of Trump—apparently, he’s now a political genius in a league with Talleyrand and Metternich—has been nauseating. It’s also insanely short-sighted. Again, a look at the not-so-distant past is instructive.

In 1984, after Reagan romped to victory with 59 percent of the popular vote and 525 electoral votes, Reaganism was universally declared an unstoppable juggernaut. But only two years later, in the 1986 midterms, Democrats proved the pundits wrong: they regained control of both the House and Senate for the first time since 1980. Those majorities enabled them to slam the brakes on Ronnie’s right-wing agenda, block the Supreme Court nomination of Robert Bork, and investigate Iran-Contra.

The lesson of the 1986 midterms is clear: the game’s far from over and there’s everything to play for. If we want to stem the tide of autocracy and kleptocracy, restore women’s rights and protect the most vulnerable, we don’t have the luxury of despair. The work starts now.

Andy Borowitz

[socialistexan]

So, we have an increasingly large wealth gap with a handful of obscenely wealthy right-wing wackadoos who can dictate policy on their whims, rising fascism spurred on by an economic downturn in the aftermath of a global pandemic, and an increasing popularity of eugenics by said wealthy wackadoos who run shit.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

Would love if history stopped rhyming.

[paulrobinsonshotel]

Steven Moffat

Gives Ten an equally important role to Eleven in his anniversary special, Makes RTD's Time War central to the episode's storyline, and resolves it in a way that doesn't undermine Nine and Ten's character arcs, gives Billie Piper a major role without infringing on Rose's storyline, gives Paul McGann the regeneration story he deserves, gets Tom Baker back on the show one last time, and gives us one very brief, tantalising tease of the next Doctor. And all this was while having no actors under contract, and BBC executives constantly interfering.

Chris Chibnall

Used his final story to bring back two beloved companions from the classic era, and gives them closure with their respective Doctors. Brings back several Classic Doctors and the Fugitive Doctor to aid Thirteen in her final battle, and revealed that companions from throughout the Doctor's life have been getting together and supporting each other, as they will now do for Yaz. And this was in the aftermath of the pandemic, and at a point when a new showrunner couldn't be found, with no idea what future the show had.

Russell T Davies

After getting near complete creative control of the show in time for the 60th anniversary, burns the Thirteenth Doctor's outfit away, immediately pivots back to his Doctor and his companion, with just some old villains to represent the other 55 years of the show. Doesn't bring back any other elements from the show's history until the third episode, and even then, has Mel and Kate play second fiddle to his characters. Doubles down on the self-indulgence of The End of Time by refusing to have Tennant regenerate at all, uses the Fifteenth Doctor's introduction to give Ten a happy ending rather than letting Ncuti Gatwa define his character on his own terms as every one of his predecessors has done. And writes the Nobles (his characters once again) as the one true found family the Doctor needs, as though the Ponds and River and Clara and the Fam were just passing acquaintances.

Two of these are constantly accused of trying to undermine the show and making it all about themselves. I'll let you decide which one it isn't.

[darsynia]

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

Clandestine

pairing: Mr. Ben x fem! reader

rating: Mature (things get a lil heated 👀)

word count: 4.5k

summary: Mr. Ben is daddy, Ms. Jenny is mommy and they’re all a happy family at St. Lawrence High School, no crumbs left. But what happens when the cool aunt moves to town?

warnings: i did my best to leave out specific descriptions of reader except that she does have breasts and wear feminine clothing, infidelity, swearing, alcohol consumption, some heavy making out and implied smut, Ben has a daddy kink (as always, please message me if i missed anything)

a/n: my second submission for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift writing challenge! this one is based on "illicit affairs" from her album, folklore. being one of my top 3 albums of hers, i was excited for this prompt but i laughed so hard when Kel paired it with Mr. Ben 🤣 i had a ton of fun sprinkling in references (as well as a few extra swiftie ones too, if you look closely). this is also probably the longest fic i've ever written since i started writing years ago but this story really just took on a life of its own. i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing and PS happy birthday, Pedro 😊

Teaching European History to a bunch of 10th graders is definitely not for the faint of heart, but the aftermath of the pandemic on the public education system only made the calling harder for you to ignore.

