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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 3 days ago

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chance of showers

pairing: leon x reader

cws: piss, p in v, pee in v, ddlg

a/n: yeah, it was bound to happen, wasn't it? the double sin of ddlg and piss

wc: 1.5k

These days, Leon bids you adieu in the threshold between your typical affection and your faux-innocence facade that comes with a side of fuck-me eyes. That’s when Daddy takes over.

When he comes home from work, he can sense the desperation threatening to boil over into teary-eyed, delirious begging so he gives you an offer you can’t refuse: he’ll be your chauffeur to the not-quite-luxurious sex-filled sanctuary of your shared bedroom. That is to say, he’ll carry you across the hall where he can fuck you stupid without all the back pain that a couch rendezvous would give him.

You greet him with a hug and a heart-eyed grin, immediately discarding all previous activities for his attention. You’ve been gorilla-glue stuck to the TV all day due to the once a week chance to watch all the High School Musical movies on cable — which Leon still pays for — one after the other. He can tell by your antsy legs, shifting from one foot to the other. It’s not nerves– daddy makes you relaxed. No, it’s a cute little pee-pee dance.

“Do you need to do something before we go have some fun together?”

“Uh-uh. I wanna have special time with daddy now.”

“Are you sure? If you need to go pee, daddy can wait for you.”

“I don’t need to go.”

Leon doesn’t need a polygraph test to know that’s a fucking lie.

But, you’re a big girl, or, at least, you’ve insisted that you are whenever Leon challenges that silly little ‘fact’ you’ve tried to manifest into reality.

The reality is: you need daddy’s help, particularly when you’re in this state.

Leon should take you by the hand and lead you to the bathroom, he should tell, not ask. But, it’s like letting your toddler touch the hot stove just once – they’ll learn their lesson and they’ll never do it again.

You’re an adult who has the reasoning skills to know that you should pee. Plus, it’s not like pissing yourself is anything more than an embarrassing moment and a bitch to clean up.

So, Leon doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he has you how he wants you. All fucked-out, your pussy stuffed so full you can see his dick in your abdomen and your brain completely empty of all thoughts (and your bladder so full he could make you burst if he pressed on your stomach with enough force).

As he often does, Leon makes you ride him because he thinks it’s cute to watch you struggle, and he inevitably takes over the job of gripping your hips and pulling them back down to meet his. Over and over again until you think you’re going to pass out.

Your eyes are screwed shut and your mouth is occupied with your constant moaning – until you have an ‘uh-oh’ moment. Leon can see it flash across your face.

“Daddy,” you manage through a shaky voice. “No more, no more.”

The thing is: No more isn’t your safe word. No more is usually what you say when everything feels so intense that you’re overwhelmed and need Leon’s reassurance. He rubs your back and showers you in praise while he continues to fuck you as the unwritten protocol says he should.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“No, no,” you protest, shaking your head vehemently. “Have to go pee, daddy.”

“Baby, we’ve been through this before, remember? The first time you squirted, you thought you were gonna pee, but you didn’t. You liked that feeling, right?”

It’s true. You were absolutely convinced you’d pee yourself the first time Leon made you squirt, but you both suspect this time is different.

“No, I’m really gonna pee this time.”

You’re clenching around him, he can feel it. Maybe you are going to squirt, he thinks.

Piss is hardly the worst thing Leon’s been covered in – he’s 40 years old, old enough to give up on giving a fuck about this kind of thing. And, God, he’ll take any chance to tease you.

“Didn’t Daddy ask you if you needed to go pee earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did you say?”

“No.”

“Was that a lie? Did you lie to Daddy?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, since you made your choice by yourself and didn’t want daddy’s help, you’re not gonna get it. You can hold it until I’m done with you.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.”

“Then, I guess you’ll just have to let it out.”

“No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want to. I wanna hold it.”

Go right ahead, he thinks, as he continues to fuck you, completely disregarding your desperation. He wants to see you break and at this point, you’re doing anything to hold back, on the verge of tears.

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” you start to cry as warm liquid trickles out of you, coating his cock little by little as pee continues to flow from you. You only leak a little in the grand scheme of things, but you’re humiliated, full-on crying to the point where it’s worrisome.

Finally, he slows his thrusts.

“Hey,” he rubs your back soothingly. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I told you you could do it. I’m not mad at you.”

“It’s so embarrassing.”

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I bet it felt good to let go. Didn’t it?”

“A little bit… but I still have to go more.”

“Then, go, baby. Let it out.”

Because, one, it doesn’t matter at this point – he’ll have to change the sheets anyway. And, two, he finds the whole ordeal a bit more arousing than he suspected he would.

When you dare to make eye-contact, you’ve got doubt written all over you, like you think this is some sort of trap or a sacrifice of his comfort for yours.

“Go ahead. It’s gonna feel good.”

Nervous, but desperate, you have to let go.

Leon praises you as you finally allow yourself some relief, releasing short bursts and then a steady stream.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. Let it all out.”

When the torrential downpour slows to a leaky faucet, his thumb finds its way to your clit and he resumes his thrusts, gaining momentum steadily.

Your next revelation is not an ‘uh-oh’, just an ‘oh’ in a series of incoherent moans.

“Daddy, daddy, I’m gonna-”

“I know you are.”

Neither of you can be sure if your next release is pee or squirt but what matters is that you came, squeezing Leon’s cock so perfectly that he’s barely hanging on by the time you’re coming down from your high.

Usually, he asks you where you want it, makes you beg for it inside, and he finally gives it to you, but now, his face is already buried in the crook of your shoulder as he’s given into the pleasure.

He fills you to the brim, ruins the bed a little more for the sake of a heavenly orgasm. It’s totally fucking worth it every time.

After a moment of silence, he pats you on the butt and says, “hop up, baby”.

“No,” you protest, wrapping your arms around him.

“Baby, I’ll come right back, but I gotta pee.”

He laughs a little at the irony. It feels cruel in a way to make you piss yourself while he gets a more dignified experience.

You’re ready to even out the score, quick to turn the tables.

“No,” you insist. “You can either hold it or wait until I’m done with you.”

Leon should’ve anticipated your smartass move.

“You really want me to piss inside you? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t let me get up.”

It’s a threat, it’s a promise, it’s a plea for you to let him go.

“It’s only fair,” you say.

“Fine,” he concedes, repositioning you so that you’re on your back. Yeah, he could get up, he could win now that he’s on top, but maybe there’s a part of him that wants to do this. To make you regret your attitude when you find out what it feels like for Leon to piss inside you, to prove something to you, to punish you – there are so many excuses, but the truth is: the idea excites him.

“You ready?” he asks – though the question is more directed at himself as stage fright begins to creep up inside him.

“You can do it, daddy,” you say, voice full of genuine encouragement rather than your previous taunting tone.

So, he does. The release is double the relief with your warmth surrounding him as he lets go. You look awfully curious, almost in awe of the fact that it’s happening, especially since you can’t exactly see it – at least, not yet. But Leon’s feeling the type of relaxation that less obstinate people get from meditation.

“All done,” he says, knowing that’s a fucking lie, but pulling out anyway, letting the last droplets hit you on the stomach.

“Daddy!” you say, amusement barely hidden behind your mild vexation.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug and a smirk that says he’s anything but.

“I think it’s time for a trip to the bathroom. We really need to shower,” you say.

“Hey, I just gave you a little bit of a shower, baby. If you wanted more, you could’ve asked.”

But that kind of shower will have to wait until next time.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader

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taintandviolent · 20 hours ago

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Baby, it's cold outside ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: It's Christmas Eve in Gotham City, and it's bitterly cold, but you're warm up in Oz's penthouse. When he comes home from an event, you're waiting, wrapped up like a little present.

word count & w a r n i n g s: K | older man/younger woman, established relationship, making out, shameless smut, unprotected sex, foreplay in a Santa outfit, santa kink????, christmas themes, very inappropriate use of christmas puns/phrases/themes, fingering (female receiving), festive dirty talk, praise kink, very brief and light bondage, .

a/n: requested by a few anons! I hope it satisfies your festive whore needs for this man!!! not beta read and kinda rushed, but such is life. I wanted to get this out before Christmas Eve. Also speaking of Eve's.... Eve is... MIA I don't know, it's a plot hole, it didn't work out between them, yada yada, but she's not apart of this. all in the name of spice / reader's benefit! banners by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Gotham had been hit by a massive blizzard, but you weren’t complaining. It was Christmas Eve, and the snow was welcomed. At least by you, who didn’t have to be out in it. Big, fluffy flakes drifted down from the clouds, and you had a perfect view of the snow-covered city from the large windows. With the music that you’d put on, it felt altogether very Christmas-y.

You were enjoying the snow by yourself for the time being. Oz had left late that afternoon in a Santa suit. Some favor he had to do – couldn’t get out of it. The way he bristled every time you brought it up told you not to ask for too much information.

Christmas was really important to Oz – you assumed it was a favored holiday of his mother’s or something. Which was unsurprising. Everything, in some way, rooted back to his mother. You had come to terms with that, and accepted it. Played into it, even.

He was insistent on a tree. A big one.

By the first of December, he had a massive one picked out for the living room, and a smaller (but still substantial) one for his mother’s room and had them delivered to the penthouse. You two decorated the big one that night, with cocktails and music. As with everything in his life, Oz was particular about decorating. After a few drinks, you could admit, your tree decorating skills were lacking. You’d lazily hang them in clusters, and Oz would fuss after you, rearranging it until it looked like it had fallen out of a magazine.

