#(but because i was like him when i was 18 and i still haven't forgiven myself for the ways in which i acted like him at that age lol)

[forcebookish]

as much as i'd like to see forcebook play their ages, i don't really mind them playing 18-22 year olds because i can easily forgive a lot of shitty behavior in that age group. it's a really rough time in your life, often your first time out on your own, when you might not quite grasp how dire the consequences of your actions can be because you won't "get in trouble." when you're graduating from Teenhood, there's sometimes a learning curve with "my parents ragged on me about X just because they're parents" to "oh they actually did know better i shouldn't do that shit" - sometimes you have to learn that on your own. add alcohol, the pressure of college, shifting identities, etc., it's a good recipe for some nice 'n' easy character development.

[yamujiburo]

I'm so thankful for you sharing the importance of protecting minors from sexual content. My parents and I didn't have much knowledge back then and I was exposed to this kind of stuff too early. I developed bad habits. I somehow deceived my family into trusting me way too much and, when I saw I had lost control and I asked for help, I saw my family was also hurt and they spent a lot on therapy and my anxiety medication. I have forgiven them for not knowing back them. But I still haven't forgiven myself for getting them through all that stuff. It's important to understand how much we need to protect minors from sexual content. Family members and artists, please pay attention to the content young audience is exposed to.

Of course! I can relate a lot to this. My parents were really good at monitoring what I was doing online for a while but they started trusting me more and I unfortunately started seeing a lot of stuff I shouldn't have but would keep it secret. Gonna talk about my experience a lil bit under the cut just bc I've been reflecting on it a lot recently (tw for grooming)

I gained a following of around 25K on deviantart by the time I was around 15/16. It was in the worst fandom too (mlp). I'd have a lot of much older men talking to me, drawing/writing nsfw of my characters who were underaged (they'd draw nsfw of myself and my sonas as well). It was so normalized for me and I didn't see anything wrong with it at the time.

I'd shipped Spike and Rarity at the time (very much do not anymore) and adult men would use that ship as a basis for trying to talk to me or get in a relationship. "We're just like Sparity! You're young but you're very mature for your age, so it's fine." I remember one guy trying REALLY hard to try and get me to move in with him. I was pretty creeped out then, but like holy shit that's SUPER creepy and I'm fortunate that he didn't keep trying after I gave him a hard "no".

It bled into my real life a bit when I met a 22 y/o man who asked me out when I was just 16 just turning 17. Luckily the relationship was NOT long lasting (I think he realized that I'm a very boring person LMAO) but I think about how I thought that that was a perfectly normal. I'd date go on to date people who were probably too old for me.

Also around when I was 16/17, people started shipping me with another artist in the fandom who was several years older than I was (side note: nothing wrong with an age gap! but it's very not okay when there's "waiting" for someone to be of legal age involved). I did end up dating said artist after I turned 18 and it was fine, I wasn't hurt or anything but I did find weird that we were shipped when I was still a teenager looking back (there was also nsfw drawn of us together before/when we were dating)

I just had such a warped sense of reality for a long because of this shit. I'm glad there's more conversations about this stuff and it's more known that adults should have little to no personal interaction with kids on the internet and vice versa. There's way too many stories of kids getting taken advantage of in fandom spaces. I think I got off fairly lucky all things considered. But bottom line YES kids need to be protected online and their exposure to sexual content/adult spaces should be limited or monitored. It's also really tough though because not all kids have adults in their real life that they can trust or go to to ask questions about sex so they seek solace in adults online and it's just a constant cycle.

I'm honestly unsure of what to do about that and I don't have all the answers but I ultimately just don't want kids online to end up in similar positions I was in when I was younger. I just do my best

[heavyhitterheaux]

Boys Day Out

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

Synopsis: First Lady sends her favorite boys Jack, Axel, and Urban to the Chelsea game

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

Requested by: 1/3 of hot chips and bad decisions @hoodharlow 😘

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Hearing the doorbell ring,  you checked the security cameras to see that it was Blanca and Jessica and quickly went to open the door from your spot on the couch that you had been sitting on.

Once they stepped into the house, they took notice of how quiet it was and looked at you confused.

“Where is everyone? Because I don't think I have ever heard your house this quiet.” Jessica whispered, ultimately waiting for her nieces and nephew to tackle her. Because she knew that it was only a matter of time.

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” Blanca added as the two of them followed you into the kitchen as you poured all three of you a glass of red wine.

“Umm, Y/N? It's 9 in the morning.” Blanca called out to you once you had slid her glass in front of her seeing as you still haven't said anything.

“I'm fine, just taking it all in and it's 5 o'clock somewhere.” You said while sighing and immediately downing your glass and opting now to drink straight from the bottle.

“I-......” Jessica started to say as she and Blanca exchanged a look.

“Do we….”

“No, you do NOT need to call him.” You blurted out immediately knowing she was talking about Jack.

“We're going to have to disagree with you there.”

“I sent him, Ax, and Urb to London for the Chelsea game because they were getting on my last nerve. Not Axel, but the other two. I love them to pieces, but got damn. I needed a breather. Jack has been up my ass lately.”

“Uh? When is he not? That's your husband?” Blanca asked you not understanding because there was never a time that you didn't want to be around him.

“I'm trying to plan something for him that's really special and I can't do that when he is breathing down my neck. Now add three little people into that equation. I can't even pee by myself anymore without one of my four children, yes, I said four but I should have said five because Urban is my oldest banging on the door. Last night I was this close to sleeping in the bathroom with the door locked.”

“And Jack would have still broken down the door to get to you.”

“Correct.” You sighed while continuing to sip from the wine bottle.

“But where are your other two?”

“With my parents. I called my mom this morning and I was like you begged for grandchildren so come and get them.”

“I literally CANNOT.” Blanca exclaimed while laughing.

“I put Ivy and Autumn on the doorstep with their backpacks with clothes and toys for the entire weekend and I was like see you next week. I really wanted to say see you when you're 18, but that wouldn't have gone over well so now I have been sitting in silence and I am not complaining one bit.”

Meanwhile, Jack, Urban, and Axel had just landed in London and on the way to the hotel, Ax asked Jack for his phone.

“Daddy, can I see your phone?”

“What do you need it for, bubs?” Jack asked as he stuck his hand in his pocket to get it out.

“I need to talk to mommy.” Ax answered without missing a beat and Jack knew that it was only a matter of time. 

“Hold on, let me facetime her.”

You answered on the second ring and all you saw was a fluffy head of brown curls.

“Mommy!”

“Hi my baby boy. Move the phone from your face a little. All I can see is your hair!”

Jack helped him adjust it so now you could see both of them.

“There's my two handsome boys. Well three because I know Urban is there somewhere too.”

“I still haven't forgiven the two of you for leaving me at wing stop.” Urban said while leaning over so that you could see him too.

“Urby! That was ONE time!”

“One time too many!”

“Wifey, what are you up to?” Jack asked as he saw you nursing a bottle of red wine. Little did he know, this was your second.

“Enjoying sitting in complete silence besides B and Jess.”

“I…. Not hot chips and bad decisions!”

“Yes, hot chips and bad decisions! Leave us alone!”

“Jack, stop getting on your wife’s nerves!” Jack heard Jessica say as he saw her walk past in the background.

“Jessica! And don't eat all my snacks either!”

“Well I have to because we came to watch the game with wifey and keep her company!”

“Baby? Since when do you watch soccer?” Jack asked while looking at you confused.

“Since today. And I always used to watch you play anyway.”

“Mommy, I miss you.” Ax piped up and you could feel the tugging of your heart strings.

“Ax… we literally just got here.” Jack said while shaking his head and Urban stifled a laugh.

“Daddy, you just said that you missed mommy before we called her.”

“I…. it be your own kids.”

“I miss you too bubs!” You said and saw him crack a small smile.

“But you don't miss your husband?!”

“Yes of course I miss my baby daddy, but you and Urby have been getting on my LAST nerve this past week.”

“Wait! NOW WHY AM I IN IT!?” Urban exclaimed while leaning back over into the camera and looking confused.

“Urban Henry… don't go there with me. You and your best friend act more like toddlers than my actual toddlers.”

“I… I'm going to get you for that when I get back.”

“Mm hmm, sure. Anyway, I love all three of you very much, but especially Axel Wyatt. And have fun at the game. And Axel?”

“Yes, mommy?”

“Be on your absolute best behavior for daddy and Uncle Urby. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Listen to everything that they say, okay?”

He eagerly nodded his head as you then focused your attention on Jack.

“I love you, smush.”

“I love you too, baby girl. Promise to call you later.”

The three of you were in the kitchen making snacks for the game when a picture suddenly came through on your phone from Jack.

Smush- I thought the shirt was fitting so I had to buy it. We're eating and then going to the game. Hot chips still got you in one piece over there?

You- I'm about to yell and you know why I'm about to yell but I'll give you a chance to fix it first. Send me a pic of Ax in five minutes and what I see will determine if I kick you and Urban’s ass. And yes I am in one piece, but you and Urby won't be if you don't fix what's wrong

Urban was sitting across from Jack and saw how his face got a confused expression and immediately asked what was wrong.

“Do you see anything wrong with the pic of Ax I took?”

“No. It looks fine.”

“Then why did she send me this?” Jack asked as he shoved his phone towards Urban who instantly rolled his eyes.

“Why am I ALWAYS in it!? And what in the world are we supposed to fix in five minutes!?”

“Your guess is as good as mine! Even though there's an entire ocean between us, I take her threats seriously.”

“Only a matter of time before she shows up if we don't fix it.”

Jack quickly sent you another text telling you how confused he was.

Smush- Baby, I'm not understanding 😕 

You- You have three minutes

“URB! HELP!” Jack yelled while shoving his phone towards him.

“WHAT YOU YELLING FOR?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU IF I DON'T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON EITHER?!”

“This is just as bad as when I thought I lost my wedding ring.”

“Had us both stressed out but she had it the whole time.”

“Bubs, finish up your food so we can get to the stadium and put on your coat.”

“But I'm not cold, daddy.”

“Ax, if we go home and you end up getting sick, your mother will not be happy with me so put it on. And put your hat on too.”

“So, you want me to be hot?”

“Axel, put them on and put them on now before I call her.”

“Fine.”

It was the middle of the game when the three of you were watching in your living room when the camera suddenly cut to Jack, Urban, and Axel and your eyes instantly went wide as you grabbed your phone. Jack still didn't figure out what was wrong with the picture of Axel that he had sent you earlier, but seeing him at the game without his coat on while Jack and Urban was wearing theirs had you instantly annoyed. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a sick Axel because he is literally Jack in a little kid's body and acted exactly how he did when he got sick.

“Why doesn't Axel have on his coat?” Jessica asked as your fingers were flying across your  phone screen asking your husband the exact same thing.

“That's what I'm asking him right now.”

You- Jackman Thomas Harlow

Smush- 👀

Smush- Whatever it is, I didn't do it and neither did Urban because I know you’re about to throw him in there too

You- If our child comes back to Louisville sick, I will not be happy

Smush- Why would he come back sick?

You- He doesn't have on his coat!

Jack then turned to Axel who had once again taken off his coat after he had told him numerous times to keep it on.

“Bubs!”

“Yes, daddy?”

“Put your coat on! Why do you keep taking it off!?!? It is 40 degrees out here and your mother will kill me if you have so much as a sniffle when we get back. And where is your hat!?”

“In my pocket.”

“Axel Wyatt….”

“Yes?”

“You have five seconds to get your hat and coat on.”

This continued on and off for the rest of the game and Axel only kept his coat and hat on for a total of thirty minutes between Jack and Urban telling him to put it on.

The three of them were now flying back and Jack was praying the entire time that Axel wouldn't start sneezing or spike a temperature. He was currently laid out on Jack when he felt his forehead and it was slightly warmer than usual and he immediately groaned. 

“She's going to have a damn fit.” He muttered to himself, but Urban heard him.

“Not your fault that he kept taking it off.” Urban responded while shrugging.

“Hmm, tell my wife that and tell me how it goes.” Jack replied as Axel shifted his position on his lap and cuddled closer to Jack.

Jack and Axel had been back for a few days when you heard several sneezes in a row from your husband and all you did was sigh as you walked in the direction that he was in which was your bedroom meaning that he was awake.

When he spotted you, he looked up at you with his eyes red as well as his nose.

“No. Don't you dare say it.”

“Say what, baby?” You asked him while coming up to hug him and reaching up to give him a small kiss which he gladly accepted.

Your immune system could handle it and typically while everyone in the house was sick, you weren't.

“Your son got me sick.”

“Oh, so now he's my son? Since when is he not yours too?”

“He's the one who didn't wear a coat for the majority of the time and I'm the one who gets sick. How does that work?!”

“Because kids are literally walking germs. That's why.”

Axel peeked his head into your bedroom and you motioned for him to come all the way in.

“Yes, bubs?” Jack asked and Axel sighed before letting out a fit of coughs.

“Daddy, you got me sick. I don't feel good.” He said as he reached up towards Jack so that he could pick him up.

“I did WHAT NOW?” Jack asked as he picked him up.

Axel didn't have time to answer, but instead sneezed on Jack who had a look of disbelief on his face.

“Seriously Ax? Bless you.”

“Sorry, daddy.” Ax answered as he did his best to cough into his arm.

“And mommy, I was so cold when we were at the game.”

“I….” Jack started to say but then turned back to look at Axel.

“That's what happens when you don't listen to daddy and you got me sick. Not the other way around.”

“I didn't start coughing until you did.”

“Okay, enough you two. Get in the bed, NOW.”

“Do we get cuddles from you?” Axel asked looking up at you hopeful as Jack climbed into the bed with him in his arms.

“For now, you're cuddling daddy because you are not getting mommy sick. I'll bring meds and food soon.”

Axel sighed as he looked up at Jack.

“You aren't mommy, but I guess you’ll have to do.” He said as he climbed on Jack’s chest and laid down while trying to get comfortable.

“Really, Ax?”

“Daddy, just try not to snore. I'm taking a nap, wake me up when the food is done.”

“As long as you don't kick me like you usually do we shouldn't have a problem.” 

“Not my fault you take up all the space.”

“You little…”

“OKAY! Both of you lay down right now.” 

Without another word, both of them did as they were told and you simply placed kisses on both the tops of their heads.

“Not another word out of either of you and Ax, the next time daddy says for you to put on your coat and hat in 40 degree weather, you do it.”

“But.. “

“Not another word, remember?”

This led to Axel getting a pout on his face and cuddling closer to Jack who simply laughed.

“So much for boys day out. Now the both of you are sick.”

Suddenly your phone went off in your hand indicating a text from Urban.

Urby Baby- Your son got me sick

You- Well according to him his father got him sick

Urby Baby- Can you bring me soup? PLEASE

You- I do something nice for the three of you and this is what I get in return? I have to take care of all three of you now that yall are sick!?! Do I have to do everything!?!?

Urby Baby- Come on Lil Bit, I said please!

You- Be over here in fifteen minutes 🙄

Liked by y/ninsta, blancahood, jackharlow, claybornharlow, jessicakelce, saweetie, druski2funny, dualipa, and 492,736 others

urbanwyatt: and it was at that moment, jackharlow knew he fucked up lmaoooo

lilnasx: who was he texting? urbanwyatt: lilnasx as Axel likes to call her, the boss lol jackharlow: I was fighting for my damn life in those text messages. wifey going off and me not having any idea what she's talking about y/ninsta: and now all three of you got me sick smh jackharlow: y/ninsta that leads to ultimate cuddles from me and Ax y/ninsta: jackharlow so he can sneeze in my face like he did you? jessicakelce: now you do something nice for them and this is how they repay you? outta pocket y/ninsta: jessicakelce same thing I said smh urbanwyatt: y/ninsta my soup was good bestie. thank you 🥰 y/ninsta: jackharlow babeeeee my throat hurts jackharlow: y/ninsta I got a cure for that 😏😏😏😏 jackharlow: y/ninsta wait, baby why'd you lock the bedroom door?! not you leaving me and Ax outside y/ninsta: jackharlow when you say stupid shit like that, this is the result lilnasx: jackharlow what the boss says goes jackharlow: lilnasx not you too 🙄

Taglist:

@harlowsbby

@babyharleezy

@hoodharlow

@stefansalvatoresgf

@jackiehollanderr

@primadxna-girl

@dessmxsworld

@cockslutslurper3000

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@harlowthot

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@thinkingaboutjharlow

@fluidsentiment

@charli123456789

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@venusvinc

@jackharloww

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@babygirlwilly

@amethyst09

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@bout-mine

@tattered-tales

@sisiking99

@dessxoxsworld

@gillybear17

@jacksdaycare

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@hufflewhore128

@shawtypoison

@fantasywritersstuff

[writing0305]

Prompts.

Fluff.

“If you tell me what happened I can fix it. Whatever it is.”

2. "This cake reeks of resentment and bitterness." - "When we get to the party I'm going to need you to stop talking like that."

3. "Nothing could ever change how I feel for you."

4."I think I might love you."

5. "I can hear your heart beating, relax."

6. “Can… can I have a hug? Please?”

7. “Your mouth says you don’t like me but the way you stare at me tells me everything I need to know.” 

8. "I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me"

9. "You know, ever since I saw you that day, I haven't stop thinking about you."

10. "Everything would be a lot easier if you fucking sat still."

11. "Glad to see that you decided to show up." - "I knew you'd be bored without me here."

12. "This may not mean much to you, but I have your back."

13. "There isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you."

14. "You need to know that I have grown to care for you. Deeply."

15. "Your jacket smells like you." - "Is that a good thing?" - "It’s… It’s comforting."

16. "I trust you. More than anyone else."

17. "I would do anything to keep her safe."

18. "You put a blanket over me when I was sleeping? What are we, an old married couple?"

Angst.

"The only thing about you that never disappoints, is your ability to disappoint."

2. "You couldn't live with your own failure, and where did that bring you? Yeah, right back to me."

3. “Holy shit… that’s a lot of blood...”

4. “Are you okay? does anything hurt? who did this to you?!”

5. "I don't want to see you!" "You can't be serious."

6. "You don't answer my texts or calls, how could I not be suspicious?" "No, you just don't trust me enough!"

7. “Who was that?”

8. “Just a friend, huh?”

9. “You two are so close, it’s adorable.”

10. "You are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down"

11. “Please, tell me this isn't your blood.”

12. “You were never going to tell me, were you?”

13. "I get everything I want"

14. "Get the fuck away from me."

15. "I don't know why I am upset about this so much. I never even liked him!"

16. "You know what's the saddest part? There was a time that I would've forgiven you if you just showed a little remorse. No more, though. I'm no longer a fool."

17. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

18. "... who did this to you?"

19. "...who's this?"

20. "What. the. fuck. is going on in here?"

21. "I need answers and I need them now."

22. "So, what's going on between you and [name] recently? You guys seem to have gotten close all of a sudden."

23. "Why are you so worked up?" "Because they wouldn't stop fucking staring at you like they wanted to eat you."

24. “I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?” - “I mean, I’m fine so it’s okay—” - “No, it’s not okay. Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy, thinking you’ve hurt yourself.“

25. "You lied to me. was i just a pawn in your game? the easiest one you can sacrifice ?"

26. “Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” 

27. “You know I’d do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything.”

28. “I’m not even gonna lie, I’m just so fucking obsessed with you.” 

29. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. "

30. "I wouldn't do that if i were you. "

31. “They would be so mad if they found out.” “fuck ‘em”

32. "You have no morals, you know that?" - "Morals will get you killed someday, dear.”

33. “Have you ever cared about anyone other than yourself?”

34. “How did you do that?”

35. ”Where were you last night?”

36. “He deserves to die after what he did to you. And I’ll bring it to him.”

37. “She's my date. Fuck off.”

38. “Why was he talking to you?”

39. “You won't go anywhere with him.”

40. “He touches you again and I won't guarantee you I won't kill him immediately.”

41. “You go near him ever again and I'll kill him.”

42. “Whether you like it or not, you're safest with me.”

43. “Yeah, I killed him! He used to hit you! What did you expect me to do?! Leave him alone?”

44. "I didn’t know where else to go. "

45. "Clean yourself up. You're getting blood all over the place."

46. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Pregnancy/Children.

“Our babies would be so cute.” - “Oh, yeah?”

2. “Wait- we’re having a baby?”

3. “Heartbeats? Plural? There’s more than one?!”

4. “That baby is lucky to have you as a mother.”

5. “Your child has been kicking me all day.”

6. “You’re doing so well sweetheart. Just a few more weeks. My superwoman.”

7. “Go easy. You are carrying my child.”

8. "Of course I'm pregnant! Can't you see that?" - "Well, I didn't want to assume and be rude."

9. "Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

10. "Well, we both made that baby." - "Don't remind me."

11. “I have a kid?”

12. “He/she’s mine too.”

13. “Anyone fucking hurts my kid again, I’ll kill them.”

14. “I have a right to be in my kids life.”

15. “How could you hide this from me?”

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #41

Batgirl (2000) #20 - November 2001 writer: Chuck Dixon...............pencils: Damion Scott inks: Robert Campanella......colors: Jason Wright

That month long hiatus turned into two months & change. Whoops. And I'm not really back on a regular schedule yet either, am super busy with real life stuff through the end of June at least, so this project won't be back onto a reliable weekly schedule till then at the earliest. But it's been too long since I posted one of these. so here we go.

We've got a pretty interesting issue from a couple angles here, in that it's sort of an echo of Cass's early appearances with Tim, where Cass first appeared together with him in his book, an appearances that imo didn't work very well or build an interesting dynamic or present Cass in a good light, but then Tim appears in Cass's book and is handled much better than she was in his, and they do take the time to start building a dynamic while acknowledging that the previous teamups were more strained than they needed to be.

Well we sort of have that again here, where Cass's first interaction with Steph over in Robin 88 was brief and gruff and had Cass acting kind of uncharacteristically rude and dismissive, but then Steph appears here in Cass's book and the interaction is a bit more substantial, with more of an effective dynamic built up, and with Steph handled imo better here than Cass was there. One ~could~ start to frame a pattern of Cass's creative team treating guests from other gotham books better than those teams treat Cass, an impression I admit to having back in the day.

