#I’m very read upon their body language too just so they are never uncomfortable in my presence while I have much harder time reading dogs

[rodolfoparras]

You really love cats don't you?

Yes!! I am responding to this with the neighborhood kitty in my lap

[erenjaegerwifee]

Summers In Pandora 🌸 Day 5 - Jealousy 

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: Neteyam wants your attention but you’re too busy giving it to someone else

Warnings: MDNI 18+, established relationship, jealous neteyam, rough sex, explicit language, orals (f receiving), p in v, neteyam getting mad he keeps getting interrupted,

Word Count: 2.5k

Index: kelku - house, sevin - pretty

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable feel free to scroll and don’t read!

Main M.list | Event M.list

“Baby come on, just the tip” Neteyam’s hands roamed your body as your stood in front of the mirror of your kelku fixing your top while you get ready for your daily clan duties. Neteyam should always be getting ready but he seems to rather rut against your ass begging to fuck because he woke up with a ranging boner.  

“Nete, we have to leave I’m gonna be late for class.” you loved your job in the clan, it mainly consisted of teaching young healers but you like to help out wherever you can. You and Neteyam have been in a relationship for the pass 3 years, you both just turned 19 so you thought it was bit immature to mate so soon. Even thought you were not opposed to the idea; both your parents told you to wait until you turned 21.  

It has been about a year now you and Neteyam moved in together and it has been wonderful, you never realized before how horny he is until you started living together, not that you’re complaining. He is so active during the day and still he tries to fuck you every chance he gets. “Baby please I won’t take long” his hands squeezed the skin on your waist as he kissed your neck trying to convince you to get naked with him.  

You almost gave in before you head a knock on the wood next to your kelku doorway flap. “y/n are you ready? We're gonna be late” you heard Neteyam hiss at the voice on the other side of the tent. One of your newer students has taken it upon himself to follow you around like a tail. Which often meant he walked you to the healer's hut and back every day.    

Neteyam hated every part of it, why is this boy walking you around like you don’t have a man to do it for you. He doesn’t like it one bit. Neteyam was so tired of him showing up at your shared kelku as if he doesn't know Neteyam also lives there. He let go of you and threw on his towel on hastily around his hips matching towards the entrance flap, neteyam swings it open coming face to face with the man himself. “Why do you keep coming here? Can’t you give her space and wait until she gets to the fucking healers hut then see her? I am very much capable of walking my woman to and from her working station boy.”  

“When she tells me to leave her alone then I will until then you can’t tell me what to do” he sounded like a spoiled child. 

“Boy don’t make me pull rank on you, that is my wife-” 

“Girlfriend, that's your girlfriend. I still have a shot” 

Neteyam was about to knock him on his ass when you ran out of the kelku towards him, “Neteyam no, don’t hurt him he’s harmless” 

“Harmless? You call this harmless? He's basically a stalker.” Neteyam tries to walk around you but you place your hands on his chest, “No no stop baby come on, I have to go I’ll come by and see you a little later, ok? Go get ready for training” every pause in your sentence you kissed his both cheeks so he would calm down. With a sigh you know he was going to let you go.  

Neteyam wrapped his arm around you and kissed you deeply on the lips, he tilted his head sticking his tongue in your mouth as if her was stacking claim in front of the other man, you melt into him so easily, you always loved it when he kissed you, when he did anything to you.  

You pull away from and breath and gave him one last peck before saying goodbye for the day, you send him a sweet smile as you walked away with the boy trailing behind you like a puppy. Neteyam watch you walk your perfect figure away from him, sighing before walking back into the hut to get ready for the day. 

“Seriously you need to stop doing that, I’m not gonna be there to save you one day and Neteyam will knock you on your ass with his little finger.” you express to the boy. His ears pinned back as he nodding to your words, he never intended to make up upset, but seeing you with another man just makes him angry. 

“I’m sorry...” he said in a small voice, “It’s fine but you need to watch your behavior around him, it’s bad enough as it is” you told him as you walk into the healer's hut to start your lesson. After it was over you make your way to the training grounds to see Neteyam. 

When you get there, you watch him spar with another warrior and you say hi to his father and his brother, “Hey Mr. Sully, Lo’ak how’s it going?” they turn towards you and greet your back, “y/n how many times have I told you that you can call me Jake, or dad. You're my daughter in law.” 

“Oh, not yet dad, he has competition now” Lo’ak raised his eyebrows at you making jake raise a questioning eyebrow you. You turn back to look at your future mate sparring with the other warrior, “What did you hear?” you asked Lo’ak. “I hear that Neteyam is deeply frustrated about the puppy dog that follows you around.” his comment made you laugh.  

“Lo’ak please, I don’t want anyone but Neteyam he has no competition.” you turn your head to admire you boyfriend’s godly figure. “Why don’t you just tell him to leave you alone?” Jake asked, “Well dad, I don’t want to hurt his feelings, or make it weird he is one of mt students, I’d hate to have to teach someone who resents me” you sigh and Jake nodded. 

“I mean, I can see where he’s annoyed even now, I hate it when my wife has to associate herself with other men” Jake told you. “Oh, so he got the jealousy from you?” you laugh then Neteyam walked up to you three, “hi baby” he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you close and kiss you. “Hello bro, we aren’t also standing right here”  

“Shut up Lo’ak, so baby lesson’s over? Wanna go home and have lunch?” he asked you. “Sure, let’s go” you held his hand as he led the way to your shared kelku. He walked in behind you closing the flap and pulling you close to by your waist and kissing you, “Neteyam hm, I thought we were having lunch” you said in between kisses. Neteyam picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his slim waist, “yea baby I’m gonna eat”  

He laid you down on the hammock that sat in your common area, he didn’t want to wait to make it to your bed. Neteyam got down on the floor between your legs and pushed your loincloth up taking in the view of your pussy. You had a blush on your face looking down at him between your legs and without warning he just buried his head into your pussy flicking your clit with his tongue. 

Neteyam slid his tongue up your folds while he ran his hands up your body under your top toying with your nipples. The sensation drives you mad and you throw your head back with a moan of his name, “fuck nete-” he sucked on your clit in the way he knows you like it, “yea sevin, you taste so good” Neteyam laps up all your juices, flicking on your clit you were so close to coming when your kelku flap burst open. 

“Y/n? Are you here? Tsahik said she needs yo-” your puppy dog says as he walks in seeing Neteyam’s head dipped between your thighs. You scramble to pull the throw blanket over your legs and Neteyam’s head hiding him from view. Neteyam slide out from under the blanket menacingly, he turned his head to the boy standing at his kelku entrance. “I’m giving you one second, run away or I will hurt you.”  

Neteyam’s lips glistened with your juices even while he spoke to the boy and sent him running away from your kelku. When neteyam turned back to you, you had the blanket up to your nose and you were crouched up under it looking at Neteyam. He was pissed he had enough if this situation, for weeks you have been saying that puppy dog was harmless but it seems you were wrong. Neteyam had no idea he was so comfortable barging into your kelku. How often does he do that? 

“Baby, was that the first time he came in like that?” you hesitated before shaking your head ‘no’. “He did it before, while you were training, but I promised nothing happened.” Neteyam straighten his back and gritted his teeth, “It doesn’t matter if nothing happened when did he get so fucking comfortable to burst in here like that? And only when I’m not around, I bet he thought I wasn’t here when he did it.” you shrug your shoulders not knowing if talking would make the situation better or worse. Truthfully you didn’t know what brought on his behavior, but you didn’t want Neteyam to get upset so you never told him. “And you didn’t think to tell him to stop coming into your private space?”  

You heard it in his voice, he was pissed about this, he had every reason to be as well, “why didn’t you tell me?”  

“I didn’t want you to get upset”  

“Fuck Y/n did he ever see you in any kind of intimate positions when he bargained in?” his voice was strained but you decided not to lie. “Uhm well, not really, the first time I was making lunch for when you would come home to eat and I wearing that robe you made for me, the silky one. After that he kept coming back every couple days, he never ventured in he stayed by the doorway.”  

Neteyam rubbed his hand over his face, you liked that robe, ever since he made it for you, you loved to wearing it, but you usually did so without any clothes underneath, and Neteyam loved coming home to his naked girlfriend only covered in the thin piece of silk. He thought your nipples looked so cute against the cool fabric, the way they printed out sent him mad. 

It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know you were accidently flashing the boy, it was his fault so not respecting your space but he’ll teach him a lesson right after he does you. For keep secrets. Neteyam ripped the blanket off your body and stood up tossing it to the side, he took a step back and ordered you, “stand you, strip”  

He watched you get up and strip off your clothes for him. Your hands moved to cross over your chest but he stopped your quickly placing his hands on your wrist and pulling them apart, “no don’t hide these from me.” Neteyam walked up to you and places his hands on your tits playing with them and he brought his mouth to yours kissing you. 

You whimper into his mouth as he kneads the flesh of your tits, he tugs at your nipples making them hard and sensitive. You thought he might take you to the bedroom but instead he picked you up and sat on the hammock seating you in his lap. Neteyam didn’t break the kiss though, his hands move down your body touching everything he can.  

He always was such a passionate lover; always make you feel loved when he touched you. “Neteyam-”  

“Shh baby, I’m tired of being interrupted, I want some time with you, need to show everyone who you really belong too” his lips moved down to your neck sucking on your skin, he leaves deep purple marks and pulls away to admire his work every time before moving on and making another one. He kissed you down sucking on tits flicking his tongue on your nipple.  

You squirm in his lap and thread your hands through his braids keeping him close to you, Neteyam takes one of your hands out of his hair and brings it down to his cock, you didn’t even realize when he took off his loincloth. You gripped his thick cock squeezing it before bringing your other hand down to stroke it with both hands. Neteyam whimpers feeling your soft palm on his cock. 

He moved away from your nipples and back up to kiss your lips twirling his tongue around yours. He pulled away from the kiss but his lips still touched yours as he said, “spit on it”  

You tilt your head down spitting on his cock rubbing your slit over his length. Neteyam lifted your hips up and over his cock lining you up before he slowly lowered you down on his length. Your jaw was slack as you looked down at him but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking down at his cock disappearing inside your cunt. “Always so tight baby” 

His eyes dart back up to your face when you bottom out and moan, he gives you a minute to adjust before he is lifting your hips up and down on him. Neteyam loved watching you on top, it’s probably one of his favorite positions. He loved watching your tits bounce in his face. Neteyam quicken his pace bouncing you faster on him listening to the way your moans got louder and the way you stuttered out those pretty ahs for him.  

“Listen baby, you listening?” he said as he sets a pace for you. “You. Will. Not. See. Him. Again. Do I make myself clear?” Neteyam said every word each time bouncing you in his cock. You clenched down on him at his words, you always did love it when he got possessive for you. 

“Oh-okk, ok” you chanted. “Let me hear you say it you’re not gonna what?” 

“Not. Gonna. See. Him” you stutter out on his cock. Neteyam smiled at your submissive nature knowing you’d never get like this for anyone but him, “good fucking girl.” Just then he saw a figure outside his doorway flap, someone was peeking through. He recognized the boy immediately and decided to have a little fun with it.  

“Oh Eywa fuck, fuck yea” you moan getting close to your orgasm making Neteyam smile watching you lose yourself on him.  

“Tell me baby, who owns you?” he smiles up at you even though you weren’t really in your right mind. “Yours-you Neteyam!” you screamed his name while cuming hard on his cock gushing your juices on his thighs. “One more time baby say it again who owns you?” he said, his voice was strained he was getting close too. “You Nete- you!” you mewl in overstimulation as he cums deep in you. Your jaw went slack once more as he held you down on him to take him seed, he drops his head on your shoulder kissing your neck as his dick pumps cum inside you. You felt him twitch when he bites down on your neck softly feeling the way you clenched down on him.  

With his tongue on your neck, he looks over your shoulder and saw the boy was gone. He really hopes he got his point across this time as he plays with the end of your tail that’s wrapped around his forearm.

🌸 I hope you all enjoyed reading! I have tons of fun with this one! If you didn’t know before I’m a Neteyam girl at heart!

🌸Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!

Taglist:

@rivatar @delusionalwh6re @strongheartneteyam @nilahsstuff @inlovewithpandora @neteyamsoare @m1tsu-ki @kylimarz @teymars @xylianasblog @beensbaee

[shunsuiken]

LEAN ON ME.

pairing. scaramouche/wanderer x gn!reader

genre. fluff + comfort + reader has insecurities and wears a mask + he might be a lil ooc here forgive me + he also says you have a pretty face <3

synopsis. a tiresome day of travelling leads to you revealing a part of yourself to your travelling companion. and in the same moment, he stumbles upon revelations about you.

wc. 1k (i know. its short. bear with me please)

an. I WAS STILL EMO AFTER THE 3.3 ARCHON QUEST SO THIS HAAAAD TO BE WRITTEN MAN ig this is also a late scara/wanderer bday fic ? take it any way you like <33 also yes there are spoilers for the 3.3 archon quest here

“you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” the wanderer reminds you, fixing his gaze on the wall of the inn so you don’t feel pressured. “the final decision is always yours.”