But tonight, the tree was perfect. You crouched down in front of it, flicking a particularly ample bow atop a package. It wobbled and glittered, catching the twinkling lights above it. Most of the presents were yours – you knew this. Every time you turned around, it seemed there were another two tucked under the tree.

“Doll?”

Oz’s gruff voice comes from the hallway, echoing against the walls. Your head snaps up, and you straighten, pushing yourself off of your knees – you hadn’t heard him come in. You wrap the fluffy white robe tighter around your body, making sure that it isn’t revealing anything of your surprise. You’d been in the lingerie for a few hours, not knowing when he’d get home.

He rounds the corner, lumbering in with the signature gait that you’ve come to love. Though he’s ditched the hat and beard, he’s still in the classic red and white suit. It suits his stature and you screw your lips up in an amused smile, trying not to laugh at how miserable he looks. Like an excited child, you gallop over, pressing your hands against the plush suit. You trace circles in the fabric and look up at him with your doe eyes and pouting lips.

“Ohohoh, Santa,” you coo, playfully. “You’re early.”

Seeming embarrassed, Oz pulls your hand off his chest, holding it for a moment before bringing it to his lips. A small kiss is placed upon your knuckles before he finally speaks. “Ah, cut it out. Lemme’ get outta’ this fuckin’ thing and I’ll –”

“Ozzy…” You back up, your hands falling to the tie of your robe. “You know, it’s customary to open a present on Christmas Eve.”

He stops, mid-turn, and squints at you. He knows you well enough to know that mischievous glimmer in your eyes ain’t going away.

“So, open this one.”

In a fluid motion, you untie the sash and shrug the robe off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, revealing your festive lingerie that you’d picked out weeks ago. You watch Oz’s eyes light up as he takes in the visual in front of him, starting at your feet, which are covered in a pair of red nylons, thigh highs. His gaze travels upwards, pausing to savor the look of the garters stretching over your lush thighs. Your bare stomach tenses at his gaze, before finally, he gets to the bra; a giant red bow that conceals the majority of your ample breasts. He can’t see it, but your nipples harden under the fabric, a reaction to the chill of the room and the heavy weight of his gaze.

“Fuck…” He shifts, turning back around to face you fully.

“But I dunno’.... Only good boys get their presents.”

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. Oz swallows hard and licks his lips. He jerks his head to the side and lets out a breathy laugh, before holding his hands out.

“Baby, who is dressed like fuckin’ Santa here? I think I’m the one that gets to decide who is naughty or nice, huh?”

Your fingers toy with the edge of the bra’s bow, teasingly. “Hmm. Well, we all know that I’ve been a good girl this year.”

“Yeah,” he says, limping over to you. His hands ghost over your nearly bare hips. “Yeah, you fuckin’ have.”

You look down at his hands, then shoot your gaze back up to his brown eyes. Languidly, you grab his hand, bringing it to your lips to graze your teeth over the pads. Oz shifts his shoulder, trying to fend off the oncoming erection, no doubt. Something about pitching a tent in a Santa suit feels immoral, but you clearly ain’t on his side on this one.

“Don’t I get to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want? Huh?”

You drop your hands, pulling his with them and tugging him towards the velvet sofa. It faces the windows and the tree, which is an incredibly picturesque and romantic background to fuck to, you think. You yank a little harder, though he’s standing stiff, watching you with hesitant eyes.

“C’mon Ozzy….. C’mooooon.”

Finally, he concedes to your pulling and follows you to the couch, allowing you to guide him to the middle cushion. With a sharp shove, you push him backwards. He hits the couch with a grunt and looks up at you with those big cow eyes of his – the ones that you can’t resist, no matter what you do.

He licks his lips again. “What is this, huh?”

You tap his nose and bend at the waist to stroke his plush-covered thighs. He’s being good; his red trousers aren’t straining yet. You frown playfully, making sure he sees your pitiful little pout. “Where’s your Christmas spirit, hmm?”

Your hands continue their trailing up to his groin, and one hand palms his cock outside of his pants. Oz shifts his hips backwards at the sudden contact, and he hisses through his teeth.

“Movin’ your way down the list, sweetheart.”

“Me?” You gasp. It’s a gentle, girlish sound and you feign shock. Your hand grips his cock a little tighter. “I’m the best girl in the world. I’d never be on the naughty list.”

He chuckles low and looks down at himself. He feels the telltale heat rushing down between his legs, and it won’t be long before the fabric fights against his hardening length. “I dunno’...”

Your hand abandons its post and moves up to his wide stomach, where you quickly unbuckle the large black belt, sliding it through the loops. You throw it around his neck and pull him forward until his nose bumps into your cheek, and his lips meet yours. You kiss him long and hard, tasting him and whatever alcohol was leftover from the event.

All at once, Oz lets out a deep groan, and reaches up to pull you into his lap. “C’mon, sweetheart. Sit on Santa’s lap, then.”

You titter happily, and replace the belt with your arms. One knee at a time, you straddle him and lower yourself down. He doesn’t bother putting on a Santa-esque accent when he asks you what you want for Christmas this year, but does throw in a teasing ‘little girl’.

You hum and raise your eyes to the tall ceilings, thinking. “Well let’s see… should I play Santa Baby for you? Been an awful good girl…”

“Why don’t you tell me what you really want?”

Your gaze falls heavy to his, and you smirk, leaning forward. You position your lips next to his ear and whisper a string of festively phrased, lewd desires that make his lips quirk up in a pleased smirk.

“Stuff your stocking, huh?” he repeats.

You nod and as if to punctuate your sentence, you grind your hips against his lap and take note of the stiffness that’s there now. A pleased smirk contorts your lips as you look below your bodies. Amidst all the red fabric, there’s a distinct outline, the fabric tenting as his cock swells from all of your teasing.

You push yourself up on your knees. As you grip the sides of your panties, you lean forward to tug them over the curve of your ass. The position puts your bow-clad cleavage in Oz’s face and he snags the opportunity to kiss the tops of your breasts. “Mm-mm…”

You pull them down your thighs, until they rest in the crook of your knees. Oz wastes no time in bringing one of his hands up to her. His fingers stroke her delicately, admiring every inch of her, watching as your hips buck and jerk when he nears the already slick slit.

“This all for me?”

“Baby, it’s always all for you. ‘Cause you’re always so good, aren’t you, Ozzy?”

Between your legs, you feel his hips rise instinctively. He’s hard now, and the tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. You whimper and grip his broad shoulder tight, digging your perfectly manicured nails into the fabric.

As an afterthought, you bring both hands down to his chest. Fluidly, you slip both hands underneath the jacket, and push it over his shoulders, revealing the white shirt underneath. He’s got his suspenders on, which you immediately tug on. You find them incredibly sexy, something that while he never understood, he appreciates.

His finger plunges into your warm, wet cunt and sets there a moment, just feeling her.You clench around him, and he pulls out, replacing it with two. The girth of his two fingers is always so satisfying, filling you as he pumps in and out.

His tongue juts out, mere centimeters from your center. He’s not close enough to taste her, but god he wants to. You can tell; the way he licks his lips repeatedly, his eyes locked on his fingers as they slip repeatedly from your slick cunt. She clenches around his thick digits while you moan above him, resting your cheek on the side of his head.

Finally, after a few more pumps, he withdraws his fingers and you immediately reel back, disappointed. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Fuck,” he murmurs around them.

The visual has you leaking and clenching around nothing. You long for the filled feeling again, and wiggle your hips to remind him. You reach behind your back, and unclip the bra, letting your tits fall free. “Ozzy, don’t stop…”

Without another word, Oz lifts you up with both hands, and sets you down on the sofa next to him. Using the arm of the chair, he pushes himself up and turns to face you. Slipping your hands over the silky velvet, you flip over and push your ass up into the air. He makes a fist around your panties and tugs them down over your ankles. He flings them towards the tree, and you can’t help but let out a little chuckle when they catch on a branch, hanging there as one of the most lewd decorations you’ve ever seen.

Oz pulls your attention back, taking a fistful of your exposed ass. “This pussy is the best fuckin’ present, sweetheart. There ain’t nothin’ I want more than this….”

You let out a humiliating whine as he toys with her from behind, his fingers sweeping over your entrance. His thumb catches the side of her, and he pulls her apart, exposing the slick, glistening flesh.

“Shit, baby… fuckin’ soakin’ wet.”

He pulls the suspenders off his shoulders, and kicks the trousers down. It’s a bit of struggle to get his briefs down, but he finally does it, and grunts, shuffling closer to you and hoisting his good leg up onto the sofa behind you.

Taking himself in one hand while still holding you open with the other, Oz slips his fat tip inside. It’s enough to make you whimper, desperately, but you know the moans will come as soon as he plunges himself inside. Though Oz loves every position, he particularly likes taking you from behind. He loves watching as he disappears into you, your dripping cunt swallowing him whole with every thrust.

“Fuck me, Ozzy… fuck me, please, baby…”

“Heh, don’t gotta’ ask me twice.” he replies, before pushing himself a little further in. His thick cock stretches you wide and you arch your back up, unable to contain the moans that tumble from your mouth.

“That’s it… mhm…. Just like that - fuck!”

Your hips meet him halfway, and Oz sinks himself all the way in, fucking into you hard with an immediate rhythm. Your stomach tightens with the waves of pleasure, your hands gripping the side of the sofa hard.

