#this was an impulsive thought and now I’m inclined to agree with it

[chxrrysangel]

"I think Logan Howlett has a marking kink and sucks toes,” I say into the mic.

The crowd boos. I begin to walk off in shame, when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room.

"They’re right," they say. I look for the owner of the voice. There in the 2nd row stands: Hugh Jackman.

[zutaralesbian]

Officially finished a first play through of all the romantic routes in book 3. Gonna give my review/thoughts on all of them. Probably a long post ahead because I have a lot of feelings even if no one but me cares lmao. (Obviously, spoilers under the cut)

The overall book

I’ve already seen someone in the tag say that this book had their least favorite plot but favorite relationship scenes. And I think I have to agree with that. The villains of this book just…did not intrigue me the way the villains of the first two books did. I’m not sure why but something about them didn’t hit. HOWEVER the romance and friendship scenes were excellent, the best of the series so far. And because I typically care more about characters than I do plots, that saved it for me.

Gonna ramble about the routes in order of the way I played them. (Since I only play the femslash routes, I’m going to be referring to the characters only by their female names in order to not complicate things. But obviously most of it applies to the male versions too.)

Ava

Ohhhhh Ava. My personal fave but the one that hurts the most lol. And this book (especially the ending) was no different. Though to her credit, we DID get a lot more from her than I thought we were going to get. Ava showed far more vulnerability in this book than she did in the first two books combined. From telling the detective her backstory (which was unbelievably sad btw. I totally get why she’s so emotionally guarded), taking the detective on that car date and letting them in on something that gives her personal enjoyment, and affirming to the detective more than once that she’s afraid to lose them.

And then….that kiss/confession scene. Like many others, I predicted that we were going to get a kiss only for Ava to take it back. But it DID kind of surprise me that she was so honest about it and did confess that she knew there was something between them. I kind of figured it was going to be an impulsive scene with no actual confessions. So this was better than I imagined. Still, it was a gut punch. And while I sympathize with Ava’s trauma and I don’t think she owes the detective a relationship, it is kind of coming off as her (unintentionally or not) playing with the detective’s feelings. So because of that I do think she sort of deserved the verbal smack-down your UB bestie gives to her towards the end. (In my route, Morgan accused her of caring more about protecting herself than she did about protecting the detective…and atm I’m kind of inclined to agree with that.)

I see Ava finally giving in at some point during book 4. Mostly because at this point…where else can her route go? They’ve kissed and feelings have been confessed. There’s no taking that back. It can only go up from here now, right? (At least I hope lmao). I’m wondering if the detective is going to move into the warehouse in the near future now that they’re officially a member of Unit Bravo? That could also be interesting on this route.

I love Ava and desperately want her to finally be happy. But she needs to stop sabotaging herself 😩

Favorite scene: The car date! I loved that we got to see a lighter, more peaceful side of her during it. Plus that wrist kiss 🥺

Morgan

While Ava is my favorite member of Unit Bravo, I do have to confess that Morgan was probably the MVP of book 3 specifically. Both her romance route and her friendship scenes were excellent in this book. Her character development is so apparent. I love how the detective steadily notices Morgan using less and less sexual innuendos in their conversations together as the route goes on. Not because Morgan has lost interest, but because she’s becoming legitimately afraid of the possibility of something happening to the detective…and grappling with the realizations that she really does not want to lose them. I was initially surprised by the lack of sex in her route, but the fact that there wasn’t one until near the end was really fitting imo. And at that point, it wasn’t just sex, it was making love. (Whether Morgan fully realized it or not). The route was just so emotional, in a way I wasn’t fully expecting.

I think at this point, Morgan knows that the detective is very important to her. She just isn’t fully sure how she wants to define the relationship. But I see her getting there very soon. I used to say that I saw Morgan fully giving in to her feelings before Ava (and I still think that) but maybe they’re both going to get there in book 4. Just Morgan towards the beginning/middle and Ava probably at the end.

Favorite scene: The shower scene. It was so tender and sweet. I loved that it was completely non-sexual and just Morgan helping the detective with their wounds. It’s possibly in my top 3 scenes of the series so far in general tbh.

Nat

I enjoyed Nat’s route this book way more than I thought I was going to. I like her character but her route has always admittedly been my least favorite…mostly just because I found it the least interesting. However, that certainly started changing here.

First off, it was surprisingly spicy. I already mentioned this in another post but I’ll say it here too. I find it very funny that Nat comes off as so scandalized by the sexual stuff in Morgan’s route but then in her own route…we get a potential outdoor sex scene, and one against a pool table lmao.

But outside the shallow stuff, I also liked all of the internal conflict with Nat. Her route is arguably the fastest burn. (I know Farah’s was kind of fast as well, but Farah at least hasn’t dropped the L word yet. At least not on my play through). Nat fell hard and fast. HOWEVER I think the reason for that might be because there’s a lot of angst coming in her route in the future. It’s obvious she’s keeping something about her past a secret from the detective…something dark. And she’s afraid that if the detective finds out about it, they won’t love her anymore. I’m very intrigued to find out what that is. My guess is she spent a period hunting and killing people before she joined the agency and found redemption. Whatever it is, it’s sure to be juicy.

Favorite scene: Their first sex scene. I loved that it comes right after the detective’s first love confession.

Farah

I saved Farah as my last solo route because I wanted to get some fluffiness in before delving into the pain the triangle was bound to bring me. And it definitely delivered. Her route had me smiling like an idiot throughout most of it.

But I also enjoy the complexities of Farah’s character. It’s very apparent that she has abandonment issues. Even though she’s obviously happy being with the detective, she also isn’t 100% sure that the detective isn’t going to eventually leave her, which breaks my heart. (And that’s probably part of the reason the L word hasn’t been dropped on her route yet). In a way, she’s almost as emotionally guarded as Ava and Morgan but she just hides it better. (Using a sunny and happy persona).

My hope for her is that she eventually gets to a place where she can talk to the detective about those insecurities. My guess is eventually, something big is going to happen that’s going to finally fully prove that the detective is in it for the long haul with her. Maybe she gets kidnapped and the detective goes through a lot to save her, or something like that.

Favorite scene: The movie date :)

Love Triangle

Not gonna lie, I’m not a huge fan of the love triangle. Partly because I always feel bad and making the decisions stresses me out lmao. But because I want to see everything, I have a detective for it.

The drama is heating up. Nat is beginning to realize there’s something going on between Ava and the detective, she just doesn’t want to accept it yet. And they’re starting to fight more :( I take solace in the fact that the author has already said that A and N’s friendship will be okay in the end, no matter what happens with the triangle. But I’m assuming we’re in for some more drama before things settle.

Being that Ava is my fave, I’ve pretty much always planned to have my detective eventually choose her, even though I feel bad about hurting Nat. But ngl, this book only further cemented that decision. I know there’s probably traumatic reasons why Nat is so overprotective of the detective but Ava was right when she said she was smothering them. I find Ava’s way of handling things (obviously wanting to protect the detective but also acknowledging they’re strong and should be able to get the chance to fight for themselves) far more attractive, personally.

(Side note: It’s interesting that there’s kind of been a role reversal between Nat and Ava on that front. In the beginning, Nat wanted to tell the detective the truth about the supernatural whereas Ava wanted to keep them in the dark. But now, Nat wants the detective to sit out of the fighting while Ava thinks they should get to be involved).

I’m wondering when the triangle is going to be resolved? My current guess is by the end of book 4, being that’s when I think Ava will finally give in on her solo route as well).

Basically, everyone in Unit Bravo needs therapy.

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Santa Paws

Criminal Minds Garvez WC 1,587 of Christmas fluff

Friday, December 22nd

Petsupply

Penelope and Luke looked on adoringly as Roxy posed for her picture with Santa Paws, bone shaped snowflakes hanging all around and a red and white dog house-workshop in the background. 

Somehow he’d let her convince him to leave his apartment and go shopping on a rare day off, three days before Christmas, in light snow and DC traffic. This trip also happened to see him agreeing to donning matching green and red Nissehue hats while shopping, and pet portraits with the jolly old elf- something he’d absolutely never do on his own, but somehow didn’t have the heart to turn down where Penelope was involved.  

She nudged him with her elbow, still beaming at the dog, but inclined her head talking softly, “Now you can have copies made and send out New Years cards for your family. I know even though you had gifts shipped, we’ve had so many cases you didn’t have time to write cards and update your family on your exciting life here in DC.”  

Luke chuckled at the jab to his personal life, looking down at her, but a pang struck knowing he didn’t have much new to share with anyone this year, certainly not the thing his mother hadn’t stopped asking about since he’d admitted to he and Lisa calling it quits so long ago…How Penelope was this involved, this close, this caring…and yet, still insisted they were only friends… He didn’t care to explain he would take her companionship in any way she deemed worthy to bestow, that it filled a space until “his person” eventually did come along…He knew how she’d react, he didn’t need that.  

Luke, lost in a maze of thoughts, was startled out of it as the elf pet-handler returning Roxy cooed, “What a beautiful little family you have! Are you sure you don’t want one with the three of you?”

Quickly, Luke responded, “Oh, hah, no, thank you. Ah,” he looked to Penelope, hoping the assumption hadn’t made her uncomfortable, “we’re not together, we’re friends. But thank you.”

Thank you for assuming the woman I’m in love with loves me too.

Thank you for stating we outwardly look like a couple.

“Oh, well, the picture can be picked up around the corner, and you can have them made into cards at the kiosk if you want. Some people like to do that,” the elf offered as she handed the leash back to him. 

Luke just gave a small, polite smile and nodded his thanks again before placing his hand on Penelope’s back, turning in the direction the worker had indicated.  

Errands run and cards made, he couldn’t help but notice how off she was on the drive back to his place, how quiet she’d been ever since leaving the shopping center… She’d turned down hot chocolate at that fancy new french cafe and hummed noncommittally at all of his attempted conversations. Thinking back on it, he realized she hadn’t said a word since leaving the pet store. Penelope Garcia: Silent Human was not a side he’d ever seen from her. Frankly it was not a side he was liking. Chancing a glance from the icy road, taking in her strange expression, he thought he’d push his luck. 

He’d felt her bite so many times over the years her lashes were more like a gumming at this point, and better that than this- “Penelope…everything okay?” He knew the holidays tended to be hard for people who lacked family nearby, maybe all the festivities and sad ‘home for Christmas’ songs had stirred things up. But Penelope, for all her attachment to the team, never really seemed particularly bothered by the distance between her brothers and herself…still, maybe she was thinking about her parents? The Morgans? Any number of past victims and their families, or her support group members. When he thought about it, the things that could upset someone who dealt with what they did were endless…He couldn’t blame her if all the commercial joy and nostalgia had suddenly put her in a funk.

Penelope looked at him thoughtfully, brow pinched, a dismissive quip primed, but then impulsively, rapidly, it poured out, “Why did you say that? I mean- I know why, we’re not- it’s just-” she frowned, stopping herself, “Never mind.” 

“No. Wait. Hold up, it’s something I said? Why did I say what?” His head bounced back and forth from road to face trying for clues. He’d made some jokes while they were out shopping, and he’d made a face at the faux fur coat she playfully held up for the Black Queen, but it was all in fun- Somehow she’d shrunk, Penelope small, voice smaller, shying from the shame, but she’d opened the gate, and there was no going back, “The elf. She said we were acute family and you told her- we’re friends.”

His head snapped back again, confusion evident. “Penelope, we are friends. As much as you may like to deny it publicly, if we’re out getting pet portraits together, there’s no other way to explain it.” Why would she be upset he politely corrected someone? What did it matter? It’s not like this person knew either of them, there was no pretense to keep up over fake-hating him.

Detecting a conversation he’d need to give his full attention to, Luke pulled over to the side of the highway, decelerating, then putting the SUV into park. But at the vehicle’s halt, that same impulsivity that seemed to possess her mere seconds ago saw Penelope rapidly lunging across the center consul, hands snatching at the lapels of his wool coat, leveraging herself closer, steady, belt straining against her as her lips crashed into his, Luke only just turning to face her, taken off guard. Their mouths met in a rapid, electrifying mash of teeth and lips, skin to skin, scraping stubble, supple flesh -and concluded in a halting gasp as she froze, pulling away. 

“Oh. Oh god. And now I’ve done that. That is not what I meant, and I know, I’m sorry…I know I have no right to be upset about the friends thing, we are friends. I’m sorry. I know, what I just did was not a friends thing it didn’t feel- are you- I know we decided there was nothing here-” she was faltering and floundering watching his shocked face, Luke processing what she’d just done, what it could mean, not what he hoped it meant or felt it meant, but really, in the context of Penelope meant, he needed to know where to go from here.  “-nothing between us and we’re just frenemies -or friends, and I’m sorry,” she continued, “I’ve just, I’ve been thinking, the truth is, lately…Luke, theres no one else that’s felt more like family…that I’ve felt like a family with…than you. The two of you.”

Her hands still on his lapels, shook them, gripping as she forced out the untimely confession, eyes pleading, every part of her pleading he understand…he was her friend, but he’d become more than that…she hadn’t realized it until some stranger thrust it at them, but now she couldn’t shake it, and she couldn’t deny it and worse yet she didn’t want to, and she hoped…he didn’t either…

His eyes flickered over every millimeter of her face, taking in all of her at close range, was she really suggesting? Everything she’d said was true for him too, the five of them becoming this little family unit…something he was happy to indulge in, but softly softly, knowing his partner hadn’t felt the same way, until apparently she did.  

Luke twisted in his seat, angling towards her, his hands flexing, releasing the death grip he’d unwittingly been inflicting on the steering wheel, then softly, softly, he brought one to gently cup the back of her shoulder, the other, combing over ear and through hair to guide her towards him. He hadn’t said a word back yet, but lips parted, he continued to watch her, gauging her reaction as he inched closer, fingers tightening, a breath a part, her mouth dropped open in response, quietly he confessed, breath to breath, “Family to family, I’d like to try that again-” and with that his lips fell on hers, or her’s descended on his, he wasn’t sure which, though it didn’t really matter as the result was the same, soft, but powerful, respectful, but demanding, Luke kissed her breathless, kissed her endless, kissed her until she broke away with a shuddering ragged breath. 