“no, no. i want to—i’m just… i’m gonna need some time,” you explain as your eyes turn into crescents. one of his favourite expressions you made a lot. considering its the most he’s seen. but at least he’s able to see some visible feature of yours beyond the mask you wear. he knew you were smiling and that was all that mattered.

he would never say that to your face though.

“do as you wish.”

you look at him and realise he’s offering his lap for you to lie on. his eyes bore into your wide ones before switching his gaze to his lap then back to yours again.

he’s asking you: what are you waiting for?

your eyes soften at the confirmation of his offer, positioning yourself to comfortably lay your head on his lap. your hand boldly slides under his thigh and to your surprise, you hear no immediate complaint to your actions.

instead, the wanderer is putting every ounce of his power into holding his indifferent expression. suddenly, he doesn’t know where to put his hands, where to look or even if his lap is as comfortable as your pillow made of cotton wrapped in silk.

the warmth of your palm underneath his thigh feels like a reminder. a reminder that you aren’t going anywhere. a reminder that you will be his travelling companion and stick by his side despite all those empty threats and remarks he throws at you.

the wanderer’s lips are held in a line tighter than rope as he ponders about these heartfelt revelations. the air is comfortable. nature beyond the windows whisper and coo, he sighs inwardly and gently caresses your head once you’ve fallen asleep.

the wanderer never gets tired—one of the perks of being born a living puppet. but you, on the other hand, often find yourself falling into the hands of exhaustion. he obviously can’t see the expression on your face, but as a puppet that’s lived longer than you, he’s picked up on reading your body language whenever fatigue overcomes you.

your eyes become droopy, the steps in your walk become sluggish, your breath shortens and most of all, your posture wanes like someone turned you into an old person when he wasn’t looking. so the least he can do is calm your heart after such a trifling day of brawling fatui agents, stumbling upon domains and getting chased by wild fungi is… some peace.

such a pathetic creature you are. he mutters during those moments but his actions make his thoughts meaningless.

-

it’s silent. you don’t feel nor hear any movement. you’re obviously aware that a puppet doesn’t breathe, so you’ve tried picking up on other signs that lets you ascertain his presence.

unfortunately for you, none of them have worked. hence why trusting your luck felt like a better idea.

you lift your head a little, using the most of your peripheral vision to determine whether or not he fell asleep. and when silence greets you after the loss of contact from his thigh, you slip a finger under the string of your mask and pull it off.

the cool air of the inn splashes the lower half of your face, it’s uncomfortable at first—very exposing too, you almost feel naked. steeling your heart and pushing away your thoughts before they take over you, you quickly but gently rest your head on his lap again to continue napping.

it’s quite some time after, but the wanderer’s eyes finally flutter open—and the first sight he gazes upon is you. your face. he has to furrows his brows. there’s no way this is real.

he closes his eyes—if he’s dreaming right now, then he’ll need a word with lesser lord kusanali about this because, okay, sure! he’s been curious about his companions’ face but it’s not that serious! (which is the biggest lie he’s ever told since he started his new life as the wanderer).

it is, in fact, very serious. but he doesn’t let the curiosity win. it’d be rude to expose what you’ve hidden without your consent.

when he opens his eyes he realises that this moment is very much real.

he blinks, processing the situation before it hits him that you’ve taken your mask off. all his movement pauses completely at this realisation. he’s also aware that he’s never getting this chance again once you’re awake.

you are quite the sight. he thinks, peering over his lap to take one good look at you. he’s always wondered what the rest of your face might look like. he’s proud to say he’s not disappointed.

to think you hid such a pretty face behind that mask too… he’ll have to berate you for this betrayal (he’s half-joking). however, these emotions dissipate into the air when it strikes him again that you’re in front of him. without your mask.

now this means a lot of things. and one of those things is that you’ve learnt to trust him a whole lot more than you did in the beginning—no, that’s not it. the mask was your safe haven, it was your zone of comfort. plus, you’ve always trusted the wanderer. if not, why did you always yell out his name whenever danger was up your ass? this can only mean…

they let their walls down. he supposed, unsure what to make of this. so, they are letting themselves be vulnerable… in front of me? he continues his train of thought albeit how ridiculous it sounds to him.

he sighs, putting his thoughts away as he observes the lower half of your face. your cheek is squished from sleeping on your side and the fat of it accentuates the unintended pout on your lips.

the wanderer has nothing particularly in mind when the pad of his index finger gently trails along the bridge to the apex of your nose. he’s barely touching you to keep you from awaking.

he finds you rather mesmerising like this, napping quietly on his lap, without a care of your bare face. the back of his mind just knows how liberating it must have felt to remove the mask.

it is a shame you are asleep. because if you were awake, at least you’d be able to catch a glimpse of the soft smile the wanderer gazes at you with.

[cherry-valentine]

Winter 2024 Anime Season

I didn’t do write ups for the Fall 2023 season because I was only watching two shows and they were just new seasons of shows I’ve written about multiple times before (Dr. Stone and Spy x Family) so I didn’t feel the need. Both were great. I’ll just leave it at that.

Mr. Villain’s Day Off is one of my favorites this season. Following a stereotypical Tokusatsu villain on his not so typical days off from villain work, the show is a tender hearted comedy without a single mean bone in its body. The humor here is more subtle and situational than the usual fast paced slapstick we often see in anime. As a result, the story actually has a heart. The main character, usually just called Shogun (reflecting his status in the villainous organization), spends his days at “work” fighting a team of Power Ranger-like heroes (each of whom actually get some decent characterization and cute moments, especially the perpetually lost Red) and plotting the destruction of humanity so that his race of aliens can take over the planet. But he spends his days off visiting the zoo to see the animals he’s come to adore: pandas. The charm of this extremely charming show is primarily in the contrast between the violent villain who wants to wipe out humanity and the quiet, good natured man who loves pandas and is genuinely enjoying learning about earth and human customs. The art is very nice, nothing too fancy but it serves the story well. The music is soothing. Overall it’s a very sweet and comforting series that wisely avoids going over the top with the comedy and never really drains its primary joke (villain who loves pandas) too much. Recommended (though you’ll definitely get more enjoyment out of this show if you’re at least vaguely familiar with Tokusatsu tropes).

A Sign of Affection is an incredibly sweet and gentle shoujo romance about a young deaf woman named Yuki and the relationship she forms with Itsuomi, a handsome guy from her college who knows several languages and decides to learn sign language after meeting her. There’s been a bit of a trend lately that I’m totally here for: shoujo romances that are wholesome and healthy. Though I definitely enjoy the drama of more spicy shows, it’s also very nice to relax and watch something that’s not going to piss me off. A Sign of Affection is very careful with its romance. Characters behave in more natural, mature ways. There are fewer misunderstandings and the ones we get are completely understandable. It’s just nice to see healthy, equal, consensual relationships. Because those are the ones I want to root for. Yuki’s disability is handled with delicacy and tact. We see her limitations and struggles but we also see her living a full and happy life. The art style is very typical for high quality shoujo. Lots of pastels and gentle, natural designs. The animation is fluid enough for a show like this, and the music fits it well. Recommended if you like romance.

Cherry Magic is a BL (Boys Love) series that continues the fairly recent trend of non toxic BL anime (that started with shows like Given and Sasaki and Miyano). Cherry Magic centers on Adachi, a shy man who discovers he has magical powers after hitting age 30 while still being a virgin. The power? To read the mind of anyone he touches. Out of curiosity he touches his handsome, popular coworker Kurosawa and finds out Kurosawa is in love with him. Once upon a time, nearly every BL anime that came out was full of toxic relationships and, I’ll call it a “strained relationship with consent”. There’s been a lot of discussion over the years about why that was and how people felt about it, but I for one (a straight cis woman, so take my opinion with a grain of salt) always found those aspects to be uncomfortable. Thankfully, like with shoujo romance, modern series have been moving away from abusive relationships with (very) dubious consent. Cherry Magic is refreshing, mainly in that the two leads are 30 and they actually form a very sweet and equal relationship. It’s a very slow burn romance, but it works well here. The art isn’t anything amazing. The character designs are rather generic and the animation quality dips noticeably after the first episode. But the music is nice and the writing is strong enough to carry the show. Recommended.

High Card season two is, so far, a bit of a letdown. Following a group of people using magic playing cards to give them special powers as they try to gather all the cards, the first season was a blast. The characters were fun and the plot, while occasionally getting a little dark, was overall upbeat and energetic. Season two is fine. I’m enjoying it and it’s had a few great episodes, but the pacing just feels off. Some episodes feel disjointed, and just when it seems like the plot is getting tense and urgent, things come to a screeching halt to have backstory or even side story episodes. To be clear, it’s still a very good anime, but so far the second season is failing to live up to the first. The art and animation are still great and the music is too (though the opening and ending themes just don’t compare to the absolute bangers of season one). Definitely still worth watching for the colorful, lively characters alone.

The Demon Prince of Momochi House is a very pretty supernatural shoujo series about an orphaned girl named Himari inheriting a house from a family she never knew, only to find it already occupied by a trio of handsome young men, two of whom are not actually human. It turns out Himari’s new house sits on the border between worlds, and one of the young men, Aoi, is tasked with guarding that border. The plot is fairly episodic, and the show’s main weakness is that it feels very familiar and predictable. The basic setup of “bright cheerful girl with no family moves in with supernatural hot guys” is not new. But it’s a common setup for a reason: it’s charming and fun. The art and design are very pretty. The music is a high point, with my favorite opening theme of the season. It’s a cute show. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it’s still a fun ride.

Sengoku Youko is a fantasy action series focusing a pair of traveling “siblings” (not related by blood) consisting of Tama (a fox spirit) and Jinka (a human who hates other humans and wants to become a spirit creature). Traveling with them is a young human man named Shinsuke who wants to be a swordsman. The plot is fairly episodic, with the siblings mostly wandering into dangerous situations involving spirit creatures. There’s an overarching plot about a human religious sect that’s been doing experiments to combine humans with spirit creatures, but that’s usually in the background of the other adventures and serves to provide villains. The characters are overall interesting and fun, and a few of them even avoid falling into the usual fantasy anime tropes, or flip those tropes around enough to be interesting. The fights are exciting, even if the powers and abilities aren’t always made clear. It’s nice that there are plenty of powerful lady characters as well. The art and animation are nice, and the music is great. The ending theme is hauntingly beautiful, and my favorite of the season by far.

[rrr-is-gay]

Most of the Ram/Bheem fic I read that mentions Sita at all expands upon an idea that is absolutely set up in the movie, and I think it’s interesting that there’s such a strong fan consensus: That Ram had loved Sita at some point in some way, but he’d been through too much and gone too long without her, so his feelings changed.

The first mention of her is during Dosti, when Bheem asks about the necklace. Ram is oddly silent, visibly uncomfortable, and his body language is super weird in that moment. Watch it again! He’s twitchy and biting his lip, trying to hold himself at a distance from Bheem, but unable to stop leaning closer; like talking about Sita is too difficult, and he just wants Bheem to hold him through the pain. He’s bursting to say “we’ve known each other since we were children. I love her like family, but I am not in love with her. I’m in love with you.”

At the halfway point, when Ram finally writes to Sita (after waiting four years to write at all??), he uses very formal language and talks exclusively about his plan. “How are you?” “The weapons are within reach.” Etc. The closest he gets to saying anything romantic is “I wish you were with me,” which is a very interesting choice of words, very comp het. The distance between them is more than geographic, and the film does everything to emphasize this.

At the end, when Bheem places Sita’s hands in Ram’s, he is very chaste and distant with her. He doesn’t seem at all like a fiancé who is reuniting with his true love; he seems like an awkward man getting reacquainted with his boyhood sweetheart. He barely touches her.

Meanwhile, he can’t keep his hands off Bheem for the entire film. He’ll make any excuse to touch him, lean in close to him, sit on him, hold him, etc. Ram is not naturally cold or averse to physical affection at all! He’s very handsy, just not with Sita. Because he’s not in love with her. Keep in mind, we also never once hear him talk affectionately about her. He never says that she’s beautiful, or that he misses her, or that he can’t wait to hold her. He just doesn’t see her that way.

Ram is very traumatized, and he may feel like that makes him fundamentally unlovable. He’s engaged to Sita because they’ve been friends since childhood, and everyone in their village expects them to wind up together. But let’s think about that engagement for a second: Ram is in his mid-to-late twenties when he leaves for Delhi. Why haven’t he and Sita gotten married yet? Especially when you remember their parents were talking about it when they were like twelve. All those years, he kept putting off the marriage for some reason. I think he felt too broken inside, like he could never truly love anyone.

Then he met Bheem, and the feeling transformed. I can love, he realized, as so many gay people do. There is nothing wrong with me after all. I have so much love to give this man, I can’t keep it inside. It’s complicated because he had relied on Sita for emotional support for so long, he doesn’t want to do wrong by her. But he also knows that he could never love her the way he loves Bheem.