“Oh my god, oh my g— You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good, Oz. You’re so fuckin’ good, oh my god. N-nobody’s better than you, baby…”

Though Oz usually fucks you speechless, you’ve gotten in the habit of verbally praising him. If you don’t, he’ll ask for it anyway. It’s something that deeply arouses him, and makes him fuck you all the harder. Which he does. He groans and ruts his hips against your ass, filling the room with the slapping of your bodies as they collide. Silently, you’re glad for the music, which disguises some of the erotic sounds.

“How’s that dick feel, huh? Tell me it’s good.”

You nod, your mouth dry from breathing so hard. “It’s so good. Big, thick cock feels s-so….” Your sentence is shattered by a string of high-pitched moans, but you quickly regain composure and finish it off. “...good!”

He continues humping your ass, driving himself as far in as he can. The head of his cock repeatedly hits the deepest part of your core, and your eyes roll back in your head. You only need a few more moments of his relentless bullying before your cunt flutters around him, glazing him in warm slick. The dizzying high of the orgasm wraps its hands around your head, forcing it to fall heavy onto the sofa.

The sensation sends Oz over the edge – and he’s genuinely surprised he’s lasted this long. He tenses, his hips lose their rhythm as he shudders over you, bucking and stammering words of pleasure. His release coats his cock as he pulls out of you.

“God damn,” he pants.

You nod, smushing your face against the cushion. “Yeah. You really…” you swallow. “ Decked my halls.”

Oz wants to tell you to knock it off, but all he can do is laugh. As he pulls himself from you, his gaze falls to an oblong present under the tree. It’s a necklace; diamonds, with a purple garnet and an amethyst dangling in the middle. Once he showers, he decides he’s gonna give it to you.

“I’ll be back, doll. Don’t get dressed. I wanna see this present on ya’. Stay just like that.”

So, you do.

His cock was enough of a present, but you aren’t about to complain to a man like him.

#i don't care if people have moved on from oz I HAVEN'T GOD DAMNIT #Oz Cobb x reader #Oswald Cobb x reader #The Penguin x reader #Oz Cobb #Oz Cobb x you #oswald cobblepot x reader #Oswald Cobb #Oswald Cobb x you #Farrell Penguin #myfics #x reader #reader insert #female reader #fem reader #The Penguin HBO #The Penguin

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mischievouslittlecreature · 3 days ago

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Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy meet a man dangerous enough to frighten them both, and Lizzie reaches a breaking point.

Word Count: 6,543

Warnings: Smut, polyamory, chronic pain, references to violence, past torture, and past sexual assault.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 2: Selfish

“Lizzie is going to be mad about that for a good long while,” Lucy commented, one hand stuffed into her trousers pocket while the other flicked ash from her cigarette down onto the cobblestones. Her eyes swiveled around, taking in the ash, flames, and glowing embers being emitted into the air by the nearby factories. All around them was the bustle of men and women going about their business, children with dirtied faces and knees marked up with scrapes and soot racing through the streets together. She dropped a few shillings into the cup of a young girl who wandered past them.

The train station that they were headed to wasn’t particularly far, and it was good for the people to see Tommy out amongst them, walking to work and taking the train like any other ordinary working man. So when they could, they made the trek to the train on foot.

She didn’t mind. It was nice to get out into the familiar smoky air, settled like a black cloud over most of Birmingham. Despite everything, it still felt like it was where she most belonged. In the dirt and flames of hell.

Though it did mean that they had to keep a professional distance from each other. No hand holding or letting their sides brush and bump. They couldn’t risk looking suspiciously close. Not even in Tommy’s own kingdom of Small Heath.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed heavily. “But what else is fucking new?”

She cast him a regretful look. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? You didn’t even do anything.”

“It always feels like I’m the root cause of most of her anger towards you.”

“No; you’re not.” She felt him casting her a worried look. “It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe that. It would only upset him. And he didn’t need to be worrying about her feelings on top of everything else already on his plate.

“She’s mad because you tell me things that you don’t tell her.”

“Which isn’t fucking new. That’s always how things have been. If she’s only realizing that now…”

“I think she’s more upset about it being thrown in her face than anything else.”

He shook his head, teeth grinding together. “I’m going to cuff Finn the next time I see him. Jesus Christ.”

“Arthur’s right about him needing educating. The kid can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” As she spoke, she rolled her right shoulder back and forth, trying to ease the twinge that had settled in it. Tommy huffed.

“Yeah. I’ll put him in charge of running the football betting at the shop. Give him something productive to do.”

“Have Isiah keep an eye on him. They’re friends, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Tommy nodded. They caught the train just before it left the station, slipping into an empty compartment and closing the door, drawing down the blind that covered the window on the door, hiding them from any curious eyes that may have tried to peek in from the narrow hallway.

“May called earlier. She said that she was at a party that a couple other MPs were attending recently. One of them was asking about you,” Lucy settled into her seat, the train whistling shrilly before starting to move, steadily picking up speed as it pulled out from the station.

“Oh?”

“Oswald Mosley. He’s the MP for Smethwick. Also the Minister of the Duchy of Lancaster,” she fiddled with her rings, twisting them anxiously around her fingers. “May had…a lot of bad things to say about him.” Another throb of pain rocketed from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the base of her neck, and she had to fight back a flinch. Fucking Luca. Dead and long gone, and yet still haunting her through the aches and pains that the torture he had put through had left.

Just like Matthew, her former fiancé and the man who instigated the gang rape that left her nearly dead and fleeing to Small Heath to escape marrying him. He too lingered with her still–despite his deceased status–through the scars he and his friends had left all over her body.

I’m part of you forever, now, his and Luca’s voices, mingled into one, whispered inside her head where they now lived.

“Lucy?” Tommy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his hand lightly touching her arm. She jumped a little, jerking back to life, eyes wide when they met his. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. What did you say?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she was pretty sure that he sensed the slight waver in her voice that she attempted to cover up. But he must have decided not to comment on it if he did.

“What does Mosley want with me?” He instead repeated patiently.

“He didn’t exactly say. But May said that he was asking an awful lot about your moral standings on things. She thought that he might’ve been trying to feel out if you would be amiable to joining the new party he’s rumored to be building.”

“The fascists, you mean?”

“Yeah.” They had been sprouting up everywhere it seemed, lately. Germany. Italy. Even in England. It was spooky. “I could do some more research into him, if you think that it would be worth it.”

Tommy considered for a moment, blue eyes glancing out the window to observe the countryside they were whizzing by. “Yes, you do that. He’s gathering information about me, it would only be fair to return the favor.”

She nodded, a hand unconsciously going up to grasp at her still aching shoulder, trying to rub away some of the pain. But she never could seem to get the right angle…

“Are your shoulders bothering you?”

She looked up to find Tommy still watching her, observant eyes zoned in on where her fingers were subtly kneading. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, rolling the aching bone and muscle back and forth with a wince. There was no use trying to lie to him.

“A little.”

His head cocked, pushing up with his hands off the seat he was slumped in across from her to instead settle in the space next to her. “Here.”

“Tommy…!” she immediately started to protest, eyes going panickedly to the blinds covering the window of the door leading into their compartment.

“Don’t worry. No one will see with the blinds closed. And we’re just passing country right now,” he nodded towards the window, which sure enough was only displaying green fields and farmland. “Let me help. If you don’t do anything for them, they’ll be killing you by this evening.”

Spoken from true experience. He’d seen her when the pain got really bad, leaving her unable to sleep or do anything other than cry and writhe, as if trying to get away from the pains wracking through nearly her entire upper back.

Slumping in defeat, she nodded, turning to angle herself with her back facing him. His large hands found her shoulders, so big they nearly swallowed the entire expanse of each one in his palms–or maybe she was just that tiny. A small sigh of relief left her lips when he began rubbing gentle but firm circles into her skin, just like how the doctor had instructed him to when explaining ways to help reduce her pain. Slowly, he started to urge the tensed up muscles to relax enough to give her some relief.

“Did you not do your stretches yesterday?” he asked. Lucy shook her head.

“Forgot.”

She was supposed to do them everyday, to avoid things like this happening so frequently. But in all the chaos yesterday, they’d completely slipped her mind. And sleeping on the hard earth with nothing but Tommy to use as a pillow probably hadn’t helped things.

“Hm. Sorry; I should’ve reminded you.”

“Not your fault.”

He pressed his fingers a little harder into her skin. “How’s that feeling?”

“Better.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just try to relax.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“You want me to stop?”

“...No.”

He chuckled, the first real laugh she’d heard from him since before yesterday, and rested his cheek against her hair while his hands continued to work. Lucy allowed herself to melt a little under his touch, for a moment not worrying about them getting caught together, or about Lizzie, or Michael, or the company. She was able to just rest. Even if only for a moment. All the while Tommy gently rubbed the pain from her body.

∗ ∗ ∗

She so did love to watch Tommy speak in the house.

He stood there, amidst the smoke emitting from cigarettes and pipes, glasses perched on his nose, notes held in his hand, his voice ringing out, deep and rumbling. Pretty, eloquent words. He had them all in the palm of his hand and he knew it, the men seated in the benches around him, and those in the observation area with her all clinging to his every word. And when he was finished, those on his side of the room cheered and rapped their hands approvingly against the wood of their benches, the entire room thundering with the sound.

Lucy couldn’t help but think that the room looked like a theater.

Who were they performing for? Themselves? Each other? The people in the observation booths? All of them at once? It was hard to say.