That’s why it meant so much to you when you discovered your students making fancams and claiming you as the “cool aunt.” You knew it was just their way of connecting with you and if it helped them pay attention in class and actually enjoy learning, what’s the harm? Some of the other teachers didn’t share your sentiment, but you were never one to much care about others’ opinions.

Until you met him.

Mr. Ben.

He and Ms. Jenny were the students’ absolute favorite teachers at the school, earning them the coveted titles of Mommy and Daddy. Their classrooms were both on the other side of the school in the math hall, so you never really saw them except at the monthly after-school faculty meetings. But one morning a piece of mail intended for Mr. Ben had been left in your mailbox in the front office by mistake, so you made the journey into uncharted territory.

Reading the plaques on each door, you almost thought you were in the wrong hallway when his name finally appeared on the last one at the end. It was slightly cracked so you could hear the scratching of chalk as he wrote on the board. Knocking lightly to announce your presence, you waited to hear him acknowledge you before walking in. His classroom was decorated to feel bright and cozy and welcoming, soft music emanating from the area near his desk. And the man standing in front of the chalkboard certainly fit the vibe. Soft but sturdy, carefully styled curls threatening to break free. You immediately understood why he was your students’ beloved and had them in a chokehold. You felt your cheeks heat for a moment when he cleared his throat to catch your attention, having been staring in silence for a bit too long.

“Can I help you with something?” Even his voice was so father.

“Um, yes. Sorry. I think some of your mail ended up in my box on accident.” You approached him, holding out the thin envelope. “It’s right underneath yours so it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re not careful.”

His thick fingers brushed yours as he took it from you, and you tried to steady your breath as you felt their brief warmth radiate up your arm. “Oh, good catch. Thank you.” He turned to place them on his desk and you were prepared for that to be the end of it, but he focused his attention back on you. “You’re new this year, right? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ben.” Extending his hand back out to you, you swallowed hard before taking it and replying with your own name. He repeated it back to you in understanding and you nearly melted at the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. The bell indicating the beginning of first period interrupted you before the conversation could continue any further. Bidding him a rushed farewell, you hurried back to the sanctuary of your own classroom across campus.

That was months ago. By the end of the year, the passing gestures became more frequent so that you were thankful for summer break to give yourself some time away from the man who had no idea his foot was always on your neck. Finally, you could breathe.

--

The weeks passed quickly and now you’re hauling boxes of school supplies across the parking lot. It’s the week before classes start anew and all of the teachers are trickling back in to ready their classrooms. You’ve just deposited the cardboard box on your desk when your phone chimes with a reminder about the faculty meeting in 5 minutes. You grab your lanyard, weighed down with your ID and keys, and head for the library.

When you arrive, everyone has already taken their seats so the only one available is next to him. Mr. Ben. Steeling yourself, you try to appear casual as you take your place. Feeling your movement, Ben looks over at you and flashes a captivating smile that you return without a second thought.

“Welcome back, kid. Have a good summer?” He launches into the usual teacher small talk but it’s not at all uncomfortable.

“I did. And yours?”

“Not bad. Nothing special, really.”

You hum in acknowledgement before Principal Owens steps up to the front, signaling the start of the meeting. In that moment, you come to a realization that you can’t shake. Nudging Ben’s elbow with yours, you lean closer and keep your voice low.

“I haven’t seen Jenny around, is she feeling okay?”

He chuckles before picking up on your sincerity. “Oh, you didn’t hear? She transferred over to St. Augustine.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Really? Can’t wait to break that to the students.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” He chuckles a little harder, earning a couple of sideways glances from others around you. You shrink into your seat a little as Ben attempts to cover with a cough.

You try to ignore the flutter in your heart, but you just have to know. “So are the two of you still…?” you trail off, hoping he picks up on your meaning so you don’t have to say it out loud.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re still together. One less heartbreak for the kids,” he jokes.

“Oh, good. That’s good.”

