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Visiting - Chapter 12: If I Must Have A Future
(moodboard by @agentjackdaniels)
Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)
Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.
Chapter summary: Spring break comes to Barrow, and with it a European trip with major consequences for Ben and Lydia.
Word count: ~18k words (I'm so sorry but HEY LOOK THEY'RE BACK!)
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)
Warnings (chapter specific): Smut; quite a lot of smut really; oral sex (M and F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; fingering; praise kink; very mild submission kink if you squint; self-esteem and body/weight insecurity; anxiety; angst; family dynamics; strong language; alcohol consumption; references to past instances of emotional abuse; fluff
A/N: Oh, boy. This was a labour of love. An incredibly important part of their story, and one that took me ages to get ârightâ. This is not the end of Visiting - Iâm planning about three more chapters, which will not be as long as this one. So there is still more to come from Ben and Lydia.
I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who was so kind and excited about the little Christmas one-shots I wrote for this pair - sometimes I feel like my dorks are the last kind of characters people want in this fandom, and it was lovely to see that they have readers who actually care (and even miss them!). Thank you too to everyone who voted in the poll about the chapter length. You wanted the full-on 18,000 words - youâre getting it.
And a special word for @agentjackdaniels, who screamed with me when we got one of the most Benergetic red carpet looks Iâve ever seen at the Emmys, who made my gorgeous new header image, and who has helped me see more times than Iâd care to admit over the last few months that I matter and make a difference, especially around here. I hope I have done the same, too.
See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydiaâs story and background.
Chapter 11 - Chapter 13
Cross-posting to AO3 (and if youâre reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments, love you!)
Further A/N at the end of the chapter.
The title of this chapter is a line from the Fontaines DC song âI Love Youâ, which is not terribly romantic, all told, but I heard it over the holidays and this lyric hit me hard: If I must have a future/I want it with you.
Taglist: FYI Iâm retiring taglists as they are giving me so much trouble with people not getting notifications - follow me on @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. But just in case: @agentjackdaniels, @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse
âWe will shortly be beginning our descent. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.â
You have never been one for sleeping on planes. Ben, on the other hand, has been snoozing away for the last two hours, the thin airline blanket comically small on his broad frame.Â
You put a hand on his arm to gently rouse him. âLove? Weâre almost there.âÂ
He blinks awake, eyes sleepy and hair askew, and stretches out his arms. âMmmmfff. Hi, Lyd. You excited?â
âYeah, I am. Iâm really looking forward to seeing them.âÂ
Youâd mentioned the trip shortly after Valentineâs, during a conversation after dinner about plans for the spring break.Â
Your spring visit home had been booked since well before Christmas. A few days at home, visiting your family and catching up, and then to Paris for a week of tying up loose research ends and some vacation time.Â
It sounded blissful at the time. Now, your anticipation was tempered with disappointment at the prospect of leaving him here.Â
âSo, uh, what are you doing for spring break, love? You going west, orâŠâ
He shrugs. âOrdinarily Iâd try to get a few days in San Francisco. But everyoneâs got plans and is out of town on various trips, so thereâs no point.â He looks a little resigned. âSo itâs time catching up on work and my reading here, I guess. Maybe do some prep for directing the student play after the vacation. When are you back from your trip?â
Thereâs a nervous knot in your stomach. Just ask. Just do it.Â
âCould you take your reading and directing prep on the road?â
He looks perplexed. You take a deep breath.Â
âWhat if you came with me?âÂ
Benâs eyes widen. âCome with you? To see your family?â
Oh, fuck. Youâve pushed your luck. This is too weird.Â
âNo, donât worry about it.â You stand up from the table and pick up your plates. âI just knew Iâd miss you but itâs probably too much. Itâs fine. Forget I said it.â
He follows you into your tiny kitchen and leans against the doorframe. âWhat if I wanted to come?â
âWanted? I mean, you seemed totally stunned that Iâd even ask.â
He shakes his head and smiles gently. âNot stunned, as such. Surprised, maybe? But not in a bad way.â
âWhy surprised, then?â You cross the small linoleum floor and wrap your arms around his waist. He blushes, tucking his chin against his chest bashfully.Â
âI dunno. Just that you want to bring me home with you? It⊠it means a lot to me.â
âIt means a lot to me just to ask you, love. But you donât have to come if you donât want to.â
He looks at you with those big dark eyes and you feel your heart swell. âBut I think Iâd like to. As long as thatâs okay with your family, of course? I donât want to be in the way.â
You laugh and raise your eyebrows. âIn the way? I think theyâd be more excited about seeing you than me.â You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. âYou know they think youâre great, youâve been on the video calls. My mother asks me more about you than she does about myself.â
He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head. âItâs different in person, sometimes.â
You shake your head. âMmmm, I donât think so in this case. You havenât been dealing with daily queries about the welfare and wellbeing of Ben Morales. And no, she doesnât yet seem to realise she can just call you by your first name.â
He chuckles and holds you closer. âGuess Iâd better go book some flights, huh?â
Ben pushes the luggage cart towards the sliding doors and out into the bright, bustling Arrivals area, where families wait excitedly at the barrier to greet their loved ones.Â
âLYDIAAAAAAAA!âÂ
You immediately spot your parents, standing right in the centre of the barrier, aligned with the sliding doors. Itâs still very early in the morning and you wonder how long theyâve been here, waiting at the perfect spot to see the two of you emerge.Â
You give Benâs arm a reassuring squeeze as the two of you walk towards your excited family. âYouâre not a stranger, love. They already love you. Remember that.â
Ben has barely exited the arrivals area when heâs enveloped in a warm embrace by your mother, who seems to have forgotten you entirely. Your father puts an arm around you and smiles widely while your mother coos over Ben. âAnd Ben Morales! Welcome, welcome. Weâre so delighted to have you.â
Your mother has had her hair done and is dressed in an outfit that feels somewhere between âweekday lunch at a nice restaurantâ and âSunday bestâ. Sheâs also using what you and Kate refer to as her âtelephone voiceâ when she speaks to Ben, more clipped and flatter than her usual tones.Â
âMom, he knows what you sound like normally, you donât need to put on the fancy accent.â You hug your father tightly and notice that his eyes are shining. Heâs similarly neatly dressed, wearing a nice smart-casual pair of pants and a matching shirt and v-neck light sweater.Â
âI am talking normally!â your mother fires back, followed by a tinkly laugh as she tilts her head and smiles at Ben. He smiles broadly, though you know heâs shattered, and your mother gives you a look that says âSee? Ben likes me.â
Your father shakes Benâs hand before embracing him. âThe two of you must be exhausted,â he says, arm still wrapped around Benâs shoulders. âLetâs head to the car.â
Ben and your dad lead the way, your mother reaching for your hand and giving it a warm squeeze as you walk companionably a few steps behind.Â
âWelcome home, pet. Iâm delighted heâs here too. Weâre so happy for you.â She looks ahead and appraises Benâs broad frame as he pushes the luggage cart and chats to your father.Â
âGrand big man, isnât he?â, she says approvingly. âDonât look at me like that, Lydia!â
âThereâs milk there and bread and tea and coffee and a few biscuits and butter and a couple of bags of crisps and -â
âMom, weâre fine. Weâll take care of ourselves. Okay?â
Your mother throws up her hands in resignation. âAlright! Just wanted to make sure you didnât starve.âÂ
Kate, Marc, and their little girls have taken over your parentsâ house for the duration of renovation works on their own home, and in the interests of space (and your sanity) youâd booked a small holiday flat in your hometown for the visit. Now, with Ben in tow, the privacy of the flat was even more welcome.Â
âThank you. I mean it. Now, can we please go and get some rest?â You hug her tightly and she kisses your cheek, before looking in Benâs direction.Â
âOf course. Weâll see you later, though? For something to eat? Kate and Marc and the girls are that excited to see you, I think they might burst.â
You stand beside Ben, bringing your hand to the small of his back, and wave your parents off as they return to the car. Theyâre not even out of earshot when you hear your father saying âHe wouldnât let her lift a single bag! Not one! Helped her all the time. Lovely chap. Very nice. Far cry from the other fuckerâŠâ
Subtlety has never been their strong point. You just hope Ben is too jet-lagged to have heard what they said.
A relaxed family meal, she said. Nothing special, she said. Come over in the early afternoon. Itâs just like a Sunday lunch, she said.Â
Your mother is reading Ben a list of menu options thatâs longer than in some restaurants. His eyebrows rise and fall as he takes it in and considers the possibilities.
âHonestly, Mrs -â
âMARIE. I told you.â
âHonestly, Marie, Iâll just have whatever everyone else is having. It all sounds great. Do you need any help in the kitchen?â
âI most certainly do not. You can have whatever you want. You are the guest.âÂ
âSeriously. Whateverâs easiest.â He looks nervously at you and speaks in a low voice. âWhat is easiest?âÂ
You shrug. âProbably the beef.â
He beams at your mother and tells her heâll have some beef. She tilts her head, smiles delightedly at him, and does that tinkly laugh again before returning to the kitchen.Â
The meal is delicious but, inevitably, chaotic. Your three-year-old niece Cora, who had insisted on sitting between you and Ben (Benjamoo, as she persisted in calling him), realises quickly that the family-style service meant she could help herself to her favourite sides as and when she wanted, chubby little hands rapidly making a mark on the mashed potato and carrots. Your mother keeps asking if the food is hot enough. Kate and Marc try to talk to Ben while corralling little Evie and making sure she gets fed.Â
Your father, meanwhile, veers between talking delightedly to the little girls and engaging Ben in a rapidly-shifting conversation that covers San Francisco, transatlantic flights, whether Ben liked sports, and a detailed description of the plot of a film heâd watched the week before. You couldnât work out which film it was, but you knew it had Kevin Costner in it. Mostly because your dad kept referring to him as âKevin Costnerâ, rather than by the characterâs name.Â
You rest a hand on Benâs knee, under the solid dining table your father had made for the family home when you were barely two.Â
âYou doing okay? I know weâre a bit muchâŠâ
His warm hand covers yours and he smiles softly.Â
âIâm great, Lyd. And you havenât been to a Morales family meal yet - now thatâs a bit much. Just you wait and see.â
You grin and lean your head affectionately on his shoulder for a moment, winding your fingers through his, never noticing the conspiratorial, knowing look exchanged between Kate and your mother.Â
You and Ben insist on clearing the dishes, making short work of loading the dishwasher before your parents can tell you off for letting the guest do the chores. Through the kitchen window you see Cora running towards her little plastic play house, on temporary loan to your parentsâ back garden while Kate and Marcâs building work is being completed. Kate follows swiftly behind, waving a soft fleece jacket at her daughter.
After wrangling Cora into her jacket, she appears at the back door. âCora wants to know if Ben can come and visit her tea shop. Not you, Lyd. She was very clear about that. Only Benjamoo.â
He smiles happily and puts down his dish towel, before making a sympathetic face at you and kissing your cheek. âSorry, Lyddie. I guess I better take up my invitation.âÂ
Itâs a hilarious and adorable sight: Ben, sitting cross-legged on the mat beside Coraâs house, hair a bit messy and eyes still a little tired behind his glasses, broad-shouldered in his grey Berkeley sweatshirt and decidedly out of proportion to the pink-and-white plastic cottage. You can hear him giving Cora his order and talking rapturously about the âteaâ she serves him in a little pink cup, while she giggles and claps her hands.Â
Marc and your father arrive in the kitchen, your brother-in-law carrying little Evie in his arms. âEvie thinks sheâs missing out on the fun with Ben and Cora,â he announces, opening the back door. âAnd we want to make sure Cora doesnât try to force-feed mud cakes to your boyfriend.â
Youâd been so nervous about this - not because you thought your family wouldnât like Ben, or vice versa, but because by definition the first visit to your partnerâs family feels a little like an audition of some kind. It has the potential to go horribly wrong, no matter how well prepared you are, or how many video calls youâve had over the last couple of months.
But here he is, now, integrated happily into your close-knit family of origin, getting on famously with your parents, sister, and brother-in-law, and making your beloved little niece laugh like a drain as he pretends to drink from her toy teapot. Like he was always here. Or always meant to be here.
