#that genuinely scare me and that i have to work twice harder to feel myself back into controlling my thoughts

[icharchivist]

i mean i get why it sucks but i've been having an existential crisis that keeps me up at night for most of my life too and i'm not producing people expressly to abuse them and use them as tools about it. Astrals are just on something else i guess

i'd say it's a question of scale in general, as in an existential crisis coming so deeply from a whole different life in your head would fuck someone up much more. but anyway i keep saying Lucilius' way to treat other is bad, in those same posts in fact, just that his issues with depersonalization/derealization are also extremely compelling and actually make me feel bad for him. Those two feelings can coexist, and i don't mean that you have to be nicer to him or anything. i'm just saying he's still an interesting character.

[iamthemaestro]

would you perhaps regale us with tales of your time at sea (i am so curious what reenactment is like when youre traveling on an actual historical ship)

Ah, I *wish* I could say about the reenactment part but unfortunately the Lady Washington does not do much in terms of historical interpretation anymore—they definitely used to but they've gone through a lot of major changes in the past few years and it seems that was one of them. Frankly that would have been the only thing that could have made me more excited to be there lol.

However I appreciate the chance to infodump though since my brain is still very much in Ship Mode with nothing to do with itself... not sure if I have many *tales,* per se, but I did tons of fun stuff and tried to push myself hard in terms of trying things that scared me. On my last day I went up to furl the fore t'gallant (topmost yard on the foremast) which was probably the most physically difficult thing I did during my whole stay—while the climb up the t'gallant shrouds was fairly scary it was honestly much harder to just remain upright against the yard because the footrope was so shallow. On the topyards it's quite comfortable because you can functionally "stand" upright and lean against the yard at about stomach level while you're working, but here if you tried to stand upright the yard wouldn't even come up to your hips so you have to put all this weight into your knees, sort of crouching in order to have it in a good position to lean upon. I'd like to say I got pretty decent at furling in general but man... that one was a doozy. If I had had more time to practice it maybe it would come easier, but as it was we only set the t'gallants twice while I was there anyway. I will say I was surprised at how non-panicked I felt while I was hanging out there on the shrouds waiting for a wake to pass, not clipped into anything, held there by my own strength probably 50ish feet in the air—initially one of the hardest psychological parts of going aloft was staving off the intrusive thoughts, being a person very prone to them, but by the end I was actually quite impressed with how calm I felt up there. It's the best seat in the house, after all, second only to that of the main t'gallant: at first it feels dizzingly, unfathomably high, and when you look down you have this gut instinct of fear—I don't think humans were ever meant to be this high up, frankly—but the wind is whipping past you and your crewmates are like ants on the deck below you and all around you the shore disappears into fog on the horizon, and you're here; you swallow your fear and think, despite everything, "isn't this wonderful?"

My last day was a good one; during our transit from Port Orchard to Everett, the Seattle Krackens sent a film team out and had us set every sail we physically could along with a bunch of Kracken flags for their promotional video this season—we even rigged the main royal just for fun, despite the fact that it was too late for it to be caught on camera. Though I doubt I will ever see it, hypothetically there's some awesome footage of me loosing the bunt from the fore topsail with that fantastic WHOOMF as all that canvas drops—it looks so graceful from afar but when you're up there handling all that canvas it feels powerful more than anything else, all held up by the singular little midshipman's knot you undid with one hand, clinging to the jackstay with the other and watching the sail fall from the sky below you.

That night we also had a "shanty night" which I am very glad I got to experience, given my background as a musician, and it was a great time. Unfortunately I had no way to travel with my mandolin so I was armed only with my tinwhistle, but some crew members seemed genuinely pretty impressed with my ability to pick up tunes, which, at the risk of sounding extremely pretentious (forgive me) I am accustomed to thinking of as a rather mundane thing, but it was nice to feel appreciated. One of my crewmates, very drunk at the time, told me very earnestly that my "improsov" was very good and a "skill I should cherish," and honestly I don't think I'll ever forget that—when I picked up with the verse to Spanish Ladies everyone else had forgotten he cheered obnoxiously for me and kept up a steady stream of enthusiastic interjections where he didn't know the words, and while I am not generally fond of being the center of attention, I was fond of him for that.

Over the course of the trip I was introduced to a great number of tunes I'd never heard—which is something I value deeply—most of which I probably won't remember the names of, but of those I do I am making a point to learn. I love this sort of exchange—folk music at its most authentic—especially in a place like this, late in the evening on what, by the end of my time, I had decided was the most beautiful ship in the world, where our singing and our laughter carried across the water and into the night and my heart, though saddened by the air of finality that pervaded it all, was full.

Excuse me for getting a little prosaic—it's hard to describe the feelings you experience sailing a vessel like this one, at least to me, and it's been a dream of mine for a while. I miss it already and have full intentions on returning in coming years, but for now thanks for the opportunity to talk about it lol!

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Hey I saw the post about the cigs and I don't know how comforting this is going to be but setbacks happen. Recovery ain't always linear and that's ok. I'm not a smoker, but I'm almost a year self harm free and I completely get how much harder it is to not give up after you fall back into it.

Being in a bad situation doesn't make you a bad person. Nor does reaching your limit. Considering the fucked up situation Italian government is in, it's already stressful in general.

I'm rooting for you 💪

i havent been self harm free in like months at this point - full blown alcoholic and all (but i am working on it, i swear). but yeah i mean, i dont like wasting money that im eorking hard for, for shit like cigs and alcohol. i genuinely don't. i feel so dumb bc i'm working like a bastard for money and im also studying to earn another scholarship so i should know better but i just... i've been thinking "i need a good smoke" for like a week and i gave in today. i feel so shitty. i took 2 showers, washed my hair twice, brushed my teeth and flossed and used mouthwash like four fucking times, and i still smell it, still feel it. i hate it. i feel so stupid. therapy isnt working and my life is a disaster and um a bad friend and it all sucks. and yes, the fact that this world fucking scares me, not unironically - i'm fucking terrified, every day i read of people dying and every day i want to kill myself because it all hurts so much and i feel useless and dumg complaining about dumb shit when people are out there being slaughtered, and i now live in a dictatorship so nothing makes sense and im genuinely scared that one of these days someone is gonna kill my unimates and i right outside uni because the police there is heavily armed and they dont care about beating unarmed young adults. i hate it all. i hate living this life - had i been x10 richer or smth like that, it wouldn't have changed. being here in this life and knowing whats going on in the world and in my country and with me within myself is enough to send me spiraling as soon as i wake up - provided that i manage to catch some sleep. i hate it all. i'm also aware i'm manic rn and my therapist said so too but i always feel like this and i want it to stop. i want to make one good decision in my fucking life. sorry for the yapping im genuinely desperate. thank you so much for the lovely words and im also super happy that youre doing good.

[quinloki]

Idk why Marco and Jinbe specifically are my favorite. Tbh they both show up so late in the manga but I don't even remember who my favorites were before them. I just saw them and it was an immediate latching on, my brain just went YUP THEMS THE ONE. (At least for Jinbe, with Marco it didn't happen until Marineford.) But where do I even begin. I'm head over heels for those men. I would bear their children if they wanted (and I don't want kids so much that I got sterilized, but if I weren't and they were real and asked- yes, anything for you, absolutely.)

Marco is just. Ugh, so cool, the moment he transformed I knew it was over (I am weak for animal-shifter characters or chars with animal traits.) But beyond the coolest zoan fruit ever he's just so loyal and fun and sweet. I think about Marco frequently. I don't generally use this phrase because it's a bit after my time, but I could consider him a comfort character. When I cook I think of Sanji standing by encouraging me. When I do difficult mental health stuff or taking care of myself I think of Marco. I know he would care so much it hurt. I just feel it. If I need reassurance falling asleep, bam, I just picture him with me. And things are better because someone I think is amazing cares.

Currently have a Marco/Reader longfic planned. The Google doc for it is 18k words of just notes/scene ideas. It's the longest doc of all my planned longfics. Speaking of which, I really need to read Birds of a Feather.

As for Jinbe... he's so genuinely kind and honest. I love his laugh. I love how badass he is. I love knowing how strong he is but knowing he would be SO gentle. He's a pillar in the communities he's in. He knows when he's made mistakes and apologizes sincerely (i.e. Arlong). He's determined and headstrong in a good way. I love how he shows that pride can be a beautiful, just thing.

Also I love how god dang BIG he is and I love his pointy teeth and big mouth and cute round nose. I'm terrified of whale sharks IRL (the thought of being in the water with anything big scares me but especially things with huge mouths like whales, like, just a picture of a basking shark feeding gives me the creeps) but I know Jinbe would take me swimming and introduce me to one all gently and show me there's nothing to be afraid of even as I have a death grip on his hand.

Marco is not Jinbe big but he's still stupidly tall compared to me and that makes me kinda swoon. I love my big faves. I love how happy thinking about them makes me.

I need to finish plotting a Jinbe fic. Shameful I've never put out any solo works with wither fave in them. Idk why!!! Brain weird.

Thanks for listening to my rambles!!

(Also, speaking of poly stuff, Ace keeps creeping into the Marco fic wanting to be included and at this point I'm starting to cave in...)

\o/ I love everything about this. I had to read it twice because my "I just woke up for the day" brain wasn't picking it all up the first time.

I will, without shame, say, yes, you should read Birds of a Feather. I'm quite proud of how it's turning out and it might become my personal favorite at this rate.

I've noticed that it can actually be harder to write about your faves. I think there's a paralysis in there of wanting to get it PERFECT, because your feelings for them are so strong that anything less than PERFECT isn't good enough. But, we don't love them cause they're perfect, and thus perfection isn't a requirement - it's never a requirement, it's a trap, honestly.

Getting words and lines on paper is all that's needed. The intent will be there, the skill will follow, but the EFFORT, that's the important part. The effort to just type or draw or whatever. That attempt, that time, that result - no matter how it turns out, that's the important part. That's the love.

To try and fail is more a sign of appreciation and love than to stay still waiting perfection.

BUT I HAVE DIGRESSED A BIT.

If Ace wants to be included, I wouldn't stop him. /nod nod/. More than that though, when you start posting these, tag me, or DM me or send an ask with a link.

I look forward to reading them ^_^

[cuppaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh]

A lot of me posting on here has just been me talking about you, mostly. I guess it's one of the few places I feel comfortable venting about how I feel

I very clearly struggled with how I felt, how you were if my life. I have regrets, felt regrets that I gave up, and felt a lot of different emotions and honestly an unfortunately inconvenient time.

We're talking a lot again, even until late at night. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief, I know we were both avoiding each other for a while, but it felt like you took more time with that than I did. It kinda scared me a bit.

Things have changed, we're no longer really able to see each other in person as often as we did before, part of me thinks that hit you harder than it hit me. I don't know.

You mentioned twice now, pretty much within the same day, that you miss hanging out with me. Your usage of language is kinda hard to interpret sometimes, as I know you're shy, scared, to be fully direct at times, but I don't want to interpret too deeply if I can help it, I don't want to potentially get the wrong idea about things, regardless of things you've said to me before and how that has burrowed inside my mind unhealthily.

I never really thought I was "over" you, I knew that my feelings for you would be complex for a while, but I never thought that I would feel THIS this hard. I'm crushing over you again. I got nervous playing a damn game with you because I just wanted to impress you with how good I was? Which is fucking silly. I shouldn't be worried about if you view me as good or bad at a video game, and yet.

I'm not quite done with my DBT sessions yet, I stil have a few to go for a few weeks, still. I want to wait until then before I try to persue anything, I guess, not just with you, but with potentially anyone else. I'm not happy enough with who I am, I don't want another break down or catastrophizing mentality to harm our relationship ever again. I want the tools necessary to deal with what I have, to make sure that I know how to act when things get hard for me so that I don't hurt the people around me yet again. So I want to take my time, genuinely work on myself. You were the reason I brought up in the initial orrientation, the fact that I had acted in a way that pushed you away. The day I was supposed to have my first session I sobbed, I didn't tell you that, but I also never really told anyone that I just kept thinking that I was hopeless now, that I would never learn how to deal with how my brain is and just repeat the same mistakes over and over.

After all of this, I want to go see the jellyfish with you, I'm waiting to ask because a lot is still going on in our lives, very complicated and very heavy things. This is just the first step, however, and I already know that I've learned a lot. It'd be nice to try again, I know that there are reasons why you wouldn't want to, but regardless of "how" we do it, seeing the jellyfish with you, like we had talked about before, would still be really nice.

[manikas-whims]

Recently, I'm seeing a rise in the most awful misinterpretations of some characters in Six of Crows, so I'm gonna address how wrong they are.

Before I start: if you haven't said any of what I'm going to mention here, then it means I'm not pointing fingers at you. Don't take offense for something you didn't do.

Now I'm gonna try to keep it as short as possible...

Part 1

"I don't think Inej loves Kaz." "Inej doesn't love Kaz as much as he does her." "Inej is ignorant." bla bla bla...

A cousin of mine (15 yo) read the books and said the same things as above.

I asked her what does love mean to her and she responded it meant "two people showing their emotions by acts like kisses, cuddles, etc." and "by being together with that person by the end of the story".

Obviously, that's not all to love. Younger audiences tend to not take note of the faint nuances the same way grownups do. Its just like watching disney movies and only later realising the ambiguous meanings in certain dialogues. But we can't simply say that age plays a major factor here.

While SoC is a YA novel and aimed for age groups 13-17 mostly, many adults enjoy the books.

I myself read the books this year (23 yo) and my perception of love is different from my cousin's. Love isn't simply an emotion or feeling or gestures. LOVE IS WORK. It requires both the parties involved to put in equal effort.

And so, when Inej says "I will have you without armor." , she isn't being ignorant at all. She does mean it in the literal sense. But also more than that. Inej is an honest person and says whats on her mind freely. She expects the same honesty in return. She says this dialogue because while Kaz seems to know a good amount about her— her full real name, how she was taken to Ketterdam and sold to Tante Heleen, etc. Inej knows nothing about him, not even his real name. The first thing she learns about him is that he had a brother and a vague "i had a lot of things."

And even with things Kaz doesn't know about her, she's ready to share. She tells him that it was easy for her to entirely dissociate when seeing her clients but she couldn't do it with one guy, the guy who'd seen her perform on the high wire as a kid. She shares this deep, awful experience with him and says its not easy for her either. In doing so, being honest about her past, she encourages him to take a step as well. To try and be a little honest about himself, share a small part of himself. She wants him to put some effort into their relationship because a simple "i want you" isn't enough. They both need to work on a lot of things to reach that "i want you". SHE ISN'T IGNORANT.

Later on, Inej realises, she can't ask so much honesty of Kaz because that one bathroom scene is an eye opener for both of them. She realises that she may have handled that kiss on the neck but what if she couldn't have? What if she had dissociated on instinct, as her defense mechanism? What if? Kaz adds to all that when he tells her to take the money and leave, forget him. But does she do that? NO. She thinks whether it would be better for her to find a kind man, bear his children and then sharpen her knives at night. And she realizes she doesn't want that because she can only be her true self (a kind woman who wields knives) with Kaz. She can only be her genuine self with Kaz. She thinks "he'd tried, they'd tried. They could try again." She wants to try again with Kaz. SHE WANTS HIM JUST AS MUCH.

Now for a moment, lets consider the other female character in SoC— Nina Zenik. We all call her an "Unapologetic Queen" for being herself, being proud of her body proportions and such. But if Nina was a woman of color, would she get the same hype? Don't say "Yes" because we know that won't be the case. Nina wouldn’t get the same hype for her plus sized representation if she was a poc.

And this, I'm speaking as a Desi. I know what I face in real life from people of other cultures. I've experienced a lot of stereotypes about myself as a South Asian woc. And while not everyone treats me the same, I do encounter alot of obvious stereotypical assumptions about myself.

Similarly, so many people when they read the "I will have you without armor" dialogue, completely stop looking further into Inej. Age factor is very miniscule. Most of this, whether you like it or not, stems from the internalized stereotype that "brown girls are mean and insensitive". Thats how we've typically seen them portrayed in majority of media and that's where many readers' thoughts immediately head to when they read the "without armor" dialogue. Those of you who say the quoted things mentioned at the top, don't bother to look as deeply into Inej's perspective as you do for Kaz or Nina or the others. You simply settle for calling her ignorant.

Did you ever give her more thought instead of reducing her to the stereotypical brown girl?

Did you ever consider that this girl has her own demons? That this girl was captured forcefully and sold into prostitution at 14!? That this girl sometimes even gets scared of touches from her own friends? That this girl finds it harder to handle contact that she doesn't see coming? That she suffered abuse and was rewarded with kindness by the same hands that touched her at the Menagerie!? That at some point she just fearfully anticipated for whatever was to come, be it a gentle caress or a harsh slap across her cheek? That this girl was raped again and again and again every single day when she was only 14? That she was violated and touched in places too private without her consent? That she was continuously treated so by men twice, thrice, even four times her age!?

Did you ever consider that this girl who struggles with so much didn't let her suffering define her!? That she rises above these atrocities and finds a purpose!? That she chooses to pursue her own goals and save any other kids from whatever horrid things she went through!?

Did you ever consider that despite everything this girl suffered at the hands of innumerable people, she wants to try again with Kaz?

For a girl like her to let Kaz kiss her neck completely unguarded (she doesn't have her knives with her in that scene)..to still be able to give her heart to Kaz, is a very beautiful thing. It means she trusts him so much more than she'll ever trust any other person..

Everyone expresses themselves in different ways. Thats what makes each human so unique. Just because Inej isn't saying poetic things in her pov chapters, doesn't mean she loves Kaz any less.

Inej Ghafa loves Kaz Brekker. And she always will. But her love doesn't mean she must give up on her own purpose. Kaz doesn't ask her to. And she doesn't ask Kaz to give up his position as the new King of the Barrel. They're equals who support each other in their goals. They're two people in love who will take their baby steps towards healing together.

Inej and Kaz love each other.

Inej and Kaz are together.

Inej isn't ignorant, just misread.

Rant over for now. Next I'll be talking about Matthias Helvar..:)

[nerdzzone]

Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

One of the challenges of sharing custody is sharing holidays which is something that Whitney Taylor found herself struggling with in the December of 2019. The prospect of spending Christmas without her son was dismaying, but the complications that come with the alternative might be even harder to face.

Chris Evans x OFC

Part One

----

Part Two

25.12.19

When I woke up in the morning, it took me a moment to figure out where I was and why the pillow my head was resting on was so hard and warm. Once I'd figured it out - that my head was not actually on a pillow, but on Chris' chest - I almost had to roll my eyes. Of course it was. Of course we'd ended up all cuddled together. Because life was just one big romantic comedy, right?

I sighed quietly, silently praying that Chris wasn't awake yet as I slowly slid myself away from him. He didn't stir until I was sitting on the edge of the bed so I was hopeful that he hadn't been aware of the position we were in.

"G'morning," he greeted me, rubbing his eyes as the sound of excited children echoed down the hallway. "What time is it?"

I quickly checked my phone on the nightstand before answering.

"Only seven o'clock," I told him before yawning. "But it sounds like everyone is up and bouncing off the walls already."

"I'm not surprised," Chris smiled. "They've probably torn into all the presents by now."

I laughed and nodded my head, knowing it was a good possibility.

"It probably wasn't super smart to leave Scott out there guarding them by himself," I pointed out. "Not after he spent half the night shaking his own presents trying to guess what was inside."

"Oh, it definitely wasn't," Chris agreed. "He was always the one who ruined things by finding his presents early and getting us all in trouble."

"Well, I should go see what they're up to or if anything can be salvaged," I smiled as I pulled a sweater on over my pyjamas. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be out in a minute," he assured me. I headed to the door, but stopped when I heard his voice again. "Hey, Whitney? Merry Christmas."

I smiled even wider as that happy, familiar Christmas morning feeling washed over me.

"Merry Christmas, Chris."

With that, I hurried out the door, trying not to focus too much on how content I felt and how right it seemed to wake up in his arms on Christmas morning.

-

When I got to the kitchen, I was surprised to see that everyone else was already awake, despite how early it was.

"Good morning," Lisa greeted me as I wandered into the kitchen where all the adults were congregating. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, everyone," I smiled before they all repeated it back to me. "Did I miss all the fun?"

"No, of course not," Carly assured me. "We've managed to keep them away from the presents so far, but I'm not sure how much longer we can hold them off."