And you mean it. If he’s happy, you’re happy. But a pit has formed in your stomach and you lose yourself in thought until Principal Owens makes his final announcement.

“There has been yet another surge of fancams created over the summer so as part of the first-day assembly, we will be including a segment on responsible technology usage. Ben, since you ate up the last one, would you mind handling it? After all, it was nom nom delish and had them gagged.” A burst of laughter ripples through the room as Ben runs a hand through his hair, amused.

“Yeah, sure. What could possibly go wrong this time?”

“Thank you. And if it’s not too trouble, I’d like to pair you with our newest target,” Owens gestures to you, conveniently sitting in the same vicinity, “so dubbed the ‘cool aunt.’”

You feel the heat begin to creep up your neck as you realize the implications of the proposal. You look over to see Ben nod and shrug as if to say “why not.” Looking back to the front of the room, you smile and nod in acceptance of the project. Inside, you’re trying not to scream. You don’t notice Ben holding his gaze on your profile for the rest of the meeting.

You retreat to your classroom after you’re all dismissed, willingly losing yourself in paperwork and organizing when there’s an all-too-familiar knock on your door. You look up just as Ben steps over the threshold. And closes the door. And crosses to perch on the edge of your desk, giving you an optimal view of the way his jeans stretch over his sculpted thigh and ass.

“So, how are you feeling about this assembly next week?” He leans forward, propping himself up on one arm. You force yourself to not look at the veins winding and disappearing under his shirt sleeve and maintain eye contact, which isn’t much easier.

“Good. I mean, is it supposed to be scary? What happened last time?” You remember the way everyone reacted when Ben received the assignment.

He smiles and huffs a laugh at the memory. “Let’s just say I was in your shoes now. I was just so confused about the whole concept. But it gave Jenny and I the opportunity to officially come out as a couple, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The pit in your stomach widened at the mention of Jenny again. “Well, I’m glad I’m working with someone so experienced then.” You mentally kick yourself at your choice of words. What the hell is that supposed to mean? You try to recover. “Honestly, I’m a little flattered. It means the kids are engaged.”

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it is kinda nice that they look up to us like that. Even if it is a little…”

“Unorthodox?”

“Right. It took me forever to figure out what it meant to have rizz and be a skinny legend.” He almost can’t get through his sentence as he’s interrupted by his own wheezing laugh. He fights it off long enough to finish his thought. “But it looks like you’re in your assembly era now, so what do you say we meet up here tomorrow and put this presentation together?”

You quickly agree, both in excitement and eagerness to get him out so you can get ahold of yourself. Satisfied, he rises but stops before he fully walks away. “By the way, I really like that perfume you’re wearing. Vanilla?”

“A-and cherry,” you manage to choke out.

“My favorite.” He smirks before raising his hand in goodbye and exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

--

The next week is a blur. You meet the next day to organize the presentation, as promised, but one conversation topic leads to another and before you realize what’s happening, Ben is putting his number into your phone. Then you’re giving him yours.

You keep telling yourself you’re just friends, like a mantra, but you can’t help but feel a sense of pride at the way he thinks you don’t notice how he inhales a little deeper when you lean into his personal space, taking in your scent. His favorite.

Even the assembly goes off without a hitch. Naturally, the students are disgruntled yet again at being reminded that fancams of their biases are banned, no matter how much they munch on it. But they seem to pick up on the friendship between their daddy and cool aunt and that’s enough to appease the juvenile masses.

You’re both dreading and looking forward to your free period. When comparing schedules, you and Ben discovered you had the same block open, so you agreed to make that a regular coffee break together. He’s already there when you walk in, bursting into his signature smile as you approach.

He stands and pulls your chair out to sit at the small table. “So, how’s the first day been?”

Accepting the gesture and trying not to read too much into it, you breathe out, “Pretty good. I can already tell that covering the Bubonic Plague is going to be interesting, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Once more, the two of you fall into an easy conversation when an ill-timed joke has you spilling your coffee. All over Ben’s tie. You immediately jump up, dashing to wet some paper towels. Ben rises to stop you, laughing at your mortification.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Hey,” he grasps your wrists, forcing you to turn and face him.