Thereâs a surge of emotions in your chest: deep love and affection, above all, but with it a reminder that your future together is by no means assured. Assuming, of course, that he wants a future together.Â
âHeâs good with kids, isnât he?âÂ
Kateâs voice startles you. âWhere did you come out of?â
âIâm stealthy when I want, Lyd. Anyway, you havenât answered my question.â
You throw a bombastic side eye in your younger sisterâs direction. âI know what youâre getting at.â
Kate shrugs, the picture of innocence. âIâm just observing.â
âBen is a wonderful uncle. Just as I am a wonderful aunt. We like that. And thatâs one of the things I love about him.â You lean on the kitchen counter, voice quieter. âSoâŠwhat do you think?â
Kate arches an eyebrow in your direction. Your mother arrives in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as ever.Â
âWhat do I think of what?â
âYou know what. Who. Him. Ben.â
Your mother laughs as she fills the kettle with water and puts it on to boil for some teas and coffees. She turns round to face her two daughters. âWell, Kate, I donât know about you, but - he wouldnât be for me.â
Your jaw drops. âExcuse me?â
Kate opens a cupboard and starts to take out some mugs. âI know what you mean, mom. Not really for me, either.â
âYou know yourself, Kate,â your mother adds, finding a carton of milk in the fridge and filling a small milk jug, âJust not my thing at all.â
Anger spreads hot and warm across your face. âGood, because heâs not your fucking âthingâ, heâs my thing and I canât believe how two-faced youâre being. All sweetness and light and then saying heâs not really for you and -â
Your mother holds out a hand, expression deadpan. âLydia, not everyone wants a man whoâs kind and funny and genuine and clearly worships the ground his girlfriend walks on.â
âExactly,â Kate chimes in. âJust because you love someone whoâs really smart and nice and good with kids and is actually kind of cute in a dorky way doesnât mean the rest of us do.â
For a moment, your confusion and anger doesnât quite let you hear what theyâre saying. âIâm not asking you to be in love with him, Iâm just - oh. Oh.â
Marie and Kate burst out laughing.Â
âWell, fuck the two of you. Forty-two years and youâre still winding me up.â
Your mother wraps you in a warm cuddle. âAh, poor Lyd. Weâre sorry. We just couldnât resist.â
âHeâs so lovely, Lyd,â Kate adds, embracing you from behind. âI mean it. Marc thinks so, too. I know I said at Christmas that he looked like heâd been engineered in a lab for you and it looks like I was right. And Benâs even cuter in the flesh, not that I notice such things.â She coughs for dramatic effect. âWhat with being a married mother of two.â
âAnd he loves the bones of you, darling girl,â your mother whispers. âAnd sure, why wouldnât he?â
âI donât know about you, love, but Iâm shattered.âÂ
Ben glances over at you and wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to nuzzle against his chest. He holds up his copy of the script for Samuel Beckettâs Endgame, multicoloured tabs fluttering like tiny flags.Â
âIâm just going to work through one more scene, is that okay?â
You hum contentedly. âOf course, love. Howâs it going, anyway?â
He flicks through a few pages, scanning his notes and annotations. The comparative literature students put on a play every year, towards the end of the second semester, and Ben had to step in at short notice as director after a colleague in French fell ill. âItâs a relief weâre doing it in the English translation, put it that way. I just donât know why Jen thought I could take this on, after MichĂšle went on sick leave.âÂ
You idly rub his tummy and kiss his side through his old shirt. âBecause she knows youâre great and talented and the students love you, Mr Director.â
He huffs a laugh, marks up another section, adds a tab, and closes the book before taking off his glasses and shuffling down the bed and wrapping his free arm around you. He kisses the top of your head and holds you tight.Â
âThank you for bringing me home with you.â
You open your eyes and glance up at him. âSure they havenât put you off?â
âIt would take a lot to put me off, Lyd. Anyway, theyâre great. It - it meant a lot, to be welcomed like that, by the people you love.â
He looks down at you, and you place a light kiss on his jaw, smiling at the bristle of his beard against your lips. His gaze is solemn and intense as he reaches for your hand.
âIâm serious about this, Lyd. About us. You know?â
âI know. Iâm serious about us, too. Deadly serious, in fact.â
He smiles, eyes shining, and kisses you, soft and slow, pulling you closer and working a path of kisses down the side of your neck as your body writhes against his. Tiredness is forgotten, for the moment, as you slip your hand inside the waistband of his loose boxers and tug them down, fingers wrapping around his cock. Ben sighs against your chest as you stroke him, his mouth finding your nipples as his long fingers trace the wetness building between your legs. With one leg hitched across his, you angle your hips just so and guide him inside you as he whispers your name against your ear.Â
After youâve made love, Ben falls asleep mid-cuddle, and you tuck yourself against him and close your eyes. But sleep doesnât come easy. You should be delighted, after the beautiful day youâd had. But thereâs an anxiety building in the back of your mind that you canât quite shake.Â
Serious this relationship may be, but spring will soon turn to summer, and with it the prospect of being separated indefinitely by an entire ocean and several time zones. Kate was wont to remind you that you âcould just do distance for a whileâ, and she meant well. It was intended to reassure you.Â
The problem was, the more you thought about what that option would actually mean, the less comfort it provided.
Over the next couple of days, you introduce Ben to the world of your hometown, to the places and people that shaped you. It is strange, at first, to see him, whole and present, in the spaces that defined your childhood. But it is a beautifully intimate thing, sharing memories with someone you love. You lay yourself even more bare before them, revealing the you that was before they knew you.Â
The two of you have, of course, shared so much about yourselves and your pasts with each other in the time since you met. But this was different. Walking with him, pointing out your old schools, old haunts, swapping memories and stories, introducing him to random relations you meet in the streets: you are quietly knotting the strands of your past - with all its love, loss, joy and sorrow - with the man who, you hope, represents your future.Â
Kate and Marc insist on bringing you to dinner one night. âItâd be wrong not to,â Marc had explained as you sat in your parentsâ living room, Ben playing peek-a-boo with Evie while your mother looked on approvingly. âSure we have built-in babysitting while weâre staying with Joe and Marie.âÂ
Your motherâs expression shifted instantaneously, shooting daggers at your brother-in-law. âCheeky.â
Your hometown is not known for haute cuisine, but Kate booked a table at the nicest restaurant in town and it has been a perfect evening: good food, decent wine, and the pleasure of seeing how well Ben, Kate, and Marc are getting along. You and Kate go to the bathroom at one point, and she eyeballs you as you top up your lipstick, side by side, in the mirror.Â
âThink heâs passed the audition, Lyd.â She pouts and blows a kiss at her reflection. âOh, and guess what? Weâve got a special immersive cultural experience planned for the rest of the night.â
You swivel and glare at her. âAnd what does that involve, exactly?â
Kate picks up her handbag and does a little shimmy on the spot. âThe Roxy, Lyd. The ultimate method of integrating your lovely Benjamin into your native place.â
âYou have got to be kidding me.âÂ
The Roxy was once the townâs cinema, built in the 1940s and made redundant by the coming of the multiplex in the 1990s. Its owners had moved swiftly, though, and transformed the Roxy into a nightclub. It was a site of memorable nights out dancing with your friends, of crying in the bathrooms when you realised your crush was interested in someone else, of bad kissing, of telling random men to fuck off when they told you to smile, of screaming with glee when âHey Yaâ came on.
 If the Roxy was a taste, it would be peach schnapps and orange squash. Its smell, meanwhile, had lodged permanently in your memory: old cigarettes, sticky carpets, cheap aftershave, vanilla musk body spray.Â
She was not kidding. You and Kate sit on some banquette seating in a corner of the Roxyâs lounge - which was just a separate floor with slightly better, more old-school music - and take in the completely incongruous sight of Ben, followed by Marc, weaving his way through the habitual crowd of locals with your drinks in hand.Â
âVodka tonic for Lyddie, gin and tonic for Kate.â Ben places the glasses on the table and nestles in beside you, giving your thigh a little squeeze. He reaches for his bottle of beer and raises it slightly. âUh, cheers, I guess?â
Kate enthusiastically clinks her swimming pool-sized glass of gin and tonic off Benâs drink. âCheers! Now, you have to promise me youâll dance. Otherwise itâs not full assimilation.â
You groan audibly and stir your drink with the straw as Ben chuckles. âCâmon, Lyd, youâve got moves.â He raises an eyebrow at you mischievously.Â
You manage to stave off the inevitable for a while, finishing your first vodka tonic and about to suggest you go to the bar when a familiar opening melody sends Kate leaping out of her seat, excitedly grabbing her husband and beckoning to you.Â
âAS IT WAS?!? COME OOOONNNN LYYYYD!â Kate bellows back to you and Ben from the tiny dancefloor, where Marc is already showing off a move you can only describe as ârhythmic shufflingâ while mouthing Harry Stylesâ lyrics.
You look at Ben. He stands, removes his jacket, and offers you his hand, smiling expectantly. His hand rests gently on the small of your back as you join your sister and brother-in-law on the dancefloor, and he pulls you in to whisper in your ear.Â
âWe can do better than them, canât we?â
You laugh, leaning in as he wraps an arm around your waist, takes your hand, and helps you exorcise all those demons of heartbreak long past on the dancefloor.Â
As she clambers into a taxi in the early hours of the morning, Kate turns and yells âIâm telling mom youâre bringing a boy home with you from the Roxy!â, before collapsing in hysterics as Marc takes her hand and pulls her into the car. They grin and wave at you and Ben as it disappears up the street and back towards your parentsâ house.
You lean against Ben as you walk back towards the little flat youâd rented for your stay at home, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders.Â
âSheâs right, though,â you giggle, âIâm actually bringing the hot boy home with me from the Roxy. Iâve come a long way from endless rejection and the odd bit of bad kissing.â
Ben huffs a laugh as you open the main door of the building and climb the stairs to the apartment. âWell, fuckinâ good.â He adds a sassy little head movement for emphasis.Â
âExcuse me?â
âFuckinâ good. Because what would have happened to me if youâd been swept off your feet by one of those bad kissing boys back then?â He follows you into the little entrance hall and, for all his joking tone, thereâs a vulnerability lurking in his beautiful eyes.
You cradle his face in your hands. âIâd have found you one way or another, Benjamin.â A coy smile crosses your lips as you take him in - danced out, hair mussed, and so stupidly sexy you still canât quite believe heâs real.Â
Your fingers hook inside his waistband as you pull him tight to you, leading him into the living room and pushing him against the wall as you bring a hand to his crotch. âAnd Iâd like to make the most of bringing the hottest man home from the club for once in my life, if you donât mind. Especially seeing as he was worth the wait.â
Benâs eyes widen and he half gasps, half chuckles as you undo his jeans and slip a hand inside his boxers, stroking his cock as you pepper his throat with tiny kisses. He leans down slightly to bring a hand under the skirt of your dress, hitching up the fabric and slipping two fingers into your panties to play with your clit as he kisses you: hungry, urgent, wanting.Â
But youâve had something else on your mind all night. You break the kiss and begin to sink to your knees, hands around Benâs waist for balance.Â
Your eyes flit up to meet his. âLet me make you feel good, darling.â
His breath hitches as he takes you in: hair a little messy, eyes wide and wild, lips slightly parted, the soft flesh of your tits rising and falling with your breathing.Â
âFuck, Lyd, youâre amazing.â
âThat a yes?â
He swallows hard and nods rapidly. âFuck. Yes. Yes. Please.â
You lick your lips and smile as you carefully tug down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Your mouth presses into the softest, most sensitive parts of him: a kiss, a lick, a little nip to his belly; a course plotted down from his abdomen to the hardening cock you hold in your hand. You take him into your mouth, tongue swirling gently over the tip as you stroke him, revelling in the sensation and the moans of pleasure youâre pulling from the gorgeous man above you. Ben rests his hand on the back of your head and leans back against the wall, panting harder as you find your rhythm.Â
The ache between your thighs builds with his every grunt and groan. Your fingertips find your clit, rubbing little circles over it in a fruitless bid to find some relief. You ease his cock out of your mouth with a pop and Ben helps you to your feet before you take his hand and guide him to the couch.
You slip off your panties and encourage him to lie back on the sofa as you gather the skirt of your dress around your waist and straddle him. âNeed to fuck you, my love.âÂ
He grips the flesh of your hips and thighs, fingers pressing into your body as you take him inside you and begin to ride him, relishing the slow drag of his cock as you come undone. He looks beautiful underneath you, eyes wide and shining as he watches every move of your body.
âFuck, Lyd,â he pants, smiling up at you. âYou look incredible.â He reaches up and pulls down your neckline, groping your breasts and gazing at you like youâre the sexiest thing heâs ever seen: head thrown back, eyes closed, and vocal.Â
He begins to thrust up into you, finding a rhythm that complements yours, intensifying the sensation so much that you canât help but cry out with pleasure.Â
âYes, babyâŠfuck, thatâs so fucking good, Ben, thatâs fucking it, fuck!â
âTake it, Lyddie.â His dark eyes stare into yours, hands still gripping you firmly. âRide me, take what you needâŠfuck, good fucking girl. Iâll give you whatever you need, whatever you want.â
And he knows what you need, in that moment. His thick fingers slip between your thighs and find your clit, circling it over and over as you keep on fucking him.Â
You come hard, the last flutters of your orgasm still working through you when Ben follows suit. Heâs still inside as you bend forward to kiss him, trailing your hands over his beautiful face and through his damp hair. You rest on his chest and let the sound of his breathing start to steady you as he holds you close for a couple of moments.
