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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 2 years

Text

A Suitable Alternative

Masterlist

Summary: When the inquisitors are caught assaulting Lord Vaders darling little engineer two things happen. 1. Vader swiflty teaches his underlings a lesson. And 2. The sith lord finally puts his little one in her place. Which unbeknownst to her is beside him.

Warnings: yandere!vader, Suitless!Vader (as in not clinically needed) , possessive!Vader, attempted sexual assault, swearing, canonical violence, threats, coercive & obsessive behaviour, semi forced relationship.

A/N: *insert ben affleck smoking meme here* Like what do i say about this? Incase you didnt already know I love a dark yandere tropes. Powerful Posessive men who will fuck up anyone who touches their darling. So yeah. Backtrack about a week i decided to pop starwars prequel on for background noise then kind of... watched it, then watched Kenobi. Anakin is prety much the definition of a soft obsessive yandere. And vader? Psychotic yandere. And well this is what you get, i genuinely couldnt help it. Enjoy my fuckery while i go yeet myself off a bridge and look for my moral compass. 👋😀

You whined, squirming uncomfortably your torso pressed tightly to the table. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled, the chubby face of your tormenter split into a wide grotesque grin. He was seated infront of you pleased with himself. Chuckling to himself before leaning back as he used the force to hold your frail form bent over the table, leaving you vulnerable to the others in the room.

"Aww dont cry, isnt this what you like? The power? The invisible holding you in position? Im sure your used to this? Being bent over like a little bitch" he teased, the others chuckled. Even the gaurds snickered at you. You hissed shaking your head still desperately fighting the force that held you still. But it was no use you were stuck.

"N-no i told you! Theres nothing; stop it! Please!" You cried out, not above begging the fifth brother for some leniency. You knew that your arrival had put a few noses out of joint. Many who spent their lives groveling at the feet of lord vader envied you. The interest the lord had in you roused jealousy and anger.

It wasnt like you had done anything, the terrifying male just didn't ignore you as he did others, nor did he threaten or scold you. Youd done nothing to earn a scolding. Perhaps that was the problem? Because your dealings with the sith lord were secret, so according to the inquisitors and troops you hadnt done anything deserving of his attention. Little did they know you had simply done your job in the background. You served Lord Vader just like them, followed orders given to you. Rumors were rampant and everyone seemed to believe you were some kind of whore.

They hissed filthy things in the corridors as you passed, subtly pointing to you and making vulgar hand gestures before laughing, all the while staring at you like meat. Many thought you had been privileged enough to see him without his suit and won his favor serving him on your back. All of this talk because of you survived his interest for more then a few weeks.

It wasnt like that at all. As always the truth is much more boring then the tall tales whispered in the corridors. In actual fact you were an engineering apprentice. Your unsure how or why but lord vader had seen your personal schematics for new bionic prostetics, ones youd been designing for your sister who'd had a nasty accident when you were a child. He had been impressed by the design and had commissioned you to make one for him. And so you did. You made a state of the art prostetic and fitted it for him. That was all, youd measured him, made it and had been observed cloesly by the sith as you worked, he seemed weary of trusting you at first. You could understand it, you were makingnhim a new limb. but he soon realised that you would consult him everystep of the way without having to be spied upon. your task came to a very lackluster end, you were summoned each night for a week to install and configure it, making final adjustments to it untill it was perfect. And after that were simply sent on your way with a large sum of credits you didnt know what to do with.

It probably didnt help that since that week of evening visits the sith lord made a point to greet you in the halls when he saw you, sometimes a quick nod, other times stopping to ask about projects or give you new orders, usually to do with small issues onboard his ships.

These small interactions didnt go unnoticed, but before you could see the growing animosity in his closest underlings the sith lord had made a habit of checking up on you once a week. He seemed to treat his visits like a reprieve, for a an hour or so he could forget his responsibilities and investigate your latest projects, share thoughts on upgrades to the fleet or codeing on the ships mainframe. He even toyed with the idea of having you look into weaponry for him. You quickly found that he was quite advanced with engineering and coding he seemed to have an affinity for more then just the force. And honestly it made you relax around him, it was easier to forget who he was when your discussing technical advancements. Youd even go as far to say you developed a friendship with him, allbeit a very insignificant long distance one.

The issues surrounding gossip only became apparent when vader needed an impromptu sensitivity adjustment to his hand, his hydraulics had almost crushed his lightsaber in battle and that could not happen again. So he dropped into your tiny personal chop shop on the dark destroyer unannounced. And he was unimpressed to say the least declareing the space was too cramped for talent such as yours and that you needed a bigger space work. That night youd been moved in to his biggest ship; the executor. And given a captains quaters, roomy with its own wash room and new huge workshop to tinker in.

"Oh no, a lie? I wonder what he does to you when you spout lies?" The fifth brother rose with another cackle, a high pitched wheezing laugh of a weak man. He pressed forward, palms flat on the table before you, scoffing down at you.

"I dont; we dont even! Please let me go! I havent done anything!" You panicked craning your head as much as you could with your neck cramping from pressure behinde it. Tears glazing your eyes but you refused to let them fall. This was your fault, you'd come to the meeting room intent on waiting for lord vader to inform him of a new code youd been asked to develop.

Vader had asked you to investigate a possible track and trace protocol that could be useful to the control room. Youd managed to create something better. Discovering a way to automatically target hackers and implant spyware into the assailants system not only ravaging their communication but also relaying all data to the executors own systems.

In your excitement youd sought out lord vader, forgetting that the only true safe places for you on this ship were your quarters and workshop. And thats when you were unceremoniously dragged into the room and the taunting began.

"Oh, you would have us believe your not whoreing yourself out to him? Honestly its laughable. So pathetic, you think we dont notice. That we dont see his favor of you? Perhaps we can share in his delights-" the words were venom, spat at you with greed and loathing. A sinister promise below them as he began rounding the table in your direction.

"NO! NOOO! STOP LET ME GO!" You screamed trying to shake his hand away as his palm landed on your shoulder skimming your back making your skin crawl. You sobbed trying the thrash as the fifth brothers hand moved over you, following the dip in your back heading south with intent. You struggle, fighting as much as you could as the inquisitors hands roamed you, squeezing, rubbing and pinching making crude comments to the others about what a comfortable ride you must be. All the while you begged for him to stop. Threats of what would happen when vader found out were on the tip of your tongue. But fear of your own retribution should you use your lord in such a way made you bite your tongue.

You felt it before you heard anything, the atmosphere changed. The room grew cold and a sense of anticipation hung in the air as the door behind you opened. Everyone froze as the mechanical breathing of your lord cut through the room leaving no doubt to who had just waled in. It was clear no one had thought this through. You could almost hear their panicked thoughts wondering how they didn't feel him coming? But then again it was lord vader, if he didnt want to be detected he wouldnt be, it was part of his arsenal.

You heard him pause at the door, his feet planted to the floor in what could only be him taking in the sight before him.

You felt a shame youd never experienced before wash over you hearing your lords breaths break through the silence. You stayed pinned down face flaming in mortified defeat as you knew he was staring at you pitifully bent over the table. Your ass though covered by your uniform was still displayed,and in your mind a little too large to feel decent bent over like this. Your tears finally fell as your lord saw first hand how truley weak you were. It was soul crushing to think this may be the moment the sith finally realised how pathetic you were.

You bit your lip, holding your breath for a moment waiting for what ever was to come next, resigning yourself to the fate lord Vader chose. A laugh, taunting? Disappointment? Or maybe lord vader will simply ignore your situation and abandon you, let the fifth brother continue as he pleased.

"What. Is. This?" The words were distorted, almost lost in translation despite being spoken slowly between breaths. You could almost say the voice coded words sounded angry. No one made a move to answer him, probably because you all knew he wasn't asking whats going on, he was asking for an explanation. He wanted to know who and what had instigated such an attack. He wanted to see if anyone would lie. It was. Test, a challenge noone accepted.

You expected to hear a plethora of excuses, stuttering words or apologies. Hell even a ridiculous 'she attacked me' lie. But no. Instead you heard the inquisitors fearful gasps, they crouched and jerked back from their lord. Cowering. Had you not still been held down you too would have buckled under the quick, scalding burst of rage that permeated the air making it thick and painfull to breath. Or perhaps it was just your fearful anxiety that was threatening to suffocate you. You felt the darkness seeping into the room, a rageing tidal wave of fury and disgust, you dread to think what it felt like to the other force sensitve occupants.

The need and rage rolled into one as Vader finally spied what was causing the commotion. He made sure to pluck the force in the room with a vengeful malice, pressing his anger into the threads of the inquisitors own force making them each take a scuttle back in fear.

Vader tolerated many things on his fleet that he probably shouldn't. The occasional celebration, small quantities of alcohol hell he granted sick leave when people clearly faked their illness. He even overlooked some force sensitive stormtroopers, going as far as to mask them with his own force signiture when palpantine decided to visit. He would turn a blind eye to them aslong as they were loyal to him. Yes. He allowed these things to slip past the net so to speak, he never wanted to be as restrictive as the jedi.

But assaulting a young female who served him was not something he would allow.

Especially when its his favourite woman in the entire fleet. A young engineer who had enhanced his bionic hand to the point it no longer caused him pain once attatched.

He had grown fond of his little engineer. You were a marvel to behold, new concepts and technology seemed to just pour from you when you began tinkering or coding, you seemed to do the impossible. It hadnt taken him long to come to the conclusion that you were worth the time and effort. He could give you the means to make great things, you could innovate and modify his own fleet of ships and grant him an edge which they currently lacked.

But in the time he had indulged you, he had become somewhat attached, lines had been blurred. He told himself it was to manipulate you. That he needed to get close to bend you to his will without threats of violence;they would make you nervous and bring about mistakes which he did not want to deal with.

And he also wanted to understand this new odd darkness he felt. It was almost like Anakin and vader combined into this depraved poisonous yet protective longing. He wanted you. All of you, he wanted to crawl inside of your mind and occupy your every thought, to have your heart for himself and be your entire reason for living. He wanted to keep you mind, body and soul, to own you. To never allow anyone to ever see or speak to you. He needed to be your everything.

And most confusing of all? He wanted to protect you. Sheild you from any who would dare harm you. Not out of sentiment, or maker forbid love. But because you were his. You belonged to him, why would he allow anyone to tarnish what is rightfully his? He always belived his protective urges were because you were small. Defenceless and naive, much like padme. There was a quiet reverence to you he had come to appreciate and crave. He coveted your admiration, fed off of it.

He knew he was toeing the line. He was more attached to you then he would like to admit. He was bordering possessive, he didnt like you being far from him, which was the reason for moving you onto his own ship. He'd thought it would be enough to have you on the executor, walking the same halls never being too far from him, he'd made certain your clearance never allowed you to wander into the bowels of the ship. You were contained to a quadrant spanning five levels and six hundred metres squared. Not that you had realised that yet.

But having you here handlt quelled his obsessive need for you, and so he had still been keeping a close eye on you. Shadowing you, checking your movements during the day by tracing your unique access code. And when he had a spare few moments he'd hunt you down and give you random meaningless tasks just so he had a reason to give you orders inperson. Not that you seemed to notice. Or if you did, you didnt mind.

It was your ignorance to his odd behaviour that spurred him on. Excited him even, you were someone who accepted his dominance without question or complaint. Not in a fearful sense either. You didnt cower from him, your life force didnt tremble or try to resist him when his own prodded at you. There was just a calm understanding there, you accepted his might. Even when the power radiating off of him was suffocating, you still sat there obediently, loyally waiting his next command without trying to escape his presence. It was refreshing to not have to pretend, or put on hiers and graces. He could be the rough, demanding and powerfull man he was, without judgment. Which was more he could say for padme. And unlike padme you were far too meak and loyal to ever think of crossing him. You wont abandon him, you wont stab him in the back, you were a suitable alternative to padme, because you already accepted him the way he was.