“I-I think I have a Tide pen in my room, I can go run and get it.”

“No need. I started keeping a spare in my desk years ago. You wouldn’t believe how often I spill coffee on myself.”

With that, you follow him back to his classroom. He closes the door behind you, crossing to his desk to rifle through the drawers, but you hang back. It’s only when he finally pulls out the replacement tie that you allow yourself to breathe and walk over.

Ben holds it up in jest. “See? Problem solved.” You hope he doesn’t hear the way you swallow hard as you watch him skillfully unwind his soiled tie from around his neck with one hand.

However, he struggles to knot the new tie and you speak up, “Need a hand with that?” You don’t know where the confidence came from.

He looks up at you, eyes a couple shades darker. “Would you?”

You round the desk and try to stop your hands from shaking as you reach up towards his chest. Your knuckles brush his soft button-up but before you can grip the decorative length of fabric, you feel Ben’s hands cradling your elbows. You slowly lock eyes with him, and the rest happens too fast for your brain to process.

Ben swiftly maneuvers you against the edge of his desk and leans in close, his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “You wear this just for me?”

You can’t lie to him. “Yes.”

He travels down to your pulse point where the perfume is applied, ghosting over the delicate skin there. “Good.”

He darts the tip of his tongue over the spot before moving to look you in the eyes once more, his hands journeying experimentally down to your waist. You’re fully trapped now. But you don’t want to escape.

He rests his forehead on yours as your eyes flit down to his mouth and back up. “Ben?”

“That’s not my name.”

You’re taken aback by his response for a moment before he leans in the tiniest bit more so you can feel the tickle of his mustache as he whispers, “What’s my name, baby?”

“Daddy,” you breathe out.

His lips twitch into a smirk before crashing against yours, sealing you to him.

--

Your escapades go on that way for months, innocently meeting in the teachers’ lounge to make your coffees and carrying them back to his classroom where they’re quickly abandoned. You easily get lost in each other, you perched on his desk as he stands between your thighs. You’ve discovered he likes it when you tangle your fingers in his curls, but you have to be careful not to muss them too much lest anyone catch onto your illicit activities.

You know it’s wrong. He and Jenny are still together, despite the different schools. Your mind is a constant whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. What if she finds out? Does she already know about you? Where do you stand?

But Ben is quick to make you forget your inner turmoil. You’re in your usual seat upon your throne of his desk, your blouse unbuttoned halfway to grant him access to your chest. His lips are latched to your collarbone, one hand cupping a breast and the other holding the knee you draped over his hip. You feel his hardness against your clothed core, knowing it must be painful for him. But you can’t cross that line. Not here.

As if rehearsed, Ben slows his movements to a halt, trailing his tongue back up your neck and jaw before reaching his final destination and molding your lips together. Wordlessly, you peel apart and put yourselves back together. You dare to break the silence.

“Ben?”

He looks back at you with those adorable baby browns that everyone at the school loves. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing, exactly. I just-” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché, what about us?”

“I don’t understand,” he says with a furrowed brow.

“I mean. We’ve been doing…this for a while now. And I can’t deny that I’ve grown to love the thrill of sneaking around with you.” You slide off his desk to plant yourself firmly in front of him. “But…you and Jenny...I guess what I’m trying to figure out is-”

“What do we do?”

“Yeah.”

Ben lets out a sigh and adjusts his watch. Noticing the time, he reaches for your arm and the two of you walk to the door. But he puts his hand on the handle before you have the chance to turn it.

“I promise we’ll talk about this. Tonight? I’ll call you?”

You press your lips into a tight smile. “Yeah. Tonight.”

Ben removes his hand and you exit the room. As if on cue, the bell rings to signal the change of classes and you pick up your pace to make it through the sea of students back to your room in time for your next lesson.

