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sofwrites · 3 years

Note

for the prompt thing; polin + 41

41: sitting close and knees touching | Also my entry for Polin Week Day 3: Modern AU

A modern twist on Penelope finding out about Colin's journals

Themes: angst, yearning, teasing | Length: 2.3k

Read on ao3 or under the cut | masterlist

Thank you for requesting! xx

He hadn’t planned on telling anyone. He really hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them. And he really really hadn’t planned on anyone ever reading them.

The only reason Colin had even started keeping a journal was to remind himself that he was a real person on his travels- that he had the power to leave something permanent on earth. That he wasn’t completely wasting his time flitting from country to country- desperately trying to find some sort of purpose in his life.

Again, he hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them.

But one day he was painstakingly hiding his journals in a deep, hidden corner of his laptop, and the next, Penelope Featherington had found one. She’d found one then read. And somehow, she thought they were good. Actually good. Not I’m-only-saying-this-to-be-nice good.

And, sure, it had all happened by accident, but after some time, Colin was so incredibly thankful that it did.

He’d been hiding out in Eloise’s flat (Anthony had texted about wanting to meet that afternoon because- well, it didn’t matter really. The fact of the matter was that Colin had no desire to do so) when the buzzer rang.

He ignored it and continued to flip through the book in his hand.

But then it rang again. And again.

And on the fourth ring, Colin finally groaned and forced himself off of the sofa.

It was barely a second after his finger had reached the speaker that a loud, rather familiar-sounding shriek rang out. “Eloise!! Eloise! Please tell me you’re there!”

With a snort, Colin cut the voice off and buzzed them in. And in roughly a minute (an impressive feat considering that Eloise lived on the fifth floor), he saw a bouncing bit of red hair through the peephole and opened the door.

“Thank God, I really need-” Penelope froze mid-step in the frame as her eyes traveled up to reach Colin’s face. For a moment, she just stared, her mouth parted open. And then she swallowed and gave a quick shake of the head.

With a slightly forced smile, she nodded and swept past him, looking around as she went towards the sitting room. “Is Eloise in?”

“She’s not,” Colin answered flatly as he casually leaned against the closed door. He kept an impressively blank expression as Penelope haphazardly rifled through Eloise’s desk, roughly blowing a few loose curls out of her face. “Looking for something?”

Penelope either missed or simply ignored the teasing tone as she frantically moved her search to the sofa cushions. “Did she leave her laptop here?”

“Don’t think so. Though I’m not entirely sure- all she told me was to try not to empty her entire fridge.”

Normally, that would have elicited Colin a laugh or an amused smile, but all Penelope did was let out a groan. A groan that bizarrely caused his stomach to flip. He glanced away from her, clearing his throat. ”Erm- but if you need a laptop, I do have mine.”

Penelope looked up at him with such sharpness that it caught him a bit off guard. “You do? Can I borrow it?”

He blinked at her for a moment, but quickly nodded and motioned to his bag near her feet. He’d barely muttered a “Course” before she’d already retrieved and set it on the table.

“Oh, password’s-” Colin balked for a second, his mouth still open. He’d never told anyone his password before, and it felt… Odd. Unnerving to give away such a private piece of information. But Penelope was looking up at him again, eyes huge and slightly feral, antsy fingers hovering over the keys. He rubbed the back of his neck before mumbling, “GregorySux. With an x.”

The tips of Penelope’s fingers froze as the corner of her mouth twitched, but she bit her lip as she looked down to type.

“He kept hacking into it,” Colin said in an attempt to justify himself.

She seemed so focused on the screen that he thought she hadn’t heard him, but, almost absentmindedly, Penelope said, “Don’t think it’s hacking if your password is literally Password.”

He gaped at her. “I can’t believe Eloise told you!”

This time, Penelope just shrugged in response, her attention completely taken away. The only sounds that filled the room were those of her lightning-quick typing.

He stood there for a moment, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as he watched her fingers work. And then he cracked his neck before nodding. “Right, I’ll give you a minute…”

And as he reached Eloise’s toilet, it occurred to Colin he’d never before been alone with Penelope- not really. He’d known the girl for over a decade, but they’d never really been friends. They were friendly and had spent a decent amount of time together, but there’d never been a real closeness, definitely not one where they could spend a casual afternoon hanging out.

But Colin had never had trouble with finding the right words to say, so it shouldn’t be different with Penelope, right?

He’d asked her about work- that was safe. And maybe how her recent trip with Eloise and Frannie had been- also another safe topic. After that, it’d be no trouble.

But when he reentered the hallway, Colin immediately noticed how quiet it had suddenly gotten- the air completely absent of any hasty typing. Silently, he peered inside the sitting room.

Penelope was still hunched over his laptop, her mouth parted slightly as she stared at the screen. The only movement of her hands was to scroll, but her eyes were running across the screen at an inhuman speed. He watched her for a moment, the corner of his mouth rising unconsciously as her lips mouthed a few words.

He felt intrigued.

Not intrigued by her- of course. But rather intrigued by what had entranced her so much that she couldn’t dare peel her eyes from the computer.

She didn’t react as he crept behind her, looking over her shoulder to see the screen. The brightness was a bit lowered, but he could see a Word document. He leaned a bit closer, eyes squinting as he read a random line.

Imagine you’re at a party, feeling weightless and invincible-

Wait- he recognized those words.

Colin’s eyes flew to the title of the page, which very clearly read, Italy, 09/03/19.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Penelope yelped at the sudden noise, turning her head so quickly that her forehead made contact with Colin’s nose.

“OW!”

And that was how it had all started. A frantic Penelope, a trip to the toilet, an accidentally minimized Word document, and a (luckily) not broken nose.

He’d been angry at first… Well, really, he’d been fairly livid about the entire thing. Not because he was necessarily mad at Penelope, who had accidentally opened the tab initially, but rather because he felt… Embarrassed. It was embarrassing having one’s little sister’s best friend accidentally come across their greatest secret.

But even though he wanted to forget and pretend it all had never happened, Penelope had been unrelenting. After an assurance that what she read had been good, she’d practically demanded that he let her read through the rest of his work.

And now, weeks later, here they were sitting next to each other at his kitchen table, two cups of tea and a printed-out version of his journal laid out in front of them.

“What was it you were trying to say here?” Penelope asked, her eyes rolling over a highlighted section of an Australia entry.

He looked down at the page, following where her finger rested. Instantly, he felt himself flush a bit. She was pointing out a particularly convoluted metaphor he’d written, one likening the magnificent sunset to the familiarity of reading one’s favorite childhood book for the first time as an adult.

“Erm…” He cringed, unable to say anything else.

It was still so odd- the not knowing what to say. Colin Bridgerton wasn’t someone who ever had trouble figuring out his words, and yet… And yet having Penelope had that effect on him. Or, more likely, having Penelope inspect his work, dissecting every word that had ever come out of his brain, make him feel insecure in a way he never was.

It wasn’t so much that it was Penelope, of course. She was his sister’s best friend, a woman he’d known since they were barely grown. It would have been like that if anyone else had seen his work, he was sure of it.

But even still- he found himself staring at a rogue curl on her cheek, his hand twitching to reach up and tuck it away.

“Colin?” Penelope interrupted his roaming thoughts, abruptly looking up at him. Her lips pinched together once she saw his expression, pulling themselves down into a small frown. “Colin,” she repeated in a softer voice. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were a fantastic writer. It’s just that everyone needs a little editing- even the best of us.”

His head tilted slightly as he looked at her, suddenly caught on her use of the word, us. “Do you write a lot then?”

Penelope’s lips slowly formed a smile as she looked at him, a hint of hesitation on her face. She sighed, taking a moment. “Well, actually-” But then she cut herself off, suddenly resembling the same shy Penelope he hadn’t seen in years.

Colin found himself leaning in, putting both arms on the table in front of them, desperate to hear the end of whatever she’d wanted to say. He could feel his knee bumping into hers, but neither of them moved. “What?” he prompted, surprised to hear how faint his voice was. There was something about the moment that was making it rather difficult to breathe.

Penelope was looking back at him with an intensity, mouth slightly parted as she licked her lips reflexively. There was nothing inherently seductive about the movement, but- But something about the way her tongue flicked out made Colin’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

“Uhm,” she whispered, only hearing the loud beating of her heart. No one knew about her secret, other than her editor. And it would surely be a disaster if anyone ever found out …

But she had found out about Colin’s secret, albeit by accident. It felt only right that he should know hers as well…

But if she were being truly honest, she didn’t care very much about her secret at that present moment. Not when the two green eyes she had spent her entire adolescence (and much of her early adulthood) pining over were staring directly at her, looking as though they could see through her entire soul.

Every breath was an effort, every movement was the most difficult task in history. The spot where their knees were still gently pressed against each other felt like it was on fire, spreading itself across her body. She’d been in so much shock when the contact had happened that she hadn’t moved away. And then she’d been astonished when he hadn’t either.

Penelope couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about, and it almost appeared that Colin… That Colin shared the same sentiment.

It felt like she was dreaming. Somehow, he was staring at her with just as much intensity as she was to him. She wasn’t sure if anyone had… She was quite certain that no one had ever looked at her like that.

Colin swallowed as he stared at her, taking in every freckle spread across her nose and every loose curl surrounding her face. He could see her eyes clearly for perhaps the first time in his life- a beautiful shade of warm brown with golden flecks throughout the iris. And then his eyes unwillingly moved, flickering to her lips as she licked them again, causing his gut to wrench painfully.

And then he realized that his hands on the table were so close to her own, the one still resting on his forgotten journal excerpt.

Almost without meaning to, his pinky twitched, moving just enough to meet hers. His breath hitched as he looked back up to meet her gaze.

Neither of them moved, as if moving would break something fragile. As if moving would forcibly tear them from the moment they were.

But then- he wasn’t sure how long- Penelope’s soft eyes left his, darting down to rest on their touching fingers. And then her eyes widened, and her entire body jerked backward, and suddenly Colin’s knee was incredibly cold.

Her chair made a loud scraping noise against the floor as she jumped up, startling him out of the hold he’d been under. “Pen-?”

“It’s getting a bit late,” Penelope muttered through a quick breath, quickly stashing away her belongings. “I’ll finish this at home, and we can meet another time to discuss it. Maybe coffee- next week.”

Colin frowned, getting out of his seat, and taking a few steps towards her. Quietly, he said, “Or you could stay here?”

Penelope froze for a moment before slowly retrieving her keys, gaze firmly locked onto the ground. All he could see were her eyelashes as she blinked.

He bent down slightly and reached out to lift her chin. “Or you could stay here,” he repeated with a bit more reverence in his voice. “We could get some dinner and- talk.”

Penelope swallowed as her eyes rested on his face for a fraction of a moment, but soon enough, she pulled away again. Her fingers trembled as she draped the bag over her shoulder, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. “Erm, no, sorry. I really- really need to go, Colin.”

And then she all but sprinted from the flat, leaving a speechless Colin Bridgerton behind.

#polinweek #polinweek2021 #polin #bridgerton fic #my fic #this is my first posted modern polin #I have another one coming at the end of this crazy week #hope you like this though!#also I'm sorry this took weeks I hope that's okay #polinanon #ugh can you tell polin week is killing me #because it is

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jade4813 · 4 years

Text

Sparks Fly, Chapter 12

Title: Sparks Fly

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Everybody knows sparks fly whenever Barry Allen and Iris West are together. Their mutual animosity is legendary. But when Iris returns to Central City to investigate recent sightings of a mysterious red streak, she discovers a hero she just can’t resist…and Barry struggles to hide the unrequited feelings he can’t deny.

Chapters: 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“I’m not going anywhere,” Iris breathed against his mouth. She ducked her head to kiss him again when an alarm caused her to jerk upright. Looking around, she saw Barry’s phone sitting on his nightstand. It was emitting a loud buzz, as the screen flashed red.

“This isn’t happening,” Barry breathed, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. “Please tell me this isn’t happening right now.” He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw the curious expression on her face. “It’s my Flash alarm.” She chuckled, even as she climbed off his lap. “Your Flash alarm?” She didn’t waste time waiting for him to explain. “It’s okay. Go. Do what you need to do. We can…continue this later.”

He threw her a sheepish smile; then there was a gust of wind and he was gone. “Okay, that’s going to take some getting used to,” she breathed.

As the silence fell throughout the apartment following his exit, she tucked her feet under her and mulled over the questions that had haunted her before. How had he known that Barry would become the Flash? Even if his purpose was to keep the two of them apart, how had he known to target her family long before she and Barry ever met? There was only one explanation that made sense, if “making sense” had a very liberal interpretation.

She didn’t know how long Barry would be gone, so she jotted him a quick note before grabbing her shoes and slipping them on. Iris wasn’t good at sitting still when there was work to be done, so she might as well, and she had some errands to run while Barry was otherwise occupied.

A while later, Iris breezed through the front doors to the Central City Picture News, her steps brisk as she headed to her desk. Her hands still clutched her bag to hide the tremble that lingered following her trip to her apartment. She’d told herself that she was strong and brave, that she wouldn’t be driven out of her own home, as she headed up to the apartment she’d cherished mere hours before. But as soon as she stepped through her front door, her breath had seized in her chest, escaping in shallow pants as her entire body began to tremble.

Her home, the place that she had loved, no longer felt safe. It no longer felt like home. She didn’t know if it ever would again. But, still, she forced herself to go through the motions of cleaning up, forcing herself to linger when everything in her wanted to flee.

When she’d spent enough time to feel confident she’d proved her point – if only to herself – she gathered what notes she could and shoved them into a bag. Then, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she headed out to the office. Of course she knew that no amount of people could keep her safe if the Man in Yellow wanted to attack her again. Still, there was something comforting about not being alone.

At the office, she tucked her bag safely into her desk as she dropped into her seat. She’d take it back with her when she returned to Barry’s apartment, for the two of them to dig into together later. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get started on some research now. Her theory was so outlandish, so incredible, she didn’t even want to mention it to Barry until she’d worked it out a little more.

Glancing around the newsroom, she didn’t see her target so she called out, “Hey, Steve? You seen Carla?” Carla was the science editor, and she had hoped to get some basic background information before digging in further.

“I think she’s out at a conference,” he called back to her.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, then jumped when she heard Mason speak over her shoulder.

“She won’t be back until next week. You got something?”

Iris forced a smile. “Not sure yet. Still working through it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned against her desk. “What happened to your neck?”

She raised her hand to her throat self-consciously, re-adjusting the scarf she’d donned to cover her bruises. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But the minute I know I’m on to something, you’ll be the first to know.”

He grunted. “You might ask Dr. Wells for his thoughts. He was meeting with some board members today, but he’s supposed to swing by the newsroom after.”

“That’s all right. It’s just background info; I’d hate to waste his time.” She still didn’t know what it was about Harrison Wells that she found so disquieting, but maybe now wasn’t the time to ignore her instincts. Anyway, she knew someone who might be able to give her what she needed. If he was willing to take her call.

Shooting a quick look around the newsroom to make sure nobody was listening in, she browsed through her contacts to pull up his number, using her landline to dial his office before she could have second thoughts.

“Ramon speaking.” The voice, slightly distracted, carried over the wire.

“Hey, Cisco. It’s…uh…it’s Iris. Iris West.” Several seconds of silence followed her introduction, but he didn’t hang up on her immediately, so she assumed that was a good sign. “I need some background on something, and I was hoping you could help me out.” Another long silence stretched between them. “It’s something I’m working on with Barry.”

“With Barry? Really?” Now his tone turned suspicious, but she couldn’t blame him. He was Barry’s best friend, fiercely loyal to him, and was therefore not particularly fond of her. “I find it hard to believe.”

She laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. “I understand. Things with Barry are…well, they’re complicated.”

He chuckled in return, his voice softening slightly as he replied, “Well, that I will believe. What’s so important to justify a truce between you two?” He paused a second, then asked, “You found a new metahuman?” Like a child discovering a new toy, there was unmistakable excitement in his voice, though she could tell he was trying to hide it.

It didn’t seem worth going into the strange sequence of events that had transpired between herself and Barry over the last few days, so she dodged the first one to focus on the second, instead. “You’ve read my articles. I’m surprised.”

“All right. You got me. I’m a huge fan of the Flash,” he confessed, sounding a bit sheepish. “Can I ask you a question? What’s he like in person?”

If that wasn’t a loaded question. “He’s…amazing. Fearless. Everything you’d want a hero to be,” she admitted. “So, will you help me?”

“You’re really working with Barry on this?”

“I really am,” she reassured him.

“All right. What do you need?”

She chewed her lower lip. was almost embarrassed to ask, since her theory still sounded too outlandish for most people to believe. Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “What do you know about time travel?”

“Time travel?” he sounded surprised at first, but his tone quickly shifted to curiosity. “You think there’s a metahuman who can travel through time?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she admitted. “Would that even be possible?”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a little complicated. How much time do you have?”

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled into the phone. “Give me the basics, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay, so some believe that time travel could be possible if you could move faster than light. I’m not sure even the Flash can move that fast. And, of course, Einstein’s equations indicated that an object at the speed of light would have infinite mass, which would make it physically impossible. Still, some have piggybacked off his equations and still believe it could be done. Theoretically.

“There’s also the theory that time travel could be possible if you could create wormholes between points in space-time. Now, nobody’s ever actually witnessed a wormhole before, as far as I know, but I think more people find that theory more credible. The problem is that most scientists believe those wormholes would be too unstable to carry a person and would collapse too quickly to support a time traveler. Unless that person could move incredibly fast, I guess. It’s all pretty theoretical, though. Even if wormholes could exist, we don’t have the technology to create them.”