âI love you so much, Lyddie,â he pants quietly, chuckling to himself. âYouâre a hell of a woman.â
For your last day, Ben suggests that he might make dinner at the flat, as a gesture of thanks for your familyâs hospitality. You suggest lasagne with some sides as a general crowdpleaser, borrow some dishes from your mother, and Ben gets to work while you lay the place settings.Â
The lasagne is cooking away happily when your mother arrives with Kate, Marc, and the girls. You look puzzled.Â
âWhereâs Dad?â
Your mother rolls her eyes as Cora goes tearing off around the flat, Kate following swiftly behind. âHe insisted he had to go to the football match tonight. Of course. Anyway, he said heâll be here shortly.â
Ben emerges from the kitchen, clad in a navy and white striped apron youâd used back when you (briefly) did home economics at school. He kisses your mother and Kate on the cheek and hugs Marc, before bending down to give a delighted Cora a high five.Â
âI made you a present,â she says quietly, suddenly shy.Â
Ben brings himself down to her level. âA present? For me? Thatâs amazing.â
Kate rummages in her bag and produces a rolled-up piece of paper, handing it to Ben. âShe did it all herself. Mostly.â
You stand beside him as he unfurls it and Cora looks down at her toes. The drawing features a large figure with a mop of dark wavy hair and a wide smile - âBenjamooâ, Cora points out helpfully - standing close beside a slightly smaller figure immediately recognisable as you. âAuntie Lyd,â she adds seriously, in case you werenât aware.Â
The figuresâ stick arms are touching. âHolding hands,â Cora says.Â
Ben looks at Cora, then up at you, and back to the little girl. âThis is the best art anyoneâs ever given me. Iâm going to put it on my wall when I get home.â He stands, and reaches for your hand, noticing the tears threatening in your eyes. âAuntie Lyd will help. Wonât you?â
You nod and squeeze his hand. Cora starts to giggle and points at you and Ben.Â
âSee? Holding hands.â
Ben and Marc pop out to the nearest supermarket shortly afterwards, when you realise you had neglected to buy garlic bread. You sit in the open-plan kitchen and dining area with your mother while Kate plays with her daughters in the living room.Â
âYou alright, love?â Marie notices how you fiddle with the place settings and rub your fingers together, sure signs that somethingâs on your mind.Â
âMmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, Iâm⊠I think so.â You exhale. âI donât know.â
Your mother gives you a little breathing room, waiting to see if youâll open up more.Â
âItâs just⊠fuck. I donât know. I - what the fuck are we going to do?â
She sighs softly and pats the back of your hand. âYou and Ben?âÂ
âMe and Ben. Itâs spring break. And thereâs no clear pathway about what weâll do when my year in Barrow ends and I have to come back to my job over this side of the ocean.â
âWell, I mean⊠I know you hate the thoughts of it, Lyd, but have you talked about it? Kateâs right, you could always do long-distance for a while, until you knew what you both really wanted.â
You put your head in your hands. âWeâve said that weâre very serious about the relationship.âÂ
âSo then! Thereâs your answer. No?â
You look up at her mournfully. âYes and no. Yes, weâre serious about each other. No, that doesnât mean we have any idea how to manage the distance.â
Marie adjusts the salt and pepper cruets in the middle of the table. âPeople do it, Lyd. Itâs a commitment but they make it work.â
You nod slowly. âI just donât know if thatâs what I want, at this stage in my life. We see each other every day. Weâre practically living together.â
Your mother fans herself in mock horror. âAnd not a hint of a ring on the finger, goodness!â
You roll your eyes good-naturedly. âForty-two, mother dear. But yeah. I donât know if I could go from that to not seeing Ben for weeks or a month or more at a time. Not now.â
âSo what does that mean?â
You swallow hard. âI donât know. One of us moves. He moves for me. I move for him. But that means trying to find a permanent academic job and in both places thatâs like finding a needle in a haystack.â
âAnd if thereâs no job? Distance as a temporary measure?â
You bite your lip. âBut what if thatâs still too hard?â
âSo move.â
âBut that means him giving up his life for me, or me uprooting for him, and being so far from all of you and from here andâŠâ You look up at your mother, feeling like a scared little girl again.
âI love him so much, Mom. I never thought Iâd love anyone like that. Never thought Iâd even meet someone like that. And for him to love me in returnâŠfuck.â
Marie shifts closer and wraps her arm around your shoulders. âI know, love. I know. You love the bones of each other. And itâs real love. Everyone can see it.â
âWhat do we do?â
âLydia, I canât tell you what to do one way or the other. Only you know whatâs right for the two of you.â
You lean your head on your motherâs shoulder and she gives your hand a squeeze. âI know. Itâs just - fuck, why does it have to be hard? Donât I deserve things to work out, for once?â
âYou do, pet. Of course you do. No one deserves it more.â
âSometimes it feels crazy, yâknow? This time last year I didnât know Ben existed, and now -â
âNow itâs like youâve known each other forever? Like you canât imagine life without him?â
You turn to face her, and smile. âExactly.â
âThatâs love for you.â Marie purses her lips, thinking. âIâm only going to say one more thing. Your happiness.â
âHuh?â
âLyd, for years you prioritised someone elseâs happiness over your own. I know, I know, that fucker moved for you when you got the job away, I know that. But apart from thatâŠit was all you. All you, trying to keep someone else happy and cracking under the strain.â She inhales and exhales, trying to curb the fury that still burns in her when she remembers how you were treated.Â
âAll Iâm going to say is this: donât worry about anyone else, Lyd. Not me, not Dad, not Kate, Marc, the girls, your job - nobody. Well, worry about Ben. But above all, prioritise your happiness. We have ours over here. Itâs time for you to find yours.â
You hug her tightly. âOne final question.â
She nods and waits.Â
âWhat does Dad think of Ben? I know it wouldnât change my feelings but given everything from the shitshow, Iâd like to know he doesnât absolutely loathe him.â
She looks at her phone and pushes away from the table, walking into the living room and opening the door of the flat. âAsk him yourself, Lyd. Here he is now.â
Your father comes into the kitchen, talking about something that happened at the local football match heâd attended that afternoon and eyes already locked on the kettle, his mind focused on making a cup of tea.Â
âJoe? Lyd wants to ask you something.â
You roll your eyes at your mother. âItâs not a big deal.â
He turns around, tea caddy in hand. Heâs been to this flat twice, you think, and he knows exactly where all the tea-making equipment is kept.Â
ïżœïżœâAlright. Ask away, Lyd. Are you alright? Is everything okay?â
âItâs fine. Everythingâs fine. I just - Dad, what do you think?â
âWhat do I think of what?â
âBen. Me and Ben, specifically. But also just Ben.â
Joe switches on the kettle and leans against the kitchen counter. âSure, my opinion isnât what matters. What matters is how you feel. Isnât that right?â He looks to your mother for backup.Â
âI said that to her, but she said she wanted to hear from you.â
He takes a mug out of the cupboard and drops a square teabag into it. âLydia, is everything okay? Are you having any doubts about him, is that it?â
You laugh and shake your head. âNot a one.â
âAnd you donât think heâs having any doubts about you? Because if he is Iâll fucking -â
âNo, Dad. He⊠heâs very clear about how he feels.â
Your father nods in satisfaction. âWell, thatâs reassuring. Would be strange if he wasnât, given how he is with you. At least, what weâve seen here.â He pours the freshly boiled water over the teabag and opens the fridge in search of milk. âBut the point stands. You love each other, donât you?â
You arenât sure if your father has ever been so open or explicit with you in asking about a romantic relationship. Perhaps, you wonder, he regretted not being more honest about his concerns over the years of your longest one.Â
âWe do.â Your eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly. You swallow hard. âWe love each other very, very much.â
âOkay then.â He stirs his tea vigorously, the metal of the teaspoon clinking off the stoneware mug.Â
âBut I still want to know what you think. It matters to me. Especially - especially after the last time.â
Joe pulls out a chair and settles at the table, your mother reaching automatically for a coaster and sliding it under the mug. âLyd, you know what Iâve always said. Thereâs not one person walking this earth who deserves our lovely Lydia. Not one.â
Your heart sinks a little, and you nod. Youâve heard this a lot since your ex cheated and fucked off. You never really believe it.Â
âBut.â Your father pauses and sips his tea.Â
âBut?â
He looks at you and reaches out to touch your hand. âBut - that lovely man you brought home definitely comes very close indeed.â
Right on cue, the front door opens and you can hear Ben and Marc chatting companionably and laughing together. Marc does a silly little dance into the kitchen, waving the garlic bread around like glow sticks.
âNow, please donât destroy the garlic bread before itâs even gone into the oven, Marc!â
As your mother grabs the bread and sneaks a peek at the lasagne, now browned to perfection, Ben pulls you in for a quiet word.
âLyddie, are you okay? You look like youâve been crying.â
You lean against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. âIâm okay, darling. I just needed this. Needed you.â The oven timer pings and you look at him. âTime for Professor Morales to serve us his delicious lasagne. Câmon, we can plate up before my mother takes over.â
You thought goodbyes would get easier the longer you worked away from home, but the opposite turned out to be true. Your parents are doing their usual brave face routine at the airport: Joe clearly trying not to cry, Marie overdoing the levity to distract you and stave off her own sadness at seeing you go.Â
âParis in the springtime, Lyd! Itâll be gorgeous. Sheâs a great tour guide, Ben, she knows it all.âÂ
âSheâs brilliant, Marie. But you knew that before the rest of us found out.â He reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as you start to feel the tears prickling.Â
He only lets go as you both embrace your parents in turn, Ben thanking them repeatedly for their kindness. Then, his fingers curl around yours again, holding you strong and steady at the entrance to departures.Â
âI love you both so much, you know? Weâre so grateful.â
Your mother canât hold back her tears any more, and her wet cheek presses against yours as she pulls you in for a final hug. âWe love you so much. Both of you.âÂ
She pulls away and holds your gaze. âBoth of you. Remember what I said to you, Lydia. Remember that.â
You nod and give Benâs hand a little squeeze. âWe should probably head on through. Safe home - message me when you get back, okay? Weâll see you soon.â
You keep waving back with every sharp turn you take in the queue for security, until eventually your parentsâ faces are obscured by the crowd behind you, and you face forward into the security area, still holding Benâs hand.
âParis par train ou Paris par bus?â
Ben shrugs as he pushes the luggage trolley. âYouâre the expert, Lyddie. Whatâs easiest?â
You summon up the mental map of Parisian transport options that is always ticking over at the back of your mind. âTrain is quicker but involves a change at ChĂątelet Les Halles - ugh - and then again at Bastille. Bus gets us to OpĂ©ra which means we can get right on to line 8.â
âBus?â
âBus.â
Ben stacks your bags carefully in one of the Roissybusâs luggage areas and exhales as he takes a seat beside you. âYou know itâs been almost thirty years since I was in Paris?â
âExcusez-moi?â
He chuckles. âCame up on a very poorly-thought-out visit with some friends while I was on exchange in MĂĄlaga. Overnight trains, hostels, no money, cheap wine. I barely saw the Eiffel Tower, let alone anything else.â
The bus pulls out of Charles de Gaulle Airport and onto the motorway. You squeeze Benâs thigh affectionately. âIsnât it a good thing that youâve come to Paris with a ready-made guide, then?â
He smirks and arches an eyebrow suggestively. âOh, Iâm really looking forward to doing some, er, exploring with her.âÂ
âIs that so?â You move your hand ever so slightly up his thigh, smiling with satisfaction as Ben gasps a little and shifts in the seat. âI always like to try out new pleasures here, you know?â
A wiggle of your eyebrows has you both giggling, leaning against each other as the bus makes good progress towards the pĂ©riphĂ©rique, the motorway that rings the city, and into Paris proper. You start to point out landmarks, locations, shifting into a stream of consciousness that spans history, personal memories, places to visit, and random observations.Â
Ben smiles to himself as he watches and listens, delighting in your joy and excitement as you prepare to see your old friend - to walk her streets, listen to her voice, and write another chapter in your long love story.
The advantage of Parisian connections: your friend Sophie offered you her apartment in the 11th arrondissement for the duration of your stay, as she was away in the south of France. You meet her upstairs neighbour outside the narrow, early nineteenth-century building on a quiet street just off the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine and collect Sophieâs key, taking note of the door codes.Â
âHoly shit. Look at this place!â
Ben has carried the bags up the stairs - thankfully, Sophieâs flat is on the first floor - and followed you into the little apartment. You turn and grin when you notice how entranced he looks, staring up at the wooden beams in the tiny hallway, peeking out into the communal courtyard, tilting his head this way and that to check out the books on Sophieâs shelves.Â
âItâs amazing, isnât it?â You pick up your suitcase and lead the way into the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed as you take off your shoes and wriggle your toes happily.
âItâs incredible. Exactly what you might imagine a Parisian apartment to be.â He drops his own bags in the corner and joins you on the bed, flopping back onto the mattress and yawning.
You lie back and turn to face him, resting a hand on his stomach. âLetâs do some exploring. I know weâre tired, but I want to show you around, get some dinner, buy some wineâŠâ
The featherlight touch of his fingers, working their way under your denim blouse and stroking the soft skin of your waist, sends delicious shivers through you.
âWe could do some exploring here, right nowâŠ?â he asks, eyes twinkling and a smile on his lips.Â
âYou know how tempting that offer is, Benjamin, but letâs restore our energy first, hmmm?â
Dinner is Vietnamese food from a tiny restaurant just around the corner, a staple favourite from your time living in the city, followed by a walk around the neighbourhood and a stop at a nearby supermarket, to stock up on some essentials and a bottle of wine. As you climb the stairs to the apartment, the fatigue from a day of travel and the underlying, gnawing anxiety about your future starts to hit you.Â
You should just say it to him. Ask him outright what he wants to happen.
You push the thought down, down, as deep as it will go as you settle on Sophieâs tiny sofa and watch Ben uncork the wine in the coin cuisine, the little kitchenette tucked into a corner of the living room. You spot a portable speaker tucked on one of the bookshelves and connect it to your phone, scrolling through your playlists until you find what you want.Â
âNever let it be said that you donât cultivate an atmosphere, Lyd,â he says, handing you a glass of the purple-red wine and joining you on the couch. âLet me guess: this is a Paris-specific playlist?â
You hide your face behind one hand and peek at him through your fingers as he laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek as Serge Gainsbourgâs âLa chanson de PrĂ©vertâ starts to play.
He rests his head on your shoulder as you listen to the song together. Itâs a favourite of yours regardless, but tonight, with the man you love so deeply but still fear losing nestled in beside you, Gainbourgâs plaintive melody and lyrics about lost love are like a punch to the gut.
âLyddie?â
Ben is sitting up, looking at you with concern. âYou look so sad, all of a sudden - you okay?â
âItâs just the song, itâs so ââ You halt yourself. No. Time to say it.
âI guess Iâm just really feeling how close I am to the end of my time in Barrow, thatâs all.â
His chocolate-brown eyes soften and he wraps you in a warm embrace. âStill got plenty of time, Lyddie.â
âAnd then?â
âAnd thenâŠ?â
âWhat happens? To us, I mean.â
He looks surprised at the question. âWeâll be okay, one way or the other. Right?â
But what does that mean?