However, that framing isn't (and wasn't) well founded, especially in this case. Mostly because, while this is Cass's book, Chuck Dixon, Robin's usual writer, is guest writing this issue. There's also far less of a disconnect between the depiction of Cass and her interactions with Stephanie going from Robin 88 to Batgirl 20 than there was for Cass and Tim going from Robin 73 to Batgirl 18. Which I suppose isn't too surprising given that Dixon wrote both Robin 88 and Batgirl 20, but it's also worth pointing out that there was far less time separating those issues than the other two. Cass was still brand new when Robin 73 released, and those writers not directly responsible for inventing her can maybe be forgiven for not quite understanding her back then.

I do think Dixon does a much better job with Cass here than he has when writing her previously, and while Scott's art certainly factors into it, it's not just that. Like, seriously, I've complained about Dixon in the past, but this is a good fun book worth reading if you haven't yet before I go spoiling it. It's also a proper Cass story - 'street level' story with no super powers or costumed villains, somewhat downbeat tone - despite Steph livening things up a good bit. Emotional/interpersonal focus, with themes of family connection, obligation, and strife - which keeps Cass's core motivations and relationships in mind even though they aren't brought up explicitly in this issue.

Honestly, I remember liking this one even way back when it first came out, and at the time I hadn't even noticed that there was a guest writer at all - though looking back there are a few tell tale signs.

Cass's attitude towards Steph still feels kind of uncharacteristically rude & aggressive, very much in line with her portrayal in Robin 88. While you can kind of feel them building a bit of a rapport over the course of the issue, you don't get the feeling of a fundamental shift the way we did with Tim's comments towards the end of Batgirl 18.

Then again, Tim is a self reflective and verbally expressive character, and Cass isn't, so a similar "I realize I've treated you unfairly in the past and I'll try to be better in the future" would have been even more out of character for Cass. Especially at this point in Cass's development where she's still more or less at a low point - living on her own, not really having any life or connections outside of Batgirl, 100% believing that Shiva's going to kill her in a few months. Which I guess is a fair enough in-character explanation for her attitude towards Stephanie, so there we go

That's a lot of rambling without even getting into the actual issue? I kind of don't feel up to the whole panel by panel playback, but it is a solid issue and worth going back to look at for fans of Cass and Steph - particularly as a pair - through the years. This isn't their first meeting, but it is their first adventure together, their first real interaction, and the start of an interpersonal connection that would come to be particularly important for both characters, a connection for Cass outside of her foundational dynamics with Bruce, Babs, and her father. Something they tried to do with Conner though it didn't quite take.

The set up plays naturally. Cass accidentally interrupts a money exchange situation for a kidnapping, ends up with a ransom note and a bunch of goons too dead and/or unconscious to interrogate over the kidnappee's location. Cass can't read the note, and she doesn't want to ask Bruce because she doesn't want to disappoint him by not being able to take care of the situation on her own, and she doesn't want to ask Babs because she doesn't want to disappoint her by demonstrating how little progress she's made on learning her letters. So she turns to Steph, someone she isn't worried about disappointing because, to put it bluntly, she doesn't respect Stephanie and so doesn't care about her opinion.

so a few things to point out from these panels alone - once again we see the most immediately identifiable difference between Puckett writing Cass and anybody else writing her - that reliance on narration blocks to convey Cass's interior thought process instead of letting the art do that work. Not that narration blocks are inherently bad, or used poorly here. They're kept short and sparing, they authentically feel like Cass's voice, and they don't clutter the panel art. As we've discussed several times, working with another artist they might even be necessary, especially with Cass's full face mask. Though with how Scott draws Cass I think they could have been pared back even further.

Speaking of Scott's art, I love these panels. The close up panels on isolated bits of text conveying how meaningless and arbitrary the markings feel to Cass. Her 'ugh' facial expression as she realizes all she's got to go on is this written note that she can't read, meaning she's going to have to ask for help. That panel with Cass and Steph sitting on the bed, lit by the window behind them is also amazing. I'm sure a lot of the credit there goes to Campanella's inks and Wrights colors as well, so yeah, once again the whole team for Cass's initial run really was great.

It's not just Cass, either. Stephanie's expressions are also fantastic here - in the bits where her face is visible. In costume, Scott doesn't do the drawn-through / shrinkwrapped face thing like with Cass, you can't see steph's expressions in the costume as that would mess with the look of her mask & hood, though I think Scott could maybe have pushed the expressiveness of her costumes eye shapes a bit more, spiderman style.

Some other just random bits I like in this issue:

Take out the speech bubbles and the target retinue and I'd love to have a poster of this panel of these two just sitting on a street light.

Though I'm not sure what the point of the target is here? I don't think anybody has a gun pulled on them?

Fighting as a team. Real dynamic duo stuff.

Oh, yeah, turns out the kidnapping was faked, with one guy pretending to kidnap himself to get money his brother had refused to just give him for his latest scheme. A fun little twist.

And we end on this nice bit which potentially sets up more of an ongoing relationship between Cassandra and Stephanie. And she does appear again periodically, more so than Conner did, including in the very next issue.

Adly, though, she didn't really become a regular supporting Character on par with Bruce or even Barbara. Which is too bad. As I said with Conner, the addition of a voice in Cassandra's life outside of Bruce & Babs, more of an emotional peer rather than mentor/parent/older sibling type, someone who could provide a more effective counterpoint to Bruce's emotional influence, would have done Cass good as a character, and might also have provided some appreciated levity to Cass's book, which, yeah, the sombre tone is intentional, but sometimes it can be a bit excessively downbeat.

And while Conner could have done that, Stephanie is a much more natural choice for it - fitting into Cass's street-level focus, plus all the natural character parallels with them both having villainous fathers - an obvious connection that somehow doesn't come up here.

Then again, the regular presence of someone as chatty as Conner or Steph might have been overbearing - overshadowing the less verbal Cass in her own book and working against that foundational principle of letting the art carry more of the burden of conveying the narrative and characterization. So maybe its better that Steph was used as sparingly as she was.

Still, there's a reason why a duo book pairing Cass and Steph was #1 on my comic book wish list for the longest time - pretty much right up until the new 52 reboot that removed the version of those characters that I was invested with from continuity. And the strength of the pairing can already be seen here in their first real outing.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

In the spirit of that reblog, could you tell me more about Luis? He's the primary whumper in lots of your writing and many of the war mages seem to sincerely loathe him, but then Mariano is shown to have a really trusting relationship with him and Luis clearly cares about the war mages at times. I haven't quite strung together the complexity of it all yet~

Ohhhh my god yeah this ask has activated my Cannot Shut The Fuck Up Disease so let's GO.

Luis is absolutely a complex whumper and hard to easily grasp. He has nothing but love and care in his heart for his mages. He's trained literally every single one since they were 18, and you can't not form a bond of some kind with someone in that time--and all of them know that he loves them. They know he would rather die before seriously, legitimately harming them on purpose without reason. They know he gets zero actual enjoyment out of hurting them.

Unfortunately, they're all special ops soldiers. People who, sometimes alone, are put in situations where they face capture and torture and unthinkable suffering. So Luis has to prepare them for these possibilities. He's seen what happens when you aren't prepared, back when he was one of the very first war mages on his own squad.

He's seen people give up and die, people he loved dearly. He's lost mages, Dimitri and Laredo's old squad, because there was an accident and (in his eyes) they didn't have training and clear guidance to fall back on (I will get to that in the stories though, it's something that informs the "you have to save yourself" standing order he has in place). Luis is someone who fears loss, especially loss of bright, young, talented mages. So he tortures them in a safe area with his own two hands, and teaches them how to read a torturer and captor, and how to mentally recover from the immediate aftermath, and how to escape even if it feels impossible.

He trusts his mages to follow his orders, and they trust that if they do what he wants, he'll treat them well. It's a basic sort of thing but it's necessary for their relationships, and generally he's very fair with not punishing them too harshly for silly stuff so he legitimately does build a good rapport with them all. If they get the training room, or are threatened with death, it's because to Luis what they did was just that serious.

Unfortunately, he does still butt heads with them, and he does still threaten their lives if they decide war crimes aren't something they want to do, all on top of punishing using their worst fears. Over time, no matter how much you love someone, that sort of abuse sours all the good feelings. The good feelings don't go away, bc when they're good they're good, but it makes things complicated.

Dimitri trusts Luis to not freeze him to death over simple disobedience, but he's afraid of him, and he hates him, and loves him, and if Luis approached him with an apology and changed behavior after prison? Dimitri would forgive him, because he was forgiven after making changes and working on himself.

All of the war mages feel similarly, really, because Luis' warmth and care isn't an act. They know that like them, he's also receiving orders that he can't just disregard. They may hate him sometimes, and they may disagree with him on fundamental stuff like "hey, perhaps stopping the war crime stuff could improve our lives in the long run", but they're all stuck with each other in a shitty, traumatic situation, so they make it work.

BASICALLY with Luis I'm exploring complex, complicated feelings about someone who has power over you, sincerely loves you, and who hurts you anyway bc I just think it's interesting! :)

[thenamesmobu]

Wait i think i haven't been keeping up with lore what happened when and why did devin recover what did i miss

HAHAH yeah, I haven't been spilling much lore in Tumblr, but more in Discord. But for this, I'll be catching you guys up to those who missed out on what exactly happened. So, 👏

Lore time✨️

Prologue: New employee

This part gives much context to the next part of the lore. You're free to skip this, but I suggest that you read it before moving on to part one

A while ago, someone new clipped into Devin's Parable. He was a new "employee" with the label 457 on his dress shirt. He looked young, scared, confused. And that young man goes by the name of Agus Dewantara, he was only 18 when he began "working" for the Parable.

Their first interaction and reaction to one another didn't go so well at the start. Devin nearly obliterating the poor young man and William was trying to calm both them down from the confusion and panic. Agus' first impression of himself wasn't great, because upon having a floating orange hand being pointed at him, he ran towards the nearest broom closet and stayed there for a few days, without any intentions without any intentions of coming out. When demanded to come out, he shouted questions on where he is, how did he get here, why is he here, how can he return home, etc.

These were questions that neither Devin nor William could give him an answer to. After nearly a week, Agus finally came out. Albeit forcefully. He was faced with having to accept his new home, inspite of retaining the memories of his family that he knows he had, his refusal for accepting his new situation, and his sole goal to find a way back home. During this era, he was grumpy, angsty, cold, and rude to pretty much anyone. He would often get into arguments with Devin about almost anything, he would also always deviate from the set story that was made by him. William was the only person he was slightly calm around because of how he's always so patient with him and never raised his voice around him.

Almost what felt like a year had passed. Agus, still refusing to accept his new fate, stumbled upon TK (which, if you know my version of Timekeeper, you already know that he's always up to no good) and they struck a deal with together, with the promise from Agus to set her free and TK making a false promise of taking him back home to the real world. And so, their deal was made. At first, it really seemed like TK was doing their part of the deal, but oh how wrong Agus was. He was immediately attacked and threatened by TK, and she called him a fool for trusting her. Alarms began to blare arounf the Parable, and it wasn't long before Devin and William showed up.

They engaged into one of their harsh battles, which ultimately TK lost on and was sealed once again. The Parable looked like a shipwreck from the fight that occured. Devin lost an arm, but he's used to it, his body would slowly regenerate it after a few hours with William patching things up for the both of them. Agus apologized profusely to the two and explained that he didn't know who TK was and that their intentions were actually horrible. He was forgiven and he was made to help Devin and William to restore the Parable back to how it was. Agus gave his respects to the two adult figures in his situation and began to look up to them.

Part 1: Mentor and Apprentice

Ok so it turns out I wanna make this part in a separate post because for spacial reasons djshjd but don't worry, I'll be linking the next part of the lore in the reblogs if anyone would like to read it. Untill next time, stay tuned✨️

[memorymessage]

thoughts on brooke schofield situation BEFORE THE YOU KNOW WHAT TODAY

stream of consciousness. slightly problematic, i assume

i sympathize with being influenced by rightwing grandparents, because that was literally me when i was a self-hating queer and trans person that thought trump getting elected was perfectly okay in 2016, in a house playing fox news 24/7 because you live with closeminded old people

not for me to forgive brooke, not for me to say it's understandable or give her a pass, since she was posting racially ignorant things, like saying race had no part in the shooting of trayvon... like, even when i was under the influence of my conservative grandpa and the anti-SJW propaganda of the time, i knew that racial profiling and prejudice was a thing and played a role

however, i also know from my literal firsthand experience of being a self-hating trans person falling into the rightwing grift of ridiculing other trans people that people can genuinely change. i had to make that discovery on my own, though. i had to break out of the influences of my household and the internet and genuinely form my own thoughts through educating myself. after that, i no longer agreed with my grandpa, and would challenge him and admonish his views. you can actually change your views, even in the house you grew up in that primarily upholds opposing views

i will never understand this mindset of 'you said this once 10 years ago that contradict things you believe in now. unforgivable'—and it's like, yeah? are we really saying people's shitty political views by proxy of their upbringing means that a person can never change? i know brooke's situation is different due to being a cis, white, straight woman. but i can also attest to being within a marginalized subset of people, specifically gender and sexuality, and i still criticized other people exactly like me. the brainwashing can sometimes hit THAT deep

now with all that being said

disregard EVERYTHING

because brooke schofield thinks adin ross and trump are super cool ya. not only that, but both her and tana have said some braindead political opinions on their podcast. and i'm not talking 1-2 years ago. it's 1-2 weeks ago.

so, obviously, she really hasn't changed. or, at least, she doesn't care to take the time to truly understand why these issues are important

(edit to add, she addressed liking adin ross's trump post, though it's still annoying for her to not understand that positive engagement with these things boosts their algorithm pushes. i'd like to avoid promoting the extremely heavy-handed wave of indoctrination happening to boys aged 13-18 that we've seen in recent years, thanks! liking a post ironically is still liking the post!)

but, i guess the point of all this is that people can and do change

though the jury is still out on brooke

lul

i really don't understand this 'never forgive anyone for anything they've done' mindset. it's perfectly valid to feel that they haven't changed, or that they aren't truly sorry, or they didn't educate themselves on how their upbringing hurt other people. but that doesn't seem to be the main rhetoric going around. i more often see people saying 'well, i knew better than to be like this at 16, so fuck this person'

like, hello? i am sorry, your saintliness? good for you for never needing to breakthrough a closeminded upbringing and need to educate yourself on social issues against the grain of your surroundings? i'm glad you were never a closeted, self-hating queer person that felt they needed to conform themselves to quell hateful judgment? you took a shot at brooke and hit a wide section of progressive people with conservative upbringings.

brooke may be another issue entirely, but putting an umbrella over people with a problematic past, like 'you can never be forgiven, i knew better at this age' is???? what do you want me, and others like me, to do? go back to being a self-hating, closeted, trans-critical trans person? that's all i'm good for due to having that background?

should go without saying, but i think the conduct of the person from the time of their upbringing should absolutely hold repercussions. if you were out there blasting slurs and spewing hateful vitriol, i'm not going to stand on the podium and champion the 'people can change' rhetoric in that context. during my worst years, even i was never actively bigoted or racist. harmful with my ignorance on racism by not realizing how big of a problem it actually is? yep. harmful with my own self-critical superiority complex on trans issues? yep. even passive or ignorant harm is still harm, but it is...less intentionally nefarious.

so, i think overall the nuance of someone's past does hold weight, and actions should absolutely have consequence. and there are some things that just... can't be forgiven. that's to an individual level, too.

i love talking about gender exploration now, and i love to help people in their own journeys if i'm asked, and i love to advocate for people's right to explore themselves in their identities. but do i think that gives me an automatic forgiveness pass from people in my past i likely made feel self conscious about their identity because of my views back then? nope. i literally deserve to be hated for that.

worse, i probably made people think they could relate to me or trust me with their similar life circumstances just on the basis of being queer and trans, only to end up being a proper Blair White. like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

again, i have NO PLACE to speak on racial issues, as i have not experienced the intersectionality of bigotry that is systemic racism. i will briefly say my understanding of differences between being ignorant to racism, to being not racist, and to being anti-racist, and knowing that active racism and being ignorant to racism often contribute to the same overall attitude of unconscious or systemic racism in society. hell, even being 'not racist' contributes to it.

(edit to add, after seeing all of brooke's tweets, it's EXTREMELY obvious that she was "actively racist" and not "ignorant to racism")

but anyway, yeah. it is not my place. i will defer to those it personally affects. the only thing i can truly speak on is my personal experience in being trans—a former trans-critical trans person. in no way am i saying that racism and transphobia have 1:1 comparable social impacts, either.

so...

problematic pasts, politically influenced upbringings, the varying degrees of offensive behaviors, individual growth, interpersonal forgiveness vs generalized forgiveness

it's all extremely nuanced

but brooke...

yeah

this is like 98% not applicable to her (and even more not applicable after seeing the sheer amount of racism she engaged in)

i guess i just wanted to talk about the holier-than-thou rhetoric around her

[curtiscroachblog]

Choose to forgive

Word for Today written by Bob and Debby Gass

Thursday 26th October 2023

'I forget what is behind, and I struggle for what is ahead.' Philippians 3:13 CEV

Forgiving someone who has hurt you deeply is one of the most difficult things you will ever be asked to do. You know you must forgive, for nursing a grudge is like nursing a baby; anything you feed and nurture will continue to grow. But that doesn't make forgiving easy. Try to understand this: forgiveness is a decision, not an emotion. If you wait until you feel like forgiving, you risk remaining trapped in the torture of resentment.

When Peter asked Jesus how often he should forgive someone who had offended him, Jesus replied, 'Seventy times seven' (Matthew 18:22 NKJV). In other words, forgive and keep on forgiving until you get beyond it. But note four things: (1) Forgiveness doesn't mean you must resume a relationship with the offender, especially if they are unrepentant and refuse to change their behaviour. (2) It doesn't mean condoning what they did or agreeing with them. (3) It doesn't let them off the hook; it lets you off the hook and enables you to get on with your life. (4) It doesn't mean you won't be able to remember it, but that you will have the power to think about it differently; graciously rather than resentfully. And one more thought: don't let Satan convince you that you haven't forgiven just because you still remember.

The ability to forgive is a learned behaviour. The more you practise it, the better you get at it. It happens when you look for ways to extend understanding to your offender and find something to be compassionate about.

[luveline]

baby fever, part five [remus lupin x reader]

"You are thinking so loudly," Remus mutters, exasperated. "What? Do you want a kiss?" 

"No," you deny guiltily. 

"Worse than a kiss?" 

summary: you and remus aren’t brave enough to say it, so you find ways to show it [16k] 

tags: smut 18+ please, fluff, new established relationship, marauders era, fem reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, post hogwarts

chapter list | playlist | my masterlist 

<3

Remus sounds exhausted over the phone. "Hey dove," he says.

 It's been a few days since you've seen each other, both busy with work, though he rings everyday when he comes home and everyday you answer. 

 "Hi," you say, yawning loudly and covering your mouth at the last second. 

 He laughs too much for something so simple. "You sound tired," he says. 

 "How'd you figure, hotshot?" you drawl sarcastically. 

 "Alright, alright. Do you want me to leave you to it?" 

 You slouch against the wall and wrap the telephone wire around your wrist, the red curls digging into your skin. "You don't have work tomorrow, do you?"

 "No," he says, sounding like he knows what you're going to ask and he's immeasurably pleased. 

 "Are you busy?" you ask suspiciously. 

 "I'm not busy," he says, humour colouring his words.

 "Are you lying to me? 'Cos James still hasn't forgiven me for you ditching him last Friday, and it's making me blue." 

 "I'm sorry.” You can practically hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. "How blue you are." 

 "Laugh it up!" you encourage him. "An immovable wedge has been driven between me and a good friend because you're a terrible liar, but I'm glad you find it funny. I don't know why I put up with you." 

 "What are you gonna do, dove? Gonna call your other boyfriend?" 

 You laugh as heat crawls over your skin. "Whatever. I was gonna invite you over, but that boat is sailing. Has sailed, even." 

 "Right, right. So if I come by in half an hour you'll turn me away?" 

 "Try twenty minutes and I might let you in." 

 "I can do ten if I'm staying the night." 

 You grin, lips pressing together to hide your happy inhale.  "I'll see you in ten, then." 

 "Alright," he says, voice lilting. "See you in ten." 

 You hang up the phone and throw yourself into a hurry of cleaning, first the flat and then yourself. You pile all the dirty dishes in the sink. You'll get to them when Remus is showering, you tell yourself, almost running down your own hallway to your bedroom. You throw the door back open and collect the contents of your floor-drobe, picking up dirty socks and underwear and jeans that you'd discarded at the bottom of the bed. You're still pants-less now, but there's no time. You were sleeping when he called and you look it – hair a mess, chapped lips, eyelashes sticky. 

 You scrape your hair out of your face and drag a flannel soaked in hot water over your face roughly, wiping oil from your t-zone. You freshen up and change your underwear. It's not ideal but it's the best you can do, and you still haven't managed to get a pair of trousers on when the door is being knocked. 

 You could shout for him to let himself in as he usually does but you're so excited to see him you rush to the door and smile like an idiot when he's standing there, unremarkable and yet a wonder. He smiles himself, brown eyes shining, thick eyelashes kissing at the corners with the force of it. 

 You've barely widened the gap to let him in before he's opening his arms. You jump up into them, laughing when he squeezes you tight enough to have your ribs creaking. His hands are familiar as they climb the length of your back, crossing over each shoulder blade. You tighten your arms around his neck and try to breath in his smell as casually as possible, which isn't casual at all. 

 He laughs and shuts the door behind him.

 "Hi, dove," he says into your hair. You delight in the sound of his voice, pressing your mouth into the bare skin of his neck in a half kiss. 

 "I missed you," you say.

 "What's a better word than missed?" he asks, hands falling back down, settling just below your ribs. You release his neck and drift back into his hold, thinking. 

 "Yearned?" you suggest. 

 "I yearned for you," he says, smiling smugly. 

 You crinkle your nose. "Yuck." 