It pleased him. You pleased him. And you will continue to please him as he sees fit.

Vader hovered by the door for a moment assessing the scene once more commiting it to memory. It was very rare he had to do a double take to actually belive his own eyes, but this was one of those rare occasions. And the fool whod dare touch his engineer was to shell shocked to remove his hands. It would seem he really did have to do everything around here. Oh well.

There was a beat of cruel anticipation, violence echoed silence in the room. And then you felt rather than heard a lightsaber rush across your back. You yelped out in surprise as heat engulfed your spine, uncomfortably hot like your skin was on the cusp of sun burn, yet not actually damaging you. There was a second scream accompanying yours. The fifth brother screeched an agonising blood curdling pained scream. And you felt something hit your back, the weight of the force was lifted instantly. You took a breath and jerked upright so fast you had to hold the table to stop yourself from falling over. You peered to your right only to stumble back a step as you saw what happened. And more importantly what had landed on you.

"Oh;oh god" you covered your mouth seeing the fifth brother panicking on the floor withering in pain holding up his arms to his face unable to belive what he was seeing. Your stomach turned as you saw the violent sight. Two cautorized stumps adorning each arm, a diagonal cut across each. And the hands that had tormented you were twitching on the floor loosing their colour, fading to a deathly blue.

"My lord you? His hands?" You whispered, trembling as you realised those hands had been what fell on to your back. Severed hands! Your chest tightened as your eyes roamed the sight of the whithering man before you. You vaguely heard the sound of lord vaders lightsaber retracting, but didnt react, far to focused on the sight before you.

With a slight yelp and jolt you pivoted as Vader approach you, closing the last few inches. But he did not allow you to move, one gloved hand pressing into your side keeping your back to him. You felt his fingers twitch as he held you stil.

He relished in the feel of finally touching you openly, cursing his suits thick gloves wanting to feel your supple flesh with his own skin. But he also enjoyed the intimidation his suit provided him. It was the only reason he wore it, the fear factor.

Your breath hitched as vaders hand dug into your side firmly easing you back into him. His huge frame shadowing yours, so close his cloak was falling around your own shoulders as his body skimmed yours.

"Hush little one." He ordered lightly. You peered over your shoulder flicking your gaze to him and then back to the floor holding your breath for a moment swallowing down your panic with a firm nod and released a slow breath, edging yourself away from an all out anxiety attack with practiced ease.

"Good girl. Always soo obedient, soo loyal. Youd never defy me would you?" You could hear the grin in his words, the pridful taunting thats prodded the others in a veiled threat. Vader moved his hands cross you, tucking one arm arcross your waist completely aligning your body with his. Making a show of holding you as close to him as possible.

You flushed keeping your eyes on his mask not wanting to be seen as rude. Though it was hard to maintain your gaze with your heart stuttering in your chest. You merely shook your head silently at his question. No, youd never defy him. Never, you looked up to him. So much so you felt it was him who should be emperor, after all it was vader who lead the troops, vader who fought and won the battles. It was vader who people feared and respected. He got his hands dirty and was actually fighting for something. Palpantine just seemed to make decrees and force others to do his bidding.

"Its a shame others dont follow suit. To think my own inquisitors sought to steal from me, right under my nose on my own ship" he continued speaking. Completely ignoring the other inquisitors as they still stood cowering on the far end of the table, making sure to keep their distance and avoid their lords anger. You didnt have time to fully register his words before he was speaking once more, berating his servant's whilst not giving them any of his actual attention both punishing and Insulting them.

"They believed i would allow them to sully you with no consequences. They feel that they are indispensable. Yet you have done more for me then all of them combined" you flushed absentmindedly shaking your head and tried to tuck into yourself and hide your face at the soft praise. You knew it was to rub salt into the wound, to embarrass them. These great force weilding soldiers were less usefull then a silly weak engineer that hadn't even finalised her training.

"I had thought i could trust them with you. That their so called loyalty to me would prevail over their jealousy. It seems i have over estimated them. They are not loyal, but frightened. They have no respect, just fear" vaders words were a harsh taunt, turning sinister and vicious with an air of mocking and dark sarcasm that he was known for throught out the fleet.

"And rightly so." You heard more fearful inhales from the others in the room,but you couldnt bring yourself to acknowledge them. You didnt dare disrespect your lord by disregarding his attention in favor of those who were so far below him.

"M-my lord i would have stopped, i was teasing Ugh-gagh!" Your head snapped up to the fifth brother as he stupidly opened his mouth and tried to defend his actions. You flintched as your lord moved, arm snapping out infront of you and the fith brother gurgled on his own words, choking.

"She is not yours to tease or torment" you watched in a horrified fascination as vaders hand fingers curled slightly. It looked like he was commanding a puppet, tugging invisible strings, choking the fifth brother slowly. Youd admit it was terrifying to behold, youd never seen this before and to be so close? You were conflicted. It was like watching a crash, you knew what was to come, you should look away but you couldnt. Something in you wanted to see it.

"Perhaps you should offer an apology? My little one is merciful. She is one for granting second, third and fourth chances" vader teased, enjoying dangling a bone infront of such an undeserving mutt. A thrill shot up your spine as you realised he was doing this for you baiting the dying man just to let you have a moment of retribution. Though being the cruel man he was vader made sure to tighten his grip. To cut off any sounds this squeeling little pig would try to make. And he did try to plead his case, eyes flicking to you begging for mercy.

You shivered pressing back into vader as the scene continued to unfold. Even when this man was dying you were afraid of him. And yet you weren't afraid of the sith lord commiting the act. Vader had to be provoked, you reasoned to yourself trying to fend off the uncomfortable thoughts trying to arise. After all vader had mentioned in passing about entering minds to gather information. You wonder if he could read your thoughts in real time.

"No? Well then" vaders dealthy teasing took an amused tone. He was enjoying this for a change. Especially when you released a soft half giggle under your breath at his dark sarcasm. It was irronically entertaining as your once powerful assailant made to grab his throat with two stumps. His eyes widened in true panic as he realised there was no way he could escape, he couldnt even claw at the grip tightening around his throat. You vaguely noticed that he was still firmly on the ground, which for some reason made you think it was somehow worse? It was one thing to be choked lifted from the floor, kicking your feet helplessly. But another sadistic torment to be choking on nothing whislt on the ground trying to clutch at your throat with no hands.

Vader hummed in approval at your minute glee, he always sensed a tiny dark spec on your pristine soul. You craved justice, to the point you enjoyed karma. You liked watching the odds get evened out. He even toyed with the possibility of that being why you were so loyal to him. That you looked to him as that balanceing force. The one to even the odds in the galaxy. It filled him with a delicious heat to think deep down you enjoy the way he was punishing your attacker. He felt righteous and godly as you relaxed into his hold watching the life slowly drain from someone who had made you beg and cry for mercy.

Your eyes locked onto the fifth brother as his body finally succumb to lord vader. He collapsed in a heap on the floor beside his hands. You arched back instinctively not wanting to touch the body.

"It is a pity. He was adequate in the force. Useful. But i will not ignore such an insult. Though while we are here let us make this a learning experience" his voice quivered with anticipation, not that his voice coder would give away his excitement.

You gasped, hands flying to the thick leather clad arm wrapped around you,clutching him as he moved you. Spinning around hoisting you off of the ground so he could keep you against him as he turned on the horrified inquisitors. It was when vader began speaking again you flush and willed yourself to dissappear, making yourself seem smaller against him. The others stared at you in a looks of shock, anxiety and disdain.

"This is mine. She belongs to me and me alone. And anyone who looks at her, let alone touches her without my permission will be..." vader explained making sure there was no mistake. He paused with a glance to the corpse before quipping his final amused remark.

"Decommissioned. Am i understood?" The hissed question snapped you back to reality and you began answering, only to catch yourself, covering your mouth with your hands when you realised he wanst actually talking to you. You felt rather then heard him huff a light chuckle against your back, the light humming was followed by a light squeeze against your tummy.

"Yes lord vader" the chorus of affirmation seemed to satisfy him and he placed, you back ont the floor, and took half a step back, yet still hovered closer then was needed.

"Good. If i were you I'd make sure to complete your asigned tasks before my return. Come along little one. We have much to discuss" and with that he turned on his heel and began exiting the room.

"Y-yes my lord" you squeaked quickly following him wanting to escape the inquisitors now hateful gaze.

You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the floor following the dark cape skimming the floor in front of you. You tried not to think of what had just happened. You didnt want to relive the ordeal or try to excuse any of it. You knew you'd overthink everything. Especially the way lord vader had held you so closely. The way he'd defended you so fiercely, how he'd not even just disposed of fifth brother, but mutilated him first with his lightsaber. Which he only ever ignited when truly angry or readying for battle.

Your heart jumped in your chest at that particular thought, if he was angered that meant he cared? Meant that you held some form of worth to him? Your stomach joy rushing through you. Youd admit to holding a fondness for your lord. Your admiration of of him had slowly grown into Something reminiscent of a school girl crush... only a very gaurded and respectful variation of a crush. Afterall he was your lord, a sith and the most unpredictable yet powerfull man in the galaxy. You had to be careful.

"You are unharmed?" The words spooked you as he finaly broke the silence and you looked around startled. So lost in your thoughts you hadnt paid much attention to your suroundings. Not that you needed to, everyone made way for lord vader in the halls, so you didnt need to be too aware when following him.

But had you been paying attention you might not have been so stunned when you realised you were in a huge living quarters. A sprawling expanse of black glistening tiles, black matte walls inlayed with glowing beams of light illuminating an array of practical dark furniture scattered pleasantly across the space. Frosted tinted glass acted as partition walls seperating various areas and a partiality concealed a bed room off to the far side of course the huge bed was also draped in a mix of black and maroon silk and velvet sheets.

The room was dwarfed by a window peaking out into the expanse of space, it stretched across the entire quarters in aligned sections. It reminded you of the one in the pilots control center, only this one was almost floor length. It took you a few moments to realise you may have just been lead into lord vaders private chambers.

"Y-yes my lord, thanks to you. I;" you uttered uncomfortably trying to bite down the slight panic at being brought here. Not that you thought he would kill you, it was just odd. Vader was above all unpredictable.

Glancing forward you frowned and took another slow step forward. He had disappeared, venturing deeper into the sprawling space whilst you appraised the decor. In your anxiety you began turning, trying see where vader had gone. Sensing your trepidation he called out to you, beckoning you to him.

"This way little one" you followed his voice only to pause stunned in to silence as your eyes laid on him. He had stepped away from the main open living area into a half concealed office. His back turned to you. But thats not what made you pause. No, it was when you saw his hands clasp his mask and free it from his head. A mane of wavy hair fell to his neck and he drew a deep breath as if thankfull to be free of the constricting head piece.

Your brain seemed to stutter, stalling as words died on your tongue and your mouth hand open for a moment. You never thought youd be privileged enough to see your lords true visage. It was a fantasy not even you had toyed with. Not even when you had been working on his hand, skimming the skin of his arm delicatly as you directed him to twist this way and that so you could concentrate on the connections.

He kept his back to you, slowly removing his gloves, one hand coming to his face obviously nipping the tip of a finger to remove a glove and then the second heavy leather joined its twin on the desk.

"Im pleased the inquisitors didnt cause any damage. It seems i should have kept a closer eye on you. Your far too delicate to let roam. The others think they are safe, belive me when i tell you they are not. They will pay their penance in time" you shuddered greedily lapping up his honeyed tone. Why was his soft voice more menacing then the deep voice recorder and harsh breaths?

It was unsettling, the way you could have been lulled easily from the gentle yet authoritative tone. His demand for respect was so ingrained into him you couldnt help but listen as he spoke. Though at the threat lacing his words you faltered slightly, you did feel somewhat responsible for the incident.