Youâre too tired to ask the question, you tell yourself. In truth, youâre too scared to - not because you fear his reaction, not at all. Rather, itâs because you fear that your concerns might upset him.
Benâs head has barely hit the pillow before heâs sound asleep, one arm draped loosely around your waist. For you, though, sleep is elusive, arriving only as the dawn starts to break over the city of light.Â
You wake, exhausted, to the aroma of fresh coffee brewing and the sound of Ben pottering around the apartment, humming the melody of âLa chanson de PrĂ©vertâ to himself. With a groan, you remember youâd planned to do some research today and force yourself out of bed.
âBonjour, la belle Lyddie! Du cafĂ©?â Ben waves a little espresso mug at you and you nod weakly.Â
He is bright and cheerful as he moves around the kitchenette, pouring the coffee and joining you at the tiny dining table that acts as a kind of divider between the kitchen and the rest of the living area.Â
âDid you sleep okay?â
You look up, and his face falls when he spies the telltale redness in your eyes. âIâm taking that as a no. Whatâs going on, Lyd?â
A fortifying sip of the strong coffee. You sit upright and look at him, studying his beautiful face. âDarling, I meant what I said last night. About how anxious I am, how scared of what comes next, theâŠuncertainty of it all.â
âBut we know weâre serious about each other? We talked about it,â he replies, sipping his own coffee. âYou know that. Donât you?â
âI do. I really do. And we are, but -â you pause to gather your thoughts. âBut that doesnât mean thereâs an answer for what happens when I have to go home, and thatâs eating away at me.â
He looks at you kindly, but you can see the confusion written all over his face. âWhat do you mean, exactly, Lyd? Surely we can see if circumstances change over the summer, and if not then we do distance until stuff gets figured out. Right? Things are going to be just fine.â
Itâs so tempting to smile and agree, but you canât. You owe him honesty, as much as you want clarity.Â
âIs that really what you want?â
âDistance? Itâs not ideal, but if it comes to it I think we can make it work and - Lyd?â
You have closed your eyes, fearful of tears falling.Â
Say it. Say it. Be honest with him.
âI - I donât think I want a long-distance relationship.â
Ben makes no effort to hide his shock. âYou donât want a long-distance thing?â He shakes his head in amazement. âEven if thatâs the only option for the moment?â
âI just want certainty, not constantly saying everything would be okay or weâd see what happens when we donât know that things will be okay, or whatâs going to happen. I want you, love. I want a life with you, you know that. Donât you?â
âBut you donât want long-distance with me.â His brow furrows and his jaw ticks as he stares at the floor.Â
âI donât know, I mean I just want what we have now, I donât know if I could cope with the implications of that kind of distance and -â
He exhales sharply, exasperated, and reaches for his light cotton jacket. âSo itâs all or nothing. You would rather have no relationship than even try distance, is that it?â
Fury and sadness mingle and build in your chest. âBen, thatâs not what I fucking said.â Your hands fall to your sides, defeated. âIâm just - fuck, Iâm not finding the words right now.âÂ
âWell, if you find them later let me know.â He opens the door of the apartment and pauses for a moment. âSee you, Lyddie.â
You sit staring into space for a good half hour at your appointed desk in the print room at the BibliothĂšque nationale, before you open the grey archive box of lithographs youâd called up for the day.Â
The ritual of research is familiar and soothing, a useful distraction from the memory of the argument that morning. You set out your camera and prepare your customary scraps of paper inscribed with the call number of the collection, to make it easier for you to match up images with notes when you return to the materials at home. Wherever the hell âhomeâ is supposed to be, now.Â
Assess each print. Study it. Immerse yourself in the details before photographing it and writing up your observations on your laptop. Repeat over and over, add to your research materials and stave off the metaphorical wolves circling in your brain.Â
Your stomach starts to rumble just before one oâclock. The garden courtyard outside the building that houses the print room is busy, with researchers and visitors taking an al fresco lunch and chatting over coffee. Salad consumed, you take your phone out of the transparent plastic briefcase you are required to use inside the library.Â
No message from him. Nothing.Â
You decide to make a call. She should be on her lunch now, too.Â
âLyd! How are you? Howâs Pareeeeee?â Kateâs voice is cheery and comforting, and exactly what you needed to hear.Â
âHiya⊠um, can you talk for a few minutes?â
She immediately knows thereâs something wrong and her tone shifts. âOf course, always⊠Lyd, whatâs happened? Are you okay?â
Deep breaths. âKate, I think I need to make a decision and Iâm fucking terrified.â
Kate pauses, aware that she doesnât need to ask you what this is about. âOkay. Talk to me. Letâs work through it.â
BEN: When do you think youâll be finished for the day? We should talk. Iâm so sorry about this morning x
LYDIA: Probably by 4.30 or so. Do you want me to come meet you?
BEN: Iâll come to you. You want food? Itâs a nice day for a picnic dinner.Â
LYDIA: It is. Dinner is your choice. Meet me at the rue Vivienne exit at 4.30 or so? x
BEN: You say that as if I know where that is⊠Iâll find it. See you soon, Lyddie. Love you.Â
Ben Morales leans against the railings of the BibliothĂšque nationale and looks at his watch. Heâs early, so he meanders across the street and wanders into the Galerie Vivienne, admiring the fine detail of the mosaic floors and brass light fittings that adorn the nineteenth-century covered arcade. He pauses at an antiquarian bookstore and print shop, perusing the selection of vintage postcards displayed in wooden crates outside.Â
Heâs standing at the entrance to the arcade when he looks up and sees you coming through the gates of the library, somehow managing to carry a backpack, tote bag, and small cross-body handbag all at once.Â
You donât notice him at first, instead turning your head in both directions as you look for him. Benâs heart soars when he sees you, in spite of the nagging ache heâs felt in the pit of his stomach ever since the argument youâd had that morning.Â
He calls out to you from across the street, raising his hand in an enthusiastic wave, and a warm, delighted smile spreads across your face when you realise heâs there, waiting for you. Heâs as impossibly handsome as ever in his navy blue shirt jacket, white tshirt, and jeans, tote bag slung over one shoulder.Â
You keep Kateâs words from your lunchtime conversation in the forefront of your mind. âYou know what you want, Lyd. You know what you need to do.â
âSorry, I got delayed on the way out of the print room and then it always takes longer to pack up than Iâd anticipated and then I thought I should pop to the bathroom before I left and then -â
Ben interrupts your explanation with a kiss and a hug. âIâm so sorry, Lyddie. Iâm sorry about this morning.â He pulls away and holds out a small, flat brown paper bag. âA peace offering.â
The bag contains a selection of vintage postcards of Paris, postmarked in the early years of the twentieth century: Notre-Dame, photographed from the Left Bank; the place de la Bastille; the facade of the Bibliotheque nationale youâd just left.Â
âSome of your favourite places, right?â
You reach for his hand and lean in for a kiss. âYou know me so well. Thank you, my love, theyâre beautiful.â You spot a larger brown paper carrier bag in his other hand. âDinner?â
Ben smiles, holding out the bag for your approval. âI ended up getting a selection of stuff from one of the Asian takeout places near here. And I picked up a bottle of chilled white wine, and some paper cups. Sound good?â
âSounds perfect. Letâs go, Benjamin - dinner at the Palais-Royal awaits.â
âI have to admit, I did wonder when you said we were going to a royal palace. Didnât seem veryâŠLyddie.â
Ben quirks an eyebrow in your direction. You giggle as you reach into the bag of takeout and retrieve boxes of rice, steamed buns, gyoza, and nems.Â
âI mean, technically it was a royal residence. But the gardens - where we are now - were public, as were the arcades and shops.â You set the boxes of food on a green metal park chair, serving as a makeshift table in front of your bench. âAnd it was an important location in the revolutionary period, soâŠâ
He grins and opens the bottle of wine. âAh! There it is. Thatâs my Lyd.â
His Lyd. Affection surges in your chest, and you place a hand on Benâs knee, giving it a light squeeze as he pours some of the white wine into a paper cup and hands it to you.
He raises his own cup in your direction. âTo my clever, revolutionary girl.â
You swap stories about your respective days as you dig into the food: Ben describing his informal solo tour of literary locations on the Left Bank, you talking through your finds in the print room. He shows you photos he took of Richard Wrightâs apartment building, of the original site of Sylvia Beachâs Shakespeare and Company, and a selfie of himself looking completely perplexed at the plaque on the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine that refers to James Joyce as a âBritish writer of Irish origin.â
You burst out laughing at that one. âIâm so glad you found that. It annoys me every time I see it.â
âI sent it to Evan. He was not impressed.â He slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for another spring roll. âAnd then I went and sat in the Luxembourg Gardens for a bit, worked over a little more of the play, thought about Beckett in Paris, watched the world go by. I remembered you said it was one of your favourite places to just sit and think.âÂ
He smiles softly, almost shyly, at you, and with a pang you remember that some serious conversation lies ahead, no matter how tempting it is to sit here forever in the Palais-Royal, eating your picnic dinner and drinking your wine surrounded by the ghosts of writers and lovers and revolutionaries long past.Â
Lemon-scented wipes remove the residual traces of nems and dipping sauces from your fingers, and Ben stacks the empty food containers in the brown paper bag before topping up your paper cup of wine. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you to hold you close.Â
He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. âI wanted to talk about earlier.âÂ
You raise your head, turn to him, and nod. He rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles with his index finger on your leg.Â
âIâm sorry if it ever felt like I was dismissing your worries, Lydia. I - well, I guess I was avoiding the issue. Like if I kept saying things would work out, theyâd just⊠work out.â
You smile gently and reach for his hand. âWithout having to make the hard call.â
He squeezes your hand and nods. âExactly. But I did a lot of thinking about that today. About the future, about what I want - what you want.â He gives you a nervous glance.
âYou were right, Lyd, long-distance couldnât give usâŠI donât want long-distance with you, either. I couldnât, Lyd. I want what you said you want - a life, us, together. Like now.â He caresses your cheek with his thumb. âI canât imagine anything else.â
You bring your hand to rest on his and close your eyes, feeling tears prickling against your eyelids.Â
He takes a deep breath. âLyd, look at me.â Your eyes meet his, dark and warm and serious all at once. âLyd, I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Thatâs all I want, and - fuck, I think Iâve known I wanted that for a while now.â
You open your mouth to respond and he shakes his head gently. âLyddie - Lydia - I want to be with you, no matter what it takes.â Another deep breath. âAnd thatâs why - if you want, of course, only if you want - Iâll move back with you at the end of the year. Iâve got some job alerts set up, Iâll find something, you know? I - I just want to be with you.â
âYou canât give up your whole life, darling.â Your voice is quiet as you take in the significance of what heâs telling you, what heâs offering. To his astonishment, you burst out laughing.
âWhatâs funny, Lyd?â
âI did a lot of thinking today, too. You know youâre all I want, donât you?â You look at him expectantly, and he nods. âAnd I was going to tell you that - if you wanted - I would try to stay in the US, so that I could be with you. So that we could make a life together, plan our future.â You turn to him and grin. âBut now it seems weâre still going to be on opposite sides of the pond, just with swapped continents.â
Laughter rises from Benâs chest, emerging as a bright, wide smile and eyes crinkling with delight. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you, over and over, before pulling away abruptly.Â
âWait. You said I couldnât give up my life, but you want to give up yours? And you know Barrow doesnât do partner or spousal hiresâŠâ
âI mean, it wouldnât be giving up my life. It would be living the life I want to live, with the man I adore. Thatâs better, no?â You reach over to brush an errant curl off his forehead. âAnyway, I can look for a position within commuting distance, right? Iâd rather that than feel I had got a job I didnât really deserve.â
He blushes slightly and looks at you from under his lashes. âEven so. I meant it, I would follow you anywhere. Iâll go wherever you want me to be, wherever you want to be.â
âOkay. How about this?â You sit up a little straighter, hands resting on his. âWeâre clearly both prepared to move. SoâŠwe both start looking for jobs, you near my place and me around Barrow, and whoever gets an appointment first - thatâs where we go.â
Ben looks into the middle distance and nods, turning over the proposal in his head. âThat sounds like a plan, baby.âÂ
âThen itâs a deal?â
He grins and kisses you softly. âItâs a deal.â
The evening is bright and warm as you meander hand in hand through the narrow streets of the Marais, heading east, homeward bound.Â
You spot a buzzy corner cafĂ© and nudge Ben. âHow about a drink, darling? Something bubbly, maybe?â
He smiles, and you know his eyes are sparkling behind his sunglasses as he squeezes your hand and follows your lead towards one of the small round tables arranged outside the cafĂ©. The server is typically Parisian: efficient, polite but not overly familiar, and they take your order and return promptly with two glasses of champagne and little dishes of olives and mixed nuts.Â
âĂ nous deux, Paris!â Ben clinks his glass to yours and you giggle as the first sip sends bubbles bursting on your tongue.Â
âQuoting Balzac in the original French?! Where were you all my life, Benjamin?â
He shrugs and smiles to himself. âCould ask you the same question.â
Long, thick fingers begin to rub circles on the flesh of your thigh, feeling the heat of your skin through the light fabric of the button down sky blue shirt dress youâre wearing. You echo the gesture, tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and your expression becomes more serious, more intense, your voice quieter.
âI love you, Ben.âÂ
He squeezes your thigh gently. âI love you, Lyd.âÂ
Sipping champagne and nibbling on the snacks, you watch the world go by, content and cosy in the little bubble that is just you and him. Youâre checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror when a realisation sweeps through you. Your eyes widen, mouth forming into a little âoâ before stretching into a happy smile as you ascend the stairs from the basement to the main cafĂ© and rejoin Ben at the table.