She spotted him seated to Tommy’s right–her left. In the row below Tommy’s, the third man in from the aisle. His dark hair was slicked back, the mustache that decorated his upper lip meticulously groomed. One side of his lips pulled up at something Tommy said, his eyes gleaming. Lucy felt a shiver go down her spine. Humor may have been what was intended to cross his face, but those eyes of his were dead. No emotion to be found in them at all. They remained focused straight ahead as Tommy spoke, except for one specific, notable moment, when they flickered towards the observational benches where she, along with some secretaries, journalists, and other observers, sat to watch the men speak. Lucy swore that for a second their eyes met, before she hastily looked away from him and back to Tommy. Her skin crawled, the fine, fair hairs on the back of her arms standing up straight. Her very insides seemed to recoil, every instinct within her screaming to get up and run as far away from that man as she could possibly get.

She kept her eyes glued firmly at Tommy for the reminder of the time spent in the house, despite originally going there specifically to observe Mosley.

She felt that she’d gotten all the information that she needed to about what kind of person he was from just that quick glance alone.

Soon as they were done, she stood, gathering up her notes, tucking them securely in the crook of her arm and making for the exit where she would meet Tommy out in the hall.

“How did I do?” he asked, once he found her standing at the usual spot where she always waited for him. Lucy caught herself wishing desperately that she could have pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Splendid as always, love.”

He looked away, lips twitching up slightly, clearing his throat bashfully. “Come on.”

Lucy smiled a little to herself at the reaction, falling into step beside him, heading in the direction of their office.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, as they walked.

“Sort of.”

His brow raised. “Sort of?” he quoted back to her.

“I don’t like looking at him,” she explained in a lowered voice. “He makes my skin crawl.”

“Mm.” Tommy hummed in agreement.

“Lord Suckerby’s secretary said you’re welcome to come by anytime between now and the end of the day to see him,” she told him just as they were interrupted by a voice calling his name from one of the open doors they passed.

They stopped, turned, and were met face to face with Oswald Mosley, a barbed smile sliding into place across his features as those empty eyes bored into Tommy. Lucy’s skin roiled in response to his posh, clipped voice when he spoke, introducing himself and holding out a hand for Tommy to shake. His sly smile never once ceased, eyes never leaving Tommy’s as he took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Let me just say, you’ve come to my attention,” the words were spoken in a croon, with the smallest of head tilts. Lucy couldn’t fully decide if the intended effect was supposed to be predatory, or seductive.

Before Tommy could reply. Mosley’s eyes had snapped, sharp and quick, like a snake striking, to fix on Lucy. She had to fight back the urge to hide behind her lover’s back. The expression on Mosley’s face turned wolfish.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” She felt Tommy tense beside her at Mosley’s words. “Oswald Mosley,” he extended his hand towards her. Lucy felt ill at the thought of touching him, but forced herself to reach out and take his hand. It was cold as ice and dry as a bone.

“Lucy Winters,” she introduced herself, shaking Mosley’s hand once before letting it go, pushing away the urge to wipe her palm on her trousers. “I’m Mr. Shelby’s assistant.”

Mosley’s eyes darted between them, one eyebrow quirking upwards, a smirk settling on his lips. “Hm. Lucky you, Mr. Shelby.”

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Mosley, we have to get going.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But if you aren’t too busy, I would love the opportunity to speak with you more. Perhaps over drinks?”

Tommy considered. “You can call my office,” was all he ultimately said, hastily turning on his heel and starting down the hall again. Lucy hurried after him, not wanting to be left alone with Mosley.

“You’re really going to meet with him?” she asked, once they were far enough away to be out of ear shot.

“Just to hear what he has to say.” He looked over at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not sympathetic to his cause. But keep your enemies closer, eh?”

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder, half expecting Mosley to appear spontaneously behind them. “He scares me a little, Tommy.” Her voice was a rough whisper, half ashamed at the omission.

“Me too.”

That got her attention, and when she looked at Tommy, she noticed something almost unsteady under the guarded armor he kept carefully in place across his eyes. Fear squeezed at her throat.

A man who was bad enough to make Tommy so frightened was something she hadn’t even thought existed.

“You head on back to the office,” he said, changing the subject with a small clearing of his throat. “I think I’ll go see Lord Suckerby now.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” He shook his head. “I think it’ll make a stronger impression if I go see him alone.”

“You think he’ll give you any trouble?”

“Maybe. Depends on how hard he was hit by the crash.”

She frowned. She hadn’t really thought about that. Though she probably should have. “Everyone was hit by the crash.”

“Yeah.”

“If Suckerby can’t pay us…”

“He will. I’m not giving him any other choice.”

She pressed her lips together in a small smile. “I’d like first crack at him, if it comes to it.”

Tommy shot her an amused look. “Oh, is that so?”

“After seeing those photos that he wanted us to get for him, there are a couple of things I’d very much like to do to him.”

During the train ride to London she had flipped through the small package of photographs, letters, and cheques that Isiah had handed off to her while they were in Birmingham. Everything he and Aberama had collected from the man they killed in Chinatown who had been using the contents of that package to blackmail Suckerby. Her stomach had roiled at the contents of some of them, bile rising.

Lord Suckerby was one disgusting man. Maybe after he paid them, an unfortunate accident could befall him. Like falling out a window or getting run over by a bus.

Based on the thunderous, repulsed look that had crossed Tommy’s features when she showed him the photographs, Lucy thought he may very well be open to the idea. The envelope was now stashed safely in the inner pocket of her suit jacket, snug against her side. It would remain there until Suckerby paid what he owed them for their services.

“Alright,” Tommy said, eyes still dancing with fond, quiet mirth. “He doesn’t corporate, he’s all yours.”

She beamed, only just managing to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck, stretching up on toes, and planting a firm kiss to his temple that would have left his fair skin stained with red smudges from her lipstick. “Thank you, Tommy,” she said instead, adding what she hoped came across as a playful, affectionate lilt to her voice. He glanced over at her, one edge of his lips nudging upwards, eyes softening.

They came to a hallway splitting off into two separate directions. This was where they parted ways. Her, turning left to head to their office, him, heading right, towards where Lord Suckerby’s offices were located.

“I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ll phone his office when I get in and let them know you’re coming. So they’ll be expecting you.”

“Right.”

“And then you have a few more meetings this afternoon.”

“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “I thought that we’d stay at the apartment for the night, rather than go back to Arrow House.”

“That probably would be a good idea. It’d give Lizzie some time to cool down.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded, moving to head in the direction leading to their office. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She walked backwards a few paces, fondly watching his broad back disappear around the corner before turning and making her way the rest of the short walk back to the little corner of Parliament that they presided over.

∗ ∗ ∗

She had not been back in the office long when Tommy returned, heavy footed steps booming against the floor and swiping his fringe from his eyes.

“How did it go?” Lucy asked, looking up from her desk.

“By the time I left the room, he was screaming my name,” he thumbed a cigarette from his silver case. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a euphemism?”

Tommy snorted, plucking out a second cigarette to hand to her. “He only had twenty thousand to give to us.”

“Really?” That wasn’t even half of the fifty thousand pounds they’d agreed upon. She placed her cigarette between her lips and leaned forward towards the flame of his lighter when he held it up for her. “Does that mean I get to play with him now?”

Tommy chuckled, raising the lighter to his own cigarette before closing it with a click. “Easy, girl. I gave him until Monday to get us the full amount.”

She pouted a little, leaning back into her chair. “You’re going soft, Shelby.”

“No,” Tommy’s eyes danced amusedly. He reached out, brushing his thumb down her cheek. It was a risky move, since anyone could walk through the door at any moment, but she didn’t pull her face away from the tender touch. “I just want my fifty thousand pounds.”

“Mm. Whatever you say, love.”

His thumb inched into dangerous territory, ghosting over her bottom lip. She aimed a playful nip at it, and he drew his hand back with a grin.

“Cheeky mare.”

Lucy smiled at him, batting her eyelashes innocently in an ‘I’m-very-sure-I-don’t-know-what-you-mean’ kind of way. Though remnants of his smile lingered on his face and his eyes remained softened fondly, Tommy’s expression turned serious again.

“Hey, make that research into Mosley top priority, yeah? I wanna be ready when I next see him.”

“Yes, boss.” She gave him a little two finger salute. The corner of his lips kicked up again.

“Thank you.”

She watched him head through the double doors into his office, leaving them open behind him, a silent invitation for her to come keep him company if she wanted. Gathering up some of her papers, she rose from her chair to follow him.

It was, after all, an invitation that she never passed up.

∗ ∗ ∗

It was dark by the time they started to pack up to leave for the day. Tommy had one final appointment, but Lucy figured she would get a head start on closing the office up while he spoke with the journalist from the London Times. She eyed Michael Levitt as Adam–Tommy’s other secretary at Westminster–led him into Tommy’s office, noting the nervous way that the journalist kept fidgeting with his hat while he waited. A moment later, Adam came back out, casting an anxious look over his shoulder to where Levitt had taken a seat in front of Tommy’s desk.

“Mr. Shelby said I was to go home,” he came over to her desk, keeping his voice lowered. She nodded.

“Then go home. I’ll take care of locking everything up.”

“Right.”

She watched him gather up his things and head for the door, one ear focused on trying to overhear the mumbled voices of Tommy and Levitt. “See you tomorrow,” she told Adam.

“Goodnight,” he nodded. Soon as he was gone, she stood smoothly, snatching up the little journal perched on the corner of her desk and going to Tommy’s office. He had left the doors open, so she was able to slip in without so much as a sound, footsteps muffled against the rugs lining the floor.

Levitt was visibly sweating, stuttering over his words. Lucy raised an eyebrow, going to where Tommy’s coat was hung up to his right behind his desk. She slipped the journal into the pocket, giving it a tap twice, watching out of the corner of her eye how Tommy’s gaze followed her. He gave a barely indiscernible nod in acknowledgement, and she spun on her heel and left the room, letting her eyes meet the timid Levitt’s for a second before turning her head away.