“But maybe a metahuman could,” she mused, tapping her pen against her lower lip. She’d been jotting down notes while he spoke, and now she wondered if her theory was as ludicrous as it had initially seemed. Cisco didn’t think the Flash could move faster than light, but the Man in Yellow had proven that the scarlet speedster might not have plumbed the full potential of his abilities.

“Theoretically,” he admitted. “Anyway, there are other possibilities, but those seem the most plausible. I can pull some stuff together for you, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem. I’ll drop it by Barry’s later. As long as you let me know if anything comes of it.”

“It’s a promise.”

She hung up the phone and turned to her computer, pulling up her browser. For the next few hours, she lost herself in research on the theories of time travel, printing off page after page to take back to Barry. A lot of it went over her head at first glance, but she had no doubt he could help her make sense of it. For the first time, maybe she and Barry would get the edge over the man who had terrorized her most of her life.

“Iris. Mason said I might be able to help you with some questions.”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, forcing a smile even as she turned in her chair. “Dr. Wells,” she greeted him, trying to hide her wince as she glanced at the clock. She’d lost track of the time; she’d meant to head back to Barry’s hours ago. “It’s nothing, really. I was just doing some preliminary research. I don’t want to waste your time…”

His gaze shifted over her shoulder to her computer screen, ignoring her protest. “Time travel? Personal interest, or is this for a story?” He seemed amused, the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Bit of both, actually.” Shifting in her chair, she threw him a thoughtful look. She found him unsettling, but he was a brilliant scientist. Since he was here anyway, what was the harm in getting his perspective? “So, what’s your take? Is it possible?”

“I think just about anything is possible,” he replied with an offhand shrug. “But you’re asking the wrong question. The question isn’t whether a person could travel through time. It’s what happens next.”

Tilting her head to the side, Iris considered his cryptic comment. “What do you mean? Oh, you mean like the butterfly effect? You travel far enough back in time, you can step on a bug and somehow it stops your grandparents from being born?”

He smiled at her, the expression surprisingly genuine. “I always knew you were clever. And, yes, something like that. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that far back. Go back in time two hours, turn left instead of right, and you never meet the love of your life. Go back a year and save a random stranger from being hit by a car, one thing leads to the next and hundreds die who should have lived. Who knows what the consequences could be? If even the smallest action can have unimaginable consequences, then the bigger the act…”

He let his voice trail off, so she finished the thought for him. “The more significant the changes.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded as she mulled over his theory. Like dominoes falling, one change would lead to the next, which would lead to the next. An endless string of consequences from one act. If the Man in Yellow had travelled into the past, the minute he murdered those police officers, he set off a chain of events that even he wouldn’t be able to predict ahead of time. If that were the case, she wondered what her life would have been – should have been – without that fateful act.

But if the Man in Yellow could travel through time, surely the Flash could too. Was it really possible? Could he perhaps go into the past and stop the Man in Yellow, end this chain of falling dominoes before the first one even toppled?

“Do you think it could ever be worth the risk?” she asked softly, as much to herself as to him. “Going back into the past and changing one thing. Not knowing what would come from it. Would it ever be worth it?”

“Depends on why I’m doing it, I suppose. I think some things are worth a little risk. Don’t you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, unsure of how to respond but unwilling to let the subject go. “All right, so say you wanted to go back in time and do something. Something big. Say you wanted to stop a serial killer before they even claimed their first victim. Is there any way you could do it and reduce the domino effect?”

The look Dr. Wells threw her was thoughtful. When he finally answered, he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That’s a good question. You know, there’s another theory that time is like…like a living thing. With a sort of consciousness that surpasses our understanding. Each time someone travels back in time and changes something, it creates a fracture that this force would try to repair. If that’s true, and this force has a consciousness, then there are things it wants to have happen. No matter what you try to do to stop it, it will act against you to protect that moment or that event. Recreating it over and over and over, no matter what changes you make. And if that’s true, I think…if you really want to erase that moment…or that person…maybe you’d have to remove it from the timestream completely.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and rolled his chair backwards slightly. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Anyway, it’s all theoretical. Most people – most scientists, even – would say it’s impossible.”

She laughed. “Haven’t you heard? I believe in the impossible.”

“That you do,” he replied cryptically in an undertone. “That you do.”

Something in the air between them had changed, putting Iris more on edge around him than she was usually. So, not wanting to be rude, Iris straightened in her chair and made a show of glancing at her watch before jumping to her feet. “I’m sorry, I just realized I’ve lost track of time. I really should get going. But thank you. You gave me a lot to think about.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied affably, but she could feel his eyes on her as she reached over to turn off her computer. Throwing him a tight smile, hurried out the door, so distracted by their conversation that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten her notes until she was standing outside of Barry’s building. With a curse, she turned to retrace her steps. And that was when she saw him. The Man in Yellow.

Since he’d known where she lived, she had no doubt he knew she had disregarded his warning and was on her way to see Barry. But if he was about to murder her as he had Officers Neely, Cross, and Peterson – like he had murdered her father – than the least she could do was to make her final moments ones that would have made her dad proud. She would try to be brave.

“If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she said, proud to find that her voice barely trembled. “But I won’t live in fear of you. Ever again.”

He laughed, the sound somehow more terrifying than his threats the night before. Then, faster than a blink, he moved, racing straight toward her. Iris felt him lift her off her feet carrying her as he ran so fast that she would have wondered how the air wasn’t ripped from her lungs if she was entirely certain her fear would allow her to breathe anyway.

Then he threw her, and Iris was convinced she was about to die. But out of the corner of her eye, as her body was flung backwards, she saw what looked like a black void open around her, swallowing her whole.

Iris landed hard, and she waited for the Man in Yellow to return and finish what he had started. When he didn’t, Iris sat up slowly, still somewhat dazed. She had to have hit her head harder than she realized, she decided, because she could swear she found herself in her father’s living room. It was exactly as she remembered, down to purple stain on the edge of the coffee table, left behind when Iris had gotten a little too enthusiastic with a paint project when she was younger.

“Hello, baby.”

She knew that voice. A sob caught in the back of her throat as Iris turned to see her father sitting on the couch, watching her with eyes both older and sadder than they were in her memory. But it couldn’t be him, could it? He was dead. Her voice was little more than a whimper when she asked, “Dad?”

#sparks fly #fanfiction #my fanfiction #westallen #enemies to lovers au #barry allen #iris west #the flash

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lolablackwrites · 5 years

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Writer’s Retreat, Part 23 - Chris x MC

Summary: MC (Charlotte) and Chris finally have the discussion they should’ve had in the first place.

CW: Brief mention of pregnancy loss

Notes: Sorry, Zig stans! I know some of you were disappointed with how this turned out. Trust me, I adore Zig, but I personally felt like Chris and Charlotte ultimately had a stronger connection. Hopefully this section helps to demonstrate that but, if not, then I still appreciate that you took the time to read my work 💕

Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and supportive of this series so far, you are all wonderful and I appreciate you so much ❤️ We’re at the end! Only an epilogue to go and then we say goodbye for now (although there’s a very good chance some of these characters will show up in The Boxer AU . . . stay tuned . . .

If you’re new to this series, you can check out the previous installments here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15,Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22.

Tagging: @mfackenthal, @i-dream-so-i-write, @enmchoices, @bruhvs, @maxattack-powell, @kennaxval, @hhiggs, @tmarie82, @regrettingnathan, @littlegreenmoo, @sunglassy, @mimiashton, @syltti78, @moodygrip, @hamulau, @zigthetwig, @zilch3, @greyeyedsmile14, @shirinalshabra, @josieschoices, @mr-sinclaire, @bobasheebaby, @emerald-bijou

Fanfic Master List

Chris led Charlotte into the living room and turned on a lamp, gesturing for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch and Chris sat beside her, a respectful amount of space between them.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“Kind of, but it’s okay, I’m glad you did,” he reassured her. “Although I was expecting a phone call, not you on my doorstep.”

“Yeah, I . . . didn’t call.”

“I gathered.”

She glanced at him and was relieved to see a small smile twitch at the corners of his lips.

“So . . . you said you wanted to talk,” Charlotte said, feeling both as if she was bursting with things to say and equally unable to say anything.

“Yeah,” Chris said. He stared down at his hands. “I . . . I’m sorry for the way I handled things at the flower shop. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Chris, wait,” Charlotte said, turning to look at him. “You were right. I should’ve stayed so we could talk more. I . . . god, sorry, I’m not very good at explaining myself, I’m much better on paper.”

“Charlotte, you don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to,” Chris said gently.

“No, I want to. You’ve always been really open and honest with me, and I want to do that for you. There’s a lot I wanted to say that day, but I didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m just going to start over.” She stood up, feeling too keyed up to sit still, and started to pace in front of the coffee table. “About a year ago, I ran into James and we started seeing each other even though he was engaged. I knew he was engaged, but I did it anyway. I cared about James and at first, I figured just a little bit of him was better than none of him. Then I started to hate myself for what I--what we--were doing, but I didn’t stop. I just went along with it, hoping he’d pick me.”

She swallowed hard and glanced over at Chris, who was watching her with a neutral, unreadable expression on his face. “Then the wedding plans started moving forward and my editor started to bug me about my next book, so James came up with the solution of lending me his cabin. He conveniently stashed me up here while he was getting married; I don’t know if he thought I was going to show up and make some kind of scene, but he made sure to put a lot of distance between us. But I still heard from him when I was up here. He called me during his bachelor party and told me he wished he was marrying me instead of his wife, and that he loved me. But then he married her anyway and took off on their honeymoon. He sent me a postcard from Paris, but I ripped it up. I wanted to be done with him.”

“But then he showed up.”

Charlotte nodded. “Then he showed up. I had no idea he was coming. After you left that morning, he and I talked and he wanted our relationship to continue, but I said no and I ended it. He offered to let me stay in his cabin for as long as I wanted--he called it the divorce settlement we’ll never have--but I couldn’t stay there.”

She stopped pacing and looked at Chris. “The whole thing with Nicole . . . when she told my you were engaged, I just felt like I was falling back into the same shitty pattern I’ve been in for the last year. I realize how hypocritical that was of me to get so upset and just take off like that, but I was having such a deja vu feeling and I just had to get out of there.”

“That . . . makes a lot more sense,” Chris said. “I wish you’d told me that before.”

“I wish I had, too,” Charlotte said. “I told you, I’m better on paper than in person.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty okay in person,” he said with a half smile.

“I have more to tell you,” she said quickly, not wanting to lose her nerve.

“Okay.”

“So, remember how we said we weren’t exclusive?” Chris nodded. “Okay, well, I was seeing someone else in town this summer as well.”

Chris shrugged. “Okay.”

Charlotte stared at him. “You’re not upset?”

He shrugged again. “We weren’t exclusive, I don’t feel like I have a right to be upset. Admittedly, I’m a little jealous because I want you all to myself, but that’s my issue, not yours.”

Want. Present tense.

“But you got so upset about James.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t that you were seeing someone else. I guess it was more of a reactionary thing because you got so upset over the Nicole thing while keeping this big secret from me about actually being involved with someone who was engaged. Look, I’m not proud of how I reacted in my office. I guess . . . I don’t know, I’d just told you about everything that happened with the . . . this miscarriage,” he said, slightly tripping over the word, “and I felt kind of . . . embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed how?”

“Embarrassed like I’d opened up so much and told you so much, about my mom and Nicole and everything else, but you were holding me at arm’s length. I just felt kind of stupid, like I was putting it all out there but you didn’t trust me enough to be honest about what you were dealing with.”

“Chris . . .”

“No, it’s my own fault. My pride took a hit and I lashed out. Like I said, I’m really not proud of that day.” He took a deep breath and leaned back on the couch, looking down at his hands. “I was also upset that you didn’t want to stay in Hull so we could talk more, like this,” he said, gesturing between them. “But then once you left, I realized this wasn’t about me. You’ve been dealing with a lot and you needed some breathing room to figure things out. I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would. I didn’t want to push you. I wasn’t even going to text you, but . . . I don’t know, I guess I couldn’t help myself. Believe me, it took a lot of restraint to not just get in my truck and drive down to Boston the day you left.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Like I said, you seemed like you needed space and I wanted to respect that.” Chris looked up at her. He regarded her for a moment before speaking again, softer than before. “Charlotte, why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you, but . . . why?”

Charlotte looked down at the floor, unsure of how to begin. “I had an interesting conversation with my sister tonight. About an hour into my drive here, I called her, convinced I was doing something completely stupid. She pointed out to me that I’ve spent a lot of my life letting other people make my decisions for me and she’s right; I tend to let life happen to me rather than actually experiencing what I want.” She hesitated for a moment, but forged onward. “I didn’t really plan to drive up here tonight,” Charlotte said, gesturing to her leggings and Trash Panda shirt, “but I’m glad I did. Even if this blows up in my face, I’m still going after what I want.” She paused, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth felt. “Which is you. Just you.”

Chris stayed very still, his eyes locked on hers. Charlotte felt herself begin to panic, but she forced her voice to stay calm. “I don’t know how that would even work out because I live in Boston and you’re very established here, but Kaitlyn says I talk too much about geography--”

Her words were cut off when Chris suddenly stood up and jumped over his coffee table to reach her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her. She kissed him back, covering his hands with hers. When he pulled back from her, his eyes were shining with unspilled tears, but his voice was steady.

“I’m in love with you, Charlotte,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “And your sister is right, you do talk too much about geography.”

“Oh my god, you scared me!” Charlotte exclaimed, swatting at his stomach. “You’ve been so stoic since I got here, I thought you were going to kick me out and make me sleep in my car.”

“When would I ever do something like that?” Chris said, pulling her into a tight hug. “And I wasn’t trying to be stoic, I was listening to you!”

“Oh, sure, just respect me by listening to what I have to say,” she muttered.

Chris laughed. “I know, I’m the worst.”

“The absolute worst,” Charlotte agreed, tilting her face up towards his to kiss him. “And that’s why I love you.”

He smiled and brushed the hair back from her face. “I’m not perfect. I don’t always think before I speak and I can be kind of a jackass. But I’m all in, if you’ll have me.”

“I guess you’ll do.” She dissolved into laughter when Chris tickled her sides. “Okay, okay! I’m all in, too.” Charlotte paused. “And speaking of all in . . . does the offer to go to Germany still stand?”

Chris let go of her and headed into the kitchen, leaving Charlotte standing there, confused.

“Okay, not the response I expected,” she said under her breath. Chris returned a moment later, holding an envelope. He held it out to her and she took it. When she opened it, she found a plane ticket to Berlin with her name on it. “You already bought my ticket?”

He shrugged with a smile. “I was hopeful.”

Epilogue

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stylinsonlibrary · 6 years

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JEALOUS HARRY FIC REC

Always make sure to read all tags/warnings/author’s notes before reading!

Now That It’s Over (8k)

“What are the odds we would both be at Mariano’s on a Thursday night?”

Louis’ shoulders tensed. What the hell was he doing here?

“Harry? Hi? The odds are pretty crazy, yeah.”

Harry smiled down at Louis the way he used to, but there was also a glint in his eye that Louis absolutely did not like. Harry was also dressed in his favorite black and white striped women’s jeans and a printed shirt only he would ever be able to pull off. It was quite rude of him to come and interrupt Louis, particularly while looking so good. Louis hadn’t seen him since he’d finished moving his shit out of what was once their shared flat, so this being the first time seeing him wasn’t exactly providence in Louis’ mind.

Or the one where Harry and Louis broke up two months ago, and Harry just might be sabotaging Louis’ dates.

Forever, Uninterrupted (8k)

Harry finds a mysterious picture in Louis’ bag one night and drives himself crazy over it. It’s definitely not what he thinks.

can’t go without you anymore (10k)

Harry Styles was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. This was award season. He wasn’t even nominated for anything, still everyone wanted a piece of him. But Harry was lonely. And a stressed and lonely Harry did no one good. What if one night his friends and his manager just ran into the most fitting boy for their friend? And what if maybe they set him up as Harry Styles personal assistant. It already sounds like the beginning of a disaster.

or Personal Assistant Louis Tomlinson is going to be the end of actor Harry Styles. This was a given.

We Can Be Greater (10k)

Louis, Harry, Zayn, Niall, and Liam, were simply five run away teens, desperately seeking a safe haven from their foster home. When they discovered an abandoned building, they entered it, their lives ceased to remain the same because they entered upon a different realm. A new universe, one in which they were superheroes.

The moment they reached this new world, they were desperately needed to defeat a villain; sounds cool right? Except they had no clue of their powers, this new world, the villain, or how to get back home. This is the story of how five outcasts turned from hooligans into heroes.

See Clearly Now (11k)

“My eyes are up here.”

What? Was— was Louis flirting with him?

Harry looked up — much too slowly, probably — and saw Louis watching him, his mouth quirked up on one side, a grin threatening to steal the pretty curve of his mouth.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

Louis put his hands on his hips, almost challenging Harry to look again, “I said...my eyes are up here.”

Harry felt something electric pass between them. He felt the need to take a step forward, call Louis’ bluff, see if he was more bark than bite.

Biting sounded really fun right about now.

OR a five-times fic where two guys, one college dorm room and a faulty door lead to a few embarrassing situations and finding out more about themselves and each other than they ever bargained for.

No One Else Will Do (13k)

Harry visibly takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it. I’ll…help you through your heat.” He looks more determined now as he stands up straighter and his eyes look at Louis more intensely.

“Yeah?” Louis doesn’t mean to sound so surprised but he’s sort of in a state of shock. He’s never been with an alpha before, and the fact that his first time is going to be with Harry— his best friend— well, he couldn’t really ask for anyone better if he’s honest.

It takes Louis’ early heat for Harry and Louis to figure things out.

End of the World Tonight (12k)

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

one more for the stars (16k)

It's different, and Louis knows that, because Harry's got so much riding on this - a career and a future and his whole life. There's talk of him going first overall in the draft, of entering the NFL after only two years in college, of going to New York or Seattle or Green Bay, and Louis wants to be there for him, wants to support him and help him make decisions, but he also kind of wants to pin him to the bed and cry and scream, What about me what about me what about me?