"It was my fault my lord. I had gone looking for you to deliver the new security codeing. You said once i finished to find you and i should have known not to approach the meeting room when the inquisitors;" you tried to argue, though you were unsure why you felt as if everything was your fault. Afterall you couldnt control the inquisitors, and they didnt exactly deserve your mercy after standing by and letting that wretch almost have his way with you for no other reason then jealousy.

"Do not try to make excuses for their deceite. You are above such foolishness" the order was harsh and swift stopping your explanation in its tracks as you tried to take the blame. The ire in his tone and way he flicked off his cloak violently made you bite your lip remaining silent. You peaked up at him hearing him cross the space.

My god. He was a devil. A frightening handsome devil. His face had softer features then you thought. Beautiful and cherub like. Yet there was a sinister undertone to him, a powerful gaze. Yellow eyes, they were haunting in a way, so unique but only enhanced the dark beauty he possesed.

He paused before you, drawing a deep breath tilting his face and concentrated on you. His yellow gaze penetrated you. You could almost feel him burrowing into you, as if he was searching your soul for something. Trying to unravel you and collect your secrets. What ever he found must have pleased him. His face split into a grin and his hands raised, one cupping either side of your face making you look at him. You didnt flinch, you didnt ever gasp as his cool bionic palm cupped your cheek. All you could do was blink up at him owlishly, unsure what he expected from you. But even through your shock you did take comfort in his happiness, feeling yourself smile back up at him.

"You are indispensable to me, you will be moved here where i can keep a close watch over you." His words were alight with a strange glee. You gasped when he tipped his own head to yours his nose skimming yours. You felt slightly uncomfortable, he seemed off? Not that you claimed to know him, because in all honesty you knew very little. He'd allowed you to uncover small details in your time spent together. But you couldnt help feel he was acting out of character. Your interaction felt foreboding, like there was something just around the corner that he was slowly leading up to. That he had a plan for you that could be something wonderful, or incredibly unsettling.

"From now on you are to be by my side at all times outside of these quarters and you workshop. I trust nothing and no one with you. This incident will not repeat itself because you strayed from me. Am i understood." The order came with its own slight chastisement. A light warning laced in the vaguely possesive words.

"Of course my lord" you didnt hesitate. He grinned, eyes darkening with a pridful victory. It was only in this moment, this final test where he truley revealed himself to you that he had realised his true victory. Your obedience to him was second nature, he'd cultivated it. Made sure his authority over you was absolute. That his dominion over you was indisputable, whether he was in his feared suit or out of it. Youd agree to anything he suggested, and youd do it of your own accord with no need for threats or violence.

He chuckled lightly befor dragging your head down and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. The action stole your breath and before you could even wonder over the unprompted affection he had stepped back releasing you completely from his hold and turned motioning for you to take a seat in the communal living area.

"You are not disagreeing. Such a good girl. My good girl. You can see i do not have the patience for such frivolous games today" his giddy words were thrown over his shoulder whilst he rounded one of the sofas and then he sat heavily, releasing a sigh as he took the weight off of his feet. You followed him, somewhat in a daze, growing more confused by the second. But dutifully followed him and sat on the spot he patted next to him. Obeying the unspoken demand to sit as close to him as possible.

"I am pleased that the circulating gossip has not hindered your resolve or frightened you off" he continued the conversation as if it were nothing substantial. Like he hadnt just thrown you for a loop and shook you to your core with unwarranted, yet not unwelcome affecton.

"Yo-You heard those?" You stuttered trying not to falter as you held the conversation, you didnt want to disappoint him now. Especially when he was behaving so unpredictably. Youd seen his face, you were a loose end now, you knew some of his best kept secrets. It was humbling and exciting, but even in your excitement you understood the danger you could have stumbled into.

"Indeed. Though i did not confirm or deny such things, i belived if others thought you were mine it may offer you some form of extra protection when my back was turned. I was mistaken" he shifted plcing an arm around your shoulder and pulled you to him. He didnt seem to want to let you go, literally. He'd never shown this type of affection to you before today, youd never had any inclination that he was one to seek out this kind of touching. But he couldnt seem to help it, and he didnt seem to be stopping anytime soon. You flushed as a tiny voice in the back of your mind could barely contain her shy approval. You certainly didnt mind him holding you.

"My lord i; i didnt. I never told anyone that we were? Involved or or anything. I didnt mention what i was summoned for. It was no ones business. I did deny all rumours- or at least tried;" you tried to explain, fearful that he thought you wer e trying to climb rank useing his authority. You sat up, pulling away from him as you spoke wanting to make eye contact with him so he could see the truth in your eyes. But something engulfed you. A pressure pinning you to his side, firmly encouraging you to lean on his chest and tuck your head below his. You whined realising he was useing the force to position you. Your whimpers were quietened down by him hushingyou, his hand rubbing your arm soothingly. It was when you stopped fighting that the pressure left your body.

"I am well aware you had nothing to do with the gossip. Unfortunately such things happen on board all vessels. There is nothing we can do to quell them. Even if i had wanted to." He hummed, his hand rising from your shoulder to twist a lock of your hair and tuck it behind your ear.

"You look shocked." He stated with a deep chuckle, amused by your stunned silence. But continued to distract himself with your hair, knuckles grazing your neck whilst his fingers twisted the soft locks.

"I, yes, well... did you not want to stop the rumours? i dont understand" you mnaged to whisper quietly, stumbling over your words trying to make atleast one coherent sentence and not look a fool.

"Understand? what is there to understand? I am not blind. You are an attractive young woman. You have a brilliant mind and submissive personality as well as being loyal, true loyaltyis a rare find in the empire. I am not adverse to the idea of keeping you for myself." He uttered casually, treating the topic like something as mundane as the weather. It almost became a monologue, him listing his feelings methodically, speaking them aloud like he'd only just rationalised them.

"Infact i thought i made a compelling argument with the inquisitors. I do hope there is no confusion on your part" your stomach dropped , reality settling like a rock in your chest. You couldnt help feeling there was still more to this. A sinister undertone had crawled into his final words. But you couldnt discern if he ws actually threatening you, or is he was genuinely asking you if he had made himself clear.

"Well i? Yes? No? I; im sorry but i dont completely understand? When you say keep me to yourself? Do you mean as an underling?" Your resolve quivered when he threw his head back and bellowed a laugh, one hand dropping to his stomach as he did so.

"Oh sweet angel, you truly are a naive little thing arent you?" He teased lightly through his amusement shaking his head to rid himself of the remaining laugher threatening to escape him. You shrunk face glowing a bright red, unsure if he'd just complimented or insulted you. He felt your embarrassed pout and glanced down at you tipping your head up to face him smirking down at you with mischief.

"But to answer your question, under or on top. It makes no difference as long as i am your only partner, a will not share, you are mine to fuck and fill." Your jaw dropped. No. What? No he couldnt have meant? Surely not! He chuckled again sending you a devilsh look, soaking up the innocent shock and riseing flush on your face. He enjoyed your reaction to his vulgarity, he noted the way you tremble, your thighs tensing. He was tempted to brush overthem and drawmmore sweet breaths from you, let you taste what was to come. But he also knew he needed to make himself clear first. Youd probably have a heart attack if he didnt allow you time to register your new-found role.

"Speechless? Fear not there will be plenty of time for us to explore such things now that you will reside here along side me" he soothed pressing the two fingers to your chin, closing your mouth which only furthered you embarrassment. And he wasnt finished, it seemed he very much enjoyed making you squirm and continued.

"Rest assured I have no intentions on rushing you little one. Though your new uniform will be here by morning and i will make it known that there is a lady Vader on board. Should anyone be confused i will enlighten them personally" you didnt pay mind to the mention of new uniform, no. Instead the title of lady vader echoed in your head like a mantra, you were so stunned by it you almost missed the blatant threat of violence that followed.

"Wha- wait? You really mean to? You wish to be with me intimately?" Your voice cracked, making you clear your throat whislt trying to collect your thoughts that were running wild. The images of you and him tangled in the huge bed youd spied earlier were almost too much for you to bare. You tensed your legs trying not to think about having such a powerfull man ravage you, how he could possibly use his immense power to his advantage in the bedroom.

"It has been my plan yes. You captured my attention, my intrest. And have not disappointed me like so many others. slowly my feelings have morphed into affection, need. A desire for companionship. Something i have not felt for a very long time. I will not waste this opportunity, we will wed soon enough" with that he had finally revealed his intentions. You drew a deep breath trying to keep the air in your lungs and not squeak pitifully like a cornered mouse. You knew it, you were right, he did infact have a masterplan for you.

At your panicked silence vader grew defensive. His aura thickened and the room seemed to darken and cool as the seconds ticked by. He curled his fingers pinching your chin firmly drawing your attention back to him.

"I decided you will remain by my side. And i warn you now, whether you are inclined to agree with me is irrelevant. The decision was made long ago little one" his words grew icey, eyes sharpening to dreadfully observant daggers. You swallowed, nodding to him feeling a fright you hadnt felt since your first few encounters with the sith.

"I understand my lord. So i will stay here? And shadow you?" You agreed trying tp placate him and calm whatever frustration was building in him. You had no objections. Youd do as he asked gladly, you were just blindsided and surprised. If only you had the courage to admit that and voice your feelings.

Whatever darkness washed over him faded quickly and his face relaxed from an eerily calm anger, to a soft contented smile. Your quick compliance and following curiosity seemed to have quelled whatever darkness had arisen inside of him.

"Yes. We will spend a majority of our time together, either here on my fleet or my home on mustafa." You nodded slowly taking it in. The reality, this was happening. He had planned your life, planned your relationship, and the way he was so self assured in his ideas for your future showed that he had thought this through, played with the idea long enough to work around any issues tht might arise. Youd also made sure not to flinch at the mention of that terrifying planet. It was somewhere you'd never want to visit, but you doubt you'd get a choice in the matter.

"And my work? I mean will i still...after we are? wed?" You inquired wanting to pull the conversation away from mustafa. But also clarify exactly what your lord had instore for you. His face lit up, youd pleased him by insinuating your upcoming nuptials. Quietly accepting the future he had planned.

"I would never impede your personal growth. You are free to keep your workshop. And i will give you tasks to keep you occupied when i am away on business" you closed your eyes in relief. He may have sprung this on you and expect you to obey him without complaint. But atleast he wasnt going to lock you up and let you suffer bordem. Youd have some freedom.

"Thank you my lord, your words mean alot to me. I fear what would happen if i was left with nothing to do" you quickly voiced your appreciation. Still hesitant but compliant, your lord had made up his mind, and you were not going to tempt fate by arguing. You were however going to try and explain yourself. The last thing you wanted was for him to doubt your loyalty and obedience.

"A-and just? For what it is worth I... i am inclined to persue this relationship my lord. I was just shocked earlier, i meant no disrespect. I didnt mean to anger you. I am sorry if i upset you"

"Apology accepted" he hummed dragging you to lie on his chest once more. This time his arms coiling around you protectively. You melted into him. Despite having the beejeezus scared out of you moments ago you couldnt help but give into him. This had been what youd fantasised about hadnt it? Being held by your lord? Having him trust you, showing you affection and being special to him. Although you admit this was much better then your late night guilty pleasures. Not only was he holding you so sweetly, he had trusted you enough to let you see what lies beneath his mask. As ridiculous as it sounded, you couldnt help feeling that you could be happy with him, despite how intimidating he could be.

Still you couldnt help but want to make things right. To reassure him and smooth over any lingering unpleasant thoughts he may have over your silence earlier.

"It just caught me unawares. I admire you and was surprised by your words. I can admit to harbouring a crush on you. Even before today, but i never thought that..." you trailed off slowly conveying your thoughts wordlessly, trying your best to find a solace. A stability in the new situation you found yourelf in. His quick temper had shaken you, youd never had such a misstep with him before. And you didnt want to repeat it.

"Then that just makes for a happy ending doesnt it little one. Come we will eat and then rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day" he rose from the sofa taking your hand pulling you along side him gently.

