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stevie-petey · 11 months ago

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episode one: MADMAX

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him. “I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual. It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Summary: what does steve fear more ? you or the plague ? currently it's you, some guy with an awful mullet stares you down in the parking lot (gross), nancy invites you to a party from your nightmares, and you become an official unlicensed therapist for will. yay for junior year !

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, descriptions of PTSD (slightly), swearing, and general angst and exhaustion

Words: 5.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! welcome back to the rewrite, hope yall are well :) heres chapter 1 of season 2 !!! so so so excited and ready to dive into this new season. things get a bit darker, feelings get even MORE complicated, and poor reader just really needs to take a fat nap and maybe some reassuring words. shes more angsty this season, so buckle up

October 29th, 1984

You originally gave Dustin the phone number to Bookstrordinary in case of any emergencies.

Now, you’re really starting to regret it.

For the fifth time this week, Dustin calls you at work to beg for money. Him and the boys recently started going to an arcade that’s opened up in town and have spent practically every day after school there this year. Sure, you don’t mind loaning your brother a few quarters, but at the rate he’s going he’s gonna drain your next paycheck.

Just as you’re thinking this, the phone rings.

Right on cue.

Alex, your coworker, smirks. “How much do you think he’ll ask for this time?”

“If I’m lucky, only a dollar.”

“Will asked me for three tonight, so I wouldn’t jinx anything.”

You gape at Jonathan, who has started hanging around your job after school just to have something to do. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” he laughs, pointing towards the phone on the counter. “Answer before Dustin sends a drone our way.”

You sigh and pick up the phone, which is on its second round of calling, and put on your best customer service voice. “You’ve reached Bookstrordinary, may I ask who is calling?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

“Aw, I’m doing well tonight. Thanks for asking, Dustin.”

“I need five dollars.”

“Ya know, ‘please’ has such a nice ring to it.”

“... if I say please, will you give me the money?”

“No.”

Silence fills the other end. Alex and Jonathan are hunched together, trying to stifle their laughs. You send them a thumbs up, and they give you one back.

“You’re a horrible sister.”

“What!” You scoff at Dustin. “I think you owe me like, at least ten bucks now. Yet you don’t see me complaining.”

A loud groan, then an obnoxious scream. “I promise I’ll clean Mews’ litter box for a week straight if you just give me the money.”

“Tempting, and honestly I’d take you up on that offer, but I already spent my last paycheck on my Halloween costume. You’re outta luck.”

Dustin gasps. “You were gonna say no this whole time? You just wasted like, at least five minutes of my time! I could’ve been digging through the couch for coins by now!”

“Jesus,” you pull the phone away from your face as Dustin continues to shout. Jonathan lets out a loud cackle and Alex just shakes his head. “I can give you some money next week–”

The line cuts off. Dustin has hung up.

What a little shit.

“You remind me why I’m grateful I’m an only child.” Alex says, now walking from behind the counter to begin stacking some books. Technically your shift ended almost thirty minutes ago, but you and Jonathan prefer to hang around for a while. It’s rare to have some time with just the two of you (even if Alex is there as an unfortunate third wheel).

“Glad I can help.” You respond. Once he’s gone, you turn to Jonathan. “And you were right, Dustin indeed wanted more than Will’s measly three bucks.”

He laughs. “Figured as much. The look on your face was genuine disbelief when he asked.”

“Mhm, I’m scared these boys will turn into horrendous teens. The lack of gentlemen in Hawkins these days is astounding.”

“C’mon, I’d say I’m a gentleman. I mean, I’m riding on your bike pegs tonight to keep you safe.” Jonathan says, waving an arm in front of his body as if to present all his gentleman-ness to you.

“Sure, bee.” Although, he has a point. Joyce has the car tonight so she can drive Will to the arcade and Jonathan doesn’t like you biking home in the dark. After what happened last year, none of the Byers are particularly keen on letting their loved ones go off alone at night. So, to ensure your safety, Jonathan has started riding on your bike pegs all the way home.

It’s endearing really, wholly unnecessary, but endearing.

Jonathan flicks your nose. “Who else would be such a gentleman to you? Steve?”

Hearing Steve’s name sends a wave of varying emotions through you. Guilt, shame, remorse, longing. You miss him. You really, really miss him.

“I thought we agreed to stop talking about Steve.” You mumble, now busying yourself with a piece of paper on the counter.

After Will was found last year, you and Steve had gotten really close. He’d spend hours bugging you at work, he’d gotten you such a lovely Christmas gift that still hangs on your wall, and you’d grown close with him in a way you haven’t before with anyone else. He would’ve done anything for you, he cared about you with such genuineness, and you couldn’t handle it.

Summer came and the heat that came with it scared you.

You’d pushed Steve away, severed any connection you had to him. It was easier when you didn’t have to see him every day at school, but ever since junior year started, you’ve been in your own personal hell.

Steve walks past you in the halls without batting an eye. He doesn’t look your way, like the months you spent learning every inch of his wonderfully unique brain and the moles scattered along his face never happened; he doesn’t give you that smile that makes your knees weak. He’s avoided you like the fucking plague, which you can’t blame him for, but it’s only made things more awkward between him, Jonathan, Nancy, and you.

Jonathan sighs. “I’m sorry, bug. I just… he seemed good for you, ya know? I was actually starting to like the guy before you suddenly stopped hanging around him.”

You play with the piece of paper, hoping that if you don’t respond then Jonathan will just drop the subject, but a thought seems to cross his mind.

“Wait a minute. Steve didn’t like, hurt you or anything, right?” You don’t respond again and now he’s starting to get worried. “Y/N, I’m serious. Did he do something to you?”

The irony of the situation is so comical you want to laugh. Here Jonathan is, demanding to know if Steve hurt you and if that’s why you’ve stopped being his friend, when in reality it’d been Jonathan who hurt you. Jonathan, your oldest and dearest friend, is the reason you’re so fucking terrified of letting Steve in. Of falling in love with him.

You’re already in love with Jonathan, you can’t put yourself through any more hurt.

But fuck, you miss Steve. You’d come to rely on him and his obnoxious sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. The way he so effortlessly filled the room with warmth.

“Relax, bee. He didn’t do anything. I just wanted to focus on Will and the boys more.” You lie through your teeth.

He gives you a funny look. “I know you care about the boys, but you know they’d want you to have some other friends.”

“I have you, that’s all I need.”

It’s all I can afford.

“Bug, I’m worried about you. You’ve all but thrown yourself into school, you work non stop here, and when you finally have some free time you’re spending it researching child psych for Will–”

“Just drop it, Jonathan!” You finally snap at your friend.

He stops, surprised by your outburst. He can see the angry flush in your cheeks now and the slight heavy breathing you do to try and calm yourself down. Jonathan drops his shoulders, defeated. He’s been worried about you ever since junior year started. You’re more withdrawn, you look like you haven’t slept at all, and now you don’t even feel comfortable telling him what’s been bothering you.

All Jonathan knows is that one day you were glowing while telling him a story about Steve and his stupid jokes, then the next day you looked frail and sickly as you told him that Steve was no longer visiting you at work.

Something happened between you two, he’s just not sure what or how to even help.

For once, Jonathan is at a loss.

–

“And then she chased Mike all the way down the street for her money! He got away!” Jonathan finishes his story with a grand flourish, laughing and hitting his steering wheel as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

You let out a weak laugh, exhausted from the night before. It’s early morning and you’re in the school parking lot, hanging in Jonathan’s car as always, and you feel like utter shit. You stayed up late last night reading this journal you’d found in the school library about acute trauma in children. It had been fascinating and there were some things you thought could apply to Will. Before you knew it, it had been three in the morning and you needed to be up soon for school.

Which leads you to now: slouched in the passenger seat, sunglasses over your eyes to block out the annoying sun, tiredly listening to Jonathan’s recounting of his phone call with Nancy from last night. Apparently they’ve progressed to nightly phone calls now.

Lovely.

Without meaning to, your eyes start to drift shut. The car is the perfect cozy kind of warm and the late October air wraps around you as if to lull you to sleep. Jonathan notices you’ve gone quiet and pokes your cheek.

“If you fell asleep I’ll tell your mom and she’ll put you back on house arrest.”

You slap his hand away. “Don’t do that, then she’ll just ban me from your house.”

“You were up all night researching again, weren’t you.”

“If you have to ask, then that’s probably your answer.”

“Y/N–”

You put a finger up, using your other hand to rub at your temples. A headache is forming and you’re three seconds away from just skipping first period to nap in the car. “We aren’t doing this again. Drop it.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, it’s my job to worry about you–”

“And it’s my job to tell you to fuck off whenever you’re getting on my nerves–”

Suddenly a loud blue camaro comes speeding into the school parking lot, effectively drowning out whatever you’d been saying to Jonathan. The car revs its engine and almost hits a few students as it jerks its tires and then screeches to a halt, parking right next to you guys.

You and Jonathan look at each other.

“What the fuck?” You look out your window and are greeted with the sight of an attractive blond guy staring at you. His music is blasting so loud you can hear it through Jonathan’s windows.

“Jonathan,” you whisper, getting his attention. “Am I really tired or is there a guy with a god awful mullet staring at me right now?”

“He’s real.”

“Cool.” You continue to stare at the guy, unsure what to do. You’ve never seen him before, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that in Hawkins. He’s attractive, almost unappealingly attractive, and there’s a coldness to his beauty that makes you uncomfortable. He looks dangerous, like he knows how much power his beauty brings him.

The boy winks at you, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and then gets out of the car, slamming his door rather harshly. It’s then that you notice the redhead girl, much younger than him, possibly around Dustin’s age, getting out of the car as well. She slams her own door and doesn’t even spare the guy a glance as she drops her skateboard down and rides towards the middle school across the parking lot.

Meanwhile the boy saunters inside, a lazy pace in his step that also holds immense confidence. He’s cocky, cool and collected, and he takes one last look around, as if to survey his new claimed battleground. You notice a few of your classmates gazing at him with interest, which you don’t really understand. He’s hot, but his attitude alone tells you everything you need to know about him.

Once he’s gone, Jonathan finally speaks. “Who was that guy?”

“No clue,” your eyes linger on the doors he’s just walked through. There’s something off about him. “But I don’t think we want to know… C’mon, if we don’t head in now we’ll be late for our first class.”

–

During your lunch period everyone’s buzzing about some upcoming Halloween party. As you’re walking towards your locker with Jonathan, you notice a few pieces of orange paper being passed around. You don’t pay much attention to them, but when Nancy joins you two she eagerly takes a few from the girl passing them out.

Nancy playfully shoves the papers at you and Jonathan. “You guys are totally coming to this.”

“We are?” You ask, eyeing the flyer wearily. You have nothing against parties, but the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk teenagers in horrible costumes is frankly terrifying to you.

“You sure are, Y/N.”

“But Nancy–”

“‘Come and get sheet faced’.” Jonathan reads aloud. “Yeah, Nance. I think we’ll pass.”

Nancy groans. “I can’t let you guys sit all alone on Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Actually,” you correct her, annoyed by the assumption, “we have a tradition with the boys. We take them out every year to trick or treat and it’s always been fun. We won’t be ‘alone’.”

“No offense, Y/N, but spending Halloween with a bunch of middle schoolers isn’t much better.”

You make a face and look over at Jonathan for help, but he shrugs. “You gotta admit, it is kinda lame.”

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this–”

Nancy smiles at this. “See? Plus, I doubt trick or treating with the boys will take all night. You’ll be home by 8:00, and Jonathan will be listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut or something, while you, my dear Y/N, will be baking a fresh batch of cookies and throwing away all the candy corn you find.”

“Sounds like a nice night.” Jonathan responds, and you nudge your shoulder with his. It does sound like a nice night, one you’re looking forward to.

“I forgive you for your earlier betrayal.”

“Guys!” Nancy stops at her locker now, slight frustration in her voice. “Just… Come on! I mean, who knows? You guys might meet someone and–”

Her words are cut off with a squeal as she’s suddenly lifted in the air and spun around, Steve having snuck up behind her. Nancy now puts all her attention on him, he has his arms wrapped low on her waist and he’s wearing sunglasses inside like some idiot, and your heart hurts. He looks good, too good.

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.

“I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.

It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Steve, as if sensing what you’re thinking, risks a look at you. Your eyes meet his and for a brief second no one else exists anymore. It’s just you and him in the small Hawkins high school hallway, where he’s yours again in a way that’s clouded with “almost” and “not enough”, and you want to tell him how lovely he is and how horrible you feel for hurting him, but then he diverts his gaze and focuses back on Nancy and you’re thrown back into reality.

He isn’t yours. Hell, he isn’t even your friend anymore, and you’re the one to blame.

Once Nancy and Steve start kissing, you share a disgusted look with Jonathan and silently agree to leave.

“Young love, huh?” Jonathan jokes bitterly when you’ve left them behind.

“I hate it.”

And you do.

You’re really starting to hate this whole “love” thing.

–

The only highlight so far this school year has been you and Will growing even closer. When Jonathan told you that Will started seeing the Hawkins Lab people for treatment and to see how he’s been recovering, you pulled Joyce aside later that night to ask if it’d be okay if you spoke with Will yourself. Since everything that happened last year, you’ve only become more interested in psychology, and you’d be lying if you said Will wasn’t an interesting case study.

You told Joyce that you’d been doing your own research, reading journals upon journals, and she made you a deal. You could help Will as long as you also took care of yourself, that you wouldn’t place an even heavier burden upon yourself. Of course you agreed, promising her you wouldn’t, and that’s how your weekly chats with Will began.

Jonathan had been against it at first, telling you that you didn’t have to worry about Will because you already do everything else for the kids. You told him you could handle it, and secretly you liked helping Will because you were able to pour all your anxiety and complex feelings for Steve into research and studying. It was a win-win in your eyes.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Waters had been extremely understanding when you asked for Wednesdays off. After all, you’d been working at Bookstrordinary for almost three years now, so she was quick to make the accommodation.

Now here you are, another Wednesday spent at the Byers’ home. You’re sitting with Will in his bed, the both of you quietly scribbling with his crayons. You’ve learned that he’s more receptive if you draw with him, if you take your time.

“How was Dr. Owens today?”

Will pauses mid-scribble. “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’? Nothing else?” Your head is down so he doesn’t think you’re studying his reactions, but you keep an eye on him anyways.

“Yeah. I told him about my latest episode.”

“You had another one? Would you like to tell me when?”

Will thinks for a moment, and you tell him that he of course doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to.

“Last night. I was back in the Upside Down… and there was this… this thing.”

Now you stop drawing. “Like the monster we killed last year?”

“Different,” he shakes his head. “This thing was evil.”