(au. Harry's the star quarterback and Louis is about to graduate. It's a heartbreak waiting to happen.)

ain't going backwards, won't ask for space. (17k)

They've been best friends for eight years, but have never acted on the sexual tension that's existed between them. And when they do, it's completely impossible to stop the feelings that arise from denying themselves of what was always meant to be.

or the one where two idiots fall in love after years of being just best friends.

kiwi (24k)

With a stuttered mixture of a laugh and a groan, Harry lets his head droop, pushes his forehead against Louis’ chest and leans into him, fingers curled around the railing.

"You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes.

Louis lets out a puff of laughter, and when Harry lifts his eyes, the look in Louis’ gaze is one he knows too well, so distinctively coy and mischievous and gently charming, his lips quirked up with a smirk. Harry’s heart falls into the palms of his playful hands. “You’re into it.”

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

Counting The Steps Between Us (24k)

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

everything comes back to you (29k)

Louis lets out a shuddering breath. “I love you,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Harry replies.

“You know that I’ve always loved you,” Louis continues, not stopping to acknowledge what Harry’s said.

Harry shakes his head. “I know, but sometimes I wonder if that ever went past us just growing up together. We were never apart Louis, never for so many years, and the minute we were you just left me. So sometimes, when I let myself think about it, I think maybe that’s why we don’t work. You were just so used to loving me because you didn’t know anything else.”

Louis and Harry, best friends since before either of them can remember, broke up four years ago. Louis has achieved his dreams of becoming the next big thing while Harry has stayed back, dedicating himself to his studies. Both are content to forget what they had together, until a tragedy brings them right back into each other's lives.

Show me wealth, I’ll show your heart (30k)

Harry knows the value of money. He knows how to negotiate numbers, knows its worth in engines, and knows the amount he needs to secure for his business. What he didn’t know was that, if spent wisely, money is the one thing he really doesn’t need.

Or AU where Harry has more money than he can handle, Louis can’t handle not having any, and they both find out the greatest wealth isn’t countable.

the beginning of everything (30k)

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.

You’re the Light (31k)

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

Follow Your Heart (32k)

“What do you mean exactly?” Harry asks. Louis’ heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. His stomach is sinking, and he’s holding his breath waiting for the words he knows are coming.

“We think it would be best to market you guys as a couple,” Simon tells them. The tone in his voice makes Louis think there’s no wiggle room to even try to argue about it.

Louis’ heart stops and his breath hitches. This cannot be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Actually this has to be some sort of prank, really. He absentmindedly looks around the room for any evidence of hidden cameras or microphones to no avail.

“You’re kidding,” Louis says flatly. Louis is pretty sure a lot of the music industry these days likes to hide the fact that an artist isn’t straight, afraid that it might affect record sales and now he’s sitting in the middle of an executive label meeting being told he had to be in a relationship with his best friend–who’s a boy he’s been secretly in love with for most of his adolescence–in order to sell records? What kind of alternate universe level bullshit is he living in?

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones (32k)

Harry goes as Louis’ date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

“Hey,” Harry hears himself say just as Louis climbs back into the car. He ducks down, holding onto the roof to look at Louis who cocks his brow at him and says, “What?”

“I meant it,” Harry starts. “Like, I’d do it. I’d be your date for the wedding. If it’d make you feel less awful about being there and if you want me to, I’ll do it. I promise I’ll be good.”

you burn with the brightest flame (42k)

Harry frowns, thinking that he shouldn’t have to be glad about what gender he is, just like omegas shouldn’t have to be scared and nervous that anyone they meet might want to hurt them. He wonders why none of this occurred to him before, how he possibly could’ve just sailed through life before this without realizing how fortunate he was being born a beta. That seems a bit too serious of a conversation for Simon Cowell’s waiting room, though, so Harry puts an arm around Louis’s shoulders and teases, “You say that like you’re old or something. Two years isn’t that big of a difference!”

“Tell me that when you’re eighteen and looking back on this conversation,” Louis says.

“Well that’s - that’s different, isn’t it? We could be anywhere in two years, we could be famous.”

Louis’s eyes light up, his smile widening. “You think so?”

…or, the X-Factor Era A/B/O fic.

Cupid’s Chokehold (35k)

But - naively, stupidly, blindly - Harry holds out hope for a love that’s written across the stars. He can’t give up the feeling that there’s someone out there, waiting for him.

He’s just going to have to wait for them, too.

Or: Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Wonderwall (43k)

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

Let Me Touch You Where Your Heart Aches (46k)

Alcohol was all he could taste. Alcohol and Harry, and he didn’t mind one bit. Harry kissed him back with just as much fervent heat. He pushed Louis against the taxi door and pulled his head back, breathing hot and heavy against his lips. “Let’s go, yes?”

Or a Friends with Benefits AU, in which Louis falls in love and Harry is jealous. There is some Karaoke singing somewhere in there, because how do you write a romantic comedy without a Karaoke scene?

Some Things Take Root (50k)

AU. Louis’ ex doesn’t get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.

Love's On The Line, Is That Your Final Answer? (53k)

Harry can’t believe it when Louis, the boy he’s always had a tempestuous rivalry with, asks him to be his boyfriend. Well, pose as his boyfriend, that is—for a new television game show in which young couples are quizzed on how well they know each other for a jackpot of thirty grand.

Reluctantly, Harry agrees—because he's got student loans to pay off, hasn't he? What's the harm? And he can totally deal with keeping his secret thing for Louis under wraps too. This is all just to win some money. It's fine. No big deal. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything. Obviously.

Amazing Sin (56k)

Gears started turning in Louis’ head. Purely mischievous gears that had Louis formulating a revenge plan against Taylor. He’d had enough of sitting around and taking it. If she was going to call him a whore, then fine, he’ll act like one for real. “I’m going to say something, and as my friends you are obligated to love me anyway.”

“This can’t be good,” Niall said, Zayn just groaned.

“So I know we have this strict ‘no lashing back at Taylor’ rule with me, but what if I can get press revenge a different way?” Louis asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, because they knew by now to just go with it. “What if I stole her boyfriend?”

Or, the story of Louis ‘Steal Your Man’ Tomlinson.

Strawberries & Cigarettes (71k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

Pinkies Never Lie (83k)

“I just think if we’re both into it and neither of us is looking for something serious, why not?” Harry asks, eyes soft and voice sweet. He pauses and gives Louis a moment or two to answer.

There are countless reasons why Louis shouldn’t agree to this, but in the end, none of them really matter. This will end with Louis in pieces, but he’s been in love with Harry for four years. There was only ever one answer.

“Yeah,” Louis answers finally, hoping his voice sounds normal. “Why not?”

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) (102k)

Bridget Jones’ Diary AU.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it’s a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

A Taste of Desire (104k)

“As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.”

Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating.

Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction.

“Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.”

Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

falling into you (143k)

In the grand scheme of adolescence and boyhood, Harry was still working himself out, so far with little luck. But four things he could say for certain: 1) he'd been at the top of his class all through primary and secondary school, 2) he was the shittiest alpha to ever walk the earth, 3) Liam Payne never let him forget it, and 4) he’d been in love with this boy, Louis Tomlinson, ever since he was fifteen years old.

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth (290k)

When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry’s, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there’s a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both determinedly refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.

#larry stylinson #larry stylinson fic rec #larry fic rec #jealousy #jealous harry #masterpost

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marauder--harder · 7 years

Text

Sleep Deprivation- A Remus Lupin Imagine (Part 4 of The Torturous Year)

A/N: Okay guys, I have been working on this for so long and it went through many, many edits and talks with my editor/bae to get it where it is now. I hope you guys like it. It is the largest piece I think I have ever written, being over 8k words but I think it is worth it. Sometimes the story just writes itself. :) Enjoy!

Previous Installments: The Torturous Year. (Part 1) - Methods of Torture. (Part 2) - Pressure Points. (Part 3)

“Alright, just concentrate, Y/N. Think exactly about what you’re doing.”

Remus heard you groan and sigh loudly before snapping, “I’m trying, if you’d just shut up!”

“Okay, okay, jeeze. Don’t get your pretty little kickers in a twis—ow!” Sirius yelped as you sent a stinging hex his way and turned away from him, towards the cup on the table.

“I’d be impressed if I didn’t hear it coming, love. Now just concentrate.”

Remus stepped in through the portrait to see you staring intensely at a cup placed on the table in the common room, your wand pointing at it. He furrowed his brows as he watched the cup start to shake slightly.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, as he turned to Sirius who was watching just as intensely as you were.

Suddenly the cup teetered a bit more before falling over, spilling the water that was inside it on the table.

“Moony!” You groaned and flopped down onto the couch harshly. Putting a pillow over your face you pressed down, letting out a small, now very muffled scream.

Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, “sorry?” He turned to Sirius and shook his head in a silent question.

“Thank Godric you’re here. She’s killing me, mate. I can’t work with her anymore!”

Pulling the pillow away from your face, you launched it at him. “Well maybe I’d get it if you didn’t just say the same thing over and over again! Honestly, Sirius, I am concentrating and I still can’t do the bloody spell!”

Remus turned and set his bag down on the table, wordlessly cleaning up the mess of the spilled water before turning to you. He bent down, squatting next to the couch and smiled as you looked up at him in annoyance.

“Okay, so what spell is Sirius mucking up for you?”

Your brow furrowed, you flicked your eyes between him and the cup of water that was now sitting perfectly on the table. “I hate you, you know. You don’t have to show off…”

Remus’ brows rose in slight astonishment, watching as you crossed your arms over one another defensively and sat up. “Excuse me?”

“She’s trying to do nonverbal magic.” Sirius added, leaning on the arm of the chair nearest to the fire. “Except she is rubbish at it and I can’t seem to help her. Take over for me.”

Remus looked back over to you and smiled hesitantly. “I mean, I’m—”

“No.” You stated, and started gathering up your stuff. “I’m not some bloody pity case, boys; you can’t just shove me off to the next person when you are done. I’ll figure it out on my own!”

Remus sighed softly, reaching out to still your slightly frantic form. “Hey,” he started softly, and waited until you met his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

The two of you held each other’s gaze for a few moments before sighing and dropping your bag. “You know I do…”

“Then let me help you, yeah?”

Neither of you noticed Sirius slip back up to his own dorm, a proud smile on his face.

From then on Remus and you spent nights after his prefect rounds practicing nonverbal magic. Truthfully, he was a much better teacher than Sirius, even if you were a bit of an insufferable student. Your pride often got in the way of his lessons, and you’d often mumble that it obviously was the teaching and not your abilities making you unable to perform simple spells.

Remus, however, was quick witted and sharp, calling you out on your excuses, which only served to fluster you further. You’d dip your head with a rising blush and an apology for saying such harsh words. He didn’t mind you taking your frustration out on him, really; but still called you out in order to see the adorable pink tinting your cheeks.

Yet, Remus was also very kind. With the amount of snark he would give you about your own hot temper, he would know when to be gentle and soothing with you as well.

“I’m sorry, look this isn’t fair to you and I’m sure we’re both pretty tired. Why don’t you head off to bed and we’ll meet up next week.”

Remus smiled softly and sat down next to you, close enough your knees were touching. “Y/N,” he started, and you fought a small shiver at the sound of his deep, warm voice near your ear. “You’re going to get this. You just have to be patient. Nonverbal magic is difficult and many witches and wizards can’t ever do it.”

A bitter feeling swirled in your stomach, quickly rising up your throat and to your tongue. You couldn’t help the words that fell from your mouth. “Then why bother doing this? I’m sure I fall well within that group, Moony.”

Remus sighed softly in exasperation, clearly annoyed with the fact that you chose to focus on the wrong aspect of what he was trying to say. “Come off it, you know you’re capable of doing this. It’s a simple levitation spell. You just have to get out of your head.”

“Easy for you to say!” You snapped, pulling away from him as you felt the very familiar shame of inadequacy creep its way back up your throat. You suddenly felt all too warm, and tried desperately not to let your temper flare too much. “You’re nearly bloody perfect at it, and it comes so easy to you! You’re pretty much bloody perfect at everything come to think of it!”

“I’m not perfect, Y/N,” His voice was calm and even, a note that made you even more upset to think about. “And neither are you; nobody is. That doesn’t mean you can’t do this.”

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. When you opened them, you glanced over at Remus who was staring at you, a small yet hesitant smile on his face.

“I’m—”

“Sorry, I know. It’s okay. You’re dealing with advanced magic, sweetheart, you can’t expect it to just happen. It will take time.”

You sighed and sat back down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But I’ve been doing this for so long.”

Remus chuckled at your childish tone and patted your knee comfortingly. “You know, I think for my next lesson I’m going to have to teach you patience.”

A small smile spread on your face and you poked his side in a gentle protest. “I’m plenty patient.” You argued.

Remus’ laugh was louder this time, as he threw his head back slightly, “Sure you are. Isn’t it you that’s always bursting into the Hospital Wing moments after I arrive because you’re just so patient?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled wider, happy that from this angle Remus couldn’t see you blush. “Fine, I’ll be later next time then. Maybe in that down time I’ll just go read to the boys instead of you, yeah?”

Remus’ laughter died in the back of his throat imagining you sitting at the side of his friends’ beds, reading softly as they slept. You’d sit at the edge of the bed, or perhaps even lay with them so they could cuddle up to you, reading quietly, stroking their hair gently. He imagined the way the rising sun would cast a warm glow over you and frowned at the thought of you not being with him.

A yawn broke him from his thoughts, however, as he felt you drop more of your weight onto his shoulder.

“You’re tired.” Remus could only barely see the tip of your nose from this angle, and he focused on the fluttering of your long eyelashes.

You let out a soft hum of agreement, fighting to keep your eyes open. He glanced at the clock and noticed that it was well into the early hours of the morning. You were probably exhausted, trying to figure out this form of magic. It was draining even for him at times, and he now understood why you were so snappy with him.

“Let’s get you to bed then, yeah?” He placed a hesitant kiss to the top of your head before nudging you gently with his shoulder.

You stirred, and sat up, blinking repeatedly in order to shake yourself awake. You turned at looked up at Remus, smiling tiredly at him.

“You’re comfy, you know.”

He chuckled softly, gathering up both his and your things before responding, “good to know.”

“You’d be great at cuddling. You’re warm and soft and, oh my god, I’m actually saying these things out loud.”

“I should stay up with you more often. Sleepy Y/N is interesting.” He grinned and offered his hand for you to take.

Hesitantly you took it and he pulled you up, so you were standing closely in front of him. You watched as he stared down at you, a roguish grin on his face, and fought down yet another embarrassing blush.

You noted, even tiredly, how handsome he was and how much he truly did change within the last year. His jaw had sharpened, contrasting alluringly with the definition of his cheekbones. The boy who was once all thinned, hollow edges was now strong, full sharpness.

Similarly, Remus noted the way your long eyelashes fluttered slightly before looking up at him, innocent and doe eyed. He fought the urge to pull you even closer, flush against him, and reminded himself that even if you thought him attractive, he couldn’t take advantage of you like that.

“You should get some rest.” He mumbled, voice low and timbery.

You visibly shivered and the wolf deep within him swelled with pride. “Yeah. You should too.”

Neither of you broke apart for a few moments, just staring at one another, resisting the urge to step closer and meet.

“Thank you.” Your voice was a bare whisper, yet a beautiful smile lit up your tired face, “For dealing with me. For not giving up.”

Remus mirrored your own grin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course. You’re a bright witch, Y/N. You’ll get it, I promise.”

Eventually you pulled away, grabbing your bag and heading towards the girls’ dormitory stairs.

“Goodnight Remus.” You called out and he stopped at the bottom of his own staircase to look over at you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” And Remus climbed the stairs to his room, thinking that he was going to need a very, very cold shower before bed.

After about another week of practice, you and Remus had been making steady progress with your ability to perform nonverbal magic. It started when Remus suggested trying a slightly different spell.

“Okay, let’s try a bit more of a reactive spell; something that comes from within yourself, and doesn’t deal with other objects.”

You sighed, and dropped your wand to your side. “Something easier because this is too difficult for me.”

Remus shook his head gently, walking over to the fire and silently casting a spell to put it out. You tried your best not to scowl, and failed miserably. He turned then and blew out the lights of every other lamp within the room. The only way you could see him was through the low light of the moon shining through a thin window opposite you.

“What are you doing?” You squinted as you saw Remus’ figure walk further into the shadows behind you.

“We’re trying something different.” His voice came from behind you, to your left and you whipped around trying to see him in the darkness. “Nonverbal magic works best when you don’t think about it. You just do. They are usually reactive spells; a wizard using their magic in order to better their situation.”

You felt a slight presence behind you and froze, a deep whisper in the shell of your ear. “Use a spell to see me, Y/N.”

You stopped, trying to concentrate on using Lumos in order to brighten the room. Moving your wand to the correct movement, you thought of the spell.

Nothing.

“Don’t think of the spell. React.” His voice was further now, standing somewhere potentially a few feet away from you to the right. “Think about me; about seeing me. It’s dark, you need to find me. You need light. What do you do?”

You closed your eyes, thinking of Remus’ face. You thought of his smile, and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. You thought of the many scars that you saw littered across his body that morning in the Hospital Wing.

Without thinking, you moved your wand, and thought of seeing him.

A small white light shone from the tip of your wand, steady and bright at first until it dimmed slightly.

You opened your eyes to see Remus standing in front of you, a large smile on his face.

“Found me.”

Squealing in delight, you beamed largely and felt the light at the tip of your wand grow. Stopping for a moment, you looked down at it and moved your hand in a wave like motion, effectively extinguishing the light.