"We're still waiting for Chris though," Scott pointed out as I grabbed a clean mug and headed to the fresh pot of coffee on the counter. "Have you seen him? He disappeared not long after we went to bed and never came back."

"Oh, yeah, he's in his room," I answered mindlessly as I filled my mug. "We ended up sleeping together last night."

I heard Scott almost choke on his coffee and noticed the sudden silence in the room, but it wasn't until Lisa spoke that I realized what I'd said.

"Whitney, honey," she said, speaking softly. "What do you mean?"

"Oh my god, no! Not like that!" I rushed to explain as my cheeks grew hot. "We literally slept together, like as in slept next to each other. Chris came into his room looking for a sweater because he was cold and had given away all his spare blankets so I offered for him to share the bed with me. That's all, I swear."

There were knowing smiles amongst the group and I wasn't entirely sure that they all believed me which made things even more embarrassing as I wouldn't want them to think I'd talk so candidly about things like that with Chris' mother of all people. Before I had a chance to continue desperately defending myself though, a voice from the doorway interrupted.

"What are you swearing about?" He asked, leaning against the doorway. "Why do I feel like I missed something good?"

Again, I was ready to explain, but someone beat me to it.

"Whitney was just giving us the update," Scott informed his older brother as he matched his smirk. "She was telling us how you two slept together."

Chris' eyebrows knitted together in confusion for a moment before he relaxed and let out a chuckle.

"Well, that's not exactly how I would have phrased it," he informed the group with a shrug. "But I suppose it is accurate. We slept and we were together."

"I just misspoke," I groaned. "I haven't had any coffee yet, I wasn't thinking clearly."

"A little Freudian slip?" Carly suggested as she joined in on the teasing, but I simply rolled my eyes.

"Chris probably wishes that was a peak into my subconscious desires, but I'm afraid not. Just a clear sign that I am not a morning person."

"I think we'll all need plenty of coffee to deal with the energy in that living room," Lisa interjected, putting an end to the discussion despite Chris' protests of my claim. "But we should probably go and join them before they open all the presents, whether they belong to them or not."

We all murmured in agreement and everyone topped up whatever beverage they were drinking before we headed to the living room to start the Christmas fun.

-

"Mama!" Grayson shouted as we entered the room. "Look! Santa came!"

"Of course he did," I smiled at the children. "You've all been good this year so it's no surprise."

They all nodded and agreed enthusiastically except Ethan who, now that he was almost ten, had figured out the truth. He was a good kid though and a loving older brother so he kept the secret, quietly watching them with a knowing smile now that he was finally in on the joke with the adults.

"Can we open them?" Stella asked, bouncing up and down from holding in her excitement. "We've been waiting for so long!"

"I wouldn't say so long," Scott chuckled. "Since it's not even eight o'clock in the morning yet!"

"But, yes, you can open them," Carly informed her children. "Just be careful and don't rush."

There was a flurry of activity as the kids dove into the presents, organizing whose was whose before settling down next to their little piles. I took a step back and sat on the couch next to Lisa, letting Chris sit on the floor behind Grayson. It was his Christmas after all and it felt right that he should be the one helping him open presents. Plus, this way I got a perfect view of the joyful grin that was plastered on his face. A grin that was perfectly replicated by his father behind him making my heart clench at the sight of them together like this.

I watched from my spot on the couch as the gifts were opened one by one and soaked in every giggle and shriek of glee from the children. Grayson was on top of the world and so grateful for each and every gift, it was delightful to see. Given our financial security, especially for Chris, it would have been easy to spoil him, but it made me incredibly proud to see how gracious he was.

However, one of the last gifts he wasn't so grateful to receive. It was from me and I knew there was a chance it wouldn't be his favourite, but his response was far worse than I could have imagined.

It was a decent sized box and he tore off the wrapping paper eagerly, intrigued by what could be inside. When he revealed that it was a foot and a half tall electronic T-Rex, his first reaction was one of amazement.

"Wow! A dinosaur!"

"Yeah," I smiled. "Take him out and see what he can do."

Chris set to work helping Grayson open the box before glancing up at me.

"Does he need batteries?"

"I put some in already," I assured him. "I knew he'd want to see it right away so I thought it would be easier."

He nodded as Grayson placed the giant T-Rex on the floor and looked at me expectantly.

"There's a button on his back, press it."

Everyone watched as he poked around until he got the right spot and the dinosaur came to life. He roared and his head moved around, but as the older kids cheered and clapped, Grayson burst into tears.

"Oh, dear..." Lisa smiled as she watched her grandson leap into his father's arms.

Everyone was chuckling at his dramatic reaction as Grayson buried his face in Chris' neck.

"Awe, buddy, I'm sorry!" I apologized. "Did it scare you?"

"Yes! He's scary!" Grayson's response was muffled by Chris' body and hard to understand through his sobs. "I don't wike it, Mama!"

I smiled at the little speech impediment that he inherited from his father - much like the one his cousin, Miles, had - but I did feel bad for how genuinely afraid he was.

"I'm sorry, baby. We can take the batteries out, okay? Then he won't be able to move."

The dinosaur had stopped moving on his own before I spoke and Grayson moved his head from where he was hiding his face, nodding as he did so.

"Yes, please."

"I bought it a while ago, thinking it was the perfect gift and then last week, he suddenly decided that T-Rexes were mean and I thought it might not go down so well," I admitted to the adults as I stretched forward to pick up the dinosaur and take the batteries out. "It's such a shame though, I think he's adorable. If you press the button on his tail, a little song plays and he does a little wiggle dance."

Chris smirked at me as he rubbed our still sniffling son's back.

"Why don't you take him home? Sounds like you might enjoy playing with him when Grayson isn't around."

He was making fun of me, I knew he was, but I didn't take the bait.

"You know what? I might just do that."

Chris opened his mouth to most likely make another teasing comment, but Ethan interrupted him.

"If Grayson doesn't want the T-Rex, can I have it?"

"I think you got enough new toys this morning," Ethan's dad warned him. "Don't be greedy."

"We'll let Grayson keep him for now," Chris agreed. "He might get used to him after a while if he plays with him without the batteries."

I passed the toy in question back to Chris and Grayson cowered away, whimpering against his dad's chest.

"Just leave it for now," I suggested. "We can try it again later when the initial shock has worn off."

Chris nodded and put the dinosaur behind his back and out of sight.

-

The rest of the gift opening went by smoothly and no more children were traumatized. Once every gift that was under the tree had been opened, we left the kids to test out their new things while the adults headed to the kitchen to start making breakfast. It was quickly decided that pancakes would be the easiest thing to mass produce for our large group of hungry people and while Lisa, Carly and I started mixing up a few bowls of batter, Chris and Scott whipped out the orange juice and champagne for mimosas.

An hour later everyone was very full and we were two bottles of champagne down.

"So, Whitney," Scott started as he loaded up the dishwasher. "Are you staying here tonight too or are you planning on making us spend half the day shovelling the driveway for you?"

His tone was teasing, but as I looked out the window at the deep blanket of snow that covered the ground outside, I was torn. I didn't want to outstay my welcome by staying another night, but I also didn't want to make the Evans family spend their entire Christmas day shovelling snow and there was no way that I'd be able to do it by myself.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I wasn't planning on staying another night, but it does look like there's a lot of snow out there..."

"Just stay," Chris shrugged. "Even if we can get your car down the driveway, the roads are probably terrible."

"There's no need for you to rush off," Lisa agreed. "Stay another night and then you can just relax and enjoy the day."

"And you can drink if you're not driving home," Scott pointed out with a grin. "Chris and I stocked up on wine, beer, whiskey and gin, these mimosas were just the start of the party."

I couldn't help, but laugh at Scott's reasoning as I nodded my head.

"Alright, I'll stay. If you really don't mind, Chris?"

"Of course not," Chris assured me. "We're happy to have you."

"Great!" Scott grinned. "I'm glad that's settled, I think this calls for another round of drinks!"

Chris cheered and jumped up to help him while the rest of us smiled and shook our heads at their antics.

-

The day was spent soaking in quality family time, watching the kids enjoy their new toys and indulging in lots of food and drink. We called Chris' dad and my parents and even had an unexpected phone call from my Uncle Rob. He spent more time talking to Chris than me, his own niece, but it was nice to hear his voice even if he made sure to get a dig in about me confessing my supposedly obvious feelings to Chris.

Sitting around the table, eating a delicious meal with Chris' loving and welcoming family was quite a contrast to how I expected to spend the day and I was very grateful that Chris had included me. Grayson seemed to appreciate it too and he made his enjoyment clear as we tucked him into bed once all the fun and feasting was done.

Chris sat on the floor leaning against Grayson's nightstand, reading him his favourite bedtime story while I laid on the bed next to him and rubbed his back. He was drifting off by the time the story was finished, but he was fighting it desperately as he spoke again.

"I'm happy, Mama," he told us, his words muffled as he nuzzled into his pillow.

Chris put his hand over his heart as he mouthed an 'awe' at me and I smiled.

"You're happy?" I clarified quietly, my smile growing as he nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, baby."

"I like that you're here," he mumbled. "Daddy should come home with us too."

My heart clenched at that request as my smile faltered. I knew it was only a matter of time until Grayson paid more attention to the fact that his time was divided between two homes, but I wasn't ready to deal with it just yet.

"Maybe Daddy could come for a sleepover sometime," I suggested, stroking his hair back out of his face, but that wasn't all he wanted.

"He should come all the time."

I was never great at hiding my emotions and from the way Chris was watching me, I assumed my distress at Grayson's comments was written all over my face and I was grateful when he jumped into the conversation.

"But what about Dodger?"

Dodger's ears perked up from his spot at the end of the bed, but he settled again when he realized that Chris wasn't calling for him.

"He can come too," was Grayson's answer to that dilemma, but Chris had a response at the ready.

"C'mon, you think Dodger would have enough space in your Ma's apartment?" He asked. "He needs a big house like this to run around in!"

So then we could all just stay here would be the logical comeback to that, but it seemed our sleepy little guy was too tuckered out from the excitement to argue. He let out a little sigh of defeat, but said no more. We stayed quiet for a few minutes until his breathing shifted and he was soundly asleep.

Chris offered me his hand to help me climb over Grayson without waking him up and, after whispering a quiet request to Dodger to keep our boy safe, he led me out of the room.

"You okay?"

The question came as soon as Grayson's door was pulled to and we were in the hallway.

"Yeah, of course," I nodded, forcing a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Chris shot me a look that clearly showed his disbelief.

"You looked pretty downhearted in there."

"I just worry," I shrugged. "I don't want our situation to upset him and I know he's going to notice it more as he gets older."

"He'll be fine," Chris assured me, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly. "He's got so much love in his life, he won't even notice that his family is a little different."

I wasn't convinced. He was obviously already noticing or he wouldn't have questioned it only moments before. I didn't want to start such a delicate, potentially tense conversation at the end of such a happy day though so I forced a more convincing smile onto my face.

"You're right," I agreed. "But I wouldn't be a mom if I didn't worry."

"Well, there's no time for worryin' on Christmas!" Chris claimed, followed by a grin as he dragged me off towards the kitchen. "What can I get you? Another wine? Maybe some gin? I might have some tequila kickin' around here somewhere..."

"No! No tequila!" I laughed. "Gin would be great, thanks."

Chris nodded and set to work mixing our beverages for the evening before we went to the living room to rejoin his family and I did my best to push any worries about letting Grayson down out of my mind.

-

After the kids were all in bed, the rest of the evening was spent playing games and sharing drinks. It was heartwarming, wholesome family fun and I was so glad that Scott had encouraged me to stay as the thought of rushing home to my cold, empty apartment wasn't at all appealing.

The only strange thing about the evening was Chris. We were teamed up for most of the games and it was quite amazing how in tune with each other we were as we won everything by a landslide. We'd been friends for a long time and knew each other very well so it was unsurprising to me that we had so much success, but the teasing comments that came from a rather drunk Scott implied other reasons than friendship for our harmony. I scoffed and rolled my eyes every time he cracked a joke about us, but Chris seemed to love it. He was a few drinks in and probably just feeling a little goofy, but the grin on his face after every suggestive comment sparked an odd feeling in my stomach.

It was around ten o'clock when everyone except Chris, Scott and I decided to go to bed. We bid them goodnight and Chris went to top up our drinks before settling back onto the couch beside me. By this time, I was definitely feeling it. I wasn't drunk, but I knew this drink would have to be my last as the flush of my cheeks and the happy, fuzzy feeling in my brain was telling me that it was time to wind it down for the night.

However, as Chris handed me another gin and soda, settled on the couch next to me, placed his drink on the end table beside him and pulled my feet into his lap, my mind suddenly felt surprisingly sharp.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a giggle slipping from my lips.

"Releasing some tension."

As he answered, he began a slow massage of my left foot and I couldn't help, but smile at how wonderful it felt.

"Releasing?" Scott snorted a laugh. "Sure, a foot rub is known for getting rid of tension, not making it worse."

Chris smirked at what Scott was insinuating, but seemed unbothered by it.

"Don't be jealous," he teased, but now it was my turn to smirk.

"Of what?" I questioned. "This foot rub? It's not that great, Scott."

Scott laughed as Chris gasped a tad over dramatically.

"Not that great? I offer you a free foot rub and you can't even be fuckin' grateful?"

Chris shook his head, but the smile on his face told me that he wasn't really offended. He did stop massaging my feet though and I whined in protest as he picked up his drink.

"A mediocre foot rub is better than nothing," I pouted. "Keep going."

Chris sipped his whiskey, the smile on his face morphing back into a smirk as he shook his head again, but he did let his hand rest over my ankles and I was happy for even that tiny bit of contact.

Scott changed the subject to some viral video he saw the other day and Chris laughed and chatted along as he absentmindedly let his hand drift up my shin, underneath the loose pyjama pants that I'd changed into shortly after we put Grayson to bed.

My mind was instantly taken back to another time when we'd shared such gentle touches. A time when his lips followed his fingers as they traced kisses up from my ankle all the way to the lacy edge of my underwear. A time when he'd then proceeded to pull that underwear off with his teeth before returning his face back to a very sensitive area.

"Whitney, have you seen it?"

Scott's question snapped me out of my racy daydream. I felt my cheeks flush with colour as I forced my gaze away from Chris' hand over to Scott, reminding myself that even though the look on Chris' face would make it seem otherwise, he couldn't possibly know what I was just thinking of.

"Uh, no, I haven't," I admitted, sipping my drink to try to cool myself down even though it was becoming apparent to me that I needed to slow down my alcohol consumption. "All I seem to watch these days is Paw Patrol."

Chris barked out a laugh and nodded.

"So much Paw Patrol," he agreed. "The kid's obsessed."

"Chase is on the case!" I giggled before changing my voice slightly. "Rubble on the double!"

"Oh my god," Scott laughed, a horrified look on his face. "We need to get you out more."

I shrugged as Chris continued to trace patterns on my shins.

"That's the life of a mom."

"Yeah, but what about when he's with Chris? You must have some sort of life then."

"Scott."

Chris' voice was harsh and warning as what Scott was implying could be taken as offensive, but I wasn't bothered.

"It's fine," I assured him. "I know I'm lame. I don't have much of my own life, I don't really know anyone around here."

"You have Allison," Chris pointed out. "You've mentioned her a lot. She's your friend, right?"

He was referring to my one and only friend in Massachusetts. She was also a photographer and we'd met at a camera store when I first moved here. She'd asked me a question about a new brand of film and we'd ended up having coffee to exchange tips. She realized quickly that I didn't know many people in town and had taken me under her wing.

"She is," I nodded. "But she has three kids of her own and she's married so she doesn't have weeks where she's child free like I do. We hang out when we can, but usually it's with all the kids, not like quality 'girl time'."

"I didn't know that," Chris frowned. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't feel bad for me." I nudged him with my foot. "I have plenty of friends, they're just in LA. I'm happy here."

"I'll take you out for drinks one day," Scott promised. "Even if you're happy, everyone needs to let their hair down a little bit sometimes."

"That would be fun," I smiled, tossing back the last of my drink. "But for now, I think I've let my hair down enough for today. It's time for me to get to bed before all these drinks go to my head."

I slid my feet off of Chris' lap and slowly stood up as he looked up at me.

"Are you cool if I bunk with you again tonight?"

"Of course," I nodded. "Just sneak in quietly if you two stay up too late."

"I'm ready to crash already," Scott informed us. "So, we won't be up much later."

"Okay. Well, goodnight boys," I waved as I headed towards the door. "Thank you for a lovely day."

They chorused a goodnight back to me before I walked down the hall.

-

I was just coming out of the en suite in Chris' bedroom after brushing my teeth when Chris strolled into the room.

"Hey," I smiled. "Ready for bed already?"

"Scott wasn't lying," he returned my smile. "He was half asleep by the time you made it down the hall."

I laughed as I crawled into bed and settled against the pillows.

"Well, it has been a busy day."

Chris agreed as he grabbed his pyjama pants and headed to the bathroom. I picked up my phone from where I left it on the nightstand, turned off the lamp on my side of the bed and answered a few text messages from my family, figuring I may as well wait the few minutes it would take Chris to get ready for bed before I attempted to get any sleep. When Chris reappeared, I locked my phone again, put it back on the nightstand and snuggled down under the blankets, trying not to stare too much at his chiselled torso. He wasted no time turning off the lamp on his side as well before slipping in next to me, shivering dramatically as he pulled the blankets up over his chest.

"It's so freakin' cold tonight."

I snorted a laugh, shaking my head even though I knew he wouldn't be able to see me until our eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Maybe if you put on a shirt you wouldn't feel it so much."

"Honestly," Chris started, the smirk evident in his tone despite his face still being hidden in shadow. "Usually, I just sleep naked so these pants are for your benefit."

I felt my cheeks flush as the words 'then by all means, take them off' were on the tip of my tongue. I forced them out of my mind as a long forgotten tingle rolled through my body and I focused on answering him.

"My point was that a t-shirt would provide you with extra warmth," I explained. "So, your point that you usually wear less clothing makes no sense."

The bed shifted slightly as Chris chuckled.

"Well, I can think of another thing that could provide some extra warmth."

"What?"

I felt my heart rate pick up, the blood rushing through my ears so fast that I hardly heard myself answer him as I wondered if he could possibly be implying what it seemed like he was implying.

"You." His voice was low, the same seductive tone he'd used all those years ago, and I felt my mouth go dry. "Come give me a cuddle."

For a moment, I thought I was a lot drunker than I'd realized and that I was hallucinating or in some kind of lucid dream, but that thought brought me to a different realization.

"Chris!" I whispered, my tone scolding and accusatory. "You're drunk!"

A burst of laughter came from the other side of the bed and I quickly shushed him, knowing Grayson was asleep in the room above us.

"I'm not drunk, I promise," Chris assured me as his raucous laughter came under control. "I just thought it was worth a shot. It's nice to have a little cuddle with a beautiful woman sometimes."

I felt another flush of heat run through me, but I rolled my eyes and, as I had the night before, I took a pillow and placed it between us, drawing a clear line in the sand even if that hadn't worked out so well the last time.

"Goodnight, Chris."

"Goodnight, Whitney."

I rolled over, closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

I did try. I really, really did.

But after almost ten minutes of thoughts whirring through my head, I knew it was hopeless and I turned back to face Chris. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I could see well enough to know that he was laying on his back so I carefully moved the pillow that I'd placed between us and slowly slid over towards him. I felt him tense so I knew he was awake, but he didn't question what I was doing so I continued until my head was on his chest and my arm was draped over his stomach. He stayed perfectly still, just long enough for me to start second guessing myself before he shifted slightly to put his arm around me.

We stayed like that, holding each other in silence, and I had to admit that Chris was right. It was nice to have someone to cuddle with. The physical contact was filling a hole in my touch-starved heart and I tried not to think about how fleeting of a moment it was or how things would be back to normal in the light of day. There was a strange ache in my heart at that thought and I knew I needed to get out of my head.

"Chris?" My voice was soft, just in case he'd drifted off in the last few minutes, but when he tightened his grip on me, I knew he was still awake. "Thank you for inviting me today."

"Of course." He squeezed a little tighter. "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."

"It's fine," I assured him, letting my hand lazily trace patterns on his skin. "You're under no obligation, you're allowed your time with Grayson without me."

"It's not about obligation. I'd never want you to spend Christmas alone even if Grayson wasn't in the picture."

"I was really dreading it."