Will’s eyes are darting everywhere around the room, and you can see his growing unease, so you decide to put the topic to rest for now. Clearly the episodes are getting worse, scaring him more, so you shift gears.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry for the episodes, but besides them how have you been feeling? Is school getting any better?” Earlier this month Will had confessed to you about the kids in school calling him “zombie boy” and treating him like a freak. You did your best to comfort him, and once you finished your chat with the boy you’d gone to Joyce to let her know.

Will sighs. “School is… school.”

You reach out and move some hair out of Will’s face. “I’m sorry, little bee. Middle schoolers are idiots, they’ll never understand how much you went through. I mean, I had to face that monster for only about twenty minutes. You had to hide from it for days, so you’re honestly incredibly braver than me.”

This gets a smile out of Will, which you’re relieved by. He’s been quiet lately, more closed off, and you’re worried that with the one year anniversary coming up, his episodes will only get worse.

A knock on the door, and then Jonathan pokes his head in. “Hey, guys. Mind if I join?”

“Actually, I think I should go. Bob’s been begging me for my cookie recipe, so I’ll leave you two alone.” You send a look Will’s way, a you better talk to your brother about this look, and he weakly nods his head.

As you walk past Jonathan out the door, you lean in close to Jonathan and whisper, “he’s struggling at school. Be gentle, kids can be fucking awful.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, silently thanking you, and you close the door behind you. While you want to help Will, make sure he’s adapting well, you also recognize your limits. He’s not your brother, Jonathan is, and you know he’ll be more open with him.

Joyce is in the kitchen with Bob, making some popcorn over the stove. He’s filming her with his ridiculously large camera and you can’t help but smile as you watch them. Joyce looks so happy around the guy, laughing more than she’s laughed in the last five or so years you’ve known her. She deserves this, she deserves a guy like Bob. Sweet, slightly silly, but good.

When Joyce sees you lingering in the doorway, she waves you in. “Hey, honey. Any luck with Will tonight?”

“A bit, he told me some of what’s happening at school. He still seems… off, but at least he was opening up. It’s a good sign.”

Joyce hums, but you can sense that there’s more on her mind. You look around to make sure Bob isn’t near, he’s busy digging through a cabinet to find a clean bowl, so you move closer to the woman and lower your voice. “What did Dr. Owens say this time?”

“Claims we need to just pretend everything is okay, despite the fact that it’s getting worse.”

There’s an edge in Joyce’s voice, so you’re careful with your words. “Well… I think he’s right.”

“You do?” Joyce turns to you, her voice loud with surprise, before she quickly remembers Bob is near and lowers it again. “Why do you think that?”

“I was up late reading a new journal I found about acute trauma in children. It’s been almost a year since Will disappeared, he spent days in complete fear, almost died… I mean, it makes sense that his body is remembering those traumatic effects.”

“So you think we should just leave Will alone, let him suffer through his episodes without any help?” There’s more confusion and fear than anger in Joyce’s voice, and you rest your hand against her arm.

“I know it seems counterintuitive, but the best studies we have all show that we have to let those who suffer from post-traumatic stress adapt at their own pace, through their own ways. They hate feeling pitied, and I have a feeling Will is starting to as well.”

Joyce turns the stove off and shakes her head at you. “You sound like Hop. I thought you hated the guy.”

“I don’t hate him,” you chuckle, now helping the woman peel off the foil and sprinkle some salt onto the popcorn. “He just reminds me too much of my dad, and we all know how that ends.”

“Well if you ask me, I think it’s because you two are so similar.”

You gasp. “How dare you!”

Joyce laughs and the seriousness from the previous conversation dissipates. Bob finds a clean bowl and together you and him pour the fresh popcorn in as Joyce prepares the drinks. They’re having a movie night together, and you want to cry because of how adorable it all is. Joyce deserves this.

“You know you’re welcome to join us tonight, Y/N. It’s Will’s turn to choose the movie.” Joyce tells you, but you politely decline.

“Normally I’d love to, but I should get going. I have some homework and I promised Dustin I’d bake him some Halloween treats.”

“Oh!” Bob turns to you. “Speaking of, you promised you’d give me that recipe of yours!”

You and Joyce share an amused look. “You caught me, I did. I’ll write it down right now and you have to swear that no one else will look at this. Deal?”

Bob nods, ecstatic, and you grab a piece of paper and quickly scribble down all the ingredients he’ll need and how to make the cookies. Joyce watches fondly, and you fill with warmth having pleased her. When you’re done, you hand the paper over to Bob and make him cross his heart, just to be extra sure he won’t reveal all your secrets.

“Scout’s honor!”

“Very good then, soldier.” You salute him, and then pull Joyce into a hug. “I really gotta go now. Can you tell Jonathan I said goodbye?”

“Of course, bike home safe, alright?”

You wink at her. “Scout’s honor.”

Bob lets out a loud cackle and you can’t believe that this guy is real, but Joyce is laughing along with him and you’re pleased she’s found someone as endearing and kind as him.

–

As soon as you get home you throw down your backpack and bunker down at the kitchen table. Your mom isn’t back from work yet and Dustin seems to be off somewhere doing god knows what, so it’s just you and Mews for now.

Mews plops herself on the table next to an essay you’ve been working on and you scratch her head as you work. You get lost in your writing, humming softly to yourself, enjoying this small moment of peace.

You won’t admit this to Jonathan, but he’s right. You’ve been overworking yourself, your body aches and your eyes droop with exhaustion almost every day now. But keeping yourself busy is what’s helping you stay afloat. The more you pile onto yourself, the less time you have to think about Steve and his stupid smile and stupid hair and stupid face.

In the middle of one of your sentences, Dustin flings the front door open and scares you. “Jesus, dude!”

He doesn’t spare you a glance, but when he sees Mews on the table with you he suddenly looks a bit alarmed. “Mews is here?”

“Yeah…? She’s helping me with this english essay.” You respond, confused.

“Huh,” Dustin thinks for a second, but seems to shrug it off. “Anyways, I’m home.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you gonna ask about my day?”

“How was your day, my dear brother.”

Dustin hops onto the table and shimmies his shoulders. “I met a girl.”

“What?” You drop your pencil in shock and Mews scatters, your exclaim having frightened her.

“Don’t act too surprised, geesh.” Your brother rolls his eyes, but then he frowns. “Actually, technically speaking I haven’t met her yet, but–”

“You have a crush?” You’re in shock. In your eyes, Dustin is still a baby, no older than six years old. And yet here is he, thirteen and talking to you about a girl.

“Yes, Y/N. Her name is Max, she has red hair and is new, and she’s totally awesome.”

Red hair? You remember seeing that girl in the parking lot earlier today. “Was she with that weird new guy, the one with a mullet?”

Dustin nods, so you poke him in the stomach and ooh at him. “I saw her this morning, she was prettyyyy.”

He shoves your finger away and blushes, which you find adorable. Dustin’s first ever crush, you can’t believe how old he is now.

“Yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s also just awesome. I think she’s the one with the new high score on Dig Dug.”

“Dig Dug?”

Your brother scoffs. “The arcade game the party always plays? Honestly, do you not listen when I tell you about my days?”

“Alright, fine. If you can remember what I told you I did yesterday, then I’ll apologize for not listening better.”

Dustin closes his mouth, unable to recall a thing.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick his hat. “Anyways, since you officially like girls now, I’ve been dying to give you some girl advice.”

“Y/N–” Dustin groans, but you shush him.

“First things first, always be a gentleman. Max does indeed seem cool, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a nice and polite young man like yourself.”

Dustin nods. “Okay, be kind. Got it.”

“Good. Now secondly, we Hendersons are charming people, so just be yourself.”

“Duh,”

“Lastly, if she shows interest, tell her how you feel. Better you’re honest and true about how you feel rather than hide it and sulk.”

Dustin snorts. “Says you.”

You look away from him, slightly hurt. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“C’mon, Y/N. When are you gonna tell Jonathan you love him? I mean, everyone knows you do, it’s about time you confess.” Dustin drones on, unaware of your hurt feelings. “And he’s obviously in love with you, you guys are disgusting to be around–”

“He doesn’t love me back.” You whisper, looking down at your paper. You feel pathetic, confessing this to your little brother.

Dustin freezes, now realizing you’ve gone quiet. He can feel your mood darken and he feels like shit for not noticing it sooner. He’s upset you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought he did, I mean the party and I all assumed…”

His words fade off, and you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. It’s embarrassing, you shouldn’t be pitied like this by your brother. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

“Y/N–”

You get up from the table and gather your things, shoving them into your backpack. “I’m gonna finish up this essay in my room, then I promise I’ll start baking those marshmallow puffs you like–”

Dustin jumps down from the table and blocks you from leaving the kitchen. “Jonathan is an ass–”

“Language–”

He doesn’t let you interrupt. “You’re cool, he’s stupid, and I’m here for you. Alright? Don’t make me pull a code blue on you.”

You wrap your brother into your arms, something he hadn’t been expecting, and allow yourself a small laugh. “No need for a code blue, I promise. Just, give me like an hour to sulk and then I’ll be as good as new. Okay?”

When you pull away, Dustin eyes you, but understands he won’t win this argument. The two of you handle your emotions the same way: alone, in solitude, away from prying eyes. He knows you just need some time to yourself, but he still feels like a jerk for upsetting you in the first place. “Fine, but if you’re sulking later I’ll flick your nose.”

You flick his nose and then quickly flee to your room, Dustin not far behind you. “Flicked you first!”

“Not fair!”

You slam your bedroom door and giggle as you lock it. Dustin bangs on the door, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. You tell him you’ll be out as soon as you’re done with your essay, and then go and sit down at your desk. Sighing, you dig into your bag and pull out what you need. Without meaning to, you look up and see your Spider-Man poster, your wonderful Christmas gift from Steve, hanging in front of you.

The small joy you’d been feeling vanishes.

The poster stares back at you, you can almost hear it calling you a pathetic coward, and you feel guilt claw at your throat. You close your eyes, remembering the cold from that winter day, and you can almost smell the cologne Steve had been wearing when you’d thrown yourself into his warmth. Sometimes, if you sit still enough, you think you can feel the ghost of his embrace.

You open your eyes.

Steve isn’t here.

Of course he isn’t here.

You exhale, feeling the familiar ache and exhaustion within you; junior year is looking quite grim.

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #steve: and i took that personally #reader: :(#bless them

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ivys-garden · 19 days ago

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Life Series Session Recap and Alliance Analysis

Pearl opens her episode clarifying she and Impulse did nothing wrong. Finally I don't have to write “get over double life, tumblr” every week.

Yes, another Saturday means another instalment of the Life Series. This session was far more chill and slow paced than last weeks, ironic considering that this week's Wild Card was a perpetual speed increase! Going from a complete time freeze to full hyperspeed. Naturally, this led to about a 7.5 on the madness scale, so let's see what those teams were up to.

The Final Girls - (Scott, Cleo, Pearl, Impulse & Bigb (not anymore ;3 ))

On the topic of Pearl and Impulse, Cleo decides that they will fully enable all of they're future actions. Yes, she might sigh when they talk about all the evil stuff they're going to do, but she's fully on board.

Right about now Scott is probably regretting being team mum for three chaos gremlins as he's already had to instruct them not to give Gem any more reasons to kill them & had to break up the fight that was issued once they all went Matrix mode.

Speaking of Gem & Joel, a new development in the great drama sees Impulse explain himself and apologise to Gem. She doesn't buy it but it's the thought that counts. During this apology Pearl, the attack dog, is ordered by Gem and Impulse to slaughter grian. So while Cleo and Scott go off to make friends, Impulse and Pearl pop over to Rens for some very serious murder discussion, with an eventual “let's murder Grian” party forming consisting of Pearl, Impulse, Ren, Martyn, Bigb, Scar & Jimmy. If even a fraction of these people stick to this next session Grian is pretty firmly doomed.

In other news Scott manages to make allies with the Bamboozelers through several means, including staring at Jimmy's ass. Cleo & Impulse have a little caving adventure and Impy manages to make a working Creeper farm that they may or may not be sharing with Renwood. This leaves Pearl once again building the tower, which is good since she has arguably to much experience in that

While building the tower we get more Drama! Grian and Mumbo managed to get a quick kill on Scott early on the session by digging a big pit under the tower and spleefing him in. Mumbo and Skizz later come back to this trap only to be discovered by Pearl. The Suits try to get her to lure Scott over, but Pearl is far to loyal for that…. But not loyal enough to kick them out, reasoning that it would be really funny if it happened twice. On top of this she negotiated the ability to kill grian without them stepping in, very useful given her current plans & the second spleefing doesn't work anyways, so no harm no foul.

No one would actually agree to luring their team to their Death intentionally… right Bigb?

I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm not. He's worked again every team he's been in except Nosey Neighbours. I guess the “B” must stand for “Betrayal”

Bigb pulls the same thing Pearl did only not under the pretence of a joke, when Grian is around to actually make sure his team gets the kill, actually agreeing to lure Scott and doing it INFRONT OF CLEO. This being the second time this has helped to them, Cleo immediately goes off to find Scott to warn him about the traitor…Scott still falls into the trap anyway but that was a skill issue on his part. Bigb actually tries later to gaslight Scott into thinking that he didn't mean to betray the team, which almost worked until he started saying Cleo was the traitor, which obviously Scott would never buy. Oh he also did this in earshot of Cleo so she set her attack dog (Pearl) on him.

Bigb also later betrays the “Let's Kill Grian Gang” and warns Grian about the plan to murderficate him. I guess someone hasn't gotten over Double Life after all.

The Fast And The Furious - (Joel & Gem)

Actually, the fast and the paranoid might be more accurate as while Joel is just off having a grand old time prattling speed bridging, Gem is terrified that everyone is out to get her and doesn't seem to understand that putting your base on the main path means more people will come visit.

Aside from sending everyone they can to kill Grian and disregarding Impulses genuine apology, the team due doesn't really do much themselves

Gem was officially the last person to lose a life though, with no less than 4 people, including 2 greens, having to help kill her.

Also Joel added racing stripes to the car and… it actually made it a lot less hideous, well done Joel.

The Bamboozelers - (Jimmy, Scar & Lizzie)

Jimmy has regained the title as most confident member of this team…scarily confident in fact, just this session he was able to steal a potential kill from Skizz & kill his teammates, get another good kill on Joel using Lizzie as bait, managing to turn his relationship with Joel around to become allies and reaffirming his alliance with Renwood. Honesty 100 IQ plays from Tim all around.

He did die once this session, but that wasn't his fault and was also incredibly funny to watch Martyn bimbo his way through traps made for Bigb and accidentally kill Timmy. Great job everyone.

Speaking of failed traps… oh Scar… he started of strong, absolutely annihilating Etho in slow motion and living up to the villain he shares a name with by tossing him off a cliff, but after that every single attempt to trap someone fails miserably and he's forced into a cheap kill on Grian that results in him calling for vengeance… wouldn't be to worried about that tho considering Skizz and Mumbo's track record.