“I did it!” Your voice was pitched and breathy, obvious astonishment laced through. You heard, but not saw, Remus chuckle and quickly lit your wand again in order to see the beautiful crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

“I knew you could. You just needed to get out of your head.”

Without thinking you reached out and threw your arms around Remus’ neck, standing up on your tiptoes in order to give yourself a few more inches in comfort. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best teacher ever, I swear it.” Remus’ hands quickly found their way around your waist, holding you close to him.

“Well I’m glad that one success changed your mind, as I do recall you complaining that I was worse than Sirius at some point—much to my own offense, by the way.”

Even in his terrible teasing your smile did not fall from your face. “Well I will deny any such thing, you absolute blessing! This is so amazing,” you gushed, pulling away and practically jumping with excitement. “I could just kiss you!”

Before Remus had any time to react, you reached forward and placed a large, rather over enthusiastic kiss on both of his cheeks causing him to blush fiercely in the dark.

“Well, if this gets me a kiss, I can’t wait what will happen when you learn to levitate things nonverbally.”

Within the next few weeks, you had steadily improved your ability to perform nonverbal magic. You’ve passed being able to make objects levitate and now felt almost confident in your ability to cast any spell.

“Alright, hit me with your best one,” you started, practically buzzing with excitement.

Remus thought for a moment before nodding to himself, “let’s start with one that I know pretty well, yeah? Try incarcerous.”

Taking a mental note of the spell chosen, your brows rose in playful astonishment. “Very telling, that is Remus.” You smirked as you watched him roll his eyes, blushing softly. “Kinky. I like it.”

Clearing your throat you turned and pointed your wand at him. You closed your eyes and thought of Remus being tied up with a soft rope. At first, it seemed innocent enough, having his wrists tied together. Although soon enough your mind changed the scene, having Remus’ legs tied to a chair, his hands behind his back as you ground against him. A sharp heat pooled deep within you and you felt yourself squirm slightly at the thought. You pictured Remus’ eyes shut, head thrown back as you teased him mercilessly. You’d kiss up and down his neck, whispering every way he had been teasing you within the last year. He’d moan softly against your neck, trying desperately to gain more friction between—

“Um, Y/N,” Remus’ voice was tight and clipped, shaking you from your wayward thoughts.

You opened your eyes and blinked, looking down at Remus. Both his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair he was sitting in, his hands bound tightly behind him.

“Good job, but—” he paused, and squirmed slightly, trying to pull against the rope that only tightened further. “It’s a bit tight.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” You mumbled, cheeks ablaze and horrified. You tried muttering a quick relashio spell in order to release him but failed. “Remus, I-I—” you felt your heartbeat pick up, and covered your face with your hands for a moment or two, trying not to die of embarrassment.

“Well, well, well, Y/N.” Sirius stated, walking up to the two of you, clearly coming back from another one of his late night escapades. “I guess you needed the right type of motivation to understand.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice and stared at him in a slight panic. “Sirius can you—”

Remus cut you off, chuckling softly, “Y/N, darling,” he started and you tried looking over at him but couldn’t hold his gaze. “Hey, calm down. You freaking out is only making this tighter.”

Sirius leaned forward, hands resting on the arm of the couch, his voice taking an obvious suggestive tone. “If I start tutoring you again, can I get tied up too?”

You shoved him roughly, before taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes. You forced yourself to picture untying him from the chair, with a high level of embarrassment as you knew the boys were bound to be staring. You imagined the way the ropes would fall to the floor, leaving Remus to move freely.

Opening your eyes, you pointed your wand at his binds and muttered the spell once again. This time the ropes loosened significantly before falling away, only leaving light red marks on his wrists in its wake.

“Okay, so I think I won’t use incarcerous nonverbally anymore.” You started, and Remus simply grimaced and nodded in return.

Once the next full moon came and went, your tutoring sessions with Remus turned into ‘catch-up’ lessons with him. Remus was usually good about not letting himself get behind, however with the change in pace within his NEWT level Potions, he was having trouble keeping up after days missed.

The two of you had talked to Professor Slughorn and convinced him to let you use the potions class after hours in order to “better prepare yourself for your NEWTs.” Being a legacy in the Slug Club definitely had its perks and you knew that it was a high chance that you were at least going to apprentice your father at some point before deciding if you were to be a potions master. Slughorn gushed at the opportunity to have “another Y/L/N in the community” and told you that you could use the classroom whenever you’d like, so long as you checked in with him the day prior.

Thus when Remus needed help brewing veritaserum, you were more than happy to offer your perks.

“Alright Remus, I think it’s just about done,” you said, hovering over the cauldron that the two of you had been working on the last month or so.

Veritaserum was a very difficult potion to brew, and even if you had more experience than most, you wanted to make sure that it was brewed correctly for him. As it was now nearing the next full moon, you realized that Remus was becoming just as difficult of a student as you were. His temper was running thin and he was constantly jittery.

Looking over at the young boy, who was finishing up the last paragraph of notes on the difficult brew, you noticed how pale he had gotten. Dark circles hollowed his eyes and you frowned, glancing at the clock. It never occurred to you how much more exhausting it was for Remus to stay up with you after his prefect rounds. He was probably running himself into the ground.

“Hey,” you called out softly, stilling his hand that was writing feverishly. “You can finish that in the morning, let’s test this and get you to bed, yeah?”

Remus sighed and shook his head slightly, reaching out to dip his quill back in its well. “I’m fine, and almost done with this. Just a few more minutes.”

You gave him a hard look and watched as his shoulders slumped. “Remus, I hate to tell you this, but you kind of look like shit. You need rest.”

“Thanks, Y/N, just what someone would want to hear from a pretty girl.” He pulled harshly away from you and continued writing down his notes.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. “I meant that you look tired. You’ve been working with me almost every night and we’re both getting practically no sleep. With the full moon coming up, I just thought that you should maybe lay off a bit. It’s not healthy for you to be doing this with me every night.”

You watched with caution as his shoulders tensed sharply, “I see.” Still tense, he quickly started packing up his things. “You could have just said something, if I was taking up too much of your time.”

You groaned loudly and leaned forward, grabbing his large hands in your smaller ones, turning him to you. “Moony,” you started and waited until he met your eyes. You saw the exhaustion and surprising hurt that was settled deep within his eyes. “I care about you, and I see how tired you are. That’s all.”

He scoffed in return, “Y/N, I understand that I’m bothering you, it’s fine—’

“Fine, shut up and let me take veritaserum to prove you wrong.”

Remus stilled, and glanced over to the cauldron. After a few moments of silence you nodded and walked over to take a drink. Filling a cup up with the clear liquid, you knocked it back, letting it spread over your tongue before going down.

You waited a few moments before you felt your tongue grow heavy and mouth dry. You blinked a few times, trying to have the clarity of your mind remain. You hated the way veritaserum made your head go fuzzy, as if you couldn’t even think straight enough to try and tell a lie.

“Alright, Moony, let’s test this.”

He simply stared at you for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to ask something but refrained. Finally he took in a deep breath, “Okay, try to lie to me. What is your name?”

“My name is…” you paused, your tongue growing heavier, as if you physically could not move it enough to pronounce a name not your own. “My name is…” You struggled against the fog that was clouding your mind further. “…is Y/N Y/L/N.”

Panting slightly you smiled and nodded to him. “See?”

“Looks like it works.”

“Then you’ll believe me when I tell you that I just wanted you to take a break because you looked absolutely knackered and I worry about you?”

Remus sighed softly before struggling his shoulders, stuffing his hands into his front pockets. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

You crossed your arms over one another and raised an eyebrow in question. “Care to say that again under veritaserum?”

“Sure.” He replied smoothly, filling his own cup and downing it roughly. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He repeated, “I’m f—”

You smiled, knowing that deep down, Remus knew that he wasn’t feeling okay no matter how much he tried to convince himself.

“I’m f—” he tried again, only to fall short. “I guess I am tired then; but you really don’t have to worry.”

“Well I want to.”

“Well I d—” he stopped and felt his cheeks flush as he ducked his head to avoid your gaze. So he did want you to care…

Simply smiling in response, you continued to pack up your things and left the rest of the potion on Slughorn’s desk with a quick note to thank him for letting you get in your practice.

“Alright, Moony, let’s get you to bed then.” You reached out and took his larger hand in yours again, pulling him towards the Gryffindor tower.

While making your long journey up to the seventh floor, the two of you got to talking, still under the effect of the truth telling potion. Both of you found it fun to ask the other a question that may make the other squirm.

“Okay, where are you most ticklish?” You asked, a devious grin on your face.

His eyes widened, before quickly narrowing into a playful glare. “You don’t want to start this Y/N…”

Grin widening, a mask of terrible innocence fell over your face. “It could be thought of as only fair, because of what happened last time. A girl can’t be left defenseless against the big bad wolf, you know.”

Remus blushed as you winked at him, and struggled against the truth. The veritaserum was brewed pretty much perfectly, you didn’t know why he was always fighting it. “My ribs.”

Smiling in victory, you reached out and poked him for good measure. “Good to know.”

“I hate y—” he paused, unable to complete his sentence, which only made him pout further.

“You know you love me Moony, come off it. If it makes you feel any better, you can ask any question you please.”

Remus stilled for a few moments before smiling and nodding. “Okay fine, what was your most embarrassing childhood nickname.”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed softly, not even waiting for him as the staircase moved. “That’s your best question?” You called out watching as he waited down at the bottom with a small pout. You guessed that tonight would be one full of Remus pouting and your heart warmed at the thought. He really did look too cute in doing so.

Once Remus joined you again, after waiting “too bloody long” as he grumbled, you started back on your leisurely way. “My dad used to call me Bubbles as a kid because I would always try and mess with the bubbles in the potions he was brewing. It started off as something cute, but when he still uses it at the platform, it isn’t preferred.”

A few moments passed before you heard Remus snickering. He tried to contain it, keep a straight face but after a few more moments he was bursting out with a deep melodic laughter. “Bubbles! That’s brilliant; I’m so using that from now on.”

“Okay, ha ha, very funny. If you don’t stop it Moony I’m going to start asking questions that will make you squirm.” Your glare was only half playful this time, but you honestly couldn’t be too mad at him. It was a stupid nickname and he looked so darn cute when he laughed.

“Try me, Bubbles.” Was his only reply, giggles still bubbling up every now and then.

“Alright big boy, what are you packing? Boxers or y-fronts?” You stopped on a landing, crossing your arms over one another, a smirk on your face.

Remus’ giggles suddenly ended, leaving a very still, quiet, slightly pink cheeked boy in their wake. “Why do you want to know?”

You grinned wider, taking a step closer to him, meeting him at the landing. “I knew you’d squirm.”

“I’m not s—” he stopped, cursing this potion for what seemed to be the hundredth time tonight and glared down at you before taking yet another step closer, “Boxers, if you must know.”

Practically beaming, you looked up at him, noticing the real beauty of a flustered Remus. This was one of the first times that you’ve seen him blush without looking away. The freckles that were sadly fading with the cold contrasted greatly against his pink cheeks and his jaw was clenched ever so slightly, giving him a bit more definition. You wanted to lean up and kiss him, have your mouth trail down his defined jaw, leaving marks along the way.

Wanting to make him squirm even further, to test the boundaries between you, you pressed on. “Good to know.” Your voice was soft and innocent, and you leaned in slightly to feel yourself almost pressing up against him. You knew this was dangerous territory for you, but you couldn’t help but continue, hoping to make him an utter mess by the time you were through. “So,” you watched as his pupils dilated slightly, and you pulled your bottom lip into your mouth, biting down gently. “Are you an arse or tits guy?”

And there it was. The shocked, flustered sputtering that you were hoping for. Over the time you’ve known Remus, you realized how much of a cheeky shit he always was, and it felt good to be on the other side of things for once.

“Y-You can’t just ask that sort of thing! T-That’s…” he trailed off, and watched as you continued to grin up at him.

“That’s what? It’s just a question Remus.”

“That’s like asking what kind of panties you’re wearing!”

You threw your head back with a loud laugh, pulling away slightly. “Remus, I’ve technically already asked you that.”

“Well I would try for the male equivalent but there is none. That’s a personal question, Y/N.”

You sighed softly, realizing that you may have taken this a bit too far. Carefully reaching out to touch his arm, you frowned slightly when he jumped. I guess there’s the reminder that he wouldn’t want to be with you.

“Look Remus, I’m not making you answer anything. I was just curious about your preferences, that’s all. For instance, I like broad shoulders, and toned arms.” You trailed off, having your eyes subconsciously dip down the expanse of his own shoulders and arms, before you took in a deep breath and continued. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer me. I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

Remus looked down at you and knew that you were telling the truth, you had to. He didn’t mean to get freaked out, because honestly he didn’t care. Yet, when you asked the only thing that he could think of was grabbing you by your own arse and pulling you closer to him. The truth of his thoughts almost spilled from his own mouth and he knew that he couldn’t do it.

“Oh,” you started, and pulled your hand off his arm to reach the waist of your own skirt. “And since you technically asked…” Your hand went passed the waistband of your skirt and pulled up the waistband of your panties. “I wear bikinis. These ones are lace.” You smiled coyly and watched as Remus gulped harshly.

“Arse.” He finally said. Taking a step closer, he reached out to trail a hand up your outer thigh gently. You shivered as his hand made its way under the bottom of your skirt, before blushing madly and pushing his hand away, albeit truly reluctantly. “I much prefer a fit arse.”

“Hands, Lupin.” You warned and watched as he grinned guiltily. You really had no idea when the two of you escalated to this type of flirting, but the way his hands felt as the glided up your outer thigh made you want to shiver and pounce.

“No need to get those pretty knickers in a twist. I’m merely curious as to the shape in the back.”

Your eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “The shape of what, exactly?”

Grinning further, he traced the outside of your skirt waistband, hooking a single finger inside and giving a slight tug. “The lace, of course.” His words seemed solid, but the way he smiled made you question the truth of his statement.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled gently. “Well, curiosity killed the cat, you know.” The words coming out of your mouth were not lies, but definitely not the truth. You felt the haze cloud your mind further for reasons completely unrelated to the veritaserum.

“Ah yes, but the answer brought him back. Care to give me the breath of life?” He winked.

A large blush met your cheeks and you looked down at the stairs before turning and starting back up towards the common room. “Let’s go, big boy, before we get caught.”

Joining you, scaling two stairs at a time to reach you, he smiled. “I’m a prefect.”

“You’re a prefect who is off duty. Ask me another question and let’s get to bed. You’re still exhausted, remember?”

Remus grinned, even though you noticed the dark circles that were still hollowing out his beautiful cheeks. “I suddenly don’t feel all that tired…”

You laughed, and grabbed his hand, pulling him along with you. “Well I am, so let’s go.”

The two of you climbed in silence for a few moments before you heard him ask, “Who do you think the most attractive bloke is?”

Your eyes widened as you felt your tongue go heavy in response. You thought of guy after guy that were attractive, quickly trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t Remus. If he knew that you found him most attractive, there was no telling what he’d ask next. This question game was a bad idea.

“Y/N?” He asked and you felt your heart rate spike in panic.

“Y—” you started and you felt the haze settle even further over you. You blinked in response, trying desperately to choose your words carefully in order to not let it slip. “You’re not playing fair, Remus.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean? How?”

“Because that involves feelings.” Shit, that isn’t what you meant to say.

“What?” He asked, obvious confusion across his face. “No it doesn’t.”

You sighed, knowing that you had to give him something otherwise he’d never let this go. “Of course it does. The way I feel about—” you paused, fighting to remain clear headed. “—the person makes them much more attractive versus otherwise.”

You could tell that Remus was about to ask you something until you turned, scaling the stairs and walking up to the portrait. You muttered the password and walked in quickly.

Calling after you, Remus climbed through the portrait just in time to see you at the bottom of the steps. “Y/N, wait!”

You stopped, knowing that running would just make it more obvious. “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, you know.” He was clearly concerned and confused, trying to figure out what made everything change.

“You di—” you started, and sighed. “It’s not your fault. Look, I had fun tonight but we’re both really tired and you definitely need all the sleep you can get. We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Remus nodded slowly, still trying to understand exactly what just happened. “Sure, yeah.”

You smiled softly, before muttering a quick “goodnight” and headed up the stairs.

Moony watched as your fit arse climbed the stairs, and wondered why you wouldn’t tell him who you were interested in. “Goodnight Bubbles.” He mumbled, to nobody in particular and climbed the stairs to his own room; waiting for a conversation that you were going to avoid for as long as you could.

Meanwhile, you were in bed, pillow clutched close to you in a desperate attempt to settle your raging heartbeat. Completely exhausted, you tried telling yourself over and over that you hadn’t officially fallen for Remus but the truth seeking potion never allowed the lie to fall past your lips.

Tortured: 0

Torturer: 1

The two of you did not meet after hours again until about a week after the full moon. You let Remus get as much rest as he could, and honestly didn’t want to risk him asking you about the night of the veritaserum. However, once Remus was healed better, the two of you made plans to start meeting up in order to help him with the classes he fell behind in.

Remus caught up quickly, but the two of you continued to meet. It sort of just became your regular thing, meeting late at night once Remus got back from his prefect rounds. Neither of you really made plans to do it, but over the past few weeks you’d linger in the common room just a bit after 10 o’clock, secretly hoping that Remus would join you. Little did you know that Remus, usually pretty okay with leisurely strolling back to the common room, now scaled the stairs two, if not three at a time, eager to catch you before you went to bed.

The two of you would often spend the time talking, lounging by the fire or even sneaking out for a late night snack to the kitchens. You both spent night after night laughing at silly stories, learning more and more about the other.

You openly cried the night he told you about getting bitten; and Remus was nearly brought to tears himself as he felt you cling to him, telling him over and over that it wasn’t fair, and he didn’t deserve a bit of the life he was forced to now live.