--

He does call. And you do talk. But ultimately you agree not to change anything for now. He needs time to figure out where he and Jenny stand but neither of you can bear to let the other go in the meantime. You try to hide your growing disillusionment at your arrangement, but you can’t tell if you’re truly that good at pretending or if Ben actively ignores it.

It all comes to a head the morning you sleep through your alarm, recovering from your hushed over-the-phone activities the night before, and you forget to wear your perfume. His perfume.

You’ve assumed your position when Ben suddenly recoils.

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?” You wrack your brain trying to interpret the question.

He slowly leans back in, inhaling deeply to make sure he didn’t just miss it. “Vanilla and cherry.”

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. “Oh, B- Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

He nearly whines in disappointment. “Where is it?”

“I slept through my alarm. I must have been moving so fast this morning that I forgot it.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. “I’ll wear it tomorrow, I promise.” Ben still doesn’t look at you. You tug a little harder, forcing his attention. “Hey. It was an honest mistake, I-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

The question jars you even more than the first. You want to reassure him but you can’t form the words and your hesitation speaks volumes.

“Baby, why didn’t you say something?” Ben pulls away completely now, leaning up against the chalkboard.

“What could I say, Ben?” You’re emboldened now, matching his stance. “That I’m tired of sneaking around? That I hate being the other woman but I feel this crushing guilt about coming between the two of you?” You pause to think carefully about your next words before just throwing caution to the wind. “That I love you and I want people to know it. Don’t you?”

You can see the hurt bloom in Ben’s eyes. “Kid, I…I don’t know what I want.”

But that hurts worse. “Really?” You reach to fix the few buttons he had managed to undo and walk towards the door but he steps in front of you.

“Hey, hey, don’t- baby, just- just hear me out kid, please, let’s talk-”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice is tinged with cold.

“Call…call you what?”

“Don’t call me ‘kid.’ Don’t call me ‘baby.’ In fact, don’t call me anything until you figure out what it is you do want.” You swerve past him and yank the door open. “Maybe I’ll still be waiting for you.”

It takes everything in you not to slam the door out of respect for the ongoing classes around you.

--

You’ve mastered the separation of your personal and professional lives so no one can see through your façade for the rest of the day. But the last bell couldn’t ring soon enough. You pack your bag and leave just as quickly as any of your students and book it out to your car. You know you’re going to get stuck in the after-school traffic but it’s better than waiting it out in your classroom where he could find you. You’ve just unlocked your door when you hear your name. You don’t recognize the voice over the din of cars and school buses, so you search for the owner and immediately regret it.

Ben raises his hand at a car that stopped to let him pass and jogs across the pavement. You want nothing more than to scream at him but for the sake of keeping up appearances, you smile and let him approach. Your voice betrays your true feelings.

“I told you, Ben, I’m-”

“I know you’re pissed and you have every right to be. But I have something I need to say and I really don’t want you to misunderstand me, so could I please just get through to the end and then you can say your piece?” He sounds out of breath. “Please?”

You simply nod and lean back against your car, waving at passing students.

“Okay. I’ve thought about what you said. And truth be told, I have not been fully honest with you. But I want to change that. I want to talk about this. About us.” He takes a long pause, collecting himself, and you almost think he’s finished before he launches into it again. “Can I come see you tonight? At your place? Or mine, whichever you’re more comfortable with. I’ll cook and we can really talk. Face to face.”

“What about Jenny? She’s not going to wonder where you are?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of it.”

You take in his words. It’s not exactly what you hoped when he said he had something to say but you’re also standing in the middle of the high school parking lot. It’s neither the time nor the place to hash out your relationship problems.

“Fine. My place. 7:00. But you’re not staying too late, it’s a school night.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben lets himself smirk for a moment before switching back into teacher mode and bids you good afternoon, taking off back towards the school.

--

It’s 6:57 and you’re starting to curse yourself for agreeing to let Ben come over. But in a way, this is like a first date. Your first meeting outside of campus. And you can’t lie that the prospect of what could come after intrigues you.