Hands still locked on each other, embrace intact, he sunk into her eyes warm as tea, “Still think there’s nothing here?” 

Her head shook briefly, gaze locked on his own before a quiet smile twitched into place, “Not a chance-”

Darting in, he snatched her lips to his, brief, sensual, then, hand cupping her cheek, parting, he smiled down at her, “Who knew Santa Paws was granting wishes early” 

Penelope grinned up at him, hands slipping under his coat and up his chest, Luke silly, Luke happy, Luke, comfortable, like home. “We should go back and get that family portrait, thank him.”

His skin burned under her touch, Luke on fire in the drivers seat, Penelope finally his, “We’ll send him a card- right now there’s nothing I want to do less than sit on Santa’s lap” and with that he put the truck in drive, taking them home as quickly as conditions would allow.

[daltonblaine]

i often see people say blaine cheating was out of character, but i think it wasn't. i mean, maybe a bit, but it makes sense in context. i think he really though they were over. kurt did promise to stay in contact and he didn't much and when they talked he wasn't really listening. and in the promise ring scene (i consider it canon bc it should never have been deleted) when blaine is listing out all the ways he shows his love to kurt he specifically promises to always pick up the phone. now, as a fellow autistic, i can very much understand how blaine would interpret being ignored based on those things being pre-established. if someone changed the play on me like that, even for valid reasons, i too would feel completely in freefall

i think what caught people so off-guard about blaine cheating was that it’s immense departure from the guy we were expecting to see in s4. if s3 exposed the cracks in the dreamy prince type we see with s2 blaine, s4 absolutely shattered it. while i think 4x04’s writing is a little weak overall, i kind of vibe with this idea of blaine’s spiral being impulsive infidelity — it’s destructive: not only for kurt, but also for blaine (mentally, emotionally, physically) so yeah i agree !! i definitely wouldn't be able to dismiss that whole arc as blaine just being ooc

that being said i don't think blaine thought he & kurt were over when he cheated (although there IS a line in 5x01 that implies blaine says he did it because of that reason?? so confusing) because he flies to new york to confess to kurt Right After he does it, so he evidently felt guilty & immediately regretted it (and blaine tells sam as much)

honestly i’m not really interested in finding reasons why blaine cheating is excusable since at the end of the day he WAS With Another Guy. but i think there's something interesting about the miscommunication & broken promises... the box scene is a pretty good example, and there's another scene in dance with somebody, whose entire conflict was about blaine being afraid kurt would leave him behind. kurt promises that won’t happen, but that promise is more difficult to keep when kurt’s actually in new york. blaine, already in a fragile place, feels abandoned and that his fears from the year before are coming true (i agree with you re: the autistic thing it's the same with me LOLL)

i personally chalk it up to the cheating being an extremely impulsive decision he made in an irrational moment of really intense emotions; i feel like we see this a little bit throughout the show (i.e. blaine lying to kurt about the showcase for No Reason homeboy just did that for funsies 😭)

BUT STILL i wish we got a little more insight into his brain throughout this whole thing in terms of Why, especially since we got that line from s5 puppet master that was blaine saying to kurt puppet "i think i can finally forgive you now"... so after sorting out his guilt and getting forgiveness from kurt, there's this implication that he feels like kurt was a little at fault too, which is INTERESTING (and i'm inclined to agree) but it's never mentioned or discussed again . so

[jedi-enthusiast]

Yes, people do actually blame the Jedi for this——I’ve seen many posts and videos and comments about it.

Now, first of all, this whole situation was not actually one of Palpatine’s plans, Barriss was actually the one who orchestrated all of this——from the bombing to putting that keycard where Ahsoka could get it. Palpatine obviously took advantage of the situation but, for once, this one wasn’t actually one of his intentional set-ups.

So, moving on-

—————

Yes, Ahsoka is a child. I literally mention that in other reblogs of this post and I never once say “oh, all of this is Ahsoka’s fault” or try to pretend that she should be acting like a fully-fledged adult. In one of my reblogs I even say-

“I definitely agree with you that Ahsoka's feelings on the whole thing can stand beside the fact that the Council acted reasonably…”

However, you can acknowledge that Ahsoka was still a child and that she dug herself into a hole that the Jedi couldn’t pull her out of at the same time. These things aren’t mutually exclusive.

I’m also more inclined to place more responsibility on Ahsoka for her actions in this arc because she’s literally been shown in the entirety of the previous 1-2 seasons and also in the beginning of this arc to act calmly and reasonably in high-stress/high-risk situations. So her panicking and making bad decision after bad decision, even when she knows it will only make her look guilty, is incredibly out of character.

—————

Also, I’m aware that you were making a general statement, but I will also say that I don’t place the same responsibility on Ezra…because I don’t talk about him. I’ve made maybe 2-3 posts talking about Rebels characters, but even then they were about Kanan, Ahsoka, and Thrawn——no one else.

99% of the time I talk about stuff on here, I’m talking about the Prequels. Ezra simply doesn’t come up because he’s not a Prequels era character——and, to be completely honest, I’m not as familiar with his character as I am Ahsoka’s. So any meta I attempted to post about him would probably just fall flat.

Also, from what I remember, in Rebels Ezra is never framed the way Ahsoka is in TCW.

In TCW, after around season 4, Ahsoka is shown to be extremely competent, calm, and to pretty much act like an adult. She no longer acts like a kid- (which I mainly put the blame on Filoni for, since I feel like he just made her that way because he wanted her to be perfect).

Meanwhile in Rebels, Ezra isn’t framed that way——he’s very impulsive, whiny, self-conscious, arrogant at times, and continuously makes mistakes. He does act like a kid.

Plus, Ezra never really goes through something like this. Where he makes a string of bad decisions that put the Ghost crew in a place where they can’t help/support/protect him somehow. The closest he gets is when he’s getting influenced by the Dark Side, but even then he listens to those around him when they do eventually try to pull him out of that. Which Ahsoka does not do in The Wrong Jedi arc.

So saying- “oh, you don’t say the same stuff about Ezra as you do Ahsoka” -is like comparing apples to oranges here.

Obviously I’m not making the same statements about them because-

1. They act and are framed very differently in their respective shows.

And 2. They go through very different situations.

-so I don’t really understand why you brought that up as a point.

—————

Edit to also say:

In the original post I never even place the blame on Ahsoka——I say “blame Tarkin for being such a dick or blame Barriss for framing Ahsoka in the first place.”

So I genuinely have no idea where you got the idea that I thought this was all Ahsoka’s fault.

Ok here's my thing with "The Wrong Jedi" arc, and I'm saying this as someone who actually really likes Ahsoka in TCW.

People use this arc to shit on the Jedi (particularly the Council) so much, but like...Ahsoka was literally doing everything she could to make herself look guilty and give them no other choice but to suspect her.

Like, let's put this in perspective, shall we?

One of the people in your (really fucking large) family--someone you know of, but whom most of the family isn't really close to--gets accused of murdering someone and being a part of a terrorist group--and apparently there's video evidence, although even that doesn't really make it clear what happened.

You, of course, start trying to do everything you can to get said cousin out of jail since--even though you're not close to them--you don't think they would do something like that, and the evidence isn't concrete.

But, while you're trying to help them get released, you find out that your cousin has escaped from the county jail, several police officers are dead from knife wounds, and the only evidence is a knife that specifically belongs to your cousin as well as a couple other things that implicate them.

Your cousin goes on the run, then teams up with a known murderer and terrorist, and hurts even more police officers while on the run until finally they're caught once again.

Now you are left with a choice: you can either continue trying to defend your cousin, or you allow the police to take them into custody to face a trial.

Right now a lot of people hate your family, to the point that they're sending death threats and mail bombs and screaming obscenities outside your ancestral home.

It's already putting everyone else in your family, including literal children and babies, in danger and if you continue defend your cousin--despite all of the evidence that points to them being guilty--they could be put in even more danger and the government funding that your family lives off of could be taken away, since you would be defending a suspected terrorist.

So, in that situation, what would you honestly do?

You would do the smart, and reasonable, thing and stop defending your cousin so the police could take them into custody.

The Council tried to help Ahsoka, but she kept doing things to make herself look guilty and--in doing so--put them in a hard position where they couldn't defend her anymore without causing harm to the rest of the Order.

And would you really, truly, honestly defend someone when all of the evidence points to them being guilty? Of course not!

If you want to blame someone for what happened in that arc, blame Barriss for framing Ahsoka in the first place or Tarkin for being such a dick, but shut the fuck up about the Jedi.

They were put in a shitty position and made the best choices they could in a bad situation.

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

wait draco fucking his arranged marriage wife on a couch after she admitted to still seeing her ex (not knowing he has feelings for her obviously) and he’s like oh? can he fuck you like this tho?

pairing: draco malfoy x reader 

warning(s): 18+, adultery, arranged marriage, slight degradation

word count: 3.0k 

a/n: this was not supposed to be this long but it ran away from me as i started writing. this is the longest thing i’ve written on tumblr so far and i hope you all enjoy it! one of my own person favorites. 

Another day felt like another day wasted in the walls in the stuffy Manor you called home. Except it wasn’t home. And it wasn’t another day. 

No. After weeks of trying to get your husband to open up to you, you had had enough. It was an arranged marriage, and although you were no fool and had no pretenses of pretending to love him, you’d at least like to get to know the person you called your husband. 

Back in school you had always thought the infamous Draco Malfoy was rather handsome, anyone would be a fool to deny it. He was confident and popular, great at Quidditch, and seemed like the perfect gentleman - everything you could want in a husband. Turns out it was the opposite. All the feelings you thought you might develop for him were unrequited, and he ignored you at every turn. 

So you took it into your own hands to get what you were so desperately craving: physical affection. It didn’t take much, truly. All you did was send an owl to your ex boyfriend from your school days and one thing led to another until you were in his bed, wrapped in his arms, and rocked to your core with pleasure. 

But now you were back in your ‘home’, wasting away within the walls of the Manor with your husband nowhere to be found. 

It wasn’t until hours later, when you were getting ready to push yourself up from the couch to head to bed, did the fireplace flash green, signaling his arrival home. 

“Hello. How was your day?” You asked politely, hoping just this once he might fall into a normal conversation with you. 

“Fine,” he replied shortly, not even bothering to look at you as he emptied his pockets and put down his very important briefcase that was a mystery to you. 

A blaze of frustration ran through your body, desperate to get more out of this man than just one word. A crazy thought came into your head, to tell him about your day, but you pushed it aside. No, Malfoy’s wouldn’t think highly of a girl who committed adultery within weeks of marriage. But…

“My day was great,” you told him, rather impulsively. 

At first he seemed shocked that you even said anything, the conversation usually reached its end by now. But he recovered quickly, politely asking “And what was so great about your day?” 

Naturally, you could lie. Tell him you met up with your female friends for lunch. Tell him you read a good book. Tell him anything but the truth. But… 

“I reacquainted myself with my ex boyfriend from school,” you told him, daring to look him in the eye as you spoke. 

“Reacquainted? How?” He asked, a series of emotions flashing over his face that you had never seen before. It sent a thrill through you to see him showing any emotions at all. 

Again, you could lie. Tell him you met him for lunch. Tell him that you ran into each other in Diagon Alley. Tell him anything but the truth. But… 

You knew even if the truth did come out, he would have to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t dare be seen as a spineless cuckold as his wife went around sleeping with whomever she pleased. 

“I owled him a few days ago, asking to meet him,” you began, watching as his face contorted into something akin to anger. “I went to his home, for lunch, and it didn’t end with lunch.” 

You left the end of your short story rather ambiguous, wanting to see what he’d do with the information you presented him. He had barely moved from his place by the fireplace, but the look he was giving you could set you up in flames if he wanted it to. 

“So, what? You fucked him?” He asked, the politeness in his voice giving way to the anger he was feeling. 

In a sick way, it pleased you to see him angry. Gave you a sense of pride that you, the wife he had seen fit to ignore, could get such a rise out of him. 

“Yes, seeing as you haven’t even touched me,” was your spiteful reply, foolishly placing the blame all on him despite your own actions. 

“You stupid, silly little girl,” he said under his breath as he stalked over towards you, menacing in just how much bigger he was than you. “You don’t fucking understand a thing about me, do you?” He asked, hovering over you, his hands braced on the back of the couch that you were still seated on, your faces inches apart. 

“You don’t let me. You never speak to me,” you argued, ready to turn this into a fight filled with low blows if he really wanted it to go that way. 

“You think this is a fucking walk in the park for me? Having some girl I’ve barely met in my house looking terrified of me every time I come near her? Suffering through your daily attempts to talk to me, but knowing how unbearably uncomfortable you are in being here? You think I wanted this? For either of us?” He asked seamlessly, almost in a rush to get all of his thoughts out before he thought better of it. A look of hesitation passed his face for a brief moment before he continued on, more quietly now. “You think I wanted the girl I couldn’t take my eyes off for a single day after fifth year hating being in my presence? Going behind my back to fuck someone else because I’ve held myself back in case she was uncomfortable doing anything more than just acting like my wife?” 

He didn’t meet your eye at first, but when he did you saw the weight of his emotions. He was hurt, by himself and by you. He was jealous of the man you had chosen to spend your day with. He was terrified of your reaction to his words. He was furious he even had to have this conversation, in this way, in this situation. He was relieved he finally got it all out. 

“Wh- What are you saying?” You asked cautiously, not wanting to twist his words to meet your own fantasy of having a loving husband. 

He took a deep breath before he answered, but made no moves to rid himself of his proximity to you. “Y/N, I’ve been head over heels for you since the moment we met. But having an arranged marriage, I couldn’t do much more but assume you didn’t share the same feelings as me.” 

“Oh,” was all you could even say back, too overwhelmed to think of anything else. You searched his eyes for the lie, but they held nothing but the raw truth. He must have seen something in your eyes as well, because his tone shifted into something else entirely before he spoke again. 

“Now, Y/N, I think we got off on the wrong foot and I didn’t make my intentions clear with you. I intend to be a good husband, a loving husband. And yet despite my best efforts to be the perfect gentleman so far, you went behind my back to sleep with some other man. And what does that say about you?” He asked, his eyes boring into yours as he spoke. 