 He nods in agreement. "Yuck," he repeats, taking your face into his hands. "Did you get prettier?" His thumb rubs over the curve of your cheek. He tilts your head one way then the other, humming to himself. "And I thought it was impossible." 

 "Stop messing with me," you protest, trying to escape his affection. 

 "I'm not! I'm not messing with you. You're very, very pretty," he says sincerely. Your chest fills with warmth. 

 You duck in for a second hug, this time to press the side of your face into his chest, embarrassed. 

 He pushes your hair flat away from your forehead and cranes his neck down to kiss your temple. "I missed you too," he murmurs. 

 You look up at him, chin digging into his sternum, and pout. He leans down to kiss you and you take it gratefully, eyes sliding shut in bliss. His kisses are chaste but plentiful, traversing from your lips then the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose and then the other corner in a circle of affection. 

 You peek through your lashes and find his eyes open. Your lips curve up into a lazy, pleased smile and his do the same. 

 "Quit your job," you tell him. He chuckles and you start to shake your head. "I'm serious. It's been, like, five days since I last saw you." 

 "Two and a half," he corrects gently, hand slipping down to cup your neck. "I can't quit, doll, but I would if I could."

 "If anything comes of my writing you'll have to be my house husband," you say, and then hide your face in his chest again, laughing nervously. 

 "You look like you need one," he says. You flinch up and scowl at him, following his gaze to the dirty dishes in the sink. 

 "You're so rude!" you say, though he's right. 

 His expression is soft as silk when he returns his gaze to you. "Are you still tired?" he asks you, frowning. His hands have moved again, squeezing your shoulders lightly. 

 You shake your head. "I was sleeping when you phoned." 

 "You can go back to bed if you want to, sweetheart." 

 You run your finger over a vein, following the stretch of his bare forearm until you get to the crease of his elbow where you wrap your fingers distractedly. You squeeze. The greeny blue of his veins is stark. He lets you have at it, returning his other hand to your face. 

 You look up at him and worry you might have lovesickness written across every feature. 

 "Are you hungry?" you ask him. 

 "Not really."

 "I'll make you anything you want," you press. 

 "Let's go to bed," he says, wiping under your eye with his pinky finger. "You look tired."

 He shrugs his shoes off and picks up his discarded rucksack. 

 "I thought I looked pretty," you grumble as he starts toward your bedroom, his hand on your wrist.

 "You can look both. And you do, much too often," he says, nudging you toward your bed. "Do you mind if I shower?" 

 "Knock yourself out, handsome," you say, fighting with your rumpled sheets to get comfy. 

 He rolls his eyes at the commotion and takes the duvet into his hand, shaking it out over you so it's flat. He pulls the throw blanket which had slipped onto the ground back under your chin and goes to turn away, hesitates, and kisses your forehead. 

 "I'll be quick," he promises.

 You push your face into your pillow and fight the urge to scream. 

 He disappears into the bathroom with his rucksack, the sound of the shower begins, and you let yourself giggle happily, hoping the rushing water will hide it from his keen ears. 

 You cover your eyes with your fingertips when the door finally opens, endless minutes later. 

 "You can look, I'm dressed," he says, and he is, your favourite shirt of his that you've attempted to steal twice now and never succeeded with a pair of dark jogging bottoms. His hair drips, water saturating the towel he has around his neck. "Which is more than I can say for you," he continues, walking around to the other side of the bed and sitting on the edge. 

 "I was sleeping," you say coquettishly. 

 "And if some other gentleman had been at the door?" 

 "You would've had to fight for my honour," you tell him, rapt as you watch him towel dry his hair. He tilts his head up toward the ceiling, pretty lips slightly parted as he scrubs his scalp roughly. 

 You sit up and reach for the towel, stealing it from his hands. 

 "What are you doing?" he asks. 

 "You're too mean. Stay still," you say, rubbing the towel over his head. 

 You dry his forehead first and then behind his ears, climbing up onto your knees with a hand braced on his shoulder for balance. His hand reaches up to cover yours and his eyes drift shut as you go. His hair is mostly dry after a minute or two. 

 You kiss his distracting neck. "There," you say, sitting back down. "Looking good." 

 "Thank you."

 You collapse back into the warm space you’d left behind.

 He leans over to kiss you. You smile and move up to meet him, slightly desperate for his mouth. You got to deepen the kiss and he laughs, pulling away regretfully to stand.

 "Two seconds, baby," he says. 

  You can take two years if you're going to call me baby like that again, you think to yourself, falling back on the pillow. You bite the lip he'd just been kissing and try not to smile. God, this is awful. I'm ridiculous, you think. Despite the scathing nature of your thoughts, a roll of bliss moves through you. You shuffle and cover your grinning mouth with the blankets. 

 He chucks his towel at the laundry hamper as he wanders out of the room. You watch him take a left into the kitchen and listen as the kettle boils. You really are tired and even Remus' company can't keep your eyes open for long. You'd woken up at four in the morning to catch a train to the city for work and the impromptu nap Remus had cut short didn't help as much as you would've liked.

 Your eyes were shut by the time Remus came back. You hear the clink of a mug on your night table, the squeaking of your mattress as he climbs up to sit next to you, a twin clink echoing as his own mug comes down on the opposite table. 

 He runs his hand down your arm. "There's tea if you want it," he tells you quietly.

 You nod as best you can manage through the fog, fighting to stay awake and listen to him as he sips his own tea. 

 Before long he admits a similar defeat, shuffling down beside you. The bed moans again as he turns onto his side and searches for your hands under the duvet. Tightly clasped in his, he brings them to his chest and leans down to kiss your fingers, one for each knuckle. 

 You squeeze his hands weakly and fall asleep, body curved towards him like half a heart. 

 Hours later the room is dark, your throat aches with thirst and Remus has somehow wormed his arms around you. Your cheek is resting against his bicep, face pushed into his shoulder, his other arm loosely thrown over your waist. 

 Your arms are cramped against your chest. You hold one hand up to his sleeping face and rub the line at the corner of his eye as though that might ease the small wrinkle away permanently. 

 "Pretty boy," you murmur to yourself, impossibly quiet. "My boy." 

 You drop your hand and turn your face into his bicep, to the stripe of muscle you can see peaking out his shirt sleeve. You're more than fascinated by his arms, lovelorn over every bit of skin on his whole stupid body. The white-purple edge of a new scar catches your eye. You drop your face down and kiss it gently, chasing the length of it up and up until you nudge his sleeve over the curve of his shoulder. This reveals a handful of scars in different colours and sizes. So as not to discriminate you give each of them a soft kiss too. 

 He'd left the bathroom light on. It throws a piercing spear of manufactured white over your bodies, your abdomen and his heart, a diagonal. It shifts as he shifts, as he wakes, his arm tightening around your waist. The other comes up behind your head sluggishly, wrist bent as his fingertips sift through your hair lightly and rest against your scalp, touch like the brush of a feather.

 "Sorry, I wasn't trying to wake you," you whisper to him.

 You can't see his face, pushed into his chest. You imagine him scrunching his eyes together and then opening them, bleary in the dimly lit room. Imagine him licking his lips as he pats your head. 

 "That's okay," he says, words stuck together like hot toffee. 

 The wire of your bra is sticking in your chest like a needle. You’re reluctant to move but the ache is something awful. You decide to employ your girlfriend privileges. 

 “Can I ask you for something weird?” you whisper.

 Remus moves back to look at you, smiling in tired bemusement. 

 “How weird?” he asks, squinting at you. 

 “Will you take my bra off?” And, at his startled face, “It’s digging into my chest.”

 His hands come up to your back, one under your shirt via the hemline and the other the neck. He’s very good with the clasp, almost too good, and it makes you both laugh as it pops open. 

 “Lots of practice,” he says with a hint of apology laced through. 

 “Don’t mind how much practice you’ve had as long as it’s my bras you’re undoing.”

 He chuckles and pulls the straps from around your shoulders before tugging it clean through a sleeve. He studies it for a moment. It’s a purple colour, almost grey. “Is this new?” he asks. 

 “It’s got matching knickers,” you say, nodding. He puts the bra down between you both and pulls you in close once again, his expression a shade from gleeful.

 “Is that so?” he asks through a smile. 

 “Brazilians,” you supply. 

 “Means absolutely nothing to me,” he says, breath fanning over your lips as he leans in. 

 “You’ll like them,” you say, and kiss him. His lips are chapped and you endeavor to help him out. 

 "I bet so," he says after a sweet kiss. "How's your chest? Hurting?"

 "Better." 

 "Are you sure?" he asks, lips pressed to yours just barely. His voice makes your skin tingle. You giggle and kiss the corner of his mouth. He goes on, "'Cos I'm this close to finishing my masseuse masterclass. 'Ve got good reviews." 

 "I'm sure you do but I'm feeling just fine," you say, pushing hair behind his ear with a charmed grin. 

 "If you change your mind.”

 His hand spreads flat and wide over your back. Your kisses are sluggish, voices cloyed, but there's a bone deep contentment to be found in his arms. You feel woozy under his light, slow touches, worse when he opens his mouth to invite you in.

 -

 You wake up before Remus does. The duvet has slipped down to his waist, exposing his chest covered in welts the shape of your mouth from one shoulder to the next. You see a flicker of his bright eyes peering down at you, his hands in your hair. A wave of fondness rises with the memory.

 You kiss his sleeping face and crawl out of bed, almost tripping over his discarded trousers and boxers on the way to the shower.

 Once clean you leave the bathroom a foggy hot mess and sit at the edge of your bed in a towel, staring at Remus like a creep. You don't care. You're happy to be a little perv if it's more time spent taking him in; his soft pout, his dark eyebrows and darker eyes, relaxed in sleep. His hand reaches across the sheets, as if he's looking for you even in sleep. Or that's what you tell yourself, indulgent and in love. 

 You intend on getting dressed but get distracted by your hand, a broken fingernail. You peer at it curiously. "How…?" you murmur to yourself, bringing your nail to your mouth. 

 Remus shifts. He groans. You cross your legs and raise your eyebrows at his performance – if he were a movie, it'd be R-rated. He stretches out and you watch in appreciation, your lovebites a patterning of warped purple kisses as he moves onto his side. 

 "Are you awake?" you ask softly. 

 "No." 

 "Does it help if I'm not dressed?" 

 He pauses his restless movement to glance over his shoulder at you. 

 "Oh." 

 "Uh-huh." 

 He forces himself to sit, looking a little stiff. You frown in sympathy and politely ignore the pooling of sheets in his lap and his morning friend, abruptly frustrated by the injustice of his condition. 

 "I wasn't too cruel to you, was I?" you ask worriedly. 

 He chuckles, voice still hoarse with tiredness, "You were very, very nice." He catches your chin in his fingers and pulls you forward to press a quick chaste kiss to your lips. "Morning, dove." 

 You absentmindedly take his hand from your face, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling towards your body. 

 "Aching?" 

 He winces. "Yeah. Few days." Until the full moon. 

 You try not to go overboard with worrying, try not to condescend or offend while still showing you care. You hide a mountain of fears every month, scared something awful will happen to him, or worse that he'll do it to himself. 

 "Can I make you breakfast?" you ask him. 

 His eyes say more than he does as he gives you his you don't have to look after me smile. It's slowly changed the longer you've known him into a thank you for taking care of me chagrin. 

 "I'll shower first, I think." 

 Your eyes flit to his lap and he sees it. You're both embarrassed, and then you're both giggling. 

 "I think you better," you agree. 

 He turns his hand in your hold to twine your fingers together, stalling. You don't care. He can stall all day if he wants to. 

 "Your nail," he says, lips parting, mouth an 'o'. "Oh no. What happened?"

 "I think it ripped washing my hair." 

 "Ah, that's why you should let me do it for you." 

 You grin. "Next time." 

 "You gonna cut them all down now?" 

 "Probably. I'sad, 'cos I don't have any jelly pink left to fix them." 

 The genuine heartbreak on his face is warming and hilarious. "What?"

 "All ran out," you say, nodding. 

 "And you can't get more?" 

 You shake your head at him, bemused. He probably doesn't actually care about all this, he's just a really nice boyfriend. "Don't worry about it. Go shower, I'll get dressed. We'll make breakfast." 

 He looks reluctant to stand. As if you haven't seen it all before. You roll your eyes though you're secretly pleased that he's the shy one for once and pull the towel from around your body. His eyes eat you up and his smile is blinding as he accepts your towel.

 He kisses your forehead, squeezes your damp shoulder and totters off with your towel held around his waist. 

  Idiot, you think happily. Endearing, though, to have this shyness still, to be in this 'honeymoon phase' with no end in sight. You selfishly, maybe unrealistically, hope it never ends. I'm willing to be this way forever, you think as you moisturise, as you dress, and I think he is too. Maybe we can be this lovesick forever. Please let us be this lovesick forever. 

 You're cracking eggs over a pan of bubbling oil when he joins you, similarly dampened as you were and in fresh clothes kept at the bottom of your wardrobe. He presses a minty kiss to your cheek and you sigh to yourself, because it is very, very nice to be kissed, often and sweetly and for no reason at all. 

 "Let me do that," he says, working the spatula from your tight grip. He bumps his hip with yours. 

 You give in grudgingly. "I can fry an egg." 

 "Why should you?" 

 You dig your fingers into his traps and massage meanly until his hackles are raised and he's cringing away from you. 

 "Get off of me, you awful girl," he says indignantly, "Before I burn myself. You want that on your conscience?" 

 You throw your head back and groan dramatically at his guilt-tripping, running your hands over his back instead. You weave them across his soft abdomen and lean your head into his back, face pressed into the damp neckline of his shirt. 

 "Yes," you say petulantly.

 "Sure you do. Sicko."

 He can't be too mad with you because his hand comes up, arm covering your arm. He watches the eggs and you feel his breathing, and the kitchen is full of sunshine. Pink, green, blue and orange light, the fairy crystal in the window showers you. A rainbow laps at his shoulder as he moves and you watch it, transfixed at this and the feeling of his body, alive, under your touch. 

 "What are we gonna do all weekend?" you ask. 

 He rubs your arm as he deliberates. "Um… nothing? We could go shopping later, find you some new nail polish." 

 "Feel how much your joints hurt right now and times it by ten, and that's how much they'll hurt later." 

 "I know that. Still, just 'cos it hurts doesn't mean I want to miss out on time with you." 

 "We can spend time here." 

 He snorts. "You just asked what we were gonna do."

 "I meant, like, monopoly. Actually, not monopoly. Yahtzee. Or hit and blow." 

 Scrapes the spatula against the frying pan, a metallic shushing vibrating up his arm. "You don't like hit and blow." 

 "You're good at it, though." 

 He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your fingers. You hug him tighter, always so dizzied by his attention. 

 "We could get really drunk and play backgammon," he suggests. 

 "I can't win sober!" 

 "'Xactly." 

 He moves to grab the plates and you detach from him, unwilling. He curses. "Fuck, did you want toast?" 

 You nod to yourself and set about making some for the both of you. Remus crams your plates and two mugs of tea on your already busy dining table. You can feel his gaze on your shoulders as the toast pops but by the time you've finished buttering all four slices he's dead set on the newspaper from a few days ago. 

 "Anything interesting?" you ask, setting toast on his plate. 

 "So many things. E.Coli in romaine lettuce in Sainsbury's." 

 You wrinkle your nose and take a big bite of toast. "Ew." 

 "Good thing you don't eat vegetables," he says slyly, bringing a glass of water to his lips.

 "Bitch." 

 Remus chokes, water dripping down his chin and onto the newspaper. He wipes his face and abandons the paper, socked foot brushing yours under the table. He chuckles to himself with his eyebrows raised like he can’t understand how he got here, and you feel the same way. 

 You eat breakfast slowly and with little fanfare — there’s nowhere to be and no rush to be in. Only time spent together. Remus eats everything and some of yours, you wash the dishes and set them out over the rack to dry. Remus wipes down the countertops and you push open the window as he turns on the radio in your small living room. 

 You can smell breakfast and cleaning spray and the hyacinth from the garden, your living room smells a little dusky, of you and him and a bergamot candle in the corner. You fall into a dance with Remus without speaking and soon your small flat is very clean. 

 He slumps down onto the sofa when you’re done. You kiss his lightly perspiring forehead, standing behind him, and he turns to you curiously. 

 “Thank you.”

 “You’re more than welcome, dovey. Half the mess was mine.” Not true, but he’s kind for saying it. 

 You wrap your arms around his front and nose against the side of his face lightly. He turns back to face the TV though it’s off. 

 He smells like your shampoo. “Are you tired?” you ask him. 

 “Yes,” he says honestly. 

 “Wanna sleep again?”

 He shakes his head. “I won’t sleep tonight.”

 You want to make a joke. You never really spend much time sleeping in my bed, Lupin, but it’s untrue. You do a lot of plain sleeping together, especially before a full moon; he’s not the energy or libido for anything else. You’re more than okay with this, content to cuddle with him for hours on end. Sometimes the feeling of his fingers between yours is enough to make you nauseous with worship. Reverence. 

 You try not to use his shoulders as you push up and turn on the television, nabbing the remote from besides the aerial. You dump it into Remus’ lap as you sit beside him, not touching but almost. He leans back into the cushions and scrolls through the meagre available channels. 

 His skin isn’t quite on your skin. Bridging the gap is always the same. You reach out with your hand slowly, knowing you’re allowed but not too sure as you drop your hand into his thigh, you rub your fingers into the softer part of his inner thigh and squeeze lightly, wanting to feel the skin under his pajamas. Remus’ nose bumps into your head as he slowly wraps his arm around your shoulders, dragging you into his side. A firm, solid gesture. He groans and you lift up off of your butt to kiss the scar running through his eyebrow. When you sit back down he’s looking at you impassively. 

 “What?” you ask. 

 He shakes his head, lips pressed together to hide an emerging smile. 

 You continue to rub his thigh and settle into his side, a familiar space carved out for you. You sneak a look up into his face, take in his neck and the edge of a purple love bite you'd given him the night before hiding under his shirt. The memory of his skin under your lips, the sound that he'd made as you sucked in a cruel bruise has you smiling like a fool. 

 It's too early to climb all over him. You badly want to but you don't want to be a clingy mess of a girlfriend, know he's tired and you're being a bit much. Something about him just makes you crazy. You fancy him to the point of aching.

 "You are thinking so loudly," Remus mutters, exasperated. "What? Do you want a kiss?" 

 "No," you deny guiltily. 

 "Worse than a kiss?" 

 "No! No, I was thinking about you." 

 "Good things?"

 "Awful things." 

 His sigh is heart hurting tired as he slouches down and pulls you into his chest. "Like what?" 

 You bring your hand up his thigh and squeeze the top, feeling the muscles underneath fat to avoid the question. He hisses. "Fuck, woman." You squeeze again mercilessly. He flinches under you but can't escape, his hiss turning into a nervous laugh. "Stop, stop. Baby," he says, at first cross and then pleading. His hand clamps down on your wrist. "Baby." 

 "Baby! You only call me baby when you're fucking me," you tease.

 "Do I?" he asks, squirming. 

 "Uh-huh. When you're vulnerable," you say, sticky sweet, pulling the syllables. "Do you feel vulnerable right now?" 

 He exerts more strength than he usually does with you as he pries your bullying hand from his leg. "Stop," he says, and then, very slowly, "baby." 

 You hope he can't tell how much you like his show of strength as he tucks your hand and his under his arm. You also hope he doesn't know how insane you feel about him when he wears these short sleeve t-shirts and they're tight on his biceps like this, fingers flexing underneath to brush your knuckles against solid mass, but he likely does. Remus seems to know everything you're thinking, sometimes before you think it. 

 "You're no fun." 

 "I'm plenty fun," he says, rolling his eyes. 

 "Sure." 

 Quicker than you realise Remus has pushed his arm tight over your hand, sandwiching it in place against his ribs to attack your thigh. You gasp and then squeal, peel after peel of roaring, scared laughter as he tickles your legs. 

 "Don't!" 

 "I thought it was fun?" he asks, voice high and taunting. "You're fun, aren't you sweetness? This is enjoyable!" 

 You feel like you might pee yourself as you twist sideways and throw yourself backwards. Your hands free from his grips and legs kicking into his leg you crawl away from his searching hands and feel your heart start to race when he climbs on top of you. His fingers find your soft sides, your armpits, the skin behind your neck. 

 You start bargaining. "I'm sorry! Stop, oh my god Remus get off! I'm sorry please oh my god." You're gasping for air and squealing like a piglet, too busy pleading to worry about how unflattering this angle is. "Remus!" His name strung out, emphasis on the - us . "I'm gonna wet myself!" 

 Remus stops abruptly and hovers above you. You pant. "I could be into that," he says lightly. 

 You push him off of you and he actually falls onto the ground, his foot tangled in the throw blanket beneath you. 

 You startle upwards. "Remus!" 

 He laughs silently on the floor. "Fucking winded me." 

 "You were being gross." 

 "Only for you," he says, then groans. 

 "Sorry, Remus." 

 "You will be." You frown at the idea he might tickle you again, but he continues. "Thinking you can knock me around just 'cos I'm your boyfriend. I'm telling." 

 "Who? James?" you ask, head peeking over the sofa to stare at him with a knowing smirk. 

 "Lyall." 

 You gasp. "You're telling on me to your father ?" 

 "He thinks the world of you. I'll be glad to set the record straight." 

 "You've told him about me?" 

 Remus sits up, moaning dramatically. You pull him back up onto the sofa beside you, the two of you lying down and squished together to fit. 

 "Of course I have. You're my girlfriend." 

 You incline your heads together. "You're sure you can't leave this out?" 

 "I could be persuaded." 

 "Yeah?" you ask. You can't help but glance down at his lips, wondering where they are, knowing you want to move forward to meet them. 

 "Uh-huh." He smiles and kisses you, his lips practiced, a small peck that makes you unbearably happy. "What will you give me?" he asks, his eyes closed. 

 "Mm." You rub the tip of your nose against his as you think it over. "What do you want?" 

 "Everything." 

 His deadpan seriousness cracks you open at first, laughing breathlessly as you bring your hand to his face. You spread your fingers over his cheek and stroke the edge of his biggest facial scar with your finger, the one that starts below his nose and cuts through his eyebrow. 