The Spanners - (Mumbo, Skizz & Grian)

How are these idiots not dead yet.

They get one (1) successful kill this session, spleefin’ Scott. A trap Mumbo tries his luck with several times after this despite knowing the Final Girls already knew about it.

Skizz gets no kills despite Grians efforts. An attempt to build a super TNT minecart launcher is made… on Scars mountain… and Grian spends several.minutes explaining to his worst enemies how the trap works… and then he and Mumbo stand directly under where they know the TNT will land. Yeah obviously Jimmy sneaks in and pulls the lever to kill them.

A second attempt to launch TNT is made, but this launcher is pathetic and ends up being turned into a party game. oh, and then Grian gets hotguyed by Scar. Grian immediately screams vengeance and blows up the reputation board, ranting about how little it meant since he was in good favour… which only proved he never read the damn thing but it's the thought that counts.

In their last hoorah for this session the team goes on a proper hunt The Bamboozelers as they hide in Joel's car. Mumbo sneaks up to pure lava on them… and burns himself to death. He then tries to hypersonic pvp Gem and you can guess how that went. He then joins in trapping Gwm in a big hole and burning her, only for the kill to go to Ren anyway.

These guys are Doomed. Especially because Final Girls & The Family are allied with Scar & The fact that Renwood actively wants to murder them.

Predictions: Grian goes Yellow next session, Mumbo goes out-out and Skizz is somehow still Red.

Renwood - (Ren & Martyn)

We actually covered everything these guys did already, The Grian Murder Crew, Martyn being a trap bimbo, Ren allying with Impulse to make up for beheading him, really the only thing we haven't discussed is Martyns strange choice to make the first 5 minutes of his episode unlistenable

The Tuff Guys - (Etho, Tango & Bdubs

Etho finally admits they're the comic relief. Like any good comic relief, these three stooges spend the entire session failing at everything. Tango fails on the same trap 3 times. Bdubs almost kills himself in said trap. There's more fights and bickerings than you could count on 15 hands and a toe

Oh also Tango also perma-died to Pearl after going invis and being pumped full of arrows.

Honestly it's not a question of if someone dies next session, it's a question of who.

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haru-dipthong · 9 days ago

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Fansub Release + Analysis of Utena Ep 14

This is a big one!!

My fansub release posts aren't usually like this, but this episode is so jam packed with stuff I want to talk about that I had to write my translation notes as a series of essays. It's longer than usual so strap in!

First, a word on “The Mikage Seminar”

I’ve always found the translation “the Mikage Seminar” very strange. In English, a seminar is an event — a lecture. Yet “the Mikage Seminar” is discussed as though it’s not a recurring lecture, but a society or a school of therapy, or a cult (like scientology). In fact I did a bit of reading about scientology to try and find an alternative translation, and discovered that the origins of scientology, namely a set of ideas and practices called Dianetics, bears a lot of similarities to “the Mikage Seminar”. Both involve a type of therapy where one person looks into their mind and talks to an “auditor”.

The auditor coaxes the preclear to recall as much as possible. — Wikipedia

This in particular stood out to me! Mikage often says 「深く。もっと深く」 during his interviews (”Deeper. Dig deeper.”).

The Japanese word ゼミナール doesn’t actually come from the English “seminar” but the German “Seminar” (capitalised). According to Wikipedia, in Germany, and often in Japan, Seminar/ゼミナール is used to refer to a university course that includes a thesis project. So ゼミナール refers to a course of learning, rather than a talk or lecture. And it would make a lot of sense to call a system like Dianetics a “course”. Almost like a “course” of medicine — a “course” of psychological practices that you can join but never complete.

So it would make sense to translate it as “the Mikage Course”. But “course” has more meanings in English than just this, and in the context of a university this makes it sound more like a mundane teaching course. So I tried some other words: the Mikage Sessions, the Mikage Method, Mikage Psychotherapy, Mikage Therapy, the Mikage Movement. None seemed quite right. Until I remembered this post. ゼミナール is a foreign word in Japanese, why not find a foreign word for the translation? And so I settled on this:

The Mikage Seminarium, AKA The Society of the Black Rose…

Seminarium is Latin, and is where both the German and English derive seminar from. Its original meaning is “seed plot”, but it’s also just the Polish word for seminar. I really like how the Latin makes its meaning ambiguous — it kind of sounds like a location, kind of sounds like a society, and kind of sounds like a learning course. Because it is all of these things.

Anthy: では、香苗さん。失礼します。 Kanae: ね、あたしの事、お姉さんって呼んでいいのよ。もうすぐわたしはあなたの本当のお姉さんになるんだから。

A more literal translation:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Kanae-san. Kanae: Please… you can just call me “sister”. I’m going to be your real sister soon enough anyway.

The translation I ended up going with:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Miss Ohtori. Kanae: Please... you can just call me Kanae. We're going to be family soon. There's no need for the formalities.

Japanese honorifics strike again!

In English, sisters-in-law don’t ask to be called “sister”. That would be super weird in most scenarios, and this scene is trying to evoke a particular familiar feeling of closing a distance gap in a relationship. The audience is meant to relate. Changing how Anthy addresses Kanae was pivotal to this scene working properly.

わかりました。あなたは世界を革命するしかないでしょ。

I understand. Your only choice is to force the world to change around you.

This line is translated as “Your only choice is to revolutionise the world” by basically every other translation. The reason is clear — the Japanese is the same as when Utena pulls the sword out of Anthy, or when any of the other characters talk about “revolutionising the world”. However, in this context, I don’t like it. The nuance of the English phrase is quite different to the Japanese phrase. In English, it’s often used to describe new commercial products: “This new device will revolutionise the world!” It comes with an implied “for the better”, but has used to describe technological developments so unexciting that it can also feel hollow. When the student council talk of revolutionising the world, they sound like revolutionaries — the context makes it work. But in this context, it comes out of nowhere and doesn’t have any of that fervour, which makes it sound hollow and flaccid when it should sound sinister and manipulative.

I think a pervading throughline for all the Black Rose duelists is that they see their problems as caused by other people, with themselves being blameless. Rather than change how they approach their situation, Mikage tells them they’re in the right.

Your behaviour will set you down a path. If that path leads to your goals, well done! However, if your path does not lead to your goals, there’s only two ways you can achieve them.

The first is to change your behaviour so that it does align with your goals. The second, impossible way, is for the rest of the world to change such that your current path DOES end up leading to your goals. This second way is not possible in the real world. But it is possible in Utena.

Also I’ll just leave this here: “around you” → “revolve” → “revolution” 👀

Kanae tried to build a relationship with Anthy in a passive, non-confrontational, extremely Japanese way — the way she has been taught to behave, the “proper” way, a mechanical following of the social scripts. We don’t see a lot of their relationship, but the way she behaved and spoke of behaving towards Anthy is very very similar to the way my Japanese grandmother has behaved towards my and my brother’s partners.

It was unthinkable to her to change this pattern of behaviour. Her only choice was to change Anthy, change the rest of the world, so that her behaviour would lead to the outcomes she wants. You could describe this forceful bending of reality to be “revolutionising the world”.

この黒薔薇のある限り、私はこれから嘘の私を演じなくて住む。

As long as I have this Black Rose, I'm free from the lie I was living before.

Besides gender, growing up, and resisting change (which exist as separate themes but also all intertwine as one), another major theme present in Utena is the self and subjective reality. The self is explored within those first major three themes, but also in terms of how the self dictates reality with the Black Rose duellists.

Black Rose Kanae says that her past self was a lie.

It reminds me of all the times when I’ve been going through a personal trial and I’ve looked back on my past self and thought “How naive I was. I understand things better now.” And then after a while I realise I was wrong, and my first self was more right. And then later still, maybe I re-realise that the second self was more right! And so on! The reality of truth (or to use Kanae’s language, “lies”) is so subjective.

Who dictates knowledge production? Who decides what is true; what is valid knowledge? This is a question of sociology - and at the moment that answer is "science does, kinda". But science and academic systems are supported by capitalist structures and tainted by capitalistic incentives — needing to be published in a journal, issues of replicability, the barrier to entry into academia in the first place, etc, etc. In the future we may find our current way of organising knowledge to be archaic and primitive in the same way we look back at medieval scholars.

But what about organising self-knowledge? Knowledge where the only one who can really decide what is true is yourself. And the only one that can decide what yourself even IS is yourself. I feel like I have looked back on my old ways of conceptualising myself many times (not even counting the gender-based revelations) and thought it primitive and archaic, and NOW I truly understand who I am and how to think of myself and how my thoughts interact with my other thoughts. But I have no doubt that I’ll look back on this current self of mine and reject their way of thinking too.

After their heart is replaced by the Black Rose, the duellists themselves frame this change as a moment of self realisation, of clarity. Once the rose is inside them, they wake up from themselves, like I have countless times. Kanae says herself, “This is the true me.” Honestly, I don’t doubt it. I think that version of Kanae was her true self at that moment, given the things influencing her. Being brainwashed doesn’t make you less of a person, or less yourself. It just makes you organise your reality differently.

心を凍結させて作っただけの間に合わせのデュエリストでは、彼女は破れないな。

We won't be able to defeat her by simply freezing someone's heart and forcing them to duel.

Anya and I discussed this in depth. I originally translated 心 as “mind”, because that was the first thing that popped into my head and I thought that was the simple part of the translation. However, Anya pointed out that it didn’t make sense with the themes of self and subjective reality, and I strongly agreed, so I changed it to “heart” instead.

Anya suggested “conscious mind” instead of “heart” but I think heart is more accurate. 心 (kokoro) can mean heart or mind in Japanese (I find it interesting that those two things are portrayed as opposites in English), and that kanji is found in the word for biological heart, 心臓 (shinzou). When they say of the Black Rose "This is your new heart" they use 心臓. They also say "Your new 命 (life/lifeforce)" which I translated as soul since it sounded more hardcore and because "your new life" is a set phrase in English meaning a new chapter in your life rather than your life force. I think the idea is that they're freezing the duellists' ability to love and feel empathy, which in my opinion is necessary for them to commit to the unbelievably selfish act of revolutionising/reconstructing/bending the entire structure of the world for their own convenience.

A very special thanks to @dontbe-lasanya for being there to talk through all these themes and ideas. I'm incredibly proud of this episode's translation and I wouldn't have been able to do it without them.

If you want to see more analysis like this, let me know! And also follow this blog to see episodes of the fansub as they're released. You can find all episodes released so far here:

Rose divider taken from this post

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #utena #media analysis #utena analysis #translation #japanese #japanese language #langblr #official blog post #utena fansub

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buddiebeginz · 7 months ago

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Okay everyone listen to me Tim posting a B/T video (if he even did because his FB is private and people are saying he posted it but took it down) does not mean he’s saying Buddie is a no go and T*mmy is Buck’s endgame.

First of all let’s remember that Tim wanted to do Buck’s bi storyline years ago particularly back in season 4 and this was likely going to lead to Buddie (look at how the shooting arc was handled).

Second so much of this season has been geared towards Buddie. We had a lot of joint interviews with Ryan and Oliver (more than ever before). We’ve had Buddie talked about in pretty much every interview Oliver and Ryan have done both together and separately this season. This is not something that happened (to this extent) previously, it’s clear Fox did not really want them talking about Buddie. Also remember that if Buddie wasn’t happening and if Tim and ABC didn’t want them talking about Buddie they wouldn’t be allowing these kinds of questions over and over again. They would answer the Buddie question once or twice and that would be the end of it. Everyone knows how much people ship Buddie especially Tim. I'm positive he knows it would be really stupid to keep bringing it up if he wanted the subject to die down.

More importantly let’s look at how this season has gone we’ve had Buck and Eddie together more than ever. Tim even explicitly stated he was trying to put Buddie scenes in almost every episode. Look at how he answered that person about the karaoke scene. Tim basically said he was a Buddie shipper too.

Also think about this Tim knew he was going to have Buck come out and naturally it stands to reason that when it happened people were going to speculate more than ever about Buddie. If Tim has no intention of making Buddie happen and if his long term goal has been to put Buck with T*mmy as Buck's forever love interest (Like Bathena and Madney) wouldn't he have handled this season differently?

I'm not saying Buck and Eddie wouldn't have scenes together if the plan is never for them to be a couple, obviously not they're best friends but I do think Tim would have been extra careful with this being the first season Buck is out as as a bi character. Yet like I said we've had Buddie together more than ever. We've had them talking about sexual tension, dressing in couples costumes (when the actual pair that is dating didn't), singing karaoke together (even if most of it got cut), Buck talking about Eddie's cologne, Buck being a parental figure to Chris, Buck coming out to Eddie in a private quiet scene (when he only had two coming out talks this season), a buddie hug when we haven't had one for years, Buck talking about how he wished he could help Eddie when Eddie was talking about being sexually frustrated.

Most importantly though and what really seals the deal for me on why I think Buddie is happening is that Buck's entire bi awakening episode was focused very heavily on Eddie. Buck was NOT jealous that Eddie was getting to spend time with T*mmy in that episode (i.e. jealous because he wanted to spend time with T*mmy) he was jealous because Eddie was spending so much time and sharing parts of himself with someone else. He was jealous of T*mmy getting to spend time with Eddie and felt like he was being replaced. He thought him and Eddie had something special but then he sees the connection Eddie so easily formed with T*mmy and it hurt him.

We just haven't (as of yet) seen Buck really be willing to dig deeper to understand what he was truly feeling during all of that. How it was all about Eddie and not T*mmy. At this point all Buck knows is that T*mmy kissed him and Buck realized oh I like guys and he's reveling in the newness of all of that. At some point though he's going to realize none of this was ever about T*mmy and that even the main things drawing him to T*mmy were because of his similarities to Eddie. (I wrote a whole post about this episode btw)

But back to my point and that's why would Tim make a whole episode about how Buck obviously has feelings for Eddie and make it in the same episode where the audience (especially the general audience) realizes that Buck isn't straight? Why do that if Buddie isn't in the plans? If Tim's goal is B/T he still could have had something with Buck being jealous. What if T*mmy was hanging out with Chim and the rest of the 118 and he started being friends with all of them. They could have had it where Buck felt threatened kind of like he did in season 2 with Eddie but what it really was about was that Buck liked T*mmy and didn't know how to express that. What I'm saying is that Tim wasn't backed into a corner with this bi Buck storyline and T*mmy there were so many different ways he could have told it. He chose to tell it where it revolved very heavily around Eddie. Buck was even talking about Eddie right before and after he kissed T*mmy what exactly are we supposed to take away from that?