You were sure he could hear your heart rate from how close he was, your pulse racing at his words. “I- I don’t know,” you stuttered, willing to let him take this wherever he saw fit. 

“I’m not going to place the blame all on you, because I know I haven’t been perfect. But one might say that you’re a dumb little whore, and I might be inclined to agree. A stupid, little girl trapped in her big, posh Manor. Going out to let any guy fuck her, not even knowing that her husband can fuck her better than anyone else could.” 

“And you could fuck me better than someone I know can?” You asked incredulously, shocked at the words spilling from his mouth. But even if you tried, you couldn’t deny the way he was so sure of himself, so sure he could please you better than any man, aroused you to no end. 

He let out a dark chuckle and looked at you, amused. “Of course I could, darling. That is, if you give me the chance,” he told you in a teasing tone, before pushing himself off of the couch to walk away. 

“Wait,” you started, once again acting on impulse. You might regret your next words, but damn it if you weren’t curious. And he was your husband after all. “Prove it.” 

“Prove it?” He asked, turning on his heel to face you again, a victorious grin written across his face. When you nodded, he only lifted a brow before he continued. “Now? Haven’t you had a long day of, oh how did you put it, ‘getting reacquainted with your ex’?” 

“You talk a big game, Draco. Now I’m asking you to prove it. Scared?” You asked, baiting him. 

In a split second and a flurry of movement later, he had you laying down against the couch, pressed into the expensive fabric, with his weight on top of you, pinning you down.  

“I’ll give you one last chance to back out of this. Tell me now, otherwise I’m going to fuck you through this couch,” he said through gritted teeth, clearly fed up with your antics. 

Without even thinking, your lips crashed onto his in a heated kiss. Lips you hadn’t felt since your wedding day. You hadn’t even remembered what they felt like until his tongue was darting along your bottom lip, hastily requesting entry. 

As your kiss remained heated, he was expertly shedding you both of your clothing until you were almost bare. He had only left you in your small, lace thong in the aftermath of his destruction. 

His hands traveled your body possessively, as if trying to memorize every curve and edge of your skin. The moment your bra came off, your breasts were in his hands, easily rolling your nipples until you were gasping for air. He swallowed all your noises greedily, as if you were feeding them to a starved man. 

It wasn’t until he pulled away, his hands resting on the waistband on your underwear, did you have a moment for a coherent thought. 

“One last time, are you sure Y/N?” He asked as if it was painful for him. As if it was the case that you said no, it would be immensely difficult for him to pull himself away. As if it was the case that you said no, he’d die a painful death at your feet. 

“I’m sure,” you said softly, not wanting him to think for a second that you had any hesitant thoughts about this moment. 

As he slowly pulled down your final layer of clothing, it gave you a chance to finally look at him.

And he was beautiful. 

He looked like an ancient Greek statue, perfectly carved and crafted out of marble come to life. His perfectly defined lines, his impossible definition, his muscles in all the right places. Your eyes eventually traveled down to his cock, and your breath hitched when you finally saw how large he was. If you had known this all along, perhaps you wouldn’t have sought out another man for your pleasure. 

He seemed to be taking you in just the same. His eye trailing down your body with such reverence that you felt like an ancient Greek goddess yourself, if only for a moment. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear the words. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, giving him a shy smile when his eyes met yours again. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” he told you, still in the soft tone that he had. He gracefully let his body fall back over yours, bracing himself on one forearm while his other hand traveled the length of your body. 

When he caught your lips again, it didn’t hold the same heat as before, but there was something new there. Something good. Something that could only be translated through your lips in that very moment. Something akin to adoration, worship, even love. 

His hand stopped its travels at the apex of your thighs, expertly running his fingers over your clit and down your slit, feeling for himself just how wet you were. He groaned at the feeling of how wet and warm you were, and you felt his cock twitch against your stomach in anticipation. 

He slowly opened you up for him with his fingers. First with one, then two, even venturing to three before he was content that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He didn’t rush the process, kept a slow, steady, predictable pace as he worked your body. And every time you got close to the edge, he’d gently bring you back down, leaving you a whining, writhing mess by the time he was aligning his cock with you. 

“Draco, please,” you begged shamelessly, more than ready for him. 

“Did you beg for him earlier?” He asked almost nonchalantly, teasing you with the tip of his cock. 

He must have seen the shock on your face, shocked that he would bring it up in this moment, because he only chuckled before pushing inside of you, a gasp easily pulled from your lips at the intense stretch. 

He didn’t fuck you gently, immediately starting with a breakneck pace that left you seeing stars from the first moment he bottomed out. You were easily rewarding him with your moans, letting him know just how good it felt without words. You couldn’t speak even if you tried. 

But he talked. Oh, yes. He ran that pretty mouth of his as if he wasn’t thrusting so deep inside of you the couch was rocking. 

“I was right, wasn’t I? You’ve never been fucked like this, have you?” He asked, right as you were beginning to climb that peak into a pleasurable abyss. 

You gave him a feeble nod in return, not trusting your own mouth to properly respond. 

“Did he fuck you like this?” He asked, biting the question out through clenched teeth as if he was dreading the answer. “Tell me, Y/N, did he?” He asked, fucking you even harder now in his frustration. 

“No,” you cried out, breaking free of your moans for a second to answer him. “He can’t fuck me like this,” you added, if only to stroke Draco’s ego, but nevertheless it was true. No one could fuck you like this. 

“Cum for me, let me feel you,” Draco said, lowering his head into the crook of your neck to ground himself, trying to fight off his orgasm until you got yours. 

It didn’t take much longer after that. He had worked you up so much beforehand that your orgasm came to you easily and came with such a force you were left breathless in its wake. Your nails carved down Draco’s muscular back, sure to leave delightful scratch marks that you could study later, as you cried out in bliss. 

The moment he felt your walls contract around him, he let himself go with a low groan. The sound was music to your ears, and only intensified the feelings you were experiencing. To have him so close, sharing in the same ecstasy you were, it was like magic. 

When you both came down from your highs, he swiftly rearranged the both of you until you wrapped in his arms, both lying on the couch. It was a strange feeling, being in his arms for the first time like this. If someone had told you this would be happening only a few hours before, you would have laughed in their face. But now here you both were, sweaty and satiated, basking in the bliss of finally consummating your marriage. 

The thought made you giggle, and when he shot you a perplexed look, you couldn’t help but explain. 

“We finally consummated our marriage,” you explained, still giggling. “And don’t worry, by the way, I’m on the potion,” you thought to add, just in case kids weren’t looming in the future for him. 

“Good to know you won’t be birthing any bastard children,” was his sullen response, clearly still hurt by the events of the day. 

You shifted your body until you were looking directly at him, but he made no moves to pull his arms away from you. If anything, he held you tighter when he felt you move, unwilling to give up the moment. 

“Look, I’m sorry about what I did today. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to you. And if I had known even a fraction how you felt about me, I wouldn’t have done it, because I feel the same about you. I was just feeling incredibly stuck in what I thought was a hopeless marriage, and I was lonely, so I sought out someone else. But now I understand that that isn’t the case, and I can promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that it will never happen again,” you told him, putting everything out there for him. 

“You feel the same?” He asked timidly, after a moment of deliberation. There was a look of hope on his face, and never in your wildest dreams would you shut down such a rare display of emotion from him. Then again, you may be expecting more of his emotions from here on out. 

“Yes. I’ve always been attracted to you, and the little bits of you that I do know, I like. I want this to work, Draco. I want this to be a real marriage. All I wanted was a shot.” you said, just praying he wanted the same. 

“‘I’ll admit, I wasn’t a good husband to you by any means, and I probably unknowingly pushed you into doing what you did. But now that our intentions are out there, I’d like nothing more than to give this a real shot,” he responded, that newly familiar look of hope in his eyes present once more. 

In that moment, you could both feel it. The beginning of something great.

[hup123hup123slapslap]

I’m mad about people’s takes again so here’s a rant about my boy Fu Ligong

FOLKS

Fu Ligong pines for over a decade and is never given an indication that the feelings were mutual prior to his confession, even after they start dating

Zheng Zeshou doesn’t believe in love until Ligong changes their relationship. A relationship that Zeshou is clearly desperate to keep.

Zeshou as a whole is reckless and he jumps headfirst into their relationship in an equally impulsive way. (half of the audience was questioning his 180 too ffs)

Ligong is desperate to make sure Zeshou is happy and stomping down his own feelings to make that happen comes naturally at this point.

Zeshou is new to their relationship, is newly open to the idea of love at all, is still openly skeptical of long term relationships and their ability to work out, and, once again, is known to jump into things without fully thinking about them

Therefore, Ligong thinks Zeshou will be just fine with going back to being friends, because losing Ligong was his biggest fear. And not only does his familial situation become less complicated, presumably he can now breathe a sigh of relief now that the idea of breaking up or divorcing isn’t circling around in his head. Their relationship can go back to being solid and simple like it was before Ligong complicated it.

Zeshou would never agree to break up because of his father, but Zeshou is also stubborn when it comes to his father. Ligong would likely feel doubt if he were to admit the reason he wanted to break up. Zeshou would absolutely double down on their relationship and refuse to break up, but how much of that is Zeshou being stubborn and scared?

Yeah Fu Ligong was wrong. But he didn’t just pull his decision out of thin air. He knows Zheng Zeshou better than anyone, and while I don’t necessarily think he doubted Zeshou’s feelings, he doubted where they came from, how intense they were, and how long they could last. Being the only one in love, and the only one suffering, is so familiar to him that he naturally wanted to go back to that. And he genuinely thought he could.

Like I genuinely would argue that the breakup wasn’t useless and just for drama. The two did need to meet in the middle on where they stood. Ligong is the one who screwed up, yes, but neither one would feel like they were on completely solid ground until they had this proof.

Zeshou needed to realize that getting your heart broken doesn’t stop your feelings, and as a result, he let go of the crushing fear of being left behind because things change. He’s not stuck in a pattern of trying to keep things the same or trying to be utterly perfect so that everything keeps moving smoothly with Ligong. Notice how he’s open about talking about his doubts over the marriage? I don’t think he’d be so eager to propose or communicate his doubts outside of hypotheticals if things had stayed like they were.

And Ligong needed to realize that Zeshou wasn’t just jumping into their relationship because of fear and a natural inclination to go all out. Zeshou loves him on purpose. Because he wants to.

[favefandomimagines]

Scenic Views (e.b.)

Summary: an ocean view hike is supposed to be relaxing. so why wasn’t it for you and buck?

AN: i defs lost this request BUT i found it and here it is! I’m sorry that it took me so freaking long! i also added a little bit of spice to this

request: @tacopanda omg so cute. you and Buck go hiking on a very scenic hike to a view a ocean view and on the hike you end up spraining your ankle

You knew you shouldn’t have agreed to go on a hike with Buck. Buck was in impeccable shape, he was a firefighter, so of course he was in good shape. You were an amateur painter, who spent most of their time at an art studio than outside. You were healthy and in good shape but you never went out of your way to go to a gym and workout. 

But when Buck asked for something, you usually caved. And this time, he wanted to go on a hike with you. Saying that maybe seeing that beautiful view of the ocean would give you the inspiration you were severely lacking. 

It wasn’t every day that the most prestigious art museum in LA showcased amateur artists and you were lucky enough to be one of the few to be featured. But, you needed a piece to showcase and you had no inspiration for one. Usually an idea just came to you and you’d go wild but given that you knew what could potentially come out of it, that was blocking your creativity immensely. 

You were doing surprisingly well for someone who doesn’t particularly workout on a daily basis. You were keeping up with your boyfriend just fine for the most part. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this.” You groaned, climbing a rather steep incline. “You’re doing great though!” Buck commented. “I’m dying on the inside.” You rebutted. “With the pandemic, this is a good way for us to get out of the house and do some bonding.” He said. “We’ve been bonding, stuck at home, for over a year. How much more until you get sick of me?” You teased. 

“I think it’s impossible for me to be sick of you, Y/N.” Buck said. You smiled up at him as the two of you reached what seemed like the end of the trail. You stopped for a moment to catch your breath as Buck looked at the view. “If this doesn’t give you the inspiration to finish your painting, I don’t know what will.” He said. 

You stood up straight and walked towards where he was standing and overlooked the view of the ocean. “Wow. You don’t see a view like this every day.” you commented. There was really an ulterior motive for Buck bringing you on that hike. 

A motive you were not aware of. You and him had been together for the worst moments of each other’s lives, even if it wasn’t always in a romantic sense. You were there when Abby left him, he was there for you when you started art school, you stayed by his side when he was suing the department and the city. Even through a global pandemic, the two of you stayed by each other through it all. 

There was no doubt that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the scenery was beautiful and it felt like the right place to start. Given that you didn’t know about Buck’s plan, your impulsive and exploratory nature got the best of you. 

There was a large rock a few feet away from where you and Buck were standing and you wanted to go get a better look of the ocean. You moved to stand on the rock while Buck was making sure he didn’t leave the ring at home. 

You were looking at the view from the rock when Buck caught your attention. “Hey, Y/N?” He called. You turned around quickly and somehow lost your footing, bending your ankle in a very unhealthy manner and falling on your ass in the process. 

When you hit the ground, the only thing you could do was laugh. Buck rushed to your aid, examining you for any serious injuries, while you were laughing hysterically. 

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” He asked you. “This is so embarrassing.” You laughed. “Are you hurt?” Buck questioned. “I think I hurt my ankle. Falling straight on my face.” You answered, still laughing. 

Buck furrowed his eyebrows at your laughter before he pulled out his phone. “I’m calling 911.” He announced. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just a sprain.” You said. “A sprain that’s swelling up to the size of my wrist. Y/N, you need to go to the hospital.” He told you. 

“Can’t you just carry me back down? I mean, you are a firefighter too.” You questioned. Buck looked at you for a moment, knowing that he really should call an ambulance for you. “Fine. But you’re going to the ER whether you like it or not. If you broke your ankle because of a hike I took you on, you’ll never let me live it down.” He finally said. 