My admission made me feel vulnerable as I'd spent so long trying to pretend that I wasn't bothered by the idea of a lonely holiday, but Chris didn't seem surprised.

"Really?" He questioned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "The crying onto your steering wheel didn't give that away at all."

"Shut up," I mumbled, turning my face into his chest to hide my smile at his teasing. "I'm just trying to express my gratitude for your kindness."

"No gratitude is needed. It's been my pleasure having you here today and Grayson loved it."

He kissed the top of my head after he'd finished speaking and almost reflexively, I found myself stretching up and placing a soft kiss of my own against his collarbone. It felt intimate and the moment hung heavy between us. It felt right to me, but I knew instantly that I'd crossed a line. A comforting kiss on the top of my head was one thing, but what I'd done, kissing his bare chest, was inappropriate. My cheeks burned as I tilted my head up to look at him, meeting his eyes as they looked down at me. His expression was unreadable so I opened my mouth to apologize only to be completely shocked when he pressed his head forward and his lips against mine.

The shock quickly morphed into a feeling that could only be described as euphoria. There was something distantly familiar about the way his mouth moved on mine, but it felt strange and new as it wasn't exactly as I'd remembered - and I had spent more time than I'd want to admit reliving the last time we'd shared a kiss like this.

It wasn't until he pressed his tongue against my lips, in an attempt to deepen the kiss, that I snapped out of my daze.

"Chris, wait," I breathed out as I pulled away and stared up at him, my cheeks now flushed much more from excitement than embarrassment. "We shouldn't do this."

"Says who?"

The little voice in my head telling me that I'm about to ruin everything that we've worked hard to create. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but as he smirked down at me and licked his lips as if he was preparing for what was to come, I found myself incapable of logic and reason.

"Doesn't matter."

Chris hardly had time to acknowledge my answer before I dove back in for another kiss, moving to a more comfortable position as I straddled his waist.

He completely overwhelmed my senses. The inescapable scent of him surrounding me, the feel of his strong body between my thighs and the soft little sighs of enjoyment that he kept making every time our lips parted for us to take a breath. None of it was doing anything to ease the ache that was growing between my legs and my hands gripped into the sheets where they rested just above his shoulders as I pulled back to look down at him. I needed to see his face to remind myself this was really happening and who it was really happening with as it still felt so unreal.

Chris smiled up at me, his lips looking plumper already, and let his hands settle on my hips to keep me steady.

"You okay?"

I nodded and leaned down to peck his lips again before answering.

"I've never been better."

Chris' smile only widened at that confirmation and he moved his hands down to cup my bum, pressing my hips forward and giving me a moment of friction that I'd been desperately craving. I pressed myself up, pulling my upper body away from him as a gasp fell from my lips and my eyes squeezed shut. I was embarrassingly aroused from a few mere minutes of kisses, but it had been a very long time since I'd had any physical contact with a man and my body was already on fire.

I rocked my hips against the toned muscles of his abdomen, soaking in the pleasure that was radiating through me and I was debating whether it would be rude of me to continue until I reached the release that was quickly building inside me. Clearly, Chris was just as intuitive as I remembered as he let out a groan and effortlessly flipped us over so he was on top.

"Not like that," he smirked. "I've been thinking about this for too long, it's not happening like that."

I felt another flush of embarrassment as he could obviously tell what I'd been thinking about doing, but I nodded in agreement.

"But if this is really happening, we need to be quiet," I reminded him. "Everyone's sleeping."

"They're all upstairs, they won't hear," he assured me. "And Scott's on the other side of the house."

He was right, we'd be fine as long as we kept ourselves under control, but it didn't matter anyway as all my doubts disappeared when his lips pressed against my neck. I let my hands slide around his waist, resting on his toned back while his lips continued their trail down my neck and stretched the neck line of my shirt to expose my shoulder. His lips locked onto one spot just above my collarbone, sucking and nipping until I was sure there would be a bruise there in the morning.

"Chris," I gasped out, digging my fingernails into his back. "Don't leave a mark."

He backed off a bit, kissing gently against the now sensitive skin.

"It'll be easy to hide," he assured me. "And if I remember correctly, you enjoyed a few bites here and there..."

He opened his mouth to dig his teeth into my shoulder and an image flashed into my mind. A memory of me, bent over with Chris' thumb on my clit as the two fingers he had inside me stroked a particularly delicate spot. He'd placed a soft kiss on the cheek of my bum before sinking his teeth into my skin, sending me over the edge.

I couldn't help, but moan from the combination of the memory and the sensation of his teeth in my shoulder as my hips pressed up against his. Chris seemed to be spurred on by that action as he ground his hips against mine and quickly let his hands slide down to the bottom of my shirt. He lifted it up and for a moment I was lost in the bliss of the sensations he was providing, but as my shirt was raised just past my belly button, I froze.

"Wait!"

My voice firm and demanding and he immediately responded, stopping his actions and looking up to meet my eyes.

"What's wrong?"

I bit my bottom lip as I pondered how to voice my concerns. If I didn't say anything, there was a chance that we could get through this without drawing any attention to it, but I couldn't help but think it was better to point it out than have Chris notice on his own.

"I just..." I breathed out, trying to figure out how to articulate my thoughts. "I just look different now."

"What?"

Chris pulled back even further, looking down at me with genuine confusion in his eyes and my cheeks burned as I tried to puzzle out how to explain my feelings in a way that didn't make me look shockingly insecure.

"Since I had Grayson, since the last time we did this," I clarified, my cheeks burning as I brought my flaws to his attention. "I look different. Like, I have stretch marks and my boobs aren't as perky as they used to be."

Even in the dark shadows of the room, I could see Chris' jaw clench as it did when he was annoyed and trying to bite his tongue. Panic flooded through me as I wished I'd kept my mouth shut, but his next words astounded me.

"Get outta here," he huffed. "You think I care about that?"

I dropped my gaze to the tattoos on his chest as I regretted ever opening my mouth.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Lots of men probably would."

Chris moved back, slowly sliding his body down, away from mine and I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop him and hold him against me as long as I could, but I was powerless to do anything, but watch. My heart sank, thinking he was going to roll off of me any minute now, but then he stopped. His face was level with my lower stomach and turned his eyes back towards my face.

"This body," he started, placing a kiss on my stomach. "This stomach, these stretch marks." He kissed the faint lines that were now barely visible on my skin despite how vibrant they were in my mind. Then he continued up, lifting my shirt as he went until it was resting above my breasts, my nipples hard from the chill in the air and the anticipation I was feeling. "These boobs." He kissed and nipped at the delicate skin, tracing all the way along until he captured a nipple in his mouth, teasing it briefly with his tongue. "They changed because you gave me my son, the greatest gift you could have given me. I have nothing, but gratitude for that and you're still the most fuckin' beautiful woman I've ever seen."

He was exaggerating. I knew he was exaggerating. He saw and worked with Hollywood's most elite actresses and models, there was no chance that I was even close to the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen. But he managed, again, to push all doubts from my mind as his lips set to work, this time focusing on my left nipple while he shifted his weight and freed a hand to stroke and pinch the right.

They were sensitive, they always had been, and the way that Chris was working them right now was almost too much. My head fell back and my hands dropped to the sheets as I tried to focus on enjoying the sensations and not immediately demanding for Chris to move lower, to give me more, to touch me where I wanted to be touched with increasing need. He was always paying attention though and before I even needed to voice my request, he let his mouth slip from my nipple and trail back down my stomach.

He nipped at the skin just above my pyjama pants before hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling them down. I tugged my shirt over my head at the same time before laying back against the pillow, completely naked underneath him.

"Beautiful."

He'd muttered the word, almost more to himself than to me, but the sincerity in his voice flooded a new kind of warmth through my body. I tried to push it down, focusing on what we were doing, what this was and all it could be. Because yes, I loved Chris, but this wasn't that. This wasn't making love, this was a simple release of sexual tension. I didn't need my feelings getting in the way and making this complicated or I was going to get myself hurt.

I'd been so lost in my head that I hadn't noticed how my legs had fallen apart for Chris to settle between them or how he'd spread me with his fingers, opening me up for him to enjoy. It wasn't until I felt a slow, gentle lick right over my clit that I snapped back into the moment. With a gasp, my hips pressed up to meet his mouth, trying frantically to keep the friction now that it was finally there.

"Easy," Chris warned me, chuckling as he pulled back slightly, earning a whine from me. "We'll get you there, don't worry."

A feeling of desperation was building up inside of me and as he blew gently on the very sensitive parts of me that were in front of him, I was about ready to start begging.

"Please," I whimpered, moving my hand to his hair in case he got any bright ideas about pulling back any further, but I was relieved when he let out a groan and finally gave up on his teasing.

Suddenly I was aware of nothing, but Chris' mouth on me. My back arched as he licked up from the bottom of my core to the top, swirling his tongue around, exploring every little nook and cranny before settling his focus back on my clit. It was like he'd studied me, like he'd committed our previous brief encounter to memory and remembered exactly what I responded to as he licked and sucked with just the right amount of pressure and speed to have me panting as my grip tightened in his hair.

It had only been moments, but I could already feel the pressure building inside me, bubbling closer towards the surface. Chris, as if sensing this, eased off just slightly to slide his tongue a bit lower, pressing it against my entrance, dipping just barely inside, before replacing it with one of his fingers. I felt myself clench at the sensation, my body desperate for relief, desperate for something more inside me and Chris obliged, adding a second finger almost immediately.

"So wet, baby," he hummed, placing a kiss on the inside of my upper thigh.

I was too wrapped up in my own pleasure to formulate any kind of response, but Chris didn't bother waiting for one anyway before putting his lips back on my clit. The combination of his fingers and his mouth had me seeing stars and another whimpered plea slipped from my lips as he flicked his tongue against me. He was focused and determined, groaning against me after a particularly sharp tug on his hair when he angled his fingers inside me to find that one particular spot that made me see stars.

He stroked it once. Then twice. And on the third that coil that had been tightening inside me snapped. I covered my mouth with my free hand just in time to bite down and muffle the scream that Chris pulled from me as my hips thrust up towards him and I spasmed around his fingers as I fell over the edge.

Chris coaxed me through it, easing his attentions as I came down from the high I was feeling. He slid his fingers out of me, looking up to meet my eyes before licking them clean. I groaned, feeling myself twitch with arousal at the sight despite my heart still racing from the orgasm I had just had. He flashed me a smirk before crawling up my body and pressing his lips against mine again.

I sighed happily into the kiss, letting my hands slide down his back, just teasing the top of his pants as I reluctantly separated our mouths.

"Take these off."

My tone left little room for argument and Chris looked down at me with a smirk.

"Yes, ma'am."

He lifted his body off of mine just long enough for me to shiver from the loss of the warmth he was providing, but he quickly returned once his pants were discarded. He stayed slightly lower when he returned, turning his attention back to my chest, taking my left nipple in his mouth this time and using his hand to tease the other. My eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, but I fought the urge to simply lie back and let him do what he wanted with me. I wanted more, I needed more and I didn't want to wait any longer.

"Chris," I whined. "Please, fuck me."

Looking down, I could see his eyes widen in surprise at my blunt demand. He let his mouth slip off my nipple before giving it one last little nip, just hard enough to make me gasp from the slight twinge of pain.

"As you wish."

He reached down between us, taking a moment to slip his two fingers back inside me. He spread them out, gently stretching me and I was grateful. From my memory, Chris was thick and it had been approximately three years and five months since I last had sex (not that I was counting).

Once Chris was satisfied that I was adequately prepared, he pulled his fingers back and guided the tip of his cock towards my entrance. I tried to relax as he slowly stretched me open, but even as my mind revelled in the bliss I was feeling, a thought hit me that made my eyes widen and body stiffen.

"Chris!" I gasped out, gripping his shoulders to push him away slightly. "Condom!"

His head dropped down and he grunted as if he was using the last of his restraint to pull out of me.

"Shit," he cursed. "How could we forget that again?"

"I guess we don't learn from our mistakes," I smiled, despite the pang in my heart as the voice in my head chimed in again to say 'clearly not or you wouldn't be about to fuck him and break your own heart again'. "Do you have one?"

Chris nodded, rolling off me for just long enough to reach over to the bedside table. He pulled one out of the drawer, ripped it open and slid it on with impressive speed before crawling back over me.

"Now," he smirked. "Where were we?"

He looked down as he guided himself inside me again. The initial stretch wasn't as intense the second time around, but it grew as he pushed deeper and my breath hitched once he was fully inside. Chris stilled, sensing my discomfort as he dropped his head to kiss along my jaw until his lips rested just below my ear.

"You good?"

"Mhmm," I nodded, breathing out and shifting my hips as I started to adjust. We stayed like that, connected but still, for a few moments until I felt the tension ease a bit. "You can move."

"You sure?" Chris looked at me with concern on his face, but I nodded.

That was all the reassurance he needed as he began slowly moving his hips. He pulled his lips back from where they rested near my ear and pressed them against mine.

He kissed me deeply, passionately, as he created a steady rhythm, sliding in and out with his hips pressing hard against mine with each thrust. His biceps bulged and strained to support his weight through the movement and he eventually let his mouth fall away from mine as he could no longer hold back a groan. That noise, and the grunts that followed, made me twitch around him as if my body was doing everything it could to keep him inside me, to keep the pleasure that it had been craving for so long.

I could feel him dragging against every inch inside me, brushing against every nerve and stretching me just enough to keep me constantly impressed by how big he was. It was somehow too much, but not enough all at the same time and I hitched my leg higher up on his waist to help him get closer, deeper, if at all possible.

"Good girl..."

Chris' words hummed encouragingly against my collarbone where he placed another soft kiss before pulling back. He placed his hand on the back of my knee and lifted it even higher, opening me up for him even more.

My head dropped back against the pillow on the next stroke as his cock slid against that delicious spot inside me where his fingers had been only minutes before. He was watching, looking down between us to see me wrapped around him, see me taking him all the way every time he pushed in. I could hear him mumbling praises, compliments about how well I was doing, but I was too far gone, too wrapped up in the pleasure emanating from between my legs to do anything, but moan in response.

He slowed for a moment, leaning down, my leg catching on his shoulder and pressing it even higher as he reminded me to be quiet. He nipped my ear lobe, pulling a whimper from my lips before moving back and picking his pace up again. I knew he was right, but it was hard, next to impossible even, to hold back the noises that were bubbling in my throat.

I bit my lip and dug my nails into his skin as I attempted to control my volume and silently cursed Chris when he shifted his weight just enough to put the pressure of each thrust back on just the right spot. He moved his thumb down to brush over my clit, but it barely took a few strokes for me to fly over the edge.

It felt like my whole world exploded as I clenched around him, a low moan slipping past the lip between my teeth. The tingle ripped through every part of my body, every muscle quivering with pleasure, as Chris picked up the pace even more, with one final burst of speed until he stilled, letting out a deep, rumbling groan of his own before pumping in and out a few final times.

Once he'd stopped his movements completely, he let my leg lower to the bed, collapsing against my chest as he fought to catch his breath. I drifted my hand up to stroke the damp hairs on the back of his neck and soaked in the blissful feeling, a feeling I'd dreamt about since the last time I had the pleasure of enjoying it.

We stayed like that for a few moments until Chris reluctantly pulled back, letting out a soft groan as he slid out of me.

"I'll be right back."

I admired Chris' ability to walk already as all I had the strength to do was nod and shift back to my side of the bed. When Chris reappeared a few minutes later after disposing of the condom in the bathroom, I could barely keep my eyes open. He climbed back under the blankets and shifted over towards me until he could pull me right against his chest with our legs intertwined.

"That was nice," I sighed happily, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms as I nuzzled my nose into his toned pecs.

They shook as he chuckled and a giggle slipped from my lips as well.

"It was," he agreed, kissing the top of my head the same way he had at the start of this little rendezvous.

There was a heaviness in the air, the underlying unspoken words and the conversation that needed to be had hung between us, but I couldn't bring myself to ruin the moment. I'd spent so much time thinking about this, what it would be like to be in his arms again, I couldn't bare to say anything that might make him pull away and snap out of the moment of insanity we'd slipped into.

So, I didn't and neither did he. With one final, gentle kiss goodnight, we stayed tightly in our embrace until we drifted off into a contented sleep.

-

Part Three

[stargaze-sunflower]

More Dewey and Louie bonding!!! Hope you like it!!! :]

Summary: After the events of Emma Glamour's party, Dewey and Louie have a lot to talk about.

Ao3 Link     Word Count: 4138

Louie really should’ve known that things wouldn’t go according to plan, but despite everything that had happened to him and his family, he had still managed to hang on to some hope. He was sure that he’d collapse into a puddle of despair and shame if he ever let go of hope entirely, and that wasn’t the type of life that he wanted to live. It was hard sometimes, because hope was fragile, and Louie himself felt easily breakable, most days.

He hadn’t wanted his scheme to be as vulnerable as he was. Seeing the angles was supposed to be the thing that he was good at, the one thing that was his. In a family full of adventurers, he’d thought that he had finally found his place as the strategy guy, as someone the others could trust to be on top of things. Someone that they could rely on, rather than someone they merely tolerated.

Emma Glamour’s party had been a chance to prove himself. A chance to finally show that his schemes weren’t all dangerous and harmful and worthy of getting him kicked out of the family selfish. He had wanted so badly for it to be a success. He’d thought that if he just tried hard enough – Scrooge was always telling him to just try – then it would all work out fine, and he’d finally stop feeling like there was something wrong with him. He’d stop feeling like everyone was always trying to fix the parts of him that they didn’t like.

It was a failure. But then, his schemes usually were, weren’t they? They brought nothing but bad things – caused nothing but trouble. At least The Caballeros got to play at the party, even though they hadn’t made the It List. Even though Louie had done nothing right.

Dewey had been the one to save the day, in the end – ever the hero – and Louie was proud of him, he was, but there was still a pit in his stomach growing bigger and heavier and harder to ignore.

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

Louie sighed deeply, just the memory of the words enough to send sharp, aching pains bursting in his chest. He gripped the glass of water in his hand a little tighter, trying desperately to ground himself. But just like the rest of the ideas he’d had that night, it didn’t quite work out.

Currently he was standing behind the desert table, leaning against the wall and trying to pretend that he wasn’t hiding. Quite a few of the party guests had left already, but some had stayed to listen to the music that José and Panchito were playing – Uncle Donald had gone to sit at a table to talk with Daisy – and to enjoy the free food. Multiple people had even gone up to Dewey to congratulate him for winning the approval of Ms. Glamour. Something that Louie had not been able to do, at all, in any capacity. But he was fine. It was all fine.

He took a deceptively calm drink of water, trying to stop the rising wave of emotion that threatened to clog his throat and spill out of his eyes. He supposed he could only lie to himself for as long as he could ignore his feelings, and he was admittedly having trouble with that, at the moment.

“Thirsty?” a voice asked brightly, way too close to his right ear, and Louie almost choked on the water he hadn’t been able to swallow yet.

Dewey was standing next to him, smiling widely and rocking slightly on his feet, probably still absolutely ecstatic about the attention he’d received for his yo-yo ‘tricks’.

“Did you sneak up on me on purpose?” Louie asked, half accusing and half resigned.

“No,” Dewey said, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite out of it. “I called your name, like, twice before I got here.”

“Oh,” Louie said, any other possible response having fled his brain.

Louie set his glass of water down on the table in front of him as Dewey popped the rest of his cookie into his mouth, finishing it in record time.

“Still aren’t listening to me, huh?” Dewey teased, although there was something genuinely questioning in his tone.

The knot in Louie’s stomach twisted sharply at the reminder of how he’d treated his brother that night. Dewey hated feeling like he wasn’t being listened to, or acknowledged, or seen as useful. Louie knew that, and still he’d spent most of the night ignoring everything Dewey had tried to suggest.

“I guess not,” Louie replied, guilt tangling in his stomach and crawling up his throat. “I’m really— I just—”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, but it didn’t bring the same comfort as his hoodie might have.

“I…I’m sorry,” Louie finally managed, and he felt like it wasn’t enough, like he it would never be enough. “I didn’t mean to— Well, I did, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dewey said, waving him off, and Louie glanced at him in nervous surprise. “I mean, I’m not gonna say that it didn’t hurt, because it did. You know how I am with, uh, that sort of thing.”

Dewey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and the guilt in his stomach turned into sharp stabs.

.

(“Look, your plans, your schemes, they only lead to bad things for your family.”)

.