I know B/T stans like to say we just see what we want to see but decisions like having Eddie feature so heavily in Buck's coming out ep aren't made on a whim these are very deliberate especially when the powers that be know how much people ship these characters. Very specific choices have been made to tell a story with Buck and Eddie this season that is leading them towards the same goal and that's eventually together. If you're not seeing that it's because you don't want to.

There's also the fact that if B/T is the ship we're supposed to be rooting for if it's the ship that's going to be as big to 911 as Bathena and Madney (at least according to B/T fans) why has there been so little focus on them? I know some people might say it's a shorter season and they already have so much to fit. Or that they're trying to go slow with B/T's story but here's the thing they rushed into having Buck come out to the audience in one episode and then rushed into having him come out to all the other characters a couple of episodes after that. If Tim wanted more focus on B/T there would be. They also wouldn't even have to do much with them. We've barely even seen them have an actual conversation and the few times we have most of it has been when there has been some kind of uncomfortableness or annoyance between them. Like when Buck was full of anxiety during the date (and then T*mmy made that closet joke) or when Buck was upset about T*mmy not dressing up and T*mmy seemed annoyed.

I don't know I've watched a ton of different shows and to me this doesn't feel like how you build a ship you want the audience to root for. And I'm not saying that you can't have two people at odds and then have them get together. I love a good enemies to lovers thing but that's not what this is. To me the show is trying to tell us that Buck and T*mmy have an attraction but they really aren't on the same wavelength in other areas. Plus the show is always having Buck either talking about Eddie or having Eddie show up. Like when Buck came out to Maddie and was more concerned about lying to Eddie than his date going bad. We had Maddie literally Telling Buck if he had something to tell Eddie he'd tell him in his own time. What am I supposed to think about a line like that? Or when you had Eddie there during the whole scene with B/T at the karaoke bar or how the scene immediately cut from the B/T hospital kiss to Eddie. Plus we haven't even had a mention of T*mmy since 7x06 and now we're going into the finale. You'd think that they would have at least had Buck mention T*mmy during that date night scene where Buck was watching Chris for Eddie but no instead we had Buck being rather flirty with Eddie talking about his cologne and throwing popcorn into his mouth.

Now let's look at this video. There’s a high probability Tim didn’t even watch it. It’s long and not good in my opinion (I saw it before today). B/T stans call us delusional but they’re yelling about how Tim must believe in this bs invisible string theory they came up with and because it’s mentioned in that video. But here’s what the cover looks like

And this is why I think Tim posted it (if he even did) because it’s not about what’s in the video it’s about the title.

Has 911 found Buck’s perfect match?

This is what Tim wants us thinking about going into the finale. Is T*mmy the perfect match for Buck? Some like to think so but we know there is someone better and Buck is going to realize that.

No matter what happens with Buck and T*mmy at the end of this season and even if they're still together going into season 8 I 100% don't believe that T*mmy is meant to be Buck's endgame. Buck is for all intents and purposes the shows main character. We were basically introduced to the show through him we've watched him have the most growth, tim is not going to give him some lackluster love story.

Most primetime shows have a couple that the audience can root for. A couple where the audience isn't sure if they're going to get together but everything happening with them makes you want to see it happen so it keeps the audience tuning in waiting for the day it finally does. 911 had that for a long time with Madney before they got together and then later when they broke up and got back together. But now that they and all the main couples are happily married and rather settled 911 has no main couple like that not one that will garner media and audience attention, except oh wait they do it's Buddie. If B/T were going to be the couple they were betting on we would have had at least one Oliver and Lou on screen interview by now talking about them and we haven't. We definitely would have had more press promoting the couple but we haven't. The focus like I said before is on Buddie. The focus in the episodes is towards Buddie, the focus in the media, it's all a bright neon flashing sign that says BUDDIE. Nothing is pointing towards B/T in actuality I think Buck and Taylor may have even had more press than B/T has gotten so do with that information what you will.

I know a lot of you will hear about Tim posting this and think that's it Buddie is dead in the water but it's just not true. We are closer than ever to Buddie happening I promise you. We just have to be patient and let the story play out. Please don't pay attention to all the negativity coming from that other ship in fandom. Block as much as you need to so you can keep your peace. The best thing you can do right now is to show your love for Buddie as much as possible. Make sure you're tweeting about Buddie, leaving comments about Buddie on 911's official accounts (on ig YT tiktok etc), making new posts and graphics about Buddie on tumblr. We need to continue to be a loud (respectful) presence online and to remind everyone that we won't give up on Buddie.

Sending love to all of you ❤️

And remember:

#buddie #911 buddie #buck x eddie #tim minear #911 abc #911!#long post

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inklore · 2 years ago

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impetuous

premise: the little games you and joel like to play become risky when you almost get caught.

pairing: joel miller x smuggler!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected piv, established enemies with benefits, dirty talk, a certain clothing item being used as a gag, small mention of masturbation and bjs, hints of angst.

note: episode eight changed me as a person, the integration scene rewired my brain chemistry and i just needed to get this out before i collapsed from being in heat. the gif was made by me so don't steal pretty please.

part of this world but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!

“Shh, shh,” Joel silences you, just as a hard thrust of his cock has your mouth falling open, a moan filling the air of the damp shed. The crunch of sticks and gravel outside makes your already thumping heart beat faster against your rib cage.

Brows drawn together, the hands gripping onto Joel’s flannel digging into his sides. The thumb that was just pressed to the column of your throat—dirty palm squeezing your airway just enough to lower your moans, enough to make you wetter and less coherent—now moves down to where you’re bare and his cock is fucking into you. The rough pad of his thumb moving along your clit, “focus right here.”

Ignore the noises outside.

Ignore the possibility of getting caught by someone out after dark and up to no good.

Ignore the possibility of getting thrown in a cell by FEDRA because you two were out after dark and up to no good.

“Fuc-Joel,” you whine. Clench your eyes shut until all you can see is little white dots behind them. Try to focus on those, on the burn you feel from the tears that are now prickling at your lash line from how hard you’re trying to focus.

From how hard you’re trying to keep your mouth shut, to not getting caught—at least not before you’ve come.

Joel’s words “focus right here” mocking and blaring in your head like a song you can’t stop humming, a song stuck in your head, a song you want to bodily remove from your brain stem; your focus on the footsteps outside no longer the issue; your attentions shifting to the head of his cock, hitting every spot inside of you that makes your legs tighten around his hips more, on the burning pleasure he’s delivering to your clit right now.

You couldn’t focus on anything but him if you tried, and you’re trying really hard to focus that attention on staying quiet.

Which the two of you know is not your forte, in and out of this situation.

The countless times when Joel’s not fucking you come to the forefront of your mind of him complaining about your need to argue, to talk talk talk, instead of the two of you doing a trade, or making the other come.

“Anyone ever told you you talk too much?”

"Well, one of us has to do the talking, Mr. Resting Grump Face. Besides, you’d be bored if I didn’t make you work for what you came for.”

“That what you call it? Workin’ for it? You mean until I give you what you want because you can’t seem to ask for it unless you’re deliverin’ me bad news,” he had smirked. Wiped the grin from your face and covered it with his mouth seconds later as he backed you into the wall, groin grinding against your front. “I got better uses for that mouth.”

The scrape of the metal table your ass is on moves each time Joel thrusts, each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls over and over. If it weren’t for his jeans still covering half of him, the sounds of your skin moving against each other—and your wetness that was more than likely staining the front of his jeans, the small window in the back doing little to help light anything but his face and neck—would cover up the mewls and cries making your throat hoarse and raw each time they slip out when you fight to swallow them down.

“The only way you know how to be quiet is with my cock in your mouth.” There’s humor in his tone; his heavy breaths add more heat to your face. You feel his free hand run along your leg, moving it from his hip for half a second as he pulls your underwear from your calf and over your ankle until it’s in his palm and he’s pushing the material into your mouth.

You can taste the remnants of your arousal on the cotton, from even before the two of you started your little game. When it was still just a simple trade of stolen items and things your boss was too cowardly to hand off to the big bad grump. When he had just been scowling at you, listening to your bullshit story, and bidding the time until one of you cracked. Before both of you threw the items to the side and Joel’s hands were bending you over the nearest surface or pushing you to your knees.

You swallow around the material, your whimpers caught by the fabric and barely audible. His lips press against the material, barely touching your lips; the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own as he presses it against yours. “Focus on comin’ for me, take what you came for. C’mon. Come with me,” he grunts. Moves his hips in a way that has your eyes rolling back and your teeth biting the salvia-soaked cotton.

The hand not rubbing fast circles on your clit, cups the back of your skull. His dirty fingers wrapped in your hair, keeping you in place. Keeping you bent at the perfect angle so your hips can meet his. So his thumb has access to that nerve that’s making your toes curl—to push his cock further and further into you so the tip hits something pleasurably painful.

When you’re coming, when his name is muffled against your underwear and your nails are clinging and digging into his skin from the searing heat that has your body convulsing against him—"That's it, that's it, take it” murmured against your forehead—you feel him finish seconds later. Your walls clenching and spasming around his cock. A deep grunt breathed against your skin.

Your insides feel warm, like jell-o left out in the sun. Like if Joel never moved from between your legs and the two of you stayed connected forever, you wouldn’t mind.

And after he’s pulled out and his warmth is gone from your body, you quickly shoot down the disappointment rising up inside of you that he didn’t stay between your legs longer. That this part of the night is over, and now you’re back to the game.

To the reason you snuck out after dark to begin with.

Completely denying yourself any opposing thought that could put that reason into question. The two of you have been doing this for too long for your mind to think it’s something it isn’t.

Even when he doesn’t just take what he came for and leave or shoot you a scowl when he helps you find your pants, the way you expect him to.

Or how he doesn’t let you go first no matter how much arguing you do against it—how he makes sure the coast is clear before signaling it’s safe. Him hanging behind to—cover his ass, you’re sure—make sure when you slip down the dark alleyway, no one is there to catch you sneaking away into the night.

And later, when you’re laying in bed, you’ll chalk up the pounding need you feel again as you remember Joel’s rough fingers against you—your jaw, your neck, digging into your sides, your shoulder to keep you from moving anywhere but against him, anywhere but where he wouldn’t be inside of you—and his words still playing in your head “focus right here, come with me”, your heart will pick up, and you’ll have no choice but to sedate the ache you feel by making yourself come. Joel’s name on your tongue and bit into your bottom lip; you’ll blame it on his stupid mouth and your lack of options for sexual partners in this hell hole.

It won’t be because of an attachment or attraction of any kind.

Fuck that.

And tomorrow, when you tell Robert to do his own fucking deliveries, it won’t be because of your feelings but instead because you almost got caught last night. This little game becoming more of a risk than entertainment for you, and you’ll be damned if you get in the mix with FEDRA over Joel and the underlying need the both of you have to pick each other apart and pull the hatred you harbor inside out with teeth, tongues, and fingers that make you see stars.

But Robert is spineless, and you’re not convincing enough to make yourself believe you want to end anything with Joel.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fics #joel miller fics #joel miller x smuggler!reader #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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grandlinedreams · 1 year ago

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|| no regrets tbh that tanktop episode fucked me up

[Heads up!: ab riding, cum eating, filth, afab!reader, oral (m recieving)]

You're really not sure how you got into this situation.

Perhaps it'd been a smart-alec comment with just a little too much teasing, a touch that lingered too long, or maybe it was Law himself in that damn tank top ㅡ whatever the reason, it's culminated in your current position. Legs on either side of Law's torso, white tank top shucked up to his pecs, your hands planted against warm, tanned skin to balance as you work your soaked core against the firm set of his abs.

Law watches you, lips kiss swollen and hair wild from the drag of your fingers through it, eyes locked on the shine of your arousal on his skin.

"You're making a mess," he rasps, voice low and husky, "gonna clean it up once you're done?"

Your answer is a whimper and a jerky nod, the curl of your fingers against his chest as you grind down harder. There's something deliciously debauched about doing this, igniting the build of pleasure even further.

Your thighs burn with the way you rock your hips, and Law groans quietly at the dig of your fingernails into his skin. The abundance of slick makes it hard to get good traction against his abs and you whine, frustrated as the rising crest of your orgasm begins to stall.

Sensing your struggle, Law lifts a hand and slides it down to meet the roll of your hips, strategic position of a curled knuckle allowing you to work your neglected clit against it and you shudder as hot need slams back into you.

It doesn't take long for your hips to stutter as your orgasm washes over you. Stilling, you whine as you clench around nothing, soaking his skin even further in you. You breathe hard as you come down, barely registering the gentle rub of Law's fingers against the too-hot skin of your cheek.

"Feel good?" He asks and you swallow hard as you nod, feeling the thread of his fingers into your hair before he pushes down. It isn't rough by any means, but you get his intention. "Clean up."

There should be shame for how easily Law pushes you down the plane of his abdomen, but the only thing that flares in your veins is leftover arousal as you drag your tongue against his skin.

Law tracks your movement, the reflexive shudder and twitch of the muscle beneath his skin, rise of gooseflesh when you exhale slowly against the damp trail you leave.

You lick his abdomen clean of every trace of your slick, and Law hisses when you palm at him, making his hips buck against your hand. Want is beginning to stir within you again, driving the way you tug at his pants, freeing him from the confines.

Law's jaw locks around a groan when you begin stroking him, thumbing the tip to slide precum along his shaft before you pull away. The warmth of your mouth interrupts his protest, earning a choked grunt from him as you suck, pinning his hips so that he doesn't make you choke.

His dick is heavy in your mouth, hot as the vein on the underside pulses ㅡ and the noise that leaves him when you curl your tongue almost has you straying a hand from his hip to between your own legs to ease some of the reigniting heat.

Law tries not to pull your hair, he really does ㅡ and he makes a mental note to apologize for the way he fists a handful and pulls, guiding you roughly along his cock as he nears his orgasm.

You let him guide you along, trying not to wince at the protesting sting of your scalp and the ache of your jaw ㅡ and then Law's hips jerk, sinking himself as far into your mouth as he can before he cums.

You suck gently as he rides out his orgasm, swallowing and making him shudder before you pull off and crawl back up against him. "That certainly was something."

"Didn't know you liked my abs that much," he says, finding it in himself to smirk. "Much as I'd like to see you do it again, I have a couple of other ideas in mind."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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bloodreddemons · 10 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel Episode 1-4 Hot Takes! ~

They finally dropped. They are finally here, and I have A LOT to say. (Good & the bad, my opinions of course.)

Episode 1 was kinda boring and it just seemed overall weird and off. It didn't really pick back up that well, or align with the pilot too much, and the pilot slapped.

I feel like for those who haven't seen the pilot would be so confused with what is going on or who the characters even are. It feels like you also have to do a bit of digging to actually figure out other details.

I wasn't expecting to like Adam he was funny asf and I loved his singing. Love Alex Brightman he's great.