You and Buck made it back down to the parking lot and he carefully placed you in the passenger seat of the car. “I can’t believe I convinced you to do this. It’s my fault you got hurt.” He commented. “Buck, I’m the clumsiest person alive. No one is at fault here but my lack of reflexes.” You rebutted. “But,” He started. “No. No buts. It’ll be fine.” You told him. 

You were in a good amount of pain but you didn’t want him to know that, knowing it would make him feel ten times worse. 

At the end of the day, it was just a severe sprain. Nothing too terribly serious and you just had to keep it bandaged for a few days until the swelling went down. Buck felt terrible, so he made sure that whatever you needed he got for you without the usual complaining. Even though it wasn’t the ideal situation, you might have found the inspiration you were looking for. 

__

It had been a month or so since your failed hike with Buck and it was the night of the showcase at the art museum. The entire 118 was going to be there which made you more nervous than you thought. 

No one has seen the piece you made but you were rather proud of it. You told Buck that it was an abstract landscape piece but in reality it was much more than that. It was a simple, black and white portrait of Buck that you painted after a long night watching TV on the couch. 

It wasn’t anything fancy or extravagant. It was just him, completely unaware that you were memorizing how he looked at that moment. 

Everyone was standing around, drinking champagne and talking amongst themselves, while you were a bundle of nerves. You kept looking around the room, waiting to see when they were going to unveil your piece. 

“Everyone’s going to love it. I mean, you haven’t shown me what it is,  but I have no doubt it’s amazing.” Buck told you. You gave him a smile as the art curator stood in front of your piece. “Oh my god.” You muttered. “The next local artist contribution we’d like to unveil, comes from Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N.” She announced, before the sheet covering your portrait fell. 

There were murmurs throughout the room but from what you could see on people’s faces, they were all positive murmurs. You avoided Buck’s gaze, afraid of what his reaction would. “Y/N, that’s amazing.” Maddie complimented. “Thank you.” You said, bashfully. 

You then looked up at Buck, who was still staring at the painting of him. “So? Do you hate it? You hate it don’t you. I knew I should’ve asked if it was okay-” You started before his lips met yours. That seemed to silence you long enough for your nerves to dissipate. 

“You really like it?” You whispered when you pulled a part. “I love it, Y/N. I-It’s incredible.” Buck answered. “I thought you didn’t have inspiration.” He added. “Well, after the hike and seeing how you were with me, that gave me inspiration. Because why not paint something I love so much?” You answered. “Will you marry me?” He said without really thinking. “I’m sorry, what?” You questioned. 

“That was supposed to happen way more smoothly than me just blurting it out but, will you marry me? I was going to ask on our hike but then you fell.” Buck said. You were stunned at first, trying to process everything but you soon smiled and nodded your head. “Yes, Buck, I’ll marry you.” You answered. 

No one around you was aware of what was going on and that was 100% fine by you. That evening was about your art and other people’s art, you didn’t want to take that away. 

Buck reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box, opening it up and placing the ring on your finger. “Are we going to tell the others?” You asked, staring at the ring on your finger. “Tonight’s about you and your art. We can tell them tomorrow.” Buck answered. 

You didn’t think a person could be more thankful to have sprained an ankle until now.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

timebomb

for @drarrymicrofic prompt "better than fighting" (did I intend for this to be 2.3k no i did not)

The day Harry slept with Malfoy for the first time, was also the day he bruised his knuckles punching his boss in the nose.

The impossible chain of events that led to that stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion — sleeping with Malfoy, of course, not punching his boss — started two weeks earlier, when Robards slammed a shiny red folder on his desk and said, Sixteen werewolves disappeared yesterday. Find them.

Sixteen werewolves, three families. Including children.

Everyone knew Harry went crazy when children were involved.

In under two days, he found clues that seemed to suggest a high member of the Wizengamot was responsible and launched himself into an apprehension mission without filing for the permit, because he was sure every second that passed, more werewolves were getting kidnapped. He ended up escorting a furious Member Breckenridge to a holding cell.

Robards failed to see his logic, however. It turned out Breckenridge was working with the department in an attempt to catch the actual criminal, and Harry got reprimanded for skipping procedure.

But Harry, tired as hell of having information kept from him for the nth time in his life because, well, Dumbledore, exploded.

He didn’t even feel sorry as he yelled at Robards in front of the entire department for sending him blind into a case that could’ve compromised the wellbeing of so many creatures, including children, and how could he, when Harry could very well have saved them if only he’d known, and — that was about the time he walked up to Robard’s desk and punched him right in the nose.

So, that was the first impossible event in the series of impossible events.

The second was as follows: Harry was put on desk duty for at least six months, Potter, you should thank Merlin I’m not firing you.

This, in Harry’s opinion, should definitely be considered an impossible event. He hadn’t been on desk duty for five years, and had thought himself free of the burden, forever. He’d been wrong.

The consequences to his confinement became rapidly evident, however. For starters, every single person sharing the wide room that served as the headquarters to the Auror force filed a complaint before the clock had struck six that very evening. The Aurors were a notoriously conflictive sort, hardly ever agreed on anything, so the fact that they were all together in their fear was the third impossible event. To be fair, it was terrifying. Harry’s absolute lack of respect for authority coupled with his inability to sit still for even a second made every one of his coworkers fear for their life now they knew they’d be subjected to the rage of the caged tiger for at least six months.

So, all of Harry’s coworkers filed said complaint — all of them, including the incidental employees from other departments that had to pass through Auror quarters for one reason or the other — and stayed within a 10 feet radius of his desk at all times as he fumed so hard he half thought steam would come out of his ears.

The fifth impossible thing was that the only one person who stepped into the office and didn’t immediately run to Robards to make sure they weren’t hallucinating Harry aggressively punching holes through his stationery at the desk he hadn’t occupied in five years, was Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy showed up in the vibrant blue robes that marked his position as a member of the Department of Invoices, Correspondence and Credit, or, as Harry liked to call them, glorified mailmen, and leaned over his desk with a snooty smirk, not appearing surprised to see him.

He’d never been afraid of him, after all.

“If it isn’t the man who made Robards walk into his afternoon meeting with a bloody nose,” he said, apparently fucking oblivious to the very obvious signals Harry’s body was sending him to shut the hell up — the tense fists, the clenched teeth, the jumping muscles of his jaw. Malfoy didn’t see any of it. He continued, “well, what could we have expected, really, you’ve always been rather ... ah, ill-mannered,” and continued, “member Breckenridge had an interesting story at lunch earlier,” and continued, “escapes me how Robards was surprised by your acting on your first impulse, after all …”

And then Harry shut him up. He stood up abruptly, slammed his palms on the desk and leaned into Malfoy’s space, lip curled. He knew, logically, that he was being unreasonable. He also knew he kind of wanted to snarl.

Malfoy blinked, startled.

“What the fuck do you want?” Harry asked. Malfoy kept blinking at him. “Were you here for a reason, or did you come here looking for a fight? Because I will fight you, Malfoy, I -“

“Circe, you’ve got mail,” interrupted Malfoy, waving a neat stack of letters before setting them down by Harry’s hole puncher. “You ought to be kept on a leash, I swear to Merlin.”

Harry was seething by then, however, and decided snarling didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

And somehow, after he had delivered a comeback and Malfoy kept pestering him anyway, he found his fingers clenching around the front of Malfoy’s robes, pulling him towards the archive room, through a small door, and apparating him to his house in London. Malfoy’s house. Harry wasn’t very sure how he knew the address well enough to end up there, but he did and he had. This was the sixth impossible thing.

Malfoy spluttered, raged, but his hands pulled Harry close and into the house and it happened.

Harry slept with him. This was the stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion.

Thinking back on it, he was inclined to say that he’d been out of his mind, but the truth was, he’d had plenty of time to back off, and he hadn’t.

Even more ridiculous, even more unthinkable, was the fact that it … did something to him. After they’d had a go at it in Malfoy’s couch, Harry’s anger had — not disappeared, exactly, but it had been taken over by something bigger, stronger. A raging hunger he’d not experienced in … possibly ever.

And by then he’d been so, so angry for so many years, that he was hesitant to let go of the new feeling. He’d slipped his thumb into Malfoy’s mouth, and they’d had another go at it on his living room floor, and then another in the kitchen, and another in the bedroom, right before passing out, worn out and not angry, for the first time in longer than he’d care to admit.

He felt ashamed of it in the morning, as he was forced to vanish the evidence of their coupling from his chest and thighs, as he apparated home and scrubbed himself down in the shower, as he went to work and kept his head down, sure everyone would take a look at him and know he’d gone and done the unthinkable.

But even the shame was different from the everlasting anger he’d carried.

As he sat at the dreaded desk and curled his lip at the stupid, prying coworkers who stared at him, he found he couldn’t muster up the rage to continue punching holes through all his case reports, and proceeded to be so incredibly embarrassed that his face blushed bright red and he had to pretend to choke on his tea and cough violently so nobody would suspect a thing.

Around the sixth time he did the entire tea-choke-cough thing to fight yet another memory of the night before, the door to the headquarters slammed open and in walked Draco Malfoy, with a swagger to his step and a grin so bright that Harry’s hatred for him was turned up to eleven and intensified past stratospheric levels. Inexplicably, he wanted to run.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, white teeth flashing. Harry thought of a panther, then scowled because no way was intimidating a word he was willing to associate with the little shit standing in front of him, and willed himself to think of a stupid, raging, harmless house cat. Much more fitting. He made a mewling sound similar to theirs, anyway, when he – “Missed me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Harry asked, digging inside himself for the anger, for something to hurl at Malfoy and run away, escape his maddening smirk, but he came up short.

Malfoy’s grin widened.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He said, and it indeed was the usual — oblivious as usual, infuriating as usual, then leaned right into Harry’s space, crowding him against his chair and hitting him with his disgusting, revolting, nauseating, fresh minty breath. Then, he showed him a thin envelope. “Your mail.”

Harry snatched it from him. “Good. Now piss off.”

“As you wish. See you later.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He could still hear Malfoy’s laugh, even after he’d left and closed the door, could still feel the disgusting, revolting, nauseating minty breath inside his nostrils, and if he wasn’t careful he could still feel the shape of Malfoy’s mouth around his —

He most definitely was not seeing him later.

Harry told himself this all day. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he stood in front of Robards after he’d summoned him for a ‘meeting’ that was really just a load of bullshit on protocol and procedures and useless things Harry did not give a damn about. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he bought a salad at the café two streets down the ministry and smiled back at the lovely waitress. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he sat at his desk and found himself capable of punching holes after all, but not exactly out of anger.

Not seeing him later, he told himself after his shift was over and he left headquarters.

Not seeing him later, he told himself, as he apparated straight into Malfoy’s living room.

And there he was.

For a second he looked surprised, vulnerable, a flash in his eyes as he took Harry in that spoke of uncertainty. Then, he looked as thought he’d been expecting him.

“You couldn’t help it, then?” He asked, stepping forward and not making any sense whatsoever.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said. It came out low, and not at all the way he’d intended.

“You said you wouldn’t see me if you could help it.” There was triumph somewhere in that sentence, or an attempt at it. There was also a tremble right in the middle, a fracture.

A red, pulsating curl of – of something rose inside Harry’s belly, and he grabbed onto it with desperation, thinking it was there, the anger, safety. But as he took it, owned it and stepped forward to punch Malfoy in the nose as he’d done Robards the day before, he found himself pushing him up against the wall instead, and bringing his face very close to his.

Malfoy’s eyes were a ring of silver overtaken by the wide abyss of his pupils. Awful, disgusting, they made Harry think of ugly murky waters and nasty storm clouds and made him want to retch.

He slid a hand into wispy, blonde, awful, disgusting, revolting hair and pulled him into a rough kiss that was all teeth.

They had a go at it on the living room floor, then another two in the bedroom, before collapsing from exhaustion.

When their wand alarms went off at the same time in the morning, Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy between his legs. No time for shame.

Afterwards, they padded downstairs, Malfoy two steps ahead of him, wearing nothing. Harry couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look away.

It was different in the morning light.

Malfoy was different, his naked body as he made them sandwiches was different, his eyes resembled something other than murky waters and his hair brushing against his forehead, against the constellations of freckles on his cheekbones was different, and his bare feet, light and silent on the hardwood floors were different, and the curve of his arms and the planes of his chest were different, and his cock hanging between his legs looked different, and Harry — Harry also felt different.

There was the usual racing of his heart, but no trace of anger, the usual heat in his chest and stomach, but not a sign of rage, the usual need to put his hands on the other person, but no want for violence.

He felt his fingers tremble as he poured water into an empty cup.

“Mayo?” Malfoy asked, low, sleepy.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah.”

Malfoy hummed, and Harry stared as he spread mayo onto his bread. At the work of his long, bony fingers. He tried to think they were disgusting, and couldn’t.

“Here,” Malfoy said, handing him the plate when he was done. Harry took it, put it aside.

They had another go at it in the kitchen.

“Isn’t it better?” Malfoy asked, breathless, pushing back against him, hands planted on the counter.

“Better?” Harry said, grunted into his shoulder, into the beauty mark he was getting acquainted with.

“Than … than anger – oh god, please.” He dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, panted, moved faster. “Than fighting.”

Then, he shifted and Harry stopped thinking for a while.

Later, leaning against the wall of the shower as he watched Malfoy wash his hair, he thought about it.

Better than anger.

Better than fighting.

Was it?

He brought a hand up, brushed his fingers against Malfoy’s chest, traced the lines leading down to his hips. Thought about fighting him, arguing. Thought about something else.

They had another go at it under the stream of water, as it turned cold against their feverish skin.

Stupid, unthinkable, ridiculous, perfect, just right conclusion. Harry supposed it was better than fighting.

[fruitcoops]

could we see coops first big fight when they’re married? (essentially pure angst)

Yes, we can! Don’t worry, I got your follow-up ask about a happy ending as well--there are no sad endings on this blog, just some bittersweet ones, and this is very soft and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Combined with prompts for...

1. Another of Coops’ serious talks

2. Remus overworking himself to keep up

3. From @colored-rain: Sirius sleeping at Dumo’s for a night

4. Slow dancing in the kitchen

TW for couples fighting, suppression, and marriage issues

“Do you think we got married too fast?” a quiet voice asked in the darkness.