“But you’re not normally like this, all high-strung and whatever, which— which makes me think that maybe something else is bothering you,” Dewey continued, and Louie gaped at him in shock, his hands falling out of his pockets to hang still at his sides. Dewey’s brow was furrowed, and he was staring at the table in front of them intensely, obviously in deep thought. “And that doesn’t make it okay, but like, it makes it understandable? I don’t know.”

Dewey shrugged, shaking himself a bit before turning towards Louie with a little smile.

“I forgive you, you know, in case you need to hear it,” Dewey told him, and there was no trace of a lie in his eyes or deception in his voice.

Louie had to blink back tears at that, at the pure, sincere way that Dewey had just spoken to him, at the way he just understood Louie and his emotions, and how he was willing to forgive the mistake he’d made, especially when he already felt terrible about it. Dewey was his brother, who could apparently tell when something was bothering him, and Louie was both intimidated by that and thankful for it.

.

(“If you want to be a part of this family, you’ve gotta stop.”)

.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said, his voice softer and calmer than it had been in hours.

“No problem,” Dewey said happily, and he reached up to ruffle Louie’s hair before he could protest.

Louie glared sideways as he fixed his hair, not actually all that mad. Dewey just grinned at him, but a few seconds later it softened around the edges, and something concerned crept into his expression. Louie winced.

“You wanna talk about what was going on with you tonight?” Dewey prompted, nudging his shoulder lightheartedly, and Louie huffed.

“Not really, no,” Louie said.

“You sure?”

He turned to Dewey with his beak open, fully intending to repeat himself with confidence and grace, but the words died in his throat. Dewey was looking at him too honestly, too concerned, too ready to listen to him when Louie had done nothing but ignore him for the whole night, and it was enough to change his mind. Dewey deserved an explanation, and Louie was tired of lying, anyway. Because apparently - according to Emma Glamour - he wasn’t very good at it.

“No,” Louie admitted, voice strained as he practically forced the words out. “This is just… I really wanted things to be perfect, and I guess it kind of got out of hand.”

Him and Dewey took a moment to take in the messy room and remember the hostage situation. None of that had been Louie’s fault, really; sometimes it felt like chaos just followed their family around wherever it went.

“Why was it so important to you?” Dewey asked eventually. “Like why tonight, you know?”

Louie frowned deeply, brow furrowing as he tried to think of how best to explain how he felt.

“You know how Huey is super into being a Junior Woodchuck?” Louie asked, deciding to just wing it, and Dewey gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Okay, so, that’s his thing. He wouldn’t mind if we did it with him – he even wants us to, sometimes – but if we were better at it than he was, I think he’d lose his mind.”

Dewey chuckled a little, and that was enough to tell Louie that he was still listening, so he barreled onward.

“And then there’s— You’ve got that talk show thing, Dewey Dew-night, and that’s something that’s yours. But if I made my own talk show, like, uh— like Lunar Louie or something—” Dewey snorted, and Louie couldn’t help but smile a bit, even as he kept going almost frantically. “If I did that, and my show was more popular, then you’d feel like you weren’t— you’d feel bad.”

Louie trailed off into silence, and Dewey didn’t try to fill it, possibly sensing that he wasn’t quite done, but needed some time to think.

“I… I do schemes. That’s my thing. It’s basically the only thing I can do—”

.

(”This is the one thing I’m good at. Why can’t you see?”)

.

“—and then you kept telling me that you could do more to help, but I was scared that if I let you, then you’d be better at it than me, and if you’re better at scheming then me then what even— What else can I do? I’m not—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original—“)

  .

“I don’t know,” Louie finished. “I just— I wanted to prove myself I guess.”

“To who?” Dewey sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Louie avoided looking at him.

“Everyone, I guess. Mom, Uncle Donald, you.” Louie put his hands back in his pockets, attempting to conceal their trembling. “Myself, most of all.”

“Louie, you— you don’t have to prove anything—”

“But I do!” Louie whipped around to face him, suddenly irrationally angry. He was surprised to find that the tears in his own eyes were reflected in Dewey’s. “Our family are a bunch of adventurers, Dewey. That’s what they do. And I can’t— I—”

Dewey reached out for him, but Louie backed up a step, not ready to be comforted.

“Uncle Scrooge thinks I’m lazy, and Mom thinks that I— that all I do is cause bad things to happen, and I just— I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Louie said, his voice ending in a broken whisper, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket for the sole purpose of wiping at his overflowing eyes. “I can’t do anything right. Or—or good.”

Dewey stared at him for a few long, agonizing seconds, and then his trademark expression of determination took over his face, stronger and more serious than Louie had seen it in a while.

Oh, boy.

“C’mon,” Dewey said, leaving no room for argument, and he grabbed Louie’s sleeve on his way by, dragging him along behind him.

Louie glanced nervously around them as he was tugged along, taking note of Uncle Donald, who was still sitting at a table with Daisy on the other side of the room. And speaking of tables—

Dewey stopped next to an empty one. Just like the others it was covered in a long white tablecloth that touched the floor, and Dewey gestured downwards pointedly. Louie raised an eyebrow, which was probably a strange expression on someone who had just been crying, but whatever. Dewey just gestured again, a bit more forceful, and Louie sighed before dropping to his hands and knees. He crawled under the tablecloth and Dewey followed, letting it fall back into place behind him when they were both in.

They were left sitting in soft lighting, on a squeaky-clean floor – Daisy probably wouldn’t have settled for anything less – and Louie had to admit that it was less overwhelming than standing at the edges of a large room feeling sorry for himself; feeling sorry for everything.

“Okay, look,” Dewey said, sitting there in his DJ Daft Duck suit and still managing to sound like he meant business. “You remember when Uncle Donald was racing against Uncle Gladstone ‘cause of that weird luck vampire thing?”

Louie could only nod.

“And he was gonna give up, but you stopped him. You kept him going. You inspired him,” Dewey said, every word said clearly and sincerely. “You’re good at that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And what about that time with Mom,” Dewey continued, “when you were able to convince her to go back to help Uncle Scrooge and the others stop the moon invading? We may never have left that island – or gotten home in time to help – if it weren’t for you giving her a pep talk.”

Louie exhaled shakily, remembering how stressful that whole situation had been. Dewey grabbed his hand and held it gently between them, even as he kept talking, looking at him with warm eyes.

“You helped Webby when she lost her optimism, and you were able to make her start believing in people again. You were able to help her remember that there are good people,” Dewey said, and he squeezed his hand, smiling gently as Louie blinked against the moisture in his eyes. “There are good people, Lou, and you’re one of them.”

Louie sniffled, wiping at his face with his free hand as he avoided eye contact.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” Louie said.

“I’ll believe it when you can’t,” Dewey said simply, and Louie finally looked at him.

Dewey was staring back at him with a slightly nervous expression, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right things or not, like he was worried that he wasn’t being helpful. The knot in Louie’s stomach and the pain in his chest finally abated, and he tried out a small smile.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said softly, and he wasn’t feeling up to a full-on hug just yet, so he leaned his side against Dewey’s and squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Dewey exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed.

“Anytime,” Dewey told him, and he sounded like he meant it.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of the party muffled through the expensive tablecloth. There they were in fancy clothes, at a fancy – wrecked – party, and they were hiding under the table like they used to hide in clothes racks at the store as little kids. Louie suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Dewey turned to look at him, possibly a little confused, but as soon as their eyes met, they both lost it. They sat there giggling on and off for at least two minutes, and every time they’d almost calmed down, they’d make eye contact and burst out laughing again.

“This isn’t funny,” Louie said helplessly, wiping away tears of mirth. “We shouldn’t be— Why are we laughing?”

“Would you rather cry?” Dewey asked, grinning like a loon.

“I am crying, Dewey.”

“That’s good crying, though,” Dewey pointed out. “You’re smiling at the same time.”

Louie shoved at him playfully, and Dewey started giggling again, swaying with the force of Louie’s push before popping back upright.

“I could comment on how weak of a shove that was, but I’m not going to,” Dewey said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Louie rolled his eyes.

“How gracious of you,” Louie said, words dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been insulted enough for one night, anyways.”

Louie leaned back on his hands, finally feeling relaxed and mostly at ease. It was amazing what Dewey could do, really, when he put his mind to it.

And speaking of his brother, Dewey was suddenly being creepily silent. Louie turned to check on him with a raised brow, and Dewey was looking back at him with confusion and a sort of vague concern.

“What do you mean?” Dewey asked, dead serious, and Louie blinked.

“Uh, what do you mean what do I mean?”

“The insult thing you just mentioned,” Dewey clarified. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Louie said simply, trying to buy himself time to think of how to distract Dewey from the subject, which his brother was picking up on, if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dewey said, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

“Look, it’s nothing—”

.

(“You’re nothing new—")

.

Louie cleared his throat and tried again. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”

“Your hands are shaking, Louie,” Dewey said pointedly, and he grabbed the one nearest to him to hold it once again. Louie huffed in frustration and glared at his traitorous appendages.

“I’m doing jazz hands,” Louie deadpanned, and Dewey snorted.

“No, you’re not.”

Louie sighed resignedly, and Dewey squeezed his hand.

“Tell me?” Dewey asked, and Louie forced himself to meet his wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Louie groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the bottom of the table, because now he absolutely had to explain himself, or Dewey would go around looking like a kicked puppy for days. Louie couldn’t have that on his conscience; it already had enough to worry about.

“You remember when I went to talk to Glamour, right?” Louie began, sitting up, and Dewey nodded. “Well, she definitely had some interesting things to say about what she thought of me.”

Dewey’s hand tensed in his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“…Like what?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Louie rushed to say. Emma Glamour was one of the people that Dewey looked up to, and he was reluctant to crush his dreams, and maybe even a little afraid that he would agree with her. “It— It wasn’t anything that isn’t true.”

“What did she say?” Dewey reiterated, and Louie figured that he couldn’t put it off for any longer.

“Just— Just that I was, uh—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

“—that I was nothing special. And not worth her time, or— or even worth listening to,” Louie said haltingly, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t bothered. “She had me all figured out, and she— she didn’t think that what she saw was very impressive. Or ‘It’, as she put it.”

There was complete and total silence after he finished talking, Dewey unnaturally still next to him. Louie breathed slowly and deliberately, trying to calm his nerves.

Without warning, and certainly without grace, Dewey suddenly stood ramrod straight next to him, shooting up so quickly that Louie dropped his hand and leaned back in surprise. Being under a table, of course, Dewey didn’t make it very far before bumping into the bottom of it, hitting it with such force that the whole thing rattled; Louie very faintly heard a fork fall to the ground a few feet away. Dewey dropped back down onto his knees with a grunt of pain, rubbing the top of his head.

“Dewey, what the—”

“She can’t talk to you like that!” Dewey exclaimed angrily, already changing course to crawl out from under the table. “She just— I can’t believe—"

Dewey continued his nonsensical furious rambling as he made it out from under the table, Louie following behind him frantically, getting the vibe that his brother was on his way to do something stupid.

“Dewey, wait—” Louie grabbed him by the wrist, keeping him from storming off. “She was well within her rights to call me out on trying to con her—”

“There’s calling you out, and then there’s straight up mean—"

“She was right, though, okay?” Louie said desperately, his arm shaking with the effort it was taking to hold Dewey back. “I needed to be taken down a notch.”

“You’re eleven, Louie! None of what she said was helpful, she just— She’s an adult and she said that to a kid!”

Dewey was still attempting to barrel onwards, and he was very slowly making progress. Louie groaned in frustration and leaned even farther backwards to try and slow him down.

“Okay, but— Dewey, what are you even gonna do?” Louie asked. “You can’t just flat-out attack her at her own party, and Uncle Donald already yelled at her ‘cause of Daisy—”

“She’s about to see my yo-yo skills way up close and personal,” Dewey said, almost muttering, and he stumbled a bit from the persistence of Louie’s grip on his arm.

“Dewey, stop,” Louie said sternly, although there was an element of begging in there, too. “Dewey, please.”

His brother finally came to a halt, and though it felt like they’d been going for hours, they’d only made it about five feet from the table they’d been hiding under. Dewey turned to look at him, his gaze fiercely protective and maybe a little lost, and Louie kept his grip on his sleeve, just in case.

“It’s not worth it,” Louie said quietly but clearly.

“Yes, it—”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Louie amended, and then he tried for a smile, although he was sure it looked awkward. “And Huey would be disappointed in us if you got arrested.”

“Huey would already be throwing punches,” Dewey said, but some of the tension in his shoulders was gone.

“Please,” Louie said lightly, “he’d give a stern lecture at worst.”

“Agree to disagree,” Dewey shot back, shrugging a little, a small smile forming on his face, reluctant but persistent.

Louie huffed a laugh, looking around nervously to see if anyone was staring at them. He ended up making eye contact with Uncle Donald, who was staring at them with his brow furrowed in concern, already halfway out of his seat. Louie grinned, infusing as much reassurance as he could into it, and gave a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t latched onto Dewey’s wrist like an octopus.

Their Uncle hesitated for a moment, obviously conflicted, but then he sunk back into his chair, shooting them a look that clearly said ‘Be Good’. Louie sighed in relief and turned his attention back to Dewey.

“You sure you don’t want me to avenge you?” Dewey asked, a bit teasing but with an undercurrent of truth. If Louie wanted him to, he really would give Emma Glamour a piece of his mind.

But Louie had had enough drama for the day – maybe even for the rest of the week – and just knowing that Dewey was ready and willing to defend him made him feel lighter and happier than he had been in a while.

“Nah,” Louie said, finally releasing his hold on his brother. “I think we’ve caused enough chaos for one night.”

“Barely,” Dewey said jokingly, and Louie rolled his eyes.

After a moment of comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, Louie couldn’t help but yawn. Dewey glanced at him in amusement.

“Tired?” Dewey asked, and Louie just shrugged. “D’you wanna leave now? I think Launchpad would come get us if we called him.”

“What about Uncle Donald?”

“I don’t think he’d mind if we left without him,” Dewey replied, jerking his head to indicate where their Uncle was sitting with Daisy, listening to her talk with rapt attention. “He seems pretty busy.”

“He’d freak if we left without telling him, though.”

“Yeah.”

“…So who’s gonna tell him?” Louie asked, and Dewey huffed.

“Why can’t we do it together?”

“Because one of us has to call Launchpad.”

“We can do that together, too,” Dewey said, beginning to grin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Efficiency, Dewford,” Louie shot back, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Ugh, you sound like Huey,” Dewey complained, but his tone was light.

“One of us has to,” Louie said, dialing Launchpad’s number.

Dewey stared at him as the phone rang, and Louie raised a single eyebrow as he stood with it held up to his ear. Dewey groaned.

“Fine.” Dewey threw his arms in the air, turning away to hide his smile. “I’ll go tell Uncle Donald we’re leaving.”

Dewey walked off, and Louie finally allowed himself to grin fully. Nothing could quite cheer him up like lighthearted bickering with one of his siblings, and no one could pointlessly argue for as long as Dewey and Louie could. It was something that Louie felt was special; something that was theirs. Maybe it was nothing new, but it mattered.

And that was enough.

[wrestlingchick2021]

Santana AEW x Reader

Inner Workings

NSFW!

Santana Pov

It started off normal. Breakfast with the inner circle, then off to the gym but things changed when she became involved. Jericho's daughter, that beautiful, spunky, sassy, and slightly sarcastic blonde that I've come to know and love.

She was perfect in every way possible, atleast in my eyes. She was a heel, which was bad and she was being manipulated into loving my enemy, MJF and yet I couldn't help myself because every, single, night, I jerked off to the thought of her.

"Hey? You ok?" My partner Ortiz pulled my out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just thinking." I told him.

"About her?" He whispered. I nodded knowing he knew.

"Alright guys! We have a match to win so let's go!" I heard Jericho call. I sighed knowing she was gonna be there. It was hard for me to know that she was gonna be part of the match and eventually I was gonna have to fight her. As I heard our music, I looked around to see if I could see her. I couldn't, which was unfortunate.

I heard the Pinnacles theme and out then came, first Tully and Ftr then Shawn Spears and Wardlow, and finally Max and her. She was smiling as she hung off his arm like a leech. One thing I noticed though, was he wasn't in his gear. She walked to the ring and slipped in. She stared at me and mouthed something. It didn't appear to be threatening but I still stayed on guard.

As everyone made there way to there sides of the ring, she was gonna start the match along with Hager. It didn't seem fair for Jericho to do that but I knew she could handle it. The bell rang and the match began. After about 13 minutes, everyone was down except myself and her. We were the legal competitors and we both laid in the middle of the ring, exhausted, bloody, and bruised.

She was barely able to get to her feet and I grabbed her ankle first and pulled her back down to the mat and underneath me. I was about to his her when I realized the max had come over to ringside. She looked up at me with fear, I didn't know what's was happening but I got up and walked threateningly towards Max. Like, a man possessed I was more preoccupied with him and didn't notice her get up. She had come up behind and me and took me down with one DDT and went for the pin, I couldn't kick out, I was in too much shock. The pinnacle had won and she rolled off me and looked extra shocked.

That was when I did the unthinkable and got up and pulled her into a choke hold. I didn't know what came over me but I didn't want to hurt her. It was weird though, she didn't fight back.

"You want her, fine, have her Santana. She's of no use to me anyway. She can't fight." I heard Max chuckle as he walked off with the rest of the pinnacle. I let go of her once I saw Jericho step back into the ring. She fell to her knees and looked at him as he walked away, she then looked at me.

"What did you do!?" She yelled and tried to hit me but I stopped her.

"I helped you. He was using you!" I held her in my arms as she fought back.

"No! No!" She screamed.

"Let's her her back to our locker room and we'll figure this out ok?" I tried to say calmly. She stopped and looked at me.

"What? You want to help me figure this out?" She asked shocked. I nodded. She realized and and walked with us calmly. It honestly surprised me. Once back at the locker room, she sat down in the farthest corner away from us and stared.

"Ok, now what? She's here." Sammy asked.

"She obviously wants nothing to do with us." Hager commented angrily.

"Guys, relax for a second. We don't exactly know what's going on. Max may have ditched her but this could all be some devious plan to get in our heads." Jericho spoke calmly trying to get us all to work together.

"Chris, we don't know what she's gonna do but we do know that she responds to me." I commented softly.

"You think you can reason with her? She's been manipulated by him for so long." He asked me questioningly.

"I think so. Just let me talk to her privately." I asked. He nodded and gave me the entire locker room to myself. Now that it was just her and I, she got up and made her way over to me. Once we locked eyes it didn't take long for her to hug me and break down. She trusted me, ME! This was great news for me because I thought maybe she would talk to me.

"Hey bella (beautiful in Puerto Rican), talk to me. Why the tears?" I asked her softly.

"I hate him! He's cruel! He hates me too ya know. He wants me out of Aew!" She spilled quickly.

"Hey hey, easy. Take a deep breath." I shushed her. "I can make it better but you need to breath first."

She obeyed and took three really good deep breaths and was finally able to talk to me calmly.

"Max is awful. He makes me stay quiet unless I'm being directly talked to by him or any member of the pinnacle. He's making me look like a fucking snob and I'm not. Not at all! I want to do interviews, I want to wrestle in matches I actually have a chance of winning. I don't want people cheating for me!" She ranted quickly. I could hardly understand her so I kissed her to shut her up for a few seconds and maybe get her mind off it.

When I pulled away she looked at me. "I've wanted you to do that for so long." She whispered softly. I almost missed it.

"I know. I feel the same way and I couldn't quite understand what you were saying." I chuckled softly.

"Santana, I think I love you. Like a lot. But with max, I don't know if I'm confused or not." She admitted sadly.

"Then let's find out? Together? Cuz I think I love you too." I admitted back.

"How so?" She asked confused.

I pulled her to me and she gasped. I was hard and we both knew. "Baby girl, are you virgin?" I had to ask because she seemed genuinely clueless.

"No but I've never been loved. I don't know the difference between real love and sex for fun." She looked away.

"Then let me show you." I whispered and kissed her deeply. She reciprocated by wrapping her arms around my neck. I walked us over to the couch and sat her down while holding the kiss.

"Santana, I'm scared. I don't want this to be a one time thing." She whimpered.

"What are you talking about silly girl. You're mine now. I'm not letting you go." I growled softly and kissed her again. She moaned into the kiss.

"Now let me show you real love." I told her with a soft smile. I saw her smile back. I pulled away and got on my knees and very slowly I did her gear. She watched me closely, studying me.