"But in the end it will be worth it for you to watch the colour drain from my inquisitors faces when they see you take your place beside me" he lamented with a twisted grin thinking about the fun he was going to have tormenting those pathetic mutts.

You couldnt help a jolt of excitement race through you at the thought. It would be nice seeing their smug hatred become terror when your new position was anounced. Hell it would be nice to be beside lord vader, even if your future was completely dictated by him. You really would do anything for him, it was a sobering thought, but not unpleasant. How many people can say their fantasies became reality? But then again its said that when the gods truley wish to punish us they make our dreams come true. Only time will tell if this was your fairytale or your punishment.

#oh for fic sake fics #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #dark!anakin #darth vader x reader #darth vader x you #anakin x fem reader #yandere anakin skywalker #yandere anakin x you #suitless vader #darth vader imagine #anakin skywalker imagine

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brainrot-goes-brrrrrr · 10 days

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Savanna Squad Presentation Night Headcanons/mini fic [1/3]

splitting this into three headcanon parts because my god its long

eat up :]

Ashlyn's POV

So the question is: How did we get here? Simple answer really. Taylor. She was always the one to suggest these kinds of things, team building hang outs, though last time it was just us.

The rest of the boys had plans. Tyler had practice to attend, one of the late kinds, Ben and Logan had a project together due for bio in a day or two, and Aiden, for some reason, had a late dentist appointment (much to his dismay). Only Taylor could make it to the graveyard early. Initially, we were just meant to manage our resources, which was manageable with one person, but it was always easier with other people to bounce ideas off of. That's all it was meant to be, but Taylor had other ideas.

"Girls night!!" She had cheered, and we just hung out.

And I had fun.

But as Logan fights with his laptop to mirror on the T.V for the presenters, that being us, I can't help but feel like I'm going to regret this one. Especially with Tweedledee and Tweedledum in the background yelling about something that I don't want to know about, but will probably learn against my will.

Just as Taylor and Ben come downstairs with blankets and pillows, Logan's T.V finally projects the wallpaper of his laptop.

"It's set up, thank god," he sighs, with that last part being under his breathe. And as we set up in his living room, Ben dragging Aiden and Tyler from the kitchen, both with bags of snacks in their arms, and Taylor handing out blankets, we finally sit in our places.

The next question, however, is Who goes first?

Taylor Hernandez

Taylor goes first because she's the one who planned it and was the most excited about it. Aiden tried to go first, but it was collectively agreed that he would be going last for no reason other than to piss him off lmao

Anyways, we love a STEM girl (be still my own heart) so her presentation would be all about her tools and work for the mechanics club. She takes this club seriously, not only because it's good for networking, but because she genuinely finds it fun. I like to think that there are two levels to the club where one is just a standard club and the second level is a competition team, and she was shooting to be a part of the competition league (totally not projecting because I'm a robotics kid)

Her presentation is so well done. It's not only really well organized, but it is just so pretty. It's the type of presentation that teachers would drool over. Avid Canva user b/c it has a lot of customization options that she loves.

What's a toolbox tour without the actual toolbox that's just as decorated as her slideshow. And she takes care of it, too.

Her presentation is so fun and sets a fun tune for the night, and she manages to make this topic really engaging. She would have a little quiz at the end, too, where if one of the group gets a question correct, they get a piece of candy

shows off tools like she's filming a makeup tutorial, I saw this on tumblr, and it's just canon at this point. No criticisms are accepted because it just isn't possible.

Group's reaction

Ashlyn and Ben are the ones who pay the most attention to the presentation. Ashlyn also gets the most questions right at the end of the quiz.

Logan asks the most questions in between slides, but not in an annoying way. He does get a bit lost, though, considering just how many tools there are.

Tyler and Aiden are still bickering a bit. Aiden can't sit still for the life of himself, but he swears that he is listening. Tyler would say otherwise.

Aiden is, though, and he ends up getting Taylor a really nice tool set that she mentioned she wanted when presenting just because he can. He is her favorite for a few days. He absolutely would have a shit eating grin looking at Tyler to just say, "See, I was listening :D". Tyler would then say that he could go fuck himself /hj

Logan Fields

Logan is next. The laptop hates him, and it's old and shuts down multiple times in his presentation. The group then had to watch this man fight with a busted 4-year-old laptop and lose several times. Have you ever seen your parents fight with a printer the night before you have a school project due? It's like that, and the rest are concerned.

He is an astrology bitch, and I will take no criticisms. But like, not in the way that it controls his life, he would not be caught dead saying that the stars told him to do something, like not let him eat alfredo on Sunday or something like that. He's more interested in the concept itself since the idea of zodiacs have existed for so long. Its his comfort research topic.

Absolutely went HAM on researching each and every one of their birth charts. Ask him to show you his notes, and he would not show you. Why??? because he took up an entire notepad (it's one of the smaller ones but still).

"Logan's so innocent" "Logan's so sweet" "My boy can do no wro-" NO!!!! THAT MOTHERFUCKER WILL READ YOU TO FILTH AND I STAND BY THIS. ITS LIKE HE LOOKED YOUR SOUL, UP AND DOWN, AND EXPOSED IT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE (something tells me Tyler gets it the worse. idk why it just feels right)!!! If he feels like something doesn't fit one of the people in the group he is clear about it

"Here is Gemini, a social butterfly. Here is Ashlyn. A Gemini. I love Ashlyn, but like a year ago I have actually seen you jump a fence to avoid a group of people who go to our high school without thinking, and I would say that needs an intervention but you'd also avoid it by jumping a fence." "..."

The presentation itself is long as hell. Like he goes in depth about everything that he talks about, and if you interrupt him, he will shoot you with a spray bottle. Did I mention there's a group spray bottle? Guess why they have one.

Somehow, he is still only the second longest presentation.

Group's Reaction

Taylor is his biggest hypeman. I feel like she'd also enjoy astrology a bit, too, though she's more of a casual fan. She is also one of the few people who is free from Logan's jabs.

Ben is also free from his jabs because he helped him with the laptop, which, thank god, because Logan was about to lose it. I don't think he really believes in astrology. The most he knows is his sun sign on the surface level. He is invested, though.

Don't think Ash is very interested in astrology either, and at some points in his presentation, he just loses her attention.

Tyler gets sprayed at least twice with the spray bottle because he gets defensive. Surprisingly, I do think he would be somewhat interested and knowledgeable about his star signs at least, mainly because he had to deal with Taylor when she went through an astrology phase (let me tell you it was brutal).

Aiden is also interested and engaged in the presentation, but maybe a little too much. What I mean is that he interrupts at points and is the reason why the spray bottle exists. Logan is flattered, but istg Aiden if you interrupt this man one more time...

By the end of the two presentations, the group is in pretty high spirits and having a good time, despite the fact that two of them are a bit wet.

"..."

Logan's laptop, however, is not, and just as they were setting up Ben's powerpoint, it decides that it was a good time to perform a mandatory update and restarts.

Absolute silence.

You could hear a pin drop.

And all eyes go to Logan.

"..."

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!"

Long story short, the presentations have to be postponed for around an hour and forty-eight minutes (maybe you never know with computers), and Logan is taking a walk.

#school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard webtoon #sbg (webtoon)#sbg #ashlyn banner #aiden clarke #tyler hernandez #taylor hernandez #logan fields #school bus graveyard headcanons #I need them to be happy #let them be happy red #please please please #this was longer than expected #savanna squad

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chocoshrooms · 1 year

Text

:: BEN DROWNED REALISTIC!HEADCANONS ::

• i do not own the image above •

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!! TW: suicide mention, murder, not super gory because i didn’t go all out! but be warned!!

:; in the darkness of a room, you can see two red dots glowing, a body shape outlined in a faint green, and hear a low buzzing hum when ben is there

:; he will wait silently in the dark without making any noises, taunting you. the red dots will slowly get closer, same as the humming every other blink you take

:; sometimes ben will stay in the same spot, waiting for you to turn on the light then disappear to make you think you’re imagining things. but once the lights are back off, the dots reappear a little closer each time but not enough for you to realize until it’s too late

:; ben can easily overpower you, and if he can’t, he uses things to help him. such as electrical wires

:; ben can control these wires, so he uses them as an advantage to tie you down. the wires zap and get tighter the more you struggle, it’s best just to stay still or you’ll start to lose feeling in your body parts. the zap is very painful, it sends a shock through your entire body to where you’re shaking uncontrollably after every one

:; ben’s voice is very glitchy. it swaps between being a higher pitch and a lower pitch. but it’s usually lower when someone’s done something to upset him

:; his teeth can easily tear through flesh or leave deep puncture wounds with a bite. he’ll gently bite down on pieces of flesh that cover main arteries to taunt you

:; his nails also have the same effect! i like to think when he’s in full demon mode they grow a bit longer and his teeth do, too

:; ben can shock you with electricity. it can vary from a small shock (feels like when you get zapped by an outlet), or go up to a shock that makes your heart stop

:; ben is a stalker. mostly an internet stalker, but he will travel on feet if he needs to see more (you’re not around anything electrical which is mostly unlikely but you get what i mean)

:; he will go waaaay back, as far back as your childhood internet searches just to know every detail. he knows what you eat for breakfast everyday to what your second grade teachers name and address is. just a bit weird i guess

:; he can remember anything. if you tell him something a week before and try to go back on it, he can replay exactly what you said. he’s like the internet. whatever you put on the internet can’t be deleted completely because it’ll always somehow be there! so, whatever you say to him will always be remembered so be careful with your words… he can and will definitely use this against you

:; when ben reverses music, it’ll put you in a trance like state to where he has control of what you do. your ears, nose, and eyes will bleed, too.

:; ben will send messages to your family members to make them believe you’re still okay and not being held hostage by him. he’ll go as far as sending them pictures of you smiling (which he forces you to do) and edit backgrounds to show you’re just on a mini vacation or randomly moved out of town! he’s a pro at photoshop obviously

:; the codes that float around ben are similar to much smaller demons. they whisper things to him constantly (which drives him more insane), but they’ll talk him into doing horrible things. you see them as codes but in ben’s eyes they’re much smaller, gremlin-like creatures. he usually swats them away when they’re annoying him too much

:; they sometimes speak to you, but it’s usually just insults. they whisper things to ben like, “make them suffer, cut off their fingers one by one!” , “they tried to escape! don’t pity them, drown them in a tub.”

:; ben can fill a room with water! and it’s not clear water, it’s always murky, dirt and fish filled lake water. similar to what he was drowned in.

:; ben can convince you of anything the longer you’re around him. he manipulates your mind into thinking what he wants you to believe. if he hates your friend, he will tell you how horrible they treat you (when they don’t), how much they hate you, and how they only hangout with you because they “feel bad”. this will lead to him killing off your friends and family to isolate you

:; ben is a shapeshifter, but only can change himself to look like a human. but! if you’re smart, there’s always flaws in who he shapeshifts to look like, so you’ll be able to tell it’s ben you’re talking to. he knows this, but doesn’t try to hide the changes. he thinks it’s more fun to mess with your mind and let you figure it out yourself, all while messing you up even more making you believe you’re actually talking to someone you know and not him!

:; he also loves to leaves things out, like a key to get out the room, a screwdriver to unbolt the window, etc. just to see what you do! he doesn’t leave them in plain sight, but they’re there. he makes the room similar to an escape room. you’d have to be really smart to get out, but not much is waiting outside his door besides much worse. (*cough* jeff)

:; if you do end up getting caught by another creep, ben will simply pretend he doesn’t know who you are. the more you beg to go back to him, he will consider taking you back (only because he’s a weirdo and likes being begged for), but if he’s done with you, the creep can have their way with you

:; if ben ends up taking you into his game, he’ll use the clock tower to let you know how much time you have to “get out” before he kills you himself. it depends on if he takes you back to the mansion or not, usually once you’re in the game there’s no way out besides death so he’s just lying to get your hopes up. he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty so he lets his victims commit themselves. it’s more fun to him to drive someone into insanity

:; ben does travel through electronics and can come out of them, but if he comes out of a phone, it either blows the phone up, or drains the batter completely. if he comes through a tv or computer, they also get fried, or half the screen ends up not working/only audio works or something along those lines. they’re pretty much useless after that but it’s not like you’ll ever get to use them again after encountering ben!