This brings me to their farewell flashback, when he leaves for Delhi. They don’t kiss or hug, they don’t profess their love, she just cries and says that she doesn’t know what she’ll do without him. And that’s a normal way for a close childhood friend to react! He responds by giving her the necklace and saying “there will always be a part of me with you,” and I think that phrasing is so important and accurate: The shattered, traumatized part of him will always be with her, and her trauma will always be with him. They lived through that massacre together. Their bond is very real. But it isn’t romantic. He is just so formal with her, I can’t say it enough times! He wants her to find someone else so badly, but he thinks he can’t say that.

If you don’t headcanon Ram leaving Sita to be with Bheem, I can’t help you. Get well soon, I guess!

[ofdreamsandreality]

Royal Arrangements

Ch.1 Preparations

Also on AO3

There’s not actual ‘adult’ content idk why there’s a warning when you click I’m trying to turn it off

———————

Three days. They’ve been traveling for three days straight and the dark prince was beginning to become agitated. His tense body language hadn’t gone unnoticed by his personal royal advisor.

“We’ll be there soon, my prince.” The royal’s companion spoke from behind a book. Sitting across from the prince he was accompanying.

“It’s taking too long. We should’ve been there by now. If we’re late someone’s going to be paying for it.” The prince told his advisor with a slight growl in his voice. Leaning on his fist as he stared out of the small window next to him, watching the scenery pass by. A frustrated expression adorning his face.

“My prince-“

“Logan, what’ve I told you?”

“My apologies, Virgil. As I was saying, no one needs to be punished. If we’re late, we’re late. No one is at fault. We just need to be patient. Well get there when we get there.”

“Yeah well it better be soon.“

“I understand this is difficult for you. I am aware at how uncomfortable this situation may be.”

Virgil snorted. “That would be considered an understatement.”

“This is how it must be.”

The darkly clothed royal was silent for many moments before speaking again. Watching the trees and boulders of the forest pass through the window of the darkly colored carriage. Noting landmarks, possible ambush attempts, staying alert as they traveled. As always. He had a way to spot various possibilities to any situation. Such skills he had attained through the years.

“We know nothing of what we’re walking into.”

“Falsehood. We are aware of the arrangements. You are aware of the arrangements.”

“Not the details Logan. I am to marry someone I do not know. I know nothing of this person. Or the kingdom we are traveling to. Except for the fact it’s very different from mine. Father wasn’t very generous with information.”

“Well yes, that’s true. However, you knew of the risks included with this task when it was presented to you. Perhaps we know all we need to know for what is to be done. You have more information about the situation than you’re claiming. I do not understand-“

“What if I’m expected to sire an heir, Logan?”

Ah. So that was the pressing issue. The advisor marked his place with a feather and closed the leather bound book in his hands to focus on the Prince in front of him. Taking in his appearance. What could easily be interpreted as anger Logan knew it was anxiety. Something that plagued his friend. They were the only two who knew of this secret however.

“Just breathe my prince. Perhaps that won’t be necessary for the assignment.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“I believe you should be more focused on how you are going to present upon arrival. What a disaster it would be should you trip on your way to meet the king and your betrothed.”

The advisor spoke, a smirk on his lips. Redirecting the conversation to refocus the prince and get his mind off of the worries of an event that may never happen.

“How amusing. Just go back to reading your stupid book.” Virgil said with an annoyed tone.

“As you wish, my prince.”

And with that, he reopened his book, removing the crow feather, and continued reading where he’d left off. Glancing towards Virgil every now and again.

The partial relaxing of Virgil’s body proved to his adviser that he had eased some of the tension. Because he was right. Should the time come for that specific conversation to come up, then he’d deal with it then. For now he needed to focus on today.

And arriving on time.

“Coachman! If we don’t arrive on time there will be consequences.”

With that threat it was a near instant reaction, the sound of a whip was followed by the thundering sound of hoofbeats as the carriage lurched forward with the increased pace as they traveled quicker through the terrain. A threat from Virgil was to not be taken lightly, the prince had never fallen short when it came to that. As his father had trained him.

Now was the time to prepare mentally for what was to be. With what time he had remaining before his arrival. He needed to have himself put together in every way.

Shouldn’t be long now.

Then everything would change.

_________

“Ugh this is a disaster!”

A disgruntled man dressed in white attire stood in his large bedroom. Various articles of clothing discarded on the furniture and floor around him.

“It’s not that bad, Ro.”

“I have nothing to wear!”

“What are those then?” The glasses wearing male questioned while gesturing to the clothes both strewn about and hanging in the large walk in closet.

“Okay. I have clothes but what would be the best thing to wear? I mean I’m fabulous we all know that. But I need an outfit that shows that. Help me. Please!”

“Of course, Ro. Sit down.”

“What do you think they’re like, Patton?” Roman asked, excitement in his eyes.

Effortlessly Patton, Roman’s advisor, put together his outfit for netting the Prince’s betrothed. Something that worried Patton.

“How is this Roman?”

“Perfect!” The red sash on top of the white silk outfit, golden epaulettes, and red and gold embellishments decorating his tunic. He was going to look his absolute best today.

“Thank you Patton. I’m way too excited to handle this myself. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Happy to help.”

Patton stood to the side Roman moved in front of the large mirror before he he began helping the royal get dressed, making sure his prince, and more importantly his friend, get prepared for one of the biggest events of his life.

“Are you sure about this Roman?”

“Of course I am. This is the most fabulous attire I could wear.”

“No I mean..never mind.” Patton finished his job, and stepped aside so the prince could examine his appearance in the tall mirror. “You look amazing.”

“What is it? You know you can talk to me. We’ve been friends forever.” Roman asked taking a moment longer to admire himself in the mirror before turning to Patton.

The two had grown up together in the castle. The king had taken Patton in when he was young, assigning him be Roman’s companion. Treating him like another son to an extent. It was nice for both of them.

“I’m worried. About you. Are you sure this is what you want to do? You’ve dreamed about finding your true love all your life. But you’ve been matched with someone you’ve never met. Are you really okay with this?”

It was pure genuine concern. For years all Patton heard was Roman’s tales of how he would meet someone, fall in love, and of course live happily ever after. But to be paired with a royal he’d never even met? Patton felt he had a right to be worried.

“Of course I am. It’s quite intriguing don’t you think? A mystery partner from a strange land coming to save our kingdom in enemy threat. They ride in on their noble steed, sword in hand, ready to lead us to victory. Can’t you just imagine it? They’ll be a huge ball to celebrate the victory, and the joining of our kingdoms, and we dance all night in the ballroom, long after every guest had departed…”

Caught up in his fantasy, Roman began dancing a waltz with an invisible partner, humming a lovely tune as he about.

This caused Patton to smile. Yeah. If anyone could make this work, and find every positive in the arrangement the king had made, it would be his best friend and prince.

Patton was confident Roman would be alright.

Or at least Patton hoped he would be.

Tag list: @frankiprowsworld @theymaynotbedenied @kindly-falling @darkle-elkrad @harry-niclach @lesbianturtle @octopushugs @monikastec @superfanboy19 @a-ghost @pearls-of-patton @pearls-of-patton-moved @crownswriter123 @nienna14

[sirenandthecity]

Your name is too personal.

1.6.24

I’m sat on my kitchen floor after the small Saturday adventure into a neighbouring town which spurred this blog into creation.

I want to talk about men and the encounter I had with one today atop a cranky, East Midlands, double decker bus.

I was first on this bus and so I had my pick of seats. As per usual, I headed straight upstairs to the front. From previous trips, I have learnt that depending on the direction we’re travelling, one side is more uncomfortable than the other to sit in but I couldn’t remember which. I picked the wrong side and didn’t switch early enough so the left hand seats were quickly occupied by a man.

For the rest of the journey I sat tilted and awkward, legs crossed, right hand holding the bar in vain to keep me steady, left hand clamped to my bags to stop them sliding too.

On several occasions the man would look at me. I could see him in my peripheral vision. I could read his body language, he was searching for an opening. For eye contact. The second time he looked over, I allowed his eyes to meet mine. I gave a half smile and then knowingly turned my gaze to settle on the views on his side of the large window.

40 uncomfortable minutes into this hour long journey, I gave up the constant argument in my head about whether to ask him to switch seats with me or just gesture and move into the open seat next to him by the window. I was sooo uncomfortable and I would rather be comfortable even if a tad bit squashed. I argued whether both of those options crossed the invisible line of “asking for it”. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I wanted a better seat. I wanted to toy with him a little. I wanted to find out.

I allowed my gaze to once again go to his side of the curved front window, then drop to his resting hands as though I happened to be completely “zoned out” whilst looking there.

5 seconds.

That’s all it took. He smiled so big as he asked if I was ok - first with what seemed like a British accent but when I asked him to repeat, was definitely European.

I smiled back and responded as though I was innocent to the opportunity and situation I had just created for him because I had my own agenda and it had just confirmed a few things.

Carrie’s (Sex and the City) investigations into the nature and ways of men in relation to women, power and sex was something I now understood and needed to pay attention to instead of labelling as annoying and obsessive.

I seem to very easily attract older men, especially European men and men of ethnic backgrounds. This is not news to me but I now know that I want to understand why.

For me, men in this category are as easy as pulling string because my level of self awareness allows me to read them and their every flinch like a book …without even looking.

I am highly attractive. But I now strongly perceive that it is my energy and aura that throws me beyond the realms of just being attractive and into being fearsomely magnetic.

The conversation that was had between us was nothing to write home about dear reader. If it was, you can trust that I would tell you. But by the end of that bus journey, I felt like I had learned my first lesson upon my re-entry into the world of women who intrinsically and almost spiritually are aware of the power and place they hold above men, should they choose to wield it.

So my dear readers, my young sirens, the lesson is this.

When you so choose to wield and test the limits of your innate power over a lesser man; NEVER give them your name. In extreme circumstances, give a fake name if you must.

The strong feelings I have behind this instruction to you can be summarised by the scene in the movie, Pretty Woman (which interestingly I saw being advertised as a play in this small town) where Vivian states her one rule - “No kissing on the mouth. It’s too personal.”

Your name - much like a kiss - may seem like the easiest thing to give away but it is so personal. Protect it.

And remember, to toy with a man does not mean you have to be mean or unkind as long as you’re grounded in the belief that what you want out of them and such an exercise comes above and before whatever they want out of you. And you owe them nothing.

They are playing you too - try as they may.

So, with that, I’m off to draw a nice bath with candles and Epsom salt and watch Pretty Woman.

Love,

Siren

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hi!

I wanted to ask you for more about your safe word use in fics being an “ick”. Please know that I totally will understand and respect if you don’t want to reply.

I understand your post, and I can agree that most fanfic writers have obviously never been in a dom/sub style partnership, but I disagree that using a safe word means that the writer is writing a bad dom, because it’s definitely not like that in real life.

One thing that books like Fifty Shades fucked up about BDSM is that it’s a partnership - equal trust. A dom pushes their sub, yes, but they aren’t mind readers. The dom has to trust that their sub will say the word they’ve agreed upon if they need to. They aren’t trying to get their sub to say it ever, of course, but it doesn’t make them a bad dom to have it used. (Which yeah, fanfics where they try to get someone to use it? That’s definitely ick)

You said doms should be able to read body language and expressions but just because your body reacts one way, doesn’t mean your mind agrees. Something can feel good, but freak you out. Or something might be agreed upon, and it could start out great, then it triggers something else or the sub is too far into sub space, and it’s better to safe word even if they aren’t technically at a limit. Or hell, the dom can safe word because they are the ones uncomfortable with how something is progressing.

I don’t know, I’m a very large proponent of educating people about healthy sexual relationships and your post confused me, because generally I think you do a good job writing about rarer kinks and healthy communication styles. All a safe word is, is another tool for communication.

Are fanfic writers generally incorrect about how it’s actually supposed to be used? Absolutely. (We can blame the media for glorifying aspects of BDSM but not explaining what it actually means.)

So writing all this to see if you’d be willing to explain a little more. Is it just because of how people write it nowadays? Or is it that you think safe words are a last resort that shouldn’t be used?

Again, will totally understand if you don’t want to reply/answer and I hope I’m not coming across as rude or anything of the sort!! Truly just curious as to how you perceive the whole thing.

-🌕

Okay I disagree with you here and partially agree

My post was about safewording in fanfiction. I fucking hate it as a concept and I feel like safeword fanfics have this particular style and this particular connotation to them. And I fucking hate them.

Safewords irl are a great tool and they are in place for a reason - but having a character use their safeword in fanfiction just gives me anxiety and it ruins the whole fic for me.

So, the two major points:

One: I hate safeword fics and I will always despise them, and I think safewords should stay out of fanfiction. (And if I have to read another fucking fic with the traffic light system, I will blow my brains out.)

Two: I still 100% think that if a sub has to use their safeword in a fic, it is someone writing a bad dom - because doms in real life are not mindreaders, but in fanfiction, the writer can put in all kinds of unconscious communication that is not there. (Writing a bad dom and acting as a bad dom irl are two completely different concepts.)

People in real life don't have 'an entire conversation in a single glance'. But people in fanfiction do. So doms in fics can read from a single twitch in their sub's knee if they are chill or not.