"Relax, I'll make you feel good. I promise. It's all about you baby girl." I told her. That seemed to make her relax. I slowly kissed you her thigh and when I heard her gasp I knew it felt good. It was a different kind of gasp.

"Santana..." She whimpered. I looked up at her with concern. "Eat me." She said softly and lustfully.

That was all I needed to hear from her. I dove in to her pussy like a starved man. As I licked and sucked on her clit, she was whimpering and moaning like crazy. I couldn't control myself. I pulled away and that caused a whimper in confusion.

"You want me to fuck you? Show you real love?" I asked her with a growl in my voice. She nodded slowly. I began to slowly undo my pants and she watched my ever moment. She was panting, a screen of sweat covered her forehead and thighs.

"Whatever you have left on, strip it. Trust me." I commanded softly. She didn't have to be told twice and did as I asked.

"Ready?" I asked. She nodded eagerly. I pulled her hips closer to me. I gently began to nudge the crown of my cock into her tight pussy. I finally had to opportunity to make her mine, forever. This is exactly how I thought it would be. All those nights I spent jerking off in the bathroom had finally paid off. She was just as perfect as I thought.

"Santana, move. Please?" She begged. I hadn't even realized that I wasn't but I obeyed her wishes and moved slowly so she could adjust.

"What are you doing?" She asked confused.

"Letting you adjust sweetheart." I told her as I thrusted slowly.

"No. I don't like it. I want you to pound me into the couch. Till I can't breath." She growled.

She was a lot kinkier then I thought. I wrapped my hand around her throat and began to fuck her harder. When I heard that lovely little squeal of hers, I knew I had hit that special spot. As I hit it over and over again she didn't something I didn't expect. As she tightened around me, my grip on her throat got tighter, and she squirted on my dick. That caused me to pull out and cum on her chest and tits.

"Woah... That was amazing." She said with a tired smile.

"Good. Now, I want to ask you something." I told her.

"What is it?" She replied.

"Will you leave the pinnacle and join the inner circle and be my girlfriend?" I asked quickly.

"I would love to be your girlfriend but I don't know if they want me here." She said and looked away.

"Of course they do! Your dad wants you back." I said.

"No he doesn't. He hates me." She says after we finish getting dressed. I made my way over to the door and opened it letting in her dad and the rest of the inner circle. Chris walked over and hugged her. She was taken a back.

"Come back, please?" He asked.

"Of course. The pinnacle was over rated anyway." She giggled.

[fookinfandoms]

Life Eternal | Hector Castlevania

Set before Dracula requested Hector’s services. Reader is believed to be a witch, but in reality she just doesn't care for human company.

Pairing: Hector x Reader

Warnings: Language, small mention of smut, mentions of animal death/resurrection. 

Part One.

_________________________________________________________________

They call you a witch, and you never bothered to correct them.

It was preposterous, you were nothing of the sort. You never really understood why the townspeople hated outsiders so much. It had been months since you had settled in, yet you couldn't get as much as a smile from your own neighbour.

There was one woman however that would spare you a few words, that is if you paid her some coin in exchange for her cooked goods.

Was it because you didn't attend church? Perhaps it was because you choose to remain in the company of your dog over the local women's group that congregated every Thursday. The people weren't friendly at all, and you often wondered if you made the right decision in moving to such a tight-knit community. 

You weren't the only outsider however. It had been three weeks after you had moved in when you saw him. 

He wasn't like the others here. 

He kept his head down, his voice to himself. Even when the people would throw abuse at him, he kept his eyes to the dirt. It both saddened and confused you, wondering why such was happening. He didn't look like some brute, nor some boisterous drunk... so why did they all hate him?

Finding the courage to ask the baker, she informed you that he dabbled in dark magic, and was often found talking to wild animals. He lived on the big hill, and she continued to babble on about how he was rumoured to bring animals back to life. This surprised you, and you asked for more information but she held her hand out for more coin.

It didn't bother you as much as it should, for you spoke mainly to animals too. Your small companion - a beagle named Rhubarb. He was your best friend and the only family you had left. He wasn't everyone’s cup of tea that's for sure, often stealing fish from the baskets from local fisherman. 

This was life. 

It was Rhubarb and you against the world, that is until you came home from your weekly trip to the market, having bought new blankets for the two of you when you found Rhubarb lying on the side of the road. 

He stayed unmoving, even after calling his name twice. Rain poured down heavily, and you wondered why the silly dog hadn't run under a tree yet. You knelt down by his side, placing your basket by his head. 

He still didn't move, and your breath caught in your throat.

It took you some seconds to realise he wasn't breathing, and you screamed out in anguish at the sight. Your hands shook as you pulled his small, limp body into your arms, holding him in an embrace as you sob.

His fur was darkened in harsh line, and you knew someone had purposely run over him with a carriage. He knew better than to play on the road, but being an older dog, he wasn't as quick as he used to be. 

He was your life. 

Rhubarb still had years ahead of him, running past your feet and stealing fishes from baskets. Who would be so cruel to run over a dog? On purpose? 

The tears wouldn't stop falling. Was this your curse in life? Everyone you loved being taken away from you?

No. 

If there was a way to bring him back, you will have to try. 

You wrap Rhubarb in one of the new blankets, careful not move too quickly. There was only one destination on your mind, and you hoped the baker was right. The rain had soaked through your dress completely, clinging to you like a second skin.  

Your hair blew in the wind, tangling into a mess, and tiny sobs still escaped you as you cuddled your beloved friend in your arms. 

You weren't sure how long you had been walking for. Minutes? Hours? It felt like days by the way you shivered in the storm. In reality it had only been twenty minutes, but each step felt like an eternity. If this didn't work, you didn't know what you would do. 

The sky had long since turned dark, and you felt no fear as you walked. Finally, light could be seen ahead, and you silently prayed to whoever was listening that he was home. Lighting struck from behind you, and your breathing came out harshly as you trudged up the hill. 

You wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't hear your kicks against his front door over the sound of thunder. Your hands were full, and you were sure your toes would be bruised over how hard you kicked. 

The door didn't budge, and so you kicked again, over and over. 

The tears continued to fall, and desperation came out in small cries as your arms grew weak from the heavy weight. 

“Please,” You yell out. “I know you're in there! Please!”

The door finally opens, nearly causing you to lose balance. He stands in front of you, face full of anger at the intrusion. 

“What the bloody hell do you want?” He peers down at you in confusion, his eyes staring into yours. If it weren’t for the fact you were currently shivering and holding your deceased dog in hand, you would’ve said something about his unique appearance. “Well?”

“Y-you have to help me,” You held Rhubarb closer to you. “They s-said you could help!”

The man pays no attention to the bundle in your arms, instead choosing to shut the door. He doesn’t get the chance however, as your foot wedges itself before it could close.

“What are yo-“

“He didnt deserve this!” You cry, ignoring the pain shooting up your leg at the sharp movement. The rain pours even harder, and there’s not one part of you dry.

“He?” The man questions, and instead of replying, you peel back an edge of the blanket, revealing a limp paw.

His eyes narrow slightly, before he looks back to you. “What are you asking of me here?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m asking.”

“The last time I helped somebody,” He shakes his head. “It didn’t work in my favour. Leave.”

“I will pay you anything, I will slave away in the kitchens if I have too,” Begging was your last resort. “I will give you myself for Christ’s sake! Just please help him!”

He sighs, his head looking towards the ceiling as if in deep thought before letting the door open again. He steps aside, signalling for you to enter. You do so quickly, immediately feeling better at the warmth. It didn’t help that your clothes were completely drenched. Gods, you probably did look like a witch right now.

“Well?” The man says from behind you, and you turn your head. His arms are outstretched, asking for you to pass the animal over.

Your teeth clatter as you shiver yet again, but you gently pass Rhubarb over to the stranger. He takes him with as much care, and your hands immediately begin to rub at your upper arms for warmth.

He begins to walk away, further into the house and you follow suit. A cat runs past your feet as you pass through a hallway, and it’s then you notice half her face missing. It surprises you to find that you’re not scared, and the further you look around the more you begin to notice plenty more pets.

“Don’t pay them any mind, they won’t harm you.” The stranger mumbles ahead, and you whip your head in his direction.

“I’m not worried, they seem pleasant.” Your tone matches his, and he chuckles. He stops, turning his head around with a forced grin.

“Pleasant. They’re dead. They don’t like strangers, so don’t get too comfortab-“ As if on cue, another cat rubs their head against your leg, and the stranger frowns. “Well that’s new.”

“Most animals like me, even the dead ones I guess.” You shrug, bending down to pet the cats head. It’s stomach is exposed, and your heart aches knowing the animal must’ve suffered before meeting the magic man.

“And this one?” He nods towards the bundle in his arms, and your bottom lip quivers. He begins to walk again, and you wipe away a stray tear.

“T-that’s Rhubarb,” You stand, following once more. “I’ve had him since I was young.”

“So old age got him then.”

“No,” The man was taken back by the sudden change of your tone. “Someone in the town killed him on purpose, they don’t like me and they certainly didn’t like him.”

“Bastards.” His jaw clenched at the news.

“I guess it was easier to kill my boy than it was to kill me.” He nods in agreement.

“They’re scum, all of them.”

It was your turn to nod. Finally the two of you came to a room, a stone table laying in the centre. Various knives stood at the side, and your stomach dropped.

As if sending your unease, the man shakes his head. “I’m a forge master, there is no need to worry about those.”

It didn’t exactly help calm your nerves, but realising the man was actually a forge master and not some magician made more sense. Forge masters weren’t exactly liked in the world, much to your confusion.

“I’m Hector,” Hector places Rhubard down on the table, removing the blanket off of him. “And you are?”

“(Y/N),” You stood in the back as Hector moved around. His movements were graceful, and your chest tightened at the site of your beloved pet. “I moved here recently.”

He chuckes. “I thought as much, we don’t get many of your kind here.”

“My kind?” The air turned colder by the second, and you slowly made your way to the fireplace in an attempt to warm up, keeping your eyes on the forgemaster.

“Good-hearted.” His hands rest of Rhubarbs stomach, petting him as if he were alive.

“How do you know I’m good hearted? I don’t think even forgemasters can read souls.”

“You offered me your body in exchange for your dogs life,” He looks back at you with a genuine smile. “Not many people would do that. No sane person at least.”

“Most sane people have others in their life to keep them as such, I only have him.”

“Well let me just say that there will be no need for such payment, I can see you care deeply for him.” Hector reaches for a peculiar shaped coins. “But you may want to look away, it gets quite bright.”

You do as he says, choosing to look at the fire. The room grows dark as Hector works, and you close your eyes, silently hoping for success. Minutes go by, the sound of metal on metal ringing through your ears as you breathe out quickly.

The ringing continues for sometime, before the whole room goes quiet. The only sound heard is the cracking of the fire, that is until a familiar bark startles you.

Your eyes open, and you’re met immediately with a beagle at your feet, jumping onto his hind legs in an attempt to climb on you. You fall to your knees, your arms surrounding Rhubarb as he licks at your cheeks. His eyes are no longer a dark brown, instead a shimmering blue. You didn’t care, all that mattered now was that he was alive.

“Oh my darling boy,” You cried, letting the small dog climb into your lap. “My sweet, sweet boy.”

Hector wipes his hands with a clothe, before clearing his throat.

“You have to let me pay you somehow,” You sniff as Rhubarb continues whining for attention. “You have a gift Hector.”

“Others don’t think so.” He laughs, throwing the clothe onto the table.

“The others can go jump off a cliff for all I care,” The beagle in your lap jumps away, turning his attention to Hector for pats. “You saved him, that matters to me.”

“Yes well right now you’re getting my floorboards wet,” Hector kneels down to Rhubarbs level. “So if you’re wanting to pay me somehow, you can pay me but dressing into something more comfortable and staying.”

Your stomach drops at his words, and as if realising his own innuendo, he stumbles over his next words.

“N-no not like that! I just m-mean it’s too dangerous to return home right n-now,” Hector coughs, his cheeks turning a small tinge of pink. “You know with the storm in all, and it would’ve been a w-waste of both our efforts tonight.”

In just a span of a few minutes, Hector went from a cocky forgemaster to a blubbering mess. It made you giggle, and he releases a few small chuckles himself as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Alright, I’ll stay.”

[krreader]

diamond maknae | struggles in tow.

pairing: min yoongi x diamond maknae (platonic) fandom: bts warnings: eighth member of bts!reader ; maknae!reader ; depression ; anxiety ; mentions of panic attacks genre: angst ; fluff word count: 1.3k+ other: for other dm content, pls check out my diamond maknae masterlist

summary: sometimes it was easier to see someone struggling when you’ve been in their shoes.. especially when that person is trying to hide it so badly..

a/n: I hope you like it love ♥

You couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment that it became like this, but maybe it wasn't necessarily just one moment, but a bunch of them that got your mental state to where it was now.

The constant stress weighing you down, working even harder than all of the boys because you always felt like you had to 'make up for something', then, naturally, not being able to see friends or family much because of that, often being on your own and lonely, despite living with your brothers..

..your life might look like it was glorious and amazing and you were sure that a lot of girls would trade your life with theirs in an instant and without thinking twice, but behind the glitz and glam was a darkness that you kept hidden from the world, too afraid that if they saw it, they would judge you for it.

No, you never showed anyone that part of you.

That part, that made you cry in the middle of the night just because you were so damn sad, despite having every reason to be happy. That part that, made you lock yourself in the bathroom, slide down the door and sob for hours, shaking and not being able to breathe properly because of the anxiety that was suffocating you. That part that made you scared to go outside on your own, too afraid of.. well.. everything and everyone.

These days there were more parts you had to hide than you could show.

You thought about talking to someone about it, one of your members maybe, or maybe a friend in the industry, but you didn't want to show any weakness when nobody else was doing so either.

Yes, there could be a chance that most of them were all only pretending as well, but if so, then you didn't want to be the only one who stopped pretending.

You had to be strong.

And well, you thought being strong meant not getting any help. From anyone.

Today was supposed to be a day like any other, except that it was concert day.

Japan, to be exact.

You haven't had a good night's sleep, got up super early to practice some more, and were now having rehearsals for the upcoming show tonight.

Someone was talking, but you couldn't hear it. As your eyes stared at the empty arena, all you could hear was a buzzing noise.

So many people.. yet again, looking at you with nothing but expectations to give them the best show they've ever seen. So much excitement to finally see their idol, their role-model, the perfect (Y/N).

You gulped down hard, started to fidget with your microphone.. something that one member noticed.

Yoongi had been listening carefully to instructions, but you had worried him ever since he saw you this morning.

Your dark circles were worse than ever and he could tell that you've gotten up earlier than the rest to practice some more. And the way your hands were shaking right now, the way you couldn't focus on anything.. he knew these symptoms.. he used to suffer from them and even know, from time to time, found himself falling back into that dark hole that Bangtan once pulled him out of.

While the rest of the boys continued to listen, Yoongi made his way over to you and gently took the microphone out of your hand.

“You've been hiding it well, you know?”

You didn't look up.. didn't answer. Just watched him repair your microphone.. 'repair'. It wasn't even broken, you just needed to keep busy to distract yourself.

“Only someone who's been through what you're going through can tell.. I have known for a while, but I had hoped you might open up to me on your own at some point.. but I don't think you will. Because you're too scared of what will happen if you do.”

Yoongi gently cupped your chin and made you look up at him.

“You've seen my struggles in videos, you've heard them in my lyrics, but I never really told you about them.. maybe it's time you and I have that talk now.”

Your eyes began to water, nodding once, twice and then lowering your head like you were ashamed, but Yoongi wouldn't have any of that.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi waited until the leader was looking at him, “We'll take a short break, okay?”

“Sure.. you guys go ahead.”

He led you backstage into the green room, making sure it was empty, before sitting down on a couch with you.

The room was filled with silence, the occasional laughter and happiness of your members through the microphones could be heard as they were still outside on stage, but nothing else.

It wasn't uncomfortable though, for neither of you.

Because you were both used to the silence.. you were relishing it the rare moments that you got it.

“You know.. throughout my whole life, I thought that depression was just something I had to live with. That there was no cure for it.. because nobody ever talks about mental health in this country. It's something that people simply don't think exists, or they laugh it off as if it's not that bad and tell you that you’ll get over it eventually. But depression, panic attacks.. these things should be talked about and they should be taken seriously,” Yoongi slid a little closer to you and grabbed your hand, “I was so afraid to talk at first. I thought people would laugh at me if I said I was depressed, because why would I have any reason to be, right? The guys figured something was wrong sooner or later. I kept telling them I was fine.. until I wasn't. Until I broke down right in front of them, sobbed my eyes out and couldn't stop.. I couldn't tell them what was wrong, because I cried so much that I couldn't talk anymore and all they could do was watch and hold me. After that day, it was clear that I needed to do something.. that if I continued to keep it to myself, these outbursts would happen more often, maybe on stage and.. well, one time it did.. I'm sure you saw that clip.”

You nodded, not looking at him, though, “Did the guys help you?”

“No.. well, yeah. They were there for me, cheered me up, or at least tried to, but what I really needed and what really helped me was therapy. Someone who had an outside perspective, someone who had the resources and the knowledge to help me. I went there almost three months, every week at least twice and I still go every now and then when I feel like I need to. Talking to someone, reaching out to someone.. getting help from someone.. that is not a weakness, sweetheart,” Yoongi's thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, “I know that is what you are thinking because, I hate to admit it, but you're too much like me. You're afraid of showing the world the true you, because you're afraid the world is going to hate you for it.”

“You're you, Yoongi,” you looked up, a lonely tear running out of your eye, “But I'm me. If I come clean, people will attack me right away. Some of them are just waiting for me to slip up, so they finally have a reason why I should leave the group and let you guys be on your own again.”

“I'm not saying you should make a social media post saying: 'I'm depressed'. I'm saying stop putting on a smile when you don't feel like it. Why do you think I'm wearing face masks and hats that cover everything? Because sometimes I can't smile, there are just days that suck.. and because we're in a business where people watch our every move, these masks and hats allow us to at least not pretend,” when you were silent for another moment, Yoongi pulled you close against him and kissed the top of your head, “You're not alone, (Y/N). There are so many people with your struggles out there, you are not weird because you have these horrible thoughts. But there are ways to help you.. and I think therapy might be a good start.”

“But the rest of the guys..-”

“Don't have to know,” he interrupted right away, “This'll be our little secret for a while.. until you're ready to share it with them. And if you never are, then that's okay too.”

He gave you hope that day.

Hope, that you didn't always have to live with your struggles. That not being okay was okay. That you weren't weird.

With his help, you were able to end the concert tonight with a smile.

A genuine one.

With Yoongi's hand holding yours, making sure you knew that you’d never walk alone.

Not this path and not any other either.

He’d always be by your side.

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, angst, humour, romance, smut

warnings: blood mentions, betrayal, panic attack, secrets, sensual (?) biting, ravn could eat this girl raw and she’d probably thank him (but he’s being a gentleman, as usual), kink discussion, self-doubts, fears, lots of kissing, y/n recites poetry again, swearing (like twice), fingering, blowjob, possessiveness

word count: 2.4k

author’s note: i just wanted to give yall something nice before all hell breaks loose. enjoy

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part six 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙part twelve 🌙 epilogue

The minute you opened the door to Ravn’s castle, your current home, you ran into his arms and started crying inconsolably.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked you and stroked your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“You were right,” you choked out. “Leedo was that wolf…that werewolf who followed me.”

“Did he confirm it?” Ravn felt the need to know.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But when I mentioned that night, he said ‘so that’s what you did to escape’. He said it in such a way that I just knew it was him. You should have seen his face,” you explained and you shuddered at the thought.

“So you don’t have any material proof?”

You shook your head weakly.

“But I should have trusted you,” you insisted. “I was such an idiot.”

“Does he suspect you know he’s a werewolf?” your boyfriend completely ignored your momentary self-bullying because he was more concerned about your life being intact.

“I don’t think so,” you murmured anxiously. But he knew you had a boyfriend. And that you lived close to the forest. How could you tell Ravn that you’d accidentally let it slip? Your heart was beating so rapidly you feared it would come out of your chest any second. You were completely terrified. Not of being killed, no, that didn’t scare you in the slightest. Your biggest fear was disappointing Ravn. Letting him down would be worse than death itself, you thought.

“What are you not telling me?” Ravn whispered coldly.

“H-how did you know?” you asked, suddenly feeling so feeble and pathetic.