“Y/N,” Remus started as you buried your face further into his neck, hugging him tightly. “Look at me.”

You simply shook your head in response, sniffing ungracefully and letting out another restrained sob.

Rubbing your back gently, he clutched you close to him for a few more moments, trying to commit this feeling to memory. Even though he felt like his heart was breaking at the sounds of your own sobs, he still revelled in the feeling of you gathered in his arms. After a few more moments, he sighed softly and tried gently pulling away.

“Love, please,” he murmured, and you didn’t know if your own heart swelled or broke at the gentle endearment. He’d never called you ‘love’ before and the way it sounded was beautiful; yet another reminder that he was too good for such a horrid affliction. “Please look at me, I want to see you.”

Sniffling again, you shook your head, making no attempt to move even if you had calmed significantly. “I’ve been crying,” and you hiccupped almost to prove your point. “I look all ugly and snotty.”

Remus chuckled softly, “so you’re just going to stay attached to me forever? I mean, I’m not complaining but I think I’d like to see your face at some point.” He trailed off, sliding his hands down the small of your back towards your arse. “Even if this view is pretty good too.”

Feeling a slight squeeze on your arse, you yelped and pulled away in surprise only to see a grinning Remus as you did so. The two of you stared at one another for a few moments, not saying anything. Smiles slowly faded and you bit your lip to try to keep yourself from crying again. You truly didn’t know what was up with you tonight. You were never one to cry in front of others, especially not Remus. Yet, thinking about a poor defenseless four year old Remus, sitting terrified in bed as that monster came near him, it was too much for you to bear.

Slowly, so slowly as if not to scare you, Remus reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey, cheer up; this isn’t worth your tears.”

Brows furrowed, your voice came out as a strained whisper after your long cry. “Of course you’re worth it.”

Remus smiled softly, and cupped your cheek, his heart physically hurting at the thought of how deeply you cared. You were too good to be crying over him, to be hurting because of his terrible condition. He dropped his hand, and pulled away slightly, reminding himself to keep his distance. “I’m not, not really.”

Straightening your spine, your beautiful face set in hard lines. “Don’t give me that shit, Remus John Lupin. You are worth everything.”

Remus closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, fighting the own tears that sprung to his eyes. “How?” The word was meant to be bitter and angry, but only came out broken and so very unsure. His head hung low, he continued, “I’m poor; I’m ragged and thin; I have no prospect for a future; I will be lucky if I can find a small job to even get by. Y/N, I have and will always have nothing.”

Frowning, you wanted to reach out and pull him close but knew that it was not your right to do so. You fought yourself until you couldn’t take his broken sobs any more. Reaching out, your hand rested gently on his thigh, a small amount of comfort compared to what you wanted to give him.

“Remus, I—” you started, but the words died in your throat. You knew that there was not much to console as much of what he said was probably true. Finding work while being a registered werewolf would be tremendously difficult for him. “I didn’t know you felt like this. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Remus laughed bitterly, and he didn’t know if it sounded more haunted or angry. “Who would I tell? There’s nothing to be done anyways, it’s my fate that I have to deal with. I shouldn’t burden anyone else because of it.”

“But—” you started and he cut you off.

“But nothing! I’m not dragging anyone else into this life.” His breathing was labored, almost hyperventilating and your heart shattered.

“Well, you have me.” You gently rested your hand on top of his own, giving it a small squeeze. “I know now, and you can always come to me. Always, Remus.”

Slowly, he looked up and into your eyes. You saw how much he looked like a scared little boy, and not the almost young man he truly was—eyes and nose raw and red, tear stains down his cheeks, his lips swollen from worrying them.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” He whispered, so quietly that you didn’t know if you were imagining things.

Without thinking you reached out and pulled him close, climbing into his lap. Hands carded through his hair as he buried his face in your chest. You whispered sweet nothings in his ear, repeating how things were going to be alright. You were glad that you were no longer under the veritaserum because you didn’t know if anything was true, but you knew that they were the words you both needed to hear.

After he calmed down, now only shaking slightly in your arms, did you pull away slightly. You smiled softly at his mussed hair and puffy, red eyes. “Want to know a secret?” You asked, stroking his cheek softly, watching with a fluttering heart as he leaned into your touch.

He merely hummed softly, relishing in the intimate, albeit embarrassing moment of his crying.

“I’m scared too.” And his eyes snapped open, wide and vulnerable.

“Of what?”

You sighed and reluctantly pulled away, but Remus simply pulled you back and settled the both of you down into the couch. He really didn’t want to be away from you right now, and hoped that this wasn’t going too far.

“This okay?” He asked softly, looking down at you in worry.

You simply shifted slightly to get more comfortable and hummed in agreement. After a few moments you sighed again and started worrying your lip.

“Why are you scared?” The question was hesitant and soft, as if treading on thin ice.

“It’s the war.” You started, and were glad that you didn’t have to look Remus in the eye at this angle. You could stare deep into the fire and just let the words tumble out. “I don’t know if I can do it, you know? Like Lily, Sirius, James, you, and even Alice… they all are just ready to fight. I just don’t know if I’m ready to do that—if I’m ready to risk losing everything.

“And I know that I should be, because what that man is doing is wrong; and I hate it. To think that there are people, good people, who are dead because of that monster and his stupid followers, it’s revolting.” You took in a deep breath and stared into the dying embers of the fire, thinking about all the homes of muggle-borns and half bloods burned to the ground. “But then I think about my mother, and Lily’s parents, and even your mom… and I can’t help but think that maybe it would just be easier if they all lay low, with someone protecting them. If I’m out there, fighting Death Eaters every day then who will be there for them? I love them and I’m not willing to risk losing them because I wasn’t there to help them.

“And then I think of you guys and how passionate you all seem to be. How driven and… brave you are. I’m not willing to risk losing you either; but I just—” you paused, your voice growing small. “I just don’t know if I’m that brave.”

Remus stared up at the ceiling of the common room, listening to your fears. One arm was wrapped tightly around you, the other playing with your hair softly. He understood your fears and realized that maybe he wasn’t alone.

“I think wanting to protect that people you care about is very brave.” His voice was deep and comforting, and you snuggled deeper into him. “It’s okay to be scared, Y/N; but I think the reason that we’re all so ready to fight is because we’re scared. We know that this won’t change so long as people are living in fear, and we won’t do that. We’re not going to let fear win… So we fight.”

Both of you were silent for a few minutes, comforting one another in just your presence alone.

“You know,” Remus started, “you don’t have to join the Order. Nobody would think any less of you because of it.”

You frowned and propped yourself up on one elbow, looking up at him. “And cut myself off from you all? I don’t think so. Remus, I’m scared of this war but I’m more scared of losing you. If you guys join the Order and I don’t—” you bit your lip and fought the tears that were now trying to spill. “There’s a very good chance I’ll never see you again; and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

Remus simply smiled at you, realizing that even if you didn’t see it, you had just as much drive and bravery as they all did, if not more. You protected the ones you loved fiercely, and this protection thought of more than just the wizarding world. Remus knew that James and Sirius probably haven’t thought much about protecting those who couldn’t for themselves, and it was very brave of you to try to take on that responsibility alone.

“I’m joining the Order.” You stated, and eventually settled back down onto his chest. “I’m just also terrified.”

Like you did only hours before, Remus carded his hands through your hair and whispered sweet assurances in your ear. After a few minutes he heard your breathing slow and smiled as he realized you fell asleep. Kissing the top of your head gently, he whispered a sweet “goodnight, love,” and quickly drifted off himself, thinking of how great you felt in his arms.

Remus awoke to hushed whispers and an annoying tapping on his forehead. Never really much of a morning person, especially on Saturdays, he simply furrowed his brows and shifted, mumbling for them to bugger off. However, when Remus felt the unfortunate painful tingling shooting up his arm as soon as he moved and the distinct feeling of something wet on his shirt did his eyes snap open.

Blinking a few times, Remus squinted against the harsh light of the morning in the common room and looked around to see three boys hovering over him, shit eating grins on their faces.

“Morning Moony!” James chirped, and Remus heard you mumble something incoherent before cuddling deeper into his chest.

“Shut it Prongs, or you’ll wake her.” Remus whispered, a rather large blush already creeping its way up his neck.

“Yeah, Prongs, we wouldn’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty here.” Sirius grinned further before looking at your soft smile on your face. “So you finally put the moves on Y/N?”

Remus rolled his eyes and tried not to shift uncomfortably under their gaze. “Bugger off, Padfoot. We just slept, is all.”

“Mhm, she looks pretty happy to be sleeping with you there Moony.” Peter whispered, before giggling along with the other boys.

Sighing softly, he glared at his three former friends. “Oh jump in the lake, all of you. We just slept, honestly. Nothing happened. Now leave us alone before she wakes up and freaks out that she has three boys creepily staring at her as she slept.”

Raising their hands in surrender, all three boys backed away slightly. “Fine, Moony, but make sure I get all the real details later.” Sirius winked and with that they finally left.

Once the common room was quiet again, Remus looked down at you and smiled. You looked absolutely adorable curled up at his side. Even with the slightly damp patch on his shirt where you ended up drooling on him made his heart warm.

He knew that he’d have to wake you soon, before the rest of his house was up for the morning, but he wanted to make this time with you last. He felt so right and at peace having you in his arms, and sadly realized that he had fallen for you, and hard.

Tortured: 1

Torturer: 0

Tag List: (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

@gondorgirl01 , @dare-to-dream-about-1d , @my-nonexistant-romance , @pigwidgexn, @moonysmemes , @psycho-b1tch , @wondurr-one , @ginnylupin , @obscurilicious , @itty-bitty-baby-face , @goghadventuring , @apareciumimagines , @fangirlyea , @batgurl32467 , @mischiefs-never-managed , @dazedanddeceased , @themidnight-train , @jellyzombie , @where-the-fuck-is-my-tiara , @thaliasdays , @girlygirlbishop , @ihave2muchtimeonmyhands , @chaotic-obsessive , @danny-sexbang-is-goals , @moonswormypadsprongs , @rainbowflames , @tjlcruinedme , @fantasticchaoticwho , @narellie66 , @-waythe- , @sometimesicryintheshower , @ultrabarnes , @im-tired-please-stop

#remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #the torturous year #marauders imagine #harry potter imagine #remus lupin x reader

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thetourguidebarbie · 6 years

Text

In a Morning Kiss

This is a present for @captndevil It’s a sequel to one of my recent drabbles Before He Cheats. It has smut. I hope you enjoy it (and feel better)! The prompt she chose was morning cuddling/Klaus trying to distract Caroline from her work. Sorry if formatting ends up being wonky. Posting from my phone. Title from “That’s Where it Is” by Carrie Underwood bc I figured I should stick with the theme.

She loved waking up in Klaus’s arms.

It had been two mostly-blissful years and she still had mornings where she woke convinced that it had all been a dream. Then she would stir against him and feel his heartbeat against her cheek, the comfort of his arms around her, his scent cloaking her, and remember that she was safe.

She liked to linger there, breathing him in and savoring his lean chest against her back and the tickle of his breath against her skin, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. She wouldn’t call herself a morning person by nature, but she wasn’t a grumpy asshole, could possibly be defined as “cheerful” once she got some coffee in her, something that Klaus definitely could not claim.

He preferred waking slowly and on his own time as opposed to quickly and painfully by way of alarm. Apparently he hadn’t had to consistently wake up before eight for years until she came along. His auctions usually ran from evenings until the early hours of the morning, and since he set his own hours, his normal workdays didn’t start until the afternoon. She unfortunately did not share that luxury. She had to be up practically as the sun came up to proofread that morning’s teleprompter script. Klaus endured it like a champ with minimal grumbling as long as she didn’t hit the snooze button more than once, but weekends were supposed to be alarm-free.

Sadly, not today.

One of the other editors had just gone on maternity leave and since she was the most junior and had paper editing experience, she ended up covering most of her extra work. It was even worse because Anna was the editor for the sports section, something that she was completely unfamiliar with other than football– and that was because she’d done cheerleading, so she’d absorbed the information unwillingly through osmosis. She couldn’t half-ass things if she tried–and she’d tried–so she’d spent an appalling amount of time reading official rule manuals so that she wouldn’t miss the easy stuff. In addition to all of her usual work that she could easily do in the evenings, which mostly consisted of looking over quick fluff pieces, she was also supposed to finish looking over the longer sports articles for the weekend, and she was not excited.

Still, it was hard to muffle her giggles as Klaus groaned softly, burrowing his face into her shoulder to try to drown out her phone blaring an upbeat pop song as her alarm. Deciding to be nice, she skipped her usual one snooze button use, reaching to turn it off and twisting in Klaus’s arms to face him. “Good morning,” she whispered, nosing his jaw and planting a soft kiss on the hollow below his earlobe.

“What time is it?” he asked, cracking an eye open to look at her, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Too early,” she said, ignoring his grunt of annoyance when she disentangled herself from his arms. “But I have to get up, remember?”

He muttered something that sounded vaguely like, ‘No you don’t’ but she ignored him, pushing herself out of bed and stripping out of her clothes, grabbing clean pajamas from the dresser before she walked to the master bathroom to shower.

Just because she had to work to do didn’t mean she had to wear actual clothes.

He was draining coffee at the kitchen counter when she emerged, still pulling her wet hair into a messy bun as she took a moment to let her gaze roam appreciatively down his back. His sweatpants were sitting low on his hips, feet bare against the hardwood floor, and she moved behind him, resting her palm lightly on his back as she moved past him to get a mug from the cabinet.

“You didn’t have to get up with me,” she pointed out, putting the mug on the counter and wiping her eyes with her palms. “You still have at least a few hours to sleep before you have to get ready for the auction.”

“I did not,” he agreed, eyeing her over his coffee cup with barely concealed disgust as she emptied a few heaping teaspoons of hazelnut coffeemate into the mug before filling it. “I decided that it would be prudent to get some painting done myself so that I might be able to entice you into taking a break before we leave. A long break.”

She was seriously tempted to agree to a preemptive break (a good start to the day for motivation, right?), but knew that if she gave in now she’d be not working for the rest of the day, and enduring Kol’s endless less-than-subtle innuendos about why she didn’t finish her work wouldn’t be worth it. “I wish,” she grumbled, bringing the mug to her lips to drink.

He was watching her as she sipped, a small smile on his face, and his hand ghosted down her spine to rest just above the curve of her ass, thumb skating across her ribs. “Why not start the morning with something to wake you up a bit? I’ve been told that exercise in the morning can be beneficial.”

She gave him a look that was supposed to be a scowl but probably edged closer to a pout, the knowledge that she was denying herself a great Saturday morning in favor of reading about grown men chasing small objects less than palatable. He seemed to sense that his agenda was making progress, his fingertip darting just under the waistband of her soft cotton shorts to slide along her skin before pausing to stroke her hip. She felt goosebumps pebble on her skin, the pleasurable shiver up her spine and the tightening at the apex of her thighs tempting her almost beyond resistance.

“I can’t,” she said regretfully, stepping away so that his touches wouldn’t reel her in her any more than they already had and trying not to look at his frustratingly effective puppy eyes. “Seriously, I wish I could.”

Unfortunately for both of them, though she hated passing up an excuse for him to touch her, she hated the idea of her coworkers still viewing her as Kol’s sister-in-law rather than as an actual peer even more. She knew that slacking on her assigned work would only reinforce that image, and she’d worked really hard to build up the trust she already had so far.

Still, as she watched Klaus stretch, his muscles flexing in a way that made her want to refamiliarize herself with the feel of them under her fingertips, she was very much regretting her decision to fulfill her adult responsibilities.

She could tell he knew what was on her mind, since there was excessive flexing and a heated drag of his eyes up and down her form, lingering on the hem of her tank top, which revealed glimpses of creamy skin just above the polka-dotted waistband of her shorts. She resisted with a show of practically superhuman-level self-control, at least in her opinion, and cleared her throat before draining the rest of her coffee. She avoided his eyes as best she could while she washed out the mug in the sink, determined to not get sucked in. He knew all the right buttons to push to coax her into spending just another hour in bed with him, which could easily turn into two or five, and though her skin prickled in anticipation when she felt his eyes on her, she ruthlessly pushed her desire away.

“Later, then,” he said finally, his voice low and full of the kind of unspoken promises that made her toes curl, and her breath caught when she looked up, her lips parting at how he watched her. Klaus could still take her breath away with a single glance even after two years together, and it was incredibly irritating.

“Sure,” she managed, trying not to sound too eager. He was smug and smirky enough already.

“Let me get that for you, sweetheart,” he said, reaching to take the mug from her hand, the brush of their fingers making her skin heat. “Let me know when you’re hungry and we can have lunch, all right?”

She nodded and pecked him on the cheek, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a few seconds before she walked to her office, determined to avoid him and his knowing smiles and lickable abs.

Ugh.

She’d finally managed to get some headway around lunchtime, sighing when her stomach grumbled and managing to motivate herself to finish marking up Andi’s fluff piece about a dog that had rescued a kitten from a well on the edge of town (they were not above heartwarming clickbait) and decided she’d finish editing the teleprompter feed for the Monday morning celebrity gossip show after she had something to eat.

She’d expected to hear muffled rock music bleeding through the heavy wooden door of Klaus’s studio, but it was oddly silent. She debated whether she wanted to poke the dragon before deciding that if Klaus waited to eat he probably wouldn’t be hungry at the auction banquet later, and he had told her to find him. “Klaus?” she called, knocking before opening the door to peek inside, her cheeks flushing when she saw him.