ALSO - my number one biggest gripe with safeword fics in the first place: the author plans the story. The author is essentially god. So WHHYYYYYY as the author, are you, writing and planning a story where someone is uncomfortable enough that they feel the need to safeword out? Why would you not just write a fic where everyone is happy and has great sex?

Even when I write dubcon, I always put stuff in the narration going "and everyone was into it, and everyone was having a great time" - because I want the audience to know that the characters feel comfortable, even if they don't voice it right away (because of stubbornness or other reasons).

"but I disagree that using a safe word means that the writer is writing a bad dom, because it’s definitely not like that in real life."

You're right, it's not like that in real life. Like I said - fanfiction has the advantage of having so much unconscious communication that real life doesn't have - characters in fanfiction can pick up an unrealistic amount of information from a single body language queue just because the author wants them to. And unlike real life, the entire scene and how much they enjoy the kinks, their full reaction to those kinks, can be planned 100% in advance.

If smut writers can plan a public or semi public sex scene where no one actually catches them having sex, even though that would never happen irl, then they can also write a BDSM scene where no one safewords for any reason, even though they sometimes happens irl.

They aren’t trying to get their sub to say it ever, of course, but it doesn’t make them a bad dom to have it used. (Which yeah, fanfics where they try to get someone to use it? That’s definitely ick)

Real doms use the safeword as a tool for communication. But the fanfiction trope is written so differently, and that is why I fucking despise it.

The few safeword fics I read (by accident or on purpose, before I wrote off the entire use of the 'trope') - it seems like all of them are written in mind with the dom trying to get the sub to say their safeword. Like as if it's just another twisted game - obviously written by someone who has never been in a dom/sub relationship before.

But like it is just one form of fanfiction that I find utterly repulsive. Because I have genuinely never seen a fic that's like 'how would this character react if you felt uncomfortable and had to safeword out?' it's always written as 'this character makes you feel so uncomfortable that you have to safeword out and then they comfort you afterwards' and it feels like domestic violence or sexual violence in a relationship.

I have never seen it written well and I think it's just better to write off the whole trope.

In my opinion, people who have never actually been in a dom/sub relationship should just write fics about aftercare - they should write fics about their beloved character taking care of them after the natural end of a session, and not after bullying them into saying the fucking safeword.

I don’t know, I’m a very large proponent of educating people about healthy sexual relationships and your post confused me, because generally I think you do a good job writing about rarer kinks and healthy communication styles. All a safe word is, is another tool for communication.

I agree, people need to know about healthy sexual relationships - and that is why I took the time to write out 'the rules' in Lessons For A Genius, even though I plan to never have Reid use his safeword in the entire fucking series, because I want the reader character to always make him comfortable beforehand so he doesn't need it (and again, because I am the author God, I can say that he doesn't need it).

(And like it is sooo unrealistic to overstimulate someone that much during their first time - but that is the difference between fanfiction and real life!! We can do this shit in fanfiction!)

And I think the reason that I despise safewording in fanfiction so much is because the way I have seen it written is not healthy.

Because it's like 'oh, I'm gonna spank you until you cry and until you are pushed far beyond your limits and you're forced to safeword out' - it's not like 'I am feeling a little anxious and mentally off today. and I thought I wanted sex but it turns out I don't. Safewording out because I wanna cuddle instead please'

And like I know I also have a bias toward this topic because I've been in several sexual relationships, my longest being eight years, and between 4 doms, I have only used my safeword like once. (I don't think I have even used it within the span of the last year.)

And when I did use it, it was because of a medical issue I was experiencing, and not because they pushed me too far or because I wanted to revoke my consent. So I know what a good dom is and it is not 'hey, I'm gonna force you to safeword for my own amusement' or 'oh, we're gonna push your boundaries until you safeword'

Like if (big fat fucking if) I ever wrote a safeword use fic - it would be the character experiencing some kind of medical issue or discomfort due to chronic pain, because that is what I relate to, and that is what I would want to display as a good reason to use your safeword and a real life genuine situation where your dom can comfort you after using it (and I would still probably end the fic with sex, just gentle sex).

But like - I can't stand it as a trope.

It's like how most people's reaction irl to there only being one bed is to sleep on the couch or something, not to fuck your best friend - but fanfiction treats that situation completely differently.

I hate safewording in fanfiction specifically

[goddessofmischief]

Saw that you were looking for more Rick Flag requests and felt the fandom is missing this lovely yet funny trope - sex magic 😂

You know how it goes - Rick Flag and Reader are on a mission together and get hit with a chemical that get them all hot and bothered. The only way to survive is to bang haha

Only if you’re up to doing this type 🤗 thanks

A/N: I'm not up to writing smut, but if someone else wants to, the prompt is open! I turned it into a fluffier version. I set this in my Rick Flag series, which you can read here. All my fics in the series are one-shots, but feel free to read the whole series for maximum enjoyment. Requests are open!

True Love's Kiss - Rick Flag x Reader

...

Waller’s missions, you thought, just get worse and worse.

For example, this one: Waller had dispatched you, Rick Flag, Captain Boomerang and your best friend Blackguard to retrieve an ancient, magical object for her before it could be taken by neighboring warlords. Her logic was reasonable, but the mission...

Not so much.

“What is this?” you wondered aloud. “It’s like, it’s some kind of...”

"Mystical cave," Rick muttered. "Yeah. I'm familiar."

You winced, recalling his experiences with the Enchantress. Rick didn’t like to talk about it, and you didn’t, either.

“I’ll check it out, okay? You don’t have to go further in.”

“You sure, L/N?”

You nodded, wandering further into the cavern by yourself.

A slow, whispering voice began to creep up on you-

Punchline...

Punch...line...

“That’s not my name,” you stammered, suddenly fearful. “Stop.”

Rick... Rick Flag...

Rick Flag...

“Don’t talk about him.”

He doesn’t love you back...

He will never love you back...

Hands over your ears, you stumbled upon a large boulder, a needle sticking out of it.

Prick your finger...

Prick your finger...

You gave in.

...

“L/N!” shouted Rick. “Hey, L/N-”

“What’s the matter?” asked Harley, popping up behind him.

“I lost Y/N. I know she’s somewhere in the caverns, but-”

Captain Boomerang emerged from the darkness, torch in hand, a sad look on his face.

“...Flag, I think you might want t’ see this...”

He led Rick, Harley and Blackguard deeper into the cave, until Rick stumbled upon your unconscious body.

“Oh, God-”

“Y/N?” asked Harley, tentatively, tears spilling from her eyes. “Hey, c’mon, Y/N... this isn’t very funny-”

Rick picked you up bridal-style, and carried you over to a larger boulder, lying you down on top of it.

“Is she dead?” asked Blackguard, his voice shaking a little.

“No,” Rick murmured in wonder, “No, she’s... she’s alive. She has a pulse.”

“Hey, Flag!” Harley shouted. “Come have a look at this!”

Rick took Boomerang’s torch and held it against a wall full of engravings.

“Does anyone speak this language?” Harley hollered.

“Yeah, says something like...” Rick squinted. “Oh, God.”

"What?” yelped Harley, shaking him by the collar. “What? Out with it! This is my sister we’re talkin’ about - well, she ain’t, but she might as well be.”

“True love’s kiss,” managed Rick. “Harley, it says we can wake her up with - and I quote - true love’s kiss.”

The group glanced around at each other.

“Well,” Blackguard said, “Wow, I guess I’m up-”

“Hold on, mate,” insisted Boomerang, “What makes you so sure it’s you?”

“I’m her best friend, man. She loves me. I love her, too - you know I’d do anything for her.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s true love,” Boomerang stated. “True love’s, like, fairytale nonsense.”

“Yeah, true,” said Harley. Rick glanced to her.

“...Could be you.”

“Ew, no!” she shouted. “Don’t get me wrong, Y/N’s a very nice gal - but she’s not like that for me. That’s my sister. All the family I’ve got.”

“Alright,” Rick reasoned. “So... it has to be Hertz or Harkness.”

“What about you, Flag?” Boomerang asked. “Why not you?”

Rick laughed.

“No. No, it’s not me. I’m sure of that. Hertz... you’re our best bet. You go.”

“I mean, does anyone else feel a little uncomfortable with this?” asked Blackguard. “I mean, maybe she wouldn't like us kissing her.”

“I don’t think she’d like sleeping forever, neither,” said Boomerang. “It's utilitarian. Nothing behind it. We just... won’t make anything out of it, that’s all. You’re all my friends - I’d kiss any of you.”

Blackguard nodded, leaning down and giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“Nothing,” he said, a trace of disappointment leaking from his voice. “It didn’t work. It’s... it’s not me.”

Boomerang brushed the hair from your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I hope this works.”

He kissed you - longer than Blackguard had. Still, nothing.

...All eyes turned to Rick.

“No,” he said, firmly. “No, absolutely not.”

“So, you’re tellin’ me,” said Harley, “That you have the power to bring her back - but you’re not doin’ it?”

“Harley, it wouldn’t work anyway-”

“You don’t know that, Flag!”

“Yes, I do!” he shouted. “I know that she doesn’t love me back!”

The breath caught in Harley’s throat.

“Love you back?”

Boomerang grinned at him.

“Well, now you’ve got to give it a try, mate,” said Boomerang, reasonably. “If you don't - Harley’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Rick nodded, dutifully, then cleared his throat, kneeling by your side.

“I’m very sorry,” Rick said honestly, “...If this doesn’t work. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry for kissin’ you while you’re unconscious, too, but... it’s what I have to do, okay? So I promise that... it’s just a kiss-”

“True love’s kiss,” insisted Harley, and he glared at her.

“Just a kiss.”

Slowly, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

...Nothing happened.

Rick stroked your face, gently, and he thought - well, maybe, if he wanted it enough, it could be a true love’s kiss.

He’d do anything to make you wake up again.

“I love you,” Rick whispered. “I love you, I love you.”

He leaned down again. Kissed you, one more time.

And slowly, miraculously, your eyelids softly fluttered open. Rick clutched your face, and you coughed, waking up.

“True love’s kiss,” whispered Harley. “Works every time.”

...

Rick Flag Taglist (Open)

@blondiekook @giggles75th @woodlandmouth @xoxabs88xox

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

��Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[sarasapen]

Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

-------

 You were a fraud.

 Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

 Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

 Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

 It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

 Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

 “You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

 Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

 His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

 You scowl.

 He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

 “Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

 You’d let him do anything.

 You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

 He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

 When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

 Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

 And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

 Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

 You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

 And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

 Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

 You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

 Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

 You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

 Hold on.

 You loved him.

 You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 “What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

 Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

 “She seems nice.”

 FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

 “She… The Duchess?”

 “Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

 “Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

 “You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

 “Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

 There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

 “What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

 “Do you love her?”

 You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

 “...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

 “Used to?”

 “It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

 It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too. 

 “So… what? You decided to give her up?”

 He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

 But you’re the exception.

 You’d always be his only exception.

 So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

 There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

 “Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

 “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

 And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

 “Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

 Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

 “Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

 It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

 Your eyes fly open at his words.

 “If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

 Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

 “Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

 “Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

 Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

 Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

 Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

 Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

 You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

 He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

 And…there.

 You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

 The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

 You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

 It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

 So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

 And then you’re meditating.

——

 “It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

 “You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

 “I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

 “Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

 “Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

 “A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

 Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

 A dinner.

 It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

 And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

 Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

 Then you see her.

 She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

 “The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

 He’s looking at you.

 You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

 Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

 “If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

 It’s strange, you think.

 The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

 Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

 No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

 “The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

 Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

 He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

 You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

 And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

-----

The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

-----

Obi-Wan taglist:

@allinmymind @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mugoi-usagi @babymango-writes @fluffyhales @whinsical-ash @filthy-thots @altarsw @mando831 @ruleroftides @soft-and-lush @softlikefairydust @bumblegadget @stafskislava @torihester @shedobeclownin @satikryze @buwnni @mando-amando @mrskenobi19 @butch-medusae @fandomtrxshh @a-c-lee @neji85 @reejero @silverpuppi @thereluctantherosrose @shinybananapastanickel @hey-there-angels @grumpymuffinmama @hufflingpuffling-blog1 @kyle9no @qt-ane @arsowon @aesthelliec @lovelyweepingrebel @marvelranger @lovelylostminds 

[rainbowvamp]

unsent letter: 1794

Author's Note: So… this was 200 words before I went ‘this is too short. how can I spice it up?’ and then made it 1000 words by accident. TW for the discussion of church/religion and use of catholic/religious language in regards to Dream. It’s very heavy handed. It is definitely blasphemous. If that’s something you care about, skip this one.

Summary: Hob is a sinner

---

I know I am a sinner, and I have done the wrong thing more times in my life than I have done the right thing. Even so, I count myself a worse man for my covetous desire of you. I know many men who deny their attraction to other men, but that isn’t what I mean. Firstly, are you even technically a man? But secondly, I feel like a bastard for wanting you when I know your interest is strictly platonic. 

Well, maybe not so strictly. Those looks we shared at the White Horse five years ago didn’t feel platonic at the time, but maybe I’ve poisoned myself, been made delirious with desire and have read expressions on your face that were never there. But the way you flicked your eyes towards me made me think…

It doesn’t matter. It feels wrong to love you like this when I know that isn’t your wish. I don’t want to  drive you away. I don’t want to make you think I’m not a safe person to visit. I know how uncomfortable a relationship can be when one person loves and the other does not return it. I’ve left no too few lives to avoid that very fate. 