:; he can disappear and reappear. if you go to hit him, he’ll just reappear behind you and have his arm wrapped around your throat before you can even think of what to do next

:; just remember, ben is always one step ahead of you in everything you try! nothing gets past him.

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Hello there! just a random post not requested by anyone, BUT if you’d like to request something, go right ahead! thanks for reading. <3

#cp headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned #realistic #creepypasta ben drowned #creepypasta headcanons

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captainpulisic · 1 year

Text

dont call me baby - m. mount

feedback is appreciated gif credits to owner word count : 1.4k

by the time ben has the bright idea to call you, mason is absolutely wasted. music can be heard down the street and the house might explode with how many people are packed in.

mason can’t stop laughing at nothing in particular, the alcohol doing a number on him. he’s halfway pouring himself another shot before ben snatches it from him. ignoring the childish protest from his friend, he guides him outside for some much needed fresh air. “i think we’ve had enough, yeah?”

ben makes sure mason is settled on the curb of the sidewalk before dialing your number, begrudgingly taking the role of babysitter.

“uh y/n, are you busy?”

“not really, everything okay?” you have to hold the phone away from your ear, trying not to get ear damage from the loud music bleeding out in the background.

“no, yeah everything is good. i just think its best if you come get mase, he’s pretty shitfaced.”

over the receiver, you hear masons slurring, “who are you on the phone with? come sit with me!” you feel silly, just hearing his voice makes your heart skip a beat.

“its y/n”

“y/n? y/n! where is she?” you can hear the smile in his tone and it makes you weak in the knees. if only you could see how pathetically sweet he looks, eyes looking for you in every direction.

ben must have given mason the phone because his voice is suddenly clearer than ever. “y/n?”

“everything okay, love? having fun?”

“i think so, i said i wasn’t going to drink that much but kai kicked my ass in beer pong… twice.” he mumbles the last part, quietly. “are you almost here? i need you, i miss you.”

“i miss you too, sweet boy.” you swear you can’t love him anymore than you do right now. he always gets so soft and lovey when he’s drunk, it’s your favorite version of him. “want me to take you home?”

“what a scandalous proposition, at least buy me dinner before asking me to go home with you!” he laughs at his own joke for a solid minute.

“i’ll buy you all the dinners you want, okay? i’ll be there soon.”

you exchange ‘i love yous’ and mason hands the phone back to ben, having watched the whole conversation with amusement. and the amusement only grows when mason lets himself fall back onto the patch of sidewalk grass. he hears mason ramble about something along the lines of ‘she wants to take me home’.

“hurry, for his own good.”

when you finally do arrive, you find mason passed out on bens shoulder. quickly getting off the car, you approach them and kneel right in front of them. mason is still mumbling nonsense of ‘her’ and ‘home’, eyes glazed and sleepy. you boop his nose, affectionately. he looks extra beautiful with the streetlight illuminating his features. “hello there, handsome. let’s get out of here, yeah?”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the serious look mason gave you as his gaze landed on you. no smiles, no laughing. in an annoyed tone, “no thanks, please leave me alone.”

ben and you share a confused look. you force yourself to swallow the sadness that was creeping up in you. mason has never been so cold with you, always wanting to work out arguments instead of fighting. what could you have done to him in that fifteen minute drive to warrant such a cold attitude? you reach for his hand, “im sorry, mase? did i do something wrong?”

“i said to leave me alone.” he retracts his hand at lighting speed, making your heart feel worse than it ever has. he’s certainly never done that before. “my girlfriend is on her way and i don’t think she’ll appreciate you putting the moves on me.”

you raise an eyebrow, “mason, what are you on about?”

“just leave.”

you really didn’t understand what was going on. “baby, whats going on?”

“do not call me baby, only my girlfriend can do that.”

oh my, your mood does a complete 180 and now you really can’t contain your laugh. your poor boyfriend is drunker than you thought. Keeping the charade up, you reach to ruffle his hair “i’m so sorry, i had no idea you had a girlfriend.”

his reflexes are quick, trying to dodge your affectionate gestures. “you should be sorry. please- hey stop that, i know y/n will definitely get mad if she sees you playing with my hair. only she’s allowed to do that.” not even waiting for your response, he turns to ben. “is y/n almost here? i want her.”

this time, you and ben share an amused look. ben pats his back, “she just called, said she’s almost here.”

hearing that, masons stern glare is targeted at you again. he slurs, “now you really do have to leave. y/n might be nice but she will fight you if she sees you trying to get into my pants. leave before i tell her you tried calling me baby.”

without another word, you get up and walk behind your car, hidden from masons view. giving him a couple seconds to believe that this “other girl” left, you prepare to come out of your hiding spot. when you finally do reappear, you walk up to him again, hoping the ruse will work. acting as if this is the first time you’re seeing him tonight, you kneel down again and kiss his cheek. realizing that it’s really you this time, masons entire mood shifts. he tries and fails to get up, trying to grasp your hand. “y/n!”

“hey pretty boy!” ruffling his hair, this time he leans into it. “you’re okay?”

“yeah, just a little drunk and sleepy. i really want you to take me home, not sexually just literally.”

“thats what i’m here for, baby.”

as if the word triggers some memory he was trying hard to repress, mason lets out a gasp. “y/n! you’ll never believe what just happened.”

“hmm?”

“some girl tried touching my hair and she was calling me baby and getting too close to me. i told her i had a girlfriend but she wouldn’t listen. i was properly mad but i told her you’d fight her if she stuck around.”

“oh, yeah? was she pretty? did you like her?” you know you shouldn’t take advantage of him in this state but it was just too fun to tease drunk mason.

“no! i didn’t even look at her! i was just waiting for you to show up and trying my best to ignore her. i swear it!”

at this, ben snorted and helped you lift mason up. latching on to you, he sways you both around, promising he didn’t even pay attention to that other girl. you say your goodbyes to ben after making sure mason is properly in the car.

halfway on the drive, mason speaks up. “where were you tonight? you should’ve come along and protected me from scary girls.”

you laugh at this.

“whats so funny?”

“nothing. just thought of me following you around, making sure no other girl touches your pretty hair.”

soon enough, you’re back home and helping him stumble in through the front door. getting him up the stairs should earn you a gold medal, setting aside the fact that he only almost slipped twice. entering your shared bedroom, you gently sit him down on the bed and begin to undress him. he hums in content when he is left in only his boxers and an old shirt, quickly being tucked in the covers by you. even in his state, he wants to tell you how much he appreciates you, how you’re his whole world. “i love you, y/n.”

“i love you, sweet boy.” you give him a quick peck on his stubbled cheek, before changing out of your clothes and climbing into bed alongside him. immediately, he pulls you to him, nestling his face into the crook of your neck. this is heaven to you, feeling his warm touch all over you.

you kiss him one more time, “go to sleep, love. you had a long night.”

“but i’m not even tired!” he whines, stifling a yawn.

“yes you are, mase.” lifting your hand to his hair, you begin to play with it in hopes that it lulls him to sleep. “it’s okay, i’ll stay up for a bit if you need anything.”

mason doesn’t even hear the last part of your sentence, already lost in his dreams of you.

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount x you

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hesalleyes · 1 year

Text

If you're a bit confused about Rusty Quill or what's been happening, hopefully this will be a handy guide.

Hello everyone, especially all newbies to the Rusty Quill family! I thought I'd talk a little bit about the company. There's a lot of information out there, some of which may be contradictory or difficult to find, and so I compiled it into what I think is a decent timeline. I've also included some of my thoughts on what Rusty Quill has been through, and where it's going.

(check the end for associated footnotes!)

A Brief And Mostly Objective Timeline For Rusty Quill Ltd.

Alexander J. Newall wanted to start a company for creatives. His father (presumably) laid down the starting capital and Rusty Quill was founded 29th June 2015. Alex owned 99% of the company, John Newall, 1%. (1)

Alex reached out to a bunch of his improv friends and asked if they would participate in an actual-play podcast. Alex hadn't seen a fully produced actual-play with sound effects and background music and he wanted to fill that niche in the market. James Ross, Bryn Monroe, and Lydia Nicholas all agreed. Tim Meredith was otherwise engaged, but said his brother Ben would be up for it. Rusty Quill Gaming (RQG) was born and started airing episodes in June 2015.

Meanwhile, besides running, editing, producing, directing, and mastering RQG, Alex also worked nights at an extremely boring data entry job James Ross set up for him. James also helped Jonny Sims get that same job (2). At the time, Jonny was playing gigs with his band The Mechanisms, but his passion was for writing. The Mechanisms were a folk band that reimagined classic stories/myths to music with hefty narrative pieces, which has obvious applicability to a podcast company. Because of this fortuitousness, sometime in 2013-14, Alex and Jonny met and found that they were both highly creative people who desperately wanted out of this job. Jonny invited Alex to a Mechanisms show at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Alex loved The Mechs show. He was convinced he must work with Jonny on something. Jonny had a few ideas and pitched what would become The Magnus Archives, though it was first more of a Twilight Zone anthology, which is why the "narrator" had Jonny's name. Alex wanted to add more of a narrative framework and they shaped it together, all five seasons, so that it was cohesive the whole way through. Some things did, organically, pop up later. For instance, Martin started mainly as a foil to Jon, and only became the love interest after a bit of writing.

Around 2018, Patreon funding eventually allowed RQ to build a studio in Rusty Towers that enabled them to record their high-quality audio (3). Before that, they were - at various times - recording in a ‘yurt’ made of blankets and duvets for most of season one (usually at James Ross’ house or Martyn’s hallway, since Alex was - at that point - intermittently homeless due to asbestos problems).(4)

In 2016, RQ set up the Rusty Quill Forums, an official RQ fan-space where fans could interact with each other and RQ members. (5) This early arena for interaction would precipitate the more immediate (and much larger) Discord, Rusty Quill Official. Anil Godigamuwe, Community Manager, was the main force behind running and moderating the forums.

2016 was also the year that Mike Lebeau decided to gather a few people to play games and raise money for charity in what would become the predecessor to Rusty Quill Giving and Gaming. This event involved only Mike, Bryn, Ben, Anil, and Martyn Pratt (Chief Technology Officer). It only lasted twelve hours and they raised £700. (6)

Late 2017, Rusty Quill, in association with Historic Royal Palaces, released Outliers, a historical fiction podcast. Probably the least known of RQ’s podcasts, but very good and well-done. (Yes, this is a plug for Outliers. Go listen! It's great!)

In 2018, the Rusty Quill Official Discord server (RQO) went live and most of the fans from the forums moved there. (7)

February 15, 2019, Stellar Firma, the improv comedy sci-fi show starring Tim and Ben Meredith, began airing.

Mike wanted to explore more of the video side of creating. On January 25, 2020, RQ Streams launched, and soon there was a decent amount of content generated on RQ’s Twitch channel. Video content would gain traction in the form of New Player Challenge (NPC). Many RQ members would stream, including Anil, Autumn, several editors, and Helen Gould (member of Rusty Quill Gaming and later promoted to Head of Inclusion). The streams would get big enough that RQ would eventually hire a few mods specifically for the streams (30). RQ Streams wasn't fiscally sound as a primary source of income, but streaming helped encourage community engagement.

In February 2020, Alex gave an interview to Haggis and Dragons at PodUK. The host asked why, despite their success, Rusty Quill hadn't been present at many events such as PodUK before. Alex responded that the company was dedicated to making sure they took care of their people first, but now that all the finicky backend admin stuff was finished, they could do fun things like conventions. (8)

A month later, COVID-19 shut down the world.