I can see what people are saying now when they were talking about the premise changing or being different, it definitely seems that way. It just feels like it's all over the place and there's multiple things happening at once. A bit confusing.

Charlie just looks weird to me I don't know why, I kinda like how she used to look.

Sir Pentious new voice is better. Again, love Alex Brightman. Lol.

Loser, Baby, Hell is forever, Poison, & Respectless are the best songs so far. Stayed Gone is ok too tho.

I'm interested in finding out why Lilith & Alastor were gone for like 7 years. I wonder where they went and it just makes me wonder if the war against heaven was possibly planned?? 🤔

I love Brandon Roger's but I didn't really like him as Katie Killjoy I think I liked the other VA. I just don't hear Katie, I hear Bryce Tankthrust.

I wish Vivzie designed Sir Pentious with more of a steampunk look since that's what era he's from so he's not wearing almost the same exact suit every other Overlord has.

Nifty is literally fucking iconic. I enjoyed her every time she was on screen even if it was for a short time. She's so funny.

I was expecting Vox & Valentino to have deeper voices but they still sounded great.

Velvette fucking ATE I was pleasantly surprised by her. I love her so much. She's my favorite of the VVV's and her singing is so good.

Charlie & Vaggie's fight wasn't that impactful, it kinda just came out of nowhere and seemed like something that should have happened way later. It didn't even seem like such a big deal either to be an argument.

I don't really like Vox as a person for letting Valentino treat Angel Dust the way he does. Just trash. He has to know about it.

Vox is just too obsessed with Alastor. He wants his cock soooo bad it's kinda crazy. It's the most fakest beef ever. Bad meat.

I like the new VA's they're amazing, but I do really miss the old ones. Most of them.

I think Vaggie's singing is better than Charlie's and that's fucked up because singing is like her whole thing.

Camilla killing the Angel wasn't that impactful because we don't really know who she is.

I don't really care to know how they will be trying to redeem people...idk I always thought that those parts would be boring.

So far I don't think the show was worth a 4 year wait....

Huskerdust WILL be canon at this rate. They might just be the best couple.

Charlie should have lit Valentino's ass up for treating Angel Dust the way he was. She shouldn't have listened to Angel and just fucked him up. Stop crying omfg!

I get that Husk & Angel are like in the same boat & all but....is being Alastor's minion really as bad as being constantly knocked around by Valentino?

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sl-ut · 9 months ago

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Hello there ;)! I have a smutty Agatha Harkness x reader request ☺️😈 so Agatha eating Reader and Reader is exhausted after coming but Agatha wants to continue, she gets impatient and makes a magic strap appear that she can use on reader

when in westview

pairing: agatha harkness x fem!reader

description: agatha’s gonna be in westview for a while, so why not take advantage of her apprentice’s memory loss? (set around wandavision ep.5)

warnings: SMUT!!! (mdni), swearing, unspecified legal age gap, reader is under mind control, THIS IS ENTIRELY CONSENSUAL, no use of y/n (for once lol)

words: 2.8K

date posted: 3/3/24

Agatha really didn’t think she would be stuck in Westview for this long. Sure, she knew it would be a few days for Wanda to come up from her own mind control, but she really wasn’t expecting to have to play babysitter every other day. She barely made it to the end of each episode without breaking out of her role and just using her powers to dig into Wanda’s mind and force her to figure things out.

The only consolation that she had was the fact that she was able to bring her apprentice into the Hex with her. Initially, she’d intended to leave her behind, but the young woman is just as hard headed as her master and refused to let Agatha away from her for even a minute, even if it meant that she would be under Wanda Maximoff’s mind control. At least Agatha was able to take her out of it for a few minutes at a time, but did it very conservatively to avoid causing too much stress on her brain.

Instead, she found some comfort in knowing that she was just next door in the small blue bungalow, always up bright and early to tend to her flower beds and fending off all of Westview’s finest bachelors, all vying for a chance to take the finest (and only) bachelorette in town, all blissfully unaware that she spent every other night with her face pressed into the silk sheets of the married woman next door.

Ralph was collateral, of course. At first, she’d considered letting him out in public, but after spending just a few minutes in the house with him she’d decided to send him off to be locked in his own little dweller, ready to perform when needed. At least others knew he was there, all she needed to do was say his name once or twice an episode and that was that. Plus, she was actively spouting about how lousy he was, so it made more sense why she was spending any time that she wasn’t undermining Wanda’s magic with the her young, single neighbour, always wandering over for a cup of sugar that took them far too long to dig out of the cupboard.

She sort of liked this version of her apprentice. Not as much as she liked the real her, but it was almost cute to see how innocent Wanda had made her; she was ditzy, in a cute way, she was so friendly to everyone, and it was hard for Agatha not to enjoy her doe eyes staring up at her all teary and sweet sounds of pleasure falling from her lips. She was everything that she wasn’t in real life, and though Agatha wouldn’t give that up for the world, she knew this wasn’t permanent and thought of it as a bit of roleplay to spice things up rather than a loss of someone she cared about. She liked the way the house was always spotless, and how she was constantly dressed in dresses you might only see in vintage catalogues (except for when she was weeding her constantly immaculate garden, of course), and how could she not like the constant variety of baked goods she had in her home? She’d almost growled at one of Wanda’s boys for reaching for a second cookie one time.

It was also nice that she didn’t ask questions. One of the reasons that she had initially wanted to leave her behind was that she was too damn nosy. Was she a good witch with plenty of potential? Yes. Was she a hard headed young woman that didn’t know how to follow directions? Also yes. Agatha knew that she would somehow end up getting in her way, and she couldn’t risk her letting something slip to Wanda. Agatha was able to do her job with her around and not have to worry about her going off and accidentally ruining her plan.

Like now, as Agatha muttered to herself as she hunched over one of her many spellbooks in her basement, she hardly even noticed the padding of bare feet coming down the stairs, nor did she notice the sheet-covered figure creeping up behind her until the sheet extended around her as she curled her arms around her waist. Agatha sighed, leaning back into the embrace and revelling at the feeling of her bare breasts pressing against her, only Agatha’s own shirt acting as a divider between her back and the perky nipple that had undoubtedly hardened due to the cool temperature of the basement.

“Aggie,” she whined, chin coming to rest on her shoulder.

Agatha smirked. She’d insisted that she call her that, not liking when she called her Agnes (though, as far as she was aware, that was her name), but she also couldn’t have her going around referring to her as Agatha.

“Come back to bed, it’s late.”

The brunette turned her head to peek at the girl, “I know, I know. Thought I could slip away for a few minutes, guess I forgot how needy you are, huh?”

She turned her head down and playfully sunk her teeth into her shoulder, only pulling away when Agatha barked out a stern hey!

“Go back to bed, sweetness,” Agatha pressed a kiss to her temple, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Those doe eyes appeared, and Agatha knew that she was gonna miss them when they were both back to normal, “You promise? You’re not just saying that to get rid of me?”

Agatha snorted out a laugh, “Please, I know you’ll be back if I’m not up there in ten.”

“Would you make it five if I told you I’m not that sleepy yet?”

Agatha raised her brow, “Again? Was three times not enough for you?”

She shrugged, “Four might do it. Or five…or six.”

Agatha was quiet for a moment, an uncharacteristically adorable pink hue covering her cheeks as a very detailed image of her body filled her mind, how practised she was in giving Agatha exactly what she wanted, her figure easily malleable under her touch.

“I’ll be up in five.”

Five minutes had come and gone three times over by the time that Agatha finally made her way out of the basement, rubbing at her eyes as she adjusted to the brighter lighting of the kitchen. She shook her head as she came across the limp, abandoned sheet near the top of the stairs, chuckling as she scooped it up and continued to the bedroom.

She could easily tell what was going on inside before she even pushed the door open. She could easily make out those desperate whines and whimpers of pleasure that she’d been so well acquainted with, even before coming to Westview. Agatha remained in the doorway for a moment, silently taking in the sight before her and thanking whatever gods or beings that had allowed her to witness such a thing.

She was laying horizontally on the bed, her head pressed into one edge on the mattress as her body spread itself width-wise, her feet planted and curled into the opposite edge. Her head was tilted to the side, eyes closed and lips parted to release her little sighs, back arched and hips grinding into her own fingers with an unsteady rhythm. She’d been pampered by Agatha, scarcely having to resort to such a thing without her partner present, so much that the scene was almost pitiful to watch–she seemed inexperienced, brows sitting low over her eyes and the corners of her lips curling down in frustration as tried to mimic Agatha’s movements with her fingers, not to mention the pathetic sounds leaving her lips.

Finally taking pity on the girl, she made her presence known, “I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to start without me?”

Her eyes snapped open, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her features before it was promptly replaced by another doe-eyed look of feigned innocence as her lips puckered in a pout, “You said five minutes.”

“I know, baby,” Agatha moved further into the room, gently closing the door behind her as she rounded the foot of the bed, standing over her figure and staring down at where her fingers continued to plug her tight little hole, “‘M sorry. I was thinking of making it up to you, but now that I see how impatient you were, I’m not so sure.”

Agatha had never seen anyone move so fast as she watched her fingers slide out and away from her heat, almost as if she was trying to undo her own actions.

“Please, Aggie,” She whined, pushing herself up on her elbows, “I need you so bad. I couldn’t do it without you.”

“No?” Agatha mocked, catching her wrist in her grasp and dragging her hand up to inspect her slick-covered middle and ring fingers, “These fingers not long enough for you, baby?”

Agatha wrapped her lips around her two digits, tongue sliding between and around them to collect every drop of her slick. She grinned wickedly around them at the wanton moan that she released, hips lifting off the mattress and tilting towards her.

“No, not as good as yours,” She whined, “No one’s are.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Agatha released her fingers, dropping her wrist back to the mattress and instead moving to glide her hands up her thighs, gently massaging the plump flesh nearest to her core, only barely grazing the thick thatch of hair on her pubis. “Maybe I will be nice to you after all.”

She barely gave her a moment to process her words before her long middle finger was sliding into her dripping heat, thumb coming to massage her clit with tight circles. Agatha smirked to herself, easily sliding her ring finger in as well thanks to the excess slick that had dripped out of her from the earlier hours of the evening.

She curled her toes into the mattress, hips slightly pulling away from her touch. She smiled sheepishly at her, “‘M sensitive.”

Agatha chuckled, “I know you are, pretty, but you asked for this, so stay still and let me make you feel good.”

She nodded, legs bending at the knees and pulling them up to press into her chest. Her eyes rolled back as Agatha’s fingers slotted easily against the gummy spot deep inside of her, a soft sigh of relief falling from her lips at the soft tickling sensation, quickly followed by a moan from the deepest part of her throat.

Agatha pushed herself forward, fingers still moving at an agonising yet forceful pace while her free hand pressed into the mattress next to her head. Leaning her body over top, she took in the sight of her heaving breasts, jiggling with every punch of her fingers and rising with every gasping breath. Agatha spared a moment to drop down, taking one of her nipples into her watering mouth and sucking. Her lips struggled not to curl into a wicked grin at the shocked cry as she gently clamped her teeth down on the sensitive nub.

“So responsive,” Agatha hummed, “Almost like you’ve already gotten your fill tonight. Maybe I should stop–”

“Please,” she whined, glossy eyes staring down at her wildly, “Please don’t.”

Agatha chuckled, “I won’t baby, as long as you keep making those pretty noises.”

The brunette slowly dragged her tongue from her breast, up her sternum, throat, and finally stopped as she came across her swollen and spit-covered lips.

“Open your mouth,” she spoke, any sweetness that her voice had held before completely vanishing.

She complied, wordlessly parting her lips just far enough that Agatha could get a clear view of the inside of her mouth, tongue lolling out in anticipation.

This pulled another laugh out of her, “Jesus, look at you already for it. I’ve made you such a little slut for me, haven’t I?”

She didn’t give her a moment to respond before she was hurling a fat wad of spit onto her tongue, fingers quickly coming to press into the pink muscle and massage the saliva into it, grinning widely as she watched the girl eagerly swallow the fluid on command.

“Good girl,” The brunette woman muttered under her breath at the tell-tale sensation of her inner walls clenching around her fingers, though she made no effort to slow down or pull out and allow her to come down from the high, instead pushing her fingers even faster with the encouragement of the gushing liquid that dribbled down onto the sheets.

Number five had come even easier than the fourth, and Agatha felt an overwhelming sense of pride fill her chest as she finally withdrew her digits from deep inside her. Weakly, the girl reached down and took hold of Agatha’s wrist, pulling her hand up until her fingers were able to slip past her lips. She moaned at the taste of her own juices, hips wiggling subconsciously at the taste.

“You okay, sweetness?” Agatha pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek, fingers massaging small circles into the plush of her belly as she caught her breath. The girl nodded, returning the affection. “Good.”

Agatha pushed herself up, slowly tugging at the tied belt of her silk robe before letting it slide down her shoulders and finally drop to the floor. The younger woman took in her nude form with an appreciative stare, until her eyes flickered to the place between her legs, where a shocking sight stood at full mast.

“Aggie–”

“Shh,” Agatha soothed, “Turn over, I’ll make you feel good.”

“I–” She couldn’t take her eyes off of the obnoxiously large cock, visibly throbbing with excitement. It looked so real, aside from the fact that it was glowing a slightly purple hue. It was about seven inches, thick, and nestled in a thick patch of brown hair at its very base. As sensitive as she was, she still couldn’t bring herself to say no, shakily rolling onto her belly.

“Good girl,” Agatha praised once more, hands holding her hips tightly as she pulled them into the air, taking no time to slowly slip inside and inch her way further and further into her warm, tight walls before stopping to allow for her to adjust to the size. “How’s that feel?”

The girl whimpered out an unintelligible response as Agatha's hips pressed firmly into the fat of her ass, fingers curling into the sheets to keep herself grounded.

Agatha took that as a sign, making the first shallow pump of her hips. The sound that it pulled from the younger woman was nothing short of pornographic, encouraging another firmer thrust until her throbbing tip was brushing the entrance of her cervix, and within minutes she was humping her lover’s ass at a bruising pace.

Filthy sounds escaped both women, annunciated grunts from Agatha and slurred words of encouragement from the other.

“Ag–” The younger woman arched her back, unsure of whether to push against Agatha further or to pull away as her orgasm erupted without notice, gushing out of her abused hole and onto Agatha’s lap messily.

“There it is,” Agatha gripped her ass cheeks with each of her hands, squeezing and spreading them in unison with her thrusts, finding herself on the brink of her own climax at the sight of her tightest little hole, glistening with her own juices, “Now be a good girl and let me use you, yeah?”

One hand moved up to press against the back of her head, forcing her face further into the mattress as her hips picked up their pace, her thick cock throbbing with the oncoming gush of thick white cum, slowly dripping out of her and sliding down her thighs as Agatha fucked through it, head tossed back in euphoria.