I’m a sinner, and I’ve always known it. I only hope you continue to look past that. That your eyes see me with the same compassion they saw me with in 1689. That your words are intended to advise, and never to push away. I covet you like nothing else on this earth, and though I hold no love for the Christian’s idea of a God, I hear about that sin often enough to know it’s hallmarks. 

My nature as a man is to want. I have lived this long because I want so strongly to live. For a time I believed there was nothing I could want stronger.

I see my own error. I want you more strongly. I would die for you, as easily as I have lived for myself. I would kill for you more easily. I didn’t kill Johanna’s men, in 1789, but I could have. Would have. If you’d asked me to I’d have crushed their skulls beneath my heeled shoe and not hesitated for a moment, even as long distanced as I am from such gruesome deaths. 

I would have killed them all, if you’d asked it of me. For my desire. For my love. For whatever facsimile of love I have to offer you. 

Priests think they know so much. I sit through church most Sundays to avoid the gossip that happens when you are new to a place and don’t sit through church each Sunday, and today, this most holy day, the priest stood upon his stone steps before his congregation and preached that love was only pure through the eyes of God, family, and marriage. That love of the body, save for it’s necessity, was a sin to have and a sin to want. 

I am a sinner, then, and I have been for a long while. I am made covetous by the very thought of you. I long to know the taste and touch and smell of you. I yearn for the sound of your breathless voice, made low by want and the heat of your lips made red by kissing.

And just as ardently I covet the words of your lips, in kindness and in friendship. I long to know what your favorite tea is, and how you prefer to take it. I yearn to share a space with you for longer than a scant few hours once every hundred years.

If this love is sin, Stranger, then what point is there to sainthood? Why strive to be sinless if it means I give you any less adoration than you are due? 

I do not adhere to these laws of man. I’ve seen you and I know that if God, devils and angels were the only immortal beings that existed, you would never have stood in front of me. If you belong to some other category, what other things have these Bible beaters gotten wrong? What other lies and half truths live in their churches when I can look upon you and see all the hallmarks of divinity, but cannot call you by any name that they would say is divine. 

You are another divinity, entirely, outside of their understanding, and so I put no stock in it.

Instead, I worship at your alter, and perhaps these letters are my offerings, measly and paltry as they may appear. They are all I have, and even these, I do not think you would accept.

I am a blind worshiper, Stranger, sacrificing my words and my soul to the heart of your hearth, never knowing if I will be seen, but knowing that doing otherwise would never be right. 

We cannot worship only when we believe we will be rewarded for it. That, at least, the church is right about. I will almost certainly never see the fruits of my devotion, but this devotion feels as right as the churning, burning release of orgasm. As right as a well sated body. As right as a full belly and a warm bed. It is my duty to heel at your divine table, and so I do, in letters, and once, every hundred years, I attend a church service and am met by my God, or by the only being I have ever known to resemble one. 

Am I a worse sinner, for loving someone holy in such unholy ways? What does a word like holy matter to someone like you? I only call my love a sin because I know that if you knew it, you would hate me for it, and to go against you is the only sin I can imagine. 

I am hopeless. In this life. Would that I could forget, but in truth I would never wish to. I will endure the rest of my deathless life, loving you no hope it being requited, if only I can continue to see you, same as I always have, and kneel at your alter again, each century, offerings refused, but made because you deserve them, even if you want nothing of them. 

AO3

[myonepiece]

Hello there, I happened upon your blog by chance and thought I’d try my chances.

How’d Crocodile, Doflamingo, and Kid react to their fem s/o tearing up the first time that the guys initiated a hug?

Growing up, I didn’t had the most loving family, and majority of the time I’d be trying to keep up with their expectations. If I did, everything goes on as normal, if not, then things get pretty ugly. I’m not going into detail, but I’m definitely better off in life right now. I had little to no physical affection, so it was safe to say I was pretty put off by anyone trying to initiate friendly physical contact with me. Or that was at least until I met a friend, whom became the sole reason I started enjoying and even craving hugs, and finding out that my love (platonic or romantic) language on the receiving end is physical affection. Sadly we parted without exchanging contacts due to entering different schools, and I had issues finding friends that are ok with physical contact, or even friends in general. It’s been a couple of years since I was last hugged, and I suppose I’m touch starved. Seriously feel like I might cry of joy if someone would just hug me.

Sorry for the whole life story, and if you don’t feel comfortable writing this, feel free to ignore this ask

Thank you for your time spent reading this

i totally understand 💛 i only get hugs from my family but they never feel right because i feel like they're obligated to hug me, they never make me feel safe or loved either and i just crave that more than nearly anything else

crocodile, doflamingo, kid reaction to their s/o crying when they ("really") hug for the first time

description: crocodile, doflamingo, and kid (separate) reaction to their s/o crying the first time they "really" hug

-he's confused, visibly too, he hugged you why are you crying all of a sudden? this is new to him too, he doesn't do such soft acts of affection, even though he'll soon crave it from you

-he pulls away from you holding you at arms length and looking down at you with a questioning expression

-"what's wrong?"

-you just whimpered a bit and looked down, mumbling that you're not used to this affection and it feels nice

-he understands fairly quickly, just getting that you're not hurt or uncomfortable, he's certainly not going to ask you more about it unless you wish to tell him

-he just pulls you back kind of carelessly, he's still worrying a bit and you can tell because his body has tensed

-he relaxes quickly though, his hooked-hand snaking around your waist carefully and holding you close while his flesh hand cups the back of your head

-he'll stay there for as long as you need

-i think doflamingo would understand, all of his affection (in any form) came from more nsfw acts that held no real meaning or sense of security/love

-he's touch starved and you can't change my mind, but he's touch starved in a way only for the affection that holds love, meaning, loyalty, all of that stuff- aka the opposites of mindless emotionless lust

-of course he wouldn't let you know that

-you were sitting sideways on his lap in some big throne-like chair he had in one of the many big halls in the dressrosa palace, one of doffy's arms around your shoulder holding you against him while the other stays on your thighs

-he had made everyone else clear out of the hall because he understood what was happening

-it was one of the very rare times doffy said nothing even borderline mean, he only held you tighter when you snuggled closer to him, stroking your hair softly and watching with an frown- too immersed in the moment to care about how he looked to everyone else

-he could honestly really use a real hug, one that's just soft and innocent- but he freaks out, anyone would think he's angry but he's just panicking

-when he tries to pull away you tighten your arms around his torso and whine, burying your face further in his chest

-so he replaces his arms around you but he's still yelling "what's wrong?!" "what do you want?!"

-surprisingly, he'll eventually get it and calm down, his arms coiling around you more genuinely while his anger fades and is replaced by a simple scowl that is unusual

-he's rub his hands up and down your back, rubbing your back awkwardly but soothingly, his chin going to rest on the crown of your head

-it's really kind of awkward for a while, he's still tense and worried that he did something, as well as confused

-he still holds you it just doesn't feel like an actual hug until after a bit when he then melts into your arms and sighs in content, his embrace tightening like he's finally realized this is a hug

-he'll turn his head to press his cheek to the top of your head while he stares across the room trying to process what's happening and why it feels like he just had drink of water after walking a desert for months

[staynoonaz9290]

Temptation - S2 (Ch. 3)

Where Maddie and Lila are back six months later, still managers of Stray Kids, navigating the world of incubi, and worse… Dealing with unexpected feelings

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Each SKZ Member/Fem! Reader (Third Person-Lila and Maddie)

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Sexual Content (a LOT of sexual content-please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable), Sex with multiple members (at separate times), Sex-to-survive (Incubi/Succubi), Desperation, Oral Sex (M-Given/F-Given), Fingering, Language, Supernatural Love, Excessive Drinking, Crack Fic, Age Difference, Slight OOC, Slight Angst, Love Triangle

Word Count: 2,782

Main Masterlist | Stray Kids Masterlist

COMPLETE

2 | 3 | 4

Maddie was sitting in a cushy chair right beside Jeongin, thankful they had the movie theater to themselves.

It was always more fun that way.

“You like the sour gummy bears, right?” she asked, ripping the bag open and almost dropping it. “Because these are seriously so good-”

“Yeah,” Jeongin nodded eagerly, smiling a little. “They’re one of my favorites.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” she teased, both of them laughing.

But then Jeongin’s expression was softening, his eyes darting across her face for such a brief moment, she almost would’ve missed it, before he was digging his hand into the bag.

And Maddie’s stomach was flipping, a small smile pulling on her own lips as she reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.

Ever since Jeongin had come back from Christmas break, the two of them had gotten a lot closer.

Maddie and Jeongin had always gotten along; even at the beginning, when all she was ever worried about was making sure he kept up with his feedings.

But after he’d come back from Christmas break, things had changed a bit.

It all started when they’d been talking together about something Maddie couldn’t remember, and she’d found out Jeongin had never been mini-golfing.

She’d told him he had to go- it was so much fun, even if you lost because the themes were usually really cool.

And no one else had wanted to go, leaving the two of them alone and having such a fun time, Maddie wondered why they’d never hung out before then.

After that, they’d slowly started getting together when they could- in between busy schedules and overnights in different countries- just hanging out.

“I’m curious about this movie,” Jeongin said, interrupting her thoughts. “I want to know how Knuckles is going to be at the end.”

The armrest between them was small, Maddie and Jeongin’s arms resting there together, skin to skin, the tiniest of buzzes in her veins at the feel of it.

“Well it’s only the second Sonic movie, but I still think they’re gonna team up,” Maddie replied with a grin. “And Tails will be here. too. So yeah- he’s gonna be a good guy in the end.”

He nodded, grabbing some more popcorn, and she swallowed, looking at him for a moment.

Jeongin was… very handsome.

He always had been, even when Maddie wanted to be in denial about it, and in the past seven or eight months, he’d only seemed to get better looking.

When they sat close like this- arm against arm, sharing food, alone in the dimly lit theater, waiting for their movie to start…

Well, that fact was not lost on her.

While these “hang outs” had never been called dates- something about them made Maddie feel like they were.

There was something about the way he looked at her, just as he did a moment ago, features soft, smile gentle, body pressed so casually against her own…

And the way he just was with her- so weirdly romantic- making Maddie’s heart race, surprising her-

“Here-”

Jeongin was reaching beneath the ginormous bucket of popcorn on his legs, grabbing a small stack of napkins and placing them on her own lap. She wasn’t sure if the dust of his fingers upon her thigh was on purpose, but Maddie felt a stutter in her chest at the feel of it, giggling automatically-

“Are you saying I’m messy?” she joked, turning to scowl playfully at him.

“Yes,” Jeongin replied without hesitation, making her laugh again.

“Hey!”

“It’s butter, how could it not be messy?” he asked between his own laughter, falling a bit when she pushed her arm against his in a playful shove.

“I know you meant it’s just me,” she teased back.

And he grinned, choosing not to answer, only eating more popcorn, Maddie giggling once more.

Jeongin was one of her favorite people in the mansion- if she was being honest with herself, he probably always had been- and she valued their friendship a lot.

But something about this; something about the way he would glance at her, smiling again, a sparkle in his eyes that had Maddie smiling right back…

Something about his kind gestures and his almost chivalrous ways with her…

Sometimes, she felt like there was a lot more than friendship going on here.

Maddie resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands, ignoring the small twist in her chest as she popped three gummy bears into her mouth.

This was all… so complicated.

She had never wanted this; she didn’t want a crush on Jeongin, and she certainly didn’t want him having a crush on her.

Maddie didn’t want anything to ruin this awesome friendship that’d developed between the two of them.

But he was an incubus- a Level Three incubus at that- and Maddie couldn’t deny the certain amount of chemistry that lingered between them. 

The way her fingers tingled ever so slightly when they touched. 

The way her stomach would flip a little, when he’d smile her way. 

The way she’d giggle when he teased her, flirting with her, a small warmth in her chest…

She took three more gummy bears out of the bag, a little more aggressively than she’d meant to, when she realized Jeongin wasn’t even the only Level Three incubus in her life…

Hyunjin

Her reaction to the thought of him was embarrassingly immediate; stomach filling with stupid, annoying butterflies, heart skipping a beat in her chest, Maddie chewing a little more fiercely on her candy…

She’d been spending a lot of alone time with Hyunjin as well.

The lights dimmed a little more in the theater, telling them the trailers were about to start, just as Maddie was swallowing around the weird hum in her throat.

They weren’t spending time together like this- like she and Jeongin, in the movie theater, just the two of them, sharing food and laughing with light conversation.

No, Maddie was going to help Hyunjin feed; to get some stress relief because everything with him was- admittedly- very good and he seemed to like it just as much.

Not that he’d ever tell her that.

But then there were times afterwards; when the hook-up was over and Maddie knew she should be climbing out of Hyunjin’s bed, telling him goodnight and leaving the room…

When she stayed instead, watching Hyunjin pull his phone off the nightstand, laying close as always and insisting he show her a new Webtoon he found that she had to read.