Remus paused for several heartbeats before opening his eyes and turning over; Sirius was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “What?”

“Do you think we got married too fast?” Sirius repeated without looking at him.

“Do you?” Remus countered. Something panicky was starting to buzz in the back of his brain and he tried to keep his breaths steady. Sirius wasn’t breaking up with him. They had only been married for a few months. Things were really, really good—as far as he knew, they were both happier than they had ever been.

Sirius sighed through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Remus sat up against the headboard, wide awake. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Sirius shifted to sit up as well and crossed his legs. “I don’t know! People usually date for a lot longer than a year and a half before getting married, right?”

“We’ve known each other for seven years, Sirius.”

“Yes, and I love you, and you’re wonderful, but everything happened so fast.”

Remus wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest or dissolve into a puddle of pain. “Are you—Sirius, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Sirius said immediately. “I just said I love you, what the hell?”

“People can love each other and still break up!”

Sirius grabbed his hands, holding tight even when Remus tried to pull back and let his panic overtake him. Grey eyes locked on his, as solemn as he had ever seen them. “I’m not breaking up with you, Remus.” The clock on the nightstand beeped midnight and Sirius pressed his lips together. “We have early practice.”

“We need to talk.”

“We need to sleep.”

“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow, then.” We need to talk right now, actually.

Sirius squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. His cheek. “I promise.”

Remus didn’t sleep much that night. His cheek burned with the memory of Sirius’ lips.

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

Their morning routine was stilted and quiet. Practice was awkward, and though neither of them let the previous night’s events influence their performance, he knew the tension was palpable. “Y’all good?” Leo asked under his breath as Remus filled his waterbottle up.

“We’re fine,” he answered, exhausted.

“Loops—”

“Stay in your lane, Knut.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth—the kicked-puppy look on Leo’s face was more than enough to make guilt spike up—but he kept on moving down the hall and tried to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

The ride home was worlds worse than he could have expected. Sirius turned the radio off the moment it started to play and kept his eyes firmly on the windshield the entire time, tapping his thumb against the wheel in the tic that always appeared when he was nervous. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help us fix whatever’s going on.” Remus wasn’t angry, per say, but he was really fucking frustrated with Sirius’ sudden inability to communicate. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Sirius chewed the edge of his lip. “I was just thinking.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. “Wow, thank you for that incredibly helpful information,” Remus said sarcastically when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not trying to be mean—”

“Well, you kind of were—”

“Then maybe you should talk about your problems for once!” Remus snapped before he could shove it back down. Sirius’ jaw clenched. “If we’re going to work through this, then you have to tell me what the hell happened to make you so worried and upset. Do you regret getting married to me?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “Thank you, that was what I needed to hear.”

“Do you think we moved too fast?”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I used to. I don’t, anymore. There’s no rulebook for any of this. How long have you been thinking about that?”

Sirius started tapping the wheel again. “A couple weeks.”

He may as well have opened the passenger door and booted Remus from the car. A breath punched out of his lungs. “A couple weeks?” he whispered. The world was spinning, the floor was open, hell itself was coming to swallow him up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured it was normal marriage stuff. That it would pass.”

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“And I do?” Remus said incredulously. “News flash: this is the first time I’ve ever been married, too!”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Being married means you share things, Sirius, not keep them bottled up for two weeks! Especially when they concern the other person!”

Something stormy came over his face. “Oh, really? So when were you planning on talking to me about the fact that you haven’t slept in six days?”

“I literally sleep next to you!”

“You toss and turn all night, and then you get up and run drills for an hour before coming back to bed. Every time I ask how you slept, you lie to my face, Remus. That’s not okay.”

Remus was speechless. He had done everything he could think of to be quiet and careful so Sirius wouldn’t know. “I…”

Sirius glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Be an adult. Be an adult. You’re married. Be an adult. “I’m still worried about catching up to the team.”

“I figured. We’ve talked about this before, Re, it’s not safe for you to do that to yourself—”

“You don’t get it!” Sirius pulled into their driveway and turned the car off. “You have no idea how it feels to constantly be catching up to people! I’m fine, it’s not like I’m doing any damage!”

“I’m sorry, did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Remus clenched his teeth and got out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat before slamming the door. He felt a little guilty—the rising memories of hushed confessions of hours of exercise to his father’s whistle meant Sirius understood better than anyone. Then the front door closed behind them both and the indignance on Sirius’ face sent his temper flaring up again. “You never bother to talk to me about anything that’s going on with you, so why should I even try?”

“What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership’?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen. “Have we moved on to the hypocrite stage yet or are we still clearing the air where nothing ever gets solved?”

Remus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Every time we fight, you start all sarcastic and defensive, and then you get preachy like you’re reading something out of a fucking self-help book!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Remus, it feels like I’m talking to a therapist instead of my partner!”

“Husband!” The ring on his finger had always been a comfort instead of a lead weight. “You can’t even say it?”

“I don’t regret marrying you!

“Then why are you so upset about us being married young?!”

“Because it’ll fall apart!” Sirius shouted back. “We’re going to be insufferably happy for a while, and then somewhere along the line we’re going to hate each other, and then it’ll be cold looks when we pass and different beds and all our friends will have to pick sides because we can’t stand to be in the same room together!”

“If you’re so sure about that, then why are you trying to fucking hard to keep us together?” Remus’ heart pounded like he’d run a marathon. Hearing his own fears thrown in his face was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.

“Because I love you.” Sirius’ voice broke. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but Remus could see the pain on his face. “I love you, and I don’t want some—some impulsive decision to ruin that forever.”

“I love you, too.” Tears clogged the back of Remus’ throat. So stop pushing me away.

“Then I’ll be at Dumo’s.”

Remus nodded silently as Sirius walked past him toward the stairs; the moment he was out of sight, he headed into the downstairs bathroom and sat down with his back to the closed door, burying his face in his forearms. There was a rustle outside, and the front door closed with a click.

It wasn’t until his face itched with drying tears that he remembered Hattie. Guilt and panic stabbed through him and he scrambled back out, sprinting to her bed and then to the backyard. “Hattie?” he called, frantic with worry. “Hattie, c’mere!”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the day. They had left her in the house for practice, and he vaguely remembered hearing her in the other room while they were fighting, and when Sirius left—

“Oh, you bastard,” he said aloud. The rustling of Sirius grabbing his duffel and whatever else he packed had been accompanied by the pattering of Hattie’s paws. “You took our fucking dog.”

Part of him was grateful that at least somebody had remembered their baby. The other part was absolutely furious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a few deep breaths as the tone played. “Hello?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Re, are you okay?”

“Not really. Can you pick me up?”

Concern dripped from Lily’s voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“…where’s Sirius?”

“At Dumo’s.”

“I’m on my way.”

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

Harry Potter had been alive for less than two years, and he had been cried on by about half the Lions. Finn had started referring to him as ‘therapy baby’, and Remus was inclined to agree—it was hard to feel anything extreme when he was holding the pudgy little angel to his chest.

“So you fought?” Lily asked gently from the armchair across from him. Remus nodded. The whole story had spilled out in a gross mess of sobbing and baby snuggles until he laid down on his back, holding Harry to his chest as he dozed.

“I feel like an idiot,” he said miserably.

“Don’t.”

“It was awful.”

“I bet.”

Remus sniffled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Thank you for getting me. I didn’t want to be there alone.”

“I’m glad you called.” She took a sip of tea and gave him a look that he never liked. “Re, can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I was kind of waiting for this to happen.” At his stricken expression, she folded her hands around the sides of her mug. “I don’t think you got married too early, because neither of you do big things like that on impulse and you love each other so much. However, I do think that you have a habit of trying to protect each other from the shit you carry with you. James did the same thing to me, and it sucked.”

“It does suck,” Remus agreed. “I hate the thought that he can’t trust me.”

Lily held her finger up and shook her head. “Nope. It’s not an issue of trust, is it? Why didn’t you tell Sirius that you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry h—oh.” Harry wiggled around for a moment and Remus adjusted himself so he was leaning on the armrest. “I think I get it now.”

“You guys need to talk about that at some point or it’s going to keep coming up.”

“Is that what you and James did?”

“No, we let it fester for, like, a year and then broke up for two weeks.”

Remus made a sympathetic face. “I forgot about that part. I should call him, huh?”

Lily shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to apologize,” he said carefully. The sore spot in his heart and chest still twinged. “But I’m still really upset. And hurt. And a little angry? Mostly worried. There’s so much happening, I just want to hold your baby.”

“Go for it, he’s having a blast. Lover?”

There was a shuffling sound from the other room before James appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Remus snorted. “Simp.”

“Yes, and? What’s up, darling?”

“Can I have some more tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him with a dimpled smile and he sighed, then took her mug with him into the kitchen.

“You only love me for my kettle!” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe!”

Remus turned his head to look at Lily while he ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Lils?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I preachy when I’m upset?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Preachy. Like—like I’m reading out of a self-help book.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood up and walked to the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “No, Re, you’re not preachy. You like being right, but you’re not preachy.”

“Sirius thinks we’ll end up like his parents.”

“I’m not surprised about that, either.” She brushed his messy hair off his forehead and braided a small strand along the front, then gave it a little tug. “Guest bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it, okay?”

“That might be a while.”

She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “It won’t.”

“Could be.”

“Remus.”

“Sorry. Sleep well, Lils.” He sat up slightly and covered Harry’s ears. “And you, eavesdropper!”

“Love you!” James laughed from the other room. Lily picked the sleepy baby up and ushered Remus into the guest room with a final ‘goodnight’.

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

“Am I an idiot?” Sirius asked.

The bed creaked as Dumo readjusted his legs. “No, mon fils, you’re not an idiot. You are a young man going through his first marriage spat.”

“I hate it. I hate it. I said horrible things to him.”

“It sounds like you’re both to blame.”

“No, I brought it up first.” Dumo huffed, and he let out a slow exhale into the pillow. “Okay, maybe—maybe we were both in the wrong.”

“Fights are rarely one-sided. You have a visitor.”

Something cold prodded Sirius’ ear and he groaned, then curled on his side to let Hattie onto the covers next to him. “Bonjour, sweet girl. Thank you for the cuddles.”

She licked his nose and he smiled, petting the velvety top of her head. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Re’s got the house to himself for a bit, then, and he knows I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time to calm down a bit,” Dumo said as he stood with a final ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “That’s a wise decision. Bonne nuit.”

Sirius mumbled a response and made more room for Hattie, then settled in for a restless night. He never wanted to sleep alone again.

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

By some miracle, practice was more bearable the second day. Remus still ached somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t like he had anything else left to suppress. Seeing Sirius was a relief; it surprised him at first, considering the explosive nature of the previous evening, before sliding into something that soothed him. If he could still find peace in Sirius after all that, they would be okay.

He knocked lightly on the side of Sirius’ stall after he returned from the shower. “Knock, knock. Ca—”

“Who’s there?”

Remus’ heart stuttered as Sirius looked up at him from the bench with an apologetic tilt to his mouth. Something clicked into place. “Can I get a ride?”

“ ‘course you can.” Sirius stood up just as Remus stepped forward, and they met in the middle for a tight hug. He tucked his face into the dip of Sirius’ collarbone and breathed in his shower-fresh smell, as well as the trace of laundry detergent from his shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Let’s go, mon loup.” Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair and they headed out toward the parking lot together; Remus caught Leo’s eye and saw him smile.

“How’s Dumo doing?” Remus asked as they turned out of the parking lot. Start slow, start easy. “Did you drop Hattie off at home before you came to practice?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s good, and Celeste sent me back with some brownies.”

Remus tentatively reached over and rested his hand on the side of Sirius’ thigh—his chest visibly caught before he relaxed into it and reached down to put his own overtop. “Harry’s doing well. Lily says he’s almost started running.”

“Did you go see them?”

“Stayed at their place last night.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It felt weird being there by myself.”

“Re—”

“I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a rush, despite his best efforts to keep it in until they reached home. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, and especially for how I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about how I was feeling, too. It should never have gotten to that point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sirius sounded a little choked up. “I don’t think we got married too soon, if that means anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Remus half-laughed as he wiped the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “It means everything.”

“I thought it might be too late.”

“Can you pull over for a second?” Sirius obliged, and as soon as he turned the car off, Remus turned to face him. He linked their hands, making sure Sirius was looking into his eyes. “It is never too late to talk to me, okay? I’m sorry if I ever made you think that it was.”

Sirius unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over for a brief kiss that sent bubbling warmth throughout Remus’ entire body. “I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. And for keeping everything in, even though we both promised to stop doing that. All that shit I said, it—it wasn’t true, Re, and I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and wound his fingers in the short curls fanning Sirius’ face. “Honey, we’re not your parents.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid that we’re going to hate each other out of the blue, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If—” His mouth went a little dry and he faltered. “If you want to take a break, or take things slower, I totally respect—”

“Nope, no, no, no,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for another fervent kiss. “I love you. I’m happy with you. I let my head get away from me, and I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, love.” They sat in silence for a minute longer as Sirius traced his jawline. “Let’s go home.”

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

Sirius woke up in bed alone, which would have scared him if he didn’t know exactly where his husband was. He smiled to himself and got out of bed, grabbing a hoodie off their dresser before heading downstairs.

The kitchen light was on and music played quietly from Remus’ phone over the sound of running water. “You’re up late,” he said casually from the doorway.

Remus almost dropped a pot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Just me.” Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist as he set the pot on the drying rack. “Stressed?”

“A little. I forgot to do these earlier and didn’t want to leave them overnight again.” Sirius hummed his agreement and rocked back and forth, then took Remus’ hand and spun him in a slow circle. “Oh, are we slow dancing to the Billboard Top 100 now?”

“Very romantic, I know,” Sirius laughed.

Remus shook his head with a wide grin as they swayed, much too slow for the actual song but absolutely perfect. He was beautiful in the low light of their kitchen, puffy eyes from and all. “You are ridiculous.”

I’m the luckiest person alive. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sirius leaned down for a series of quick kisses, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Remus let go of his hand and draped both arms over his shoulders, tangling his hands in his hair. “I know we can’t exactly control it,” Sirius said against his lips. “But let’s never fight like that again.”