âSo something occurred to me.â
He chases the last olive around the dish with a cocktail stick. âMmmmm?â
âWeâre doing this, arenât we? Weâre going to spend the rest of our lives together. Thatâs what weâve said we want. Right? I didnât imagine that?â
Ben lifts his head, puts down the cocktail stick, and looks into your eyes with a bemused smile on his face. âNo, you didnât. And yes, we are.â His eyes crinkle as he smiles broadly. âAnd isnât it fucking wonderful?â
You nod excitedly and a surge of laughter erupts from both of you, quietened only by a warm, passionate kiss. You break away and run your fingers through the messy strands of hair around his forehead.
âI know people might think itâs soon, love. But⊠itâs not. I know.â
âI know too, Lyddie. When you know, you know.â He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. âAnd to be honest, I donât think anyone who knows us will think itâs too soon.â
The server returns to take the empty glasses and dishes. âAutre chose?â [Something else?]
Ben winks at you mischievously and orders two more glasses of champagne.Â
The walk back to the apartment should have taken about twenty minutes. Or at least, it would have had you not both been tipsy, incredibly happy, and unable to keep your hands off each other.Â
It takes just under an hour for you to get from the Marais back into the heart of the faubourg Saint-Antoine, stopping here and there along the way to indulge in some making out in quiet side streets and passageways.Â
âIâm so glad thereâs only one flight of stairs,â you hiss theatrically, Ben trailing a hand over your ass as you reach the landing and the door to the flat.Â
Once inside, you pull him tight to you and move swiftly in the direction of the small bedroom, fingers already hooked inside the waistband of his jeans as he holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, tongues sweeping over each other and lips pressed together so hard you swear theyâll be bruised by morning.
âSit on the end of the bed, baby.â He nods and follows your instructions, undoing his jeans as he watches you standing before him.Â
You start to unbutton your dress, keeping your eyes on him as you ease it off and let it fall to the floor. Benâs eyes roam slowly over you, mouth falling open slightly as he takes in the floral print of your panties, the light blue lace of your bra, the softness and curves of your body.Â
You move closer to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around your lower back and buries his face against your breasts while you languidly trail your fingers through his hair.Â
You pull back and look at him, immediately giggling. He still has his glasses on, and those coffee-brown eyes are half-hidden behind a fog on the lenses.Â
âLetâs take these off, shall we, Professor Morales?â
The combination of champagne and a decision about your future together has made you joyful, more confident - and more direct.Â
âYouâre so fucking hot, you know that, baby?âÂ
Ben raises his eyebrows and his ears flush pink. âI donât really thinkâŠuhâŠâ
You kiss him, his hands moving to grab the flesh of your ass and pull you tight to his body.Â
âI think youâre hot as fuck, Ben Morales, and Iâm going to tell you. And show you.â You wrap your arms around his neck and encourage him to move backwards a little, so that you can straddle him. âLemme show you how gorgeous you are to me, my love. Hmmm?â
He grins, nods, and moans as his mouth passes over the velvet skin of your heavy tits. You help him out of his white T-shirt, and pause to take in the sight of him: your thighs framing his hips and waist, his hands resting on them; his tummy, somehow both broad and solid and yet soft, pressed deliciously against your own belly; his beautiful face, eyes filled with desire, and mouth begging to devour and be devoured.Â
The temptation is too strong, your hands moving to caress his face as your lips meet his again. You keep your forehead pressed to his as you break the kiss and whisper to him, murmuring about how his dark gaze can make you ache for him, what it feels like to have his lips pressed to your body.Â
Your hands move slowly across his shoulders and down his back, feeling the warmth of his golden skin, the strength underneath the surface. âThis beautiful body, baby,â you murmur, placing tiny kisses to his collarbone. âWhen youâre above me, fucking me, or about to, and I look up and see you so fucking broad and solidâŠâ
His breathing hitches as your mouth works its way down his chest and towards his tummy, lips and tongue picking out those little patches of freckles that you love so much, teeth sometimes scraping lightly over his warm, solid middle as you carefully move your body off his and onto the floor between his legs.
âYou know how fucking sexy this tummy is, baby. Told you the first night we were together.â He looks sceptical and your hands roam over the warm softness of his skin, your cunt positively aching with need at the sensation.Â
âIâm serious, Ben. Itâs so fucking hot, the way your body looks, the feeling of your tummy against mineâŠâ You whine as you roll your hips and clench your thighs, and he sits up slightly to drag down his jeans and underwear, a hand wrapping around his cock as he seeks some relief of his own.Â
You reach for his other hand, holding it gently as you suck each finger in turn. âI love these hands, baby.â You kiss his palm and he gasps. âI love the sight of them, the feeling of them on me, in me, the things they do to me.â
His eyes are wide and dark with lust and adoration. âFucking hell, Lyd, youâre incredible.â
And then your fingers join his, working the base of his cock and making Ben gasp with sheer pleasure. He moves his hands up to grope and caress your breasts, long fingers slipping under the lace of your bra to play with your nipples.Â
âTouch yourself,â he hisses, hands full as he massages the soft weight of your tits. You obey the instruction, keeping your eyes locked on him as you bring one hand to part your soaking folds while the other continues to jerk him off.Â
Ben watches for a moment as you rub small, firm circles over the aching bundle of nerves while pleasuring him simultaneously. âFuck, baby, this is so fucking hot. Youâre so good to me.â
Youâre on your knees, now, and your mouth is actually watering at the sight before you. âCan I suck your cock, baby?â
He grunts his consent. âThisâŠâ You flick your tongue over the tip. âThis is fucking gorgeous.âÂ
âPlease, Lyd.â You look up at him and he whines a little, completely turned on by the sight of you between his legs, one hand now caressing the firm muscles of his calf and the other holding his cock in place. You oblige, expertly trailing your tongue along his full length before beginning to take him, bit by bit, inside your wet mouth.Â
Ben cries out your name as you continue your ministrations, looking down at you with his eyes blown wide. âIâll come if you keep going, baby,â he hisses. âWanna fuck you, please. Please. Need you.â
You swirl your tongue around the tip one last time before releasing him, bringing your hands to rest again on his legs, fingers massaging the muscles of his thighs as you hum in satisfaction.Â
âCâmon, Lyddie.â He gestures with his head and you stand. He pulls you to him with one hand, palm and fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tugs down your panties with the other. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, and his eyebrows quirk with surprise.
âYouâre fucking soaking?âÂ
The tone of his voice makes you laugh, and he chuckles against the warm softness of your belly before kissing it, over and over, as your fingers wind through his curls.Â
âI told you, love, youâre so fucking hot. Donât even have to touch me and Iâm ready for you.â
Ben grins wickedly as you push him back onto the bed and straddle him again, reaching down and stroking his cock a couple of times before you ease him into you and sink down, moaning loudly as he stretches you, fills you, takes you. Youâve had each other so many times now, and yet the sensation of him inside you remains new and thrilling.Â
You start to move, shifting and rolling your hips in a careful, deliberate rhythm that has the two of you sighing and gasping with deep, delicious pleasure. You lean forward to come closer to him, desperate for his touch, for the warmth of his chest against yours. He eases down the straps of your bra a little and caresses your tits as he starts to fuck up into you, meeting your movements.Â
He lifts his head up, greedily seeking your lips. His hands trace the curve of your back down to your hips and ass as he watches your bodies moving together, and he smiles wistfully as he brings a finger to your clit. âGod, I love fucking you, Lyd.â
You giggle and cry out at his touch, riding him harder still as you edge closer to coming. His finger draws firm, tight circles over the swollen bud, tracing the familiar path he has carved out in you so many times. âFuck me, baby - gonna come, donât fucking stop - you gonna come?â
He closes his eyes tightly as the fingers of his other hand press hard into your thigh, breath hitching and voice raw. âMmmmhmm. Iâm so fucking close. Hold on, can you?â
You nod and try to temporarily quell the orgasm thatâs been building in you since you got him home, Ben slowing his fingerâs steady movements over your soaking clit.
And then the pace increases again, and youâre there, and heâs there. Together.Â
Morning announces itself with a rustle of paper and a delicious, buttery aroma. Eyes blinking open, you become conscious of Benâs soft lips on the nape of your neck - and aware that the enticing smell is right under your nose.Â
âBonjour, Lyd.â Ben is holding an open paper bag just under your nose. âCroissant?â
You turn to face him properly and sit up in bed beside him. âHi, darling. How long are you up?â
He reaches into the bag and takes out a croissant, before placing it on a plate and handing it to you. âNot that long. You looked so beautiful and content, I didnât want to wake you.â
The flaky, buttery pastry melts in your mouth as you sigh with pleasure. âJesus fucking Christ. Nothing compares.â
Ben stops just as heâs about to bite into his own croissant, throwing you a cheeky glance. âNothing? Nothing compares? Youâre sure about that?â
You rest your head on his shoulder, the cotton of his long sleeved T-shirt soft and comforting against your face.Â
âNothing compares⊠in the world of baked goods.â
 He nods, satisfied, and takes a mouthful of the golden viennoiserie.Â
âOh, fuck. Maybe youâre right, Lyd.â
You giggle. âThanks for these, love. Youâre so kind.â
Ben shakes his head. âAs if you wouldnât have done the same.â He chews thoughtfully on the pastry. âAnyway, I feel like I still need to make it up to you. Yesterday morning, I mean.â
âYou apologised, love, and we sorted things out. Itâs fine.â
He shrugs. âI just feel bad. I shouldnât have made you feel bad. Should have known by now that you struggle with this kind of uncertainty.â Ben reaches for your left hand, bringing it to his lips. âIâm sorry, Lyd.â
âThank you, Ben. But weâre fine. I mean it. Thatâs what makes a relationship work, isnât it? Learning about each other and knowing when we need to learn or listen more.â
He nods. âExactly. And thatâs why Iâm so excited to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter where that is.â
The rest of the week is spent partly in research libraries, at least in your case, but mostly in the streets and cafĂ©s and galleries and museums of the city you love so much with the man you adore.Â
You watch with quiet joy as he sees Manetâs Olympia in real life for the first time, shaking his head in admiration and awe as he takes in the painting. He steps back and folds his arms.Â
âSheâs really something.â
âShe sure is. Iâd be that confident too, if I was as gorgeous as her.â
He arches an eyebrow and looks at you. âYou are. Much more so.âÂ
You huff a laugh as you link his arm and wander off to see Courbetâs Burial at Ornans. âYou want me to pose like one of Manetâs French girls, Ben?â
âWouldnât say no, Lyd.â
At Harryâs New York Bar, the legendary cocktail bar near the OpĂ©ra, you cuddle up in a cosy corner of the piano lounge in the basement, and drink French 75 cocktails while the resident pianist plays Gershwin late into the night. You follow your own tailor-made walking tours, spotting literary landmarks and movie locations. A night in a Saint-Germain bar ends with a visit to the late-night bookstore LâĂcume des Pages (and an inevitable bag full of newly-purchased books). Ben oohs and aahs over the bouquinistesâ boxes that line the walls overlooking the Seine, unable to resist a quick perusal of their selection of rare books and vintage magazines. You share a Paris-Brest pastry from Angelina, moaning appreciatively as you devour the delicious dessert. Together, you drink coffee and sip wine and talk and laugh and people-watch to your heartâs content.Â
You could never tire of Paris. Even so, Benâs wide-eyed excitement and enthusiasm makes everything new: the landmarks, the streetscapes, the food, the drink, the sounds and smells.
And you. He has made you new, too.
You feel it in the way he looks at you when you wave your hands and wax lyrical about god knows what painting or book or historical event. Itâs in the reassuring weight of his arm around your shoulders as you wander through the narrow back streets, feeling like youâre ten feet tall. Itâs there in the hundreds of little opportunities he finds during each day to touch you: the small of your back as you enter a building, the back of your hand as you sit together on the MĂ©tro, the side of your mouth as he brushes away an errant croissant flake.Â
It is in the moments when you stop on the street and pull him to you for a kiss, unconcerned by the Parisians tut-tutting as they have to walk around the two of you. Itâs in the moans he pulls from you, and you from him, when you are tangled in bedsheets at night, or in the morning, or even - after a lunchtime trip to the movies that escalated into some heated back-row kisses - in the middle of the afternoon, languidly stretched out naked for him on the bed.Â
Just like one of Manetâs French girls, he joked.
Most of all, itâs there in the light that always seems to be shining in your eyes whenever you look at him, knowing that he is yours and you his.Â
âYouâre a tolerant man, Ben Morales,â you say with a chuckle as you walk through the imposing gates of PĂšre Lachaise cemetery one bright morning. âWilling to hang out in Parisian cemeteries with me as I fangirl over the tombs of people no one has cared about for a hundred years or more.â
Ben looks at the list of names on the cemetery map and smiles at you, squinting slightly behind his sunglasses. âI rather like your Gothic side, Lyddie. And I appreciate this too, you know - I want to find Balzac and Proustâs tombs, while weâre here.â He drapes an arm across your shoulders as you climb steadily up one of the winding paths leading through the oldest part of the cemetery, stopping here and there to look at some of the more unusual tombs and memorials.Â
Thereâs a certain part of PĂšre Lachaise, its highest point, where you can look out and see the city unfolding below. You lead him there and sit on a bench, keen for him to take in the view. Other visitors and tourists meander past with their maps, chatting in various languages about Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison or any number of the luminaries whose remains lie alongside those of many more ordinary Parisians in this leafy enclave.Â
And then itâs just the two of you, side by side, contemplative. Little birds chirp and chatter in the trees, their song a moment of peaceful stillness in the bustling city.Â
Paris has a tendency to look particularly magical when youâre entering into the final hours of a visit. This evening, the fading spring sunlight cuts a path along the street below, gleaming off the windows and shop signs that line the ancient thoroughfare.