“I can hear your blood pumping faster in your veins. It’s a bit distracting, to be honest,” Ravn chuckled and caressed your neck teasingly.

“Are you hungry?” you didn’t want to neglect his needs.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” your boyfriend scolded you. “What are you keeping from me?”

You looked away from him guiltily and made a poor attempt at escaping his soft touch, but he held you down as swiftly as you’d tried to flee.

“Y/N…how am I supposed to know what I did wrong if you’re not talking to me?”

Oh, no. He thought he was the one at fault. How could you break his heart like this? You somehow gathered the courage to face him again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Ravn,” you reassured him. “It is me who fucked up. I…told Leedo that I have a boyfriend and that we live close to the forest.”

Ravn swallowed nervously but didn’t interrupt you, instead choosing to let you finish.

“I didn’t tell him your name or that you’re a vampire,” you immediately defended yourself, without waiting to be attacked, trying to make it sound as if your mistake wasn’t that fatal. “And it’s not like I was bragging about you, it just slipped unintentionally, I swear!”

Ravn grabbed your arms. For a brief moment, you thought he would just get it over with. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Y/N, breathe,” he was trying to calm you down. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“But the ground rules…”

“Are for your safety rather than mine,” Ravn informed you. “I’ve lived hundreds of years. Even a whole pack of werewolves cannot scare me,” he smirked confidently and you had to confess, you found that very attractive of him.

“There has to be something that scares you. Everyone has fears,” you pointed out reasonably.

“The only thing that terrifies me is losing you,” your boyfriend ran a hand across your cheek.

“So, turn me,” you immediately offered a solution to his one fear. “If you make me like you, you will never have to lose me.”

Ravn pulled away from you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said and added, jokingly. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like to spend eternity with me. It can grow very boring.”

“Don’t you trust me?” you teased him. “I would stay with you forever if given the chance.”

Ravn smiled softly.

“Well, it’s not up to you, is it?”

You huffed in annoyance but decided it wasn’t in your favour to act like a brat. You didn’t deserve anything. Not after what you had done…

“So…you’re not mad at me?” you inquired, testing the waters.

“Would you still be breathing if I were really mad at you?” Ravn joked in a gentle manner.

“Can’t argue with that one,” you sighed. “But seriously. I’m genuinely sorry for letting it slip that you live close to the forest. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you.”

“We,” he corrected you.

“Huh?”

“We live close to the forest. You shouldn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. But can you? You need to work harder on your self-preservation instincts.”

“But I don’t need to. You can take care of me, instead,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, perfectly playing the damsel in distress role.

Ravn proved you wrong. With one brisk movement, he twirled you around and tightened his hold on you, his teeth dangerously close to your neck.

“You shouldn’t count on a cold-blooded animal like me to take care of you,” he hissed next to you. You would have trembled if you weren’t so embarrassingly turned on by his words. You simply closed your eyes, anticipating his fangs to pierce your neck. You were left with a shocking sensation of unfulfillment and disappointment when this didn’t happen.

“You’re such easy prey, it’s no fun,” Ravn complained and let go of you.

You gave him a sad and dissatisfied look.

“Do you want me to run around the castle like an idiot?”

“I’d rather you didn’t let me get away with using you for blood.”

You furrowed you brows in confusion.

“But…that was the initial arrangement?” you reminded him. “You let me stay, I let you drink from me.”

“I know that,” Ravn spat out, getting frustrated for some reason. “But the arrangement didn’t mention anything about a change in dynamics. We didn’t expect there’d be feelings involved.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re my girlfriend. It isn’t right of me that I’m also using you as a food source.”

“But I like it,” you enunciated slowly.

“Why?” Ravn seemed sincerely dumbfounded by your admission.

“Why do you like drinking my blood?” you challenged him. “I just do, I don’t have a particular reason for it.”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“I like drinking your blood, because I’m a vampire, love. Or did you forget that?”

You chuckled idiotically.

“Semantics. Whatever the cause, why can’t we just both enjoy ourselves? And each other…”

Ravn shrugged.

“Since you’re making it so hard for me to resist you,” he groaned and dug his teeth into your neck without much warning. You didn’t need it, though. By now, you had grown accustomed to his primal instincts and the way he shifted so abruptly from calm and peaceful to lethal and animalistic. It was refreshing that even when he continuously surprised you, there was still a large part of him that just felt so…familiar. Like home.

A couple of minutes later, Ravn stopped feeding from you, leaving a sort of emptiness inside you. The sensation of giving him your blood felt so strangely intoxicating that sometimes you found yourself wishing it could last forever. However, you knew that wasn’t very sensible, because then, you’d bleed out to death. And you were certain neither you nor Ravn would enjoy that very much.

He pressed a piece of cloth against your neck to stop the bleeding and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. You looked up at him, completely awestruck by his cold beauty.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured apologetically, somewhat ashamed of his actions.

“What for? It’s only natural,” you responded quietly.

“Damnit, Y/N, there is nothing natural about my existence.”

“Stop,” you said, determined to change his mind.

Ravn simply blinked at you in confusion.

“Stop acting like I’m supposed to view you as some sort of monster, because you’re not,” you explained, getting aggravated by the way he disregarded himself. “There is no one else I’d rather be with than you. You’ve given me more than you could possibly imagine. You need to stop being so hard on yourself, okay? I wish every minute with you could last eternity, Ravn. So, please, stop saying such morbid things about your existence. If anything, I am grateful for it.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes filled with tears and for a short while he allowed himself to be vulnerable, let them fall down his cheeks like tiny raindrops. You didn’t know vampires could cry. And yet, why not? They were human once…Instead of saying anything, Ravn pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head in such a gentle way that made you feel so protected, so special. Then, he lifted you up and carried you to the bedroom. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and you hid your face in his chest, feeling ever so small. When he laid you down, you could swear you were minutes away from melting into a puddle. His lips met yours halfway, eager to be closer, to get as much from one another as you possibly could.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured into your mouth and caressed your cheek gently.

“And you’re so cold,” you reminded him needlessly.

Ravn shrank away from your touch, his gaze pained; he was obviously offended by you pointing out how his freezing skin affected you.

“No, no, don’t take it the wrong way,” you were quick to reassure his anxiety. “I like that about you. Opposites attract, remember?”

Ravn seemed quite upset by your words. You had intended to ease his mind, but instead…you kept saying the wrong things.

“Would you not like me if I were human? If I were…warm?”

You shook your head.

“I would like you even if you were a volcano, as long as you’re still you. I mean…your personality,” you insisted.

“Really?” Ravn was surprised by the closest thing you’d come to a confession. “You’d stay?”

You nodded adamantly.

“Of course I would! But…there’s no way of finding out, right?” as far as you were aware vampirism was incurable.

“Right,” he confirmed curtly. “Now, where were we?”

You smirked and traced a line across his cheek with the help of your finger.

“Somewhere very, very nice,” you whispered. “My love is like to ice and I to fire.”

“You know your Spenser, my sweet love,” Ravn praised you and attacked your neck. Not with his fangs but with soft kisses. This was it, then? You were going to die from embarrassment.

“I do quite enjoy him, I admit,” you mumbled absent-mindedly.

“Oh? Tell me, darling, who do you enjoy more? Him…” Ravn pulled away from your neck, which caused you to whimper helplessly at the sudden emptiness you felt. “Or me,” and with that he returned his attention to you, sneaking a hand between your thighs. You were begging and moaning uncontrollably at this point, but because you were an incorrigible brat, you couldn’t help but tease him:

“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it, maybe even do some research.”

“Research, huh?” Ravn chuckled and curled his long fingers inside of you. “Allow me to provide you with a primary source. To make your research more…hm…satisfying.”

“F-fuck,” you feebly let out the most corrupt sounds imaginable.

“That’s not very academic of you, love,” your boyfriend laughed into your neck, sending sudden vibrations to your body that further augmented your pleasure.

“I’m s-sorry,” you stammered.

“Sorry?” Ravn mocked you playfully. “Look at yourself, darling. You’re not sorry at all.”

You sneaked a peak at your already trembling legs and his beautiful arm discovering the secret realms between them. You cringed at your display of weakness, but the vampire immediately noticed your expression and made you feel comfortable again.

“Relax, love. Can you do that for me? Can you let yourself go, hm?”

You affirmed, eager to prove that you could do that, you could do anything he asked of you. Seconds later, you reached your high, coming all over his fingers, as he held you down with his lips still on your neck. You had seen galaxies in photographs but they were nothing like the galaxies you saw in front of your eyes in that brief moment, which slipped away as quickly as it had arrived.

“You…you’re trying to kill me,” you giggled.

“Au contraire, my darling, I would like you to lead a long, happy existence in my arms. If you allow me to take care of you, that is.”

“What, you expected me to say ‘no’ to that?” you continued laughing, eternally amused by the way he expressed himself.

“It pleases me immensely that you keep saying ‘yes’.”

You smiled smugly, an idea suddenly forming in your head.

“Now it’s my turn to make you say ‘yes’,” you told him and escaped his grasp swiftly, pushed him down onto the bed and began unbuckling his belt.

“You don’t h-have to…” Ravn spoke softly.

“Shut up. I want to,” you insisted and made your way downwards, planning on kissing every inch of him. Once you’d reached your final destination, you looked up at him, as if asking for permission to continue.

“What’s wrong?” Ravn asked you, visibly concerned.

“N-nothing, I’m just making sure you want me to…”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he blinked at you in surprise.

You didn’t press him for further information and gingerly licked the tip of his cock.

“S-shit,” Ravn groaned and held onto your hair tightly. You were shocked to find out his action thrilled you. You glanced up to see his eyes half-shut. You wrapped your lips around his length and did your best to bring him as much pleasure as he’d given you. He whimpered beneath your touch, which would have caused you to smirk if your mouth wasn’t so full. You moved your head up and down, aiming at fastening your pace and it wasn’t long before he warned you that he was close and that you might want to pull away. However, you had quite different intentions and stayed put, swallowing every last drop of him.

“You look like a vision,” Ravn told you.

You blushed and giggled simultaneously because you very much doubted the validity of his statement.

“I’m literally a mess right now,” you pointed out.

“But you’re mine,” Ravn responded, the hint of possessiveness making you feel more desired and needed than ever. “You’re my beautiful mess.”

To be continued…

[m-y-fandoms]

Rantarou Amami x Ultimate Writer - FLUFF

Request: Hi! Your writing is incredible ^^ I was wondering if you could write Rantaro with an Ultimate Essay Writer s/o, maybe comforting them when they're up late writing? I hope that's okay, and thank you :D

Hey! Sure I can do this! But, I wanna make it just the Ultimate Writer. I’m an english writing major myself IRL, and I have to write essays, non-fiction, emails, resumes, letters, instructional guides, graphic novels, fiction, poetry etc. so they will definitely have essay-writing skills anyway. Ultimate Writer just makes it easier. I hope you don’t mind :) - Admin Kokichi

     "Nnnn!" You gritted your teeth in frustration, "NNNGGHH!" Your arm was stretched to its extent, reaching up with all your might. The shelf above was just out of reach. Your fingertips scraped against the spine of the thick brown book above you, but strain as you might, it wasn’t budging, firm and snug against the others on the shelf. "Gah!" You puffed in anger, clenching your fists. Why did the books you wanted from the basement library always have to be so high up? You needed this particular text as a reference for your next piece. 

     It was going to be a throwaway letter, a confession written to express your feelings then set them free by burning it later. It didn’t matter, really, what you wrote at this point. Anything to get your mind off of all of… this. In this killing game, your writing was the only thing that brought you comfort. You stayed up every night scrawling until your wrist cramped up. Your Monopad had a notes section to type in, but you much rather stick to the traditional ways. The lack of sleep and endless output of creative thought was starting to weigh on you, and now it looked like you weren’t even getting this damn book today, “Man, this blows…” You sighed deeply. "AH!" You jumped, startled when a large, ring-clad hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, bracelets jangling in your ear. Soon, you felt someone's broad chest against your back. The hand grabbed the book you wanted and brought it down. You turned around with your hand on your chest, still a little jumpy. "Oh, phew… Rantarou, it's just you."

      "Yeah,” he chuckled gently, “here ya go Y/N." There stood your crush, the rich playboy with a heart of gold. You felt your cheeks go warm. He was often in the library, and you relished every moment you got to spend glancing over your shoulder at him while we has up to his usual antics of planning traps or researching new ways to interrogate your classmates until someone was spooked into admitting their position as the mastermind. Once in a while, he would read for pleasure, and at first you felt like an asshole for being surprised by that. You judged him too early on, seeing a flawless face and a suave personality and assuming he would be the popular kid archetype you’d seen in many an awful young adult novel. The more you got to know him, the more he revealed himself to be highly intelligent, well-rounded, considerate, empathetic, and extremely attractive.

     "Thanks, Rantarou," you looked down, placing the book under your arm.

     "No problem… it's not everyday I get to do something useful for someone else here," he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. You laughed too, looking him up and down. 

      “That’s not true!” you countered. “You’re always helping us all out. You give great advice, too!”

      “Well, I try to help, but I’m sure it hasn’t escaped everyone’s notice that none of my plans have really... taken off,” he gestured, moving his hand in a soaring-upward motion. “Also, with me not rememberin’ my talent and all… I kinda have become the expendable background character, yeah?” His eyes crinkled closed with a kind smile.

      He laughed again to fill the silence of the dark, empty library. You giggled. You always thought it was cute how could be so humble, looking the way he did, sounding the way he did. He had been that way ever since you’d met him, and are far as you were concerned, it seemed genuine. You couldn’t really trust anyone in this killing game, but you trusted Rantarou. Even in the library past midnight, where no one would know if you ended up dead, you trusted Rantarou.

      "Sorry, I uh, I didn't mean to scare you," he leaned against the bookcase, arms crossed.

      "Nah, it's fine. You helped me out, so I forgive you..." You joked, playfully punching his shoulder. He smiled a bit sheepishly, an expression you didn’t see often in the confident male.

      "Yeah I… haha," He fiddled with a book nearby," I didn't think anyone would be here. I always come at night. Surprisingly, it's pretty boomin’ here during the day, so I come later on to avoid the hassle of a crowded space." You understood completely. Rantarou was always secretive about his plans.

      “I know, I see you here sometimes,” you mused.

      “Oh, really? I usually sit behind the back shelves, so I guess i didn’t notice you. You’re pretty quiet, huh? Maybe I should be watchin’ my back for you, huh?” He snickered

      "I was having the same thought, isn't that weird?" He looked at you with alarm. “I’m kidding!” To that, he relaxed a bit. "So, watcha reading?"

      "Oh, um," He gestured behind him to the aforementioned back shelf "I’m set up back there reading. It's just some old, boring, textbook information on one of the small countries I’ve visited. I thought it'd be interesting, but..."

      "Yeah, sounds like it," You looked at him with genuine interest, and he smiled in appreciation.

      "Wait, really?!"

      "Yeah, why wouldn't it be? I think it’s super cool that you’re well-traveled. I guess that’s why you and Korekiyo get along so well, huh?" His feet shuffled in silent excitement at your shared enthusiasm. He bit his lip playfully, and your eyes grew shiny in admiration. He was so adorable.

      He noticed your change in expression and coughed, frowning a little in embarrassment. You tried to change the subject, to make him comfortable again.

      "H-hey, Rantarou?"

      "Hmm?" He looked up from the ground eagerly.

      "You're gonna be up reading all night, right? Well.. I will be, too, and... it’s harder for someone to kill us with four eyes on the lookout..."

      "Yeah?"

      "So, you wanna maybe sit with me here at my table? The vents reach this side of the library better so it’s a bit warmer... haha, it's... it's kinda cold in here," You pulled your uniform’s turtleneck tighter around yourself, shaking a little. Rantarou immediately accepted. He wasn’t about to pass up an invitation from his crush.

     “Hell yeah, sounds great! I’ll go grab my stuff, but, hey, I’ve noticed I hardly ever see you in the dorms… you know you gotta sleep, right?” He had a concerned look on his face, and your heart of course fluttered at his attention to detail and knowledge of your habits, but you didn’t want him worrying about you when he had his own safety to look out for.

      “Well, I appreciate the concern, but I’d much rather spend time with you than be in my dorm alone worrying.” He seemed to blush at your words, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far, until he agreed, and rushed over to grab his reading material.

~

      You sighed deeply, a yawn slipping out once or twice. At least two hours had passed since you and Rantarou set up your little corner and there he still sat, in the wooden chair across from yours, never looking up at you from his book. A peaceful, relaxed look glazed his face. He had been that way almost the whole time, but you could sense him becoming a bit antsy. Maybe he was just tired?

      You were both fast readers, so by now you had already read the best sections of your own books and switched. He now sat reading the yellowed pages of the book you selected: an eclectic compilation of 16th century romance literature, and you were now five chapters into his text on the different ethnic groups of some far-off land.

      “Hmm… heh,” he shook his head amusedly.

      “What?” Your head shot up anxiously, fearing he was judging your choice of genre.

       “It’s just... some of this is extremely cheesy and cliche. You’d think the old masters would have done a little better.” He lifted the book in a referencing gesture.

      “Ah, yes, I noticed that as well. I was hoping for a little inspiration, but… it seems Monokuma isn’t the best curator of quality literature.” He nodded in agreement, seemingly stuck on a thought. You could see him stare into space for a second before continuing.

      “Inspiration for what… may I ask?” He pressed, waiting with bated breath for your reply. You felt your feathers start to ruffle, the borders of your comfort zone being invaded by the enemy. You didn’t know if you should answer honestly. The letter was a throwaway for a reason…

      “I was going to write a letter…” it slipped out, and you quickly regretted it. Apparently, your brain had decided to take the lead for you. You never recalled yourself being so forward or brave.

      “Why do you need sonnets and romance novels to write a letter? Planning to sweet talk Monokuma into freeing us?” He chuckled somewhat teasingly, but his haughty words slowly faded to silence upon noticing the wet shine in your nervous eyes, the way your fingers played with the corner of the book as a distraction for your discomfort.

      “No…” You coughed, clearing your throat. Rantarou looked away, running a hand through his green shaggy locks. He knew what the letter was for, of course, who it was for. He was a bit nervous, too, eager to play off the tension in the room with humor, but it wasn’t working. He was wondering why you were so apprehensive, so sullen at his inquiry. You two flirted almost every day… did you seriously need to worry about his reaction? Did you think he didn’t like you back? “I-It’s… well it was going to be a um… a confession of sorts… just to get my feelings down on paper and off my chest. Then I was gonna burn it afterward to set those feelings free!” You smiled weakly, betraying your lack of confidence.

      “Nah, you should give it to him- them!” He corrected himself, dropping the most obvious hint he could. You still didn’t look convinced, a bit oblivious.

      “Y-you think so?”

      “For sure, no doubt. Whoever that letter is meant for,” he leaned in to you, clasping his calloused hands around yours. You felt your heart skip a beat at the contact, and you were left speechless, fearing any words spoken now would come out as idiotic babbling, “they are gonna love it. Trust me.” His eyebrows rose with emphasis, and he shot you one of his iconic, heart-melting smiles.

[ohpedromypedro]

Tense

A/N: Before you read, let me just warn you that fic is unlike anything I’ve written before because there is an alternate ending. There are two ways this fic can go and it’s all based on your choice on an outfit that is important to the fics plot, which you will see later as you read. Depending on your choice, you can either keep reading this fic or click the link that will take you to the alternate ending (or you can read both, that’s cool too). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, it took me almost a week to get all of this written. 🙃

This one’s for you, @snazzyjazzy6​ 💕

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Pedro Pascal x aspiring actress!Reader

warnings: Can I just say everything and leave it at that? 😩 SMUT obviously, swearing, jealousy, slight possessive Pedro (the good possessive, not the unhealthy possessive), dom themes, blowjob, creampie, Papi kink, etc etc I could go on.

You were 25 when you got the call from your talent agency telling you that there’s a Hollywood actor looking to personally mentor a wannabe actor/actress and immediately you signed up for the “position”, taking it as a huge opportunity in bringing you closer to becoming a Hollywood actress, probably your life’s biggest dream, so you were not going to let it slip away. When you found out which actor was going to be personally mentoring you in the acting world, you nearly fainted. Pedro fucking Pascal himself was going to be your mentor and all those little celebrity crush feelings you had for him that have been building over the years come flooding right through you, the feeling almost too indescribable. Immediately you realized that you are probably the luckiest girl on the whole planet and oh, how much fun with Pedro you’re going to have.