“Deal.”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

pascal

summary: spencer has had a few late nights at work, which ultimately meant neglecting y/n and their baby. after he returns home, he attempts to console his child, only to find out that his son doesn’t recognize him

word count: 1887                                                                                      reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

My muscles were in complete repose, my eyes began to flutter against the sudden weight that forced them to shut, and reality around me began to dissipate. I drew in a long breath as I let myself succumb to the peaceful atmosphere of mine and Spencer’s bedroom, the moonlight that crept through the window enhancing the serene ambiance.  

I felt the soft fabric of the duvet on the skin of my legs, pulling it over the entirety of my body as I drifted away into a well deserved slumber. Unfortunately, those plans were unmatched to the wails of my crying son in the nursery next to the bedroom. 

I groaned, clutching my head while disdainfully throwing myself up from the bed and dragging myself to where my son laid in distress. Walking into the quaint, but pastel colored room, my eyes landed on the clock above the cradle. Exhaustion infiltrated my every move and the fact that the clock read 2:48 am made the occasion less desirable. 

“Hey Pascal, hey buddy” I cooed, picking up the small infant that permeated the room with his blaring cries. It was Spencer’s idea to name him after his favorite French mathematician. At first, Spencer was definite on naming the baby Schrodinger after the Austrian physicist, which was followed by the explanation of Schrodinger’s cat and how that unveiled the misconceptions on Copenhagen’s theory of physics. Fortunately for me and the hospital, I was too busy in labor to retaliate by throwing him out of the hospital window for interrupting the birth of our first child with physics history. After a while of deliberation, we both agreed on the name Pascal.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, mommy’s got you” I reassured, laying him on my chest as I bounced on the heels of my feet while swaying side to side. I hummed the tune of Mozart’s Sonata No. 16, the melody subduing the child’s relentless howls as I placed him back into the cradle. I refolded the blanket that swaddled Pascal, tucking in any stray pieces that his tiny feet could slip out of. Finally, I walked over to a music box that rested on top of the baby’s dresser, winding it to play throughout the remainder of the night to encourage the baby’s slumber. 

I wish I could be in the same circumstances as Pascal, considering he had a means of going back to sleep. My preferred method was, yet again, staying late at the FBI headquarters in order to assist in a BAU case. 

It felt like the same night had been replaying over and over again for the past 2 weeks. I’d get up to soothe the baby, fall back asleep on a lonesome bed, then wake up to a man that would hurry back to work the second his eyes opened. Me and Spencer were becoming estranged, although my concern primarily derived from the possibility of our son not even recognizing his father. 

I stumbled back to my room, practically dragging my feet as I tediously made my way back to the comforting sensation of the bed. My entire body screamed for sedation, begging for rest, yet my mind raced with troublesome thoughts about my relationship with Spencer. 

My eyes shifted downwards to the emerald ring that Spencer had given me when he proposed. It was the same ring that his mother and grandmother had worn when they were ought to be betrothed. I slouched on the side of the bed, sliding the ring off of my finger and into the drawer of the nightstand and finally attempted to regain the will of maintaining a decent sleep schedule. 

Though with my luck, that was yet to happen due to a loud bang that engulfed the apartment, followed by a string of curse words from Spencer’s mouth. With the inclination to investigate battling against my debilitation. I hauled my entire body up off the bed once again to meet Spencer in the living room, where I was met with the view of a lanky boy clutching onto several books that were scattered on the wood floors. If I weren’t in an irritated disposition, I would’ve laughed at the scene displayed in front of me, instead I mustered up a small ‘welcome home’ as I squinted at him. 

“Hey Y/N, why are you still up?” He whispered, straddling the books he carried on his knee. 

I sighed, wiping the wrinkles off of my forehead. “I-I don’t know, Pascal woke up and I was, yeah- I was just trying to sleep, but he started crying” I explained, stumbling over my words as the fatigue clearly impeded my cognitive ability. 

“I’m sorry to hear that Y/N” He walked over to the table next to the door and placed the books back to where they were previously before heading over to the kitchen. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, love?” He suggested, reaching over the counter for the cappuccino machine. 

“You’re staying up?” I inquired, ignoring his proposal completely. He sifted through the cabinets to find his favorite Star Trek mug for his coffee, but struggled to locate it. “-third cabinet to the left” I interjected, putting him out of his misery. 

He nodded in gratitude, flashing me a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, I just have to finish the paperwork for some case files” He elaborated casually. 

I stood over the living room couch, setting myself down on the edge of the cushions as I observed Spencer’s movements. “Are you coming to bed Spence?” I crossed arms, resting my eyes while I continued to feebly converse with him. 

“Uhhhhh-” He prolonged his speech, deliberating on how he was going to answer the double edged question. “It’s a really long case Y/N, I’ll try to be in bed as soon as possible” He confessed, watching the steam rise from the coffee pot, indicating that his brew was almost done. 

“Okay” I replied monotonously, not having the energy to negotiate with Spencer’s unhealthy work habits. “Do you mind at least checking on the baby next time he gets fussy?” I rubbed the temples of my forehead, feeling a migraine begin to ensue. 

“Y/N I don’t think I can, I just have a lot to go over and Hotch is really on me for-” 

“Spencer, I understand it’s been a long night for me too” I gripped onto the throw pillows below me as my migraine intensified. “I just- my head’s kind hurting and I just need you to check up on Pascal once and in a wh-” 

“Y/N-” He began, pouring copious amounts of creamer into his cup of coffee. “I just need this night alone Y/N, and I really don’t think it’s a lot to ask” He justified, leaning on the counter behind him as he sipped on beverage. 

Frustration battled with the almost unbearable pounding in my head, grateful for the dimly lit room that blessed my sensitive eyes. “But Spencer, you’re barely here at home and Pascal needs his da-” 

“Yes, but his dad is out in the world, ridding it of all the bad guys that can cause harm to him” Spencer argued, an impatient tone evident behind his words. “Don’t I get any credit for that?” 

“Spencer, I’m not saying that-”

“Y/N I’m just having a long night, I need to spend it alone-” 

“Oh, just like me and Pascal do every night” I spat, gesturing to the nursery across the hall. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He interrogated, slamming his mug onto the coffee, but not forceful enough to spill the beverage. 

“Spencer, I’m really not trying to fight” I emphasized, forcing my eyes shut as I felt my head pulse. 

“Well, it seems like you are” Spencer scoffed, peering at me with an incredulous expression. “At least I’m supporting this household, what are you attributing to it?” He mocked, his voice elevating in volume. 

“Spencer, can we not get into that, I’m just saying that I wished you spent more time with Pascal” I admitted, my voice fading out into the darkness as I tried to limit my speech.

“Y/N, don’t you understand that-” 

“YES! I understand fully” I impulsively yelled in annoyance, regretting it afterwards with the thought of the baby in my conscience. 

Unfortunately the sound of my voice had permeated the poor child’s ears, sending him into a panicked frenzy of deafening cries. I groaned in exasperation, running my hands over my face in exhaustion as the crying fit ensued in the middle a heated argument. 

“God! See what you did now” Spencer complained, shaking his head as he made long strides towards the nursery. 

“Spence- I don’t think you want to do that” I warned, running along after him. “Spence he hasn’t seen you in a long time, I don’t think he’ll recog-” 

“He’s my son Y/N, I think he’ll recognize me” He jeered, mocking my apprehension. He entered into the small room with soft steps, reaching into the cradle with an amiable countenance before coddling the small human against his shoulders. Opposite to Spencer’s intentions, Pascal began to fuss in Spencer’s hold. He kicked and emitted loud screams, resisting against the foreign arms that were around him. 

“Spence-” I whispered, although my attempt to gain his attention fell through as he continued to care for Pascal. 

“Hey, it’s okay daddy’s he- hey no it’s- Pascal-” Spencer sputtered out, struggling against the infant writhing around on his shoulder. The lines were now apparent on Spencer’s forehead, indicating his exponentially growing frustration. 

“Spence, give him to me. I can-” I interjected, but was ultimately shut down by Spencer’s stubbornness. 

“I got this Y/N” He stated with determination. 

Although even with all his motivation and determination to sedate the small child, the results were dissatisfactory. “Come Pascal- come on buddy” Spencer cooed, now bouncing him side to side. Pascal’s cries engulfed the entire room, giving me a heart wrenching feeling due to my motherly instinct. 

A small part of me pitied Spencer’s attempts at reconnecting with his child as he found the results fruitless. By this point, his methods were futile; Pascal’s behavior becoming increasingly volatile. Instinctively I rushed over to Spencer, picking up Pascal in my arms. 

Without a second passing by, the infant had calmed down instantaneous. I bounced him side to side, similar to Spencer’s actions, and snuggled him into my chest. 

For a moment I caught Spencer’s gaze and what I saw was more than heartbreaking to witness. He looked at me and Pascal with a defeated look, but it wasn’t any ordinary defeated look, he seemed to be in utter despair. 

My frustration at him dissipated and was replaced by empathy as his eyes began to water in chagrin. Setting Pascal back into the cradle after he fell back asleep, I turned to face Spencer with a lamentable expression; only to find him gazing at his hands with indignation. 

“Spence” I whispered gently. Although without a second thought, he had rushed out of the room, grabbed his belongings, and left the apartment. 

I closed my eyes in disquietude, reminded of the migraine I had previously. I waddled back into the bedroom to cuddle into the bed sheets as I let my mind roam the forlorn thoughts that swirled around my head.

part 2

-

tag list: @rexorangecouny

part 2 tmrw

[noizplayssomestuff]

Okay, so, as promised: I will rant about/discuss Majima and the way I perceive him and the way he changed between y0 and y1

This is absolutely just my opinion, but I just saw someone on a message board rage about how they "broke" Majima by making him be the way he is in Y0 and by making him only ever fake all the crazy persona and that this ruins him

But. Hear me out. Just a second, if you please.

First things first: Do I think giving Majima a soft interior fitting to his back story was a bad decision? No. To me, this just gives him depth. Sure, I *love* our crazy dude and all the shenanigans he gets up to. I really do. But those little moments, even in later games and the facts that he calms down somewhat later? That, to me, elevates him from being a caricature and easy, overdrawn one off joke to a full, thought-out character with a psyche and reason to the madness.

That is the second thing. The person I read the rant of went on about how it was a shame that Majima only "acts crazy because he is afraid of other yakuza". I would humbly disagree. Yes, I do agree that realizing Shimano and others used him as a puppet and being predictable played a huge part in wanting to be more unpredictable- but: I think he took more than just "let's be random now" from all of this. When he said "I'm gonna have more fun and live crazier than any of 'em",you might think it's for the fun and games of it. However, I would like to point to the dialogue between Majima and Awano, after you beat Awano. Majima reflects on how he knew people who "lived like idiots and died like idiots" "but that batshit crazy lifestyle... I'd say it made 'em some of the finest bastards I'd ever known." He thought of the obvious Nishitani, but also of Wen Hai Lee. And this, THIS together with the goodbye scene with Sagawa drives me insane in the good way.

Sure, he took obvious fight moves and other mannerisms from Nishitani. But I have 2 points of contention here. 1) When fighting him, you keep getting into situations in which they mirror each other pre Majima snapping/deciding to "change" (I will explain the "" in a bit) 2) In my opinion, if there was no prior interest in being like this/some sort of seed within Majima himself, none of this would work. Hear me out. The way Majima fights (even without the Lengendary style) is batshit. And he always does it. He learns it by himself. It's a natural progression to him. Even Komaki points out at the very beginning that there is a fire in Majima, that there is a hunger for something more. We all KNOW he was caged in in civilian life. He even says so. He is meticulous and good at what he does, because he is friggin SMART and knows how to get what he needs/wants so he can get the hell out and back to what he actually wants to do.

So, I propose to you all, who had the patience to read all this: Both sides ARE Majima. Yes. He goes overboard in his Mad Dog persona. But I do not think that it is entirely fake. It is him letting lose on impulses he had anyways and pushing them a little farther than reason dictates- this is what he learned from Nishitani BUT he also learned a lot from Lee and (hold the Pee Pee man jokes, please) Sagawa. From Lee, whom he mentions in the same breath AS Nishitani, he learns that he can be insane AND compassionate. He can be insanely compassionate, if he is so inclined. He can be whatever the fuck he wants to be, who will stop him? And his stubbornness? The way he lets nothing get in his way? He points out how, even when shit hit the fan, Sagawa was always steadfast, tenacious and even literally says he will strife to have that quality, too.

That is the next point. He finds his strength. Nobody can get in his way, as soon as his mind is set. And why? Nothing left to lose. He realizes that that, as sad as it is, makes him a lose cannon. His fighting prowess covers the rest. Who wants to stand in the way of a mad man with nothing left to lose and the physical means to get pretty darn far? Hardly anyone, huh? Essentially, as he puts it himself, "Goro Majima is gonna live his own way".

This way being: He listens only to himself and his own impulses (rationality or not) honesty is the best rule, stop at nothing to get what you want and use your brain so nobody can use you. (And sometimes the kindness he can only show as insanity still shines through aka why the fandom has fallen in love)

So. Is it all fake? I don't think so. Was is a conscious decision? Yes. Does he go overboard with it? HAVE YOU SEEN THE GUY?! But, and that is my last sentiment, I think to everything he does, there is a thought and a glimmer of truth to every batshit thing he does. At heart he still is kind and he still has traits from Y0. He is not just a cut and dry one way or the other kind of character and THAT is what makes him so interesting. At least to me.