They’d long gotten past her being embarrassed to talk to him about sex or what she wanted, Stefan’s lack of talent and excessive pearl clutching at her early tentative requests now a long-forgotten memory, but it was still a little weird to see him on the plush couch she usually occupied while he was painting absorbed in one of her repeatedly read paperbacks with a cover that showed a fanged and muscled hero clutching a clearly swooning heroine to his chest. He was still shirtless, his necklaces resting against his chest just begging to be tugged, but he’d put on jeans for reasons that she could not fathom. Not that she was complaining; she definitely did not mind the way they framed him. His sweatpants never quite did him justice.

He appeared to be halfway through and clearly hadn’t heard her come in. She leaned against the doorway fighting down her giggles as she watched him turn the page a few times before walking over and plucking the book out of his hands, grabbing a nearby receipt and sticking it in the book to save the page. He looked up as she bent over him, one of her hands splayed on his ribs, the other resting on the armrest by his head. “Good book?”

“Quite enlightening, actually. Inspirational, even.”

His smirk was wicked and almost baiting, and she bent to press her lips to his briefly.

“You hungry?” she asked.

He gave her a wicked grin and she huffed.

“For food,” she added, anticipatorily talking over him when she saw the flash of mischief in his eyes and the obvious innuendo about to spill out of his mouth. “Seriously.”

“You don’t want to explore the mature themes discussed in… ah…” he grabbed the book again, glancing at the cover, “…Bound by Passion?”

“Tempting, but bondage seems a little time consuming,” she said dryly, and he gave her a dimpled grin, sitting up.

“Fair,” he said. “Shall I order in, then? I can bring it to you. Perhaps we’ll even have a little time before we have to change.”

“Before you have to change. I have to do my hair and makeup too,” she reminded, the prospect of going back to work suddenly making the idea of a break before they went to his auction much more appealing. It seemed like Klaus had been able to read her well since the moment they’d met, and now was no different, the glint in his eye indicating that he could sense that she was starting to lean towards some stress relief. She couldn’t give in, though. “But sure. I’d take pizza.”

“Mushrooms and peppers?”

“Yes, please,” she said, kissing him again. “I love you.”

“And I you, sweetheart,” he murmured, already reaching for his phone, which was on the side table.

She returned to her office and put her headphones back on, pulling over the second-to-last article. She preferred to mark them up by hand, and she was twirling the pen in her fingers as she contemplated whether Josh needed a transition sentence between two of his paragraphs when she nearly dropped it, flinching at the unexpected brush of stubble against her jaw before relaxing as she realized it was Klaus and tipping her head to give him better access to her neck. “I’m working,” she reprimanded half-heartedly when she removed her headphones, and Klaus chuckled, flicking his tongue against the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I know, sweetheart. Just bringing you food,” he said, pulling back and setting down a plate by her elbow.

She found herself a little disappointed that he didn’t push a little more, simply resting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing lightly before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Do you need anything else?”

She was faced with a split-second decision: Be a real life adult and get some actual work done, or have some great soulmate sex, probably some afterglow cuddling, and then get ready to go to Klaus’s art auction and drink too many cranberry vodkas.

The decision was clear.

She slowly spun around in her chair and reached to sling her arms over Klaus’s shoulders, kissing him lightly. “You.”

She was about to tease him about how smug he looked, but his hands were already sneaking under her tank top, his palms hot against her skin, and she melted against him. All thought fled from her mind as he bent to suck her lower lip and scrape it with his teeth, his hands squeezing her hips lightly. “Bed,” he murmured between kisses. “I want you in the bed.”

She hummed in agreement, pushing gently on his chest to get him to move back and standing up, leaning into him when he placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her down the hall to their bedroom. She felt his hand drifting lower as they walked, first to her hip, fiddling the waistband of her shorts before settling on her ass as he pushed open their bedroom door. “And how do you want me in the bed?”

She almost laughed at the brief torn expression that flashed across his face, his eyes sliding up and down her body as though he couldn’t quite decide. “I want you on top, I think. I want to watch you rock against me, your head thrown back as you ride my cock.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice a bit breathless as his hands moved down to unbuckle his belt.

“I want you to strip for me first,” he said, his voice low but firm. The underlying growl sent an anticipatory shiver down her spine, her eyes never leaving his as he sat on the bed, pulling the belt off and letting it drop to the floor.

She nodded, swallowing, keeping eye contact as she fingered the hem of her tank top. Whether they were alone or not, the way he looked at her never failed to make her feel sexy and desirable, and she pulled her tank top off in one smooth movement, letting it drop to the floor.

“Good girl,” he murmured, smirking as she let out a soft moan at his words, her face flushing. She let her gaze wander down to his hands, licking her lips as he pulled out his cock, stroking himself to the sight of her. “Shorts as well, sweetheart. I want to see you. Yes, slowly… just like that. Good girl. You’re so beautiful…”

She kicked her shorts away, her heart pounding, pussy already wet and aching. She could feel that her inner thighs were slick with her arousal as she sauntered over, her hips swaying in a movement that she knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

“Lie down,” she said, gently pushing his chest so that he was on his back, a low groan rumbling in his throat as his hard cock brushed against her thigh, precome mixing with her wetness on her skin.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, guiding her palms to his shoulders before easily positioning himself at her entrance, his hands hot on her hips and the guided her down.

“Fuck,” she bit out through gritted teeth, rolling her hips. “That feels so good…”

“Roll your hips for me,” he said, his eyes dark, chords of his neck tight, muscles tense. “Good girl…”

He’d spent a great deal of time observing her when he talked to her during sex, noting her likes and dislikes, and a smirk still twisted on his lips whenever her breath caught or a moan escaped her from his praise. “You feel so perfect, Caroline. So wet and tight around my cock. Come forward just a bit more. Yes, sweetheart…fuck…”’

It felt amazing, but she knew neither of them could come without a bit more friction, their preferences always having leaned toward being rougher and faster. He was trying to tease her, to draw it out, and she found that she didn’t mind at all.

Still, her body naturally tried to chase her release, her body rocking against his as she tried to find the perfect angle, and she huffed when his hands squeezed her hips to slow them down. “Klaus…” she whined. “Come on.”

“What, sweetheart?”

“I need more,” she said breathlessly, giving him her best wide-eyed imploring look.

“More?” he asked, the word dragged out with an infuriatingly smug gleam in his eye.

“Yes,” she said, her nails curling against his shoulders in what she knew was probably a painful scrape (though judging by his groan when she did it he didn’t exactly mind). “More.”

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I want hard and fast,” she said, relishing the way his eyes darkened, his lips parting slightly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand tangling in her hair, tugging her head back and taking a nipple in his mouth, nipping it lightly. “Tell me more.”

“I want,” she gasped, struggling to retain coherent thought as she got lost in sensation. “I want your cock in me—” she began, interrupting herself with a moan as he thrust his hips just the way she liked it.

“You have it already.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” she scolded, the effect slightly ruined by how breathy her voice was and the soft moan as he pinched her ass. “I want you to fuck me harder.”

“Bit difficult from this position, sweetheart,” he said, his dimpled grin indicating that he was having entirely too much fun torturing her.

“Then we’ll switch,” she said, her nails scratching down his chest as she moaned when he tugged her against him as she started to sit up on her knees.

“No. I want you to tell me what you want.”

“I want you on top of me,” she said impatiently, letting her teeth sink into her lower lip to muffle a gasp as he rolled his hips and pinched her nipples at the same time, her head tipping back.

“Good girl.”

She panted out his name as he let his nails bite into her ass before rolling them over. His hands pushed her thighs back gently to let him go deeper, his hips snapping as he began to move faster, and she lifted her hips in rhythm, needing more.

“Klaus…”

He didn’t have to ask what she needed, knew her well enough to guess, and she moaned as his hands slid from her thighs to cup her ass, squeezing roughly before letting a nail drag across her back entrance, her back bowing at the sensation. He bent to give her long, drugging kisses, the languid motions a perfect contrast to the fast thrusts of his cock. His lips were soon traveling down her neck, and she moaned again as his lips and teeth made what she knew would be bright, lasting marks against her pale skin. She knew that she shouldn’t find it unbelievably hot that she’d have to be careful all night to make sure the red marks didn’t peek out from beneath the bustline of her dress, but she couldn’t help but moan at the thought of it.

“I’m close,” she gasped out, her high building quickly now that he was giving her a harder rhythm and the nip of sharp teeth against her skin.

“Come for me, sweetheart. I love the sounds you make, how your pretty eyes grow deliciously dark with lust for me. I want to see you let go. I love watching you.”

She bit out a stream of expletives as she came around him, her nails raking down his back.

“Good girl. Just like that,” he growled, his hips speeding up, his hand moving between their bodies to make tight circles around her clit to extend her high. “Moan for me, Caroline. Fuck…”

She felt herself begin to grow heavy, her skin oversensitive, and she lifted her head tonip his lower lip between her teeth. “Come in me,” she encouraged, tugging his necklaces lightly. “I want you to come in me.”

She knew it would be the push he needed, and a few moments later she felt the heat running down her thighs as he rolled off, pulling her on top of him, his fingertip lazily tracing patterns up and down her spine.

She buried her face in his shoulder, hitching her leg over his hip to press closer, her breathing still a bit heavy. “l don’t want to move,” she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin, and she heard him laugh quietly, his hand stopping its movement to

rest on the small of her back.

“Tired?”

She hummed, relaxing against him. “Early mornings suck.”

“They do indeed.”

“Taking a break was totally worth it, though. I’m glad you convinced me.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the tattoo of his first words to her on her forearm. “Me too.”

#klaroline #klaroline smut #klaroline drabbles #klaroline drabble #klaroline fanfiction #captndevil #my fanfiction #mydrabbles #otp: annoyingly perfect

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fitzonomy · 6 years

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On grammar: if rules are arbitrary, why follow them?

Welcome to this week’s addition of Advice Nobody Asked For (ANAF). Every Monday I’ll post something regarding writing work I’m doing and some advice I have regarding my current experiences. It’s been a hot minute since the last ANAF because my life changed drastically so my time comes at a high premium (more so than before). This morning, I was editing a new chapter to send off to my editor and realized a new, small something about grammar and what makes writing “correct.” Long post under the cut:

I am not a licensed “expert” on communication and language, but I’d like to think I’m better than an expert because being rabidly fanatic about “facts” comes part and parcel with being an expert. I am, of course, speaking from my time in academia. But I suspect most people would consider experts as having a great deal of formal education from an institution. I’m not a zealot when it comes to disciplines. I’m discerning and critical. Unrelated to this ANAF, I probably made a lot of people hate me in academia for the same reason I’m not religious: I don’t have what it takes to blindly follow and be part of an assembly line. That is neither here nor there. All you need to know is, I’ve got a crap ton of formal education and applicable experience when it comes to writing. Anyway, you probably had at least one language arts teacher during your education who was hard on grading when it came to grammar. Maybe they knew a lot. Maybe they knew like one or two rules that they were really intent on making sure you fixed. Some of these rules might have looked like:

Don’t split infinitives.

“Ain’t“ is not a word because it breaks down into “are is not”

Never start a sentence with “but.”

These are popular adages that I grew up with anyway. I’m really pleased to see tumblr engaging with the ideas of descriptive vs prescriptive language. Just take a moment to at least read the brief descriptions of those wiki pages because it’ll become important for the rest of this ANAF. I am a hardcore descriptionist. Anytime something involves telling me how things should happen, I’m immediately skeptical and want to know, “Okay, why should X happen?” A great deal of “shoulds” in life end up being social norms that are trying to wash out the richness of variation in human behavior. Communication is a human behavior. Language is a type of communication; therefore, it is a type of human behavior. Did you notice that pretentious semicolon I threw into that previous sentence? It would have be equally intelligible as “Language is communication so it’s a behavior too.” That, my friends, is what I like to call Ash’s Law of If You Can Understand What the Hell was Just Communicated to You, It’s All Good. Language is a living, dynamic tool. That is what it is. I’ve spent over a decade studying language from sociolinguistics to ethology to cognitive neuroscience. To me, if it works then congrats, it counts. But how does all of this pertain to writing? My editor @nuwanders is probably the most talented and patient person I know. Why? Because the amount of TED Talks I give when commenting on her edits would drive any other person mad by this point. Over the years, I’ve become more aware that without great characters and characterization, complicated plots are just Sudoku puzzles and, man, do I hate Sudoku. That’s not to say Sudoku is awful--it’s just not how I want to spend my time. I’m the same way about crossword puzzles. I like the idea of how small details can be put into such complicated but richly ordered puzzles. I just sorta, kinda hate being patient with them. So, characters is where I land for how to start a story. I often write in first-person POV. Sometimes I’ll opt for third-person, limited POV. It’s easier for me to engage with my own work. My editor and I will often go back and forth on these issues:

Character dialogue isn’t grammatically correct.

Story that is not dialogue isn’t grammatically correct.

Somewhere I completely fucked things up and the back and forth is me going, “oh shit, so sorry, yes you are completely right ugh why did I make such a simple mistake???”

Okay, okay, #3 happens but it still embarrasses me to slip into wrong verb tenses (I often flip between present and past tense because my brain is usually in five different places on a good day and who knows why I do things). I know all sorts of verb tenses. I know the difference between present perfect and future perfect conditional. INSERT PLUG ABOUT HOW LEARNING OTHER LANGUAGES HELPS YOU BE A BETTER WRITER HERE. That all-caps plug was intentional btw. #1 is usually a short conversation where I explain that character A isn’t as formally educated as character B or that character C just “doesn’t talk like that.” It’s easier to make a descriptive case for a descriptive instance. #2 is more complicated. Let’s say there exists a character named Lita. She is clever although lacks a formal education beyond primary schooling. She reads a lot, works at a grocery store, and enjoys participating in community theater. If I had to tell a story about Lita, regardless of plot and her objectives, those small, background details need more fleshing out. Why? Because the details of those smaller, inconsequential items informs me how I need to report Lita’s story to an audience. Lita only exists in my head. I am trying to communicate to people a whole new world that exists only in my thoughts. That doesn’t mean that some of the thoughts won’t be easier to communicate. We all know what reading is. I don’t have to explain that process. But it does matter what type of reader Lita is. Fleshing out this detail will tell ME as the writer how I need to report Lita’s thoughts to you. If I write in first-person: “I picked up the book, read a few chapters, and then went to bed.” This tells me that Lita is a casual reader who probably isn’t too invested in critical theory of literature. I’d have a hard time convincing someone with that sentence alone that Lita was reading a hard science fiction novel. I’d have an easier time convincing you that it was a romance novel. If I wrote: “I picked up the book, got a few chapters read and then finally made the decision to go to bed.” There’s kinda a problem here. It communicates the same information as the first example, but the grammar and structure of the sentence--the way I’ve decided to report to you how Lita reports her information to me--that kinda makes that sentence a little harder to swallow. (Not really the point but I can explain if anyone asks why I’d say that). Having a name for a rule is a language “hot key” for being able to point out when something seems off. To be quite honest, it took me longer to write sentence #2 than it did sentence #1 because breaking the rule is hard for me now. Parallel structure in a sentence with a list of items simply makes the information parse easier for me. It’s a case of X, Y, Z that I’m then able to use to create a voice for my character. I just need to be able to keep X, Y, Z in mind. And that’s really why knowing the rules helps you break them: it helps create a louder voice for your character, really allows them to shine through so the story isn’t just the writer’s report of what the character is doing in their particular environment. Let’s see if I can’t make Lita a little more real:

“I picked up the book, gently sliding the bookmark from between two page to place it on my nightstand. Deciding to read a few chapters, I sat up straight and felt myself smiling at title of the next section. Lost Love. These sorts of chapters were my favorite. That moment when two lovers reconnected, their emotions so complicated that the only thing they can say to one another is, ‘You’re looking well. How’ve things been?’ But after three hours of getting sucked in, I realized how late it was and finally made the decision to go to bed.”

There’s a little mix and matching going on here, but knowing the rule of parallel structure helps me as a writer focus on something more important (i.e. the basics) so I can break it apart to make it more interesting. It’s easier on me to organize and plan if I use rules so I can help make the report of a fictional character’s thoughts easier to communicate. Sometimes fictional characters don’t report to us in grammatical ways because we, as writers, are privy to their stream of consciousness (which is decidedly not grammatical). Our thoughts come to us in stranger ways than language. Lita might only report to me that dealing with an angry customer in ways that are 0% words--frustration, heat (body temp), and the need to get away from a situation. That’s not a great way to report things. An example: “Hot. I’m hot. Idiot. I know the rules. Yelling, heart races, pound pound. Leave leave leave idiot need to be doing other things idiot stop yelling.” That is a very hard report of an internal world to follow. BUT depending on the character, it might be effective to break rules of punctuation and clarity of action. You might have a character whose self-report breaks down so much that you, as the writer, are simply forced to transcribe and little else. It’d be effective for creating a character who might dissociate in stressful situations or whose suffered an injury so severe the pain sort of takes over all organization. I can’t tell you when or what when it comes to using such a strategy but I can use rules (again, language hot keys to quickly point out something that is different from expectations) in order to try and figure out why or how using or breaking a rule is effective. In that stream example above, I can say that lack of punctuation makes me feel uneasy. Punctuation is a rule we use in writing to help organize and transition thoughts. I know how to use punctuation to sound pretentious (see: that semicolon above). I know how to limit how many words might occur between punctuation in order to create quick actions (short, choppy, active voice sentences are good here). But, more importantly, when I know the rules and have really internalized them as second-nature, I don’t spend as much time worrying about how to apply the rules. Instead, I can work on figuring out when and why I should or should not use a rule. Rules are arbitrary in the way that social rules are arbitrary--they’re pretty meaningless devoid of context. We follow rules because we don’t live in vacuums. Deviations from rules come with consequences, effects. Following rules also has consequences, effects. Knowing the rules allows you to become good at examining the effects of following the rules. When you deviate from rules, it gives you an opportunity to then compare and contrast the effects. So, what if you don’t know a rule? Imagine a social situation where the rules are much different than what you’re comfortable with. You might try different things based on what you do know, but without having the internalize, first-hand experience, it’s going to be rocky. You’ll probably have difficulties pointing to exactly why things seem so hard, why you can’t improve (improvement being individualized, of course). Then, imagine some at this particular social situation says, “You tend to show your teeth a lot while smiling. It’s unnerving.” Et voila! (Yes, I’m too lazy to get the accent mark, excuse the rule-breaking). Now you know to smile without showing so much teeth! Things are a bit smoother now! And guess what? Now that you know that people find the whole “smiling with teeth” thing unnerving, guess what you have? If you wanna tell a story about a strange encounter you had with someone, you can smile with teeth to report that you were unnerved while dealing with the stranger! Example: “So, the entire time, this guy is just staring at me so I’m just like, please please go away.” And then you smile with some teeth to show nervousness, unease. BAM! New Hot Key Unlocked! Grammar and writing work much in the same way. Grammar is a fancy way of saying “language hot keys.” Poetry is a really good example of how knowing rules allows you to break it into interesting ways because poetry is concerned with how things sound as well. There are rules for the sounds our mouths make, what’s pleasing to hear (consonance) and what’s not (dissonance). But poetry also has interesting grammatical rules as well. Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is a great example of how breaking well-known rules can produce something distinct and unique. So, I’ve rambled quite a bit. I’ll leave it at that for now but I’m always happy to field questions.