 "You can have it. Whatever you want," you agree quickly, pulling him towards you with a giddy jovialness. "Anything." 

 He kisses you again, warm hand covering yours, shoulder digging into your shoulder as he fights for closeness. "Anything? Like your kidney?" 

 "'Specially my kidney. They go for loads on the black market." 

 "And how would you know that?" he asks, his grin fond. 

 "I write. I know things." 

 "A likely story. Sounds to me like you're a little freak and you're plotting to sell all my organs, and this whole thing has been a ploy. An organ based ploy." 

 "Remus," you whisper. "I once let you fuck me in the Leaky Cauldron, remember? The money I would make off of your organs wouldn't make up for that." 

 "Was it truly so awful?" he asks, amused. 

 "The fuck? No. No, I…" you let your head fall into his shoulder, "that was enough material for a month of fantasies. Months, if you hadn't done worse to me afterwards. But we really couldn't have made it to your place?" 

 He presses your joined hands to his chest and laughs. "I don't expect you to understand. You looked – you look fucking amazing. Like, all the time. And you were there to see me, all dressed up knowing we were only going to the leaky. I couldn't handle it." 

 "Remus," you chide, embarrassed. 

 He nudges you. "No, because you really don't get it. How pretty you are. How fucking funny you are. How much I love being with you. It couldn't have waited." He clears his throat. "Well, maybe. But if you understood how killer you are you wouldn't blame me." 

 "Remus, shut up. I wanted you badly. I waited for you for half an hour. You know that? In the rain ." 

 He's quiet as he says, "No, I didn't know that." 

 "You shouldn't, 'cos I lied to you… I did my hair three times." You laugh at the memory, how nervous you'd been and how nervous he still makes you, but now…  "Nobody's ever made me feel like that before." 

 "Like what?" 

 "Like I'm- I'm pretty. You make me feel like I'm beautiful." Your confession feels both dramatic and completely normal, you suspect because it's Remus that you're confessing too.

 He squeezes your fingers. "You are beautiful." 

 You feel the peril of an oncoming pep talk or comfort you don't quite need. His reassurement while lovely is unnecessary for now, you just wanted him to know the truth. 

 "You're much more attractive," you tell him, sitting up to cups his face in your hands. "S'why I changed my mind about selling your organs." 

 "Thank god for that," he says. You stroke his face and give his cheeks a gentle pinch. 

 "I-" you freeze up. So quickly, beyond reason, you'd almost said I love you . "I need to pee." 

 He blinks and then grins. "Thanks for telling me." 

 You blush and stammer and climb over his legs to go to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror until you can smile like a normal person again, like you aren't the most in love any one girl has ever been. 

 "Dove! Hurry up! I think I found something for us to watch!" 

 You dry your hands on the hand towel and rush back into the living room to see what Remus has found. 

 He turns to you just as you recognise what's playing, the words already on his lips, "Holy cabooses!" 

 "'Hello, Dolly!'" you gasp, rushing to sit down so quickly you end up half in his lap. "I have the tape, you know." 

 "Shush, this is the best part," he says. It most definitely isn't the best part, and you're about to take loud offense, only his arms wrap around your abdomen and pull you into his front and you can't be bothered after that, listening more keenly to him than the movie, the way he knows every word, saying them softly but with inflection under his breath. He hums along to the songs and sways you back and forth in time with the music. You lay your head back on his chest. I love him , you think, bobbing gently one way and then the other. 

 "Yes, I can hear that Choo Choo callin' me on. On board that Happiness Express," Dolly sings. Remus signs it better, warm and low, the sound sending goosebumps down your arms. 

 "I'm gonna learn to dance and drink and smoke a cigarette," you further, even quieter than he had been. 

 "We should take dance classes," Remus says. 

 "You don't need help with the other two." 

 "Mean. You don't want to learn to dance with me?" 

 "Sure I do. What kind of dance?" 

 It's a throwaway conversation. When you see someone as much as you see Remus, you can't always be declaring love and affection. Sometimes you have to plan things you'll never do. 

 "Waltzing? Any dancing. Dancing we can do together," he says, knuckles rubbing into your soft tummy. "If I asked you to dance with me right now, could you?" 

 You blink when you realise Remus is being serious.

 "No, I couldn't. Not properly." 

 "Me neither," he says, legs shifting underneath you, spreading wide so yours can fit between them.

 "Am I hurting you?" you ask worriedly, moving to stand up. 

 He reigns you in. "No, you stay right there." You're reluctant. He pulls you into his chest, your hair brushing his collar. "I'd love to learn some kind of waltz with you, dove," he says, almost offhandedly. 

 You go warm all over. "Anything you want." 

 -

 Couples dance classes are difficult, especially the cheap ones. What must be 30 couples in one room, awaiting instruction, and yet you doubt any one partner is as nervous as you right now. 

 Remus stands beside you in matching sweatpants, both of you dressed for the activity but also the insecurity – neither had considered the actual vulnerability of being witnessed learning to waltz. 

 "Maybe we should've tried to learn at home," you whisper. 

 Remus smiles, hooking his pinky finger through yours. "I'd agree normally. You know I hate, uh, any attention. But I really think this will be fun." 

 He looks from the mirrored wall in front of you to your face. "And if it isn't, we leave. Obnoxiously, in the middle of the lesson." 

 "We should get ice cream after," you decide, anything to not talk about your current situation. 

 "Salted caramel," he whispers as the instructor claps her hands together and the lesson begins. 

 The leads learn first. You're happy for Remus to lead and he says nothing to the contrary. Soon you're watching him and the other leads learn the steps. 

 You help him through small hand gestures, reminding him to keep his feet hip distance apart, mouthing to him that he needs to relax when he seizes up. He takes a step forward that's supposed to be soft but comes on heavy; it's only a few days after the full moon, he's still weak and aching, though he'd insisted on coming today. 

 He brings his second foot forward and then pushes it inward. The awkwardness of the room begins to fade, everybody too concentrated on getting it right. The next instruction sees him stepping back with his right foot, then the left, parallel. He closes the gap between them, and there - he's waltzed. 

 They go through it two more times. Remus is nervous but extremely perceptive and quick to learn. You're impressed by how well he's mastered the dance in such little time. 

 "And now, the companion!" 

 You get confused at first, having internalised the leads instructions. Remus helps you much the same. "I got you," he whispers at the distressed look on your face. Somehow, his voice is easier to follow. "Back," he gestures at his body, relaxed, "feet apart. Bring them together," he acts it out for you. "Forward, feet apart." 

  Together. And now you've waltzed too. 

 "Alright! Now, let's get dancing! Lead, your hand behind the companion's shoulder like this. Companion, your hand on top of the lead’s shoulder. Don't worry about getting this too perfect, we only wanna get you guys moving." 

 You do as instructed. You've touched Remus what must be close to a thousand times by now and still this feels nerve-racking, your heart going a thousand miles a minute as the gap between you closes and your tummies brush. Remus smiles at you, pulling your right hand into his left and pushing it away from you, clasped tight. 

 "This part is always a little tricky! You mess up and it messes up your partner, but don't. Worry . The more you move the more you practice, and the more you practice the better you'll get! Ready?" 

 The teacher presses play on her small music player. You waltz. Remus leads well, murmuring the instructions to you under his breath when you falter. 

 You stumble and he pulls you along without missing a beat. You can feel a bead of sweat where it collects on your brow, heart ticking. Remus is very good. You're less so. 

 "You got it," he says, falling back as you follow. "That's my girl. Relax, would you?"

 "I think I might be awful at this," you say, distracted.

 Feet together. "It's just fast, that's all. She's going very quickly, probably because the lessons are so short. And it doesn't matter," he says, squeezing your shoulder, "it's just for fun, right? I don't envy the soon to be wed in here. Look," he brings you in closer than he should, "see the couple behind us?" 

 The couple behind you do look acutely miserable. 

 "You think they're gonna get married?" you ask. 

 Remus shrugs and moves backwards. You follow. His feet come together, then yours. "I don't know, but we did it perfectly." 

 You look down at your feet and then up at him, an awful beaming smile on your face. "Oh my god! We did it." 

 "Yes we did," he agrees, amused by your delight.

 "Now when you ask me to dance, I'll know how." 

 You're smiling still when the instructor announces advanced moves. It quickly disappears. 

 Remus chuckles. "This sounds interesting." 

 Advanced moves are not interesting, you discover. You can dance the waltz with about sixty percent accuracy, but trying to do that while spinning in a circle? Impossible. You thank God that Remus had agreed to be the lead because you can't remember you're turning until he physically pulls you in the right direction. 

 You start to feel upset at how useless you are, only you stand very cruelly straight onto Remus' foot. You leap to apologise but he bursts into laughter, giggling as he turns you into the circle, completely disrupting his 1, 2, 3 count. You end up standing on his foot again, again, and each time he laughs like a fool. 

 The room is hardly quiet and yet you know that people are looking at you as you bumble backwards, half out of the circle, and Remus stands on your foot. 

 It's downhill from there. The underarm turn a disaster, Remus spins you out and accidentally drops your hand. You bump into a young guy also being spun out. 

 "You're supposed to shorten your steps!" you hiss as you throw yourself into Remus' chest. 

 Your boyfriend chuckles and kisses your cheek before maneuvering you into position. You're two counts behind everyone else and he doesn't seem to notice.

 "Sorry, dove. You look pretty, when you spin. 'Cept for that awful pout," he teases, nodding his head towards your cross lips. 

 "Remus," you moan, dropping your head into his chest. He stops trying the advanced moves, simply walking you back and forth. You've given up on footwork and try your best to follow. It works, and soon you're moving in perfect tandem.

 "Maybe we didn't need any lessons after all," he says into your hair. 

 You agree with him twenty five minutes later, sweaty and rumpled and extremely happy walking into the cool haven of a dessert parlour on the way home. He orders your ice creams as you shift from one tired foot to another, the sound of the waltz thumping in your head. The second waltz loud in your ears, the clumsy footfall of sixty people. 

 Remus starts to hum Dmitri Shostakovich. 

 "Sounds almost sinister," you comment. 

 "Offensive," he mutters. 

 He moves onto the happier part. You can't remember it very well but you join in, and you let him take your hand and spin you just once during the invented crescendo. 

 "A perfect spin!" he says. You eat up his praise like an idiot and he drops his voice to mime the baritone sounds. 

 Your ice cream cones are pushed into the stand in front of you and you fight for the right to pay. 

 "You paid for dance lessons," you say firmly, handing the employee your cash. 

 "It was my idea for us to learn.”

 "And it was my idea to get ice cream. Thank you so much," you say, accepting your cones.

 You pass Remus his salted caramel ice cream and are rewarded with his grin. 

 "Thank you sweetheart," he says softly, holding open the door for you. 

 "You're welcome. I-" You cough and blink rapidly. I love you, you'd almost said. Why do you keep doing this? "Uh, I'm tired. You must be hurting," you save yourself hastily. 

 Remus licks a drip off of his index finger. He looks tired, bone tired, today much too soon for him to really be out and about again but you don't feel comfortable saying this to him. It's his life, his body. You don't want to overstep despite how badly you want him to take better care of himself. 

 "Really hurting," he says. You'd expected him to brush it off, and his honesty makes you flinch. "Oh, don't, dove. It's okay." 

 You wince. "Remus-" 

 "I'm fine! I'm not dying. I do need a tonic though. Maybe two." 

 Your lips part, ice cream forgotten. You reach for his hand and rub the length of his arm. When he lets you dote you move in, his shoulder to your chest. "My poor boy. Shall we call a taxi?" 

 "Please," he says, smiling weakly. 

 "Here, let's sit," you look around wildly and spot a bench across the road. You drag him across and sit on the cold curved bench, just outside a multistory car park. 

 Remus looks tired. You tuck your hand behind his back and watch his face. He looks entertained. "I'm okay," he says. 

 You believe him and you also think he must feel very rundown to be honest with you, to not want to keep it all to himself. 

 Your ice cream has dripped everywhere. You don't think you can eat it, worried, so you reach over and drop it into the bin behind the bench, wiping yourself clean with a napkin. Remus doesn't give up. 

 "You stay here. I'll go back to the parlour and use their phone," you say. He nods. 

 When you come back his ice cream is gone and his eyes are closed. 

 "Sorry," he says when you sit, dropping his head onto your shoulder. 

 "It's okay. Don't be sorry," you say, patting his back.

 "I didn't realise," he continues. 

 "Baby," you murmur. 

 He rubs his cheek against your shirt with his eyes still closed and you wait for the taxi, stroking his hair behind his ear. 

 "Thank you for the dance lesson," you say. 

 "You're welcome." 

 "When you're up to it, we should go again. Learn flamenco or something." 

 "You really want to?" he asks. His voice is low and quiet.

 "Why not? The waltz was fun. I always have a good time with you, you know that." 

 "I'd love to see you in a flamenco dress." 

 "Yeah?" you ask, laughing loud. 

 "Yeah." 

 You kiss the tip of his ear and say quietly, "Red's not my colour." 

 "Are you kidding? Every colour is your colour." 

 "You're just saying that 'cos you like my red babydoll." 

 "Yes, I do! Of course I do, and you never wear it. I love it. I love all your fancy underwear…" He yawns. "And all your ratty stuff, too." 

 "Shush," you tell him, flushing. 

 "Especially the daisy ones with a rip near the leg." 

 "I'm leaving you here." 

 Despite claims otherwise you shepherd him into the taxi, out of the taxi, up the flat steps and into your bed. He falls asleep promptly. You watch him for a while, wondering if this is all real. It can't be real, you decide, laying down beside him. No way someone as lovely as him wants this life with you. Keeps choosing you, every day. No way. 

 Remus must feel you, reaching for you in sleep, his arm wrapping around your waist and his hand ghosting the small of your back as he turns on his side. He pushes his palm under your shirt as he pulls you in, skin on skin, fingers loving even as he dozes. 

 You kiss his chin. 

  I love you, you think. 

 The thought feels forbidden, like an electric shock. Remus must feel that too because he makes a small sound and his hand rubs your back soothingly. You don't mean to but you wrap your arms around his ribs and fall asleep, comforted.

 -

 The dance lesson had felt like a good idea, though Remus knew that drawing from a well of energy that wasn't emptying was never a good idea – he always paid for it the next day. Or, as he found himself in the dark, the following night. 

 He could've swore he'd had you beside him but now you're nowhere to be seen, the sheets cool. He sits up with a groan. Everything hurts again, like the day after a moon without the open wounds. 

 You've taken off his shoes. He wiggles his numb toes and feels a disgusting overabundance of fondness for you that needs to be shown immediately, only he can't really stand up. His legs are weak. He trips and sits down again heavily on the bed, scrubbing his face with both hands. 

 "Remus," you whisper questioningly, walking toward the bedroom on light feet. You peel your own door open with infinite care, head peeking through. "Are you awake?" 

 "Yeah," he whispers back. 

 You open the door and smile, changed out of your dance clothes. You're in a cuffed pair of white pajama bottoms with dark blue flowers and a black and white baseball tee. You smell like cinnamon as you sit down beside him, cupping his face in one hand in greeting. You kick your heels on the floor, feet bouncing. He looks at your mismatched socks and feels another wave of fondness. 

 "What are you making?" he asks, throat aching. 

 "Apple pie. You like apple pie, right?" 

 "Love it," he says, elbow brushing yours. 

 "You want a bath?" you ask. 

 "Yeah," he scratches the back of his neck. "Do I have any clean clothes here?" 

 You disappear into the bathroom as he asks, the sound of the shower and then the bath. Bottle caps clip. "I washed some," you say, slightly louder to be heard over the din of the bath filling. You peek out of the bathroom. "Come in. I got bubble bath for you." 

 The room smells of radox muscle soak and almond oil. Remus shuffles into the bathroom and leans against the sink as you titter about dropping things into the bath, getting him a clean towel from the linen cupboard and a new razor from the medicine cupboard. You put everything on the side of the bath and clap your hands together. "That's everything, right?"

 "Thank you, dove." 

 You smile with all your teeth and he loves how you look, though you remember yourself quickly and press your lips together, nodding. "Okie, if you need anything else you can just call me, I'm only keeping an eye on the oven." 

 "Actually," he says before you can leave, pulling his shirt from over his back. His hair flops out around him. "You wanna keep me company?" he asks. Insecure and not. You've had baths together before. You've done worse in the bath with him. 

 You smile. "Yeah, okay," you say, dropping the toilet seat to sit down. 

 He shouldn't complain. There've been many situations where he's stayed dressed and you've been completely nude. If anything, undressed and bared in the bath, he should be saying thank you — he realises now how hard it is to be the only one naked. 

 You bend over so your chest is almost touching your knees, picking at your nails. They've been breaking more and more lately and he knows it's because you don't have the time to take care of them that you had before. He feels a little guilty. How quick you are to take care of him and neglect yourself. 

 He scrubs down quickly and you talk, an easy conversation in your tired voice, late in the evening now, that full day crackle chasing your words. 

 "I got bleach on the jumper you gave me," you confess, reaching forward to wipe shaving foam from behind his ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise how strong that cleaning spray is." 

 "That's okay," he says in between strokes of the razor as he cleans up his neck, "I gave it to you. S'your jumper to do what you like with." 

 "I don't like getting bleach on it," you grumble, cupping his damp shoulder blade. He's no clue why you're doing it but he's the last person who would ever tell you to stop. 

 "You want another one?" he asks. "I don't mind." 

 "So I can ruin it? Thanks, handsome, but I couldn't." 

 You rub your hand into his back, your thumb pushing into a tight knot of muscle. He loves to be called handsome by you, blushing wildly at the compliment. 

 "Oh," you say under your breath, "this is a mean one. How's that?" you ask, massaging the knot with precise movements. 

 His head tilts back unconsciously, a sharp breath leaving him as you work the pain from his back. Far from words, he gives you a small moan. The best he can do, you seem emboldened by his sound and bring your other hand to help. 

 His hair drips lukewarm water down his back. 

 "Remus, I have to go check the pie," you say reluctantly, though you keep massaging. 

 "Uh-huh." 

 You keep going for long minutes before making a sound of self admonishment and standing up. 

 You kiss his wet back. "Sorry," you say. 

 He runs his hand down your arm as you walk past.

 By the time he's washed his hair and climbed out of the cooling tub you've removed the pie from the oven and burned yourself. You hold your steam-bitten fingertips to your mouth with a pained pinch to your brow, though you quickly hide it when you see him in the doorway in boxers with a towel around his neck. 

 "Hey, handsome. You clean up well," you say. 

 "You hurt yourself?" 

 "Mm. On the kettle, not the pie. But I made tea, so…" you say. 

 You hold out your hand. He inspects your raw fingers. "Ouch," he mutters sympathetically, wrapping his fingers around your palm and holding your injured hand to his chest. "Poor girl." He kisses your cheek. 

 You look, embarrassed, down at his tummy. He tries not to suck in. 

 "Stupid girl." 

 "Not stupid," he corrects. "An accident."

 You huff and pull your hand from his, carefully pulling the towel from around his neck. You bring it to the back of his head and wipe at his wet hair, eyes suddenly on his face. Your gaze is intense. 

 "What?" he asks. 

 You just smile. 

 He tries again. "Why're you looking at me like that?" 

 "You're really," you clear your throat, "good-looking. Really really. I love your face." 

 "Dove." 

 "I'm serious. I don't call you handsome for nothing, though you're looking especially lovely today." 

 He catches the hem of your soft shirt in his fingers and toys with it. "Thank you." 

 You beam. "You're welcome. I don't tell you as much as you tell me, and it's not fair, because I think you're the most handsome guy on this whole stupid planet," you say, letting the towel fall to his shoulder again, hands pulling at the ends. 

 "That's enough," he says fondly. 

 "I'm serious. You have these gorgeous eyes, I love brown eyes but yours are seriously something, you have a ring of amber around your pupil that glows . And your nose," you bring your index finger, the not burned one, under his eyes, then over the ridge of his nose, "is my favourite. I love this," you trace over the curve, "and this," the tip. "And your lips," you lean up on your toes, hands braced but very gentle around his throat. Your eyes flit between his eyes, looking steadily into yours, and his mouth. "You have a pretty mouth," you say, and lean in for a kiss. 

 He hates you at that moment. He thinks you're beautiful, and he can't believe that you'd ever adore him so much, and your mouth is supple and arduous against his, and there's nothing he can do beyond this. He wants desperately to make love to you like they do in all the silly romance books, show you exactly how he feels about you, exactly how handsome he finds you. 

 He almost says I love you.  

 The relationship he has with you has often (though obviously not solely) been defined sexually. You work well that way, an understanding between you both before you were even a couple that this rope, this connection, that stretches between you is reciprocated. He thinks it must be obvious that he loves you, though he doesn't want to say anything too soon and weaken a meaning or scare you off or, selfishly, doesn't want to be the only one to say it. He doesn't want to tell you and not have you say it back, and his insecurity won't allow him to believe you would yet.

 Sex between you is a resonance of reciprocation. So he hates you – well, maybe not hatred, but a half second spark of dislike – for being so lovely and evoking this feeling from him when the best way he feels he can show his love is cut off from him. 

 He vows to mess you up badly when his libido returns.

 For now, Remus lets you kiss him with your perfect, pouting mouth, his tasting of mint from his brushing moments ago and yours of apple pie filling he knows you must've been eating as you made it. His eyes close. He can almost see the look on your face anyways, the scrunching of your eyes and the half grin you wear as you kiss him searchingly. 

 You drop back down on your feet and he follows, kissing you until you push his chest away, not unkindly. 

 "Are you hungry?" you ask.

 He isn't really. "Yeah, I could have something." 

 "Good, 'cos I'm starved. Did you see your clothes?" 

 "No?" 

 "They're on the bottom of the bed. Those are clean boxers, right?" 

 He laughs and pinches you for being cheeky. "Of course they are, who do you think I am?" he asks as he turns from you to get dressed. 

 "Just checking!" you call. He can hear you mumbling to yourself and the sounds of the pie tin being clicked open, though he doesn't quite catch what you're saying. Something cruel, he imagines. 

 You're drinking his tea when he makes it back. 