[bookwyrminspiration]

yes omg SO many powers are just. not used to their fullest extent. ig kotlc has an excuse with the whole "elves are averse to violence" thing, but like... i personally think that's a bit of an easy way out. like think of flashers - they could totally bend light to make themselves invisible, or really any other illusion-making thing, bending light to make things seem like they're in a different place. or think of gusters - have them suffocate people! or like. fly. or chargers controlling people, bc we have electrical impulses in our brains. and ofc bloodbending for hydrokinetics. or psionipaths who can apparently "sense and manipulate energy" to make the forcefields... could they really not do anything else with that power? for example, shouldn't psionipaths be able to sense where people are because of their energy? like PLEASE BE MORE CREATIVE!!!

okay it's been a hot second since you sent this ask (thank you for waiting!!), but I'm pretty sure this one was in response to me and another person talking about shapeshifting and all the ways abilities are being underutilized!!

yes!! I totally agree!! While kotlc holds a very special place in my heart and I absolutely adored everything about it when I first discovered it, the abilities always felt like they weren't used to their full potential. like!! all the possibilities of every ability and they're just being used in their stereotypical, expected ways that fall in line with every other book. The "elves are averse to violence" may even be what's keeping them from being this all-powerful, indestructible species. Because if they weren't, they'd be a lot more inclined to figure out what they could do.

like honestly what is the point of their abilities? is it just for fun? just to show they're superior to humans? this is not to say that abilities and power should only be used for violence and harm, but right now they feel like parlor tricks. where are the hydrokinetics working in fields and rerouting rivers and terraforming, the chargers working with electricity and powering machinery, etc. it's like the only use of the ability is to sound cool and be better than humans.

also, all of your ideas for the fighting application of abilities are so cool--I absolutely love them!! gusters suffocating people surrounded by air, manipulating the environment with strong gusts--shannon has an entire triology on people with air-related abilties/made of air, so i can understand why she hasn't focused on it in keeper, but i do think it's nice to theorize about.

as for the psionipaths, I don't remember exactly how their ability works but that's a super cool thought. breifly referencing the wiki here and Della said that most psionipaths are a little unstable--that's why there's so many of them as Exillium. maybe something to do with how they manipulate energy messes with their minds, but not entirely sure how that would work

for the flashers, I think illusions were something that specifically required the use of a shade to get the shadows right, but that doesn’t mean they can’t make an absolutely trippy landscape. Imagine scenery where all the shadows are wrong/not even there…maybe you wouldn’t even notice at first but everything would just slowly feel more and more wrong until you came to the horrifying realization that nothing around you is real and you’re stuck in a half formed illusion

for the chargers: your thought about controlling the electrical impulses in the brain reminded me of a power in the Lifelike series, where one of the characters can manipulate electricity in a way, to put it simply. And she can shut people off, turning off all the electrical signals in their brain and killing them. I think controlling them would take a lot more work than just on an off, but I figured it was worth bringing it up

to summarize: yes!! More creativity and thinking when it comes to abilities please!! Everyone just uses them for the most basic of things but I want to see characters go in depth to learn how to use their powers!! There’s so much potential they’re not living up to right now and I just wish!! The powers!! were more thoroughly!! Written!!

[rosalielesbianhale]

The human Jacob AU that no one asked for but I can’t  stop thinking about

° The books are the same up to the movie theatre with Mike and Jake (except there are no mentions of Sam’s “gang” because it isn’t a thing, Embry is still hanging out with Jacob and Quil, Jake isn’t afraid he’s next)

° Jacob and Bella have a little laugh at Mike’s expense but make sure he gets home safe.

° Jacob doesn’t get “mono” and drop off the face of the earth, he and Bella just keep getting closer.

° and so, Jacob is with her when she find the meadow and Laurent finds her

° in my version of events Laurent did not decide to suddenly side with Victoria because that makes absolutely no sense. He had no trouble ditching her and James in the first book and has supposedly found a partner in Irina who is friends with the Cullens so why would he be doing Victoria a favour and scouting the area?? make it make sense.

° no, instead, Victoria located him and started asking questions about the Cullens and he, trying to dissuade her from going against them, tells her what he’s learned about them since coming to stay with the Denalis. Alice’s visions, Edward’s mind reading, he lets it all slip in the ernest belief she’ll decide it isn’t worth going after Bella, after all evasion is her heightened power; she should cut her losses and run.

° after talking to Victoria, Laurent decides to warn the Cullens, he has a bad feeling after their talk and suspects she won’t give up so easily.

° he finds the house empty which is peculiar, they seemed so invested in this little human and who do you think he runs across in the meadow but that very human accompanied by a friend.

° he tells her about his talk with Victoria but there is a menacing undertone to everything he says. He is trying not to kill humans for Irena’s sake but as his eyes can attest to, he’s had some slip ups, and, really, she does smell delicious. If she is no longer under the Cullen’s protection then there would really be very little harm in draining her and there’s only one witness to take care off. It might even be a mercy because if Victoria gets her hands on her she would not make it quick, he’d do it as painlessly as possible.

° all of this is said aloud because the reader has no insight into Laurent’s mind otherwise and he seems like a person who’s inclined to give the occasional monologue

° he tells her to run, before he changes his mind

° meanwhile, Jacob is freaking the fuck out. As soon as they reach the road Bella guns it for her truck while Jacob just keeps up a continuous stream of “what the fuck. what the fuck. what the actual fuck. they’re actually fucking vampires? what the fuck. oh, god, dad was right. What The Fuck.”

° after that the whole story comes out, how Jacob was actually the person who helped her figure it out, how she had envisioned spending eternity with Edward and how, now that he’s gone, she hasn’t just been robbed of the person she loves but of what she had come to accept as her future. She has never been able to confide in anyone about the whole story so she tells him everything, right down to what actually happened when she got injured in Phoenix. It’s not like they’re coming back, it doesn’t matter if she tells Jacob.

° Jacob is understandably on overload, Bella drives him home and he says he needs some time.

° this is when Bella starts trying to reach Jacob but he’s unreachable. He’s processing a tremendous amount of information and needs some time away from the madness of Bella’s life.

° Bella starts to get restless. Jacob isn’t talking to her, she feels isolated and she needs to see Edward. She jumps off the cliff.

° I kind of want Sam to be the one who sees her jump and who fishes her out of the water tbh. He doesn’t have Charlie’s number so he calls Jacob’s house.

° Jacob promptly freaks out.

° he brings Bella home, Harry Clearwater has had a heart attack.

° Jacob is frightened for Bella after her jump but he also needs to be there for his dad right now and Seth is so young, Leah seems different after she lost her dad too. He needs to be there for them.

° There’s also the fact that the girl he’s in love with is in love with a vampire but staying away from Bella did not give him the clarity he’d hoped for. It’s still a mess.

° Alice arrives, she doesn’t need blind spots in her visions to go and knock some sense into Bella. Yes, she’s alive this time but she saw her voluntarily jump off a cliff into a raging ocean. Before she left she was a mess talking about how Bella tried to commit suicide and she had to go ensure she wouldn’t attempt it a second time.

° When Jacob rolls up to the house and sees Alice there it feels as though his insides have turned to ice. Are they all back? Is he losing Bella before he ever really got to tell her how he feels?

° Alice leaves to let Bella explain the situation. She tells him only Alice is back and why she came to visit.

° Jacob is a mess, this whole thing is a mess, but he’s left with the feeling that he had when he saw Alice was there. He needs to tell Bella how he feels.

° They have the almost kiss in the kitchen. Jacob is still dumb enough to answer the phone in someone else’s house, he still tells Edward that Charlie’s at the funeral.

° Alice returns, frantic. They have to leave for Volterra. However, Jacob doesn’t basically beg Bella to let Edward kill himself and stay with him. Once he understands that Bella is serious and Edward literally is going to try to get himself killed because he thinks Bella is dead he understands that the only way she can live with herself is if she tries everything she can to stop him from succeeding.

° Instead he is the voice of reason: “Bella, listen to me, Charlie is about to come home to an empty house after burying one of his best friends. He will be beside himself with worry and this note is bullshit, you’re a horrible liar. Tell him you’re staying with Alice tonight because you’re going to Seattle together in the morning, there’s a sale or some shit that she wants to drag you to. Tomorrow night you call him and tell him your car broke down, you have to stay in Seattle while they order the parts for you. It might be a few days. That’ll buy you some time.”

° “And call me when you land or, I don’t know, I might worry too.”

° It feels like tearing his own heart out but he lets her go. He doesn’t beg her to stay.

° The events at Volterra play out the same way they did but Charlie isn’t left to deal with the same amount of shit he was in the original.

° When they return Jacob comes to visit her, she fills him in and, let me tell you, he has a few things to say.

° “I can’t believe you’re just going to get back together with him. Bella he lied to you, manipulated you and left you. His sister can see the god damn future, if you think he didn’t know how this would affect you then you’re wrong. And he still did it. Maybe he’s telling you the truth and he did it because he thought it would be better for you in the long run but he made that decision without you. If you just take him back then you are essentially telling him that was an okay thing for him to do and it just wasn’t.”

° Jacob is so angry at the Cullens and really, what he’s saying isn’t wrong. The angrier he gets the more Bella can feel her own anger flaring to life, it had been buried under the sheer relief of finding Edward alive, the euphoria of being told that he still loves her. Now she feels indignant; how dare he just make this decision for her, how dare he not take into account her own feelings on the matter, how dare he prioritise his own concerns over hers, and how dare the entire family just go along with it. They all left her.

° She drives herself over to the Cullen’s house to have a talk with them. The vote stays the same, the “if you don't want me, then I'm not going to force myself on you, whether Alice is willing or not” part definitely stays in. However, Bella, after having taken the vote has a few choice words for all of them. “You all left me. I have spent months trying to learn to survive without you and it didn’t go all that well. I want to join you, I really do. But I don’t trust you anymore. You all made an enormous decision for me, without my say so. You’ve now made another decision that I was a part of and even though we don’t all agree, we all got a say. It’s going to take time for me to learn to trust you again, in the meantime all I have to say is this: you will never make a decision regarding me without my input again. Never.”

° She also talks to Alice separately, discounting Edward she feels the most hurt by the fact that she would have left her.

° Since Jacob is now the only person outside of the Cullens who she can actually talk to about her life, she tells him about her talk with them, including the vote.

° Jacob has an understandable freakout regarding the fact that Bella has definitively chosen to become a vampire. This is definitely not what he’d thought would happen after he and Bella had their last talk. And because he’s an impulsive teenager he brings Charlie the motorcycle, hoping that Bella will be grounded and get some distance from Edward and maybe even change her mind.

I have a lot of thoughts regarding the continuation of the series but it’s already a mammoth post so idk, i might do a separate post about Eclipse at some point.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 23)

Previously on LBitR...

Lena doesn’t even get a full second to process the full impact of Alex’s words. Almost the second after Lena’s eyes register the Supergirl sigil on that little screen, all lights in the bunker go out with a deafening boom.

The pager-like device still showing the sigil casts an eerie glow on Alex’s face, and its green hue is far too reminiscent of Kryptonite for Lena to keep looking at it.

“That can’t be good,” the agent mutters grimly.

Lena is inclined to agree, but doesn’t respond beyond a curt nod Alex probably can’t even see. Her eyes are glued to where she knows the door of her cell is, even if she can’t see a foot past her own nose.

Her mind conjures up an image of Lex emerging from the shadows in the corridor, laughing madly, face illuminated by green, teeth in his shark-like grin gleaming in the sickly, radioactive glow of Kryptonite.

He’s not there, of course. They wait with bated breath in the darkness, expecting something—anything—to happen, enveloped by a panic neither of them dares voice.

“Lena?” Alex tries, but Lena waves her off.

“Shush,” she hisses. They can’t see anything, so Lena closes her eyes and concentrates on listening, trying to focus on the sounds—or lack thereof.

She doesn’t really know what she’s listening for, exactly. Maybe the lights will just come back on. Maybe the whole bunker will get blown up. Maybe, any minute now, they’ll hear the distinctive clicking of Lex’s expensive leather shoes from the corridor as he approaches with a pep to his step.

Alex holds her breath—Lena can hear her sharp intake followed by nothing at all, and she almost tells her not to bother, except she suddenly does hear something.

There’s a muted click, right above their heads, followed by moments of something that sounds a lot like radio static—electronic hissing and cutting out, intermittent and exasperating.

Then, there’s something else. The static fades, and is almost immediately replaced by a thud-and-click, and then…

There’s music, coming through what Lena now knows are hidden speakers, concealed in the ceiling.

She turns to Alex. “Can you hear—” Lena begins, only to cut herself short as the hairs on her arms stand. The wave of goosebumps is a symptom of the chill that suddenly overtakes her as Lena recognizes the opening notes that come before Frank Sinatra’s distinctive voice.

And now, the end is near… And so I face the final curtain…

“Motherfucker,” Lena hisses, knocking her forehead against the glass with a little more force than is perhaps warranted.

The moment she does, however, there’s a louder, much more ominous-sounding hiss. Lena’s eyes snap open and upwards in search of the source, but she can’t locate it.

Until she see’s Alex’s panicked look in the low light of her device, as a thick fog descends around the agent.

“What the hell—” Alex begins to say, but it prompts a fit of coughing; within seconds, the gas in her cell is so thick Lena can barely see her.

“Alex!” Lena shouts, slamming the barrier between them with her good fist repeatedly, feeling the bones in her hand ache as they thud uselessly against inches of reinforced glass. “Alex!”

It’s too late, of course. The gas is thick as smoke in the other cell, swirling menacingly in the glow of Alex’s device, and it just keeps coming, saturating the space. It’s already hard to see, but now Lena can barely make out just how hard Alex fights to stay conscious.

“No, no, no!”

Lena’s screams reverberate in the small space, her hand still slamming uselessly against the barrier. Alex suddenly slaps her hand onto the glass—its impact echoes above Lena’s screams, above the song that gets progressively louder to taunt them through the speakers above.

“Lena!” Alex gasps through a cough, her voice already wavering as she struggles to keep her eyes open. “Lena—”

Lena mirrors her position, splaying her own palm over Alex’s on the other side of the glass. Before she can say anything, Alex’s eyes flutter closed despite her best efforts, and her hand slips away, squeaking and leaving a faint trail of sweat as she falls limply to the floor.

“Alex! No!”

Barely seconds after Alex’s body thuds onto the ground, there’s another hiss, and Lena recognizes it immediately as the distinctive sound of her cell door sliding open a few feet away.

She almost wishes Lex had come to the cell in person, if only so she could punch him, even with her non-dominant hand. Lena wants to claw at his face, make him hurt, bleed. She wants him to suffer.

Of course, he’s not there. He’s probably cackling to himself behind an array of screens, sitting back on some stupidly expensive high-backed chair as he watches his deranged machinations unfold.