She flitted around her and Adam’s office, putting things away and locking them up for safe keeping, even doing some tidying. The whole time, she listened closely to the words being murmured between Tommy and the journalist. At one point, not long before Levitt rushed from the room, she heard Tommy quoting directly from some of the notes she had written in the little journal during her time spent researching Levitt and his activities.

Soon as he was gone, she locked the door behind him and went back to Tommy’s office.

“I take it that could have gone better?” she moved to stand on his side of the desk, arms folded over her chest and back leaning against the hard wooden edge. Her head cocked as she watched him rub at his eyes.

“He was asking about Campbell and Polly.”

“I heard. You want him to be taken care of?”

Tommy wetted his lips, considering. “Yes,” he decided. “Last thing we need is a reporter sniffing around.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem like the type that we could just pay off. I’ll have some of our boys handle it at his apartment in Maida Vale. Quick and clean.”

“Have them do it with enough flourish that it’ll make other journalists nervous. To dissuade anyone else from trying anything for a while.”

“But not easily linked to us, right?”

“Right. And let’s just keep it between you and me. Last thing I need is more temper tantrums over my not sharing information.”

“Okay.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, reaching out to smooth his hand up and down her thigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His arms looped around her, and she laughed quietly when he pulled her closer, his head tipping back to stare up at her, blue eyes wide and mischievous.

“Adam went home?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…so it’s just us, then?”

Her fingers smoothed through his dark hair, fighting back a smirk. “Yes, it’s just us.”

With a purring sound from low in the back of his throat, he took hold of her hips and pulled her closer.

“Tommy!” She laughed as he maneuvered her into his lap, as if this was not something they had done dozens of times before. As if she had not let him fuck her on top of his big desk the very first day they spent in the new office, her face burying in his shoulder with her teeth sinking into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to try to keep herself quiet while his cock pounded into her.

He pushed open her suit jacket, popping free the first two buttons on her shirt and dipping his head to press his lips to the newly exposed skin. Wriggling in his lap, Lucy hissed at the feeling of his cock already hardening in his trousers, the material bulging against her.

Tangling her hands in his hair, she tipped his head back enough to kiss him, moaning softly as his hands smoothed up her thighs, urging her to rock against him and fumbling with her belt. It was late, most people working in the building would have already gone home for the evening. But they still needed to be quiet.

“Mm, did you lock the door?” Tommy asked in a low, rough murmur that went straight to her cunt, walls fluttering around nothing. The things he could do to her with just his voice alone were downright sinful.

“Yes.”

He made a noise of approval that turned her legs to jelly. “Good,” he lifted her from his lap for a microsecond to slip her loosened trousers and knickers down, hand burning hot where it slid up her exposed thigh. “Always such a good girl for me.”

“A-ah…” her head lolled back, eyes rolling both at the praise and the first brush of his thick fingers across her entrance, circling lazily around her clit.

“Gotta keep quiet, now,” he continued to mumble in her ear, breath warm where it fanned against her cheek. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded vigorously. That was all she wanted; to be good for him. To make him happy.

Turning his head, Tommy pressed a kiss to her temple and gingerly slipped one finger into her while his thumb occupied itself with rolling over her clit. He kept his movements careful and slow until he got her more warmed up, waiting until slickness coated his hand generously before adding a second finger and increasing the pace of his pumps.

“There you go,” he hummed when he felt her start to flutter around him. “There you go, that’s a good girl…”

“Tom…” she whimpered, biting her lip to try to keep herself quiet, not wanting to disappoint him by letting any sounds slip out to be heard beyond this room.

“I know,” he soothed. “That’s my girl. Bite down on my shoulder if you need to.”

She did just that, nosing the material of his clothing aside to taste his bare skin between her lips. Tommy groaned, low and quiet but impossibly deep, at the first sting of her teeth against him. Her walls tightened, moments away from bursting. His fingers curled within her, pressing right into the spot that made her see stars.

“Let go,” he ordered in a sweet whisper aimed directly into her ear, and she bit down hard to try to hinder what would have been an incredibly loud moan as her orgasm wrecked through her like a firecracker, bright lights exploding behind her eyes, entire body shuddering with it, pressing close to him instinctively.

Tommy guided her through it, slowly coaxing her down from her high until she slumped against him.

“Good. Very good, sweetheart.”

She made a happy little noise at the praise, snuggling closer to his neck, nuzzling at the bitemark she’d left on him. Tommy stroked the back of her head, kissing her hair. Sneakily, she snaked a hand down between their bodies to palm the bulge in his trousers, and it was his turn to try to stifle his noises of pleasure, teeth locking down tight around the groan rising from his throat.

Arms wrapping around her, he lifted her seemingly effortlessly off of his lap, setting her down on the edge of his desk while he stood, hands dropping down to fumble with his trousers. Lucy felt her mouth water at the sight of his long, impossibly thick erection bobbing against his stomach after being released from its confines. Tommy gave himself a few good, languid strokes, jaw dropping open as his eyelashes fluttered, face inches from hers. Lucy spread her legs wider, encouraging him in between them. Her hands grabbed at handfuls of his suit jacket while he lined himself up, sliding in with one deep thrust.

“Oh,” Tommy rested his cheek against hers, hands flexing where they landed on her hip and thigh.

“Quiet, remember?” she teased slightly, trailing her fingertips through his hair. He shivered, letting out a breathless chuckle followed by a kiss to her cheek. Burying his face in her neck, hands bracing on her body, he started to move. She could tell that he was trying to start out slow and give her time to adjust to his considerable size, but all it took was her purposefully squeezing around his cock and wrapping her legs around his waist, and his efforts went up in smoke.

He bucked into her like a man possessed, low grunts muffled against her throat, a few trinkets rattling on the desk from the force of his thrusts. Lucy tucked her face back in against his shoulder, biting down hard on her bottom lip to try to contain her whimpers and moans as his swollen tip rubbed right up against her g-spot with each roll of his hips.

“Shit. Squeezing me so tight, love,” Tommy rasped out, hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Give me another one, yeah? I know you can, sweetheart.”

“Mm…” Her back arched, pressing her clothed breasts into his chest. Her legs tightened around him, and her jaw clenched with the effort it was taking for her not to let the volume of her noises get too high. His cock twitched and throbbed inside her, in the way that she knew meant his orgasm was imminent. The pleasure built like steam rising in a kettle, tension mounting until she felt moments away from bursting. Her walls spasmed uncontrollably around him, as if wanting to keep him locked in place within her for all eternity. Tommy hitched her thigh up a little higher on his hip, allowing his cock to get just that much deeper into her, and applied more pressure to her clit with his thumb.

She came at the same moment that she managed to grab his face and bring his mouth crashing down onto hers, each of them swallowing what would have been massive moans as they both came fantastically. Her walls clamped down around him, insides fluttering with the force with which she came. Tommy’s chest vibrated under her palms with his growl as he finished, grinding his tip in as deep as he could go while spurting jets of seed into her.

Lucy released a blissful sigh, closing her eyes and riding out the waves of her climax while basking in the feeling of him spilling his load into her.

Tommy slumped forwards against her, face nestling in the crook of her shoulder, lips pressing to her neck delicately whilst he relaxed. His arms wound around her in a warm embrace, a quiet purr leaving his chest when she stroked the back of his head.

“We should go,” Lucy finally broke the silence that had stretched on between them. Tommy nodded, shifting to carefully pull out of her, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening out his clothes. He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket for her to use to clean the mix of their releases from her thighs, then let her hold onto his shoulders when she hopped off the edge of the desk and regained her balance.

“Have you got everything locked up?” he asked as she pulled her slacks back up.

“Yeah, just gotta grab a few things from my desk to take with us.”

“Good. I wanna get out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tommy Shelby eager to leave work? Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”

He rolled his eyes, giving her hip a light pinch. “No occasion.” He swiped a few locks of hair off of her forehead and cradled the back of her neck, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips while his eyes looked her up and down. There was something heated in them that made her thighs squeeze together. “Except that I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“You know, Frances, if there were to be a snap election in this house today, I wouldn’t win it. Even if I were running against the devil himself,” Tommy remarked to their housekeeper once they’d gotten home. Frances shot him a sympathetic look.

“I’d still vote for you,” Lucy offered. Tommy gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, love.”

He went off to go talk to Charlie where he was sulking in the stables while Lucy ventured upstairs, wandering through the winding hallways until she heard the hum of Lizzie and Ruby’s voices. Coming to a halt in the doorway of Ruby’s room, she watched them where they were seated together in the rocking chair by the window, Ruby in Lizzie’s lap, head resting on her mother’s chest while Lizzie read to her from a book.

“Hi, Lucy!” Ruby said when she spotted her. Lucy smiled.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Is Daddy with you?”

“He’s down at the stables.”

She let out an excited squeal, jumping off Lizzie’s lap and racing for the door.

“Ruby, what have I told you about running in the house!?” Lizzie shouted after her, but the little girl was already long gone. Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head and closing the book. As Lucy watched her stand to put it away on a shelf, she noticed Ruby’s suitcase laid out on the bed, half filled with clothes.

“Going somewhere?”

Lizzie sighed, glancing over at the suitcase, then back at Lucy. “I’m taking Ruby to Arthur’s.”

Lucy stared at her. “Why?”

Lizzie’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “Because, I realized this afternoon that I’d rather swallow horse shit than sit down and eat dinner with you and him.” She began to zip up Ruby’s luggage. “I need to get away. From both of you. At least for a while.”