Maddie laughing, telling him she has too many, and she can’t read another- only for him to ignore her entirely, reading her the synopsis, knowing it’ll catch her attention and she’ll have to read it-

Hyunjin and her snuggled beneath the covers just after sex, the winter air outside bringing a chill to his room, Maddie complaining that she needed more covers and she was freezing-

She and Hyunjin tugging together on the comforter, bickering about who has longer legs and if that really matters, only for the man to tug too hard-

Her falling into him, body pressed against his own, Hyunjin’s laughter subsiding a little as he looked down at her…

And Maddie wondering how she could be cold at all, under the blankets with him like this, her body suddenly on fire-

Hyunjin’s eyes darting between her own before he was swooping down to kiss her, Maddie’s head falling softly upon the mattress-

“Hey-”

Maddie nearly squeaked in surprise, not realizing her eyes were glazed over, shaking her head to clear her vision before turning to Jeongin.

“-want some more?” he whispered.

He was shaking the bucket of popcorn, face close to hers so he could hear her, and so incredibly handsome that Maddie found herself smiling automatically again, nodding quickly before reaching into the bucket.

Still, the guilt at her thoughts had a small rock forming in her stomach, Maddie eating each popcorn kernel one at a time after thanking Jeongin softly, turning back to watch the trailers.

Not wanting to think about any of this any longer, she forced herself to pay attention to the movie, ignoring the way Jeongin’s arm was still pressed so completely against her own.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maddie was standing at the kitchen sink, her hands a little red from the scalding hot water.

She was rinsing the soap off newly cleaned dishes, Felix right beside her with rubber gloves and a sponge in hand, scrubbing all the dirty plates from that evening’s dinner.

It was just two days after their first performance, and a rare night they were able to cook a meal at home, all ten of them eating together. As per the usual house rules, everyone rotated on dishes, and tonight it was Felix and Maddie, the two of them working together like a well-oiled machine.

They hadn’t said much- in fact, they hadn’t talked at all- but the silence was comfortable, and it’d been such a long day of practices, interviews, and driving all around South Korea, that neither of them felt much like conversation.

It was one of the many things Maddie loved about Felix; he was always so good at reading the room.

If she was being honest with herself though, Maddie thought she might just love everything about Felix.

He was way less maintenance than everyone else in the mansion- even Jeongin- and was such a sweetheart that often just his presence made people feel better. He was an amazing baker, a person that would talk to you about anything, and overall, his aura was just… comforting.

Still, when Maddie glanced his way, waiting for the next dish to rinse off, she saw him pressing his lips together as if something was bothering him, swallowing hard-

“What do you think, Maddie?”

She jumped, looking up at Chan and Lila sitting at the kitchen table, papers spread all across the wooden surface, trying to work out the next couple days’ plan.

“Think about…?”

She hadn’t been listening, smiling guiltily, and Lila grinned with a shake of her head.

“If we drop Changbin off at his girl’s house for her appointment, then get Hyunjin and Minho from that dance workshop up at JYP, then- Chan, stop!”

Chan had reached over to tickle her ribs, clearly trying to mess up her words, and Lila giggled loudly, trying and failing to push his hands away.

Maddie laughed, rolling her eyes playfully; sometimes, Chan and Lila were really flirty like this. They adored each other- that much was obvious to anyone who saw them- but when there were less people around, they seemed to be much more comfortable with PDA.

Specifically in front of Jeongin, Hyunjin, her and Felix.

Maybe it was because they knew the four of them either didn’t judge or didn’t care, and would never make a joke at their expense. Maybe it was because- in a weird sort of way- Chan felt the most comfortable with them, and didn’t feel like he had to hide as much his feelings for Lila…

Because even though there’d never been any kind of anything announced; there was no denying Chan had feelings for Lila. 

Maddie wasn’t one hundred percent sure why, but when they were alone like this, sometimes-

“-I can’t breathe!” Lila squealed, making Maddie laugh as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Are you gonna tell me the rest of the plans or?” she tried to sound annoyed, but she was smiling too much, and Chan looked at her, grinning a little.

“Okay, I’m sorry I’m done-”

But while he’d taken his hands from Lila’s sides, he’d swiped up the papers, reading the rest of the plan before she could.

“-after Hyunjin and Minho, we can head to pick up Changbin and get everyone to the studio for recording before eight.”

Lila pouted playfully at him, but Chan kept his eyes on Maddie, purposely ignoring her as he tried not to smile.

“Yeah,” Maddie replied with a shrug. “I mean… sounds good to me.”

“Great!” Chan exclaimed, finally turning to Lila with that same, playful grin. “Guess we’re all set then.”

Maddie was honestly glad the two were doing just fine- eyes shining when they looked at one another, Lila shoving him with a small giggle- because the day of their first performance, Chan had seemed a bit stressed.

They hadn’t been able to find Seungmin, and Chan had been running around like crazy while Maddie had been in a mad rush for Changbin’s lost earpiece, and until the moment they’d stepped out on stage, the leader had been tense; not his normal, happy-go-lucky self.

Lila had been worried- almost like it’d been something to do with her- but by the time the performance was over, Chan had come running from the stage with his normal, megawatt smile, hugging Lila tightly after everyone had passed by to pile into the makeup room.

And things were totally back to normal.

Maddie turned to the sink once more, her eyes immediately darting to Felix, who’d been watching the entire exchange. He caught her eye, quickly going back to their dishes, and Maddie realized he’d been washing the same plate since she’d turned her back on him.

There was a small knot in her stomach at the look on his face- eyebrows slightly raised in distress, lips pressing together again, very concentrated on cleaning the plate- and she knew it was because of Chan and Lila.

Since the beginning, Maddie had always known Felix had a crush on Lila.

She saw it in everything the man did; saving the biggest cookies for her, cheeks dusting pink every time Lila gave him a compliment, his lingering gaze on her face, even when she turned away from their conversation, Felix shaking his head and quickly walking away- as if scolding himself for looking at her-

Maddie knew Felix had it bad for Lila, and always had since they’d started this job.

And she also knew Felix seemed to feel really guilty about it.

She supposed it was because Chan was one of his best friends; that Felix looked up to the man, loved him, and they just so happened to like the same girl…

Or maybe it was because Lila so clearly liked Chan back- more than just liked him- and had never seen Felix as anything more than a little brother…

Maddie bit her lip, watching Felix pass over the plate without looking up, reaching for a dirty cup next, looking like he was in his head again-

“I think we’re all set!” Lila said, the scraping of chairs across tile telling Maddie she and Chan were standing up. “Finally!”

Maddie laughed, turning to them again, seeing Felix look over as well out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m gonna head back to my studio,” Chan said with a friendly wave, walking with Lila. “See you guys tomorrow!”

“See you later, Maddie!” Lila called. “Goodnight Felix!”

“Goodnight you guys,” Felix said, voice deep as usual.

Maddie waved, trying to hide her smirk- she knew they were spending the night together- before turning back to the dishes, Felix already going back to cleaning.

It was quiet again between them, and while the silence was still comfortable, Maddie could tell the man was thinking hard, his methodic scrubbing of the cup telling her his mind was far away from this kitchen-

“Hey.”

He jumped, dropping the cup in the soapy water with a small splash as he turned to her.

“Sorry-”

He chuckled, shaking his head and picking up the cup.

“-was lost in thought there.”

“It’s okay,” Maddie smiled. “I was just wondering… Do you want to bake together? Maybe… make some snickerdoodles?”

The question made Felix as happy as she hoped it would, the man beaming as his eyes darted between her own.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly, handing over the clean cup for her to rinse. “That sounds amazing-”

“I thought it’d be fun,” she said, giggling a little; his happiness was infectious. “They’re my favorite cookies and yet I’ve never made them myself.”

“Well,” Felix tilted his head. “You’ve come to the right place.”

“Great,” she laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “Next night we’re free? In like… two days?”

“Yeah, sounds awesome.”

Maddie watched as Felix grabbed one of the last dishes in their pile, a small grin still pulling on the corners of his lips as he scrubbed it quickly.

And feeling a small warmth in her chest, she rinsed off the cup in her hands, glad she could make the sunshine of their group so happy.

To Be Continued...

2 | 3 | 4

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 11: Playing the Game

AN: I hope y'all enjoy this non-stop flirt-a-thon, chapter count got increased again, so we'll get back to the plot in the next chapter!

At first, Marinette didn’t know how to act. This was the last route she expected Damian to take. The shock of Damian’s lips against hers turned her body rigid; hands splayed out to the sides, unsure of where to touch. After a second of floundering, she gained enough bearing to place her hands firmly on Damian’s arms. Her once still lips hesitantly moving against his. The closed-mouth kiss stayed chaste, but Marinette found herself fluttering her eyes closed, sinking into the warmth.

Damian stood taller than her, bending into the kiss while she craned her neck. Marinette pushed herself upward, arching onto the tips of her toes, and Damian’s hands wrapped tighter around her waist, deepening the kiss. She readjusted her mouth for a second grabbing a quick gasp of air before diving in again with more fervor. Damian responded in kind, pushing her back fully against the wall, one hand migrating from her waist to cup her cheek.

Damn. Damian was a good kisser.

“What the- Hey, customers are not allowed to be in here!”

Oh, right. The employee. That’s why they were kissing.

Why would kissing be helpful in this situation?

Not that Marinette was complaining, but-

Damian pulled away from her, and Marinette held back a pitiful whine when he turned away and faced the employee.

‘Bad thoughts, Marinette,’ she chided herself. ‘Focus on the mission, not Damian, or his lips, or his eyes, or-’

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” said Damian with a bashful smile.

Wait…

Blink.

What?

Marinette dragged herself out of the kiss-induced bliss, focusing on her co-conspirator, and had she been less in control of herself her jaw would have dropped.

Damian’s whole demeanor had markedly changed. His normal sharp posture sunk into a causal slouch; the emotions on his face, generally a mix of sharp observation or practiced disdain, now a mix of charming elegance and, yes, bashfulness. He flashed a wide grin at the oncoming employee, a person in their early twenties, who froze when they saw them.

Or rather, Damian.

Rapidly blinking bright blue eyes gazed at them. “Oh, oh you- you’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know who I am,” said Damian, rubbing the back of his neck. Even the way he spoke changed; careful pronunciation and formality thrown out the window for a lax New Jersian drawl. “What’s your name?” He asked with such a genuine smile, had Marinette not been versed in people lying through their teeth, she would have bought it.

Not for the first time, Marinette wondered how famous Damian’s family was – obviously rich enough, and high profile enough - to be recognized on the spot.

The person paused for a moment, fiddling with a strand of curly blond hair. “I’m- I’m ah… Fey, nice to meet you Mr.-”

Damian cut them off with a laugh. “Oh please, any name with a mister makes me think of my father or my older brother. Call me Dami.” He offered a hand to the flustered Fey. They limply shook it.

“Oh… ah- alright Dami.”

Damian encircled a hand around Marinette’s waist dragging her out of the weirdness induced fugue state she’d fallen into. “And this… well,” he lowered his eyes, catching her attention and winked. “This is my girlfriend Marinette.”

Fuck, this is what he meant by play along.

Fey dropped open their mouth before closing it quickly.

“Oh, I hadn’t read-”

Damian cut the flustered employee off again.

“We’ve kept it quiet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The papers would devour a story like this,” he said, with a sense of vapid annoyance, although a trace of his normal calculated disdain accented his words.

Note to self; Damian didn’t like the media. Good, Marinette didn’t much like the invasive vultures either.

Fey nodded along, twirling a lock of hair on their finger. “Oh yeah, that totally makes sense.” They paused shaking their head to clear away an emotion… awe? Fear? Marinette couldn’t tell. “But uh, why are you here? Like in the stairwell, not in the store. Because of course celebrities would still shop, right? I mean-” Poor Fey was a stuttering mess. Marinette almost felt bad for them.

She felt like an absolute stuttering mess too, but she would be damned if Damian would carry this lie all by himself.

She was fucking Ladybug; savior of Paris, Guardian of the Miraculous.

She could act like a lovestruck fool.

“It iz so sweet,” she said, emphasizing her accent to add a little more pageantry to this entire scheme. “I just arrived back from Paris, and wanted to decorate my new apartment with ze ah-” she waved her hands around, “Oh, how you Americans put it? Fairy lights?”

Fey nodded quickly. “Yeah, we have a couple of good selections, but-” Marinette continued before they could logic their way out of the made-up cover story.

“I planned to go by myself, but Dami-” at this she moved forward to wrap her arms around his, leaning into his side. The warmth of his body bleeding through his clothes. “He insisted on ‘companying me even though he dozen’t like ze crowds.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “He gets grumpy,” she divulged with a girlish giggle. Why Damian did a 180 on his personality was a complete mystery, but if he dropped the act, this would make Fey less suspicious.

Fey nodded right along like Marinette’s comment made total sense. “Yeah, I don’t read too many magazines, but damn they must pin you all wrong,” they said to Damian. From Marinette’s position at his side, she felt his body tense the slightest amount. “Gotham’s Ice Prince, yeah right.”

Marinette inwardly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Ice Prince, huh?’ The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d heard it before.