 "You took too long," you say cheekily. He'd tackle you if he had the energy. He makes a mental note to do it another day. 

 The apple pie you've made smells good, though the top is very browned. He knows it's his fault, so he says, "It's perfect." 

 "Don't say 'til you try it." 

 "If what you tasted like earlier is any indication, I'm gonna enjoy it just fine." 

 You're visibly mortified. He pulls you into the cage of his arms and laughs at you loudly when you're reluctant, jabbing at his chest with a grumbling giggle. "Shut up," you say, the up dragged into a five second word. "Did not."

 "You did! Why would I lie about that? Here, let me try you again, we'll see if you still taste like it." 

 Scandalised and seduced at once, Remus raises his hand to your cheek and feels the heat of blood under your skin. You huff a breath out the corner of your mouth and then drop your head back like you've given in, your chin jutting up. "I'll taste like tea now." 

 "Guess I'll have to go looking." 

 Remus dips down slowly, hand moving from the breadth of your cheek to the skin before your ear, fingers besides his index ducking under. He traces the tip of his index over the shell of your ear. 

 "Remus," you say quietly. 

 "What, baby?" 

 You inhale too quick. He wouldn't hear it if it weren't for how quiet the kitchen is. 

 "What?" he asks, even softer. It worries him sometimes how easy you are to upset. It's unnerving, how squishy your emotions are. 

 "I…" You frown, going from an emotion he doesn't quite understand to theatrically happy. You smile big and laugh a laugh he knows isn't quite real before pressing a kiss to his lips. He's startled but the kiss doesn't feel stilted and he's like an addict when it comes to your lips, his own parting underneath you. He steals the lead, mouth closing down onto yours, gentle then less so against your top lip. The curve of your cupid's bow, the edge of your lips. 

 You try clumsily to breath through your mouth and he feels it along with the small vibrations of your happy sounds, your hands tentative at his hips. You pull away to take a little gasp of air before moving back in fast enough that your teeth click together. 

 "Sorry," you say. 

 "S'alright," he says, arm heavy on your shoulder. He turns his head to the side to avoid anymore clicking. "Take it slow, sweetheart. Nowhere else to be," he reminds you mildly.

 You give him a huge skewed kiss. Fast to his slow, he works his way in eventually, feeling like a blessed vessel, a body of white star heat when you're this close. 

 "You do," he says, parting from you to breathe in deeply, his hand behind your shoulder blade gripping your soft shirt tightly. 

 "What?" you ask, sounding as giddy as he feels.

 "You still taste like your pie. Apple and cinnamon and sweetness." 

 You wrap your arms around his neck and plant a chaste peck against his throat. He lets the side of his face fall into the top of your head, your hug a warmth he wouldn't trade for anything. 

 "I don't know if you're being gross or romantic." 

 "Gross," he confirms. "Really gross." 

 "Yeah. Wanna do it again?" 

 He does. 

 -

 Remus aches much less but in new ways as he pushes open the employee door and finds you standing in your sundress with a tote bag over your bare shoulder. 

 The cigarette in his hands goes quickly behind. 

 "I saw it!" you announce merrily, waving from across the street. "It's your lunch break, right?" 

 Remus sits with you on a low wall and watches you kick your feet, an identical tupperware open in both your laps. A week since your apple pie, the plastic houses a freshly made BLT cut into four pieces like he's a kid and a generous slice of millionaire shortbread. 

 "You made this?" he asks. 

 "The sandwich? Yes," you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you swallow a bite of lettuce so crisp he can hear it snap. "The shortbread, no." 

 "It's a good fucking sandwhich," he says, though he hates soggy tomatoes. 

 You beam and bite it back, tucking your dress between your legs to stop the wind from blowing it up. His loss. He decides to own his perverted thoughts rather than just think them guiltily. 

 "It's a nice fucking dress, too," he says. "Really nice." 

 You pull the dress up your thigh and stop just before your underwear. He reaches over and pulls it straight back down. 

 "Stop. Eat your sandwich," he says. Then, at your downtrodden face, "Look, I have hours left of work. Hours. Don't do this to me." 

 You perk up and take a self-satisfied bite of your sandwich. "Sorry," you say through more lettuce. He's fond enough to burst, shuffling up the wall to press his starchy work trousers to your linen covered thigh. The dress is a pale green. He's reminded of your other dress, the cowl neck slip with a small slit up the thigh. 

 "You look really pretty," he says. 

 "Thank you," you murmur, wrapping your arm under his. He almost drops his sandwich in the struggle. 

 Remus tries to kiss your cheek and you move away. "What? Am I not allowed?" he teases. 

 "You'll ruin my makeup." 

 "Oh no," he says, planting a kiss on you anyways. "That's so weird." 

 "What? What happened?" you ask, looking out the corner of your eye like you might be able to see your cheek.

 "Still perfect even after a kiss. Who would've guessed." 

 "That's vile. You're being so sappy," you say cheerily, in juxtaposition with your harsh words as you let your head flop into his shoulder. You skip over the sandwich and take your dessert, smaller than his, to his chagrin, and nibble carefully. 

 He chuckles at your attempt to preserve your lip gloss. 

 "What?" you ask, turning to him in genuine confusion. 

 He takes a swig of your flask, acting as casually as possible, before he swoops down to kiss you. You reciprocate, giving him a handful of sweet kisses where your sticky lips pepper over his. 

 "There," he says, pulling away, "your lipstick is ruined. Eat properly." 

 You smart and touch your lips with your index finger. "You're evil. And it's lip gloss . Gloss. You're lucky it's not lipstick. Next time I'm gonna wear bright red and cover you in it and all your coworkers will know you spent your break bullying me." 

 "Bullying," he repeats. 

 You laugh loud and kiss the corner of his lips before shoving the shortbread into your mouth. "Bullying," you say, after a long pause of chewing. Your cheeks bulge like a chipmunk. He thinks you're insanely beautiful. 

 "I'll show you bullying," he says, clipping the lid back on his tupperware and handing it off to you. He checks the time and finds he's late going back. 

 Remus stands and dusts himself down in a hurry. "I gotta go." He kisses the crown of your head chastely and jogs back to the employee door. "Think about what I said!" he calls without looking back. 

 -

 You think about what he said. You can't not . I'll show you bullying? You're agitated all afternoon waiting for him to come home, sitting in the rumpled sheets of his bed with your legs underneath you and the sundress all creased at the thighs. 

 Why would he say that? You've gone half crazy.

 You push up the skirt of your dress and move your underwear to the side. Already, there's a small mess of wetness from thinking about Remus. You feel bad and also don't; you know it's alright to be turned on about your boyfriend - he's your boyfriend. That's one of many good parts about having Remus, he is ridiculously hot. But… he'll be home any minute now. If you just wait . 

 You push your fingers down your centre, over the bump of your clit and your labia to your entrance and then back up. You're better, though Remus is good, at finding your clit, that small bundle of nerves and you quickly find a rhythm you like, your eyes drifting closed as you try to picture him, recalling things that he's said. You're quickly annoyed by his absence and try to make up for it with your fingers. 

 The door creaks open, your heart jumps in your throat. You pull your skirt back down and tuck your hands under your thighs, sitting pretty the best way you can - not pretty at all. 

 The sound of Remus' bag hitting the floor. His shoes coming off, a groan as he stretches enough to make you flush all over. 

 "Y/N, where are you my love?" 

 You blink rapidly to yourself and don't answer. He finds you soon enough.

 "What's up with you?" he asks, looking you up and down.

 You're not very convincing. "Nothing. I- I missed you." 

 "Yeah?" he asks, climbing onto the bed in front of you, legs to his side. "You look tired." He wipes under your eye with his thumb. 

 You shake your head. 

 "Something else bothering you?" he asks. 

 Lots of things. His tousled hair, his collar peeking out from the open buttons of his polo, the freckles smattered sparingly but undeniable over his skin. His hands where they screw up the sheets and his patient eyes. 

 "You wound me up," you admit. 

 "Did I really?" he asks, sounding happy as a kid in a candy store. 

 "You said-" you start, voice rising quickly. 

 "I know what I said. I was teasing." 

 "You tease well." 

 He grins. "Yeah?" He raises a hand to your knee, drawing circles with his fingertips into your skin. You hear, suddenly, how quiet it is in his room, his entire flat. You'd forgotten to make something for dinner, you think, and then quickly forget when his fingertip climbs. 

 He flattens his palm over your thigh and rubs lightly, back and forth. 

 "Since my break?” he asks.

 Your voice is weaker than you'd like. "For hours." 

 "You didn't…?" 

 "Remus," you chide, embarrassed.

 His hand pushes further under your skirt, "Don't Remus me, baby, just tell me the truth." 

 "You interrupted me." 

 He looks sorry. Sitting up properly, he pushes at your arms until you lie down, head cushioned by his pillows. "Were you close?" he asks gently, pulling your calves from under your thighs, straightening your legs out over his lap. 

 You shake your head. 

 Big, sweeping lines up your legs. "You're so inpatient, you know?" he asks. 

 "You made me this way!" 

 "That's not true, you’ve always been inpatient. But I'll get you on record saying it, if that's okay?" he asks, hands rubbing and rubbing, pressure slowly increasing. "'Cos last time I wound you up, what was it you said…" 

 "I didn't-" 

 "Shhhh," your boyfriend says, spreading your legs slowly, hand coasting over your inner thigh. He squeezes the soft fat there, thumb pressing to the skin between your thigh and your cunt. "You said I was a teasing, cruel demon, if I remember." 

 "A lovable demon." 

 "Uh-huh, and what was after that?" 

 His eyes move to yours, maybe for permission. You nod, and his thumb slides lightly under the abused material of your underwear. He pauses, and you say, "A wretched-" 

 "A wretched bastard," he finishes, chuckling. "So if anything, you'd think I would've taught you to be patient." 

 You hold your breath as he pulls your underwear aside, his fingers quick to press against your sensitive cunt. They're cold enough to make you jump. "Sorry," he murmurs, pushing his palm up, thumb brushing over your clit. "You're always so ticklish." 

 "You have cold hands," you say.

 Remus smiles and lifts one of your legs to meet his mouth as he leans down, kissing your thigh, a distraction as he collects leaking slick and eases the beginnings of two fingers into your entrance. He doesn't comment on how you're already wet though he looks at you knowingly, a small smile on his face. 

 "What were you thinking about?" he asks, wrists bent so he can focus on your aching clit. His fingers are tentative as he goes, though you're more than relaxed, curving against your walls. 

 "You," you whisper.

 "Lucky me," he says. He moves his hand from you to rest atop your chest, always cautious as he catches your lips in a kiss. 

 You hold his face in place as you kiss up, gasping just slightly into his mouth as he continues his ministrations on your cunt. 

 He takes his time, cruelly, and you regret ever thinking that he's made you inpatient. He's drawing it out, thumb moving in tandem against the aflame nerves in your clit. 

 He murmurs as he goes. "You're making such a mess, dove," he says, fingers stretching down to rub up slick.

 He's enjoying how wet you are. It's awful, your tummy shaken by abashed butterflies. 

 "My girl's always so messy, aren’t you?" he asks, lips parting over the corner of your mouth, a little lower, the hint of his teeth scratching your jaw. 

 You don't answer, cupping the back of his head as he sucks a small bruised moon into your skin. He licks it after he's done. "See, I make a mess, but I clean it up right after." 

 His fingers push against something soft inside you and you sigh, though you recover quickly to argue with him. "I'm not sure that's true, baby," you say quietly. 

 He lifts his head. "No?" 

 You shake your head, licking your lips and rubbing them together before you say, "I usually clean your mess up for you." 

 You don't mean to insinuate that he should clean up any of your mess, you're really just speaking from memory. You say it because you like cleaning up his mess. He finds it hot and you do too. His eyes narrow. 

 "Yes, you do," he agrees, something openly calculating on his face. 

 He pushes your head into the pillow and kisses the underside of your jaw lovingly, then your neck, moving slow enough that you don't realise he's travelling until he's kissing over your clothed chest, your tummy. He pushes your skirt up and you catch his arms, not stopping him so much as holding him. 

 He kisses the curve of your tummy. Where his hand had struggled during deep kisses it doubles down now, his long fingers working a small puddle of slick from you. He pulls out and pinches your clit lightly. "Let me take these off," he says, more to himself than you as he pulls your underwear from under your hips and down your legs. 

 He drops them somewhere in the bunches of his duvet. 

 "You're beautiful," he says, staring into your eyes. You melt, watching as his eyes travel down the length of your body. "The first time I saw you, I don't know if you remember it, but I couldn't believe how perfect you are." He lowers his voice. "Perfect everywhere," he says. 

 You giggle ferociously, a terrible wave of them that infects him quickly. 

 "I'm not kidding," he says. 

 "I know you're not. I'm far from perfect, Lupin." 

 "Perfect to me. With the prettiest cunt," he adds, kisses skipping over the very top of your cunt. He plasters your thighs in little pecks. 

 "Bet you say that to all your girls," you say. 

 Remus looks at you from under your lashes. "Only you," he says, practically drenched in fondness that makes you unbearably happy before his lips come down on your heat. 

 A shock. You squirm and he pushes down on your thighs, holding them flat to the bed as your whimpers begin. 

 You push the hair from his eyes and take a great handful when he kisses and licks your entrance. If you weren't lying down you might've needed to, a quiet roaring in your ears as Remus eats you out, sucking at your clit mercilessly. 

 You huff out a breath as a tension builds in your abdomen, a tightness in your trembling thighs. His hands move from atop to underneath, pulling your core closer to his face, devouring your wetness like a man possessed as he encourages your calves over his shoulders. Your thighs squeeze around his and you're so close you feel the tears building. His hair too far away to pull in this new position, you settle for grabbing at his hands. 

 "Remus, can I- I'm gonna-" 

 And like that, he stops. 

 You're surprised, hips bucking once towards him. He looks at you from between your thighs. His wet lips pull into a smirk. 

 "Bullying," you mumble. 

 "Yeah, bullying," he confirms. He's gentle as he pushes your legs off of his shoulders, hands massaging your shaking thighs. "You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?" 

 You know if you asked him to, he'd make you cum, but he knows you well – you like to play the game. 

 "Wan' another kiss?" he asks. 

 You wipe his face with the back of your hand as he falls back on top of you, holding him an inch from your lips. 

 That pesky L word. You let yourself think it, let it infect your system rather than blurt it now. I love you, you think, eyes on his. His pupils are blown. 

 The kiss starts tentative despite an overfamiliarity, Remus hitting your nose with his until you open your mouth. He nips at your lips, takes the top one between his and suckles until it feels sore. He kisses it better, closed and slow but then impatient as he opens his mouth. You open yours, hands slack as his tongue pushes into yours and you taste yourself, sweet and salty. 

 He pushes his hips into yours, pelvis' grinding. His damp hands pull at the bottom of your face and his hips drive in, your wet ruining his trouser, a certain smoothness to the friction as fabric pushes into your exposed clit, never enough to reach your climax. You mewl, arms around his waist and dragging, begging for relief in the way your hips roll. 

 "You're making a huge mess of us," he says teasingly, dulcet, "after I just cleaned you up, too." 

 "Remus, please," you say, finally cracking, quicker than you wanted to, but his closeness has you desperate. "Can I cum? Will you…" 

 "You want my hands or my mouth?" he asks, pressing a wet kiss under your lip. 

 "Anything," you pant. "Anything." 

 "Don't worry. I've got you," he says, lifting his hips from yours to reach down. 

 He starts to toy with your clit, slippery, loose circles that grow tighter as he goes, laying sloven kisses over your face, your lips as your breathing accelerates. "Are you close?" he asks. "How's that?" 

 "Yeah, I'm, I'm close," you promise, squeezing his ribs tightly as the feeling builds. 

 "Take your time, lovely," is all he says.

 He's back to kissing, bites and bruises all over your throat as you cum under his touches, only lifting up to encourage you, "There you go." 

 He stops touching but doesn't stop kissing as you come down. As soon as you collect yourself you're cuddling up to him, bashful and sweaty but very, very happy. 

 "Can we keep going?" you ask. You bite your lip. "I mean, we don't have to. I can take care of you-" 

 "You want me to fuck you?" he asks. 

 "Please." 

 "Don't say please. I should be saying please to you. I want you so badly," he says in a rush, climbing off of you. 

 You sit up and reach for the crumpled edge of your skirt, pulling it off and leaving yourself completely nude, breasts soft from being squished underneath his chest. You pinch at your nipples self-consciously and bring your palms flat to your chest, looking up to find Remus has stripped his shirt and is shirking out of his trousers and boxers at once. 

 You grin at his hard cock, feeling extremely obsessed with him in an awful, chest eating way. 

 "Don't look so," he gestures at your face, crawling towards you with his cock in his hand, "that . You know what you do to me." 

 "Don't know what you're talking about," you murmur. 

 Remus smiles, really smiles, more earnest than anyone should be. "You're so fucking pretty, I mean it. I know I'm a broken record, I know, but I can't believe you're my girl. Look at you," he says, hand pushing into your tummy. 

 You laugh nervously, "Don't push on me, I think I need to pee." 

 "You want to go now?" he asks.

 You shake your head vehemently. "No, it's okay. Just don't push on my bladder." 

 He lines his cock up with your cunt and his hands work your thighs up, holding them an inch from your arse. "Is this okay?" 

 "That's good," you say, covering his hands with yours. "Remus-" you say, before he can push in. He stops and looks at you quizzically. "I can't believe you're mine, either." 

 He beams. He’s deitific.

 Remus starts slowly, bending over you, eyes on yours as he pushes in, as he bottoms out. You feel the mushy pleasure of being stretched out by his generous endowment, the sparking pleasure as he reaches deep inside you, his hips rolling into yours rhythmically. 

 You're quickly close to tears, every thrust adding to a well of overwhelming pleasure that rises over you. 

 "Can you go faster?" you ask. 

 He grins. "I'll go however you want me to." 

 His hips snap, his breathing starts to hike. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs get pushed into your abdomen in the desperation of it, Remus rocking into you at an unforgiving pace. You're blissed out, reaching down to rub your clit as he anchors himself behind your shoulders. 

 "You gonna give me another one?" he asks. 

 "Uh-huh." 

 "Good girl," he says, and you burn. "Tell me how you want it." 

 He slows, thrusts deep and moulding, seated inside you he digs for your soft spot and something twinges in you, almost hurting. You ask him to do it again and he's more than happy to oblige, babbling praise at you as he fucks you so well you can't breathe properly. 

 "More," you say stupidly, close to a second. "More, Remus, please." 

 "I'm all out," he teases, though he knows what you're asking, hammering into you until your hips ache and the sound of his skin slapping into yours has echoed through the room. 

 He covers your hand with his when he feels you falter and pushes you over the edge, your second orgasm twice as potent as the first. You seize up completely around him, cunt contracting down, hand slipping. Remus pushes into your clit until you gasp. 

 "Wait a second," you say. He stops, pulling out, hand tugging at the reddened head of his cock. 

 You stretch underneath him and hold a hand to your overstimulated clit. Your thighs shake as you force pillows behind your head to change position, hips angled down. Your stomach aches, but Remus is close, you can tell. 

 You pull him forward and his cock spreads you open again, the feeling bringing with it a wave of goosebumps. Remus has barely filled you up before he pulls out, frowning at your expression.

 "Remus-" 

 "It's hurting?" he asks. He rubs your waist. "It's okay, we don't have to. Did I get too rough?" 

 You look at the space above him rather than his face. "No. I mean. I mean, it is hurting a bit. S'like a pinch. But you didn't go too rough. Just aches when you get all the way in." 

 Remus' hands are stern on your legs. "Thanks for telling me," he says, mouth searching for your knee. He plants kisses around your kneecap in a circle. 

 You're frowning. "Remus, it's fine." 

 "I don't want to fuck you if it hurts, yeah? I don't want to do that to you. It's supposed to be fun all the way through, right?" he asks. 

 You go hot. "I'm sorry." 

 He sighs through a smile. "Baby, listen," he says, reaching for your hands. "It's fine. Perfectly fine. One hundred percent. Are you okay? Out of ten." 

 "Ten," you say firmly. 

 He looks relieved. "That's all that matters." 

 "You want me to…" 

 "Do you want to?" he asks, squinting at you. "I don't want a pity handjob." 

 You laugh at his joke, abrupt enough to choke on it, reaching for his shoulders to pull him down beside you. He turns obligingly onto his back and you're still laughing as you twist to hover over his chest. 

 "It's not from pity, idiot. You're still really fucking hot, you know." 

 "How hot?" 

 "Burning," you say, hand spreading over his chest, running down behind you to search blindly for his aching cock. You cup his neck and kiss him quickly on the lips before changing direction, attention on his cock, its weeping tip. 

 You lap at the wetness dripping down his shaft and kiss up.

 Remus moans under his breath, thighs seizing as you mouth his cock. You pump the bottom of his shaft as you go, humming lightly into his tip. His hand moves over your back, hand cupping your arse as he takes a big handful, giving it a good squeeze which has you giggling before he pulls you towards him, fingers moving down your slit. He searches for your clit and it tingles under his light ministrations. 

 Every shock has you moaning into his cock, which in turn gets him going. He dissolves under your touches  Your knees dig into the mattress springs as you centre your weight, hands braced on his pelvis as you take him into your mouth. 

 The poor boy doesn't last long, his moans a rare drug you're more than addicted to, ramping up as you suck his cock. He moans your name, his hand at the back of your head, and you pull back, palming his cock towards your open mouth so he can cum over your face. This is what finishes him off. 

 You milk every last drop of pearlescent cum you can and clean him off for good measure. He goes lax underneath you as you kiss his softening cock, pulling you away gently after a while.

 "That's enough. You'll rile me up again." 

 "Oh no," you tease.

 "Stop it," he says, faux stern. "You'll kill me." 

 "That would be a tragedy," you admit, resting the side of your head on his rising chest, arm squished underneath you. Your fingers feel for his heart. 

 His eyes close. You take the time to memorise his features, fascinated, only disturbing him to comb your fingers through his sweaty, dishevelled hair. 

 "Sorry about… not being able to finish." 