“You could have phoned and we would’ve stayed at the apartment in London like we did last night if you really don’t want us here this weekend.”

“I don’t know if it’s going to be for just one weekend.”

Lucy straightened. “What do you mean?”

Lizzie didn't reply.

“You cannot be serious. Now, Lizzie? You want to toy around with the idea of splitting up with your husband now? Of all fucking times?”

“He made me look like an idiot at the family meeting!” Lizzie burst out, head lifting and tears in her eyes. “Everyone else knew about the bloody hit in Chinatown except for me! I am his wife! I should be informed of these things first! Especially before you!” The way that she spat out that last word, so full of hate and disgust, made Lucy flinch.

“For fuck’s sake, Lizzie! There’s a lot of shit here that you are more than justified in being unhappy about, but this? Really? This is where you draw the line?” A humorless laugh left her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but him not telling you things is a normal occurrence. Ada didn’t know about what was happening in Chinatown either.”

Lizzie looked away, irritably picking up a stuffed animal off of Ruby’s bed. Lucy took a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was much calmer.

“This is not worth throwing a bloody temper tantrum over, Lizzie.”

“I’m tired of being disrespected,” she lifted her head. “I’m his wife, and he needs to start treating him as such.”

Lucy groaned, raising her palms to her face, fighting back the urge to scream into them. “Just once, could you knock it off with the attitude?”

“Easy for you to say, when you always get everything that you want–”

“Oh, do I, now?” Lucy rounded on her. “You think that this,” she gestured vaguely, “is what I want? To have to share him with a woman who openly hates me?”

“I don’t hate you–”

But Lucy talked right over her. “To have to live with the constant worry that you might push me out or he might change his mind and throw me out on the street? That it could happen like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And I could lose everything? Do you think that I wanted to live with that dangling over my head at all hours of the day, Lizzie?” She met the taller woman’s stormy eyes levelly. “We’re all getting a shit deal out of this, so stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself, and make the best of it,” she moved to the door.

“You are so fucking selfish, you know that!?” Lizzie shrieked after her, finally fully exploding. “You sap up all his love for yourself and leave nothing for the rest of us! You don’t care that him spending time with you means he’s not here with his family! Those children,” she pointed towards the window that looked out to the stables, “deserve a father who prioritizes them over running after his fucking mistress.”

“Don’t you dare try to use the kids–”

“Well, somebody in this household has to advocate for them!”

“Don’t act like you aren’t just using them as a way to try to get what you want.”

Lizzie’s lips slammed into a thin line. “I’m going. And I’m taking Ruby with me.”

“But not Charlie?” Lucy challenged.

“If I thought that I could take him without Tommy tearing me apart over it, I would,” Lizzie’s voice had suddenly grown very quiet. “I’d take the two of them far away from you both and never look back.”

Lucy shook her head, exhausted. “He’s not that bad, Lizzie. Compared to what he could be? He’s not that bad at all. He doesn’t hit you. He loves those kids…” she could see from the expression of stone on Lizzie’s face that none of her words would be able to reach her, and yet she tried anyway. “He’s got so much to deal with right now. Please don’t make it worse for him.”

Lizzie continued to just stare at her with a look of both extreme sorrow and loathing, and then she picked up Ruby’s suitcase and shouldered past her without another word.

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transgender-mothman · 2 days ago

Text

I didn’t say D&D alone has those features:

I said ANY ttrpg does. My first ttrpg systems and campaigns (in which I was a player) were fate, fantasy age, and d20 modern. Then I went into 3.5 as my first actual d&d game.

I also did mention using other systems:

And regarding contributing to a monopoly by continuing to play things I already own… this is ludicrous. I’m not running an actual play channel and promoting WotC, I’m playing a private game with my friends using books we already have, playing the way we want to that’s fun for us. If people want to get rid of things they already own/enjoy because the creators have been outed as problematic, that’s their choice to make. But I don’t think anything but wastefulness would come from me throwing out my 5e books, particularly when I still use them and am no longer financially supporting the company. I support indie games and other ttrpg devs actively by playing and buying their games when I can and when they are in my wheelhouse. I’m sorry that’s apparently not enough for you.

Ptba is definitely more straight forward than d&d, and many games are, I agree. But that doesn’t mean no one should play or enjoy 5e. I’m not equating all non-d&d games with being kooky weird arthouse by using my movie analogy, I’m talking about brand consciousness. If someone hasn’t ever heard of d&d, there’s low likelihood they’d know of pathfinder. Same as how if someone has never heard of Saw, they probably haven’t heard of, I don’t know, the Coffee Table. So if i show them Saw, which is easily accessible, and they like it, i can then show them other things similar from smaller creators. I am fundamentally saying the exact same thing as you with your example of Skinnamarink. I think if people start with 5e and like it, that’s a gateway to trying a ton of other things they might like as much if not more. The point is that without the more known brand, chances are that lots of people wouldn’t be swayed to try something else that is talked about less in the mainstream.

Ultimately, my main point still stands: people can do whatever they want with things they have, and play however they like to. No one needs to or should have to justify using homebrew or modifying the game to suit their needs. Playing a game with like minded people in a way that works for all of them, is not a moral or ethical or intellectual failing. It’s just people playing a private game for fun, and deciding to let a couple of rules slide or allowing some interesting play that bends a rule in-game is not a crime. Should more people try stuff that isn’t 5e? Absolutely they should. Are people who vocally refuse to play anything but 5e missing out? Yes. They are. But again, that’s their prerogative, even if it’s unfortunate that they’re closed minded.

I hope you find your audience. Developing games is a hard thing to do, and it’s increasingly an uphill battle to be noticed. Good luck.

I think an important part of the "D&D is easy to learn" argument is that a lot of those people don't actually know how to play D&D. They know they need to roll a d20 and add some numbers and sometimes they need to roll another type of die for damage. A part of it is the culture of basically fucking around and letting the GM sort it out. Players don't actually feel the need to learn the rules.

Now I don't think the above actually counts as knowing the rules. D&D is a relatively crunchy game that actually rewards system mastery and actually learning how to play D&D well, as in to make mechanically informed tactical decisions and utilizing the mechanics to your advantage, is actually a skill that needs to be learned and cultivated. None of that is to say that you need to be a perfectly tuned CharOp machine to know how to play D&D. But to actually start to make the sorts of decisions D&D as a game rewards you kind of need to know the rules.

And like, a lot of people don't seem to know the rules. They know how to play D&D in the most abstract sense of knowing that they need to say things and sometimes the person scowling at them from behind the screen will ask them to roll a die. But that's hardly engaging with the mechanics of the game, like the actual game part.

And to paraphrase @prokopetz this also contributes to the impression that other games are hard to learn: because a lot of other games don't have the same culture of play of D&D so like instead of letting new players coast by with a shallow understanding of the rules and letting the GM do all the work, they ask players to start making mechanically informed decisions right away. Sure, it can suck for onboarding, but learning from your mistakes can often be a great way to learn.

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causeimcrayzeebee · 15 hours ago

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Wolfgang Akire through the lens of the law: an analysis

i would like to give a disclaimer that while im very interested in the law, im not a lawyer or in law school. my knowledge comes from the few law classes i have taken, participation in a couple mock trials, and some personal research, so please take this with a grain of salt! if im missing something or saying something inaccurate, please let me know! i am always open to learning more!! not to mention this is my understanding of law in the United States, so this may differ by country.

in the end, this isn’t meant to be too serious, just using the knowledge i do have and applying it to p:eg!!!

okay now spoilers for the prologue and all of chapter 1!

well ig before we get into it let me say rest in peace a king... I will miss you, you hypocritical bastard........

alright, so firstly, let’s consider Wolfgang’s character profile.

two things stand out to me here. the first is how he has “successfully defended over 200 of his clients without dropping a single case.” we can infer that Wolfgang is a criminal defense attorney. it’s possible he could be a lawyer in the civil law sector instead, but considering his strong feelings about murder and crime, and the fact that this is Danganronpa, it leads me to believe he is a criminal attorney for the sake of relevance (I don't think any of us would care if he were a corporate attorney after all).

now, that sentence you just read is particularly interesting in the case of Wolfgang Akire. From the prologue's mock trial, we can see that Wolfgang feels very passionately about murder, condemning the murderer even without insight as to why they committed the crime, instead big on retribution and justice (which the definition of could definitely be debated). Yet, as a defense lawyer, Wolfgang would have been defending people from criminal accusations, from anything to armed robbery, arson, or murder. we’re not particularly sure on his view of other crime, but we can assume he also has a similarly negative view of it that he has of murder. out of 200 people (within such a short time span of finishing law school too), what are the odds that out of all 200, not one of them was actually guilty? of course, lawyers have the ability to drop or not take on cases, but as his profile says, he hasn’t dropped a single case! it’s quite possible he had complete faith that every client was innocent, but with the evidence and files he’d have to go through, he had to have seen something that was damning and prepared accordingly to address in the most sympathetic way possible to avoid prosecution winning their case. and that's the thing with Wolfgang; his job requires building sympathy for the accused, and it requires sowing seeds of doubt in prosecution's case. there had to have been someone that he was defending from an accurate charge(s). so whether he knew it or not, he has very likely defended people guilty of crime; and yet, he still feels very adamantly against them.