When all was said and done, Agatha carefully tucked her lover into the bed, hand stroking her hair so carefully and with such contrast to how aggressively she had just been pinning her head to the mattress. The younger woman sighed, eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled into Agatha’s chest.

“Don’t get rid of that thing,” She mumbled mindlessly into Agatha’s milky white flesh, “I’m gonna suck you dry in the morning.”

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha: darkhold diaries

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rqgnarok · 2 months ago

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a house upon the hill - nolan price

love you better now (sequel, original work)- leave a light on (prequel part 1) - this work is prequel part 2 but can be read individually!

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 8,838

warnings: conversations about ptsd and ptsd episodes, aftermath of a traumatic event. canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader

summary: after being shot and waking up in the hospital, the relief of your survival is short-lived.

ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee!

author's note below!

The relief of your survival is short-lived.

You’re tired and in pain, the doctors slowly wear you off the meds and your answers to how are doing? gets shorter and shorter to anyone who asks. Your grip around Nolan’s hand tightens further every time someone comes and goes, and by the time you’re leaving the hospital the bags under your eyes are prominent, your cheeks sharper than they were when you first got there.

Nolan, the trooper, writes down and listens carefully to all the instructions given to him about your care. He packs your bags with all the things he brought from your appartment and the get-well-soon gifts given by family and friends. He doen’t notice you shifting restlessly as he struggles to manhandle the wheelchair, regarding it with distrust.

“Okay,” he says faux brightly, hands at his hips and looking between you and the wheelchair. “You ready to get out of here?”

Your smile is brittle as you nod. That should be Nolan’s first clue, how you don’t rise to the banter at the first chance of it. “Alright, come here. The nurse will kill me if I let you pop your stitches.”

Your jaw tightens but you go, holding onto Nolan and digging your fingers into his arms when you rise off the bed and your body feels like it’s being lit on fire. You curse under your breath and Nolan catches it, tries to meet your eye while you struggle to conceal how much you’re hurting.

“If you need a second–”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you can’t push yourself too hard,” he reminds you as if you don’t know. “This type of thing doesn’t heal overnight. We can take as long as you need.”

“I just want to go home,” you say, and it sounds so much like begging it makes you sick, makes you mad. “Just– can you just help me out here, please?”

“You just gotta–”

Your reply is biting. “I know, Nolan.”

The room is engulfed by silence. His hands tense where they’re holding you but to Nolan’s credit, he doesn’t let go, even if his mouth is now set in an upset, even line.Your guilt rises like waves but your annoyance drowns it out, and there’s no apology made as you finally sit in the wheelchair, exhaling in relief.

Nolan doesn’t let go until you’re settled in nicely, and even then he remains close; gripping the handles of the chair and standing behind you where you can’t see him.

You’re buried under two sweatshirts and a coat, but the lack of touch leaves you cold nevertheless.

Your almost-month long stay at the hospital has left your home rotting in neglect. Your furniture lays under a thin layer of dust and the dishes from your last dinner together are still in the dishwasher. The dirty laundry hamper is about to blow.

Nolan appears sheepish when your eyes inevitably go towards the chaos, expression unreadable. He’s got his arm around your waist and his grip is tight as you make your way through the apartment. “I was hoping for time to clean up a little before you came home, but I’ll take care of it, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you say, monotone. Nolan can’t really read into it, unsure if you mean it or not. Halfway to the bedroom, you dig your nails into his shoulder, pulling him to a stop near the couch. “This. Here. Here is fine.”

Nolan frowns disapprovingly. “You should really lay down.”

“I can lay down here,” you say, stubborn as always but through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna go to bed, okay, just– here is fine.”

Nolan visibly disagrees but relents, his mind still stuck in the way you’d snapped at him back at the hospital. You unclench slightly when he finally stops touching you, body limp on the couch. Nolan tries not to bristle.

It’s the first of many uncomfortable, tense interactions. You can’t move around the house on your own and stiffen whenever Nolan reaches out to support you. You’re quiet and short when you’re not, trying and failing to keep everything polite.

You drive each other crazy. Nolan works from home as much as he can and you don’t work at all. No matter how much you beg Cragen to send you some files, your day remains sans responsibilities. There are only so many reruns of Seinfeld you can stand before you’re making up a psychological profile for each of the characters just for the hell of it before you realize you’re losing your damn mind.

“What happened?” he asks one afternoon when you don’t come out for dinner. You’re lying face down on the made bed, curtains drawn shut. When you don’t answer, don’t move, Nolan’s voice turns sharp, calling your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you snap, muffled by the sheets. Your sigh takes over your entire body, pushing yourself up to glare at him. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. Cragen won’t let me back without a therapist’s okay, alright? But other than that, everything’s perfect.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?” he asks, sitting on the bed with a bowl of pasta on his lap. Your frown deepens like he’s the one who’s keeping you locked inside the house against your will.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen get shot in this job? I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says, quietly.

“You know how department’s shrinks are,” he has never heard you speak about psychological aid with such hatred. “But Stabler used to get a pat on the back and he’d be back to work within the hour. Go figure.”

“And look how that worked out for him,” Nolan says, the wrong thing to add, he can tell, for how you settle back into bed and refuse to face him. He sighs and speaks to your back. “What else did the Captain say?”

“‘You want back on the field, come to my office with discharge papers from Dr. Masters office,” you parrot in a poor imitation of Captain Cragen. “Other than that, he’ll be sending some paperwork my way. As if that’s the fucking point.”

Nolan lets the silence stretch, unsure of how to follow up. He flinches when you turn to scream into the pillow, raw and frustrated. You say, venomous. “Motherfucker.”

He leaves your dinner on the bedside table and leaves without a word like a chastised child, feeling like he’s walking away from something bigger than your wirldwind temper.

—

It gets better before it gets worse. There are days in which you don’t utter a single word and walk through the apartment like you’re haunting it; from bed to the living room to the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Nolan’s presence. Others, you’re out the door as soon as you’re physically able, disappearing for hours on end, phone off to Nolan’s alarmed dismay.

He calls Liv, Cragen, Munch, anyone who knows you and has the resources to pull a nation wide man hunt until he realizes you always come back and it’s better to welcome you than drive you away by asking questions. Those conversations usually lead to one of you sleeping on the couch and your injuries are still a little too tender for Nolan to let you pass the night on that old thing.

One night he leaves the bedroom for a glass of water and finds you standing in front of the open window in just your pajamas. The air is chilly and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it’s the look on your face that scares Nolan the most.

“Honey,” Nolan, bleary and confused, comes up behind you. You don’t even flinch. It wakes him up quicker than anything else ever has. Saying your name urgently, he wonders, “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine,” you say, detached, not even there. You blink, staring dazedly into the night. You don’t snap out of it as he leads you back into your room.

When he asks you about it the following morning you just stare at him, blank-faced, without a single memory of the event.

To no one’s surprise, Dr. Masters gently refuses to sign your discharge papers after two months of leave and therapy sessions. Cragen takes one look at you and caves, albeit hesitantly, to reinstate you to a desk job as long as you follow the mandated breaks to talk about your feelings in an office that smells too much like lavender and vanilla.

You hate it. Absolutely abhor it. Dr. Masters, just like everyone else, wants you to talk about the shooting and nothing else. It doesn’t matter that your memory betrays you, keeping the event locked away in some faraway corner of your mind. According to her, refusing to acknowledge it is refusing to heal from it.

It leaves you short-fused. Home is a few curt words of polite conversation before you begin to snap, annoyed at Nolan’s placid attitude. Even the squad begins to lose their patience, you find yourself in Cragen’s office more often than not, glowering like a kid sent to the principal.

“Talk to me,” is all he says, not we’ve already been too lenient with you or shouldn’t you be over it by now? because he genuinely cares about you, which warms and enrages you all at once.

“What,” you say, purposely dense, arms crossed defensively.

“You’re biting heads off out there like you’re a suspect for a crime,” Cragen replies, no-nonsense. “You’re not in trouble here, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not on me that no one gets shit done around here,” you lean back against the chair, tense shoulders and sweaty hands. “We wouldn’t be so slammed if you all worried about me a little less. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Cragen says, waiting you out.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you continue, rough. “You can’t hurt me. I’m not gonna break, Cap.”

“Everyone keeps asking what I need– I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m dead,” you say rushedly. You’ve started now and can’t bring yourself to stop. “I breathe a little funny and they’re on me, wanting to– to make me tea and give me casseroles that won’t fit in my fridge and ask me how I’ve been sleeping, I don’t need that shit–”

Cragen hums knowingly. Then, after a silence:

“How’s Nolan?”

You huff. “Fine. Fine, he’s always fine. Always looking for something to do. He’s cooked more these past few months than in our entire marriage, you know?”

“He’s only trying to help–”

“I know,” you snap. Cragen only stares as you pull yourself together, filled with everloving patience. It’s why he called you in, not to reprimand or punish but to let you breathe without people accusing you of doing it wrong.

“I know,” you say again after several exhales, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the ceiling, avoiding his eye. “Just because he’s trying doesn’t mean it’s working.”

“Have you thought of telling him that?”

“Sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, honey, can you not ask me how my day went? I zoned out for thirty minutes at my desk and picked at my scar until I snapped myself out of it.’”

“There’s help for that, you know,” Cragen says. “I heard they call it therapy, these days.”

“Name it, I’m on it,” you reply, smiling wryly. “Physical, for anxiety, for PTSD. I should get a goddamned discount.”

The Captain doesn’t laugh. Neither had any of your therapists, for that matter.

“I don’t want to be like this,” you continue after a moment of silence, unsure if you’re allowed, but Cragen only nods. Decades on the job have made him wise beyond his years, sometimes even to his own detriment. “You– I know what you’re all thinking–”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“–but I don’t–” your breath hitches. “If I could be over it already, I would. This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you.”

“No one thinks badly of you for reacting to something that happened to you,” he tells you, and it’s so close to absolution you could cry right here in front of him with all your coworkers at the other side of the door. You didn’t know it was something you were seeking.

“I can see how they look at me,” you say, quiet. “I know what they want, who they want. I just can’t give it to them.”

“What do you want?” he uses your first name and it disarms something inside of you. It’s an innocent enough question, but it reaches for your lungs and squeezes mercilessly.

“I want it to stop,” the niceties, people explaining your own PTSD to you. The racing thoughts, the breathlessness, the chest pains you haven’t been able to get rid of even if the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you anymore. Not physically.

You sigh and it comes out shaky. Your eyes burn. “I just want everything to stop.”

Two days later, you mistakenly say this to your therapist, who throws the question back to you with interest. “What do you mean by that? What needs to stop?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, infinitely more annoyed than when you’d been talking about this with Cragen. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you do know. And that’s what scares you, what has you lashing out over the simplest innocent things. Think about that.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to do all of the work here? I thought you said this was a partnership.”

Dr. Masters sighs, keeping careful watch over her exasperation. She writes something down, tries again.

You leave the sessions sans any breakthroughs but with enough recommendations to implement at home in hopes of finding normalcy in your marriage once more.

Try doing something together, the suggestion has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Have a movie night or breakfast together before work, host dinners with friends. Make your home yours again, is what I mean.

You try. It’s not a relaxing endeavor. God knows your work schedules suck even now that you’re both working half time, tempers gone through the shredder more than once. Still, you mention it to Liv and she suggests a double date kind of thing, and suddenly you’ve got a full dining table while a migraine inside your temples builds and builds and builds and–

“How you holdin’ up?” Brian asks casually, cutting off your racing thoughts like a record scratching. Your hands tighten around your fork and knife as you swallow down the urge to scream that washes over you at the question.

You think about the sleepless nights and the anger that comes out of nowhere, the inexplicable lack of patience directed at Nolan despite loving him more than anything else. You wonder if Brian would understand, having been shot before. If this is a good as any place to let everything out.

The thought fades as soon as it forms.

“Working on it,” you shrug simply. “Everything hurts and therapy’s a bitch. You know what it’s like.”

Brian snorts. “Fuck yeah, I do. Last time I went down I was so restless, Liv was gonna shoot me herself.”

“Hey now,” Liv says, but she’s smiling behind her wine and has a hand on Cassidy’s knee that inches slightly higher as she teases him. “I will say, going to work sounded like a dream just to get out of the house. You’re get better, though.”

“Hey, anything for the time off, I guess,” you say faux-brightly, a cynical twist of your lips that resembles a smile. “Next time I’ll make sure they shoot me somewhere less tedious, though.”

Brian scoffs and Liv shakes her head, but no one laughs. Nolan clears his throat after an awkward pause, obviously upset. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leaves it gently on the table as he stands, avoiding your eye. “Excuse me.”

He walks away and closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the living room falling into uneasy silence. You pipe up with dark humor, “You think I’d get more time of if I was stabbed?”

The fight after Liv and Brian leave is a massive, unavoidable bloodbath.

There’s relief in the heat of it all, in a fucked up way. All the pent up agression you’ve been harboring finally has an opponent, even if Nolan doesn’t know he’s bringing knives to a gunfight.

“I hate when you say things like that and you know it–”

“It was a joke, Nolan, for Christ's sake–”

“Well, it’s not funny. For none of us, Liv was there with you in the ambulance and I–”

“Oh, please, tell me how I ruined your life by almost dying,” you scoff, goading. “Please, honey, the floor is yours.”

“Stop,” he says, firm, but his voice wobbles, and his eyes fill up with tears. You hate the sight of him like this and you hate to be the one who causes it. Still, the part of you aching for chaos, for emotion, can’t help but to press at the bruise. “I’m not doing this, I’m not having this argument with you.”

“You don’t have any arguments with me!” you exclaim in disbelief. Nolan purses his mouth in discontent and look away. “You tell me how to feel, what to do, what this whole thing has been like but the second I try to have an actual conversation it’s like your eyes glaze over and you’re fucking gone–”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Nolan snaps, tear stained cheeks glittering against the warm light of the bedroom. He hasn’t stopped crying ever since you came home. You hear him sometimes when he locks himself in his office or in the bathroom in the middle of the night. “Getting Liv’s call, the hospital, watching you like that–”

“This didn’t happen to you, Nolan!” you scream. The world has taken a sharper edge after the shooting, and all you can do is attack it likewise. “I laid in my own blood hoping someone would notice I was gone. I wasted away in the hospital for weeks, I am living a life where not a damn thing is right!”

“I’m drowning here,” your voice breaks, losing all its volume and vehemence. “And all everyone keeps telling me is how they feel about it, how I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m not. I’m not, Nolan. For the love of God, can we make this about me for half a second?”

“You,” Nolan begins, but it gets caught up in his throat, dissolves into nothing before you can hear what it is. Nolan shakes his head, adamant. “I’m not doing this.” He gathers his things all while you desperately call his name. The door closing behind him echoes through the apartment not unlike a gunshot in your ear.