âMy heart always breaks a little when I have to leave.â
Ben finishes combing back his hair, still damp from the shower and curls starting to form at the nape of his neck. He turns from the mirror just inside the door of the apartment, adjusting the collar of his white shirt.Â
âThis isnât the last time, Lyddie. Not for you, not for us.â
You nod sadly, picking up your purse and slipping into a pair of dark red patent ballet flats. âI know. Iâve been telling myself that for twenty-odd years, but it never gets easier. Stupid, huh.â
He shakes his head as he reaches for your hand. âNot stupid. You love this place, and twenty-odd years is a long time to be in love.â He looks you up and down admiringly. âYouâre all fancy.â
You cock your hip and strike a pose as Ben laughs. âI like to dress up for my long-term lover, the city of Paris, Monsieur Morales. Anyway, youâre all fancy too.â
âNot like you, Iâm not. You lookâŠâ He exhales as he takes you in. âYou look like you walked out of a perfect French movie.â
Even you have to admit heâs got a point. Sure, the outfit had been a bit of a splurge, a treat to yourself from the BHV department store. But a classic, knee-length little black dress would never go out of style. At least, thatâs how you justified it. That, and the fact that it hugged your body just so, working wonders with your curves, somehow narrowing your middle and accentuating your tits and hips in a manner that was impossibly elegant and incredibly sexy. It was a marvel.Â
For once, you got a flash of what Ben always told you he saw when he looked at you. It made for a pleasant change.
This evening you have accessorised with a vintage brooch and chunky brass earrings, the gold necklace Ben gave you for Valentineâs Day a permanent fixture around your neck. The spring evening is warm enough for you to get away with a dark red pashmina shawl in lieu of a jacket, though you worried bare legs might be a step too far and decided not to forego your black hold-up fishnet stockings.
Ben slips into his olive green suit jacket and you squeeze his hand. âThank you, my love. You look beautiful, too.âÂ
He does. But then, he always does: his beauty is easy, natural, effortless; as obvious to you when heâs bleary-eyed and bed-headed in his old t-shirts and pyjama bottoms as it is now, with him suited and booted and looking every inch the debonair Parisian intellectual in his clear-framed glasses.
For an instant you wish you could travel back to your broken-hearted self all those years before, to tell her that a better day would come, that real love would find you when and where you least expected it, and that it would arrive in the form of a man as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside.
Most people would say the two of you are a little overdressed for your dinner destination. But then, you arenât most people.
You catch a glimpse of the two of you reflected in a shop window as you walk along boulevard Henri IV. You, black dress and red accessories; Ben, green suit with his top shirt buttons undone, hair combed back and starting to form soft waves a little as it dries. The fact that you are both wearing sunglasses only enhances the sense of slightly retro European chic.Â
âLook at us. Not bad, hmmm?âÂ
Ben stops, puts down the wicker basket heâs carrying, and winds his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your neck. âPerfect.â
You stroll past a little park near the river, pointing out a reconstructed bit of the Bastille to him, and wander in the direction of the Pont Marie and onto the Ăle Saint-Louis. Itâs a little out of the way for where youâre going, but you have a good reason. He asked you a couple of days ago what your favourite view of the city was, and you intend to show him.Â
The evening sky is streaked with a palette of pale blues, pinks, oranges and reds as you reach the Pont de la Tournelle and stop to lean on the parapet of the bridge.Â
âThis is it.â
He stands beside you and rests his hands on the parapet, following your gaze westwards along the river, taking in the silhouette of Notre-Dame - still obscured by scaffolding - painted against the vibrant canvas of the sunset, and the curve of the quaysides as the Seine splits around the Ăle de la CitĂ©.Â
âThis is my spot. When I stand here I feel as though I could wrap my arms around the city and as though it wraps its arms around me.â You look at Ben, a little embarrassed. âSorry. Thatâs a bit weird, I know. I am aware that it is a city and I cannot hug it, please donât run away.â
He looks at you with affectionate bemusement. âYou know how beautiful that is, to have those feelings and be able to articulate them like that?â He reaches for your hand. âIt isnât weird. Itâs you, and itâs wonderful.â
You rest your head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. âThe first time I came to Paris afterâŠeverything, I came here the first night. I stood here and I looked at the cathedral and the city.â You pause as the memory resurfaces. âAnd then I had a massive cry. See? Weird.â
Ben shakes his head and chuckles, pulling you close to him. âNot weird. Catharsis.â
âI guess it was. I was still here. Notre-Dame was still here. Paris was still here. It gave me a sense of hope, I think, for the first time. Like, I knew things would get better.â
âIâm so fucking proud of you, you know?â He kisses your forehead and leans in to murmur, cheekily, in your ear: âSo did things get better?â
You wrap your arm around his waist, slipping it under his jacket so you can feel the strong muscles of his back under his shirt. âEh, I guess you could say that.â
Dinner is simple: a baguette, a selection of cheeses and charcuterie, and a bottle of champagne. But youâve made the effort to bring proper glasses and plates from the apartment, and you canât fault the location: watching the river from the Quai Saint-Bernard on the left bank, waving at the people on the big tourist boats - the bateaux-mouches - as they pass.Â
âHell of a view,â Ben muses in between mouthfuls of baguette and Brillat-Savarin cheese.Â
You gaze across the river at the Ăle Saint-Louis and smile contentedly. âIt is perfection.â
He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. âI was talking about you. But Paris isnât too bad, either.â
He looks back at the river, a smile playing on his lips, and you take a moment to admire a perfect view of your own: Benâs handsome face in profile, hair moving gently in the breeze, the light tan he had acquired after a week of wandering in Parisian spring sunshine complementing the patches of grey-white hair at the hinge of his jaw.Â
You canât help but marvel a little at how fucking gorgeous he is. Well done, Lyd. In that instant, as you take him in, you concentrate on the wonderful feeling of calm and safety that suffuses your body when youâre with him.Â
Youâd only realised after the abrupt end of your last relationship that youâd spent a decade and a half walking on eggshells, constantly anxious and never wholly comfortable - even with someone who claimed to love you. You feared suggesting the simplest thing: a movie, a dinner, a holiday, lest it prompt a negative reaction or criticism.
With Ben, though? Even with the ongoing uncertainty about where, exactly, your future would be, you had never felt anything other than safe. With a clearer path ahead agreed together, the residual anxiety faded, too.Â
It was a new and marvellous feeling.Â
As the evening draws in, a little group of musicians set up nearby on the quay, accompanied by a cluster of couples who immediately began to dance to the band. Ben turns and smiles at the spectacle.
âThey do this as soon as the weather gets warm here,â you explain, smiling widely as the dancers move around an open area on the quayside. âSometimes itâs French classics, sometimes American big band, sometimes Latin, sometimes a more contemporary mix, like tonight.â
Ben stands up, dusts off his pants, picks up the picnic basket and extends his hand to you.Â
âWould you like to dance, Lyddie?â
How can you refuse, when heâs looking like that and asking you in that voice and smiling at you with such love and affection?Â
âIâm not good at this sort of thing, Ben, I warn you.â
He rolls his eyes affectionately. âBullshit. Now: dance with me, Lyd.â
You get to your feet and he leads you in the direction of the makeshift dancefloor, leaving the picnic basket to one side as he brings you into a dance hold and begins to move, pulling you close to his body as the band and its female lead singer begin a cover of Mitskiâs âMy Love Mine All Mineâ.
The rest of the city falls away as you dance with him, nuzzling against his neck as his hips sway gently, rhythmically against you in time to the slower tempo of the music. Benâs lips press softly to the top of your head, and you hum in absolute contentment.Â
âI love this song, you know.â
He chuckles. âI do. You sing it very beautifully in the shower, sometimes.â
âI doubt itâs beautiful.â
âTrust me. Itâs beautiful.â
You nestle against him and sing along, joining in with the lyric that always made you think of him, of how he had broken through your sturdy defences, smoothing and healing the jagged, broken pieces of your soul: âMy baby, here on earth/Showed me what my heart was worthâ.Â
You sing the words quietly against his chest, feeling the vibrations from your voice meeting the rhythm of his heartbeat in a curious music made of two lovers. As the song draws to a close, Ben tenderly lifts your chin and kisses you, enveloping you in those strong arms. Cologne, coffee, bread, paper, something that is just his: his scent, the scent of love and safety.
His big hands skim appreciatively over your figure in the new black dress as he inhales your own perfume, nose buried in the crook of your neck. âDelicious, gorgeous girl,â he murmurs against your velvet skin. âYou look incredible tonight, you know?â
Ben pulls your body even tighter to his and you whine softly, the press of his broad form to yours enough to send a rush of wetness to your core.Â
âI think we need to get back to the apartment, my love.â
Ben sits at the end of the bed, wearing his shirt and boxers, watching as you take off your jewellery in front of the bedroom mirror. Thereâs something fascinating about the ritual: how you take out your earrings and put them in their box; the way you tilt your head forward as you remove your necklace.
He still canât believe it, sometimes, the kind of love he has with you. Heâs been desperate to get you home ever since you danced close and slow on the riverbank. That fucking black dress. Driving him slowly crazy all night, every time he looked at you. Itâs the way it hugs your hips, accentuates the ample, full curves of your tits, and reveals just enough of your skin to make him want to ease it off your soft, welcoming body.Â
His cock twitches at the thought.Â
He stands up and crosses the floor, standing behind you. His hands gently caress you as you smile at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.
âI love this.â
Ben kisses the top of your arm. âI love this, too.â
His lips find their way along the line of your shoulder until they reach the crook of your neck. A little tug to the zipper of the dress and his mouth moves downwards, kissing and sucking at the back of your neck, hands roaming over your body and grabbing handfuls of you as he goes.
Heâs pressed against your back, murmuring your name. The extent of his desire is already very much in evidence.
âFuck, Lyddie.â His breath is warm and urgent against your neck.
âMmmm?â
âIâve wanted to take this off since the minute I saw you in it.â
You chuckle. âLooks that bad, huh?â
Lips still on your neck, he caresses your breasts as he shakes his head. âLooks too good on you.â
Ben licks a stripe up the side of your neck and you whine with pleasure, closing your eyes and reaching to caress his face.
âCan I take it off, my love?â His voice is lower, smokier.
You nod, locking your eyes on his. A frisson of excitement courses through your body as Ben eases down the rest of the zipper and eases you out of your little black dress, letting it pool at your feet.Â
âOh, fuck me. These new?â
When you bought the dress, youâd bought new lingerie, too. A bra in caramel and black lace whose delicacy belied its incredible construction, supporting your breasts perfectly. Matching underwear, high-waisted and full but completely sheer, made out of the same black lace that trimmed your bra.
And of course: the stockings.
You nod and close your eyes, trying to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror. You looked alright in the dress, but you still canât quite face the body underneath it. Benâs breath ghosts across your shoulder blades as he fondles your tits and kisses the top of your spine.Â
âOpen your eyes, Lyd.â
You hesitate.
âLyd. Open your eyes.â
You obey. But you keep your gaze fixed on him, afraid of your own reflection, of a body that you still cannot believe anyone like him would ever really want.Â
âLyddie, please look.â Benâs voice is firm but pleading. âLook at your beautiful face. Look at this gorgeous, sexy body.âÂ
He trails a finger along the contours of your breasts, tracing the lace trim of the bra. He brings his hands to your waist, to your hips, pulling you back against him ever so slightly so that you can feel how hard he is.Â
You donât think youâll ever love your body. But, watching Ben drinking you in with his eyes, running his fingers over the black Parisian lace that clings to the most sensitive and sensual parts of you, you understand that you love the way he loves your body.
âThis is what you do to me, Lyd, and I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives that you are the most beautiful fucking thing Iâve ever seen in my life.â You turn to face him, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you deeply.Â
He breaks away and looks into your eyes, dark irises searching yours. Thereâs a vulnerability there, a hint of doubt, lingering in spite of his words.Â
âWhat is it, Lyd?â
You shrug, fingers lightly caressing the curls and waves that cluster around his ears. âI love that you think Iâm beautiful. I⊠still donât know if I ever will.â
He kisses you again, softer this time. âCan I at least try to convince you? Show you?â
You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. âIâd like that. Could⊠could you, like, take charge? For tonight?â
He quirks an eyebrow and returns your kiss, humming against your mouth. âTake charge?â
You feel embarrassment rising in your throat. Youâd never really felt able to just ask for what you needed like this before. Old habits die hard.
âBen, I never felt safe enough to ask a partner to take the lead like thisâŠnot before you.â
His expression softens. âIâd give you anything, Lyd. Anything you want.â He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, chin resting on your shoulder. âAnd I feel safe with you, too.â
You tilt your head to kiss him. âSoâŠ?â
âSo, Iâm going to take charge and show you exactly how fucking beautiful you are, how sexy you are, how fucking happy I am that I get to be with you.â He pauses to kiss you again. âAnd if I have to, like I said - Iâll do this every day for the rest of time, if necessary, until you see what a perfect goddess you are.â
Another, deeper kiss; the sensation of his broad hands on the soft skin of your tits and belly, pulling you tight to him, the press of his erection against you as he guides you to lean back against the wall and slips his fingers under the crotch of your panties, parting your folds and working your clit and pussy until youâre panting with desire and need.Â
For a moment, you think heâs going to fuck you. But then slowly, steadily, Ben sinks to the ground in front of you, mouth and teeth and tongue finding the softest, most yielding parts of your body as he works his way to his knees.Â
Ben looks up at you, eyes glittering with lust and adoration. He is a supplicant before you, ready to worship, to seek and give a pleasure as sacred as it is profane. He venerates your body with his mouth. His tongue traces the outline of your hips, his lips kiss the softness of your lower belly, his teeth scrape across the thick flesh of your upper thighs. He tugs the panties down completely, parting your legs and helping you out of the garment.Â
âI want you to keep the stockings on, okay?â
You nod your assent. Those perfect dark eyes find yours, a flash of mischief crossing his gaze as he gently pushes a finger inside you before placing both hands firmly on your hips, pressing into your flesh.Â
And then he tilts his head, just so, and you cry out as he brings his lips to your wet pussy, mouth and tongue working your entrance as his nose rubs with precision against your clit. You buck slightly against him but he holds you in place, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he goes down on you. The warmth of his breath against your core makes your cunt clench around nothing, desperate for him.