Here's where I fall short on my analysis; I honestly do not know what to make of this conclusion. his behavior and his ideals are almost contradictory in a sense. is this insight to wolfgang's clear hypocrisy? but what does that really say about him? I'd love to know what any of y'all think in regards to this :0

Now, the second thing that stands out to me is that he wants to make sure that everyone is fairly represented and make sure logic and evidence drive the discussion. While this does seem to be true, the mock trial shows that he lets his feelings become a big part of the discussion as well. everything he does screams prosecutor to me, so it was shocking to find out he works as defense. Wolfgang has a very interesting way of viewing things, almost dichotomous, unlike what his profile says. it's similar to the format of a trial, where it's not meant to be a team working together to find the complexities and nuance within a certain issue, but rather an attempt to prove your point and disprove the other side. trials aren't supposed to be a discussion where everyone reaches the truth together (Danganronpa trials are not very accurate but of course I don't think they were intended to be in the first place), they are for you to win your case-- as a defense attorney, its poking as many holes into the prosecution’s case as possible. (little fun side note, this is very similar to how debate works; Wolfgang and Damon are a lot more alike than one would originally think.)

Considering all of this, it makes me wonder if Wolfgang was intentionally trying to split the group apart,,,, because it's easier. because it makes more sense. as defense, lawyers may pin the crime on another, but without the burden of proof that prosecution does, they can sling out accusations to increase doubt on prosecutions case without having to actually prove it (that would be left for a separate case). it's easier to divide a group and have a bunch of people follow you while isolating the 'other side', and with that division made, it's more likely someone you isolated will be the 'villian' anyways; and in this case, this was true-- Eva, who has been socially ostracized her whole life, was driven to murder to protect herself from the blinding fear that everyone was out for her (even if that wasn't entirely true). this could be just how Wolfgang has gotten used to going through his life. maybe the bad habits he picked up from his father were the divisive kind of us vs them mindset lawyers have to have in a courtroom.

speaking of his father, let's address the motive-- there's so many things that Wolfgang's blackmail could be about; faking his law degree, not taking the bar exam, defending horrible people, the list goes on. Honestly, a scenario i have considered is that it's about him defending his father for a crime he actually did commit, yet winning the case; or his father commuting a crime in general and winning his case, leaving Wolfgang conflicted as that is the sort of thing he does all the time, yet his father had just taken away his mothers life and gotten free (this is very much just me guessing a possibility though). when Wolfgang was hallucinating, he says he's not like them (to diana who he thinks is someone else) and he'll never be like them; It's most likely that he saw his father. the theory I'm going with right now is that his father was at the very least heavily involved in the likely murder of his mother (thus bring her back in reference to his mom). his father was probably also a lawyer and may have pushed wolfgang into going into the field himself, especially when he sent him to law school as a teenager. maybe Wolfgang wanted to live up to the expectations his father had of him. who knows exactly what Wolfgang wanted everyone to know him as, it was probably a long the lines of a competent lawyer. but, as of right now it's all speculation (objection! haha.... that was not funny my bad), so again, I'd love to hear some thoughts.

Another little funny thing i'd like to note is when Damon and Eva come back to the dinning hall and Wolfgang asks where they've been, Damon responds saying it was for discussing the motive. He's internally smug about how defeated Wolfgang seemed to be by that, and I thought that the funniest shit; very similar to being on cross examination, thinking you have the witness in your hands, when suddenly they wiggle out of your accusation. he's so real for that.

that is pretty much all i've got so far! let me know what y'all think and thanks for reading!!! :)

#project eden's garden #p:eg #project eden's garden chapter 1 spoilers #p:eg chapter 1 spoilers #Wolfgang akire #damon maitsu #eva tsunaka #character analysis #criminal law #project edens garden #p:eg spoilers #p:eg chapter 1 #would love some input!!! :)

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circeyoru · 2 hours ago

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Loyalty of The Shadow _ Part 3 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 (here)

“Arise!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE TWO CHANCES REMAINING.]

“Arise!!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE ONE CHANCE REMAINING.]

“No… I can’t lose you…” Jinwoo hugged your cold body close, ignoring all the blood that dirtied his clothing or the scene he was making in front of his Shadows who watched with bated undead breath. “I shouldn’t have been with Hunter Cha… I shouldn’t have let you leave…”

It all happened within less than an hour. Jinwoo heard from Igris—with the help of Beru, who was the only Shadow to speak—that you left for some time alone and wanted to be completely alone. He thought it was fine as long as you were near him and he could go to you the moment he was done with Hae-In. But it took longer than expected and look what that led to.

You were the target of some people that saw Jinwoo through a negative lens. Since it was impossible to harm the S-Rank, it was simpler to put their anger and envy on people close to him. You happened to be unguarded at the worst time possible. When he got the news from his patrolling Shadows, it was already too late. Your body was cold and you had lost too much blood for his potions to do anything.

Jinwoo pleaded, he wished, he begged, he hoped. This was his last chance.

“Arise.”

From your body, misty tendrils formed and flickered around until it started to create a figure he was all too familiar with. There was you, standing before him with purple eyes and a body of shadow and darkness, dressed in what appeared to be robes like a mage—just like Min Byung-Gyu—but also some form of armour at the joints, everything outlined by neon purple like his Shadows.

[SHADOWS HIGHER THAN RANK KNIGHT CAN BE NAMED.]

It was weird that you could be named, and even more bizarre that you were ranked as high as Igris was when he was first extracted. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was what to name you. It felt wrong to give you your original name because this was just a Shadow version of you, but then he can’t just give you another name.

Just then, he had the answer. He stared at you in the eye and brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Blank. You’ll answer to that from now on.”

His heart ached when you bowed to him with a hand over your heart area. Your gaze fixated on him when you straightened up, and there was wonder and eagerness in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be reminded of your memories.

Well, he might as well say it now. Still, with all his perceptive point investment, he somehow failed to notice his Shadows giving you a particular look. Particularly Beru and Igris, who appeared most fidgety, as if they had something to tell but couldn’t.

“I have loved you for so long… Will always love you. I am so sorry for letting that happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have been with you.” Jinwoo leaned down where his forehead lightly touched yours and his eyes closed. “I love you.”

Hm!

Jinwoo’s eyes opened with confusion. The sound was way too close to be from the outside source. Not to mention… He raised his head and stared at the Shadow newly added to his army. He definitely felt a flinch from this Shadow. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the Shadow that stiffened for no reason. “Hey…”

Your eyes blinked and somehow avoided his gaze. Which was weird already since his Shadows never does something like this. They never act this human, nor were they affected by what he says on an emotional level. This was very suspicious.

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Jinwoo’s eyes stayed glued to your facial expressions.

You shook your head and made a cross with your arms in front of your face, anything to shield you from Jinwoo’s intense gaze.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Jinwoo sighed your original name. “Stop acting.”

You tried maintaining your Shadow act as much as possible. It was too much and you ended up nodding in defeat with a droopy attitude.

“How is this possible?” Jinwoo questioned aloud as his eyes widened, bewildered by the relaxed posture you suddenly took after your admission. You were acting the same as before, like nothing has changed and he didn’t just extract your shadow from your dead body. Wasn’t there an urge of loyalty placed on you that directed your attention to him? A force that compelled you to act inhuman?

You shrugged and pointed at your neck, no, throat to be more specific. Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Are you saying ‘you can’t speak’?” Jinwoo guessed your meaning.

You nodded enthusiastically and clapped your hands with a smile. Your lips moved, but once more, Jinwoo couldn’t hear anything from you.

“My Queen is calling you smart and quick on the uptake, My Liege.” Beru spoke up suddenly, his wings fluttered with pride as he was now more important, being a bridge between his master and his master’s love.

“You can understand?!”

“I can understand you now!?”

Both Jinwoo and you exclaimed. The two of you looked back at each other and giggled. Soon, some changes were made. Instead of Beru watching over his mother and younger sister, Jinwoo had a legion of knights, mages, orcs, ice bears, and ants to guard them. Since Beru was the only one who could deliver your words to him, Beru had to be close by.

Then he wondered how you could have your voice back. His only answer was to raise your rank. However, sending you into battles was something he swore he’d never do to you. He wanted to protect you, but not have you serve him. Now that you weren’t any ordinary Shadow but something akin to a reincarnation of yourself, he can’t do this to you.

“My Liege.” Beru’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “My Queen wants to fight as well.”

“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.” Jinwoo spoke without missing a beat. “Never.”

Beru continued to relay your words, “My Queen wants to fight your battles with you, to be next to you. Rather than listening to your hardships.”

Jinwoo looked over to you, who was busy mingling with his Shadows, seemingly trying out a sword or a mage’s staff. Needless to say, the Shadows were ecstatic to finally communicate with you, even though it was your death and their master’s powers that allowed it. Still, they all made the best of things and kept you busy.

“We will ensure The Queen is never in danger, My Liege.” Beru promised.

It wasn’t like he and the other Shadows wanted their master’s beloved to fight alongside them. Yes, it’s an honour. But they shared their master’s worry when it came to your safety and health. When you told the Shadows this, they were against it until they heard your reasoning behind it. You wanted to be able to talk to Jinwoo again, to accept his confession by your own voice. For you, too, saw this as your second chance in life or the afterlife.

Jinwoo sighed, though a small smile was on his lips. “I could never say no when it comes to that, huh? Fine.”

As if you heard the resolve, your head turned over to Jinwoo while you waved with a beaming smile, not caring that you were swinging a sword in the air.

“Let’s do some levelling up.”