That same week, Nolan goes to therapy.

He doesn’t tell you about it, just like he hasn’t told you about the past couple of months worth of sessions. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually. It starts when a victim’s husband loses it mid trial and lounges at her killer right in front of God, the judge and a panicking Nolan. He’s sure he conceals his feelings well, yet his boss takes one look at him and stops by his office at the end of the day.

“Someone recommended him to me,” he says while Nolan traces the dark blue letters of the contact card he just handed him. “I haven’t been to him in years, but he’s good. If you don’t think he can help you then I’m sure he’ll find you someone who can.”

“I–” Nolan begins and leaves it at that. It’s such a quietly kind thing to do for him that it renders him speechless.

“It can’t be easy,” he continues when Nolan doesn’t, endlessly patient, oddly personal. “What she went through, what you’re going through. I’m sure you’re both doing the best you can, but if you ever feel like you need more, well. It’s good to have options available.”

Everything that’s been offered the last few months; the casseroles and the rides to work, home, the hospital, a shoulder to cry on– it’s all been about you, for you. Nolan appreciates it but there’s something conditional about the whole thing, like he’s not worthy of help unless it’s somehow related to his wife.

He loves you. By God, he loves you with everything there’s in him to the point of ruin, but this– this is for him. His boss is offering him a lifeguard he so desperately needs, and it has both everything and nothing to do with you. He gets to be selfish about this one thing, and the thrill of it drowns out the guilt he feels about leaving you in the dark.

“Thanks,” he says, choked. Nolan clears his throat, hoping it comes out with at least some of the gratitude he’s feeling. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The older man smiles, already at the door and saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow, Nolan.”

So Nolan goes to therapy. His first time on Dr. Rhymes’ couch he begins to weep before he can introduce himself. When he resurfaces from his grief, the man is offering him a box of tissues without a hint of judgement in his gaze.

He gets now why you come back frustrated more times than not after a session. It’s like pulling teeth, no matter how badly he knows he needs it. But it helps more than he hoped it would and the nightmares about your death slowly lose some of its gore. His once rusted instincts coming back to its brilliance in court after a week’s worth of full night’s rest.

He gets better. Starts to, anyways, but not you. In your dreams, you still bleed and bleed and bleed.

No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you.

You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry, panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body’s on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and, and, and, and–

Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth as the world fades to black around you–

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate mere hours ago.

You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, creased pajamas and worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. And he’s looking for you. Always, always looking for you.

You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags.

Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides. You focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants.

The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort of keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back to the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you.

He cradles you almost like one would a baby and you nestle against his chest, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” you croak against his heartbeat. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers.

His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.”

“Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. Everything. In the hospital and for fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your last fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain. I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to.

The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you.

“It’s stupid,” you say against your hands, hours later in your emergency session with Dr. Masters, wet and high-pitched. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You don't elaborate. She gently goads. “What is?”

“It’s so simple,” your voice drips with disbelief, muscles coiled tight. “It’s so– it was one bullet. One second, and I’m– I can’t let it go. Why can’t I let it go?”

No answer, but you don’t need it. You’re already on a roll. “I’m okay. I’m alright, I recovered. I have my job and my husband and my life back then why am I like this? Why–”

Your voice breaks, a sign of weakness you’re done trying to hide. “Do I not want it? To get better, do I not want it enough? What am I doing wrong?”

“You have to understand, this isn’t something you did,” she sighs, leaving her notebook and pen to lean in closer. “Are you listening to me? This is something that happened to you, not because of you. Healing isn’t linear, isn’t that what you always say to the victims you encounter at work–”

You sniff, sharply wiping at your nose. “Yes, but–”

“But it’s different,” she finishes for you, leaning back against her seat. “Why? Because it’s you? Because you know better since you’re a cop? Because you’re not allowed any moment of weakness in the face of adversity?”

You’re rendered quiet, almost but not quite pouting after being called out so thoroughly. Masters continues. “You keep punishing yourself for reacting to trauma in an unpredictable way. Even that in itself is predictable. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“I know,” you say like you’ve done so many times since this whole thing started, but this is different. It’s not angry or sarcastic. It feels like a tipping point.

“This happened to you. You didn’t chose it,” your therapist says. Then, carefully, like she too is aware you’re on the cusp of something that you might be, finally, ready to hear. “But what you do with it– that is up to you.”

“You got handed this ugly, terrible thing,” she continues. “It’s yours now. And you can let it take over your life or you can take it in your hands and mold it into something you can live with.”

“That’s awful,” you say; tired, honest, terrified. Why should it be up to you? Why is it your job to fix what someone else broke? Master smiles.

“It is. It’s all work,” you say. “At least at first. And then, piece by piece, you make a life with the fragments from before. You get new ones. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’ll be yours. But work. It’s the only way out.”

It’s all work.

The session hollows you from the inside out and the day at the office is a blur. You get home much, much later, weary and exhausted. The sun is already deep behind the horizon and your head is filled with statistics and suspect heights, ethnicities, possible sightings…

Your eyes hurt and Nolan is already in bed, bent over his book with his glasses perched low on his nose. A lifetime ago he would’ve joked they made him look old, and you would kiss him senseless until they went askew and tell him he looked distinguished. It’s such an old, nice memory, both distant and right there for the taking. You get a little breathless just thinking about it.

He looks up to greet you when he hears you come in, tired but genuine. You think mold it into something you can live with and make a decision.

“Hey,” he welcomes you. “How was work?”

“I…” whatever your apprehension is, you visibly shake it off before focusing on Nolan with a sense of determination he hasn’t seen from you in a very, very long time. “I would like you to come with me. To therapy.”

“You… would?” he hates that he sounds so surprised. He places his book on the bedside table, taking his glasses off.

You look as uncomfortable as he feels, but aren’t backing down. You lessen the chasm between you, sitting on your side of the bed and laying your palm flat on the sheets. Realization hits Nolan like a slap to the face.

Here you are, the strange shape that is his wife after hell and back, reaching.

“I think… there are so many things I want to tell you,” you continue slowly, the way you do when you’ve rehearsed before speaking in court as a witness, presenting the case. “that I don’t know how. And so many things you have to say that I haven’t… wanted to hear.”

“But I’m ready,” you nod, grave. “To put in the work. Or– I want to be. And I’d– I’d like you to be with me, when I am.”

“We can go to Dr. Masters or– or I’m sure there’s some names she can draw up. Couples therapy,” you rush to say when Nolan doesn’t answer, desperate for his support. “Or– I mean, maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I was really hoping we could–”

“Okay,” it comes out quiet. His nod, though, is resolute. “Yeah.”

You blink, a little startled and hesitatingly hopeful. “You– Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” you say, relieved, as if he’d ever say no to you. You laugh a little, deflating, running a hand through your hair. “Jesus, okay. Okay.”

A beat, two. Then you say, fragile as a baby bird, breaking the silence. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

That finally gets him moving. He says your name, devastated. He opens up his arms, surer than he’s been in months. “Come here.”

You sigh out heavily, shakily. Standing, you move to his side of the bed and fall into his arms, work clothes and all.

“We’re alright,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I love you. I’m coming with you. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize anyways, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, too,” his voice breaks and his arms tighten. There’s a kiss pressed to your hair that only makes you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, honey, for so many things. But we’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all, all work.

…Mostly.

“The files are on my desk,” Nick nods dutifully as you rattle off instructions, making sure your hair isn’t messed up by your coat. “Fin knows my notes backwards and forwards, if he tries to convince you he doesn’t it’s because he’s lazy, and I already let Cap know–”

Nick laughs, saying your last name knowingly. “It’s okay. Everything’s set, there’s nothing you’ve forgotten. Go have fun for once, will you?”

“Yeah, let us live vicariously through you,” Rollins pipes up as she passes by, an overflowing evidence box in her arms. “I’d kill for a hot date with a hotter lawyer right now.”

“You’d bite his head off before the appetizers came in,” Amaro smirks at her cockily, and you roll your eyes when Rollins predictably rises to the challenge. Behind them, Fin stares at them like he’s regretting all the life choices that led him to work with these people.

“You know what, Bernardo–” Rollins begins.

“Speaking of the devil,” Much pipes up loudly before Rollins starts humming the notes to the West Side Story score at Nick. You shoot him a grateful look but your attention is soon refocused on Nolan, who looks tall and sharp as he enters the precinct. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, old man. Hey, everyone,” Nolan smiles as he greets everyone else, though it turns shy when he acknowledges you, suddenly unaware of the rest of the room. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, handsome,” you can’t help yourself, feeling young and foolish. “You look good.”

“Had to match you, didn’t I?” he gives you a once over, long and interested, and you’re so into it you can’t even hear your coworkers making fun of you. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready,” you wave everyone goodbye and then, as soon as you’re out of ear shot, you admit sheepishly, “I’m actually a little nervous. Is that weird?”

Nolan’s laugh is tender, relieved. “No,” he says, looking more relaxed by the admission with his arm poised while you loop your own around it, keeping him close. “I am, too. I haven’t felt like this since you kissed me for the first time.”

“I’m sorry, I kissed you?” you reply. “I very vividly remember being cut off mid sentence about serious crimes punishable by law because someone couldn’t help himself.”

“Our study sessions always were interesting,” Nolan agrees, grin boyish. “Ivery vividly don’t remember hearing you complain about it.”

“Only that it took you so long to do it,” you quip.

“Well,” he tells you as you go into the empty elevator and the doors close behind you, already drawing you in. “Who am I to keep you waiting now?”

Some other weekend, the day is bright and gorgeous and neither you nor Nolan are able to to stay in. You move your slow weekend routines out of the apartment for once, going out for brunch and bringing reading material that doesn't involve case files or suspects statements for once.

You walk around the city with a wonder rarely available to you lately and hold each other close. Halfway through the afternoon Nolan disappears across the street in search of your favorite coffee cart, telling you to stay put with a loud kiss to your cheek that leaves you giddy long after he’s gone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says breathlessly when he comes back, carefully keeping both coffees from overflowing. “They had to make a fresh pot just now.”

“‘s alright,” you say after a beat, smiling at him with an unusual shape to your mouth. It makes Nolan pause.

He asks, endearingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” you begin and then cut yourself off. You look around, calculating. You shake your head, hoping to drop it. “No. Sorry. I just thought–”

Your breaths come out short despite your best tries to keep the previous atmosphere going. Nolan places the coffees on the sidewalk and stands back up, already reaching. He tries to keep his tone even. Calm. “Honey. Is it okay if I touch you?”

“You– yeah,” you blink, almost surprised to see him. The words rush out of you with relief, like you weren’t sure you still had it in you to be verbal. “Yes, please. Please.”

“Come here,” it’s a relief to him too, both your answer and permission. He draws you in with a protective hand on your back and you shudder into the touch, breathing in and out slowly like Dr. Masters taught you. “Great, you’re doing great. I got you.”

“Sorry,” you says again after a while, back in your body. “I thought it was the street where…” you admit. You’re embarrassed, Nolan doesn’t have to see your face to know it. “For a second, I. I saw the alley and it’s– it was literally just that but I was sure…”

You don’t finish your sentence, drifting off, but Nolan knows you too well. Understanding dawns in and he holds you tighter, protective. The perfectly harmless landscape of the city suddenly shifts before his eyes and he starts to panic. He can’t get you out of here fast enough, but maybe if he tries… an Uber would probably be quicker than walking home…

“Nolan,” you cut off his racing thoughts, oddly comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your freak out, even if Nolan has been rendered useless by his own agitation. “It’s okay. I was wrong, it’s not the street. I’m good.”

“We can go,” he offers, terribly disappointed that your day is about to be cut short but willing to do that and more for your wellbeing. This? In the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You were gonna spend today in bed anyways. “Or– is there something you need, do you want to call–”

“I want to stay,” you say, sure, cupping his face. Your touch helps him breathe, unclogs his throat and opens up his lungs. “I want to be here with you. I want to keep living my life even with… this. It doesn’t get to win.”

Nolan’s eyes burn, but his grin is too big for his face. He kisses you, long and deep and careless of who’s watching. It’s New York, its streets have seen far worse things than a man knee deep in love with his wife. “It doesn’t get to win,” he affirms, catching his breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You grin, shaky, bright. “You’ve told me so once or twice.”

Hand on hand, you pass by the alley. The day is beautiful.

One night Nolan gets out of the bathroom to find you already in bed, frowning at your book. He passes a towel through his wet hair as he asks, “Is it any good?”

You only keep frowning. “It’s– I mean, yeah, but I. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Have I read this before?” you ask him, showing him the cover.

Nolan squints, mouthing the words, then his expression clears. “Oh, I know. Did Munch give it to you?”

“Yeah,” you sound surprised. You hadn’t told him about John’s offhand gift, a tattered copy of a book he lent to you the other week. “ How’d you know?”

“He was reading it to you,” Nolan begins, then shrugs and seems to hesitate before he continues. “At the hospital.”

You make a face like you just tasted something sour. “Oh.”

“A part of you must’ve heard,” he continues, softer, searching your face for signs to shut the hell up. Other than the initial realization, he finds only pensiveness. “Must remember.”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of days so far away and so present still, sometimes laying between you in bed. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it? That my brain chose to retain bits of a book I heard while unconscious rather than… you know.”

Nolan breathes in deeply, holds it, and lets it out. He tries feeling comfortable in the silence you’ve built as he thinks his words through. His therapist told him once that if he expected a fight to start out of a conversation then he’d start fighting before he realized what he was doing. He’s trying to be better.

“What do you remember?” he dares to ask. You tilt your head towards your lap, fingers running over the edges of the book to ground yourself in the movements. “About the hospital?”

Your smile is brittle and you don’t look at him when you say, “I didn’t even remember what had happened at first.”

“When I first woke up after– after. I still don’t, mostly,” He watches you, patient and encouraging even when you can’t meet his eye. “Like, you know what happened. I got shot and spent weeks in there, but I don’t– It’s pretty much a blur.”

You sigh deeply. “But I woke up and I was afraid anyways. Like my body caught up to the situation before my mind did and I just– I was in pain, and I needed to get out,” you retell.

There’s barely a memory there; of Nolan’s hand in yours and the sheer relief in his voice, the smell and sounds of a hospital that are too familiar in your line of work.

“Sometimes,” you begin, and that’s where you cut yourself off, turning to him and smiling, fixing the facade back on. Nolan rushes to stop you before you completely hide from him, cupping your face tenderly.

You meet his eye and you look afraid. Nolan can’t blame you, it hasn’t been long since he stopped physically fleeing the room whenever you even hinted at the shooting. But he stays rooted in his spot, even if just to prove you both wrong.