You wind your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, holding him in position and throwing your head back as you revel in every lap of his tongue, every brush of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, every nudge of that beautiful nose against your clit. Heâs eating you out like youâre his last meal, your moans and writhing body seemingly only serving to spur him on.Â
Even so, Ben senses that youâre holding back. The position is incredible, the sight of him, the sound of him, the feel of him making you want to come harder than youâve ever done before. But you worry about whether your legs will give way - whether youâll hurt him if you fall forward.Â
âIâve got you, Lyd,â he murmurs, face still buried between your thighs. âLet go. Iâve got you. Youâre so close. Come for me. Want you to come like this.â
With his fingers fucking you and his lips sucking and licking at your clit, your body yields and you cry out as you come against his face.Â
He stays on his knees as you ride out the orgasm, thumbs rubbing a gentle circle against your hips, before scrambling to his feet and wrapping you in his strong arms. Your legs are still trembling as you lean in and kiss him like your lives depend on it, tasting yourself on his lips. He manoeuvres you to the bed, laying you down with the utmost care.Â
You look up at him as he shifts into position above you, the low light catching the traces of your release that glisten across his face and his beautiful eyes flitting greedily over your face and body. You reach up to unbutton his shirt and he shucks off his undervest. An electrical current of desire courses through you as you rake your hands over his broad shoulders and down to that soft tummy you love so much. His eyes are warm and wanting: your darling, your lover, your partner. You are safe in his hands, and you are ready to give yourself entirely to him. Â
A little smile quirks at his mouth as he lies down beside you, turning on his side and trailing his long fingers across the velvet skin of your tits, still enclosed in the delicate lace of your bra.Â
âDo you know how much I want you, Lyd?â he murmurs, mouth working hot, needy kisses across your breasts.Â
âTell me.â
âWant you all the time.â You can feel his cock hard against you. âWant to have all of you, want to touch and kiss and fuck every last inch of you. Iâm going to use my mouth on you now, baby, okay?â
He nips and sucks at the soft flesh of your belly as you moan, pussy aching for him. âAnd the more I have you, the more I want you.â He finds your soaking folds again and drags two fingers through the slick, bringing them to your lips so you can suck them clean. âI love you. And I canât get enough of you.â
You let out a half-laugh, half-groan as he pulls you to him and quickly takes off your bra, mouth finding your breasts and tongue swirling over your nipples. You slip a hand between the two of you, tugging down his boxer briefs and wrapping your fingers around his cock as you stroke him, feeling him becoming fully hard under your careful touch.
âDo you think you have another in you, my love?âÂ
You nod.Â
âUse your words, Lyd.â
âYes. I think soâŠfuck, yes sir.â
He groans loudly against you and slips his fingers back through your soaking folds, chuckling a little at the whine of pleasure you let out as his warm breath ghosts against your ear. âFucking hell, Lyd. You look so fucking beautiful. Such a beautiful woman.â He hooks his fingers against the perfect spot inside you and you buck against him, hand still working his dick. âAnd such a pretty pussy, so tight and so wet for me.â
He eases you into a different position, your back against his chest as his erection nudges against you. First his hands, then - with a shuffle down the bed - his mouth caresses the plump flesh of your ass, lips and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin as you whimper. He shifts your leg up and nestles himself into position.
âCan I have you, darling?â
You whine into the bed, feeling your orgasm building and building. âPlease, baby, I need you inside me - fuck, baby, pleaseâŠâ
âI thought I was in charge?âÂ
His voice is low, honeyed, hot as he whispers in your ear. It tips you closer and closer to the edge.Â
âYou are⊠I just want you so fucking much.â
âYou want me to fuck you, is that it?â
âPlease. Fuck me, my love. Hard as you want to.â
âFuck, Lyd.â With a groan and some muttered expletives, Ben sinks inside you, pausing for a moment to enjoy the sensation. âAlways feels so incredible inside you, baby,â he pants, one arm holding you around your tits and the other against your belly. âJust - oh, fuck - just perfect.âÂ
It is perfect - perfect angle, perfect feeling of him stretching you, of his hands on you. He drags himself out of your cunt slowly, steadily, making you whimper at the loss of him. A snap of his hips and heâs buried inside you again, beginning a hard rhythm that has you crying his name into the bed as he fucks you, fast and deep, the softness of your ass cushioning his thrusts as he showers you with praise. His good girl. His beautiful woman. His love.Â
His. His. Only his. Repeated. Possessive. Perfect.
He shifts his hand from your belly to your pussy, working tight circles over the swollen nub of your clit as you get closer and closer, mouth sucking on the delicate flesh of your neck, never letting up the rhythm until you cry out and come on his cock, the wetness audible as he fucks you through it.Â
âGood, baby?â He pulls out as youâre still coming down, easing you onto your back and settling himself on top of you, carefully parting your legs.Â
You look up at him, cockdrunk, seeing stars, and with no way to express how you feel other than a satisfied whine as you pull him to you for a hungry, sloppy kiss. Ben smiles and chuckles against your lips as he reaches down to gently hook an arm under your knee as he sinks back into you with a guttural moan.Â
He picks up the pace again quickly, taking you harder now, rougher, even, and gripping the headboard of the bed with his free hand. His hair is dishevelled, errant short curls falling over his brow as sweat runs in rivulets over the freckles scattered underneath the hollow of his throat and lips finding yours as you start to babble to him incoherently, surrendering to the sensation.Â
He drops his hand from the headboard to find yours, pressing your hand and arm into the mattress as he holds you down while he fucks you.Â
âTalk to me, Lyd. Tell me. See how much I want you? Tell me.â
You mutter filthily about how deep he is, how big he is, how you love having him inside of you, how much you want him - need him - to fill you up. But then you look at him - at his beautiful face, screwed up and teeth gritted as he makes love to you - and another urge takes over, displacing the dirty talk with something no less intense, but softer, all the same.
âI fucking love you, Ben - fuck, keep going, thatâs so good, fuckâŠâ
He groans and reaches for your breast, groping it as he nears his own release. âYouâre mine, Lyddie. All mine.â
âYours, Ben. Every bit of me. Yours, forever, like youâre fucking mine.â
âMy womanâŠmy - oh, fuck - my good fucking girl.â You know heâs really close. âKeep talking, Lyd. Want to hear it.â
âYouâre mine, baby - oh god, Ben, thatâs so fucking good - all mine. Iâll give you anything. Everything.â
Ben rests his head against your neck, panting and moaning as his rhythm falters. âIâm all yours, Lydia, always - f-fuck, Iâm gonnaâŠâ
You hold him tight, hands across the breadth of his back. âYouâll never be alone again, baby - fuck, Ben! - gonna take care of you, gonna be our own little familyâŠâ
He positively growls as he comes inside you, your head knocking against the headboard as he snaps his hips against yours before collapsing against your body. You hold him tight, gentle, slow, one hand winding through his curls and the other reaching for his hand as you plant soft kisses along his hairline.
He eases himself out of you with a final kiss and flops back onto the mattress beside you, still trying to catch his breath and with the most beautifully blissed-out expression on his face.
âIâm just going to clean up and take these stockings off, my love,â you murmur, shifting your body to the edge of the bed. âYou okay?â
Ben grins and giggles to himself as he looks at you. âI am fantastic. Donât know my name or what year it is, but I am fucking fantastic.â
You pad back from the bathroom as quickly as you can, discarding your stockings and climbing back into bed beside him. Heâs reaching for you before youâve even settled your body on the mattress, broad hands gently rubbing your belly, your hips, the line of your breasts. His breath is steadier now, face and body completely relaxed in the gorgeous afterglow.
âYou are such a beautiful man.â
Ben opens one eye and meets your gaze. âHmmmph?â
âI said, you are such a beautiful man. Donât dare deny it.âÂ
He smiles softly, closing his eyes again as your fingertips trace the line of his nose, brush against an errant curl, find the outline of the little bare patches on the side of his jaw. Your thumb swipes gently across his lower lip, fingers seeking out the texture of his moustache.Â
You go to speak, and stop yourself.Â
âWhat were you going to say, Lyddie?â His voice is heavy, sleep beckoning him.
âNothing, I was just - no, itâs stupid.â
âNothing stupid could ever come out of your pretty mouth.â
You giggle quietly and bring yourself even closer to him, resting your hand on his chest. He reaches up to hold it.Â
âItâs just that⊠I donât know. When I look at you like this, at all the little things that are just uniquely you, it feels like everything fits. You know?â
He opens his eyes again. âEverything fits?â
âItâs like, âaha. Yes. That.â Like I was always meant to be looking at this face. Like there was a bit of me that I didnât even know I was missing and it just wasâŠit was you. Even if I didnât know it.â
He smiles and leans in for a soft kiss. âAnd now everything fits.â
He wakes her with coffee and kisses, knowing how much she hates prising herself from the warmth of their shared bed. A little incentive, a way to help her avoid panic later in the morning, one of those tiny acts of love they perform for each other every day.Â
She orders a taxi for a couple of hoursâ time and strips the bedsheets, casting an eye over their shared luggage waiting for departure as she joins him in the living area. Having put the sheets on a wash-dry cycle, her hands rest lightly on his broad shoulders as she quickly kisses him on the cheek and heads for the bathroom to shower. Instinctively, she gathers all but their essentials - toothbrushes and paste, shower gel - and slips them in a ziploc bag, ready to go into one of their cases.Â
Once heâs showered, they continue their seamless little ballet of co-operation and partnership as they prepare to depart: a reminder to empty the trash here, an almost-forgotten phone charger spotted there, last few belongings squished into their hand luggage, and a final check on their passports and tickets. She checks every drawer and cupboard one more time while he places their trash bag in the small communal dumpster in the buildingâs courtyard.Â
It is a banal ritual: unthinking, unrehearsed, instinctive. But thereâs something in the way they slot together so neatly, the way they complement each other, the easy, naturalness of it all, that speaks to a sense of partnership that works as well in the routines of everyday life as it does in the bedroom.Â
He carries the cases down to the main hallway as she checks the apartmentâs small windows and locks up, following him downstairs after she drops off the key to Sophieâs neighbour.Â
Heâs outside, standing with the bags on the pavement outside the building. The G7 taxi pulls up almost immediately, and he canât help but smile with pride when he hears her confidently chatting away in French to the driver as they load the trunk with their luggage.Â
Her hand finds his in the backseat, head resting against his shoulder. Partners. A team.
As the car heads northwards towards the edge of the city, he casts a glance at his phone. Two new job alerts, for positions at institutions in Europe.Â
He resolves to check them out properly once they get home. For now, though, just a squeeze of her hand, a kiss to the top of her head, and a silent resolution that heâd follow her to the ends of the earth.Â
*******
Further A/N: I'm going to make a separate post with more details on the music, the locations, and the food in this chapter...
#visiting fic#visiting masterlist#mr ben snl#mr ben au#mr ben x ofc#mr ben fanfic#professor ben x ofc#professor!ben#professor!ben x ofc#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal#pedrostories
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Ugh, darling Benjamin. This is just perfect.
And, if you fancy some Valentineâs action from the Visiting universe, chapter 11 is all about Ben and Lydâs first V-Day.
You and Ben find time to celebrate Valentineâs Day between classes
#mr ben snl#mr ben#professor!ben#visiting fic#visiting inspo#mr ben snl fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#wildemaven moodboard#pedro pascal
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Cartoon Network Villains Bar
Even the bag guys need a place to unwind in between episodes. These guys are all regulars here, even if some of them often question why they come.
Would you go there if you could?
#my art#cartoon network#cn fanart#cartoon network fanart#adventure time#ben 10#the life and times of juniper lee#codename kids next door#villainous#the secret saturdays#generator rex#courage the cowardly dog#ok k.o.! let's be heroes#powerpuff girls#samurai jack#regular show#chowder#foster's home for imaginary friends#the grim adventures of billy and mandy#the lich#vilgax#auntie roon#father knd#dr flug#demencia#v.v. argost#van kleiss#katz#lord boxman#professor venomous
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Itâs fantastinâ time.
#Still thinking about the F4 adopting Scott.#I also have a shitpost a part of this on my Isnta if you wish to see.#art#digital artist#my art#marvel#fantastic four#thing#ben grimm#invisible woman#susan storm#mr fantastic#reed richards#human torch#johnny storm#x men#cyclops#scott summers#professor x#charles xavier#doodle
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IMPORTANT UPDATE: @cutesyscreenname found the full original of the top left image.