 "Dovey," he murmurs. His lips don't show it but his eyes frown a little as he pulls you into his chest, thumb wiping your face clean roughly but without any malintent. "Don't be sorry. We both had a good time, right? And it's not your fault at all. It's likely my fault." 

 "How?" 

 "We can be quite rough," he says, like he's amused that you have to ask. 

 "'We' is the right word. I ask for it that way and I like it." 

 His head tips back. "Trust me, I know." Then, with a huff, "So no more apologies. Please, dove. I don't mind that we had to stop. And you took very good care of me," he says, blinking at you. "Yeah? So it's all perfect as long as you're perfect. Are you?" 

 "I am," you agree, nodding. You're fine, though you need to pee, and the aching was unfortunate but not the end of the world. 

 "You admit it." 

 It takes you a few seconds to catch up. "Oh, shut up." 

 "No, you said it! 'I am'. I heard it." 

 "Stop," you say into his skin, wrapping your arms around his back. He hugs you close, and you cuddle until you can't bear the pressure in your bladder anymore. 

 You almost fall off of the bed in your hurry to use the bathroom. Remus joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later, finds you standing in front of the running shower, shivering. 

 "You're cold?" he asks. 

 "I'm naked." 

 "Me too, but I'm not cold."

 "No need to rub it in," you say, pushing your hand under the spray. It's mostly warm. 

 You climb in and leave the curtain open, taller than Remus for once as you ask him, "Are you coming in?" 

 He really shouldn't. His shower is precariously small, and you have to stand tummy to tummy to fit. It ends up a mess; you're cold when you’re not under the spray and he's too tall to reach it when you are. Still, it's fun, and you love him and you laugh, and he pulls you into his chest for a hug under the hot spray, water sloughing over the two of you, reaching between your bodies like hot kisses.

 "Still cold?" he asks. 

 "Nuh-uh," you hum.

 His hands slide over the wet plane of your back. You cling to him, face pushed into his chest. You can feel as he drops his chin to his chest, pressing his nose into your wet hair. He cups the back of your head, holding you in place as he drops water heavy kisses into your ear, the shell, the lobe. 

  I love you, you mouth into his skin. It's almost as good as telling him aloud would be; you feel unstoppered. 

 Your legs get tired and you know he must be too. You give his chest a final reverent nestle and pull away to wash. 

 A little later you sit on the end of his stripped bed in his clothes, hair wet still, apologetic. "Sorry, Remus." 

 "We should really use a towel," he says, pulling a clean sheet from the cupboard with a grimace. 

 "Probably."

 You take the top ends of the sheet into your hands and tuck the corners as Remus pulls the bottom corners down and lifts up the mattress to do the same. As soon as he's done you lay out on the fresh sheet, clean and tired. Only one thing left to do, you decide. 

 "Shall we order a takeaway?" you ask. 

 You scream as Remus throws himself onto the bed next to you, hand to your heart. 

 "You read my mind," he says, stealing your arm to pull into his chest. He looks so young when he smiles like that, you think. Mischievous. "Chinese food?" 

 "We need sustenance," you say agreeably. "Big day tomorrow." 

 -

 The Grand Frog Palace opening is marked by the worst weather Britain has ever seen. 

 You stand at the patio doors with James, the rest of his friends behind you chattering in the kitchen, grazing the selection of party foods James and Lily had painstakingly prepared. 

 "It's okay," you say, patting your friend's arm consolingly.

 "I wish I was dead." 

 "James!" You slap his arm. "Don't say that." 

 He slumps in the doorway. Rain attacks your bare arms and your socks, bouncing up from the floor and over the threshold. 

 You're dressed very casually, to James' horror. You and Remus seem to have missed the memo, or at least the general idea of one, that tonight is a black tie event. Everyone is dressed nicely. Remus is dressed well, though not in a button down and slacks, and you're dressed like Remus - jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. 

 "Well, I guess it's over," he sighs morosely, loosening the tie from his neck. 

 "What?" 

 "Nobody wants to see the ribbon cutting ceremony. Lily said I can't force people to stand in the rain, so…"

 "I will," you say. "Remus will too."

 "What will I do?" The boy in question calls across the room, ears pricked by his name. 

 James turns to him with a huge grin. "You're a good friend, Moony." 

 Remus pales considerably. "Doesn't fill a man with confidence." 

 "For my son’s frogs," James declares ten minutes later, water dripping down his nose, fogged up glasses hiding his eyes, "and, by extension, my son, the light of my life, sorry Lils, who I would die for, sorry Lils again, I present the Grand Frog Palace. A labour of love, the Palace has been a great source of joy and misery." You look between the Palace, wet but amazing, intricate woodwork with soil and plants and a pool, housing what must be at least a few of his frogs, and Remus, who's looking at you. "We have sacrificed hours of hard work, Lily's sanity and at least 47 galleons. Sirius did nothing, Moony pretended to, Frank laughed at it, and Y/N caulked all the windows. Cheers!"

 He ducks down to cut the small red ribbon with a pair of miniature scissors. It takes a while. The ends fall to the sodden floor, and you set about whooping as loudly as you can. 

 "Whooooo!" you shout, clapping aggressively. Remus pulls his hand away from where he'd been shielding your head to clap as well, Frank clapped his wrist because his hand was holding a bottle of beer and Sirius stared at everyone in amusement from under his umbrella. 

 James smiles. "Thanks, guys. I think maybe we'll save the tour for another day. I can't see." 

 You hurry back into the house, the last ones in, soaking wet and beaming with Remus' hand in yours. There'll be a spell to dry you off and a hot mug of tea to drink in a second, but for now – he looks gorgeous. Hair dark with rain and eyes darker under his rugged brows, his scars standing out like shiny Mercury, his lips and his pouty cupid's bow. You grab for his wet hair and pull his face to yours, kissing him quick and hard. His eyebrows furrow and he returns the kiss with vigour, hands buried in the collar of your shirt.

 You set back down on your heels, worried about making a scene, but nobody's watching. There's laughter and wine and plates upon plates of party food, music drifting down the hallway. 

 His eyes open, rainwater running down his face like tears. "What's that for?" 

 You pull him in for another kiss. You don't understand why he would ever need to ask.

<3

thank you for reading!  i know it’s been a long time since the last baby fever so i hope this is good :3 sorry the formatting is a bit odd, i had to use the html option cos rich text kept crashing lol

tag club: 

baby fever taglist @rosaliedepp @kissmeunicornbaobei @buckyjbarneswhore @j-cat @justingnoreme @siriuslystfu @figlia--della--luna @augusticana @confidentlycali @bella-vasquez216  

marauders taglist @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu @thatblackravenclaw @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @thatonecomfyjumper @set-myself-on-fire @decafcoffew @mischiefmanagers @cordiformity @froggyy06

[sashi-ya]

Hello! My first time asking! I’ve been reading through everything Trafalgar Law on your page and really enjoyed it !!! I get lost in it *blushes*

Can I request a short scenario on how passionate Law would be in the bedroom? Yeah he’s all edgy and grumpy towards everyone, but behind closed doors is he an aggressive passionate lover ? Slow at making love? Selfish? What do you think ? Ugh I love this man!

Hi!! @halochaser! I’m so glad you enjoyed Law’s stories! He is my fave, and I love him too!. Rosinante and Law were my motivation to start writing fic, because I needed more of them haha :3. I hope you enjoy this scenario on how I imagine is Law on the bedroom. It is by far one of the spiciest fic I've ever written so I hope you enjoy that as well ♥.

NSFW - Trafalgar Law x F!Reader - [Pet play]

TW: +18 minors DNI. Explicit sex. Pet play. Spanking, Unprotected sex, butt sex. Spanks. Usage of liquids.

WC: 1.8K

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31707238

After the events on Wano Kuni you all come back to your respective ships and crews, of course there are some more injuries that still need to heal, but you are all pretty healthy. Law and you haven't been intimate since before arriving on Wano, and you kinda miss him. He is indeed a really edgy and grumpy guy towards the other, but still a sweetheart deep inside, especially with kids -when no one sees him- and with you. Cute things are his weakness, so you of course, take advantage of it and go purr next to him.

“Mr. Trafalgaaaar…”, you call him playfully, while he is sitting in the control room with a lot of papers and stuff you don’t even understand but that surely are the basis of a new plan. “Oi baby, what’s going on?”, he tells you, still writing who knows what. He hasn’t still noticed you were wearing that special lingerie you know he loves. “Mmm, I might be a little cold, can I go there and have a hug?”, you tell him. He puts down his pencil and turns to you. His expression changed from a neutral one to a more side smirk that could only mean one thing… you are getting railed tonight, hard.

“Heh, little kitty, no wonder you are cold. Why don’t you come here?”, he tells you and pats his lap. You get down on all fours and walk to him like a little pet to his master. Once there you crawl with your arms to his lap while he pets your hair and plays with the little fluffy ears you have on your head. “You are such a cute kitty cat, aren’t you?”, he says to you, and you nod while purring and rubbing your face on his thigh. His jeans begin to fit a little too tight on his crotch area, and the heat rises on the room.

“Come here, kitty cat”, he says and helps you sit on his lap. You fidget and make little jumps when you sit over his legs. He gasps with every movement, and he is about to devour you, completely.

You pass your arms around his neck, and press your breasts against his chest, nuzzling on his neck. He brushes your hair with those tattooed fingers, while bouncing his legs, making your clit feel fancy with each jump. He is being cute, soft, caring with you… yet it won’t last longer…

He squeezes the bulge your inner thighs form from the elastic of the thigh highs you are using, squeeze and rub, squeeze, and rub, up and down, accidentally brushing the back of his hand over the already wet cloth of your panties. You subtly kiss his neck, until you decide to bite his flesh. “Ñom”, you say and leave your teeth marked on his skin.

“Bad kitty, you shouldn’t bite master”, he says and softly spanks your ass. You jump over his dick with the smacking and look at him pouting. “If you do it again, I’m gonna have to punish you, ok?”. “Uhum”, you tell him, still pouting and fixing your eyes on his. You are acting cute, innocent, guilty for biting him. He is a sucker for that face, so he says “Ok, ok, you are forgiven. Has this kitty had his milk already?”.

You denied with your head, so he tells you “Oh, well let me bring some for you. But first, let’s go to the bedroom”. Law carries you in his arms while you cross your legs around his waist. He lets you on the floor next to the bed, delicately, and you wait for him kneeling with your hands over your thighs.

He leaves the room and comes back with a bottle of milk in his hands. “Open your mouth, kitty”, he orders you, and starts pouring the white liquid on your mouth, first drop by drop so you can easily swallow it. But then, the stream turns bigger, and you are not able to catch everything, so it spills all over your body and floor. “Bad kitty, you spilled the milk”, he says to you. You pout again in response and lick the back of your hand like a true cat.

Law looks at you, up and down. He examines you; he worships your body covered in milk. He then sits on the bed next to you and looks down on you, “Tch”. You crawl on all fours to his legs, in between them. You bury your nose on his crotch and rub against the hard bulge he has there. “What? What do you want? you’ve been a bad kitty, look at the floor… all covered in milk…”, he claims. You nuzzle on his jeans even more. Law grabs your chin, pulling to make you look up, and tells you “You ain’t having nothing from master even if you beg until I give you your punishment. Stand up and come here”. You do as he tells you and lay your stomach over his lap.

“What a beautiful tail you have”, he says and softly pulls from it but without taking it out, just enough to make the plug you are wearing stretch you with the pressure. You whine, but he instantly begins to caress your butt cheeks. Until the first spank, a violent, hard spank that surely turned your skin red, and maybe a little swollen. “YOU’VE”. Spank. “BEEN”. Spank. “A VERY”. Spank. “BAD KITTY”. Spank.

“That should be enough. Now, you can have master’s dick”, he says, helping you go back to the floor. You kneel in front of him, smiling, happy because you are now allowed to taste his wonderful flavour. Your skilled hands lower his jeans zipper and give freedom to his hard rock sex. You kiss and lick the head of it over the fabric of his grey boxers, just to tease him a little before you fully release his manhood.

Law grunts when you finally devour his dick completely up until your throat, you know how much he likes it when you give him head, and the exact way you do it. He pets your head, pleased, but rolling his eyes back whenever the tip of his sex touches your throat. He is sweet and soft for some minutes, but then, when pleasure takes over, he turns into a more violent lover. Grabbing your head in between his fingers, he moves your head brutally, up and down. But sooner it’s not enough, so he starts moving his hips, so he can fuck your mouth. Law is not the type of guy who remains silent, he grunts, moans and tells you how a good kitty you are for sucking his dick so willingly.

When he is pleased with it, it’s your turn to be eaten. He is not a selfish lover, and of course knows exactly where and how to do it, not only because he knows you completely, but also because his anatomy knowledge is supreme.

You are now laying on bed, he is licking the sweet milk that covers your body, slowly lowering, but stopping specially on your breasts. He moves aside the cute lingerie covering them, and then traces circles around your hard nipples, suck them, bite them. He likes to really wet them with his dribble, so much that he often spit a little over them. You can’t help but squirm and moan, but he orders you to stay still.

Law keeps lowering down, licking the remaining drops of milk on your stomach. Lower… lower until you are with your legs spread open and he is in between them, playing softly with your entrance. He kisses and bite your inner thighs; he even rips the stocking a little with his teeth.

Your master plays with your wet count, he uses his fingers first to rub your clit, then to penetrate you. He uses his tongue to devour your sex, even his whole mouth and nose. He buries himself on your sex, and you can hear him moan, enjoying the flavour of your arousal juices. “Maaasteeer…”, you whine because you are almost about to come. “What kitty cat? you wanna cum for your master?”, “Uhum”, you moan. “Fine, but I want you to squirt, ok?”, and as he says so he fingers you, violently touching that special point, raising the pressure inside you, still devouring your sex. Until you reach your climax, squirting as he told you, and him receiving it completely on his mouth. “Damn kitty, you are so delicious”, he tells you as the back of his hand wipes the wetness from around his mouth.

“Turn around”, he orders you and you know exactly what he wants. You are on all fours on the bed, and you wag your tail for him. “Uhg, baby”, he tells you and gives you another spank. You lay your head, and chest over the bed, but let your ass up, he penetrates you. First, just the tip, softly. You wag even more your tail until Law fully plunges into you, deep inside you. Violent thrusts, fast thrusts, mixed with more slower ones.

“Tch. This tail… I’m bored of it”, he tells you and pulls it out with a single fast move. You whine hard in response, it hurts when he does it, but that type of hurting you enjoy the most. He is now deciding whether keep on fucking your cunt or change to your ass… “I kinda want to fuck your ass, kitty”, he tells you. You know that’s the way he asks for consent, and because you want it you tell him “Yes, please master”. “Good”, he says, and now you are being slowly first, and then, hard fucked by Trafalgar Law on your backside.

He fucks you, with no mercy, pulling from your hair until the both of you explode with climax. He fills you up with his cum every time, and you simply love it. How the droplets of his thick juices gush from you.

After those intense sex sessions, Law carries you and the aftercare with him is amazing. He takes care of you by bathing your whole body in a bathtub with warm water and bubbles. He loves to spoil you, kisses everywhere, he even washes your hair. You both relax on the tub, while he tells you how much he loves you. Once the bath is over, he wraps you with a big towel to dry you, and while you get dressed, he brings you sweets and drinks you love the most.

Law may look like an ass the rest of the day, but you know cute things are his main weakness… and you don’t even have to try, you are the cutest for him... ♥

[miss-smutty]

Brothers - Chapter 11

Unforgiven

Summary- You're hit with the bombshell of Chris coming home after a month away and after he left you questioning everything, completely heartbroken. How were you meant to confront him after so long?

Word count- 2K

Pairing- Chris Hems x reader

Warnings- Swearing, a smidgen of violence

18+ only!

Posted: 3rd August 2021

Taglist:- @everything-is-awesomesauce @nicolemt23 @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires

Brothers Masterlist <<<

You haven't felt like this about anyone for a very long time and Chris has just made your fear of rejection all too real. You couldn't help the way you felt about him though, still feel about him. You love him and he'd told you he loved you, you'd felt it when he'd said it, you'd seen the look in his eye. So why were you even questioning it? 

In the morning you finally felt the courage to check your phone - Liam had stayed with you all night until you'd calmed down enough to go to bed when the sun had rised and you were no longer taunted by your demons in the dark.

There's multiple text messages and missed calls filling up the screen of your phone. 

I'm sorry I had to leave like that, are you ok? Xx

Read the first one. Your eyes scanned over the rest, mostly saying the same thing.

Y/N please answer. Let me explain myself. I didn't have time to speak to Liam about it all right then and I didn't want to leave on a bombshell.

His excuses made you feel sick to your stomach. You could understand why he did it but there were much better ways for him to go about it that wouldn't have left you feeling heartbroken.

You sighed heavily, putting your phone back onto your bedside table a little bit too forcibly and sinking back into your feather pillows. If you gave in to your impulses you would've text him back straight away but knowing deep down that would be the wrong thing to do, you restrained yourself. It took willpower but you just about managed, he'd made you feel like shit there was no way you were going to forgive him so easily.

*********

As the weeks passed by it became more and more difficult to ignore Chris, he wasn't giving up without a fight which admittedly made you feel a little bit better. You'd ignored him for so long it had become a habit and the fact he wasn't giving in told you he definitely did care about you but he'd made a major mistake and you were going to make him pay.

"Have you spoke to Chris yet?" Liam asked you over lunch. 

"Nope." A sly smile played on your lips, you were kind of enjoying making Chris sweat but you'd never admit it.

"Maybe you should, he's been blowing my phone up trying to get in contact with you. You do know he's coming home this week?"

"What? You stopped with your fork in front of your lips, eyes wide. "No I did not know that, has it been a month already?"

"Uh-huh, and its gonna be massively fucking awkward for me if you two are still arguing." 

"We're not arguing..." You brush your hair behind your ear, sitting up straight in your chair. " We're not even speaking." 

The thought of Chris coming home fills you with dread and excitement all at the same time. You're so excited to see his face and yet dreading the thought of having to deal with your problems.

"When will he be home?" You ask, trying to be casual.

"I don't know, he just said this week. I haven't exactly been speaking to him myself, I'm still pissed off with him."

"And you didn't think to ask what day?.and why are you pissed off? He didn't do anything to you." Your voice was a little too high, it always was when you panicked. Chris could come home at any minute and you weren't mentally prepared for it.

"No, but don't you think him hurting you effects me? You've had a face like a slapped ass for a month for a start and if you want to know so badly why don't you call him?" Liam raised his eyebrows at you, unamused at the whole messenger thing he had going on.

"Pfft, I can't." You push your bowl of food away, suddenly not very hungry anymore. "It's been so long I wouldn't even know what to say." 

"Your drama is honestly making me go grey." Liam runs his hand through his hair, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"I think you'd look pretty good as a silver fox." You tease.

"I would but still, please sort it out." He gives you the glare. "Anyway, I'm going to have a little get together tonight. You up for it?" 

"A get together or a party?" 

"Well you know how it usually goes, it starts off as a get together but usually turns in to a party." 

"Exactly, well I'm off out with the girls so we'll be there later." 

You finished up your meals, Liam refusing for you to pay as usual, he was such a gentleman, you really wish his brother was a little bit more like him in that way. 

*********

You help Liam greet his guests, smiling and mingling as you go. The ratio of women to men doesn't suprise you one bit, Liam was newly single after all but you roll your eyes anyway after leading yet another group of girls through to the living room.

You watched Liam greeting the girls with the most genuine smile on his face than you'd seen in a while, he was happy, finally and it brought you great pleasure.

Your heart stops beating when you hear Chris's distinctive Australian accent carry above the noise in the room, you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you turn around to find him. Your tummy fluttering when your eyes meet, unable to hide how much you've actually missed him from your face. He smiles sheepishly at you making your tummy somersault, excusing himself politely from the group of girls that had circled around him and making his way over to you, when Liam steps in his way, blocking his path.

"I don't want to make a scene here but you've got some serious explaining to do." Liam says sternly.

"I know... I... I wasn't honest with you before I left." 

"That's putting it lightly. Y/N told me everything." You watched the exchange between the brothers, your nerves going into overdrive. You could hear Liam's friend talking to you but you weren't focusing on him, his words just a distant noise, your attention solely on the brothers. Brothers who looked like they were about to fight. Because of you.

"What are you, her bodyguard? If there's anyone I need to answer to it's Y/N, are you gunna let me past?" You watched as Chris' jaw tensed, the muscles in his neck becoming more prominent and you knew things were getting heated.

"If you're gunna treat her like shit Chris then yeah I am, the manly thing to do was come clean. It was a pussy move and you know it." People were starting to watch and your cheeks were burning but you were routed to the spot. Unable to move all you could do was stare blankly.

"Are you calling me a pussy?"

"Yeah, I'm calling you a fucking pussy." Liam shoved Chris square in his chest, he barely moved but his jaw clenched together, the tendons in his neck straining with rage.

Why, why, why were you stood watching this and not doing something about it? Your two favourite people in the whole world were about to fight each other and you're stood watching like it's a fucking soap opera.

You could see Chris thinking, debating about what he should do. Should he give his brother a free pass - he did deserve it, or should he fight back - he'd already called him a pussy he didn't want people actually believing it. 

He decided to let it go, moving past him to get to you when Liam shoved him again, this time he wasn't expecting it and almost fell over, recovered himself and then went for Liam. Your mouth hung open, your legs started moving before you registered what was happening.

"Stop! Please stop!" You screamed, Liam's friends coming to the rescue and holding them both back. Tears in your eyes at the thought of them fighting each other

You looked up at Liam's friend holding Chris back. "It's ok, I've got him." You took Chris by the hand, leading him away from Liam, weaving through the crowd that had gathered, pissed off that they'd caused such a scene in public but you needed to get them away from each other so they could both calm down.

Chris walked into your room and you closed the door behind him, resting your head against it for a minute.

"What the fuck was that?" You question, turning around to face him.

"Don't ask me, what exactly did you say to Liam while I was gone?" 

"Are you really trying to blame me? I told him the truth Chris, like you should've done." He hung his head in shame. His elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Yeah I know but let me explain."