At this point, TMA had been running for four years, and - while relatively successful and critically admired- was still a smallish podcast, especially when measured against engagement levels of other fiction podcasts at the time. Whether COVID, the whim of Tumblr, or a spark that refused dim, the fuse on TMA had been lit. It would jump sharply with the season four finale in Halloween 2019, but when season five premiered on April 2, 2020, TMA was at its second highest peak in popularity , its highest only a month away. It would maintain a high level of engagement until the series finale in March 2021. (9) Whatever the reason, TMA had exploded, and no one could've predicted it.

In July 2020, Hannah Brankin, Chief Operations Officer and spouse of Alex Newall, became a director in the Rusty Quill company. (10)

In August 2020, Autumn Jarvis (longtime fan of RQ) with a history of convention organization came on as Community Assistant. (11) This role promoted her to Head Moderator of the Discord (RQO), coordinating communication between the Discord mods and RQ admin. RQ hired her to help Anil, as at this point, RQO had nearly 8000 members.

The official Rusty Quill Discord server (RQO) went from a reasonable 1000 participants to nearly 14,000 before its shutdown in September 2021. In August 2020 (a few days after Autumn took over), a group raided RQO, proclaiming issues of racism, ableism, and other accusations directed at Rusty Quill, but also at the volunteer mods. It was the only major attack, but from time to time small incursions would occur thereafter. RQO’s many mods (at least 11, at one point) were unpaid. Whether or not that was a good business decision is debatable, but mods were responsible for monitoring content that was Patreon-exclusive, so one might think a Patreon subscription should’ve been included.

April 2, 2021, Patreon-exclusive Inexplicables began airing. The show was initially met with a lot of positive feedback and excitement. The RQO channels were full of theorizing and chat, which Alex could be seen reading. While Inexplicables seemed ripe for a sequel, there have been no indications of future content.

In May of 2021, Rusty Quill launched the Rusty Quill Network. Many felt the network wasn’t explained sufficiently, but subsequent clarification from Autumn verified that RQ was not doing any of the following for the new shows that would be included under the network’s umbrella: producing, funding, editing, or creating. Apparently, the RQN was designed to act as a distribution and collective bargaining service. Unfortunately, this aspect was never made explicit to the fans by official RQ channels.

In September of 2021, Autumn was terminated. While Autumn has stated the reason she was terminated, it was on a private server and because RQ has made no official statement regarding the termination, I won’t share that information. RQ did ask if she would like to appeal the decision, but Autumn declined. Later, the mods organized a walkout in protest and quit. Only the mod known as Crunchy remained, and was the last one to close out the server. Later, he would admit that the mods actively decided not to include him in this decision. (12) While there were RQ Streams mods, they, unfortunately, didn’t have as much power as the Discord mods and were unable to assist much (30). RQ released a statement on September 15, 2021 regarding the closing of the Discord and the mod walk-out, and RQO has been dark ever since. (13)

RQ Streams, it’s worth mentioning at this point, had some mods specifically for streams, but also relied on the Discord mods to moderate the chat during streams (30). Ultimately, when the mods walked out, RQ Streams was also forced to stop.

Since the mod walkout, any events run and sponsored by RQ have been modded by volunteers, and usually small enough that it hasn’t become an issue (RQGG21 being modded by some Discord mods, with other Gather events modded mostly by RQ employees) (30).

April 26, 2022, Chapter and Multiverse, the analogous successor to Rusty Quill Gaming run by Maddy Searle, the former lead editor of Stellar Firma, began airing. It would conclude its first season in August. While RQ has indicated that C&M will continue, it has been postponed until 2023. However, Maddy Searle posted a tweet (since deleted) indicating she is no longer employed at Rusty Quill. After claims that Maddy was reprimanded and forced to take down the tweet, RQ would later clarify that they have a 48 hour confidentiality policy regarding things like that, and that's why they requested the removal of the tweet for that time. Maddy hasn't reposted the tweet, or commented publicly on her reasons for doing so.

On June 10, 2022, Mike announced he was leaving Rusty Quill. (14) Although others had also streamed on RQ’s Twitch in the past, he was the primary force driving its relevance and the channel has remained mostly unused since the aforementioned Discord mod walkout, most likely citing lack of moderation as a main concern.

August 2, 2022, the original RQ production Trice Forgotten premiered. Trice Forgotten continues to update.

As per the September 21, 2022 Patreon email, Cry Havoc! and Neon Inkwell, the other RQ original productions, have been postponed to 2023. (29)

With their three original podcasts completed and many future projects postponed, Rusty Quill had reached a quiescent stage. Patreon emails were sparse and while RQ maintained a loyal base, activity around the company had slowed.

Then -

October 10th, 2022 a string of strange letters appeared in a Patreon email. (15) Fandom quickly deduced that it wasn't a mistake, but rather a cipher. A Discord server dedicated to cracking the code sprang up almost immediately and fandom deciphered the cryptic letters in a few hours. This began a mini-ARG leading to the announcement of a Magnus Archives "side-quel": The Magnus Protocol. On a subsequent livestream, Alex confirmed the sequel and announced that the project would be fully funded by a Kickstarter. No money would be taken from Patreon, current or proposed shows, income generated through ads, agreements, merch, RQN residuals, etc. (16)

The Magnus Protocol Kickstarter launched November 22. It was fully funded in less than one minute, and as-of publishing this post is currently at £ 624,268, 4162% of their original goal. Release for the project is expected in October 2023 and is said to follow two British civil servants, Alice and Sam, as they deal with the legacy of the burned-down Magnus Institute of Manchester. Curious, as the Magnus Institute from the original series was very much based in London. (17)

On December 12, 2022, Newt Schottelkotte - marketing director for the Fable and Folly podcast network - released an opinion article on Medium detailing several allegations against Rusty Quill. (18) Schottelkotte submitted the article to several publications that declined to publish it. They decided to self-publish on Medium, which allows for independent publication. In good faith, I won’t presume this was a targeted attack by another network, but rather the opinion of a contingent of industry professionals who tried to represent those allegedly wronged by Rusty Quill as a production company (perhaps taking advantage of the timing of the new Kickstarter to gain traction for their post - but that one can only leave to speculation). The testimonies were anonymous.

December 13, 2022, after a resulting influx of polarizing social media posts, RQ released an official response to the Medium article, refuting most points raised. (19)

Now, before I get into less fact-based territory, and knowing RQ intends to announce a more recent Operations Update in the new year, I feel it's relevant going forward to mention that for all the talk surrounding both sides of the story, the composition of Rusty Quill is not as large as some might think, considering the assumptions of some of the claims. In 2021 the company conducted a voluntary internal census on company makeup and satisfaction. (20) At the time they had 28 employees. 23 responded, and here are a few interesting tidbits they had to say:

91% identify as Neurodivergent

30% identify as non-cisgender; 48% identify as female, 26% as male, and 26% as not exclusively one of those categories

30% are people of color

30% identify as bisexual, 9% pansexual, & 9% queer. 26% identify as heterosexual. These numbers may or may not include the 17% who identify as asexual.

This census doesn’t include individual contractors (which comprises most of their editors and voice actors). In the census, RQ recognized their huge deficit in hiring people of color. RQ maintains a flat pay structure across all departments (including leadership), which - thanks to Patreon funding - stands above the London cost of living rate. (21)

The Less Than Objective Part

Rusty Quill is a small company. The average number of employees for 2022 was 21. (22) This number doesn't reflect possible layoffs/terminations since then. Most of its voice actors and editors are contracted. This is intended partially to allow flexibility on both RQ and the contractors’ part as well as enable RQ to diversify their talent without the contractual obligation of employment (the UK doesn’t recognize ‘at-will’ employment; termination must be for a cause). Meaning that even if the company finds itself in the position of having to terminate employees, it maintains the possibility of working with those same people as contractors to help out RQ financially, but also to allow those employees to find more stable or long term jobs in the interim.

However, holding onto only an essential team of staff (as you find in any small company, but especially in an industry without historical regulation - often relying on a presumed integrity of nebulous industry standards, as opposed to codified protections) employees are often forced to wear many hats. Most often voluntarily, but often to their detriment. This manifested in such things as Autumn transcribing Stellar Firma, without any transcription experience, or the continual mishap of Alex or Hannah responding to delicate situations with off-the-cuff inexpertise (generally sweet and earnest, but not as diplomatic or clear as needed - something that larger companies potentially avoid with dedicated teams regarding media training), but is perhaps most apparent in the early stages of RQG and TMA where Alex, in addition to being a primary player/voice actor, did the majority of the editing and mastering until Lowri Ann Davies joined halfway through RQG. Based exclusively on the runtimes of RQG episodes/specials (not including how long it actually took to edit down recorded footage to what we hear), Alex edited a total of 217 hours of RQG, over 9 whole days, or nearly 83% of the content. (23) Early specials, behind the scenes specials, and Q&As often contain jokes about Alex needing to sleep. This sort of work-life balance should not be necessary for success, but many creatives know that it’s the unfortunate reality for many startups without the resources of a major media network backing them.

And, as evidenced here, despite its exposure and popularity Rusty Quill’s resources were limited from the start. Alex and Hannah, as directors and main shareholders in the company, are solely responsible for the company’s fiscal viability. As such, I think this has led to some decisions where one or both of them have taken over projects or refused to delegate when it would have better served that project or even themselves. But there’s also something to be said for a duty of care, and the difficulty of giving that up.

In such an environment, it’s not surprising that a large part of smaller podcasting companies’ revenue is generated through fan-funding. The grassroots organization of a devoted fanbase can help grow a company without access to other funds or a robust marketing budget. Steady patreon subscriptions can make up for periods of instability in advertising returns, but issues begin to arise when companies encounter something like RQ did: an explosion in popularity that lacked sustainability, and the contingencies and strategies to deal with that. However, it’s a double-edged sword. The importance of Patreon and fan goodwill can help create the mentality that RQ owes the fans something. Nothing in Patreon's TOS requires artists to offer rewards; the idea behind Patreon - at least to me - is that in exchange of supporting someone making art you enjoy, you occasionally get glimpses into the creative process behind that art. This idea has evolved over the years, but I think Patreon has become, to some people, more transactional: I pay you five dollars, you give me one piece of art. This more give-take mentality can lead to feelings of ownership; fans pay for RQ to exist, therefore they should have a say in how RQ conducts its business. Whether RQ views it that way or not.

RQ has begun to diversify their income, however, with the creation of the RQN, where they get fees from providing marketing and distribution services for other podcasts. Although RQ has experienced a drop in Patrons, it has returned to subscription levels similar to those before the meteoric rise of TMA and is hopefully navigating towards finding a balance between delivering what fans want without enabling an unhealthy relationship of catering to what’s profitable instead of what they want and are excited about making. (24)

Fandom and The Illusion of Closeness

There’s no denying that many creatives have an intimate relationship with their audience, especially smaller and/or newer ventures. RQ had, for a long time, quite a close relationship with its fans. It’s still visible in the old forums, where Alex, Mike, and Anil could be seen posting with regularity. There are many images from past RQGGs (even up to RQGG19) where RQ staff and fans casually mingled.

However, there is an issue with something like Discord where the immediacy of contact creates the illusion of intimacy. The ability to ping a creator facilitates the idea that the creator is therefore available and willing to be pinged. It’s not so much an issue when there are 1000 people on a server with only a hundred or so active, and only a fraction of them irregularly contacting creatives. When that number goes up, even proportionally, it results in a huge uptick in forced contact. It’s been theorized that both Jonny Sims and Ben Meredith stepped back from the Discord server because of crossed boundaries. Another staff member had a fan harass them to the point of needing to block said fan and the fan was eventually banned from RQO by the mods.

On the other hand, Community Manager Anil continued to always be available and Alex & Hannah would occasionally hop on and respond when they were active. This apparent ease of access can trick people into believing that they are close to the creators, and the illusion of this perceived relationship can be problematic for both parties.