#anaf #thank you for coming to my ted talk #writing #writing advice

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oh-my-hubris · 7 years

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Because it’s 3 am.

And I’m bored and literally no one cares, enjoy this list of some of the dumbest and most embarrassing things I have done while playing BioWare games. This is by no means conclusive.

Accidentally cheated on Alistair with Zevran and immediately scrapped the entire play-through

Aki: *rolls a warden to romance Zev or Lellers* Alistair: One nice thing about the Blight is how it brings people together Aki: DAMN IT Etienne: *from another room* Romancing Alistair again? Aki: SHUT UUUUUP

Starts DA2 game with the intention of romancing Anders because Justice Fenris: *rips a man’s still beating heart out of his chest* Aki: Fuck. Etienne: Change of plans? Aki: Shuuuuut uuuuuup

Legitimately argued with myself about the physical attributes of the Fade while lying on my couch with Etienne just laughing at me.

*panicked screaming after realizing that I couldn’t save Kaidan after I rescued Ashley of Virmire*

Aki: I love Garrus! I’m gonna romance him! Thane: *kills a woman, cradles her as he sets her down, immediately prays for forgiveness.* Aki: Fuck. Etienne: Again? Aki: HE’S A SAD LIZARD ALRIGHT I DON’T HAVE TOO---shut up.

Finally romances Garrus, makes fun of him the whole time, gets irrationally teary about how important every aspect of the relationship is because it’s really rare to see a relationship start as friends-with-benefits (but specifically from a place where it’s about trust and how important you both are to one another rather than having any basis in romantic or sexual attraction) and grow into a romantic relationship where the two characters are still best friends and prop one another up. It coincides really beautifully with the Shepard/Garrus bromance. Also the fact that Garrus actually uses the word “boyfriend” is important because a lot of times games will leave labels out for fear of sounding “juvenile”.

^the fact that I just wrote that.

Learning how to use a save editor specifically to fix the Virmire issue.

Spent an indecent amount of time trying to figure out how sex with turians would work in practice and screaming at the wiki because carapace and exoskeleton are not fucking interchangable and an exoskeleton doesn’t make any sense for a species that gives birth to live young

cried about Thane in the shower

Stared balefully at my computer after saving the Rachni Queen and just kinda whispered “Grunt’s mad at me” in a small and pathetic voice.

In depth discussion at Etienne about whether or not Drell would have cloacas.

Decided, and informed Etienne, that Turians probably don’t kiss each other because they don’t have lips and so the kissing at all is kinda weird but they do probably nuzzle. And maybe coo. Like really gravelly pigeons.

*Nyreen Appears in the Omega DLC* Aki: Fuck.

“I want to be Varric when I grow up” --Aki, three times last week

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brentrogers · 4 years

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Podcast: How Much Sex Is Psychologically Healthy?

If you were in a perfect relationship with your “perfect” partner, how much sex would you want? Three times a week? Once a day? Never? That number is your “magic sex number,” says today’s guest Marriage and Family Therapist Steven Ing. We all have a magic sex number, just like we all need to sleep a certain amount of hours per night and eat a certain number of calories per day to feel full. But if your magic number is far more or less than your partner’s number, there will be serious relationship problems.

How do you know what your magic sex number is? And how big of a difference can there be between partners? Tune in for an important discussion on how to have a sexually-healthy relationship.

SUBSCRIBE & REVIEW

Guest information for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Podcast Episode

Steven Ing, MFT had a seriously messed up childhood. Like, mobster-father-shot-to-death-by-police messed up. So what did he do with this experience? He set out on a lifelong quest to study and better understand human behavior — why good people do bad things. He channeled this research into a Marriage & Family Therapy career with more than 30 years of clinical experience and 20 years of experience in forensic psychotherapy.

As a leading expert, author and public speaker on all matters related to sexuality and relationships, Steven is fiercely passionate about his life’s mission to shine a light on how society hasn’t even begun to really think and rationally talk about human sexuality.

Steven is a powerful ally to the LGBTQ community and a regular contributor to LGBTQ outlets such as The Rage Monthly and Adelante Magazine. His work can also be found in HuffPost, SheKnows.com and The Advocate. He was recently on the Betches SUP Podcast and is a TEDx Talk presenter, educating the masses on “Your Magic Sex Number”.

About The Psych Central Podcast Host

Gabe Howard is an award-winning writer and speaker who lives with bipolar disorder. He is the author of the popular book, Mental Illness is an Asshole and other Observations, available from Amazon; signed copies are also available directly from the author. To learn more about Gabe, please visit his website, gabehoward.com.

Computer Generated Transcript for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Episode

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Announcer: You’re listening to the Psych Central Podcast, where guest experts in the field of psychology and mental health share thought-provoking information using plain, everyday language. Here’s your host, Gabe Howard.

Gabe Howard: Welcome to this week’s episode of the Psych Central Podcast. Calling into the show today, we have Steven Ing, who had a seriously messed up childhood. He channeled this into a marriage and family therapy career with more than 30 years of clinical experience and 20 years of experience in forensic psychotherapy. He’s a leading expert, columnist, author and public speaker, all on matters related to sexuality and relationships. He’s at TEDx Talks presenter, educating the masses on your magic sex number. Steve, welcome to the show.

Steven Ing, MFT: Hi, Gabe. It’s great to be with you today.

Gabe Howard: Steve, I first want to say that I absolutely love your bio. I think it’s important to just own things. And I like that you had a seriously messed up childhood because in many ways I feel like I had a seriously messed up childhood. And I believe a lot of our listeners are looking back on their childhood and they’re feeling the same way. And, you know, sometimes our guests, you know, they really want to tout their professional accolades, but they don’t want to tout their human experiences. So first off, kudos to you for your honesty.

Steven Ing, MFT: Oh, thanks a lot. I just think that, you know, for me, such a huge part of my motivation to help people because I know what it feels like to be in those uncomfortable family situations.

Gabe Howard: It makes perfect sense to me, and that vulnerability, I think is really important, giving that your subject matter is sexuality because people are often embarrassed to discuss sex and sexuality anyway. Now let’s talk about your TED Talk. The magic sex number. What is that all about?

Steven Ing, MFT: Basically, the idea is that we all have specific needs that we’re pretty much hardwired to have and that they aren’t subject to moral suasion or to personal appeal. Like, for example, the number of hours sleep you need to feel refreshed and also the number of calories you need per day to feel satiated. We don’t really talk about sex that way, but everyone I’ve ever interviewed and I mean, thousands of people had an answer to that question. Ideally, if you could be in your perfect relationship, that was perfect in every way. How often, ideally, would you like to have sex? And some people respond with the number at one end of the continuum and other people respond with a very different number. And that represents a range of humanity. We’re all normal and we’re all different. So we just don’t talk about this very much. We sort of presume, I think, in an egocentric way that when we fall in love with somebody, they will want us pretty much exactly the way we want them and with the frequency we want them. And that just isn’t true because of the range from one person to another can be quite serious.

Gabe Howard: When I think about a magic sex number, the first thing that I think is how am I supposed to figure mine out?

Steven Ing, MFT: Yeah, that’s. That is really tricky. And it’s actually trickier than I even thought it might be because there’s a lot of cultural and moral interference with getting an accurate assessment. If people have an idea that there’s a right number and that number is way too low or way too high, they tend to skew their number to what they think is more acceptable or more normal. And in the same way, a lot of people are preset to self-deception because they end up coming up with a number that mentally is actually the number they’d be willing to settle for. And that’s a very different number than the number that they ideally would like to have. So for me, the question is one of sustainability. If we’re serious about getting all of our sexual needs met in one monogamous relationship, then we need to make sure that that sexual relationship is at least a fighting chance of being sustainable. And if we don’t do that, we really haven’t done our due diligence.

Gabe Howard: One of the things that I’m thinking about is when it comes right down to it. How important is our magic sex number? Because it sort of sounds like you’re making sex the end all be all of a successful relationship. Aren’t there other things more important like compatibility and values? So how important is a magic sex number?

Steven Ing, MFT: It’s a little bit like arguing, though, which organ is more important, the heart or the kidneys, because the truth is we need it all to work together for us to survive and have a happy life. And then the same way, if I have the perfect relationship, perfect in every way. But there is a significant problem. It could be something like my mate decides to engage in compulsive gambling. That alone could destroy an otherwise good relationship. So if I’m talking about sex, most of us, we don’t talk about it too much, but we have an idea in the back of our mind of what our future sex life could be like. But we don’t imagine something like what happened to one of my clients when his wife came up to him after seven years of marriage and they had two children by that time. They were a couple in their thirties, and she announced to him that she would not be having sex with him anymore. And he was shocked and didn’t know what to do about this. And for the next 40 years, they did not have sex and it ended up disastrously for both of them. But he never, ever thought that he would be in that situation. And most of us don’t. But we don’t think it through like, well, what would I do? And well, what are my sexual needs? Because if if we think about managing our sexuality intelligently and we have an idea of our magic sex number. You know, for some people, it’ll be three times a week. For some people, it’ll be once a week or less. But whatever that number is, it’s what you need to feel comfortable. Otherwise, you’re facing a catastrophic marital failure where you end up getting so frustrated that you either have an affair or get a divorce or whatever that is. We’d all like to avoid that.

Gabe Howard: The first thing I thought of as you were telling that story is 40 years of no sex. That doesn’t seem like a marriage to me. That seems like a friendship. How did they survive? Forty years in a sexless marriage?

Steven Ing, MFT: For her, her discomfort with the idea of having sex with him was not replaced with anything other than a deep dove into alcoholism. So she relied on booze to get through the rest of her life for him because of his religious upbringing. Divorce was an unacceptable option. And I live in Nevada where prostitution is legal. And he never availed himself of the services of a legal prostitute, nor did he ever have an affair. Instead, what he did is he spent the next 40 years trying desperately to take care of his sexual needs simply through masturbation. And of course, that was not a successful effort because our sexual needs are far more complex and diverse than just orgasm alone. So even if I were, let’s say, masturbating as frequently as I wanted an orgasm, that’s not going to take care of my needs for companionship, conversation, humor and play. So it just doesn’t work.

Gabe Howard: I’m starting to think about our magic sex number and I’m thinking, OK, clearly if one person is zero and you’re at one, that’s too big of a gap. But maybe if somebody was at 10 and you were at 12, that might be a gap that you could work with. All of this to say, how big of a difference between the numbers becomes significant or becomes a dealbreaker? Now, I know in the story that you just told, apparently there was no dealbreaker. But myself, and I believe many of our listeners, would probably not be willing to stay in a marriage that was sexless for 40 years. And even in that story, it did seem like the outcome was disastrous for both parties involved.

Steven Ing, MFT: So typically, a magic sex number wouldn’t be a number like 7. It would be a number like oh, from 6 to 8. And that way there’s a little bit of give and take or leeway. And what we’re talking about, of course, I hasten to say this. We’re talking about the norm. We’re not talking about, oh, if my mate is ill or has gone through a deep tragedy and I need to be there for her emotionally or she is away on a trip or something like that. We’re just talking about the day to day typical marital situation. You know, clearly if somebody says 8 and somebody else says 11, there’s quite a bit of room to work with that. But I like your example of if one of them says once a week, that’s really comfortable for me. And the other one says zero and I’m looking at a lifetime of sexless marriage, that’s really not going to work. But actually, zero is the preferred number for a definite percentage of the population. There are asexual people in our population who quite sincerely want to have companionship and they want to have marriage and all the benefits of the partnership, but they’re completely disinterested in sex. And for them, an ideal number is zero makes perfect sense. At the top end, I have had people who are happily married because they found someone who is just like them and the number, their number was four times per day.

Gabe Howard: Wow.

Steven Ing, MFT: and then they shared that number in common.

Gabe Howard: I am stunned and it.

Steven Ing, MFT: Well, it’s.

Gabe Howard: Is this atypical? I mean, this would have to be atypical.

Steven Ing, MFT: I think what we need to all remember is that human sexuality falls in virtually every aspect on a continuum. I think that’s what we’re learning more and more about sexual diversity as we as a culture get more comfortable talking about sexuality. So the old binary of hetero versus homo even that has Kinsey pointed out back in the 50s occurs on a continuum. Some of us are more or less heterosexual than the person standing next to us. And when it comes to a magic sex number, if our listeners could imagine that a bell shaped curve that includes all of humanity and that one end, let’s say the left hand side of the curve would be the asexual who prefer a number like zero. And then on the far right would be somebody who, like my client, has an extremely surprisingly high number and they’ll be in that little shaped curve. The vast majority of us somewhere in the middle.

Gabe Howard: So once the two numbers have been established and they’ve sort of figure out where they are now, the partners have to negotiate and they have to discuss sex in a meaningful way. But that’s not the easiest thing for couples to do, especially if they feel that they’re on opposite ends of the spectrum. Many couples feel that if they don’t immediately give the identical answer, there is a sex problem. And whenever there’s a sex problem, people tend to shut down and get defensive. Why is it so hard for couples to discuss sex in a meaningful way?

Steven Ing, MFT: I think part of that is because nobody around us is having this kind of a conversation. So when we’re raised in our family, our mom and dad at the breakfast table, don’t typically read a newspaper story and then start talking about sexual preferences and ideal numbers. We never hear people talking about this kind of thing in church. When we talk the little that we do about sexuality and then even in sex ed classes, the focus is mostly on anatomy and physiology, how pregnancy occurs and how to avoid t.i.’s. And it really isn’t presenting sexuality in a human context relationship. So what I like to do with my clients, I like to encourage them to think about going on a date and eventually getting to some point in the conversation. And it could be a first date for the advanced or it could be something like the third or the tenth date. But eventually most of us want to ask the other person we’re interested in, so what are you looking for in your life? Which leads to talks about being single or getting into a committed relationship. And from there it’s really easy to ask. So what do you visualize your future sex life looking like? I know that may seem intimidating to some people, but if you’re seriously thinking about partnering up in a committed long term relationship and the person you’re dating can’t talk about sexuality in a safe way, that alone for me would be a dealbreaker. Because we need to talk about this before we commit. It’s like talking about finances before we jump into a business partnership. If my prospective business partner were very shy about talking about money, I think go look for another partner. And when we’re talking about magic sex numbers, I think what I would encourage people to do in that fantasy version of a date is to introduce the topic the way I said.

Steven Ing, MFT: And then looking at the uncomfortable expression on the other person’s face to say, tell you what? Let’s each write our number down and then we can turn our napkins over at the same time and share our numbers with each other. Because you’re quite right. You know, a lot of us approach relationships from a position of neediness or loneliness. And so if she asks me what my magic sex number is, I might be very tempted to ask her, well, what’s yours? I’m going to try to guess what it is I think her ideal number is going to be, and instead just to write down what we honestly think is our true number. Flip those little cocktail napkins over and then kind of blink at each other because the numbers are going to be closer or they’re going to be far. These things don’t fall into place automatically or without some effort at laying the foundation. So finding out, you know, we all know those stories of people who got married only to find out after long after the wedding that their partner wasn’t really of the same sexual orientation they were. And part of that was failing to have the appropriate conversations and making it safe for people to disclose who they really are. And some of that’s due to family pressure, some of it’s due to the crazy personal pressure we put on ourselves and for others it’s because of our religious upbringing. But even if we’re needy and lonely, we have to admit it’s not going to do any of us any favors to get together with someone whose appetite for sex is so much different from our own.

Gabe Howard: We’re going to step away and we’ll be right back after these messages.

Sponsor Message: Hey folks, Gabe here. I host another podcast for Psych Central. It’s called Not Crazy. He hosts Not Crazy with me, Jackie Zimmerman, and it is all about navigating our lives with mental illness and mental health concerns. Listen now at Psych Central.com/NotCrazy or on your favorite podcast player.

Sponsor Message: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp.com. Secure, convenient, and affordable online counseling. Our counselors are licensed, accredited professionals. Anything you share is confidential. Schedule secure video or phone sessions, plus chat and text with your therapist whenever you feel it’s needed. A month of online therapy often costs less than a single traditional face to face session. Go to BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral and experience seven days of free therapy to see if online counseling is right for you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral.

Gabe Howard: We’re back discussing your magic sex number with marriage and family therapist Steven Ing. One of the things that always confuses me about our society is that when it comes to marriage, sex is so important that you must only have sex with your marital partner. However, sex is so insignificant and not important that you should not make sex the basis of said marriage. It’s kind of weird, right? It’s.