"I haven't got time for it now." You start shuffling through your wardrobe. "I need to get ready." You say with your back to him.

"Ready for what?"

"I'm going out with the girls." You turn around slowly, looking at him, taking him all in. You've missed him so much, why does he have to be so damn attractive.

Then he gives you that sexy smile and your knees almost cave but you remind yourself of the things he said, willing yourself to stay angry with him.

"Do you have to go? I've only just got back." You start going through your wardrobe, if you had your back to him you could distract yourself from the heavy sexual tension between you. The need to run up to him and wrap you legs around him, telling him all was forgiven while you kissed every inch of his damn fine body. 

"Yeah I'm going. You don't get to treat me like that and then just come back and act like nothings happened." 

"Y/N can you please stop being so stupid, this is ridiculous." He said sitting down on the end of your bed with his head in his hands.

"I'm being stupid? Are you for real?" You take off your clothes until you're left in just your underwear, turning around to look at him with your hands on your hips.

"Ok sorry that was the wrong thing to say, I've been trying to speak to you every day for a month. Did you not miss me?" He looks up, his eyes widening when he sees you in your underwear.

"You're always saying the wrong thing aren't you?" Now can you leave, I need to get ready and I want to do it in peace." You point to the door, your hand falling limply by your side when you watch Chris licking his lips, his eyes focusing everywhere but your face.

"Do you have to go? I think I can find a way of making you forgive me." 

"You can't just fuck your way outta this one Chris, I'm not a toy for you to do as you please with." 

"You're so hot when you're angry... I'm really trying not to fuck you senseless right now." He bites on his fist watching your anger falter.

"We're just friends aren't we?" You say rather bitterly

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it, friends don't do this shit -" he says as he moves in front of you, his hands wrapping around you and resting on your plump cheeks. "I told you I loved you and I fucking meant it. Can we please forget what I said? I didn't think about it until after I'd said it and I tried to call you straight away to apologize."

"Do what?" You reply trying to keep your calm as his hands electrify your body.

He cups your ass and lifts you into his arms, you instinctively wrap your legs around his hard torso. He lays you back onto the bed and kisses you deep, his tongue desperately finding yours as he thrusts his bulge into your tingling pussy. Your body betrays you as you let out a low moan, you feel him groan from deep inside as his prehistoric nature takes over.

"That." he says breathlessly.

"I'm still going out tonight but I'll be back later." You say between him kissing down your neck, savouring every last inch of your taste. "You can think about how you can make it up to me while I'm gone and before that you better go grovel to Liam, I think he's even more pissed off than me."

"Oh baby, you're not even going to know your own name by the time I'm finished with you never mind anything else." 

"This doesn't mean you're forgiven, this means I'm giving you a chance." 

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | TWO

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,495

warnings: depression, anxiety, mental illness! angst, fluff if you squint really hard

18+!!! minors stay away

Peter Parker was relentless, insufferable, and extremely annoying. It all started the morning after what you'd decided to call The Encounter, and it had been unending ever since. Nearly a week had passed since that fateful night, and you'd yet to see a day at school where Peter didn't try his hardest to get under your skin.

On Monday he sat next to you in Calculus, and no matter how blatantly you ignored him for the entire class, he continued to whisper facts about himself and stupid little jokes to you. You wished you could say you hadn't listened, but ever since that morning you'd been unable to forget that his favorite color was red, his Aunt packed him a lunch every day that he threw away because she couldn't cook, and his middle name was Benjamin. Why he thought you needed or even wanted to know such things you weren't sure, but even more befuddling was the fact that you couldn't un-learn them.

When Tuesday rolled around he stepped it up a notch, much to your dismay. He sat with you during Calculus and insisted on jogging with you during gym class, feigning that he was out of breath despite your slow pace and the fact that you were certain he could run for miles without getting winded. He told you more jokes then, too. One of which you begrudgingly found yourself exhaling a little harder over whenever it popped into your head; what did one stranger say to the other? Nothing. They didn't know each other.

Wednesday was the worst, because Peter made a scene. You came into calculus late and the teacher scolded you in front of the class, at which point you got flustered and tripped over your untied shoe laces. Your books spilled to the floor and you tumbled to your knees in front of everyone, and the whole class laughed. But Peter? Peter just had to be the hero, and your blood boiled at his actions.

He'd dramatically swept all his books off of his desk, feigning surprise at the loud clatter as if he hadn't done it intentionally. When the teacher scolded him, too, he just apologized and made a show of picking up each of his things one by one. "Why did you do that?" you'd hissed as you sat down, scowling at the brown-eyed boy who just blinked at you innocently.

"Do what?"

He'd ran with you in gym class again, and he'd even followed you to your locker afterwards. In all the years you'd known of Peter, you had never known him to be much of a talker. In fact, he seemed like a rather shy boy who didn't like to branch out much. With you, though, that was far from the case. Silence was a pipe dream with him around.

On Thursday he sat next to you in Calculus, ran with you in gym, walked you to your locker, and went so far as to sit with you at lunch. You'd put your earbuds in and blasted music as loud as you could without hurting yourself too much, but every time you looked up you could see he was still talking. Part of you wondered why he was being so relentless, but you didn't want to ask. If you asked he would think you cared, and you didn't. You didn't care at all, and the sooner he figured that out, the sooner he would leave you alone.

Or, at least you hoped so. As you walked into school on Friday morning, you groaned at the sight of Peter waiting patiently beside your locker. "What do you want, Parker?" you gritted out, glaring at him as you twisted the dial to enter your combination.

He grinned in spite of your glare, "I'm walking you to Calculus today, obviously. How was your night, (Y/N)? Do anything fun?"

"What part of I don't need friends did you not understand?" you demanded, giving him a stale look as you swung the metal door open with a clang. Peter blinked at you, clearly not used to you actually speaking back to him, and further uncomfortable with your hostility. What did he expect? Did he expect for you to suddenly be happy? To not be completely fucked up anymore just because he started talking to you?

He replaced his lazy smile and shrugged, retorting, "You know my secret and I know yours. That makes us friends."

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shout, yell, stomp your feet, and throw a tantrum fit for a child. Friends were not something you wanted or needed, and you certainly didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. You didn't want to be friends with someone just because they were worried you'd spill their dirty little secret, or because they pitied the girl who wanted to die.

The black hole in your chest was worse than ever that day, and it sucked away all the fight you had in you. So, with a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your earbuds in your ears and tuned him out once more. Just like he had at lunch, Peter continued to ramble even though he knew you weren't listening, and you pretended you didn't see his lips moving at the speed of light.

For once, at the very least, he at least shut up in class. You were thankful for the break from his incessant chatter, the endless monologue you couldn't escape from when you were stuck in a desk while Mr. Tinley droned on and on. Calculus was far from interesting, but you found yourself beyond relieved to finally be able to pay any sort of attention to the lesson.

Friday was steadily continuing along the same path every other day had since The Encounter. Peter thankfully parted ways with you after Calculus, but quickly rejoined you two classes later in Gym. From Gym he was glued to your side through lunch until you escaped to your Spanish class, which you thankfully didn't share with him, but the solitude was short lived. Your last class of the day was one you also shared with Peter, and prior to that day he had remained seated with his friends.

That day, though, he plopped down in the seat beside you with a cheerful smile. "Ready for our new project?" he asked, skipping the greeting he knew you wouldn't return.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him in bewilderment. New project? Our? What was he talking about?

Peter beamed back at you, clearly pleased that you hadn't snapped at him for once. "Our new project! Didn't you see the list on the door? We're partners." he explained, and you stiffened.

It was too big of a coincidence to truly be happenstance. All week Peter had been pestering you, perpetually following you around and talking your ear off, and now he just happened to be assigned as your partner for the final Speech project? He did something. That was the only logical conclusion.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him with as much intensity as you could muster. "Peter, what did you do?" you growled.

Peter's eyes widened at your tone, and he shifted in his seat nervously with a sheepish smile. "What do you mean?" he questioned coyly, and you scowled at him fiercely. "I didn't do anything, (Y/N)."

"Bullshit." you snapped, "I find it hard to believe that we just happened to be assigned partners after how obsessively you've been harassing me all week."

He gaped at you, "Harassed? What?" he stammered, "(Y/N), let's calm down--I haven't... I haven't been harassing you. I just want you to know I really do want to be your friend."

You scoffed at his excuse, "Shut up, Peter. Just leave me alone! I don't want to be your friend, okay? My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone your secret, just leave me alone!"

With one finally glare, you lurched out of your seat and stomped to one far away from the still aghast boy. As you settled into your new seat, ignoring the strange looks from your classmates who witnessed your outburst, you wrinkled your nose and picked at your nails angrily. As much as you were angry with Peter, you were also angry with yourself.

You were angry that he'd stopped you, and you'd let him. You were angry at the world for letting your sister die. You were angry at your sister for saving you when she should have saved herself. Most of all, though, you were angry with yourself for how you were acting. Even though she wasn't there, you could almost hear your sister scolding you for how you'd treated Peter.

She always was the levelheaded, rational sister. The good sister. The better sister. She would have been ashamed of how you'd been ignoring Peter, ranting to you, "He's just trying to be there for you, idiot. Stop being such a jerk and let him help you. You need to stop being so stubborn..."

You listened eagerly to Ms. Lovell's lesson and instruction for the new project. It wasn't because you were genuinely interested, because you weren't, but it was something to distract you. It was something to drown out the voice of your sister that was echoing through your skull, rattling you to your core as you tried to keep your emotions at bay.

This was the hardest part of losing your sister. She'd been so close to you, so important to you, it was impossible to not think of her in every moment of every day. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have done, instead of what you had done. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have thought of your actions, what she'd have said to you, of what she'd have wanted you to do.

She had been your voice of reason, your confidant, your role model. She'd always been so much better than you, someone you aspired to be like, and now that she was gone the comparisons were so much heavier on your head. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her? She would never have had such a hard time like you were.

For instance, she wouldn't have been so bitter. She wouldn't have been so filled with rage, hatred, or despair. She wouldn't have blamed anyone, not even herself, and she wouldn't have hated the people who had killed you. She always did love a good superhero, and even if you'd have died at the hands of the Avengers like she had, she would have found a reason to still have faith in them. She would have forgiven them.

This project was going to be a tough one, and not just because you were going to have to work with Peter Parker. "This is going to be a persuasive speech, guys, so you're able to pick your stance freely so long as it pertains to the Avengers. For example, you could persuade us that they're bad, if that's how you feel." Ms. Lovell explained, "Just be prepared to face debate from the class. Each group has to face five full minutes of argument from the class and be able to firmly debate their stance."

A project in which you'd have to argue your stance pertaining to the superheroes that had killed your sister, and you were working with Peter-Spiderman-Parker. Great, you thought to yourself, this was going to be a nightmare. There was no way the two of you would agree on what stance to persuade; you hated superheroes, and he was one, for God's sake.

You glanced over at Peter, only to catch him already staring at you. The pair of you quickly looked away from each other, but you noticed the way his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. How long had he been watching you? Was he dreading the project now as much as you were?

He probably didn't know how you felt about the Avengers. Not many people really cared enough to read about what had happened to your sister, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to be out protesting the many shortcomings of the superheroes. You wondered, though, how he would react when he found out.

Lying was an option, but there was no way you'd be able to debate in favor of the Avengers without breaking. Could you debate against them without losing it either, though? You weren't entirely sure. It was a sore subject and you were certainly not looking forward to having to dedicate your time to speaking about them.

Peter lingered by his seat after class was dismissed, staring at you awkwardly as he told his friends he would catch up with them later. You could see the strange, weary looks they shot you, but you chose to ignore them. Everyone looked at you a little funny ever since the incident, and you'd long ago grown accustomed to it. This time, though, you couldn't help but think they were looking at you strangely for a reason other than your sister.

You had two options. You could suck it up and talk to Peter right then, or you could continue to ignore him until you were forced to do the project. Catching his warm brown eyes as he timidly watched you, you sighed. It was now or never; maybe if you were nicer he'd back off a little with the obsessive tendencies.

"So," you drawled, approaching him shyly, "how are we gonna do this?"

This was what she would have wanted you to do; that's what you chanted in your head as you forced yourself to at least seem somewhat approachable. "Uh, we could--we could meet up tomorrow? You could come to my apartment." he stuttered, scratching his neck awkwardly and fiddling with his backpack.

He radiated nervous energy, and the black hole inside of you consumed it greedily. You twiddled your thumbs just as nervously as you replied, "Do you, um, do you mind coming to my house instead? My parents are--they're a little weird about me going out because of... yeah."

God, his stutter was rubbing off on you, and you cringed at the way you stumbled over your words like a fool. It had been such a long time since you'd invited anyone to your house, let alone talked to anyone besides your parents and your therapist, and it was stressing you out. The exhaustion of the day was wearing you down rapidly, and having to socialize was making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!" he spluttered, "Uh, could I get your number? So I can, like, text you when I'm coming?"

You hoped he didn't notice how much your fingers were shaking as you took his phone, struggling to type in your number as you mistyped multiple times. Once you'd saved your contact into his phone, you sent yourself a text so that you'd have his number too. You didn't exactly answer unknown numbers anymore, though if you were honest, you often didn't answer people you knew either. That was what drove your friends away.

Peter shot you a shy smile as you handed his phone back, and he asked, "Do you want to get started tonight, maybe? I could call you."

Biting your cheek, you paled. Tonight? You were exhausted, and the thought of having to talk for any longer made you nauseous. "No offense, Peter, but I... I really just need a break. This week has been a lot." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you stared at your feet.

"Oh, yeah, totally." he acquiesced, "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't reply, only giving him a tight lipped smile that probably looked more like a grimace as you quickly walked away. Once you were out of his sight, your entire body drooped and the numbness steadily washed over you. It had been the longest day, and you were once again grateful for the escape from the overwhelming emotions.

Ever since she died, it was as if all your emotions were on overdrive. There were the many constant ones, like the guilt, shame, and anguish over her death. Along with those were more fleeting ones, like anger, disgust, and fear. Peter, though, he brought about a whole slew of new and equally as intense feelings that drained you.

He made you feel things like anxiety, apprehension, and hope. There was anxiety both due to his wild behavior in regards to you, but also because you feared he might tell people what he'd seen. The apprehension was due to your suspicion he was only so interested because you knew his secret, and was just as fearful that you would tell. But the hope, the stupid anticipation, was the worst.

It was the worst because a stupid part of you hoped he was genuine. You wanted him to really want to be your friend with no ulterior motives because, no matter how much you denied it, you really did need a friend. You wanted a friend. You wanted to let someone in.

You weren't buying it, though, because you were certain you couldn't handle the heartbreak of being wrong about his intentions and discovering he really did only care about his secret. You weren't going to let him hurt you, and if you had to shut yourself off from the world and hurt yourself to prevent it, then so be it. It was easier that way.

Peter Parker: hey i know you said you didn't want to start tonight but that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other

Peter Parker: so if you want, lets play 20 questions! i'll start. what's your favorite movie?

The typing cursor blinked at you tauntingly as you laid on your bed, huddled under the blankets with your thumbs hovering over the keys. That stupid part of you that wanted to make your sister proud begged you to go along with it, to let him be a friend, but you were terrified. You were terrified of the way you actually opened the text and went to reply without hesitation, something you hadn't done since before the incident. You were terrified of the way you wanted to reply, but the only thing that gave you pause was the fact that you didn't have an answer.

Movies weren't something you'd given much thought to in awhile. You knew all of your sister's favorite movies by heart, but your favorite movie? It was as if your brain opened an empty drawer. You didn't know what your favorite movie was.

You: i don't know

Peter Parker: what do you mean you don't know

Peter Parker: do you not like movies?!

You: i just don't know okay

You: i can't remember the last time i watched a movie.

That was a lie. You very well could remember the last time you'd watched a movie, and that was because it was with her. The weekend before she'd died, your sister had dragged you to the theater to watch some cheesy romance film she'd been gushing about for weeks. It was awful, but it was so utterly her that you'd weirdly enjoyed it. You enjoyed it because it made her happy.

Peter Parker: that's crazy wow

Peter Parker: no offense sorry

Peter Parker: it's your turn to ask

You: what's your favorite movie

Peter Parker: star wars but you can't ask the same question!! try again

You: fine

You: what's your favorite food?

Was talking to boys always this hard? You couldn't remember the last time you'd had to get to know someone, but you didn't think it had ever been so nerve wracking. Was something wrong with you? Was everything destined to be this hard now that she was gone?

Peter Parker: anything from Delmar's

Peter Parker: best sandwiches in Queens

Peter Parker: since you got a double and you technically didn't answer my first question, i'm asking you the same but also what's your happiest memory

Everything was always going to be hard. Reading his response, your lungs deflated in your chest and the numbness gave way to the all too familiar sensation of despair. She'd always loved Delmar's, insisting on getting the same sandwich from there every single Friday after school, and it had been your thing.

Would there ever be anything that didn't remind you of her? Remind you of the hole punched in your life where she used to be? It was hard enough dealing with the empty space in your room where her bed used to be, the empty chair at the dinner table where she'd used to sit, all the empty spaces she'd used to fill up. But the little things--the little memories of things she'd used to love--those hurt so much more.

You: i have to go

You: i forgot i'm busy tomorrow so we can't start the project

You: i'm sorry

SERIES TAG-LIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton

[buddha-in-disguise]

100 episodes of Supergirl. And let me tell you it was a doozy.

Well that was an episode and then some. I haven't had a rewatch yet, so no doubt will pick up on some things once I do, but for now here are more immediate thoughts.

The first thing that struck me - it's now canon that Kara and Lena's destinies are intertwined. Who they become, who they were to who they are, whether or not they survive, hell, even whether or not those around them survive, depends on the other person. No-one else has the same impact in their life. Argue all you want, but that sure as hell is a definition of soulmates to me, platonic or otherwise.

If anyone of you are like me, and old enough to have been Xena fans, let me tell you this is so reminiscent of the “When Fates Collide” episode from season 6, which showed that in any alternate universe, Xena and Gabrielle still find each other. That it always comes back to the two of them. Fast forward some 18 years, and this parallels that message. Fate or destiny, call it what you will, but Lena and Kara's lives are intricately linked. I know a few other SG fans are Xena fans, and we've discussed the similarities between Kara/Lena v Xena/Gabrielle numerous times. This is another for that growing list.

So other than that, here are my immediate takeaways from it all.

Mon-El. Now he is a divisive character, and one I honestly have had a lot of issues with. However, this episode I felt showed the better side of him.

I also watched with widening eyes as Kara went to her ex-boyfriend for no reason other than to ask him about Lena! Seriously telling moment for me. I was also pleased Mon-El made the point that he and Lena both came from abusive childhoods and families. At last, the point of Lena having reacted in part like she has is because of abuse, as mentioned. Only the other day I said I was frustrated how Mon-El was forgiven for his actions because of his upbringing, but Lena wasn't afforded the same. It wasn't much, but it was a start. I will add, abuse or not - Lena still is accountable for her own actions (more on that later), just as Mon-El was.

The other thing. Winn has already said to "Give Lena time." Mon-El mirrored that line. Brainy believes in Lena. All three are from the future. Plus, the whole reason Mon-El can even be there? Because L-Corp develops a cure for the Daxamite lead allergy. Not LexCorp. Not Luthor Corp. L-Corp. Now I know that Supergirl and continuity are really poor at times, but I truly hope this is another nod that LexCorp is defeated, and Lena takes control of L-Corp once again, and she does good things, that lead L-Corp into being the cause for good she has always wanted it to be.

Onto Dark Lena. I'd already said to hubby that I wouldn't be surprised if in one of those timelines they didn't show an evil Lena. After all, we've had Kara gone bad now a few times in various scenarios. We even have had a bad Alex (S1, mind controlled anyone? Hmm. Mind controlled Alex. Oh wonder where we've heard that before? Yep, Alex this season. No idea if that is relevant in future episodes if Alex and Lena actually ever have a damn conversation, but it should be, whereby Alex can tell Lena just how mind controlling anyone, regardless of intent is a huge, bad thing, because of her own experiences with it).

So evil Lena was so good. It was pretty obvious to me, once they said that Lena had been injured, then disappeared and came back 2 years later changed, that Lillian/Cadmus had her. Lo and behold, Lillian had kidnapped her, and Lena version of Metallo was born. Even faced with that, when Kara refused to fight Lena, for that split second you could see the flicker in Lena's facial reaction. That split second moment of doubt. Honestly one of the things that I love so much with Supergirl is that they often have these nuanced moments throughout the seasons. Put those moments in the hands of Melissa and/or Katie and they're elevated to another level.

So only the other day on a different post I wrote this: 'Also, in reference to that S2 episode, (note - also ep 13), as Mxy disappears, he says that all he ever wanted was to have someone to love him, but Kara says that "love can't be forced on anybody; it needs to come on its own."'

Then we get the line in this episode of: “You were right what you said. You can’t force magic. It must be found.” Okayyyy then. Wow. Parallels again.

So talking of nuanced moments, let's talk about that ending. Although, before we delve into that I just want to talk about it a moment before Kara lands on Lena's balcony.

Did Kara actually watch that tape?

I find it strange it was left and I believe it wasn’t left by accident. Why else pick it up, and show that title so clearly? Why have that scene in at all unless it has relevance?

Is that why she decided she needed to take the stance she did?

I personally believe this was why it played out like it has. Kara saw something in that tape to take this route.

So the last scene. Again, watch the nuances of expression on Lena’s face as Kara speaks.

From the shock when Kara says “not this time.” to the way she frowned at the last line. Which isn’t calling Lena a villain by the way. For goodness sake please don't misrepresent exactly what was said. Kara is saying *if* Lena becomes a villain.

But there is far more here for me.

Lena knows Kara's true identity. Kara is trusting her with that knowledge even now, and especially with Lex in the picture. We know from the earlier timelines explored that by Kara openly showing who she is to the World, it causes all those around her to be targeted and killed. That is the trust Kara is showing and Lena almost certainly knows it, even without knowing that timeline alternative, and even if she doesn’t want to admit it yet.

A best friend isn't someone who always agrees with you and tells you that you're right.