In these circumstances it’s natural for creators to develop a persona to protect themselves. There’s nothing wrong with this and it is, in fact, a healthy and smart thing to do; the person fans interact with is not, exactly, who that person is. Not to say they’re fake or lying, but that creators deserve a degree of privacy that comes from concealing certain things about themselves that fans aren’t - and shouldn’t be - privy to. Fans’ insistence on access to creators and their secrets can be extremely difficult and exhausting, especially for creators who don’t have a publicity or security team. For instance, Jonny was forced to reveal his past with drug abuse when people incessantly questioned and berated him about his portrayal of drug abuse in "Strung Out," a season five episode of TMA (notably also when the fandom had exploded beyond the comfortable community of its earlier seasons). Fan entitlement to knowledge about creators and access to them can be particularly egregious in this sort of setting where the creators are trying to maintain the intimate community they used to enjoy, one that (at least in the initial stages) they relied on financially, while dealing with a huge influx of new fans. Even Critical Role, arguably the largest podcast in the actual-play genre, has suffered from a similar issue, though the actors in CR have much more experience than RQ.

Rusty Quill is a business and their dealings are of proprietary interest. Like any other entertainment company, they produce a product for consumption but the way they run internally isn’t something consumers are (or should be) privy to - barring gross mistreatment which, despite claims, hasn’t been proven. When Autumn was terminated, RQ didn’t release an official statement on what led to the termination. While many fans wanted to know, RQ has no obligation to reveal internal processes like hiring/firing, especially if details of such could affect an employee’s future employment. Identifying particular employees as responsible for certain policies or potentially upsetting updates could open that employee to threats or harassment (which RQ experienced before).

The Disproportionate Critique of Small Creators

It would be ridiculous to assert that Rusty Quill has never made a mistake - sometimes repeatedly - or a misstep. They’ve issued an apology multiple times for the lack of sensitivity in their content or a miscommunication on their end. Miscommunication was, in fact, a key factor in why the Discord mods left. RQ tried to preemptively combat these issues by hiring Helen Gould as a sensitivity director to ensure their content had been looked over for things that could be harmful. Given their company makeup and the composition of their talent - both writing and on-air - RQ has tried to diversify itself so that their content doesn’t come solely from the perspective of cishet white male. Stellar Firma would be the only show to suffer from this, however, it’s worth mentioning that on the production side Maddy Searle and Katie Seaton seem to have been brought on intentionally to avoid, or at least ameliorate this issue.

There is a pervasive issue with fandom as a whole to apply a more rigorous rubric against smaller and/or indie companies producing entertainment because they’re accessible. It’s easy to see why this phenomenon exists; when a person sees that they can speak to a creator directly, that the creator might respond specifically to those critiques. It can feel as if the consumer has more power in the relationship. Complaining about Disney cutting out a lesbian kiss in Star Wars, for example, will never reach Bob Iger, but if you want to talk to James D’Amato about a choice he made in the most recent Skyjacks episodes, he’s almost certainly going to respond. By feeling more intimately connected to creators, fans can feel empowered to be more aggressive in their criticisms.

A sustainable medium must exist between the two extremes of critique. A small indie company like Rusty Quill cannot be above criticism because of its size or its intention to do better - at some point, it must actually be doing better (which, I believe, it has and is consistently endeavoring to). Conversely, it can’t be upheld to a stricter standard than a larger company purely because its creators are accessible and will directly encounter the critique aimed at them. Rusty Quill has expanded their base of collaborators - which includes having an open pitch form to allow anyone to submit ideas - and made headway on wider and more accurate representation in their shows. There are certainly other shows and companies tackling and portraying difficult issues and diversity with a better outcome than Rusty Quill. That doesn't detract from the efforts RQ is making and shouldn't invite a disproportionate level of critique.

So What Now?

While it is fair to offer critique aimed at Rusty Quill and what it does, I think the benefits of this coming from a large audience diminish due to a few factors: quantity with no control for quality, purity culture, and entitlement. These things could comprise a much much longer essay, but I’ll be brief.

One of the huge benefits RQ got out of early Patreon release on the Discord was a limited quantity of feedback. Alex would show up to ask about the sound quality: if anything seemed off or if we had comments or noticed something. Anil would collect extra content warnings if needed, and some titles even changed when fans pointed out redundancies. Both Alex and (to a much stronger degree) Helen interacted with patrons about Inexplicables, including thoughts and theories. At one point, RQ created a gaming system called Ensemble and elicited feedback from people, encouraging them to play. These comments and critique are very helpful for RQ because of their pointedness. Contrast this to the response to the s5 TMA episode “Strung Out" - or the controversy surrounding a later episode’s perceived insensitivity to current events, necessitating a warning and apology before the usual opening theme (a perception generated before the public launch of the episode, stoked by assumptions and Twitter discourse).

Fandom as a whole has veered bizarrely into an obsession with purity - if something isn’t perfect, then it shouldn’t exist. RQ will not and cannot get everything right. It’s not a format made for easy editing and revision after the fact. It can be lauded for its achievements and persuaded to do better in a way that isn’t overly aggressive or hyperbolic. People tend to forgive mistakes if they like something and focus on them if they don’t, but it’s better to avoid assigning a moral value to something like representation - the effort and commitment is important. (For clarity - I believe it is moral and ethical to do everything you can to achieve accurate and diverse representation. The morality I reference here is more in regards to labeling something, irredeemably, as bad just because it doesn’t live up to your expectations).

Not to be repetitive, but fans in smaller fandoms often feel a sense of entitlement because of their ease of access to creators. If Alex is right there talking about the Trice Forgotten schedule, why shouldn’t he answer a prod about the continuation of Chapter & Multiverse??? The answer is that he’s updating you on Trice - not Chapter. Fans are not, and shouldn’t be, part of the internal machinations of a company, however close they feel, and why certain things happen or when isn’t always going to be obvious. RQ has varying degrees of success when it comes to updating their fans about timelines or happenings in the company, and while there is definitely room for improvement, overall, it shouldn’t be a requirement or expectation. That is to say - the relentless inundation of tangential comments or questions offers no benefit and can impose an increasing feeling of frustration: for the company, for the fan asking, and for the fans witnessing. Not even mentioning the personel issue. RQ has shown a willingness to acknowledge, apologize, and modify their content when there are complaints made against it. Because RQ has acted this way, it might invite the idea that they should have the same transparency and openness to comment about the way their business runs; of which they have no obligation to do so, and in many instances, definitely should not.

For instance, several people may have been let go from Rusty Quill recently, probably because of financial issues due to the downturn in the UK economy (see RQ’s statement for more specific reasoning). Although it is tempting to be angry or upset about it, businesses make decisions involving structure and the reorganization of employees in their company all the time. For a variety of reasons. Lay-offs or terminations may be needed in order to keep a company afloat. Often these legal reasons and internal processes cannot be disclosed, and barring that the individuals involved may not have consented to their information becoming public - despite audiences wanting to see corporate due diligence. The point is that while it might be comforting to know why things happened, ultimately it isn’t reasonable to expect a company to share those details or any others that have to do with its internal running or function.

Moving Forward

Rusty Quill is in a precarious position. The unexpected juggernaut of The Magnus Archives turned them from a small, emergent company to a well-known name in the podcast community. They were unprepared for it, very few people could be, and nearly three years later they’re still struggling to find a sustainable balance. RQ has had to adjust to the influx of fans, fan opinions, money, and the resulting issues of accountability. And now that TMA is over, they’ve had some time to try to adjust to not having that same monetary inflow. Whatever outward critique can be placed on them for how they’ve handled the transition, the formation of Rusty Quill Network seems to have leveled out their income in a way that will enable them to stay solvent, even if it means occasionally stopping to restructure and reorient. There is no provable model for success.

While some detractors may claim that the Magnus sequel Kickstarter is a huge windfall, it isn't necessarily so. Money made from a Kickstarter must go toward what is promised - hence the use of clearly stated stretch goals. It is against Kickstarter policy to give funds to charity, so the KS money will be used solely for projects relating to TMP. That money is spent and should be treated as thus and not a surge of new money into RQ’s coffers. It’s not a bail out. (25)

RQ has a brand that people trust and they should lean into that reputation, heavily promoting their new shows and focusing on getting those running. RQN seems instrumental in keeping the company afloat and therefore it’s understandable that so much time is spent introducing and promoting the shows taken under that umbrella (that’s part of the incentivizing service they offer RQN shows anyway), But RQ cannot expect the ad revenue from their new shows like they did with TMA and have to adjust accordingly. I hope RQ recognizes that they’re still mostly a small indie company with a surprise hit and allow themselves the restrictions - and responsibilities - of that.

As for fans, I think RQ should capitalize on the good favor they have and reengage the fandom in an appropriate manner. Livestreams are wonderful, but should automatically have slowmode to at least 30 seconds on any stream, 60 on a huge one (like the KS promotion livestream). It not only allows the on-air talent to catch some messages, but it allows the mods to filter easier. How they reestablish a team of mods is theirs to outline, but with better communication and potential benefits (i.e. a patreon subscription) it’s likely folks would be willing.

Secondly, I believe RQ should reinstate the forums. The benefit to something more static like forums (or reddit threads or whatever is similar) is the ease of moderation and the forced expansion of time. Without the instant chat function of Discord, it isn’t as overwhelming to participate in forums or threads. These should be official RQ forums and moderated (which won’t be as difficult as a Discord). As mentioned, compensation is a tricky subject because when you start paying ‘volunteers’ they can claim employment and it opens up RQ to a whole swath of responsibilities. A “Mod Team” shirt or pin, a patreon subscription, maybe some mod-creator meetups could be provided for services rendered.

RQ could possibly look into reopening the Discord, perhaps limiting it to patrons. While that would make it more manageable, it potentially leads to issues involving classism or elitism. It could also exacerbate the earlier issue of fan entitlement. If RQ decides to reopen the Discord, they should do so with a lot of consideration.

I'm a huge fan of Rusty Quill. There are plenty of times I’ve been frustrated or disappointed with them, but at its heart, it tries to accomplish what I think to be a noble and admirable goal. Rusty Quill seeks to create good art with an emphasis on highlighting diverse voices that might not otherwise get a chance to perform. And, from what I’ve seen despite some ups and downs, tries to do their best to create sustainable income for those they bring along as collaborators. The love the team has for storycrafting is obvious and that - along with their community - is where they should focus.

EDIT:

I started this post about three weeks ago, so the Medium article was a big surprise. I won’t dissect the article because that’s not my goal, but I do have a few thoughts.

So, let's address the article on Medium.

Here is the article so you can read it for yourself. https://medium.com/@newtschott/whos-afraid-of-alex-j-newall-ae3a67f3a5e1

Here is Rusty Quill's response: https://rustyquill.com/2022/12/13/public-response-to-an-opinion-piece/

This tumblr post speaks about an inaccurate quote that the article mentions, and I think is relevant: https://www.tumblr.com/dadhuddle/703488191401984000/journalistic-integrity-re-newt-schottelkottes-rq?source=share.

Here is a link to a tumblr post from Harlan Guthrie, creator of the Malevolent podcast, which is part of the RQN. I felt it important to get a point of view of someone involved in the network. https://www.tumblr.com/malevolentcast/703493906802868224/you-probably-already-know-about-this-but-an?source=share

The issues the article raises are very important. If these allegations are true, they need to be addressed. Newt being the marketing director of a rival podcast company and failing to disclose this for several hours casts the entire article in doubt because the conflict of interest is something ethical journalists would've avoided. (26) Newt also favorably compared RQ's practices to Fable and Folly. (27) Newt and the other two editors of the piece also provided their contact information to provide help with "research, job searches, and more" to former/current employees of RQ. (28) Neither of these things are inherently wrong, but Newt's connection to F&F casts them in a different light. This could possibly be construed as encouragement for current RQ employees or network shows to leave RQ for F&F. It's unfortunate, because this conversation needed to happen, especially if the purported issues are factual. Now there is a haze over the veracity of this article because of this lack of disclosure and the conflicts of interest from the author.