Damian nervously chuckled again, sounding more authentic this time. “Oh no, I’m a grump when it comes to the media, I fully admit. My, ah,” he looked at her again, an apology flashing in his green eyes. “Angel here puts me in a better mood.”

A rushing noise filled Marinette’s ears, and her heart quickened. She vaguely registered a squeal of delight coming from Fey, but it sounded far away compared to her blood pounding at a thunderous level. Heat flushed in her cheeks, and the confident smile she plastered on her face almost dropped at the pet name.

Angel.

He called her angel.

What level of utter insanity had she dropped into?

“A few disguises later,” Damian continued, adjusting the glasses on his face, and oblivious of the turmoil he’d created in Marinette’s mind. “I thought we’d be able to stay under the radar, I just wanted a day out with my girlfriend,” he said with a put-upon sigh. The emotional, charming actions stood in complete opposite to Damian’s normal demeanor.

Marinette found herself desperately torn between breaking down laughing hysterically or clapping at Damian’s masterful performance.

“You got noticed?” asked Fey.

“We got noticed.” Damian sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. Marinette regretted not touching it while she and Damian kissed; was it as fluffy as it looked? “And Marinette, the sweet angel she is, isn’t used to the whole utter insanity of… you know, dating a celebrity.” He glanced at her, teasing her with a fonder smirk than his usual. Marinette wanted to roll her eyes. Damian had no clue she knew very well the consequences of dating a celebrity.

Never mind she’d only dated Adrian a month before they broke up because his dad turned out to be a psychopathic supervillain intent on plunging the whole of France into an apocalyptic hellscape in an attempt to upset the universes’ balance, and was fully okay with killing the both of them to make it happen.

Being friends after that little debacle was the better option. For both their sanities.

‘Focus Marinette.’ She dragged her attention back to the conversation.

“We kinda ducked in here when nobody was paying attention. I want to keep this away from the media as long as possible, for my angel’s privacy.” Marinette wanted to scoff at how Damian leaned into that nickname. He certainly was laying it on thick. Marinette wouldn’t have bought the act, but that was due to her years of lying and deceiving in the name of super-heroics.

Fey, with their eager demeanor and bright blue eyes, didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh, that’s awful people wouldn’t leave you alone. I bet most celebrities would be familiar with the attention, but for you to look out for Marinette too?” They whistled. “Damn girl, he’s a keeper for sure.”

The blush gracing Marinette’s cheeks was 100% real. “Oh, well, ah, zank you. I know.”

“Well, no one will hear a word from me,” Fey promised. They fiddled with their hands and sent a shy smile at Damian. Marinette’s stomach clenched at the sight, and without her permission, her traitorous hands tightened their grip on Damian’s arm. “Without your family’s scholarship, my sister never would have graduated med school. She would kill me if I even thought of ratting you out to the papers.”

“Oh…” said Damian, his outward appearance of shock mirroring Marinette’s own internal emotions.

‘His family is rich enough to fund medical scholarships?’

“Well, that’s not on me directly, you know,” he commented. “All my father’s doing. I hope- ah… I hope she’s doing well?” Although his face portrayed a bashful and relaxed air, his body language screamed uncomfortableness. Marinette released one hand from his arm and brought it to rest on the small of his back, circling her thumb around. He relaxed, slightly, and Marinette smiled.

“Yeah, actually she is,” said Fey beaming. “She’s working at the new pediatric clinic that opened in Crime Alley.”

“Good for her,” said Damian honestly. “We need more people willing to work to make the city a better place. Money can only do so much.”

“Money definitely helps though,” Fey replied, wryly. Marinette agreed. Long-buried memories of her early years arose. Living above her parents’ shop, where every month they spread their bills across the kitchen table and talked in hushed tones while Marinette sat on the steps to her attic room and worried, even if at five and six she didn’t know what she was worried about.

Those days were long gone. Her parents and their creations internationally famous, with three separate locations across the greater Paris metro alone. But that worry never really went away.

Fey shifted on their feet reading their watch. “Well, you guys stay here if you want until whatever crowd out there loses interest.” They gestured to the door Marinette and Damian entered through. “Or you can come with me if you want?” Pointing to the other locked door. “I’m heading out to the atrium to deal with a problem, but you can continue on with your shopping.”

“Zank you so much,” Marinette replied. “We will go with you if you do not mind?”

“Of course not,” said Fey, walking to the door and pulling out a security key. They opened the door, but Damian held it allowing Marinette and Fey to walk through before he followed. Placing a hand once more around Marinette’s waist.

“What problem in the atrium, if you don’t mind me asking?” he prodded, sharing a look with Marinette.

It could be nothing, but it could also have something to do with his brothers.

Considering their luck today, Marinette would be shocked if it wasn’t the latter option.

“Oh, well it started with the children’s center shutting down. Apparently, the kids got it in their minds to start a dodge ball fight with the workers. Which, you know, totally fair,” confided Fey, as they walked through the back corridors. “Sounded like it was a blast to watch. I was such a shit when I was a kid, I would have joined them in a heartbeat. It wrapped up fairly quickly, but they can’t convince the main instigator to descend from the jungle gym. I think they’re still hunting down her parents.”

Marinette pursed her lips trying to hold back a smile. ‘Oh, Abby,’ she thought, ‘you absolute gem.’

“I only heard about it from Lisa when I got back because I was dealing with a security issue in the back lot.” Fey glanced at them nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong, we’re perfectly safe.”

Marinette and Damian shared a look.

Jason.

“Of course,” said Marinette.

Followed by a quick, “Absolutely,” from Damian.

Fey relaxed. “So this is, apparently, a whole bunch of workers on strike? They walked out of the back warehouse and congregated in the atrium, spouting on about living wages and corrupt big business, and the effects of verbal abuse in the workplace.” Fey said with a wave of their arms. “And it’s not like I don’t agree, because I do. Jerry, the warehouse general manager, is an asshole.” Marinette and Damian exchange worried glances at the rotund angry man’s name, who they last saw dragging a singed Tim into an office.

“…but it makes my job hard,” whined Fey, oblivious to their compatriot’s inner panic. ��And the Starbucks baristas joined them, so their kiosk closed too.” Fey chuckled, “I would avoid the whole area if I were you, especially if you don’t want anyone finding out you’re together.”

“I wonder how zat ended up happening?” Marinette asked hopefully her high-pitched voice conveyed confusion instead of slowly settling in panic.

“They called in saying some guy lead the charge, he’s worked the crowd into a fervor. I’m there to be the HR rep while security tries to remove him. You know, normally my job involves sitting at a desk all day listening to bitchy customers on the phone. I’ve dealt with more in-store problems today since last Black Friday.” Fey chuckled. “What a day, ya’ know?”

Marinette glanced at Damian, his casual mask still firmly in place, although his left eye twitched, and the hand he wrapped around her waist, tightened at Fey’s words.

Fey finally reached another door, pulling out their pass and lead them out into the store’s main section.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Marinette, Dami,” Fey chirped. “Nobody will hear from me about any of this.” They mimed zipping their lips.

Marinette smiled, hoping the strain wasn’t too noticeable. “It waz nice to meet you too Fey.”

“Good luck with whatever is happening in the atrium,” said Damian. They stood at the door and watched them move out of sight. When Fey finally disappeared around a corner, Damian turned to Marinette his casual persona rippling away as if it never existed at all. His hand slipped off her waist.

She did not, absolutely not, want to grab it and put it back thank you very much.

“How much do you wish to wager on Drake’s involvement in whatever is occurring in the atrium?” he asked. Marinette smiled, reassured at the return of his clipped and formal tone. The informal speech felt wrong coming from Damian’s mouth.

“Oh, I don’t know Dami?” she teased. Then again, she couldn’t let this opportunity pass by her. “I don’t think I have enough money for that bet with you.”

Damian closed his eyes with a grimace and sigh. “Do not call me that.” He opened his eyes, an expression just short of pleading radiated from them “Please.”

“I would rather gag, and it sounds so would you.” Marinette covered her grin with her hand, unable to stop a slight giggle at the man’s long-suffering tone. “You pulled off vapid lovesick celebrity well, but why the need to act at all?”

“I have plenty of reference to draw from,” he grumbled, piquing Marinette’s interest; every half aside comment enticing her to dig further at Damian’s life. “I needed whoever descended those steps on our side and my normal... demeanor tends to put people off.” He folded his hands behind his back, a perfect picture of casualness, but the tightness around his eyes and the twitch of his mouth was all Marinette needed to note his self-consciousness.

“Well, I for one find your usual self charming,” Marinette admitted, pleased when Damian relaxed at her words. “You freaked me out acting that weird.”

“It is not an option I use often,” Damian admitted. “My brothers tend to make big productions of themselves. I prefer a far subtler approach, but this required more theatrics to make it believable.” He glanced at her. “I hope…” he paused. She watched his hand flutter and turn into a fist at his side. “I hope I did not overstep your bounds, that is, I mean violate your...” Damian refused to look at her, his gaze firmly planted on a far wall.

Marinette could let the poor man continue but ended up taking pity on him before he dug an even deeper hole. She placed a hand on his arm. “You were fine. If I didn’t want you… kissing me,” she said the words out loud for the first time, reigning in a pleasurable shudder at the memory. “I would have pushed you off, and if I felt violated, which I didn’t, you would have found yourself on the ground in plenty of pain.”

Damian dragged his gaze back to hers, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “Undoubtedly, yes, you easily could have done so.”

Marinette smirked again, not willing to let the entire debacle slip away quite yet though. “Although I have to ask, where in the world did angel come from? And what on earth made you think it would be a good nickname for our fake relationship?”

Damian lifted his nose haughtily. “It is a perfectly acceptable name of affection for a significant other. What, did you wish for ‘sweetheart’ or ‘doll’?” he asked, drawing out those names with the earlier casual New Jersian accent. Marinette withheld a shiver at his low tone of voice curling those words around his tongue. She may prefer his normal speech, but damn he still sounded unbearably attractive when he dropped that low.

‘Focus, Marinette. FOCUS!’ she inwardly screamed at herself.

“Goodness no,” said Marinette, forcing a pretend shudder. “Something with more class perhaps? Darling, or beloved?”

Damian pursed his lips. “Not beloved. That’s what my mother refers to my father with.” Marinette winced, yeah, that could be awkward. Not that this whole conversation wasn’t a disaster plucked out of a fever dream. Why, why was she debating Damian on the finer points of affectionate nickname giving?

But her mouth continued talking. “Alright, I suppose angel isn’t bad in comparison. Still, it’s a bit cliché. What does that make you? A demon?”

Damian tilted his head with a shrug. “Tt. My brothers do call me that on occasion, yes.” Oh right, Jason called him demon-spawn a few times during their confrontation. With the way Damian rolled his eyes in annoyance, Marinette figured a story lurked behind that particular nickname.

“Regardless, we have strayed dangerously off-topic here. We should head towards the pandemonium in the atrium, yes?” Damian pushed off the wall he’d leaned against, and Marinette followed.

“I thought it was Panic at the Disco?” Marinette teased with a grin.

Damian pointed a finger at her, trying for a stern expression, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “You think yourself terribly clever, don’t you?”

“I think I’m adorable,” she shot back. “But I also think you’re right. It sounds like Tim managed to involve himself. If he’s making a scene, I bet he’ll draw the rest of your brothers there too.”

“You think Grayson will escape the clutches of that ravenous she-wolf?”

Marinette scoffed. “Damian, you’ll insult wolves with that comparison. I thought she resembled more of a hyena myself.” The woman certainly shrieked enough for it. “From what I saw, your brother probably ducked out at the first opportunity available to him.”

“True. Which leaves Todd, and nothing attracts his attention more than a spectacle. Especially when Drake stands chance to make a fool of himself.” Turning a corner they found themselves several yards away from the open-aired atrium. A crowd of people lingered around the railing looking into the courtyard below. Clapping and cheers fill the air.

“Shall we?” asked Marinette, excitement brewing in her chest.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” grumbled Damian. “But I suppose we must.”

Tag List (or you can subscribe and read it here on ao3)

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[obviouslygenuinely]

Babygate Analysis/Conclusions: A Non-Larry Perspective

(Image Credit: Hollywood Life)

I'm prefacing this post with a few disclaimers:

After some consideration, I chose to write this without factoring in Larry whatsoever. No Larry-related points, proof, or speculation in any way. This is solely analyzing babygate from an unbiased perspective. 

I don't claim to know the entire truth. It is impossible for any of us to know.  What I conclude is based on direct evidence, circumstantial evidence, research, and analysis.

I am willing to discuss opposing views. I’m happy to talk about the topic in a civil, kind, and mature matter. I will dismiss any discourse that is aggressive, immature, and so on.

I did not include every single opinion/conclusion/piece of evidence I found. I condensed my thoughts as much as possible (and this is still a novel-length post). There are so many more points I can think of. However, babygate masterposts cover all of that; I’ll link to some of those at the end.

The conclusion points aren't in a very specific order. I aimed to list related points one after another. Aside from that, it's not in order of "hardest to weakest" evidence.