Pedro knew the day he met you for the first time that mentoring you was not going to be easy. It’s not that you’re a bitch or one of those annoying, snooty rich girls only looking for fame for narcissistic reasons and not for money since you’re already rich, which has been seen before, many times. No, you? You make things difficult because you’re perfect, attractive in every possible way, especially with those sexy little outfits you decide to saunter around in sometimes, and you’re outright down to Earth. Your personality is positive, almost bubbly, but it’s the way your features brighten every time something makes you smile or laugh that makes it harder for Pedro not to fall even more for you than he already had the day you first met. And oh, that laugh, how he loves to make you laugh just so he can listen to it.

The fact that you’re half Pedro’s age makes the situation even harder, for him at least. He’s into you, really into you, but he can’t find it in himself to take advantage of you in any way since you’re still so young. Would you consider it being taken advantage of? No. But does he know that? Also no. Not only that, but Pedro genuinely believes there’s no way you’d want someone twice your age, let alone him. Oh if only he knew what goes on in that head of yours every time you’re in his presence...your little fangirl fantasies of him taking you from behind over the nearest surface while praising in your ear how talented of an actress you are going to be thanks to him, how you’ll be the hottest Hollywood couple one day. The thought makes you wet.

You enjoy every minute spent with Pedro, though. You love how passionate he is about helping you to better your acting skills and love even more how comforting he can be when you can’t quite get a scenario down which gets you close to  tears because you feel like a failure. He’s patient with you, understands that you can’t always get things down right away, practice does make perfect after all, especially in the film industry and you’re extremely grateful he cares enough to be patient with you. Your acting lessons aren’t the only thing that Pedro needs to be patient with, though. There’s more to your building relationship than just the lessons and mentoring.

You’re together almost always, Pedro having decided early on in his choice to start mentoring someone that he’ll have them travel with him, give them a feel of Hollywood ahead of time, so being in your presence and witnessing first hand your nonstop beauty and what he thinks to be unintentional teases drives him almost insane in the patience department. There’s only so much a man can take. What he thinks are unintentional teases though, are actually the most intentional teases you’ve ever committed. You want to reel him in, for him to finally admit the feelings he’s been too afraid to confess. You see the way Pedro looks at you, eye fucks you any time you wear one of your mini skirts and it has you wondering why he hasn’t made a move on you yet. Perhaps you need to try a little better…

And you do. You put together an outfit that you know will get Pedro to stop holding back, to finally admit the way he feels for you, and well put together your outfit is.

a/n: here is where the choice comes in.

option 1:

for this choice, you continue reading. 

option 2, which I put together myself specifically for this alternate ending:

For option 2, if you prefer that option instead, you will click on the link attached above.

*option 1 continuation*

Today you’re joining Pedro at a studio where he will be doing a photoshoot for a magazine interview. As his guest, you get to sit back and watch from behind the scenes while the crew goes to work in capturing Pedro’s beauty and perfection. You knew today would be the perfect day to wear the outfit you put together, finally able to get your master plan to work.

What you weren’t expecting was for one of the lighting crew members to hit on you the whole time, leaning in a little too close to you, even making a comment about how nice your outfit looks on you but would look even better on his bedroom floor. It ticks Pedro off to no end, but makes you extremely grateful because now you know judging by the many looks Pedro burns into the poor unknowing guy that today you may finally get what you’ve been so desperately wanting. A confession. But oh, how more than a confession you will get.

On the ride back to the hotel after Pedro finishes his photoshoot for the mag, he’s tense. Hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes to calm himself. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen, but a side that doesn’t scare you. You can tell he’s inwardly fighting with himself, the words the lighting crew member said to you on repeat in his head. He had heard the guy loud and clear, wanted to jump on him and knock his ass out then and there, but he had work to take care of and couldn’t take the risk of ruining it over jealousy.

“Pedro…” You murmur as soothing as you can, reaching out to gently rest your hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re tense.”

“I’m--” he sighs, shaking his head. “Can we get back to the hotel first?”

“Oh, sure. Of course.” You bite your lip, sitting in silence the rest of the way to the hotel while occasionally throwing side glances his way.

You wish you could read his mind, to hear what’s going through his head at this very moment, but you know that with patience and due time you will find out and you’ll for sure be satisfied with the outcome.

Finally after what feels like hours, even though it was only a good 20 minute drive back, you reach the hotel you’re staying at and Pedro immediately parks the car and turns the engine off, staring silently at the dashboard for a few moments before turning his head to look in your direction. He opens his mouth to speak, but can’t form any words for what he has to say. Finally he just sighs and gives his head a small shake.

“We’ll talk inside.”

“Okay,” you give him an understanding smile, reaching over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling back so you can open your door and get out, Pedro following suit right after you.

The two of you head straight for the elevator to bring you up to your adjoined rooms in the hotel, the ride up to your floor increasingly painful for Pedro because he just wants to grab you right here and now and pull you into a kiss you will never forget, but he knows he has to wait until you’re both in the safety and privacy of your rooms, just in case.

Once you reach your doors, you give each other a “see in you a sec” smile before scanning your room keys and walking into your rooms. Once the door to your room is closed, you immediately start walking to the door adjoining your rooms together, Pedro right there with you. Before you can even get a word out, he’s grabbing you by the face and pulling you in for a deep, almost possessive kiss, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

“Pedro,” you gasp as you kiss him hard in return, your hands sliding up his chest before slipping behind his neck where you gently card your fingers through his hair, smiling when he hums at the feeling. “What made you cave?” You murmur once you pull back from the kiss, moving to press your forehead against his.

“Meaning?” He hums, meeting your gaze.

“What made you finally decide to give in to your feelings toward me?”

“You knew?”

“Duh, why do you think I’ve been so desperate to get your eyes on me? I want you to feel that way.”

“Wait...you were intentionally dressing in clothes that you know I’d like?” He smirks, his hand coming up to grab your jaw. “And what about this outfit? Did you wear this one for me or that pathetic little lighting guy?”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, biting your lip at his sudden grip to your jaw. Oh how wet you have become in a matter of two seconds.

“I said,” he tightens his grip on your chin, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the end of your bed and keeping your gaze locked on his while he moves forward. “Did you wear this for me or for the pathetic little lighting guy?”

“For you, Pedro.” You murmur. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous of some lighting guy?” You move to sit on the foot of the bed, Pedro’s grip still firm on your jaw as you look up at him. “I only want you, Pedro.”

“Yeah?” He grins, moving to drop in front of you so he can be at eye level with you, his thumb moving to brush along your bottom lip. “You know what my favorite part about practicing lines with you is?”

“N-no?”

“Your lips... I love watching the way they move so fluidly when you speak, how they tug into a wide grin when something brings you joy or amuses you. And you know what else?” He hums, tracing his thumb along your bottom once more before pressing it against your parted lips.

“Wh-what?” You whisper, darting your tongue out to touch his thumb.

“I always imagine how beautiful they would look wrapped around my cock.”

“Please,” you nearly moan out your words, which Pedro immediately catches onto.

“Yeah you want that? My cock in your mouth?” He pushes his thumb into your mouth, groaning in delight as you immediately start sucking on it while giving your head a nod, your eyelashes batting as you continue keeping your gazes locked on one another’s. “What an obedient little thing you are...aren’t you?”

“Mmmm yeah…” You pull his thumb from your mouth, moving forward to kiss him hard while you drop one of your hands to palm him through his pants. “Need your cock so bad, Pedro. Please.”

Pedro groans and immediately pulls away so he can stand up and start undoing the buckle of his belt, his button and zipper soon following suit. He studies your face as he pulls his cock free, the way your eyes light up in delight at the sight of him sending relief right through his core and you can’t help but to lick your lips with a pleased smile. He bites his lip, closing the space between you until his cock is inches from your face and gripping it in one of his hands.

“You like what you see?”

“Fuck yes. Just as big as I imagined you to be...” You immediately dip your head to lick a long stripe along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a pleased groan from his throat. “You like that?” You smile, doing it again, but this time ending with your lips wrapped around his touch starved cockhead, gently sucking and swirling your tongue around it in circles.

“Fuck.” He grunts, dropping his hand to grab at your hair and clench it tightly between his fingers. “This mouth is mine to fuck and mine to fuck only, got it?”

“Mmmhmmm…” You hum around him, groaning when he suddenly pushes his cock right toward the back of your throat, your eyes rolling back as you gag around him. He starts forcing your head back and forth on his length using his grip on your hair, a smirk tugging at his lips when you start bobbing on your own and taking him even further down your throat.

“Look at you, taking that cock down your throat so well. Fuck,” he growls, watching with lust blown pupils as you suck him off, one of your hands gripping at his thighs while the other slips beneath the fabric of your skirt to start rubbing your clit. You deepthroat him once more before pulling off him with a gasp and a moan, your gaze set on his.

“I want you inside me.” 

“Yeah? You want this big cock in your pretty little pussy?” He smirks, tugging you up by your hair and into a searing kiss, his freehand slipping beneath your skirt to feel your wetness. He groans when he feels not only how drenched you are for him, but also how you lack panties. “So drenched and ready...and all for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your hips grinding against his hand. “Please…”

“I’m going to fuck this soaked little pussy of yours and I’m going to fuck it so well that you’ll never want another cock in your life.”

“I-I don’t want any other cock, I want yours. Please?” You chew your lip, moving to lay back on the bed so you can spread your legs wide, your glistening folds beckoning Pedro in. “My pussy is all yours.”

Pedro immediately crawls on top of you, his hands forcing your legs wider apart so he can smoothly thrust his cock into you in one swift motion, your head falling back with a long moan. You instinctively squeeze your walls around him at how painful the stretch is, but soon the pain subsides and pure pleasure takes its place.

“Fuck,” you curse together, Pedro’s fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls back and pushes forward again, deeper this time. “You have the t-tighest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

“Please c-claim my pussy...”

“Yeah?” He growls, hitting harder into your womb, one of his hands coming up to grab your throat, not yet squeezing. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Y-yours, Pedro!” You gasp when he suddenly squeezes your throat, your lips parting with a choked moan. He moves his lips to your ear and lets out a displeased sigh, continuing his deep and hard thrusts.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Y-yours?” you whimper, meeting his gaze when he pulls back to look at you again, hand still around your throat.

“Yours who?”

“Ped--”

“Try again, bebita.”

“P-Papi?” You gasp, biting back a moan at the pet name, and loving that he wants you to call him Papi.

“Buena niña. Now tell me again, whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, Papi! It’s all yours! A-all yours to fuck and fill...” You moan out, each deep, hard thrust he makes deepening the pitch of them. You can feel the coil in your stomach slowly begin to burn, your gaze still locked on Pedro’s. “I want to cum on your cock, please.”

“That close already? Is Papi fucking you that good?” He teases, dropping his hand to rub circles on your clit.

“Mmm yeah… S-so fucking good!” You whine, bucking your hips against his thumb when it makes contact with your clit. “Please d-don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he hums, moving his hand from around your throat so he can bury his face into your neck, pressing kisses from just beneath your jaw toward the shell of your ear. “Been wanting you since the day we first met…knew immediately that I made the right choice in starting to mentor again the moment I laid eyes on you… Such a beautiful...talented young girl.” He murmurs in your ear, gently nibbling at your earlobe while keeping his thrusts steady. You moan, loud. “But I didn’t think you’d go for someone like me. Someone...older.”

“Pedro…” Your murmur of his name comes out as a moan, your arms moving to slip around his neck so you can card your fingers through his hair as he continues fucking you closer to your release. “T-twice my age is n-not that much older... Fuck,” you groan deeply, your hands moving to cup his face. “I’ve wanted you long before we even met,  Pedro. When I found out you were going to be my mentor, I just about came in my panties.”

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect.” He laughs softly, genuinely, closing the space between your mouths and kissing you deeply, his thumb on your clit rubbing faster circles. “Cum for me, Y/N. Want to feel you drench each inch of this cock.”

“Gods, yeah!” You cry into the kiss, the combination of Pedro’s thrusts, clit rubs, and words sending you over the edge and into your orgasm, your walls clenching tight around his cock and eliciting a deep groan from his throat.

“Fuck, yes, squeeze Papi’s cock just like that, bebita…” He grunts, moving his lips to kiss at the shell of your ear. “Where do you want--”

“Deep inside of this pussy, Papi… Claim me.”

He immediately moves back to kiss you hard, his pace in thrusts picking up so he can easily coax himself toward his release, his fingers digging hard into your thighs while you both let out moans, his cock twitching and sending thick ropes of cum deep into your womb.

“Fuck,” he groans, kissing you with more passion now rather than possession, every feeling he has toward you poured into it. “You’re perfect.” Kiss. “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss. “And absolutely talented.”

“Pedro...” you moan into the kiss, letting out a quiet whimper when he pulls his length out of you.

He watches as his cum leaks from your whole, swiping it up with two fingers before it reaches the fabric of your skirt and pushing it back into your fucked hole.

“Are you on--”

“Birth control? Yeah,” you smile, slowly moving your hands to gently cup his face. “But eventually, if it’s something you’d want...I won’t have to be on birth control…”

Pedro grins wide at that, leaning into your touch to his face, his own hands moving to rub along your sides. 

“I wish I’d had the guts to admit how I feel for you sooner… If I had known you felt the same…”

“I love you,” you murmur, his face lighting up even more just hearing those words leave your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N. So much. And when I saw and heard that guy hitting on you earlier, the jealousy just...raged through my body. I would have loved our first time to be more...passionate, but--”

“Pedro, it was absolutely the best sex I’ve had in my entire life and I’m only going to be 26. Honestly?” You bite your lip, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re just...the sweetest, most caring and protective man I’ve ever met. You’re more talented than I could ever dream to be, you’re the best mentor a dreamer like me could ever ask for, and you’re extremely patient with me when I’m on the verge of a break. I honestly think you understand me more than anyone else I know… I don’t want anyone but you.”

Pedro smiles at that, leaning back and pulling you with him, settling you on your knees while his arms hold you against him from around your waist. You look up at him to meet his gaze with a bite of your lip, your hands rubbing over his chest before slipping around his neck.

“Let’s make it official then.” He murmurs. “We can keep it on the down low for now, if you’d like. You know how the paparazzi get with celebrity couples.”

“Who knows, maybe they already suspect something. I mean, you are mentoring a wannabe Hollywood actress half your age…” You smirk, giving his lip a gentle nibble.

“You’re not wrong there… Alright, yeah. Let’s announce it. But, I’ll do it through Instagram and it’s going to be the most romantic post I’ve ever put.”

“I can’t wait to read it,” you giggle, elated by the fact that Pedro Pascal is finally yours as you are finally his.

 Pedro taglist: @manuphantom @unadulteratedneckherolover @luna-longbott0m @hanelijoy @anoushkina​ @lireandcampfire

Everything: @halefirewarrior​ @takemepedropascal​ @wildcard566​ @readsalot73​ @talesfromtheguild​ @snazzyjazzy6​ @oberynispunk​ @whiskeyxinxaxteacup​ @pedrosdoll​

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER TEN - illicit affairs 

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter 

word count: 2k

warnings: slight mention of alcohol as a coping mechanism

a/n: sorry about the glitch !! here’s the new chapter x

“take the road less travelled by, tell yourself you can always stop. what started in beautiful rooms, ends with meetings in parking lots.”

It had been one whole month since they’d first kissed. The working weeks had gone by slowly -the first few cases had been local, they had all night to spend wrapped up in each other. The smell of her perfume filtered through his apartment, almost as if it always belonged there. Her pillows smelled of his cologne. They belonged to one another. At last.

They hadn’t intended on telling the team, not until they’d actually considered the whole ‘what-are-we?” conversation. However, she was certain that Spencer was forever. He always had been.

From nights spent in both their apartments and small dates outside of town were all they ever needed. Less of a chance to run into anyone from work, he would assure her as they drove an into D.C. Soon enough, small restaurants around D.C became their safe haven when they got the chance. She knew Spencer preferred home-cooked meals though, but she never said anything when he would stop her before they left work to let her know he’d pick her up soon.

The cases away were harder - no chances to sneak from one hotel room into another, nor were there chances to grab dinner between the two of them. She was frustrated. This case in Tampa wouldn’t let up and all she wanted was to be around him.

That’s how she ended up in the parking lot of the Tampa P.D, her back pressed up against their SUVs, waiting for her coffee. He turned the corner and her whole body lit up, pulling the coffee cup out of his hands.

“Woah, someone’s eager then!” He laughed.

“Shut up. I’m tired - you have no idea what rooming with JJ is like,” giving him a dirty look, she continued, “Anyways, why did you call me out here?”

It was so quiet she almost missed it.

“Pardon?” She took a sip of her coffee.”

“I just missed you.”

Cupid pulled his arrow and fired, straight into her heart.

“Spencer…”

“It’s stupid I know but I-“

She goes to protest but he stops her.

“You know we could just ask Hotch if we could pair together on the next case?”

“Spencer, you know we can’t.” Her eyes are soft, not with pity but sadness. She just wants to hold him.

“Would it be so bad if they knew?”

She paused.

“So you think it would be a bad idea then?”

“No, god no. I just don’t want anything to change.”

He gives her a perplexed look.

“It’s just… the paperwork, the stress, long nights, HR, and the rest of the team. I just don’t want them to treat us any differently.”

He slips his arm around her shoulder and meets her gaze.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference.”

She laughs, “Why are you quoting Robert Frost to me in a parking lot?”

“Because… this is not something that we can compromise on.”

There’s weight in his words.

“We either decide whether or not this, us, is worth fighting for. Sure, telling the team may be the road that few have decided upon but would you simply give up on us just because?”

She reaches for his cheek, brushing her fingers over his blush-stained cheeks.

“Okay. The road less travelled is our road then.”

He smiled and nothing in her life could ever compete with the beating of her heart and the happiness that followed them as they walked hand in hand.

He was forever.

“and that’s the thing about illicit affairs,

and clandestine meetings and longing stares.

it’s born from just one glance,

but it dies and it dies,”

It was cold when she started working at the Bureau, she could never forget it. She had wrapped herself up in her royal blue knitted scarf her grandmother gave her when she turned 16 - a small, juvenile good luck charm she kept close to her.

It also protected her from her new colleagues having to see her shiver from the cold.

Pulling it tighter around her neck as she walked into the conference room, she saw him. He sat around the roundtable, sat beside Morgan and JJ. He didn’t look up when she walked into the room but as soon as Hotch announced the newest recruit his head shot up.

His eyes met hers and her entire world shifted. Something inside her changed when she looked at him.

Her first thoughts were that he was beautiful, criminally so.

Then he started to talk and she could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into wonderland.

She was sitting at her desk when he first directly introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” She looked up at the soft voice.

“Ah, umm, Garcia told me you were the resident genius. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” She gave him a genuine smile, the first one she had given in a while.

“Well, I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute. However, I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately measured.”

She giggled at his deflection.

“Don’t deflect - you’re a genius. It’s cool.” She shot her hand out to shake his.

Watching him carefully, he hesitated and she knew.

“Germaphobe. I get it.”

His eyes brightened at her statement.

“How did you-“

“You hesitated. Most people would return the gesture. I understand though, handshakes pass twice as many germs as giving someone a high five. I only do it to be polite.” She explained

“Kissing is safer.” He blurted out.

She laughed, “What are you insinuating Spencer?”

“N-nothing!” He stumbled over his words. “It’s just scientifically proven that kissing does not pass as many-“

“Don’t worry about it! I was only joking.”

A moment of silence as he lets his eyes trail up and down her body, almost as if he was assessing her.

“Oh. Well, in that case, I wanted to tell you that you can bring your own mug for coffee or tea and to not take mine. They’re labelled, see?” He holds out his Star Trek adorned mug.

Her heart swelled thinking about his labelled coffee cups - ‘who is this man?’ she thought.

“Well, the more you know! Thank you, Spencer.” He turns to leave. “Although,” he turns back, meeting her eyes once more, “I have to say, I do prefer Star Wars myself.”

Derek passes as she says it, muttering a small “Here we go again…” before Spencer launches into the scientific inaccuracy of Star Wars.

As he spoke so passionately, she knew from that moment she had found her kindred spirit. She wanted to know how he took his coffee, his favourite meals, where he goes when he wants a moment alone, what his favourite constellation is, where he grew up, what his family was like. She wanted to know everything. Everything and more.