There has been some talk stating that podcast networks are not rivals. They can be friendly, they can share actors, they can share spaces. They almost certainly don't share profits. Every show added to a network brings in income for that network. If one of these networks dissolves, then the shows under its umbrella can move to one of the other networks, raising its profits. It's difficult to deny that one podcast network would benefit from the dissolution of another. I would identify that as rivals, even if they're friendly.

I don't believe that Fable and Folly had anything to do with this article. I don't even think Newt intended for them to be involved at all or for people to make that connection. It's the appearance of bias that muddies the waters. Most journalistic codes of ethics tell journalists to avoid conflicts of interest, real or perceived. If it seems a journalist has a stake in the outcome of a story, it compromises the neutrality and the authenticity of the piece.

And unfortunately, despite Newt's claims of a background in journalism (unverifiable at the time of posting this blog outside of editorial publications), the necessary practices to lend credence towards these allegations weren't followed.

This post represents my own opinions, based in my involvement in the community. I've tried to provide sources whenever I could, though much of it was lost when the RQ Discord shut down, or mired in the sheer breadth of content. If there's a blatant untruth, please let me know with supporting evidence so I can correct it.

Footnotes:

1. Establishment of the company and ownership as per the foundation documents.

2. Alex & Jonny working the same job James Ross gave them (160 Q&A)

3. Patreon funding builds new studio via Studio tour video: (the video is patron-only, so here is a screencap of Alex stating that Patreon funded the studio)

4. Alex was homeless for a while, retrospective 189.5 (amongst others)

5. Rusty Quill Forums https://rustyquill.proboards.com/board/1/general-board

6. RQ Forums post celebrating the first RQGG

7. Rusty Quill Official Discord goes live, via RQ Forums.

8. Haggis and Dragons interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkYsA50Ts9M&list=FLaf41raWk5sb2VhQcEcPpsg&index=27

(Alex talking about the company stepping back from the public 12:30)

9. Popularity of the term “the magnus archives” from Google Analytics

10. Hannah becomes director, via RQ filing documentation

11. Autumn becomes Community Assistant, via Patreon email

12. Rusty Quill’s official statement about mods walkout.

Announcement - plain text 15-09-21.pdf

13. Crunchy's tweet

14. Mike LeBeau leaves RQ, via his twitter

15. The first Magnus sequel ARG prompt, via Patreon email

16. Oct 24 Pre-Kickstarter Announcement Livestream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLOj5JKq-QU&t

17. The Magnus Protocol Kickstarter launch livestream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Xk1hgVY2cc&t

18 Newt Schottelkotte's Medium piece: https://medium.com/@newtschott/whos-afraid-of-alex-j-newall-ae3a67f3a5e1

19 Rusty Quill's response to the Schottelkotte piece: https://rustyquill.com/2022/12/13/public-response-to-an-opinion-piece/

20. Rusty Quill internal census

21 The end of the RQ census summary:

22. Average number of employees at RQ in 2022, via RQ filing documentation

23. RQG editing stats, courtesy of the LOLOMG: A performance review by Oscar Wilde team (the team theorizes that Alex was still mastering during that early gap, but forgot to credit himself) [additional note: LOLOMG was a fan project to celebrate the end of Rusty Quill Gaming] note added 10am - incorrectly attributed, my deepest apologies to Straw and their team

24. Patreon retention stats, via Graphetron

25. Kickstarter use policy

26 The lack of disclosure on the initial posting of the Schottelkotte article.

27 Comparison of Fable and Folly's practices to Rusty Quill's.

28 Contact information for the writer and two editors given to current and ex Rusty Quill employees and network shows.

29 Patreon announcement of Cry Havoc! and Neon Inkwell postponement (I knew I had this lying around somewhere!)

30 Some additional information from Crunchy (thanks Crunchy!). sorry for the awful paint edit job (added 16/12/22 7pm)

#rusty quill #rusty quill drama #the magnus archives #rusty quill network #the magnus protocol #that's like just your opinion man

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asexualasshat · 2 months

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Y’all remember the tiktok trend where grown ups realized that they’d forgotten how to skip. Headcannon that one, a few years after Derry part 2, Richie is being a silly sappy little fellow. Starts skipping while he and Eddie are a park or whatever. He grabs Eddie’s hand to bring him along for the ride. And Eddie??? Understands the hypothetical concept of skipping. And yet his feet? Doing a sort of botched gallop.

And Richie LOSES IT! Starts roasting him. And Eddie is freaking tf out. He’s yelling but also still trying to figure skipping out. You can’t really tell if he’s yelling more at Richie or at himself. And he’s still galloping away. Richie is on the ground, holding his face in his hands to muffle his laughter.

Eventually, Richie gets up and he starts coaching Eddie. Twenty minutes later, they’re hand in hand, skipping down the path.

Richie didn’t have a choice but to tell the losers everything. And the groupchat?? LOSES IT! At first? Just roasts tf out of Eddie at first. Ben comes to his defence pretty quickly. And then asks “when was the last time you guys skipped? Are you sure you remember?”

And the accusations fly right back at Ben. Asking him if he can skip. And Ben??? In his office wearing his fancy designer work clothes???? Takes a video of himself skipping. And he sure can skip! When he’s done showing off he comes close to the camera and says “we just had a daughter. I’ve prepared.”

And again, they’re going wild. Within minutes, videos start pouring in. Bev is first, obviously immediately ready to support her husband. She’s a dazzling skipper. She’d win first prize in a skipping competition. The technique is impeccable.

Stan is next. He gets Patty into it as well, to know one’s surprise. Neither is perfect. Patty’s footwork isn’t perfect but she has pizazz. Stan is pure technique, to the point that it’s awkwardly stiff. But the pair are smiling and skipping so it doesn’t even matter. Their own daughter just toddles around in the background. Kind of embarrassing for her, but she doesn’t know what embarrassment is yet.

Mike is out in a field, phone probably propped up on his water bottle or a log. He’s mostly just frolicking around, but there’s a few solid skips in there. It’s gloriously cinematic.

Audra is on camera next, and bill can be heard saying “show me! I want to see.” She hangs in the air longer than any mortal should be able to. Her flowy dress flounces out. She giggles in response to bill saying “wow!” and “you’re really good!”

But then hepassed the phone to Audra. Of course they don’t think to stop filming in between, so you hear all the shuffling. Audra says “okay, show me!” And Bill?? The bitch can’t get his feet off the ground. There’s no elevation at all. Audra is losing her mind. She’s scream laughing. Bill looks devastated.

A moment after his own roasting begins, bill texts back “so does this mean I’m a bad dad?” And immediately it turns to dad comfort. Ben’s “kids don’t usually start to try skipping until they’re four. You have two years to practice!” And Stan’s “your son is going to see you learn and grow as a man. You’re setting a great example.” Its really quite wholesome.

Obviously someone filmed it in the park. The world sees the graceful pursuit of Eddie learning to skip. Twitter obviously loves it because it so so silly and sweet. Richie tweets something stupid like (and funnier than) “bet your husband can’t skip, either.”

And Bev, because she has notifications on for Richie, immediately replies with Ben’s video and saying “my husband could beat your husband”

More videos start pouring in. Stan keeps their video as a groupchat exclusive, but tweets from his rarely active account “Richie I literally taught you how to skip when you were 6.” Richie responds calling him a bitch.

Bill posts their video saying “watch me realize I can’t skip.”

And later. Hours later. Many. Hours. Later. Audra posts a video to her insta story. She has taught Bill how to skip. Is it graceful? No. Does it have technique? No. Could you call it good? No. But goddamn he skipped.

Eddie holds it over him for weeks that he’s the better beginner skipper

#idk man this was originally supposed to be 3 paragraphs #I giggled so hard I blacked out and did this #it movie #reddie #richie tozier #fanfiction #it 2017 #it chapter 2 #it chapter two #it chapter two fanfiction #reddie fanfiction #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #Bev marsh #ben hanscom #stanley uris

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greenfrogartist · 3 months

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Hi! It’s been a while since ive posted anything

So, this is a fanart for the fic “metamorphosis” a Ben 10 fic done by the amazing writer shipwreckblues, also known as @the-stove-is-divorced on tumblr! This fic (and other fic by the same writer) kept me sane and entertained the past two days on my “road trip” and I can’t thank the author enough for that. At first I wanted to draw him with the cool changes he got, the eyes and the arm, but somehow the cat boy scene and Kevin reaction to it could not leave my head so I simply had to do it

Honestly the author has this unique writing style that I just adore, and his writings usually end up taking a comedic turn, even when it has angst in it (but then, just when the comedy lure you in a sense of comfort, the angst show up again and you get the chills and almost stop breathing because one moment we are laughing at a sleep deprived nerd and the next he’s stuck in thoughts with a metaphorical bridge ashes on his hands, burns on his body, and the laughter of his past bullies echoing around him and god I can’t stop thinking about that scene-)

Alright! Whoever is reading this, give the author a shot! I for one can’t stop stalking his fic

(Also, @the-stove-is-divorced if you see this, sorry for the background of the drawing, backgrounds are my weakness, and I didn’t even look up references for Ben’s house, but I really tried and I even did a study of Ben in my style before drawing this, so I hope you like it)

#art #fanart #digital art #another fanart #ben 10 #metamorphosis #ao3 fanfic #i love this fic #can’t wait for more

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ladamedusoif · 3 months

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Visiting - Chapter 12: If I Must Have A Future

(moodboard by @agentjackdaniels)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

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

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

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

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

Further A/N at the end of the chapter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks perplexed. You take a deep breath.

“What if you came with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LYDIAAAAAAAA!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honestly, Mrs -“

“MARIE. I told you.”

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

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

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

You shrug. “Probably the beef.”

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

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

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

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

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

His warm hand covers yours and he smiles softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s good with kids, isn’t he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I think of what?”

“You know what. Who. Him. Ben.”

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

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marie and Kate burst out laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for bringing me home with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have got to be kidding me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Lyd, you’re amazing.”

“That a yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See? Holding hands.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So then! There’s your answer. No?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So what does that mean?”

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

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

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

“So move.”

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

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

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

“What do we do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

You hug her tightly. “One final question.”

She nods and waits.

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

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

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

“Joe? Lyd wants to ask you something.”

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

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

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

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

“What do I think of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paris par train ou Paris par bus?”

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

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

“Bus?”

“Bus.”

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

“Excusez-moi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit. Look at this place!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lyddie?”

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

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

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

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

“And then?”

“And then…?”

“What happens? To us, I mean.”

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

But what does that mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you sleep okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that really what you want?”

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

You have closed your eyes, fearful of tears falling.

Say it. Say it. Be honest with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No message from him. Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some of your favourite places, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s funny, Lyd?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s a deal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Ben.”

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

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

“So something occurred to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking soaking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck. Maybe you’re right, Lyd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s really something.”

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t say no, Lyd.”

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

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

And you. He has made you new, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at us. Not bad, hmmm?”

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

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

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

“This is it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a new and marvellous feeling.

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

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

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

“Would you like to dance, Lyddie?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I love this song, you know.”

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

“I doubt it’s beautiful.”

“Trust me. It’s beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His cock twitches at the thought.

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

“I love this.”

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

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

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

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

“Mmmm?”

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

You chuckle. “Looks that bad, huh?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck me. These new?”

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

And of course: the stockings.

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

“Open your eyes, Lyd.”

You hesitate.

“Lyd. Open your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, Lyd?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

You nod.

“Use your words, Lyd.”

“Yes. I think so…fuck, yes sir.”

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

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

“Can I have you, darling?”

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

“I thought I was in charge?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are such a beautiful man.”

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

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

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

You go to speak, and stop yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

He opens his eyes again. “Everything fits?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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