A best friend is someone that helps you be the best version you can be, reminding you what your values are and what is important. They hold you accountable when you mess up, and support you when you need help. That is exactly what Kara did. She was telling Lena she would be the for her, but she would also hunt her down if she became a Villain.

We also have to remember numerous times, Lena has stated she is not a Villain. And she isn't. Not yet. She is misguided, making some terrible decisions, but ultimately Lena also stated just ahead of when she jumped off the cliff that 'Supergirl will save me.'

Now Lena knows, Kara will save her. But the boundary lines have been set by Kara (who by the way, I still think could never fight back against Lena. Not fully, because she wouldn't even when Evil Lena was killing her. She saw that flicker in the eyes just as I did).

Kara has firmly placed it all into Lena's court. Lena has to make the decision, to meet Kara half way and that Kara shouldn't have the burden placed entirely on her, and they shoulder it together. To realise her mistakes. We know Lena is craving friendship as much as she denies it. Remember this with Hope in 5.08, The Wrath of Rama Khan, and the nuanced reaction Lena gave there as the reality set in?

L: "You're the only friend I can count on."

H: "But, Ms. Luthor, I'm not your friend. I'm something you created to serve a purpose."

Ouch. That one hurt.

This whole end scene is more powerful and pivotal than perhaps realised.

Overall, I loved the episode. I truly did.

I just wish there wasn't another small break between this and episode 14, which isn't until March 8th. Damn all these breaks so close together! It would be so much nicer to be able to watch them without all these interruptions.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

(Vol. XXIII)

It was a love story from the very beginning.

When you're more than family

(6x16/6x18/6x20)

Hello my friends! How are you??? We have this chronicle and the next one, and we'll be officially finishing season 6!!!

I want to give thanks to my friend @agusvedder she made the gifs for this meta, thank you girl! 💕

Ok, I'm gonna talk here about an interesting parallel I saw between Rufus/Bobby and Dean/Cas, I consider this a huge proof to settle Destiel as a romantic relationship. I'll take episode 16, 18 and first part from 20.

But let's start for once! Enjoy!

Episode 16 as a foreshadow for Leviathan and Castiel's possession

Episode 6x16 "And then there were none" we had two specific situations foreshadowing what will happen by the end of this season.

I want to talk first about the foreshadow of the arrive of Leviathan inside Castiel's vessel.

Pay attention to this piece of dialogue...

BOBBY: So, we're talking about, like, a monster that gets in you?

DEAN: It's like a Khan worm on steroids.

SAM: You mean like a parasite, something that took over your body.

DEAN: Worm crawls in you, worm crawls out.

RUFUS: Monster possession? That's novel.

SAMUEL: Or that thing's still in you, and we can't trust a word that you're saying.

This was foreshadowing Castiel's Leviathan possession, a monster that gets in you, is clear here the parallel, and then Dean saying "worm crawls in you, worm crawls out" is what will happen with Cas at the beginning of season 7.

Episode 16 as a foreshadow of Dean and Cas break up

When Sam faces Samuel, there's an interesting quote there, that can be seen as a foreshadow too...

SAMUEL: Just because you're Dr. Jekyll at the moment doesn't mean you can get all high and mighty. Don't forget, we spent a year together.

SAM: Yeah, we did. We're blood. And you still sold me out.

Sam is claiming here to his grandfather, his family, because he betrayed them. Cas is family too, and they have been together for a large period too. So the betrayal will hurt deeply. But mostly to Dean.

Now, let's jump to the interesting conflict between Rufus and Bobby. There was something in their past, something huge that hurted Rufus and he couldn't forgive Bobby.

Read the following dialogue...

BOBBY: Yeah, s-shut up a minute. I'm trying to say something. It was my fault – Omaha.

RUFUS: No. No, it wasn't.

BOBBY: No, I should – I should have listened to you.

RUFUS Well, hey, that's categorical, Bobby.

Think about this, Bobby here is CAS mirror, and Rufus is Dean. Bobby/Cas is regretting something he did in the past that hurted badly to his best friend. And that quote... Is what Cas would feel at the beginning of season 7 when he will try to get Dean's forgiveness.

Okey.. let's continue...

BOBBY: I – l-let me just get this out.

RUFUS: Bobby, we've had this conversation already, okay?

BOBBY: No, we haven't. I never said I'm sorry, Rufus. I – you lost her because of me, and I—

RUFUS: Bobby, I said we've had this conversation already. And you could blabber all day...And it wouldn't change a thing, Bobby.

I saw this and I was like... Of course, this is talking and yelling Destiel all over the place. This is a blantant foreshadow of Dean and Castiel fighting.

Castiel trying to convince Dean, and Dean too hurt to listen. Cas saying "I'm sorry" and Dean "This won't change nothing" , I know you remember this ... The next episode are so sad that my heart hurts.

Ok, but... The scandalous thing isn't this parallel... But Dean's own words...

Cas is more than family for Dean... That's why he won't forgive him

Ok... This was an enlightened discover here (sorry if someone else has seen this before, come and share your thoughts) but... When Dean listened what had happened between Rufus and Bobby, and when he knew Rufus has never forgiven Bobby.. this was what he said...

SAM: So, what happened?

BOBBY: It was Omaha. It was my fault. And he never let it go.

DEAN: Well, he should have.

BOBBY: You don't know what I did, Dean.

DEAN: Doesn't matter.

BOBBY: What do you mean, it doesn't—

DEAN: (...)We're gonna spend it wringing our hands? Something's gonna get us eventually, and when my guts get ripped out, just so you two know, we're good. Blanket apology for all the crap that anybody's done all the way around.

SAM: Some of us pulled a lot of crap, Dean.

DEAN: Well, clean slate.

SAM: Okay.

Two things with theses words Sayed by Dean...

1) Dean thinks family and friends deserves forgiveness, no matter what they did. Ergo... If he thinks that, why he couldn't forgive Castiel's betrayal? Isn't Castiel family? His best friend? Like a brother? Why then he didn't forgave him? Simply, because for Dean CAS IS MORE THAN A FRIEND, AND MORE THAN FAMILY. This is just logic, my friends and a huge proof of what the writers want us to see, a big subtext of how Destiel was written romantically. In his own words we will hear him say too in 7x17 (Reading is fundamental) that what Cas did, he doesn't know why, but he couldn't forgive him. And he will say too, that never had happened to him before. You need more proofs?? Dean is in love with Cas. But he still doesn't admit it. (He will in season 8).

2) He says when his time comes... He wants to know everything is ok with his friends and family, so everything has to be forgiven. Ok... That would explain why when he was about to die in that mission to kill Dick in season 7, he forgives Cas.

Ok, now, following the same idea, we had this sweet snack, brought by my dearest friend Agus, I was screaming like a crazy lady when she told me this... Pay attention... In Dean's words too...

Episode 6x18 "Frontierland" Dean and Sam travel in time to track the Colt.

DEAN: I know where we can find one. March 5, 1861. Sunrise, Wyoming. We'll "Star Trek IV" this bitch.

Ok, Dean... Star Trek... Men on space... You'll be an astronaut or something like that...

Immediately after this... Dean prays to Cas...

DEAN We got a guy who can swing it. (Dean stands up, and prays) Castiel. The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance. So, come on down here. Come on, Cas, "I Dream of Jeannie" your ass down here pronto. Please.

(an angel appears in the vessel of a blonde woman)

DEAN: Jeannie?

Ok, not Cas, but... Wait a second... Why are you an astronaut and Cas is Jeannie? We all know what happened between them... Yeah... The fell in love with each other!!! *Screaming*

Then I died and Agus went for the dragon balls to resurrect me.

She will add something in the comments beacuse when she showed me that "thing" she found ... I died again. So. Agus, be responsible.

Now, just to give a closure to episode 6x16, another petit foreshadow...

Sam and Dean will lose his second dad

At the end of the episode, the boys are alone looking at Rufus's grave.

And then...

Here a sad prelude of Bobby's death in season 7.

Dean's blind Faith in Cas

In episode 6x18, we had a curious situation, Jealous!Dean strikes again, when he prays to Cas but the one answering is his lieutenant.

She is angry with the Winchesters brothers, because she thinks they call Cas just to use him for their capricious desires.

But in the middle of that discussion, Cas arrives.

The tone in Dean's voice and his facial expression is yelling jealous, that's not the point here now, but just wanted to mention it, because is our jam.

Fine, now... In this same episode we see Cas walking into the dark side, and we have this dialogue with his lieutenant...

RACHEL: Castiel, I've been hearing things. Things I don't want to believe. Just tell me if it's true.

CASTIEL: If what's true?

RACHEL: You know. Your dirty little secret.

CASTIEL: I have to defeat Raphael.

Cas is willing to anything to defeat Raphael.

RACHEL: Not this way, Castiel.

CASTIEL: Rachel.

RACHEL: We put our faith in you, and...look what you're turning into.

CASTIEL: I don't have a choice.

RACHEL: Then neither do I.

Rachel is disappointed with him, her leader is working with Crowley.

We see this scene, and immediately we are worry too about Cas behavior and future.

But the most hurtful and beautiful episode from the whole season was 6x20, The man who would be king, written by Edlund, this episode was an oasis for Castiel's fans. Here Cas talks directly with us, Edlund describes the character he created and explains why he's doing what he's doing.

I divided the episode in two parts, I will talk here about Dean's blind Faith, trust, in Cas... Is very heartbreaking watch him trying to believe in Case till the last second. Because CAS was more than family to him.

So, first of all... This scene...

If you notice Dean's face. He's worry about Cas. He's worry because his brother and Bobby suspect about him, and he feels between CAS and them. He tries saying that to him. Because he still trust him, and he is sure if something is wrong, Cas will count on him. And the longing stare, so Destiel here. Cas is struggling with telling or not the truth, and Dean is expecting some answer. This is sad and angsty my friends...

But Dean isn't the only one feeling himself between two poles, Castiel is too. When he arrives with Crowley, the King of Hell makes him notice he knows about it...

Crowley says this, knowing how it sounds. It sounds like a romantic thing. And he did it on purpose. So, Crowley is presenting Cas and Dean encounter inside the Impala as a romantic scenario.

Now... Let's go with Dean arriving to Bobby's house...

Ugh, that. He still believes in Cas, he is giving himself excuses to kept his faith on him, the same happened when CAS leave him alone on Purgatory, or when the angel didn't scape from there, he invented in his mind excuses, because he loves Cas so much, he never would expect betrayal from him.

And Cas being there, hidden, listening to his friends, as if he was a spy.

And this quote here...

This is sadness, because he's watching Dean trying so hard to be loyal to him, imagine the war Cas was having inside of him. He felt he was still the Winchesters's guardian, but at the same time, he had HIS MISSION, and nothing goes before CASTIEL'S MISSION.

If you're not crying so far... I have two more things Dean says because he loves and trusts in Castiel....

SAM: Yeah. So what now?

DEAN: We'd call Cas.

SAM: What?

DEAN: This is usually the point where we would call Cas for help.

BOBBY: We talked about this.

SAM: Yeah, Dean.

DEAN: I mean, when there was no one...And we were stuck - and I mean really stuck - he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freakin' times. This is Cas! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least?

Yeah... Let's cry... Even with all the evidence, Dean believes in him. Cas is Sam and Bobby's friend, but for Dean, evidently, HE IS MORE THAN THAT.

So they prayed to him... But Cas was there... Listening hidden... And didn't come...

DEAN Castiel...Come on in.

CASTIEL But I didn't go to them...Because I knew they would have questions I couldn't answer...Because I was afraid.

Edlund shows us the whole time Castiel's inner war... His feelings... His suffering.

And Dean... Dean still believes in him... Because here you have another invented excuse he gave himself...

To Conclude:

6x16 was full of foreshadows for Destiel fight, the arrival of the Leviathan inside Cas and Bobby's death. It also showed us what Dean thinks about forgive family or friends. Ergo, and because he couldn't forgive Cas, Cas was more than that to him.

6x18 gave us a romantic parallel with the astronaut Dean and Cas/Jeannie.

It shows too Cas in the dark side.

6x20 was a beautiful episode written by Edlund, showing us the intimacy of Castiel's thoughts. The POV is exquisite, and explains perfectly why Cas was doing what he was doing. Edlund defends his character, and writes a romantic and angsty chapter.

Dean believes in Case against all the evidences, just because he loves him. And Cas is more than family to him.

I hope you like this, see you in the next Chronicle!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @koshisekisen @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @angelneedshunter @trickster-archangel @dea-stiel @bre95611 @thewolfatmydoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @xsghn @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts

If you want to be tagged, just let me know.

Previous season 6 Chronicles:

Vol. XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI, XXII.

Buenos Aires, August 7th 2019 10:05 PM

[breanna-lynn]

Breanna, I am looking for advice that isn't judgmental or self-righteous and you are the only one I can think of who I can go to. My new husband and I are having problems with intimacy--I am terrified of being physically vulnerable with him and haven't been able to do much other than kiss him without feeling embarrassed. He feels like he's doing something wrong but I know the problem is mine somehow...how do I push past the fear in moments like this?

Thanks for writing me and trusting me! You definitely are not judged or going to get some self-righteous crap from me. You are loved and accepted

There are a lot of reasons you may be feeling the way you are; I personally don’t know the root of why you feel embarrassed or terrified, but God does and He can reveal to you what this is coming from and heal you from it so it no longer hinders your intimacy with your husband! Also, it’s so common to feel this way for a lot of women, so don’t feel embarrassed about how you feel. You’re okay.

We hide out of fear when we feel naked, exposed, shameful. Just like Adam after he gave into sin in the garden (“And he said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” Genesis 3:10 ).

But sometimes the enemy tricks us into feeling shameful about our nakedness when we have nothing to fear. If you have been forgiven and your sins washed by accepting Jesus as your Savior, then this is your truth:  

 “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1. 

The enemy brings shame, condemnation, and is the accuser- he makes what God designed to be holy and beautiful something quite the opposite. God wants us to enjoy each other and to have full intimacy. He made sex to be enjoyable for us, not just physically, but emotionally and relationally as well. (“And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” Genesis 2:25).

I don’t know your personal reasons of why you feel this way, or why it is hard, and I wouldn’t be one to guess- but I can confidently encourage you with the truth and pray for you and share what God put on my heart when I lifted you up in prayer to Him.I spent some time praying for you and your husband and seeking God, listening to the Holy Spirit. Here is the encouragement I received for you, in three parts:

1. I believe God wants you to be vulnerable before Him and learn how to receive love. He is going to break down every wall of fear that has been built up inside you.

Play “Come out of Hiding” by Steffany Gretzinger. Just let it play and listen, let the Holy Spirit minister to you. Allow God to speak to your heart and hold you. Just be still and receive.

Receive God’s love. That’s all I want you to do. Lay your heart bare before Him and let Him love you.

He loves you.

Receive His love for you.

“I am my beloved’s and his desire is for me.” Song of Songs 7:10

Jesus’ love for you is safe, perfect, pure, secure. In His love, there is no fear. His love will cast out all fear. Allow Him to love you with His perfect, good love for You, and let it cast out all your fear. He is not here to punish you. He is here to love you as valuable and precious to Him. He saved you because of His lovingkindness.

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”  1 John 4:18  

The enemy works overtime to challenge any notion that we are valuable and loved by God. He knows that our behavior, lifestyle, calling- everything we do flows from our identity. He puts up accusations against the simple truth that we are loved by God. “To embrace your identity as the beloved of God is the embrace that you are chosen, desired, and deeply valued by God.” - A.N.  When you are grounded in God’s love for you, lies are replaced with truth. So first you must receive and believe God’s love for you. No rebuttal against it. No doubts of His love or that He could love you. You are His beloved- He chose you, pursues you, and you are His, and He loves you completely and fully. 

You are loved by God.

He is going to set you free in His love, so you can fully enjoy the intimacy He desires for you to experience in every good and perfect way.

“But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” 2 Corinthians 3:16-18 

Turn to His love and let Him unveil your face to behold and see the beauty of His love for you. He is continually sanctifying you and transforming you with His love- just fix your gaze on His love for you and receive it. Let Him remove the veil so you can see the love that is ready for you to receive. 

And as you receive God’s love for you, He is showing you how to be free and receive love from your husband and greater intimacy. Your husband is supposed to love you like Christ loves the church- laying Himself down for you, loving you as he loves his own body, washing you in the truth of God, and treating you as holy and pure, nourishing and cherishing you. May he treat you “with consideration as a delicate vessel, and with honor as a fellow heir of the gracious gift of life.” (Ephesians 5:21-33 + 1 Peter 3:7) And you, as a wife, submit (entrust) yourself to your husband as you see that he would give everything for you.

2. Reconcile.

“Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but wordly sorrow brings death.” - 2 Corinthians 7:10

Perhaps something was broken for you. That breaking would have caused you pain and an opening to create distance between you and another/others.

Intimacy is restored by forgiveness. If there was a conflict or pain that you have been through, something may be left unaddressed. Take time seeking God about forgiveness- for yourself, your husband, between you and God, between you and another person, etc. Acknowledge sin and confess it; extend forgiveness and receive forgiveness. Maybe you have already confessed a sin but haven’t truly allowed yourself (or someone else) to receive God’s forgiveness in your heart. Receive it. If there is someone you haven’t forgiven yet- Jesus paid the price so we can reconcile and restore what was lost because of sin previously, and so He can give you peace where there once was pain. I am praying God restores your intimacy, that it would be richer than you ever experienced than before, and that He would heal all and any pain you may have endured during a period of emotional and physical separation. Jesus draws us closer. God knows and loves us. Whatever is causing distance, seeking to reconcile in Christ. Beyond making peace or settling difference- God will restore your friendship and intimacy. God made a way for you to enjoy intimacy with Him, and with your husband. He will reconcile us to Himself and to one another. 

If you have been feeling a barrage of shame and guilt that is not of God but rather the enemy’s lies accusing you and making you feel condemnation, that is not from God and you are going to rebuke it and take authority over it. But first, seek if there needs to be a time of repentance between you and God, or you and your husband. Know the difference between the conviction of the Holy Spirit and the condemnation of the devil. 

“Often it feels as though our sin and failures are permanent marks against us. We walk through the halls of our lives and are continually reminded of our shortcomings. The evil one will pour gasoline on the sparks of our internal guilt until our minds are consumed by the flames of condemnation instead of holy conviction.

Conviction is a work of the Spirit that helps us see the wrong we’ve done;Condemnation is a work of the evil one that tells us we are defined by the wrong we’ve done.” (Adam Narciso)

Satan tries to accuse and condemn you; Jesus took away your sins and has clothed you in His righteousness ( Zechariah 3:1-5 ) 

3. I believe God wants you to rebuke shame in the name of Jesus and take authority over it in Christ. 

You are going to tell shame to go.

I believe God wants to set your free from lies of doubt, lies of insecurity, lies of dirtyness, lies of shame and lies of fear. 

Ask God to reveal why you are terrified of being physically vulnerable with your husband. 

Ask God to show you the root of your fear.

What do you fear? Do you fear rejection? Do you fear showing your body to your husband? Do you fear trusting yourself to your husband physically? Write down what He shows you. Be honest with yourself and with God.

Ask God to reveal to you why you feel embarrassed.

You don’t have to “push past” fear- especially sexually. You need to feel safe and comfortable sexually with the person you are with. Don’t ever feel like you have to push past anything or force yourself to do something you aren’t yet comfortable with.

Do not believe the lie something is wrong with you.

Rebuke each and every lie that you have believing: the lie you are not beautiful, that you are flawed, that you are unattractive, that you can’t share your body the way it is, that you will be rejected or your husband won’t love you if he sees you. Whatever the lie is, rebuke it. Tell fear to go in the name of Jesus. 

I want you to know that you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing you need to cover or hide, nothing you need to keep to yourself. You are the beloved, you are fearfully, wonderfully made; you are beautiful, you are pure, you are His; you are loved, you are accepted, you are desired, you are clean; you are

What Christ has done for you in redeeming you and making you His is not something that can be undone.

Command any accusatory or condemning voice to be silence in Jesus’s name. 

A good way to tell the difference between God’s voice and the enemies is this comparison:

God’s voice calms, comforts, convicts, encourages, enlightens, leads, reassures, and stills us. 

The enemy’s voice obsesses, worries, condemns, discourages, confuses, pushes, frightens, and rushes.

Do not listen or give power to the voice that is not from God. Rebuke it in Jesus’ name and take authority over it. Declare God’s truth over yourself, over your husband, over your marriage. 

“I sought the Lord, He answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.” - Psalm 34:4-5

Here are some verses to meditate on as you bring your heart to God:

Genesis 1:26-27  -  Psalm 139:12-18    -   Titus 3:4-7    -  2 Corinthians 5:17    -  Ephesians 1:7-10   - Ephesians 2:13-18 -  Ephesians 3:14-19 -  Ephesians 5:31 -  Colossians 1:13-14 -  Romans 3:21-26 - Romans 5:10-11 - Romans 6:6-14 - Romans 8:14-16 - 1 John 3:1-3

You are amazing and wonderful, a beautiful creation of God; You are treasured and precious. You are safe in His love and protected by His great, perfect love for You. There is no fear in His love. You are safe and secure. You are free and you are forgiven. You are allowed to trust your body with your spouse. You are safe to open up. 

Sharing physical intimacy and giving yourself to another is actually such a beautiful, powerful act! It’s meant to be pleasurable and enjoyable. There’s nothing shameful about desiring your spouse sexually or him wanting you. Opening up and entrusting your full self to the one you love, who loves you, is is an amazing act of intimacy and trust. Trust your husband loves you, cares for you, desires you out of loving who you are, and wants to be with you- and yet respects you with patience until you are ready to give yourself fully to him. Whatever fears have held you back, whatever shame once had a hold, whatever brokenness that built walls within you, whatever lies you believed- those are all going to be torn down and taken away by the powerful, tender love of God. Everything that once stood in the way or kept you in hiding is going to be removed and God is going to be the safety and security you can let your guard down and become free to receive love within the truth of the fact that this love He’s given you is a gift from Him for you to enjoy. 

I hope you write me back and that somehow God speaks to you through this and you experience a breakthrough in this area so you can enjoy the intimacy He created for you to enjoy!