Note: Welp, first one of the Christmas update is out~ And this is the end of this series. Thanks for following this series! (even though I never planned for it to last this long)

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @lunavixia @o-qi-shisme @skylar896 @marydragneell @bri602 @posionapple24 @akemityan @shaq-27 @the-dumber-scaramouche @mydearestbeloved @icefox8155 @loudlylovingcreator-blog @kaeyasoccs @rozuburedo @shineinouzen15

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #Loyalty of The Shadow

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malachitezmeyka · 9 months ago

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I always forget just how many love songs I have in my playlist until I’m having an ultra-love-repulsed day and have to try my best to contain my breakdown until I get home

#21 out of 61 songs are related to love in some way #and it always feels like my playlist is trying to give me as many in a row as it can #must’ve gotten like 5 one after the other while walking home today #it’s too much of a hassle to keep taking my phone out of my backpack to switch songs so I just grit my teeth and bear it #and I know my playlist literally can’t read my mood. it’s not sentient. it’s a program #but when I’m so strung out it really does feel like it’s doing it on purpose #and hearing those songs makes everything so much worse #days like these I cannot stand any mention of love or romance or sex or anything else of the sort #I can’t read or think about it without feeling awful #can’t draw can’t write can’t watch shows. nothing #worst thing is I never know when I’ll be having a day like this so I can’t prepare by isolating myself or anything #like preparing a separate playlist with no love songs #bc the only way to find out is to get triggered #which… isn’t something I particularly like doing. at all #and I can’t even indulge in my latest interests because guess fucking what it centres around #ughhhhhhhhh. why couldn’t I have just stayed bi and not have to deal with any of this

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goldensunset · 5 months ago

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i want to properly hit people with the keykid dalia lore but unfortunately i’m a perfectionist and i believe text should be accompanied with pictures in order to have a stronger impact which means i gotta draw which means it’ll never happen

#i can provide the gist in text though #long story short there’s a kind of meta thing going on there #in reference to the fact that as opposed to everyone else’s keykids who actually existed when khux was online #and had their own personalities before the story was complete #whereas i came in late and made an oc for a story that was already long over #hence like i made her knowing she would die. doomed from the start #so the meta aspect there is that she’s kind of like aware that she’s in a story already over. she knows the future #whether that’s her own strange power or that she got a look at the book of prophecies somehow #but she’s too scared to try interfering with fate so she willingly plays along with the role that destiny has for her #she doesn’t want to risk messing stuff up #she hides the fact that she knows all this from pretty much everyone and it messes with her #for example she is already aware of strelitzia’s existence (strel isn’t that good at hiding lol. but dalia is also just observant)#she would love to say hi but she knows it shouldn’t happen #i imagine like fast forward to later people find out she knew about everything. and particularly lauriam finds out she knew strel’s fate #which has him furious bc why didn’t dalia do anything about it?#simple. because it was meant to be this way. as much as it breaks her heart #’dalia’ appaaaaarently. don’t quote me on this. is some pagan lithuanian goddess of fate/destiny #or something along those lines #it also means like ‘branch’ or ‘bough’ in hebrew/some similar language so that’s interesting ig #but i was going with the fate thing #just in general she’s a very shy and introspective girl. polite and reserved #loves cutesy wholesome things like gardening and reading #and like. Soul Crushing Knowledge #kingdom hearts #khux #oc: dalia

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seilon · 10 months ago

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more and more it makes me kind of uncomfortable (for lack of a better/softer word) to call my own characters ‘ocs’. because like. they’re from a completely original universe and from completely original intertwined stories and all that. so why would i have to specify they’re original in the same way someone would when referring to a character they made for a pre-existing non-original universe/franchise/whatever? by that logic every fiction author ever would be referring to their characters as ocs rather than just. their characters. you know.

#i guess you could say it’s different or something because I haven’t published any one Solid Official Work yet or anything but.#I don’t think that particularly matters? cause then you just get into policing what does and doesn’t count as Real and Official and that #inevitably doesn’t do anything good #idk man I know the term Original Character isn’t technically incorrect in my case but. I just feel like that term was created to separate #fandom creations from their source’s canon. or maybe to describe characters that don’t come from any particular established universe #or story at all (fandom or otherwise).#cause otherwise. why shouldn’t I just be calling them my characters. the characters from my universe and my works. which are #established and incorporated. it’s definitely not properly organized or set up for true publication (at least not yet. definitely possible #I’ll publish something as a consumable structured thing someday)#you just don’t hear established authors calling their characters ocs. because why should they? the original part is sort of a given.#hopefully anyway #anywayyuyyyyyyeuyyyhh sorry this is not important just has been on my mind the last few weeks or few months or more #kibumblabs #I guess there’s also a difference maybe between making characters for the sake of making characters- and those being ocs- versus #characters that are developed as part of a larger work/story #I definitely feel like there’s a difference between the two and how they should be labelled (but im not saying one is more valid than the #other or anything like that.)#like when I see a poll that’s like ‘how many ocs do you have’ I just kinda sit there cause that question. doesn’t make sense in #my situation at all. because it’s the same as asking the author of a fiction novel that question. what do I count as my ‘oc’#would that mean my primary characters? or vaguely my primary and secondaryish ones? or do you mean every single character mentioned #regardless of importance or prevalence? every single named parent or grandparent or boss or childhood friend or one night stand or etc etc #I feel like it’s weird to call those characters ‘ocs’ in the way the question is implying. but then what DOES count? it just doesn’t make #sense for something like this. right? it irks me a little

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crossbackpoke-check · 7 months ago

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BERGGY HAT TRICK NIGHT 🚨🚨🚨

#liv in the replies #the third period was absolutely off the rails and i’m so happy i ended up going to the game #bonus gratitude for having someone come with me so that i didn’t have to go alone which i am very good at but sometimes you like to share #sat next to very cute baby and very enthusiastic nice older lady who was a season ticket holder vibes all around were good 🥹#EXCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT THE ADS SAT WADE ALLISON AND WEATHERBY?? NO SHAI BUIUM FOR ME EITHER???#should clarify that i am detroit ride or die and this includes Grand Rapids but Milwaukee does have a special place in my heart #so i really wanted to go to this game to see my Teams (even if ratty isn’t on the ads anymore he’s in chicago)#AND as i knew. the ads play super physical so for the first 2 periods we chose violence not goals & then berggy said FINE i’ll do it myself #also i LOVE how feisty cossa gets when the boys won’t score or do what he wants. angry stick slams all day on the ice ohhh he menaces them #grand rapids griffins #okay i am so sleepy now i will check my notifs tomorrow but. committing to the bit of being less mysterious and telling u guys about stuff #neither of these pictures are particularly good i think but i was there and that counts for something

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exopelagic · 11 months ago

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dr who is a strange show

#so I finished 13’s run like two weeks ago? and I’m about to finish 9 #and it’s just kinda interesting how like simultaneously continuous and disjointed it is #10 was the doctor I’d seen most of before I started watching it myself so that was who I knew the doctor to Be #but now I’ve watched 13 and. she’s kinda It #and having watched 9 he definitely feels like an early incarnation which is interesting I think bc 13 is just so tired of everything. 9 isnt #like he isn’t NOT tired but he’s not hit 13 breaking point #also like. watching 9 has been fun bc it’s constantly like ohhhh so THATS where they were getting that from #stuff that like I’d seen in 13 that I didn’t remember from 10 but no she didn’t make it up that’s a callback #I don’t have particularly coherent thoughts if you were wondering just this like. swirling mess of how these people are the same person #it’s also just rlly strange to me that we’re not gonna get more 13 now like that’s It her run ended #and it might be because 9 is so clearly Done and he’s got one season that I didn’t have a chance to get as attached #and I didn’t ever sit down myself and watch 10 I just saw chunks so it doesn’t feel like he’s done yet #(but also I mean he did just come back. there is that. strange show)#yeah idk. I’m sure if I ever watch classic who it’ll be a similar case of seeing the echoes like. retroactively I guess #very appropriate to watch the time travel show incredibly out of order. debating whether to watch 10 or 12 next #unrelated but I wanna see the lupari again I can’t believe they gave us dog people and then took them away so quickly #karvanista my beloved I’m so sorry for what they did to you it was too big a thing to just leave hanging there in the narrative #but hey. time travel show.#I also rlly like what 9’s season has done with all the recurring plot threads like it Felt like it was building to something all the way #god yeah I just miss 13. it felt like they’d only just started getting into the stuff they could do with her and then it’s just Over #I feel like that might be the point of the doctor. unclear. will report back #luke.txt #doctor who #OH HEY THIS POST DELETED BUT ITS BACK NOW #just finished 9’s last episode and yeah it fucked

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imaginedisish · 4 months ago

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Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade.

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!”

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines.

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have.

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts.

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you.

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan.

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy.

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously.

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp.

“Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in.

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle.

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted.

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle.

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest.

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun.

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name.

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform.

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan.

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open.

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot.

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him.

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes.

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you.

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan.

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist.

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh.

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

#Logan Howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #James Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x you #Wolverine x you #James Logan Howlett x you #Logan Howlett fluff #Wolverine fluff #James Logan Howlett fluff #Logan Howlett x reader fluff #Wolverine x reader fluff #James Logan Howlett x reader fluff #deadpool and wolverine #Logan Howlett imagine #Wolverine imagine #James Logan Howlett imagine

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mostly-imagines · 8 months ago

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So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing.

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply.

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears.

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe.

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead.

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.”

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement.

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance.

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that.

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now.

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support.

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place.

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance.

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!”

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it.

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor.

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him.

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

#jason todd loves his gf #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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irndad · 9 months ago

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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flanaganfilm · 2 years ago

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Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

#midnight mass #haunting of hill house #the midnight club #the haunting of bly manor #physical media #streaming #piracy #torrent #film preservation

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