When I say Iâm glad I was sitting down when I saw thisâŠ
I am SORRY but you CANNOT walk around looking like this and NOT expect me to write an entire college prof AU for the love of GOD
*jumps in nearest pool to cool down*
Pedro wearing Fendi
#i am so close to being done with Visiting ch2#this is motivational#benergy is just off the charts now#the briefcase?!#the walk??!#professor!ben#visiting inspo#visiting fic#i love 1 (one) fictional academic man#pedro pascal
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Remind me to never take help from professor Snape unless McGonagall is with him-
#harry potter#hp fandom#hp#harry potter blog#hp blog#fandom culture#fandom things#chocfrog game#harry potter hogwarts game#hogwarts mystery#hp hogwarts mystery#hphm#hphm characters#hphm mc#severus snape#professor snape#professor mcgonagall#minerva mcgonagall#ben copper
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Some memes / doodles from yesterday. Iâm art blocked rn so if youâve got any doodle ideas feel free to drop em
#ben 10#ben 10 fanart#ben 10 fandom#ben ten#ben tennyson#ben 10 alien force#gwen tennyson#kevin levin#professor paradox#ben 10 memes
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omniverse
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I can't believe I never posted this- this was for the Ben 10k/TFA crossover I was playing with
COMMISSIONS OPEN
#Ben 10#Ben 10 Omniverse#Transformers#Transformers Animated#TFA#Maccadam#Ben Tennyson#Ben 10k#Ben 10000#Professor Sumdac#Issac Sumdac#Kai Green#Kai Tennyson#Gwen Tennyson#Kevin Levin#Kevin 11k#Kevin 11000#Captain Fanzone#Carmine Fanzone#Porter C Powell#Henry Masterson#Prometheus Black#Meltdown#TFA Meltdown#TheAngryComet ART#CN Gen 2#TFA/Ben 10 Crossover
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double check
kinktober, day twenty-three
warnings:Â dark!professor!ben solo x student!reader, smut, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, power imbalance, accidentally sending your teacher a sex tape, flashing, stripping, masturbation, altogether just toxic and terrible and so so wrong behaviour but it's also a kinda hot fantasy pick a struggle
⌠gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here âœ
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023
If only you had double checked. If only you had not been in a hurry and sent your professor the wrong file, the worst possible file ever, then you wouldnât have been in this situation.
Your boyfriend went to a college across the country, so in attempts to combate the daunting reality that was a long-distance relationship, the two of you had made a habit of leaning on technology and such to help fill in the holes and make it feel less excruciating to be apart.
One of those holes conveniently came in the form of a video of you, in bed before classes, sunrays bathing your form as you got yourself off for him.Â
If only that hadnât been the video you had accidentally sent to your professor instead of the 5 minute tape he had asked you to turn in, proving that you had learned enough so far in the course to be able to talk freely about it.Â
âShow me,â professor Solo simply said, leaning back in his chair.Â
âExcuse me, sir?â you fiddled with the sleeve of your cardigan, wishing that you had just sat down and not awkwardly continued to stand in the middle of his office.Â
âYou just told me that you didnât wanna fail the class, correct?â
âYes,â you answered apprehensively.Â
âAnd that youâd do anything to make that so?â
âYes, but Mr Solo, I was thinking more in the lines of extra credit or-â
âYouâve already given me more than a peek, this is nothing compared to that,â he coldly cut you off as his eyes shamelessly wandered, âor you could just walk out that door and fail this class, choice is yours.â
Feeling your heart all the way in your throat, you pondered, ââŠyou just want me to flash you, nothing else?â
âIâm not gonna touch you, if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
Utterly mystified as to how he could be so composed while asking you such things, you continued, ââŠand if I do, then you wonât fail me in this class?â
âMight even fudge the numbers a bit and have you come out on top,â he shrugged, piecing gaze never straying far.Â
Staring up at the dark ceiling, you took a deep breath and uttered, ââŠalright,â before your fingers nervously began to fiddle with your cardigan, slowly peeling it off and hooking it in the crook of your elbow for safekeeping as you then lifted your shirt up just enough for him to peek at your soft bra.
âYou can do better than that,â he scoffed, his eyes practically burning holes in your brassiere, âturn around and bend over, let me see what youâve got under that skirt.â
You needed this class to graduate⊠so like a stubborn pill, you turned around and braced on the chair behind you. Squeezing your eyes shut as you arched your back, feeling the crisp air hit your bottom. Your eyes swiftly snapped open once more as the sound of a zipper resonated throughout the room, âwhat are you doing?â you spun back around, skirt twirling around your thighs, âI thought you said-â
Hand down his pants, he nearly rolled his eyes, âI said I wouldnât touch you, not that I wouldnât make the most of this, now get back to it.â
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
#leaâs writing#kinktober 2023#star wars smut#ben solo smut#kylo ren smut#ben solo x reader#ben solo x you#ben solo x y/n#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren x you#kylo ren x y/n#kylo ren fanfic#kylo ren au#kylo ren imagine#ben solo fanfic#ben solo imagine#professor!ben solo#professor!kylo ren
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Masterlist
Header - and slogan - by @agentjackdaniels
Hi there! Iâm Rose (she/her/they), Iâm 40 and I write fics - described with complete accuracy as âethical porn for nerdy typesâ - for Pedro Pascal characters.
This is an 18+ blog so, for safetyâs sake, minors should not access the content below.
I love hearing from readers! All comments, reblogs, likes, DMs, and asks are very much appreciated.
If youâd like to be notified about new fics and instalments, please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit - taglists arenât working well at the moment so this is the easiest way to keep up.
I also cross-publish to AO3 if that's your preferred reading platform.
I do block empty/untitled/ageless blogs so, if thatâs you and youâre a real person, just drop me a message - or, better still, populate your blog (you donât need to be totally specific about your age) with a few things. If youâre not sure how, just ask! Iâm happy to help and Iâm sure others will be too!
Thank you so much for reading!
Visiting (Professor!Ben College AU - in progress)
Pairing: Professor!Ben x OFC Lydia (reader POV/2nd POV)
Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, European art historian Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in the small New England college town of Barrow. Sheâs planning to spend a year there on leave of absence from her permanent job at home, expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor at Barrow College, a small liberal arts institution. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic Literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.
Rating: Explicit (18+)
See the main Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.
Tempered in the Fire (Blacksmith!Din Djarin AU short series - in progress)
Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F!Reader
Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy heâs taken as his apprentice.
Rating: Mature (series); Explicit (18+, later chapters)
See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.
Gentleman Thief - The Heritage Crimes Universe (The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) - in progress)
Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader
Summary: He stole a priceless ruby after your first date. You reunited after the museum's winter ball. And now? Something keeps pulling you into the orbit of the world's greatest (ethical) gentleman thief.
Rating: Explicit (18+)
See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and notes.
A Merry Fic-Mas - a Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar
31 days. 31 stories (hopefully). 12 Pedro characters.
Inspired by this set of December/holiday themed prompts.
Rating: Teen/Mature/Explicit (see individual chapters for warnings and content notes).
20/20 - no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Optometrist F!Reader
Summary: After months of pestering from Sarah, Joel finally concedes that he might to get his eyesight checked and makes an appointment at your optometrist practice. He really doesnât want glasses, though.
Rating: 18+; not explicit as such but implied; see the warnings on the original story
Laurels - General Acacius x f!Reader
Pairing(s): Acacius x F!Sex Worker Reader; Acacius x Lucilla
Summary: You met him as a young soldier, brought to the brothel you worked at to celebrate a victory. Now, almost two decades later, his return to Rome in triumph sparks memories of your time together - and the secrets you still hold.
Rating: 18+ MDNI; Explicit; See warnings on the original story.
Café CrÚme - Javier Peña x f!reader
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: Your boyfriend Javier likes mornings at your place for more than just coffee.
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original post)
A Cup of Kindness, Yet - Javier Peña x f!Reader
Part of the brilliant @pickled-pena writing challenge - check out the blog for the whole masterlist.
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Summary: Another Auld Lang Syne in Laredo, twenty years after your first with Javi.
Rating: Teen (see notes and warnings on the original)
My Kiss, Only For You - The Thief x Museum Guide f!reader
Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x Museum Guide F!Reader
Summary: Youâve noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on his favourite exhibit.
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original)
For the Night - Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader
Pairing: Agent Ortega (The Sixth Gun) x F!Sex Worker Reader
Summary: You might not be one of the âsweet young thingsâ in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.
Rating: Explicit, 18+ (see specific warnings on the post).
Silvered - Detective Tim Rockford x F!Reader
Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader
Word count: ~ 800 words
Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI; see specific warnings on the story)
Summary: Tim Rockfordâs talented silver tongue has a reputation, in more ways than one.
Gentleman Cowboy - Jack âWhiskeyâ Daniels x F!Reader
Pairing: Jack âWhiskeyâ Daniels/Agent Whiskey x F!Reader
Word count: 3500 words
Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI; see specific warnings on the story
Summary: A solo getaway, a whiskey for one, and a very charming cowboy in the big city.
Able - Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader
Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader
Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...
Rating: Mature; 18+Â MDNI; reader is disabled; see more specific warnings on the story.
Word Count: ~3.7k
Room Service - Dave York x F! Reader
Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader
Summary: Youâre at one of those generic conference hotels to meet a man you know only as Dave.
Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; more specific warnings on the story
Word Count: ~2.3k
Coup de Foudre - Lucien Flores x F!Reader
Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader
Summary: Caught in a sudden storm on a break in Paris, you and Lucien race back to the hotel room.
Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; specific warnings on the story
Word Count: ~1.1k
Part of the April Showers Challenge organised by @undercoverpena
#ladamemasterlist#fic masterlist#Pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius fanfiction#gladiator ii fanfiction#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña fanfiction#visiting fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#no outbreak!joel miller#the thief casillero del Diablo#narcos fic#mr ben snl#mr ben x OFC#professor!ben#professor!ben x OFC#din djarin fanfiction#the mandalorian au#tempered in the fire fic#blacksmith!din djarin#agent ortega#agent ortega fanfiction#tim rockford fanfiction#agent jack whiskey daniels#dave york fanfiction#dave york x f!reader#lucien flores fanfiction
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itâs cuffing season
MR. BEN (PEDRO PASCAL SNL CHARACTER) X TEACHER!READER
summary: your students wonât stop teasing you about a certain handsome teacher
warnings: fluff, teasing, hidden feelings, potential workplace romance, fem!reader
a/n: this is just for shits and giggles lol. teacher!pedro is doing something to my brain
part two
â
You were too busy to even notice at first. But when the hushed whispers and giggles started to become louder and louder, you finally snapped out of the trance you were in while grading your studentâs papers and looked up.
And of course, the ever bashfully handsome teacher that everyone somehow had a crush on was leaning against your door, watching you.
You sighed before making your way over, not missing the childish noise your students were making. âGet back to work,â you scolded.
You raised a brow at him. âIs there something you need?â
âMy students are in Geography right now, and had some time to kill.â
It seemed like he always had time to kill because he was always making these visits to your classroom.
âDonât you have something better to do than distract my students?â you teased.
âI actually came to ask you something,â he said with a gentle smile on his face.
âOh? And what is that?â
âWhat do you want for lunch today?â
-
It has become sort of a routine by nowâthe unspoken habit of buying each other lunch a few times a week.
Because thatâs what good colleagues do, right? Buy lunches for each other. And for him, it also seemed to include hanging around in your classroom, and making sure to always wait up for you to finish organizing for tomorrowâs lessons before leaving the school together even though you knew it takes up an extra hour of his time.
Or not, because your students once again wouldnât stop pestering and teasing you after he left your doors today.
âYou should stop coming to my classroom so often,â you said in the staff lunch room. âMy students are taking it the wrong way.â
Aftering taking a bite out of the burrito, he asked with his cheeks full, âWhat do you mean?â
You couldnât help but giggle at his adorableness.
âWell, my students are âshippingâ us now,â you replied. When he looked at you in confusion, you explained it to him. âThey are basically putting us together and saying some⊠stuff thatâs not appropriate work wise.â
âOh, really?â he said, face and voice smug.
The two of you have always been closer to each other than to the other teachers in this schoolâflirty even, but if your noisy students kept on talking, other staff members might catch on and take it the wrong way.
âThis is serious!â
He hummed. âWell, if it makes you feel any better, my students call me âDaddyâ and you âMommy.â Much worse than that shipping thing you explained to me.â
You paused for a while. âAre they seriously saying that? Oh my GodâŠâ you trailed off, embarrassed.
âYeah, I donât get it either. But itâs a good thing. I think,â he said with a laugh.
You let out a groan before putting your head down onto the table. Despite the potential disaster of rumours to come, you couldnât help but to wonder, would it be that bad? Being with him? You mentally cursed yourself for thinking that.
âWell, should we?â he asked.
You snapped your head up. âShould we what?â
âBecome a Daddy and Mommy.â
You snorted at his insinuation. âYou are insufferable.â
He gives you a sheepish smile but you donât miss the little glimmer of hope in his eyes that also matched yours. You lifted your left hand up. âHate to break it to you but Iâm old fashioned. Ring first,â you teased, âthen we can talk.â Â
He smiled at you, face full of adoration. That wouldnât be a problem at all, he thought to himself.
#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#mr ben x reader#professor ben x reader#pedro pascal snl x reader#teacher ben x reader#mr ben
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Aaaaand more art I did for Hogwarts Mystery back in 2018!
#Digital 2D#Fantasy#Illustration#Fan Art#Hogwarts Mystery#Harry Potter#Game#Bill Weasley#Charlie Weasley#Ben Copper#Penny Haywood#Nymphadora Tonks#Barnaby Lee#Tulip Karasu#Professor Snape#oc#commissions#acedemia#NoAI#zombiepunkrat
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chang and duncan definitely had something going on like i donât knowâŠ.
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ben mears would happily fuck you in the library btw. after all, we know from the book that heâs perfectly content to engage in semi public sex, so đ€
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