There’s nothing at Lena’s cell door, not even lights. Lena has to take a long moment before she goes—she tries to look through the glass, tries to see if Alex is even breathing on the other side, but the gas has grown so dense Lena can’t even see her anymore.

My Way grows louder and louder, straining the tinny speakers and Lena’s ears all at once as she tries to follow the wall of her cell to the door, hands outstretched to the darkness when she turns into the corridor, retracing the steps she took when she had been escorted here.

There’s a faint, barely noticeable light at the end of the pitch-black corridor. It blinks in a familiar hue of green, and it makes Lena want to turn the other way around and run.

She doesn’t, of course. Trying would be futile.

The damn song keeps playing as Lena slowly, painstakingly makes her way down the corridor toward the light. It builds, then it ends, only to begin again, set on a loop. The memories of Lex raging against Superman at the dinner table while Sinatra played in the background at Luthor Manor are seared in Lena’s memory, and it’s like Lex knows it. He probably does.

Lex had always been dramatic. Lena briefly wonders if he would have been able to curb his homicidal impulses had he gone into theatre or something.

The thought does a bit too much of a good job in distracting her, because after what feels like a whole mile of walking in the darkness, Lena’s finally reached the source of the eerie green glow that has been guiding her hesitant steps. When she sees it, Lena has to swallow against the bile rising in her throat.

It’s a Lexosuit.

It’s an empty one, waiting there for her like some kind of robot awaiting orders, and Lena wants to scream; she wants to yell and kick at the abominable contraption.

“If you think I’m putting that on,” she says, loud, clear, and determined, because she knows her brother can hear her, “you are fucking mistaken.”

The empty suit’s visor lights up, and Lex’s voice comes through, clear as crystal.

“Well, why not?” he says, sounding endlessly amused. Lena wipes at errant tears that escape her control and run down her cheeks; she’s not sure if Lex can see her, but if he does, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

He laughs, ominous and gleeful all at once. “Come on, Lena. I wanted you to have more than a front-row seat this time.”

Lena can practically hear his widening grin; it makes her grit her teeth, jaw clenching painfully at the cheerful tone of his voice. “Killing Supergirl is now a fully immersive experience!”

Lena clenches her good fist at her side, trying her best not to reel back and punch the suit out of blinding hot fury. She needs to save that punch for her brother’s face.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind, Lex,” she says instead, injecting as much confidence as she can, even as she feels her legs begin to tremble as the suit begins to seemingly disintegrate before her eyes.

“Now, Lena, that’s just hurtful,” Lex’s voice comes through, still clear as day, as the Kryptonite-powered nanites that make up the suit begin to envelop Lena’s body from her feet up.

Lena can’t move, she can’t even flinch; she is frozen in the spot as the nanites shroud her body like a living swarm. She’s biting her bottom lip until it bleeds, trying to concentrate on her mental boxes, on the sound of Kara’s voice, of the worry in her eyes. The reconstructed visor envelops her head entirely, and Lex’s voice rings through hear ears.

“You’re just going to have to trust me, Lena.”

<< Previous || Next >>

[darkisrising]

BobaDinLuke bdsm fic, by DarkIsRising

Can’t decide if this is something to continue or if this is as far as it goes. So, I’m just gonna dub it a Tumblr fic for now. If it picks up steam then I’ll add to it, edit it, and throw it onto ao3. CW: Very very spicy, bdsm, a host of other stuff probably but rest assured everything here is consensual.

They meet at a sex party, which in hindsight shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s just about the only time Luke can be talked out of leaving the house these days.

He shows up in a hood that hides his features save for somber brown eyes and the plush spread of his lips; the black latex so shiny that Luke can just about see his own reflection in it. He wears leather like a second skin and even without being able to make out a single feature on his face, save those eyes and lips, or a single detail of his body, save his exposed cock, he is the most beautiful man Luke’s ever seen.

Luke, of course, is naked. His knees are hitched up to his chest, held there by his own arms that he knows better than to lower, and the words Load Count are scrawled in extra wide Sharpie from one nipple to the other. He’s already gone two rounds and there’s two lines beneath the words to show for it. Boba’s turn came first, of course. It was his privilege as Luke’s dom and he'd taken it with one finger hooked around the collar that marked Luke as his. And then after Boba there had been a guy that Luke hadn’t recognized with a nice enough cock and a regrettable tribal tattoo across his shoulder.

There’s something about this third man that gives Luke pause. Something in the way he takes his place at Luke’s ass— something so hesitant and careful and precise and apologetic as he pulls himself hard enough to sink into Luke’s body— that is awfully endearing. Luke wishes he could tell him it’s okay. That he’s here because he likes doing this sort of thing. That his dom is somewhere nearby, watching from the shadowed corners of the room, to make sure that despite all the calls to wreck that twink’s ass and fuck him up! and do it so hard he won’t be able to walk no one actually does anything that Luke isn’t into.

He can’t, of course, because his mouth is where Boba’s left the Sharpie, a neat solution since the last time they’d played this game the Sharpie had been lost to the dungeon’s dark and sticky floor within the first five minutes. Instead he tries to show it with a widening of his eyes and an encouraging grunt for every tiny thrust he gives as he fucks inside of Luke, the wet from lube and release slicking his way. When he’s all the way in he rests for a moment and it feels like the kind of moment that Luke could live a lifetime in for the way he meets Luke’s eyes, the way his gloved thumb reaches down to rest against Luke’s chin, the way he stretches Luke’s ass with just the right amount of cock to set the base of his spine sparking, but not so much that Luke’s worried he’ll be split in two. 

“Ready?” he asks and his voice is so low it very nearly gets lost to all the moans and groans and demands for more that writhe like eels through the air. His eyes gleam dark in the dim dungeon and Luke can’t look away. He nods, entranced, and for the first time that night Luke’s not thinking about all the men that are going to follow, he’s only thinking about the one that’s inside of him. 

I want to kiss him. The thought hits him— blinding as a bolt of sunlight that’s been hidden behind a cloud— and it’s the most that Luke’s wanted something so chaste in so long he doesn’t know what to do with it. Not that he has many options in this position with a Sharpie clenched between his teeth. All he can do is stare at this man’s lips and yearn with an intensity that carves into his chest as this man’s cock carves into his ass and Luke can’t say of the two sensations which is more intimate. 

“You’re so tight,” the man rasps out and Luke can’t stop himself from clenching down, his hips jerking at the compliment. It’s something he’s heard a million times from countless, faceless other men, but oh the way this man says it makes him flush all over.

It’s over before Luke’s really ready, but one glance over the man’s shoulder and Luke can see a line is forming. Usually it would make him hard in anticipation, to see so many that want to use him and fill him until he’s leaking. This time he wishes he could have more time with just this one.

The man takes the marker out from between Luke’s teeth and Luke wishes he’d replace it with two of his leather-covered fingers. He doesn’t, though, only marks a line on Luke’s chest and then in the same soft, sincere way he’d told Luke he was tight says “Thank you,” and in that moment Luke is pretty sure he’d do just about anything for this man. 

Which is a terrifying, thrilling thought. And a dangerous one, seeing as his rash, unchecked impulsiveness is why he needs a guy like Boba to keep him in line to begin with. 

Before the man can cap the Sharpie again, Luke darts to snatch it out of his hand. The weighted shape of Boba coming out from the shadows, called forward by this change of script.

Luke ignores him. He ignores the line of waiting men stroking themselves hard as they watch Luke with interest as he grabs this man’s hand.

“May I?” Luke asks in as submissive a voice he can muster, and Boba would be so surprised to hear it come out so easily, but Luke can behave when he wants to. Most of the time. “Please, sir,” he adds when the man says nothing.

A slight incline of his head is all the answer he gives, and Luke wastes no time in peeling away his brown leather glove. He writes out his cell number as clearly as he can with a marker that’s a little too thick for it and then, when he’s done, he holds that brown gaze as he bends down to blow the ink dry. 

“Thank you, sir,” Luke husks, heart beating wildly. The man doesn’t say anything back, he only takes his glove and works it back down over his hand and then he’s gone, swallowed by the dark.

“Is there a problem?” a voice growls near Luke’s ear. Tugging on the collar around his neck brings Luke’s attention to Boba’s familiar, scarred frown.

“No, sir,” Luke says, turning his face into Boba’s neck, nuzzling in, but Boba steps away, keeping him at arm’s length.

“That’s only for good boys that finish what they start. Are you going to finish what you started, little one?” It’s a warning as clear as the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: dangerous and low.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Two hands take Luke by the shoulders and lay him back down. The marker is plucked from his hands and recapped with a snap. “How many loads have you had tonight?”

“Three, sir.”

“And how many did we agree you’d take?” Boba asks, catching Luke beneath his knees, hoisting them back up against his chest and into position. 

Luke shivers, as the humid air meets the wet of his hole, breathing cold, while the hot, hungry gazes of the waiting men meet among the slick. “Eight, sir.”

“Then get to it.” The Sharpie is slid back between his teeth and then Boba’s hands are winding through his hair, pulling just enough to bring a jolt of pain. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “No distractions this time.”

Soon enough another guy is penetrating Luke, brought forward by Boba’s commanding nod. He’s rocking into Luke, fucking him with an intensity that makes a dull thwack every time their bodies meet. The next guy is huge, so big that Luke has to bite down on the plastic hull of the marker in his mouth to keep from screaming. Tears squeeze from Luke’s eyes, wrested out with every incredible thrust in. Luke loses track after that. The pain becoming pleasure, the pleasure never quite becoming enough to spill over into satisfaction, only transforming into something else. Something intense and terrible and blessed and more. The men change, the girths and lengths that hold him open and fuck him apart change, and Luke takes them all.

Through it all Boba stays where he is, supervising with an unforgiving hand in Luke’s hair, the pain a constant that Luke can depend on, focus on, until it becomes awash with a dull, glowing haze. This is what he’s here for—  this feeling— this euphoria where he’s horribly small and he’s unfathomably large, together. He’s an object to be used and discarded. He’s more precious, more vital, more necessary than he can comprehend. 

A kiss on his forehead cuts through the fog, and Luke realizes he’s not being fucked anymore for all that he can still feel a phantom grinding between his cheeks. His fingers are made to unclench from where they’ve dug like claws onto his flesh and his legs are lowered. The wet mess that’s been left to leak out of him is a turn-on but even that is a distant thing. There’s no immediacy to it, no driving need to slack his lust, just a thrum of appreciation for this proof that every man that’s had him tonight has left behind.

Drawing him in, Boba cups the back of his head until Luke’s pressed into the cradle of Boba’s neck. He was denied this privilege earlier. Now it’s being freely given. The difference sets him shaking, or maybe that’s just the come-down.

“That was good.” Boba’s voice is a rumble that Luke can feel through the places they are pressed together. The steady jump of Boba’s pulse is calming against the bow of his lips and Luke closes his eyes to savor it.

Time gets away from him again, and somehow he’s been cleaned enough to stuff his legs into pants and a warm sweatshirt is pulled over his head. The black hood comes up, as good as blinders on a horse, and then he’s led out to where there are sofas and water and people speaking soft as a passing brook.

The lip of a water bottle is pressed to his mouth and Luke obediently drinks from it without thinking. Boba sits in a plush armchair and though he’s shorter than Luke, there’s so much of him that Luke can curl into his lap and disappear behind the safe, steel beams of his muscular arms. 

“Your boy did good out there,” Fennec says, dropping into a nearby seat and Boba’s agreement is another rumble for Luke to savor with his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you two in months, I was surprised to see you came out for this.”

There’s a question in her words, a careful line to walk between curiosity and concern, that normally sends Luke into a tailspin in the outside world. Here, though, he isn’t Luke Skywalker: wounded veteran and broken hero. He’s a pet— Boba’s pet— and he lets his dom navigate the social interaction while he sinks deeper into his embrace.

To Boba’s credit, he makes no mention of the malaise that’s grabbed hold of Luke lately, pinning him to the bed and keeping him there for days. Instead he huffs a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe if Fortuna hadn’t turned this place into such a shithole we’d be over more.”

“Can’t argue with that. Say what you like about Jabba, but at least things weren’t always breaking on his watch. Did you hear about the ceiling that collapsed a month ago? When someone was in the sling, too.”

“Oh, shit.” Boba says and then they are off, trading gossip and wry quips. Luke is content to close his eyes and listen, secure that the only thing he needs to do is exactly what he’s doing right now. Every now and then Boba strokes his back through the thick cotton of his hoodie or turns to nuzzle at Luke’s temple, and every time Luke’s contentment spreads thick like molasses.

He surfs this subspace all the way back home where he lets Boba get him clean and dressed in pajama pants and poured into bed. The last thing he does is release the buckle on Luke’s collar and then, with one final squeeze to the scruff of Luke’s neck, the scene is over.

“How are you doing? Want me to grab the ibuprofen?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Luke answers, shifting so that the ache in his ass becomes a little more noticable. “Been awhile since I did anything like that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Was proud of you, though.” There’s a chair by the bed and Boba sits there, staying close but careful to give Luke his space now that they’re done for the night. “That’s two more than the last time you took on a train.”

“Mmm,” Luke agrees lazily. The writing on his chest hadn’t totally come off in the bath, and he pushes his blanket down enough to trace the lines on his chest, lingering on the third one.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about with number three?”

Number three. He of the shiny latex mask and the deep brown eyes and the lips that Luke can almost feel against his own for how much he’d wanted them to be. It’s enough that he almost asks Boba to bring him his phone so that he can wait around like a lovelorn teen for a call or a text, but he’s still coasting enough on endorphins from earlier that he doesn’t want to completely tank his chance at sleep by keeping vigil over the glow of a phone screen all night.

“Not really,” Luke admits at last. “Wasn’t anything bad,” and Boba accepts that with a nod.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. Let me know if it becomes anything I need to worry about.”

“Always.”

Boba stands to leave, a lumbering swing to the motion that Luke knows means his prosthetic is giving him problems, but he knows better than to mention it. “Don’t worry about making breakfast tomorrow. Sleep in. I’m in meetings all morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay.”

When Luke closes his eyes, the ache from his over-used, well-fucked body is finally enough to quiet his demons. For once, sleep is swift as death, and just as inescapable.