Please read “Author’s Notes” for additional clarity/input. They interject thoughts/etc. that I feel are necessary to include. 

Lastly, I included links to every source I cited in this post. However, I did not tag the Tumblr users. I’m not sure if they are comfortable with having Babygate questions/comments directed to their blogs. If you are a linked source and want to be tagged, please let me know! 

My Initial Reaction To Babygate

In February of 2020, I received several messages on LateToLarry requesting that I analyze something called “babygate”. I had no idea what babygate meant at the time. 

I learned what it meant, and prior to any research I felt the theory was so absurd. I also felt uncomfortable analyzing it because I believed I’d feel bias as a single mom. The idea of discussing a random child in depth initially bothered me, too. I declined to analyze it last year.

However, I did a LOT of research over time. My opinion has changed significantly. Below, I’ve shared my main conclusions and analysis about babygate. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my post! 

1. No Paternity Test Was Performed Prior To The Pregnancy Announcement

Louis was/is a prominent celebrity and has a current net worth of $70 million. From legal, financial, and practical standpoints, it makes no sense for him to choose not to get a test. 

It’s unheard of in Hollywood and the entertainment industry. Any sensible team -lawyers, PR reps, managers, advisors, etc. - would not just go along with it. They are employed to protect his career and image. 

The Opposing Views

A. “Briana/Louis didn’t want to risk miscarriage with prenatal testing.”

Non-invasive testing is completely safe for fetuses and pregnant women, so there’s no medical reason for the lack of testing.

B. “Louis chose not to get the test done because he wanted to be a father and was invested in the pregnancy/parenting.”

Time has shown that this is not true. Louis does not have custody; there was a brief custody case in 2016 that led nowhere. He does not have a consistent or prominent role in the child’s life.

Conclusion

There is no logical reason for the lack of paternity testing prior to the announcement unless Louis knew he was not the father and all parties knew this to be true.

2. There Was No Confirmation Of A Paternity Test After The Birth

I’ll keep this section fairly short. A quick Google search returns dozens of conflicting reports. Many of them state that Louis demanded a paternity test shortly after birth. Other reports state that he has never pursued a paternity test. 

Here are a few examples:

“Louis Tomlinson not interested in paternity test” - Business Standard

“EXCLUSIVE: Louis Tomlinson Demanded a DNA Test “As Soon as the Baby Was Born”” - InTouch Weekly

“Louis Tomlinson: No DNA Test Needed ... Positive Freddie's His Son” -TMZ

“Louis Tomlinson & Briana Jungwirth: WhyHe Had DNA Test Done on His Newborn Son” - Hollywood Life

This Twitter thread discusses TMZ reports that - as of 2020 - no DNA test was done.

Conclusion

There is no reliable confirmation that Louis pursued a paternity test. The media cannot come to a general/factual consensus.

Again, there is no reasonable explanation for the lack of paternity testing unless Louis knows he is not the father of the child. 

3. The Conception-To-Birth Timeline Is Inconsistent/Unreliable

Pregnancy and conception as a whole can be rather confusing; timelines from conception to birth are unique to each person. Having said that, Briana’s timeline is full of glaring inconsistencies that don’t add up. 

I’ll begin with this timeline based on bulletprooflarry’s post and my own research. Dates I’ve added myself include linked sources:

May 5th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were first seen together in public.

May 6th to May 31st, 2015 - Briana and her mom followed baby-related social medial accounts.

May 12th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were pictured together in public.

July 3rd, 2015 - Louis is seen with Briana’s brother in Hollywood.

July 14th, 2015 - The first pregnancy report is published.

August 4th, 2015 - Louis confirms pregnancy on GMA.

January 21st, 2016 - The child is reportedly born.

Based on the dates above, these are the possible dates/milestones for her pregnancy:

Scenario A - If conception occurred on May 5th, Briana was 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st, 2016. This is considered an early-term birth and about 26% of births occur at 37 weeks.

Scenario B - If conception occurred on May 12th, Briana was 36 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st. This is considered a late-term or late premature birth and about 10% of births occur at 36 weeks.

These dates matter because Briana’s alleged hospital stay was not consistent with a premature or early-term birth. She was pictured in public - healthy and holding a baby carrier - within one week of giving birth. 

(Image Credit: Daily Mail)

(Image Credit: larrysbbrbb28)

If she gave birth based on the dates above, it’s extremely unlikely that she or the baby would be out in public so soon.

Below are screenshots of an additional timeline from an archived Tumblr post. It provides excellent points about more timeline inconsistencies: 

The main inconsistencies and red flags are bolded in the post. It supports the unreliable conception timeline, and it also mentions my next point - the official pregnancy announcement. 

The post above mentions that the Jungwirth family followed baby-related accounts before Briana could possibly know she was pregnant. Here’s one screenshot from skepticallarrie proving it:

I’ve also seen several posts that show inconsistencies with the size of Briana’s baby bump. Unfortunately, the most reliable post no longer exists. You can view a web archive of Briana’s pregnancy photos, but most of the image links are broke. 

The only post I have saved is a web archive of a long babygate post. The beginning of the post contains photos showing discrepancies in the size of Briana’s baby bump. 

The Opposing Views

“Pregnancy looks different on everybody, everyone recovers differently, etc.”

Yes, this is true and a valid point! As a woman who has gone through multiple pregnancies and two live births, I truly understand this argument. 

However, the sheer amount of inconsistencies are what make this a red flag. There are too many unreliable and contradicting points to brush this off. It goes beyond the point of “well, each person has a different experience”.

Conclusion

There are a few conclusions/scenarios I believe you can draw from the information above:

Briana was pregnant prior to meeting Louis.

Briana was never pregnant in the first place. 

Both are valid to consider, but I personally believe she was never pregnant. 

(Author’s note: My calculation for dates are based on the date of alleged conception. Most due date calculators, by default, use the date of a woman’s last mentrual period - LMP - to provide estimations.

I also used Date Duration Calendar for my calculations. Accessible due date calculators only allowed me to input dates from 2019/2020. Depending on the tools and dates you use, your mileage may vary.)

4. The Announcement Itself Was Highly Unusual

This point ties into the first and third points. I don’t consider it a major piece of evidence, but it’s noteworthy due to the other points. 

So, there are a few reasons why the Good Morning America announcement stands out. 

A. If Briana got pregnant on May 5th, then she was approximately 10 weeks pregnant when the first pregnancy report was published. This also means she was approximately 13 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

If Briana got pregnant on May 12th, she was approximately nine weeks pregnant at the time of the first report and approximately 12 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

B. The public announcement on Good Morning America raises a lot of questions. I’ve had multiple issues embedding the video; the bolded link takes you to the GMA announcement on YouTube. 

Anyways, these questions/thoughts - disregarding any Larry theories -  come to mind when watching the video: 

This is a segment for promoting/discussing their album/music.

The baby announcement is the sole non-album/music related topic that is mentioned during the segment.

The announcement is not organically worked into the segment as a natural talking point.

Louis’ reactions - such as bringing the microphone to his lips and not talking - is very unlike his standard interview demeanor.

The male interviewer and the band members have noticeable facial expressions and body language that suggest discomfort, stress, or awkwardness. 

A post by skepticalarrie draws similar conclusions. Her post is much more detailed than mine, and I highly recommend reading/viewing it. 

(Author’s Note: I’ve touched upon this on LateToLarry and will make a post here eventually, but body language and facial expressions are valid. They’re valid to the point that they are used in court cases.) 

Conclusion

My conclusions here are twofold. One is that: 

Announcing a pregnancy - especially a celebrity-related pregnancy - this early is extremely uncommon and unlikely.

The announcement itself seems out of place and very forced. 

This particular point, to me, is not extremely strong evidence. I still think it’s worth keeping in mind and is relevant to other points here. So, I’ve included it either way.

5. Briana Posted Stolen Pregnancy/Baby Photos On Social Media

(EDIT: I wrote this piece before the recent release of Briana’s alleged ultrasound and don’t have time to add it. It’s pretty strong proof and can easily be found in recent babygate posts.)

Babygate posts often point out that Briana and the Jungwirth family used stolen/fake pregnancy and baby photos on social media. It’s a well-known topic that’s often discussed. 

I’m condensing this section to a few examples. I encourage additional research if you’d like to see more. 

A. This Tumblr post shows stolen baby bump photos that Briana’s cousin Ashley posted on Twitter: 

B. This Tumblr post and Twitter post show a stolen baby photo that Briana posted on Instagram:

(Author’s Note: Since I was not active in the fandom at the time, I am relying on information from other blogs and social media posts. I vetted my sources pretty well, but any false information is my own mistake.)

Conclusions

The only word that sums this up is “suspicious”. Using stolen photos of a pregnant woman/baby is not necessary if you are legitimately pregnant. That’s really what it boils down to. It lends to the conclusion that Briana was never pregnant. 

6. Photos And Videos Of The Child Are Heavily Altered And Manipulated

It is indisputable that many photos and videos of the child are heavily manipulated to alter his appearance. This goes beyond filters, lighting, and angles. 

Several detailed posts show the manipulations; here are some examples:

A web archive of all Photoshop evidence from tellmethisisnotlove

An in-depth post from genuineconspiracy that includes detailed photo evidence.

A video post from freefreddiereign that shows Photoshop evidence based on photos the child. 

There is no doubt that his facial features are frequently altered. This is easy to conclude using any free software that detects Photoshop. As a photographer myself, I can easily spot the manipulations.

(Author’s Note: I know that directly discussing the child is controversial. When I first heard of babygate, my initial reaction was discomfort about analyzing a child.

I quickly learned/concluded that his family members are responsible for heavily putting him in the public eye. All content I’ve used for research is based on the family’s posts.

Still, I have personally chosen not post pictures of the child, but the links I am sharing contain photos/videos of him.

Additionally, I used FotoForensics on photos of myself prior to writing this. It was important to me to feel absolutely certain about this point. I’m fine with sharing my own FotoForensics images if anyone is curious.)

The Opposing Views

A. “Freddie looks like Louis in pictures that aren’t Photoshopped.”

Parentage cannot be based on whether or not a child looks like his mother/father. I understand the viewpoint, but it’s simply not evidence. Additionally, thinking the child looks like Louis is a matter of opinion. 

There’s also the fact that appearance means nothing overall. Science backs up this statement very well. Examples and references:

“How can children from the same parents look so different?” by HowStuffWorks

“My Baby Looks Nothing Like Me: A Genetic Explanation” by FamilyEducation

Additionally, here is a personal anecdote. I have two sons close to Freddie’s age. One of them looks exactly like his father and nothing like me. The other looks exactly like me and nothing like his father. Despite how they look, they are both of them are our biological children. 

Conclusion

There is no reasonable explanation for altering the child’s appearance - particularly to make him look more similar to Louis. 

I cannot think of a single argument as to why the Jungwirth family would do this unless they need/want the child to look a specific way. 

7. Johannah Deakin’s Official Obituary Does Not Mention The Child

When looking into babygate, I read the argument that the child is legitimately Louis’ son because he is listed as her grandchild in Internet-based obituaries and announcements. 

I also read the counter-argument that Louis’ mother’s official newspaper/print obituary does not mention the child.  I recall seeing proof, but I did not save it at the time. I did some research and this appears to be true. 

The Doncaster Free Press is a local weekly newspaper in Doncaster, and it published an article about the funeral. The article is NOT an obituary itself, but it does list her obituary details. The publication does not list the child among the surviving family members. 

If a mistake is made regarding these details, it’s typical for newspapers to post a correction addressing a misprint. Upon further research, the Doncaster Free Press did not issue a correction at any time. 

(Author’s Note: I lost my own mother and am personally familiar with how local obituaries are written. Immediate family members - i.e. spouses and adult children - provide information regarding surviving family members.) 

Conclusion

The conclusion here is straightforward. Louis and his family chose not to include the child in his mother’s official obituary. This strongly suggests that he is not legitimately related to Louis. 

My Opinion-Based Conclusions

Update: After some consideration, I am saving my opinion-based conclusions for a separate post. I originally intended to include them here; transparency is important to me.

Unfortunately, the section became rather long and took away from the main post points. So, I’ll be working on a post that’s just my opinion-based conclusions. In the meantime, feel free to message me with any questions. 

Final Thoughts

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my post! I appreciate the interest expressed for it, and I hope it lives up to expectations. 

Again, I want to reiterate this is:

Not an all-inclusive post; I narrowed down my findings to seven points.

Not a masterpost on babygate.

Purposely omitting any potential Larry-related points to remove bias. 

I’ve reread this quite a few times, and it’s as error-free as possible. If you spot any mistakes/errors, I’m completely open to making corrections. Just kindly let me know. 

This list contains references/research about babygate that I consider the most reliable. It includes Larry and non-Larry related Babygate content.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by Tumblr use genuineconspiracy.

A web archive of babygate posts by Tumblr user tellmethisisnotlove (her account was deactivated by staff).

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by darkrainbowlouis.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by skepticalarrie.

Lastly, if there’s interest in an opinion-related post or Larry-related post, I’ll consider writing them. Feel free to let me know as you all did with this post. 

Thanks!

Amy (obviouslygenuinely/latetolarry)