7:00 on the dot and your doorbell rings, so you steel your nerves and open the door. Ben looks almost relieved that you actually answered and you step aside to let him in. In one hand, he holds an insulated bag of what you can only assume is ingredients for the dinner he promised to cook and in the other, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. You accept those with a small smile and lead him into the kitchen. He begins unpacking the bag to start cooking while you dig through drawers to find a pair of scissors.

“Do you want some wine? You didn’t say what you were planning to cook so I pulled out a red and I also have a white already in the fridge,” you offer as you cut the flower stems at an angle and untie the bundle to arrange them in the vase on the coffee table.

“White sounds perfect, thank you,” Ben accepts as he rolls up his sleeves. You pull out the bottle and pour a little into two glasses, handing him one. You go to take a sip before he holds his out to you. “Cheers.” You clink and then drink, resisting the urge to down half the glass in one go.

You stand off to the side most of the time while Ben takes over your kitchen, falling back into your easy conversations without even realizing it. You have to admit you love watching him, the way his hands grip the knife and the vegetables he’s cutting, the sweat glistening on his forehead and the back of his neck from the hot stove.

The rest of the night feels…natural. Effortless. You almost forget why he came over in the first place.

You’re lounging on the couch with him, dishes washed and kitchen cleaned, wine glasses in hand when you finally cut to the chase.

“So what did you want to say to me?”

Ben’s eyes widen slightly and he leans over to rest his glass on the coffee table. “Say what?”

You need him to get to the point before you lose your nerve again. “In the parking lot, you said you wanted to talk. About us. So let’s talk.”

He lets out a nervous sigh and turns to better face you. “Right.”

You hold eye contact, expecting him to say more, but nothing comes. You sit up, putting your glass down next to his, losing your patience. “Ben, if you’re not going to-”

“I love you, too.”

The four words you’ve been waiting for him to say since the first time you kissed. But followed by more silence.

“That’s it?”

Ben opens and closes his mouth, searching for the words, but you cut him off.

“That’s not enough, Ben. The sneaking around, the stolen stares across the room, it was fun but it’s not enough anymore. You’ve made a fool out of me, but more than that you’ve…I’ve ruined myself for you.”

“You…what do you mean?” He leans in, careful not to intrude too far into your personal space.

“What we have is- is different. I’ve never had something like this and I don’t think I ever will again. You’ve shown me things, taught me things that I can’t ever share with anyone else. But this isn’t going anywhere and I’m not sure you even want it to.”

“I do!”

“And Jenny? You can’t have us both, Ben.”

“I told her.” The only sounds in the room are your individual heavy breaths. “We talked and apparently, she’d been feeling pretty distant, too. She was trying to work up the courage to talk me into counseling but when I told her about you…she let me go.” He curls his hand into a fist, stopping himself from reaching out and touching you. “I am yours and only yours. And I don’t care who knows it anymore.”

“Then prove it.” You feel as if your heart is going to burst from how fast it’s racing.

“I will.”

Ben practically launches himself across the couch, yanking you into his arms and smashing his lips to yours, as if pulled by an invisible string. You react immediately, curling your limbs around him, desperate to hold him closer. You gasp for breath when he breaks apart just enough to mumble against your lips. “Where?”

“Down the hall, last door on the left.”

In a flash, you find yourself deposited on your bed, dress crumpled on the floor, fingers flying to undo the buttons on Ben’s dress shirt. You shift your focus to his slacks, his rock-hard bulge ever prominent as you unzip. You move to pull them down his thighs along with his briefs, but he stops you. His shirt now gone, he nudges you to fall backwards onto your pillows and he follows.

His weight on top of you is intoxicating, finally able to feel all of him. The broadness of his shoulders, the contracting muscles in his back, the softness of his tummy pressed to yours. His mouth finds its home in your cleavage, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh, the scratch of his patchy beard bordering on overstimulating.

“Ben-”

“That’s not my name.” He looks up at you with a devilish grin and emphasizes his point with a hard grind of his hips into yours. “What’s my name?”

“Daddy!”

His tongue soothes each bite as he finally journeys up your chest to your neck. Taking in a deep breath, he releases it with a sinful groan from deep in his chest.

“You wear this just for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”