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: It’s a bit, but

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: But, this is our system.

Steven Ing, MFT: I think intuitively, I think you’re right. I think we know that it shouldn’t be the basis because that kind of reduces us to just a sexual object alone. But to deny its importance, I think, is really to ignore a major dimension of our experience. So obviously, I’m going to have some spiritual needs and some social needs and some financial and physical needs. But it would be odd if we if we talked about sexuality as if it were the one dimension of the human experience that had no needs related to it, because that’s just not true of any other part of our lives.

Gabe Howard: When it comes to understanding sexuality and relationships, I am obviously an amateur compared to you being an expert. And that’s one of the reasons that I want to pose this question to you from. From my point of view, as goes sex as goes the quality of the marriage. How do you as an expert feel about that statement?

Steven Ing, MFT: I have to agree with it. I’ve never said that sentence, but I think that the sex life is definitely a barometer, if you will, about the health of the relationship. And that goes deeper than we might think at first blush, because even if two people are having sex daily and they both agree that that’s the right number, but one is very present and the other one is emotionally checked out. That, too, is part of their sex life. Right. So that’s a real problem because sex itself is a metaphor for how much acceptance, affirmation, approval and affection. I’m going to get in that relationship. In fact, they’re so lined up that a lot of people substitute sex for intimacy and for intimate relationships because it’s so closely mimics those emotional needs that we’re trying to get met. But once you’ve been with a person for years and years and you can tell that they’re just going through the motions and they’re not really present with you. Like one of my clients years ago, she said, well, I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know it sure as heck isn’t about me. And she told me that with sort of an acceptance of her fate. She was an older woman, but she was accepting yet miserable, if that makes any sense.

Gabe Howard: It does.

Steven Ing, MFT: Yeah, OK. She wasn’t comfortable with that answer. So when we when we talk about sex, you know, I have to add a P.S. or some kind of a note here, because usually when we talk about sexuality in a relationship, we’re talking about intercourse. And I would argue that that is only a small part of the sexual dimension of intimacy. And I think our sexual needs are far more and diverse than that. And they include things like simply feeling safe. You know, if we don’t have our needs for sexual safety net in a relationship, it’s a disaster because everything follows from that. And if we don’t have our needs for appropriate sexual information met in a relationship, we’re not going to be able to make very intelligent choices in that relationship. So our needs are pretty diverse. And again, a problem in our culture and it’s a major, major hole in our education of the young. How am I supposed to manage my sexuality intelligently when I have no idea what my sexual needs are? In our culture, we don’t really do this. It’s a very squeamish and uncomfortable subject for most people. It’s a question. It’s not like we’re foolish or we’re stupid. It’s just that we’re uninformed and we don’t have the vocabulary. There was a philosopher, one of my favorites from the 20th century named Ludwig Wittgenstein, and he said something that really applies here. He said, if I don’t have the words to describe a thing, then I really don’t understand that thing. And I think that is more true of sexuality than anything else.

Gabe Howard: It’s very fascinating to me that anybody would be uncomfortable discussing sexuality, considering how it permeates our culture, we use sexuality to sell gum, but we’re uncomfortable discussing what makes us happy sexually, even in the context of committed relationships, in the context of marriage. We’re uncomfortable about this, but there will absolutely be a woman in a bathing suit holding gum, telling you how, if your breath smells good, your chances of a sexual encounter increase.

Steven Ing, MFT: Right.

Gabe Howard: But talking one on one with a potential sex partner becomes very embarrassing. And it’s fascinating. It’s absolutely fascinating to me. And I imagine, again, as somebody who has studied this for 30 years, it’s got to be fascinating to you as well.

Steven Ing, MFT: Well, one of the things I’ve been just delighted to do is in my last public speaking event was with the American Advertising Federation, and they were just a great audience and very aware of the phenomenon you were just talking about in terms of selling gum. And that’s we reviewed advertising history. You see that advertisements involving sexuality are almost always about titillation. The pretty girl, the arousing moment, the suggestive comments or look. But when you get past titillation and I think titillation is great and I’m not against titillation, I think it’s an important part of our sexuality. But until we actually cross over to including the conversation on intimacy and what it would take for us to feel safe with each other, I don’t think we really understand sexuality. And I think it may be because we’re just simply not ready for it culturally. But I think as individuals, again, the people listening to this, they can get there. It’s just embracing the idea that I need to and want to learn to manage my sexuality intelligently, whether I’m committed to a monogamous lifestyle or I’m really into casual hookups or something in between. I want to do it intelligently and then to begin having conversations with intelligent people who are respectful and can listen to you without judging you. I think that’s really how we get smarter with each other is having these kinds of conversations like the one you and I are having, Gabe.

Gabe Howard: Steven, I really appreciate you talking to me and the audience about this, and I hope that more people will have conversations with their spouses and their partners about the type of sex that makes them happy and get all on the same page, because I think ultimately sex is great, right? It’s something that we biologically crave. It’s something that we’re all doing. And I feel that that can only be enhanced by having these conversations with the people that we’re having sex with.

Steven Ing, MFT: Yeah. Or the people were thinking about making lifelong commitments to. And I think it’s such an important conversation to have to accept that none of us are really very good at it. When we get started and to be patient with yourself, to let yourself take a little time, even if it’s just sharing a magazine or newspaper article or paragraph with someone and discussing that. So it’s not really about you and the here and now, but it’s about someone else just kind of getting your brain going into working on that I think would be enormously profitable for everybody out there who is a sexual being. Oh yeah, that’s everybody.

Gabe Howard: Steve, thank you so much for being on the show. Where can audience members find you? What’s your Web site?

Steven Ing, MFT: Super easy if they can spell my last name, I N G. It’s StevenIng.com. So if they just go to Steven with a V, StevenIng.com, they will find out more about me than they ever wish they knew.

Gabe Howard: Steve, thank you so much for your candid talk about sex and sexuality, it’s necessary and it’s needed, and I appreciate having you on the show. And listen up, everybody. I have a personal favor to ask all of you. Wherever you downloaded this podcast, rank us. Use your words and tell people why to tune in. It absolutely helps. Share us on social media. Email us to your friends. And we have a private Facebook group. Just go to PsychCentral.com/FBShow and sign up. You can suggest topics and get show details before everybody else. And finally, remember, you can get one week of free, convenient, affordable, private online counseling anytime, anywhere simply by visiting you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral. We’ll see everyone next week.

Announcer: You’ve been listening to The Psych Central Podcast. Want your audience to be wowed at your next event? Feature an appearance and LIVE RECORDING of the Psych Central Podcast right from your stage! For more details, or to book an event, please email us at [email protected]. Previous episodes can be found at PsychCentral.com/Show or on your favorite podcast player. Psych Central is the internet’s oldest and largest independent mental health website run by mental health professionals. Overseen by Dr. John Grohol, Psych Central offers trusted resources and quizzes to help answer your questions about mental health, personality, psychotherapy, and more. Please visit us today at PsychCentral.com. To learn more about our host, Gabe Howard, please visit his website at gabehoward.com. Thank you for listening and please share with your friends, family, and followers.

Podcast: How Much Sex Is Psychologically Healthy? syndicated from

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positivepsychologyinterventions · 4 years

Text

Podcast: How Much Sex Is Psychologically Healthy?

How do you know what your magic sex number is? And how big of a difference can there be between partners? Tune in for an important discussion on how to have a sexually-healthy relationship.

SUBSCRIBE & REVIEW

Guest information for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Podcast Episode

About The Psych Central Podcast Host

Computer Generated Transcript for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Episode

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Steven Ing, MFT: Hi, Gabe. It’s great to be with you today.

Gabe Howard: When I think about a magic sex number, the first thing that I think is how am I supposed to figure mine out?

Gabe Howard: Wow.

Steven Ing, MFT: and then they shared that number in common.

Gabe Howard: I am stunned and it.

Steven Ing, MFT: Well, it’s.

Gabe Howard: Is this atypical? I mean, this would have to be atypical.

Gabe Howard: We’re going to step away and we’ll be right back after these messages.

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: It’s a bit, but

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: But, this is our system.

Gabe Howard: It does.

Steven Ing, MFT: Right.

Gabe Howard: Steve, thank you so much for being on the show. Where can audience members find you? What’s your Web site?

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2XXNK8Q via IFTTT

#IFTTT #World of Psychology

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erraticfairy · 4 years

Text

Podcast: How Much Sex Is Psychologically Healthy?

How do you know what your magic sex number is? And how big of a difference can there be between partners? Tune in for an important discussion on how to have a sexually-healthy relationship.

SUBSCRIBE & REVIEW

Guest information for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Podcast Episode

About The Psych Central Podcast Host

Computer Generated Transcript for ‘Steven Ing- Sex Psychologically Healthy’ Episode

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Steven Ing, MFT: Hi, Gabe. It’s great to be with you today.

Gabe Howard: When I think about a magic sex number, the first thing that I think is how am I supposed to figure mine out?

Gabe Howard: Wow.

Steven Ing, MFT: and then they shared that number in common.

Gabe Howard: I am stunned and it.

Steven Ing, MFT: Well, it’s.

Gabe Howard: Is this atypical? I mean, this would have to be atypical.

Gabe Howard: We’re going to step away and we’ll be right back after these messages.

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: It’s a bit, but

Steven Ing, MFT: That’s very weird.

Gabe Howard: But, this is our system.

Gabe Howard: It does.

Steven Ing, MFT: Right.

Gabe Howard: Steve, thank you so much for being on the show. Where can audience members find you? What’s your Web site?

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2XXNK8Q via theshiningmind.com

#World of Psychology #child psychology

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dukestudents · 6 years

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The Other Duke Groups, Part 1: Coven

Hey Duke Students! While your minds may all be on final exams (and all the work you have yet to do), I’m here to direct your attention to something new.

It’s no secret that Duke has an insane amount of organizations and clubs. If you’re not in them, chances are you’re at least on a listserv or two (or three, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how to get off it). But what about the groups you may not know of?

In the coming series, I’ll be conducting interviews with members of some of the groups that you might not have ever heard of, or groups that are so niche you may never have crossed paths. You’ll meet tea connoisseurs, kazoo conductors, and today, two Duke students with their own blossoming digital media publication.

(Coven’s team)

Coven is an online platform that is working to empower women through the literature that they publish. In addition to the magazine, Coven cultivates small and large “covens” that bring women together to offer encouragement, resources, and wisdom. Their events, which range from coffee chats to full-fledged ‘Witch Fests’, “aim to galvanize the incredible women who know that true success is somewhere at the intersection of ambition and reality.”

I got the chance to hear from the publication’s two founders - sophomores Alexandra Davis and Caroline Brockett - who filled me in on all the incredible work that they’ve already accomplished.

While you’ll read all about Coven in the interview below, the most impressive part about Davis and Brockett’s publication is the message they put across about collegiate life. As any college student - particularly a Duke one - can confirm, there is no shortage of pressures to be faced with on the daily. Coven is deconstructing the myth of effortless perfection. They do this by uniting readers through empowering pieces, eye-opening photography, and most importantly, by fostering a community of support among college women.

Read on to hear directly from the the two amazing founders themselves.

(first: Alexandra Davis, second: Caroline Brockett)

What is Coven?

Coven is a digital media publication that publishes literature by, for, and about college women. To all the college women who have been there, Coven is for you. We provide our readers with minutes of empowerment on the C1, during lectures, or post-Shooters.

Our content combats unrealistic collegiate expectations, or the idea that everyone seems to and “should” have the perfect life, academics, and body. Life isn’t perfect nor is anyone, so these expectations do nothing but add to the anxieties of college life, especially as with women. Instead, Coven romanticizes the real. Today, we have a small but brilliant coven of editors, creatives, and social influencers working to build something that's never been built before.

In addition to the magazine, we cultivate small and large “covens” that bring women together to offer encouragement, resources, and wisdom. Our events--whether coffee chats or full-fledged Witch Fests--aim to galvanize the incredible women who know that true success is somewhere at the intersection of ambition and reality.

What inspired Coven’s beginning?

Alexandra: I spent more time on Amazon Prime strategizing party outfits than I did on Thesaurus.com freshman year. And that terrified me. When I started thinking about the possibility of Coven a year or so ago, I wanted college women to have their own, unique manual on How to Be Their Badass Selves, not what social media told them they should be. I wanted to provide my Duke friends with a place to make the best of the beautiful pain and cringe-worthy awkwardness of being a college girl.

In discussions with high school peers over Thanksgiving break, friends were all-too-quick to recount their dejected college experiences, too. But as I returned from break, I became demotivated by Duke’s atmosphere of effortless perfection. Being a Duke student was already a full-time job. Social, physical, and academic pressures just compounded my stress. I needed to separate myself from this inhibiting environment to make a meaningful difference. Thus, The Coven was born in a semester off, and I continue to run it back at Duke today.

Caroline: Freshman year of college was a year of many firsts for me, especially as it pertained to failure. I had never experienced it on so many levels before: academically, socially, and so on. Though it felt crushing at times during these moments, I was lucky to have a team of successful women behind me that could speak and assimilate to my experiences, providing me with the encouragement and confidence I needed to pick myself up by the bootstraps and persevere. It was these times of trial that helped me see what The Coven can mean to people and grow to be. I believe it has the potential to serve as a secondary support system, like a virtual mother/sister/friend to make you laugh, ponder in awe and feel quite alright by the end of it all. The Coven showcases real women with their real lives, not just the glamorized fairytales of those who simply ‘have it all.’ The Coven is authentic, inspiring, and it was exactly what I and so many other women were looking for.

How is Coven redefining what it means to be a media organization?

First and foremost, we are a community. Today, the only nod premier publications give their readers is a haphazard “Letters to the Editor” afterthought. Coven’s readers aren’t just integral parts of our publication, but they are the publication. Their experiences are our featured stories, and their feedback enhances each article in order to make the stories on the website as multidimensional as possible. We don’t just accept written and visual stories, but we also use the comments and social postings that content inspires to build out our issues. In order for our content to always be inspiring, they always need to be holistic representations of what being a college women can be.

Just this weekend, our friends were so early to an event that we drove aimlessly around its radius, in full costume, until we came across an old gas station. By the time we had cleaned the store out of its Hot Cheetos, the owner asked to take photos of us. About 15 questionable poses later, we were half convinced that the only reason the store owner asked for photos in the first place was for someone to come and see if we were OK. We had made ourselves so late to the event--and had so much fun doing it--that we even questioned going. Those are the genuine feelings, stories, and cringe-worthy moments that we want to share through Coven. Whether accepting submitted photos, stories, or even recreating social media comments, we want to turn your cringe-worthy moments--the sheer embarrassment of earliness--into the empowerment of your own, personal gas station photoshoot.

What have been some of your biggest successes as an organization?

We have an online presence, but we also have in person meet ups to facilitate discussion and connections between collegiate women--our boss witches! Some of our best successes haven’t necessarily meant our “biggest,” but the most inspiring for our readers.

For example, we sent a group of our Coven Correspondents to attend Her Conference, a multi-day career development conference for college women in New York. There, they were able to privately speak with two of the Keynote speakers, actress Aja Naomi King (How to Get Away with Murder) and actress, writer, and producer Troian Bellisario (Pretty Little Liars). We offer these “Witch Fests,” as we call them, in order to inspire our readers to further envision and lead lives they love. In the past, Witch Fests have ranged from Her Conference to the Museum of Ice Cream in Los Angeles to a cozy home in Joshua Tree. These events are just another way that we foster an empowering community for our readers.

What have been some challenges?

You can’t have two full-time jobs. One of the biggest challenges has been trying to run the publication as sophomores in college. (*Alexandra speaking) Obviously, I figured that out when I decided to take the semester off to found and begin running the publication. But, ultimately, there’s no equivalent to a Duke education, or the resources they can provide us.

(*Caroline speaking) As a sophomore majoring in Psychology, there is a lot that I don’t know about how to run small logistics. I know Alexandra will agree with me on that too. While there is so much that we both don’t know, there is an incredible wealth of knowledge in the people surrounding us. From mentors on Duke’s campus to our parents to older friends, we have been lucky to have a great reception from many who are willing to help with their areas of expertise. So while there have been a plentiful amount of road bumps, blocks, and detours, it has been a fantastic learning experience in which we both come out every day having learned something new. Overcoming the challenges we encounter is what makes us tougher and stronger, so I wouldn’t change it for the world.

What do you hope for Coven in the future?

There are a lot of things that Alexandra and I hope to see in Coven’s future. I deeply believe that our mission of empowerment, equality, and authenticity, can continue to expand Coven to different dorm rooms nationwide. It is our hope that Coven can inspire a change, and bring this to different collegiate women, one by one. Effortless perfection is something that has the ability to pervade an entire culture and place an incredible amount of stress and anxiety on the individual, especially when on campuses. Because of this, we at The Coven find it inspiring to see smaller Duke publications subsequently write stories on this topic as well, trying to combat this unrealistic standard.

Is Coven looking for others to get involved? If so, how?

The Coven team is always looking for new and inspiring talent. We have an option to submit on our website, but those who are interested in working us longer term are always welcome to reach out to us by email or social media with their thoughts or talents. We have room for collegiate women interested in virtually all fields, from marketing to graphic design to poetry to finance (just to name a few). I always encourage anyone who is passionate and driven to put their effort into this work to reach out to us! We love everyone on board with us now, and would be thrilled to further expand our team.

***

All in all, Coven is the perfect example of a group started by Duke Students that deserves far more attention. Since learning about the publication, Coven has quickly become my newest C1 distraction, and I don’t doubt that it might become yours, too.

Useful Links:

Website: https://thecovenmag.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/coven.mag/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thecovenmag/

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/thecovenmag/

-Samantha Steger

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