She could feel the school-girl crush rise within her but this time it was different. It wasn’t juvenile nor naive, no writing his name in red hearts at the side of her work planner. It was pure and sweet, the sound of his voice was a symphony she had never heard before and one she didn’t want to stop hearing.

For the first time, she felt it. That yearning to be close to someone, to hold them, to know them. For the first time, she wasn’t scared of it.

Weeks went by and she started to write down all the little facts he would drop, sometimes half facts if the team stopped him. She wanted to remember them all, even though she knew one day she would forget. The same with his notes, she kept them stored in a memory box she had been keeping since she was little.

Full of little mementos of her life as a child, seashell necklaces and keychains from her trips to her grandparents at Christmas, to her life as a teen, the band of her prom corsage and photo-booth pictures of her and friends from her past. It hadn’t been touched since she had graduated but something told her to store them away, keep them for a rainy day, for when she needed to smile.

One day her crush on Spencer was small, minuscule, telling herself not to hope for it to be returned and the next she felt herself falling.

She was in the middle before she knew she had even begun.

“look at this godforsaken mess that you made me, you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else.”

She felt like a fool, an idiot, to even believe he would come back.

Flicking through the notes he had written her, she knew she had burnt too many bridges. She smiled at the memories of her first days in the Bureau. She wonders about that scarf. Last place she remembers seeing it was in the back of her closet. She’d practically replaced it with the Doctor Who scarf Spencer had knitted and given her.

Looking down on the rest of the box, forgotten memories of her life pass her by like flickering candles in a dark room. The memories exist in her consciousness but they are not vivid. They are not as painful or as bright as the memories she shared with Spencer.

Her life shifted when she met him, she became Dorthy walking out of Kansas and into Oz when she was with him. The world was in bright technicolour. The world was her canvas and he was her paint, colours she had never seen before.

He was her muse. He was the blues and the purple-pink sunrises and sunsets. He was soft jazz playing on a late, misty Sunday afternoon when the sun is still in the sky but it’s low down, getting ready to melt into a dark night.

There was an unspoken element to their relationship, their own language; how he would drape his jacket over her on the rare chance she slept on the jet, how they would squeeze each other’s hands under the desk when a case hits home, or when he would squeeze her thigh when they drove back to either of their respective homes. It was the brush of his hand on the small of her back when they cooked together. It was the soft, longing looks that caught and knew long before she could ever call him, hers.

Her only regret was how the life they were building together ended. She can’t remember when the language they shared was forgotten but she wishes she could go back and change it. Everything else, however, she wouldn’t change for the world.

Her second glass of wine sat on the cabinet beside her. Untouched and completely still. She had drunk about half the glass. More than she would care to admit to anyone.

Alcohol was supposed to make her brave, fearless. Now, it only makes her feel numb. Something to ease the pain of watching him almost every day. She knows better to not make a habit of it. So she stops.

There were very few cars that passed by her apartment late at night. The hum of an engine pulling to a stop was familiar to her. Although, she knew it was probably just the young guy who lived in 2C. He was almost always coming home late but she wasn’t at her apartment long enough to know the patterns of her neighbours - duty always called.

She let Joni Mitchell’s sweet voice wash over her and took a sip of her wine.

‘Maybe I should look for that scarf.’ She thought.

Getting up for the first time in an hour or so, her legs creaked as she walked with the bottle of Rose and her glass in search of that scarf.

---

come chat to me about this chapter!! 

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes​ @toosassy2handle​@toosassy2handle​ @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​ @rexorangecouny​ @myheartbelongsintz @toizerdecker @baddestbau​ @haylaansmi​ @hess016 @blameitonthenight21​ @easygoingtheatre​ @rosyskies​ @caritobbg​ @kris-stuff​ @just-call-me-non​

[charlottemadison42]

On Good Omens and Faith

Here follow personal thoughts on what Good Omens has meant to me as an Exvangelical. There’s a lot of healing & hope here, but it gets a bit dark first, as worthy stories do.

CW: I wasn’t badly spiritually abused in church, but I’ll be discussing things that are spiritually abusive: purity culture, sexphobia, queerphobia, abortion, mild self-harm, failure to treat mental health appropriately, ableism -- plus the special ways church authority makes all of these especially hard.

I’m personally an atheist but this message is not an argument against faith itself, rather against the specific subculture I grew up in. If you are a person of faith you’re welcome here.

I grew up in the American Evangelical subculture of the 80′s and 90′s, in the Keith Green/DC Talk/Left Behind/Veggie Tales era. I got saved at a Carman concert in sixth grade, and re-pledged my faith just to be extra sure every year at summer camp and youth group retreats.

This upbringing is not unusual. Doesn’t make me special. But its effects were real.

I’m finally engaged in a reckoning with it, in the “I should maybe talk this over with a support group or therapist” sense. I was a worship leader and youth leader at a Vineyard church when I left my faith abruptly in 2007*. It took me ten years to tell my family and friends that I was an atheist. For that decade I didn’t think about it -- but when I confessed to my loved ones two years ago, the processing began in earnest.

If you came up Evangelical, you already know how literal our belief in angels and demons can be in certain strains of the church. Until I was 26, I believed they were real entities genuinely and invisibly at war all around me. The End Times were real and we were in them. The Antichrist was whatever high profile democrat could be weaponized at the moment, the Rapture was nigh, and Armageddon was imminent (which explained why tension kept building in the Middle East).

My church community regularly discussed friends and neighbors’ problems in the language of  demon possession or harrassment: depression was a demon, addiction was a demon, promiscuity was a demon. I was part of casual and formal exorcisms and the occasional healing. No holy water, but there were hours of fervent prayers and tears, speaking in tongues and anointing with oil. It’s like a fever dream looking back at it now.**

Shout out to my other teens and tweens of the Frank Peretti era, forbidden from reading books of fantasy any later than Lewis or Tolkein -- Xanth was forbidden, Hogwarts was demonic. We were given instead (retrospectively) horrifying books about spiritual warfare, Christian takes on historical fiction, and end times fantasies. But they weren’t sold as fantasy to us, it was all real. Adults in positions of power confirmed it over and over. Narnia might be allegory but This Present Darkness supposedly illustrated spiritual truths.

I remember telling a trusted church teacher at age 10 or 11 that sometimes I would get scared at night, in the dark, and feel a palpable terror that kept me awake. They told me with no hint of comfort, “That means a demon is visiting you and sitting on your chest, trying to oppress you with fear so you will sin. Don’t wake your parents or read a book, instead you should pray or read only the Bible until the demon is compelled to leave, either by an angel or the presence of God.” This adult was affirmed by amens and mm-hmms.

I took this teaching to heart. I also understood, by implication, that if the bad feeling stayed with me then I was praying wrong -- that no angel would rescue me that night. I knew that my fear as it compounded in the dark was itself a sin that made God harder for me to reach.

These are not things that should be told to children.

Then there were the prophecies. (read more if this resonates with you, if not I’ll clip it here so I don’t take up your whole screen)

Anyone could prophesy in most churches I attended. Dreams were prophecies, visions were prophecies, vague feelings were prophecies. (That gave nightmares / being hormonal / being really hungry an awful lot of sway at Bible study.)

I had a woman prophesy over me weeping, with her hands buried in my hair, that she felt overwhelming grief for my future child. I was 23.

I have no child, and I harbored the secret at the time was that I didn’t want one -- a rebellion for me as a married woman. I feared she was prophesying an abortion in my future, and I was inconsolable for months at the damning choice that would visit me someday. (As of this writing at age 38 I’ve never been pregnant, for which I give all thanks to modern birth control.) I still wonder what happened to that woman’s child, or pregnancy, or perhaps her desire for a child, that this was her prophecy for me.

I heard much darker things prophesied over other people. I remember career changes (ill-advised) and marriages staying together (they shouldn’t have) and mission trips undertaken (that assuredly should not have been) because of prophesies.

Last, of course, I didn’t know it yet but I had many queer friends at the time. Some of them didn’t know it. We had no context in our small town -- and no corners of the internet to hide in and learn context, because the internet didn’t do much more than access our local library catalog at the time. I was told that demons sat on my chest to oppress me as a child, but I was shielded from understanding what a lesbian actually was until I was sixteen.

I remember feeling vaguely guilty when we prayed over this or that person in youth group, entreating God that they could resist their base urges. We prayed that they could choose a life of abstinence if they had to, rather than enter sexual sin and be cast out. I felt guilty but I still joined the circle to pray.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. Part of me knew it at the time. I wish I had listened to that part of me because that it was correct. There are fragments of my former faith I still treasure, but those prayers were rotten to the core.

Sidebar: Luckily that feeling of guilt bloomed quickly into rejecting queerphobic doctrine. By age 20 I decided I could only attend churches that did not preach homophobic takes on scripture from the pulpit, and that did not advocate/imply advocacy for any particular political party. The reason I mention this: if YOU are currently a person of faith in this position, uncomfortable with what you hear from your leadership, go find a church that’s queer-affirming, gives to the poor, and advocates for immigrants. Live in a conservative area? Create or join a home church. That’s what the early church looked like anyway. Don’t shrug off this responsibility. Shine a light.

Anyway. Several years later, I fell.

I had to step down from multiple church leadership positions in one day. My entire life changed in two months; marriage, job, home, friends, everything uprooted when I could no longer pretend to believe. I didn’t tell my family why everything fell apart, even as they let me crash their couches.

I had wanted to be a good believer. I read apologetics, the mystics, eschatology, theophostics. I taught and attended study groups, I took troubled teens out to coffee, I served the homeless, I waited til marriage. I was in church as many as thirty hours weekly. When I first felt my faith slipping I said “not yet,” and I read the entire Bible straight through twice, in different translations, while journaling through “My Utmost for His Highest.” Then, unsatisfied, I read and annotated the New Testament in interlinear Greek. I gave it my everything.

What could replace all that?

Time, it turns out. And freedom.

Freedom to not think about it was perhaps the kindest freedom. The constant labor of self-evaluation and thought policing that goes into Evangelical Christianity is exhausting. Letting it go of it felt like getting my mind back. Or owning it for the first time, since I never knew this freedom before. I had even been seeking counseling because I was hearing multiple voices in my head at once, all mine, often arguing. That problem vanished the hour I deconverted. I heard only one voice anymore, and it was my own.

For ten years I was free to just not think about it.

When I decided to remarry I realized that I didn’t want to explain to anyone why my ceremony would not include prayers or communion. So I told my loved ones at last that I was an atheist, a decade late. They received it graciously, and I’m sure they had known-but-not-acknowledged it for a long time. I hope they don’t worry about me or pray behind my back for my salvation. But if they do I can’t accept responsibility for it anymore.

Since that confession I’ve finally felt compelled to back at what all actually happened in church. It seemed so normal to me at the time. But wait, it wasn’t:

I exorcised people. I laid on hands for healings. I encouraged episodes of religious rapture, falling out, and speaking in tongues, and as a worship leader I knew the music cues to bring them about (yes, there are certain chord and tempo changes for that). I was present for prophecies that changed people’s lives and might have issued some myself, I don’t remember. I alienated people who didn’t fit in, whether because they were queer or just because they didn’t conform to church culture. I witnessed abuse and had no language to report it or even comprehend it. I hurt people. I was hurt.

I was told there were real demons in my room and I had to pray them away all by myself.

The work of undoing this mindf*ck (sorry friends of faith, that’s how it felt) suddenly turned urgent after being ignored for a decade. I can’t afford therapy, but thankfully Twitter chats and message boards and podcasts exist (thank you, @goodchristianfun​ and @exvangelical​).

And then -- out of the blue -- along came my own personal angel and demon, along with Frances McDormand herself. I watched it on a whim. (Actually no, David Tennant’s hair made me.)

Apparently Good Omens had a few things to say directly to my mindf*cked subconscious:

1) Are you scared of demons in a pathological childhood trauma way? Here, have a helping of this amalgam of your favorite Doctor and scariest ever Marvel villain tearing it up as the demon Crowley.

2) Does your mild bookish personality and respect for the culture you grew up in keep you reflexively deferential to authority, even as it gaslights you and hurts others? Enjoy some Michael Sheen as the angel Aziraphale.

3) Are you stuck still mentally assigning a male gender to the god you always claimed was beyond gender? Boom, meet Her in all Her ineffable wisdom.

4) Are you terrified of the End Times, both as a Biblical horror of childhood and as an adult who reads the f*cking news? Let’s fantasize awhile about a solvable apocalypse (because what would that even look like, yo).

5) Do you keep reflexively binarizing good and evil? Still giving in to the temptation to characterize humans as righteous or fallen, especially celebrities and political prospects? Spend some time on Our Side with Adam, the utterly human Antichrist, as he makes choices that matter -- some goodish, some baddish, all with mixed consequences, because that’s what humans do.

6) Do you need more queer love stories in your life? Yes you do. Yes. YES. Here it is. The good stuff. Whether it’s gay, trans, genderfluid, asexual, agender, metaphysical, whatever (I’m enjoying reading all these takes and more on AO3) it’s a hell of a love story.

Good Omens was a f*cking revelation.

I’m not sure why the show hit me as hard as it did in the Exvangelical feels. It’s not that it’s a perfect show, but it was the right thing at the right time for me, and it brought a truck full of dynamite to the excavation I was just beginning with a trowel and a makeup brush. I finished watching ep 6 and thought “why do I feel like I’ll be thinking about this every single day for years?”

And then I looked down, and lo and behold I had an open chest wound -- inside of which I found the banished memory of a child trembling and praying in terror in a dark room.

There was a lot that I forgot about in the ten years it took me to hike away from Evangelical life. It all came rushing back.

I had forgotten the sweat and cries during exorcisms and the heat of laying on of hands. I had forgotten fits of ecstatic tears of self-hatred and self-denial so strong they were almost blissful, as I sang and chanted mantras like “I am nothing, You are everything.” I had forgotten giving away ten percent of my income until I was 26. I had forgotten the constant mental effort of Being A Proverbs 31 Woman, about submission and complementarianism and feeling responsible to guard the virtue of men by never tempting them. I had forgotten the pressure to not even masturbate before marriage and to become a sexual athlete the night after.

I had forgotten the hours and hours of daily prayers. Every phrase was carefully carved in language my superego ran by my doctrine, to make sure no hint of rebellion ever bled through. I washed words of need and doubt and frustration from my mind so they could never slip between me and my Heavenly Father. I didn’t just want to hide thoughts God wouldn’t like, I would have cut them out with violence if I knew how. As a result I picked and ticced and cut and exhibited symptoms of OCD.

It hurt to remember all of this at once during a BBC Amazon Prime miniseries. It confused me. It confused my spouse. I looked at all these feelings, exposed and piled in a massive dirty heap -- and I spotted the straps I used to haul it around with me for decades. Who knew I could carry all that? The weight of faith?

But I don’t have to pick it up again. I had a new story to help me frame my story. I felt equipped with a flaming sword to face my past and a new syntax to describe the old ideas I'm ready to let go of.

I got to recast Heaven and Hell. I was invited to ask myself whether a cozy cluttered bookshop doesn’t beat them both hands down.

I got to reimagine angels and demons, good and bad, intentions and consequences. I was invited to live in the reality that we’re all of us humans in between, and that I’m probably still overinvested in the value of Good and Bad as yardsticks.

I got to reimagine western history. The show’s perspective of history is very limited and Eurocentric, but it’s also the version of history I was taught at an early age, which made the story a useful lens to deconstruct what I learned before I knew much about critical thinking.

The opening of Episode 3 in particular f*cked me up. First Aziraphale lies to God and She vanishes, then Crowley starts poking holes in the story of the Flood, then at the Crucifixion -- I started breathing hard on my first viewing, experiencing a real physiological threat response. I was loving it, of course, but distressed panicky love.

The second time I watched it I realized what was happening: I was going back to Sunday School to revisit ideas I absorbed before I was fully sentient, and examining them in the light of fully formed adult secular morality. They look different from here.

When God withdraws Her presence from Aziraphale in the first few moments of Ep 3 as he prevaricates (well, lies) I remembered the one great fear of my faithful life: that I could sin a particular sin and as punishment I would be cut off from God’s presence. As a believer in the End Times, that meant the Rapture could occur at any moment and I might be rejected, be left behind to experience the Tribulation.

Now, from some remove, I realize that I always had one fear larger. It’s a thought I never allowed myself to entertain consciously. Good Omens unearthed it like a vein of flowing lava:

If the Apocalypse as my church describes it is real, how could God want it to happen? And if God does, is this a God I want to worship? If I don’t, but I’ll be damned for that, is my faith freely chosen?

Whose side could I really be on, in the End Times, if not Heaven’s or Hell’s?

These are not small questions.

I’m relieved that I answered them a long time ago for myself.

But even after the answering, there’s fallout; a million little knots to untie and ideas to unlearn. We all get to spend our lives doing this sort of archaeological dig through our childhood baggage, I suppose. My Stuff is certainly not unique. It’s just a lot. Same as everyone’s.

But once in awhile a story comes along and helps us with the process. A sharper spade, a better tool for the work. In my case, through Good Omens I received demolition-grade explosives. It gave me a framework, characters, and a personal shorthand to speed my own digging and contextualize what I find.

If your history is kinda like mine -- whether you’re still in the faith or not -- be sure to talk to someone about church stuff from your past. The weird stuff, the dark stuff, the things you did/people did to you that now seem “off.” Even if you’ve grown past the point of “mental illness requires an exorcism” there are still dangerous ideas buried like land mines in our moral matrices. Self-hatred, intolerance, fear of abandonment, fear that failure is damnation, presumption that “we’re” on the “right side” of everything and “they’re” not, fear that we the apocalypse Is Written by powers above and so we can’t change it.

I’m so happy I know a story with an Our Side now.

I’m so happy I know a story in which the true test of devotion to God’s Ineffable Plan is turning away from the dictates of Heaven and turning toward the World.

I’m so glad I met Aziraphale -- so like me, still seeking Heaven’s approval far too late in the game. I’m so grateful he found the courage to walk away, and I’m so glad I did too. I love that I know Crowley now, self-pwning lovelorn disaster demon of minor inconveniences and imagination and free will. I’m so happy Crowley was there to tempt his friend with questions from the start, and to receive him when he was finally ready to break away.

I’m so proud to know Adam and the Them and Anathema and Newt, inept humans trying their hardest against unstoppable cosmic forces, getting it right not just despite their flaws but through and because of them.

I’m so grateful I’ve finally managed to completely swap to female pronouns for God (thanks, Frances). I still love stories about Her, I still enjoy talking theology and religion. And after 20+ years of insisting God is above gender but masculinizing him, it’s about time I switch to thinking of God as Her for a spell to even things out.***

I’m so thankful for the nicest fandom I’ve known in ages and all the glorious queer beautiful amazing body-positive art and writing growing in this fabulous garden.

Confession accomplished.

CM

P.S. I might not have the time/resources you need to chat with you if you’ve had similar experiences or want to discuss. If you need help be sure to reach somewhere healthy to get it. If you witness abuse, online or in church or otherwise -- report it, block it, mute it, shut it down, whatever is in your power.

P.P.S. If you have words of rebuke for me from a churchy place, and/or critiques about gender or politics, sorry, don’t give a f*ck. This is my story to tell and I am secure in my spiritual status. I am free indeed.

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*Re. Deconversion: Or rather, I had my faith zapped out of me in what turned out to be the truest rapturous religious experience of my life. It happened in a church service; I almost fell out and spoke in tongues with the tingling power of understanding that I was truly and finally faithless. It’s an interesting deconversion story if you're familiar with charismatic church stuff, ask me sometime over tea. It felt like this.

**Re. Exorcisms: Most disturbing was the regular practice of exorcising people who clearly needed professional help for their mental health. I was present when prayers against demons happened over cases of depression, manic depression, epilepsy and other seizures, addiction, schizophrenia, and psychotic episodes. My particular church did acknowledge the role of modern medicine, but felt that the true core of these issues was spiritual and that medication ultimately could not solve a problem of demonic infestation. Looking back now I shudder and weep to think that this happened, that I was part of it once, and that it still happens daily at churches everywhere. It can be unspeakably damaging to the people being prayed over. If this practice happens in your church, leave. If it happens at a church where you’re in leadership, end it.

***Re. God as She/Her:  I encourage you to find your own appropriate pronouns for God, whether you believe in Them or not. For me personally, still reeling from the Proverbs 31 upbringing, She/Her is very healing for now. But gender is a construct etc. etc.