“Sometimes?” he goads, braver than he feels. You look at him intensely for what feels a very long time, then begin to relax against his touch.

“Sometimes,” you say, slowly, like you’re still expecting him to make an excuse and leave you to your feelings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there,” you admit, lip wobbling. “Just. Lying there. Waiting for someone to find me. To realize something’s not right.”

Nolan’s throat closes off. You’re not talking about the hospital, he realizes as his stomach drops. You’re talking about the alleyway.

“It’s what I dream about, usually,” you sniff. Talking about the nightmare is better than having it, but it makes you nauseous nevertheless. You breathe in and out, deeply, a couple of times before you find your words again. “I’m lying there and it takes forever for someone to find me. Sometimes no one ever does and I wake up thinking I haven’t left that alley.”

That’s where Nolan’s perspective comes into view. He watches you wake, though only sometimes because there are nights in which you refuse to bother him despite how adamant he’s been about waking him up when you need him. He watches you wake and draws you back from the metaphorical cliff into his arms and your bed.

You’d never told him about the dreams. This is definitely a first.

He does his best to breathe, to keep eye contact. He meant it, the silent vow he made to himself when you came forward and asked him to go to therapy together. He’s through running away from this. If he keeps leaving you every time you feel like this, what makes him any different than the man who left you in that alley, fighting for your life?

He does his best. “I don’t know if I can help,” he admits shamefully, out loud for the first time but for the thousandth time to himself. “But I’m here.”

You shudder with a sniff. Shifting closer to him, Nolan takes your weight effortlessly, like this is what he was meant for. That, he’s never doubted.

“We found you,” he continues, a comfort that works for him as he hopes works for you. “We brought you home. I know exactly where you are.”

You lose the fight and bury your face in his shoulder, shaking in Nolan’s arms for a long, long time. Crying, he can tell, but quietly. He doesn’t tell you to be loud about it if you want to. He’s done telling you how to live through your grief.

“I kept thinking of you,” you admit later, much later, into his shirt. Nolan closes his eyes, wrecked. “Of who would call you, or if you… If you’d have to… to come claim a body.”

You feel him tighten his grip around you.

“You were the first thing I recognized,” you continue, quiet. You’re toying with his shirt, soothing your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. “When I woke up, amidst all that panic, there was you.”

You huff a laugh against him, breath warm. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you for that lately. Calming me down. You’ve always been good at that.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing much,” he admits shamefully.

He feels the way you shake your head, unwavering in your truth. “You do everything. You’re everything.”

“Right back at you, honey,” he says, and you hold each other for a very long time.

Halfway through getting your life back, almost nine months after the shooting that shattered your life to the ground, the team finds and collars the perp.

The same gun he used on you shows up in CODIS for another recent crime and you get a warning text from Fin less than ten minutes before he walks in with the suspect. Rollins is stone-faced by his side, both of them holding on to him despite his very obvious lack of struggle.

He barely even looks at you before he’s glancing away, bored. You remain unrecognizable to him but his features spark a flash of awareness deep in your unconscious and you’re excuse yourself to go dry heave in a bathroom while he gets processed.

Your thumb shakes over the screen of your phone, right on top of Nolan’s contact. You should just call him, you know it. You’ve done it before, and your husband would cross the city during rush hour and bend time to his will just to be by your side and hold you through the panic.

You know, but you can’t. You’ve been doing so good lately, finally; after the year from hell your lives are finally getting a glimpse of normalcy, and this– this is a Setback. Capital S setback, and after everything you’ve put him through… God, you can’t keep doing this to him.

You won’t do this to him. You call your therapist instead and hate every single second of it, hate even more that it works; forty minutes on the phone with her and you exit the bathroom with bloodshot eyes but with your chin held high and hands steady.

Amaro is the first to notice you and he catches your stare immediately, but he only nudges a tower of paperwork from his desk to yours and says, “You snooze, you lose, partner.”

“Dick,” you answer, your voice only a bit nasal. You’re so incredibly thankful for him that you could weep again right there and then.

You sit to get back to work, perp nowhere in sight, and bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you pull your phone back out, sending some rapid-fire texts.

Hey

I love you

You sigh and leaf through the papers, looking for where to start. Working through an equally ridiculous amount of files in his office across the city, Nolan’s eyebrows lift in curiosity at your texts.

I love you too

Is everything alright?

The three dots signifying your reply appear and disappear over the course of a few moments. After a while, his phone chimes again.

Rough day. Just wanted the reminder.

But I’m okay, I promise.

I’ll tell you all about it at home tonight.

Nolan sighs out slowly, and trusts you. Because of it, he watches you grow into your own skin again.

Your visits to Dr. Masters get less and less frequent and the damned paper finally gets signed. The nightmares, though not gone, lessen and don’t make you sick to your stomach anymore as you trace Nolan’s features in the dark to soothe yourself back into a slumber. You tell him everything, become more lenient with your resurfacing memories and in return, you hold Nolan as he talks about those days at the hospital and cries until he physically can’t anymore.

It’s so familiar and so, so new. You’re who you’ve always been and yet Nolan finds himself staring at you sometimes, amazed at the differences– a woman reshaped entirely by trauma and victorious over it nevertheless. Victorious because of it.

When you drag him away from the kitchen sink where dirty dishes sit after dinner, he barely puts up a fight. Nolan eagerly follows you to the couch and sinks into your embrace when you tangle your fingers in his hair, shivering against your welcoming touch.

You’re making out like teenagers– like you used to when you were in college– with no specific purpose until Nolan starts to forget himself. His hands are around your waist, squeezing unconsciously while you, on top of him, swallow his sound of elation and run your tongue along his teeth, wet and dirty.

Jesus, Nolan thinks unabashedly, and wants, wants, wants–

He nudges his leg between your thighs, pants uncomfortably tight, when you call his name. You’re pulling away suddenly, bringing him back from a daze, a hand tangled in his hair. Your fingers twitch with restraint as you look him over, pensive.

Nolan sighs, leaning his temple against yours and trying to get his breathing back into a less agitated rhythm. All he gets is a whisk of your perfume and the warmth of your skin, his efforts useless.

“Right,” he murmurs, voice velvet quiet. He’s still trying to preserve the moment even after your new set of boundaries. “Right. I’m sorry.”

You haven’t gone that far since– Since. Nolan can’t recall the details of the last time you were together, one random night the week you were shot. He didn’t think he’d have to, but now he wishes he had committed the night to memory; your skin under his hands, the sounds you made, how you reached bliss together–

“Don’t be,” you say equally as lowly, pupils blown, gaze ardent. “I want…”

You drift off. It’s suddenly urgent, imperative that Nolan knows what you’re asking for, needs to give it to you immediately.

“What?” he murmurs back, thumbing at your bottom lip, bruised and kissed. Your breath is hot against his skin. “What, honey, what do you want? What can I do?”

“Kiss me again,” You say. Then, before he can comply– “Don’t– don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

“You…” Nolan says, shaking his head to pull himself together, attention still hazy around the edges. Your name tastes so sweet when he says it. “You mean…”

“Please,” you whine, and Nolan’s body reacts to the sound all on its own, hips subtly canting up towards you. You press your mouth to his jaw, tongue barely caressing the skin. “Please, Nole, please keep touching me.”

Nolan curses, both at your words and the realization he might not last as long as he’d like if you keep saying these things to him. “Sweetheart. Oh, are you sure?”

Your breath hitches. “God, Nolan, more than anything else.”

“Come on. Come here,” Nolan insists, turning to kiss you so thoroughly he almost forgets the point he’s trying to make. “I’m gonna do this right, okay? We have a perfectly good bed in the other room–”

He scrambles up and takes your hand, taking you with him. You surrender to him and he kisses your hand, the crook of your elbow, your shoulder and neck, in a rush and yet wanting to make this last as long as possible.

You laugh amidst your urgency, rich and lovely, cupping his face and kissing him soundly, rubbing against him. Nolan is a weak, weak man.

“I love you,” you say while he buries himself inside you later in bed, sheets pooled around the both of you, and looking up at him like you can’t believe he’s real. Nolan’s on top of you and he’s got your fingers tangled together; your hands pinned against the sides of your face. They’re points of steadiness as the tension inside him threatens to snap with each thrust, however small. “I love you, Nole, I love you so much–”

He’s not ashamed to say he’s crying when he finally comes, and you cup his face in your hands with a wounded sound when you realize. You kiss him as you finally let yourself go and it tastes like victory. Like work; like blood, sweat and tears. It feels like being yourself, added scars and all, Nolan’s warmth a steady, sure thing against your side.

started this over a year ago and it's finally yours!!! sorry i've been so absent, i've been having the worst writer's block of my life lol but i hope you love this as much as i do! let me know what you think and i hope you see more from me in the next months! thanks for reading <3

#nolan price x reader #leo writes #nolan price #hugh dancy #law & order #law and order #svu #svu x reader #reader insert #olivia benson #nick amaro #amanda rollins #john munch #donald cragen #fin tutuola #svu imagine #one shot #law and order x reader

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throneofsapphics · 1 month ago

Text

weapons

Ruhnlidia x f!Reader

summary: Ruhn and Lidia are aching to use their guns in a way you didn't expect.

warnings: gun in v, smut

word count: 1460

kinktober masterlist

You eyed his gun, the one he’d gladly taught you to shoot, with a mixture of trepidation and excitement.

Ruhn said something, earlier, that stuck in your head no matter what you tried to get it out.

Finger on the trigger, you almost missed your shot with Ruhn’s words, muttered in a low voice that sent shivers down your spine. “Watching you makes me think of other ways we can put that to use.”

The bullet struck right in the center of the paper target. Carefully switching on the safety before placing it down, barrel pointed away from you, you whirled on him.

“What other uses, Ruhn?”

“You’ll have to find out,” he brushed your hair off your neck, his hand lingering a second too long to be appropriate.

“When?” You demanded.

He only smiled, and nudged his chin at the gun, a sign to keep going.

Not before shooting him a dirty look, you returned to the task at hand, all the time your mind thinking what the hell he meant and why he had to say it like that.

As long as you’ve known him, Ruhn had never cleaned his gun. Lidia did hers nightly, but Ruhn hadn’t seemed to care.

Now, he sat with a cloth and cleaner going through every tiny hole and crevice.

“What are you doing?” You finally asked.

“Getting it ready,” he answered noncommittally.

“Haven’t put it together yet?” Lidia asked. She sat adjacent to you, long blonde hair loose behind her back. You took a moment to study her features, the beauty of her, of both of them, always ready to knock you off your feet.

“Obviously not,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. Cthona, you hated when you weren’t in on something.

“He wants to fuck you with it, darling.”

Your eyes widened before shooting to Ruhn, who was now glaring at the blonde.

“Then it’s my turn,” she winked at you, ignoring the male in the room.

Subconsciously, a small smile crept onto your face. For a former spy, she could be quite horrible at keeping things from you. She kept cleaning, the cloth digging into all of the little crevices.

“I was going to ask you first, but I wanted to be prepared,” he rolled his eyes. “Unloaded, of course.”

Was it what you wanted? Something you wanted? The sheer competency they both showed with their guns in their hands excited you, made it difficult for you to hide your scent sometimes, and maybe they’d picked up on it in the past.

They’d both been so strict on gun safety that you’d never truly let yourself imagine this possibility.

But, maybe you could stand to be a little greedy. If you wanted it ... you wanted both of them.

“I want both of you,” you emphasized, imagining them taking turns fucking you with their guns.

“Oh?” Lidia paused her methodical movements. “Someone’s greedy,” she teased. You rolled your eyes.

“Both or none.” It was a test, you supposed, if this was something they really wanted to do. You wanted to make sure they weren’t doing it just to please you.

“Both was the plan, but I’m glad to see you’re already thinking of it,” Lidia confirmed. Relief swept through you, just as tension built in your core. “But it’ll wait till tonight,” she added, and frustration mixed in. It was barely the afternoon.

From the corner of your vision, you saw Ruhn with the slightest pout on his face, like he’d expected to clean his gun and immediately get the reward for it. You wondered if Lidia was making him do it.

After dinner, you were nearly bouncing with excitement. But a new episode of a show Lidia was just hooked on came out, and she made both of you watch it with her. She was enjoying playing game master, you could tell that. There was a slight twinkle in her eyes each time she caught you and Ruhn eyeing each other, and you wondered how much of the show she could actually be taking it, with the rising sexual tension between the three of you taut enough to cut with the slightest nick from a blade.

Ruhn’s hand rested on your right thigh, your head perched on Lidia’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around your shoulders. The main characters were doing something, one person shot another but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Instead you let your right hand slip around Ruhn’s back, just brushing over where he kept his gun holstered, before wrapping around his back and tugging him closer to you.

A chuckle under his breath, but he obeyed and slid close enough for your thighs to touch.

“Needy,” he teased, squeezing your thigh.

“I just want you close,” you slid your hand out from behind him and rested it on top of his.

“I’m trying to focus,” Lidia said half-heartedly.

Well, you were sick of this kind of focus, and the show was available on streaming anyway. She could catch up later.

You pressed a kiss to where her shoulder and neck met, she arched away to give you more space to work with.

Ruhn groaned, well aware of every movement you made.

Twisting yourself, you brushed a hand up her inner thigh, in time with an open mouth kiss to your neck.

“Fuck this,” Ruhn echoed your sentiment and grabbed the remote, pausing the show. You built on the moment, twisting fully to climb on Lidia’s lap. She was the one you had to convince, after all.

It didn’t take much convincing. A few more kisses to her neck, one to the corner of her mouth, and she fisted her hand in the back of your hair, drawing your lips to hers.

Soft, sweet, but firm she commanded the kiss, her hand guiding you by your hair to lie on your back, she knelt between your legs, running her hands up and down your sides.

“Couldn’t even wait for the show to finish?” She glanced at the paused screen, you bit back your smile.

“No, you’re too tempting.” You sat up, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, bringing her in for another brief kiss. “And I think it counts as tonight now.” It was dark outside, after all.

“I agree,” Ruhn said roughly from behind both of you.

“Fine,” Lidia said, and shoved you back down on the couch. “But I get to go first.”

You heard Ruhn stand, and watched from the corner of your eye as he plucked Lidia’s gun from her waistband, emptying the spare bullets into his hand. He winked at you and piled them on the corner of the coffee table, before re-holstering her gun, his hand lingering on her waist for a few seconds, before he retreated to an armchair with a clear view of the show.

Carefully, Lidia lifted your shirt, stripping you bare from the waist up. Leaning back, she examined you like someone who’d just won a grand prize. She nipped at your neck, softening the bite with her tongue, before leaving open mouthed kisses down your chest.

Her fingers dug into your waistband, taking the rest of your clothes with her as she pulled. Cool air nipped at your skin, instinctively your legs pushed together.

“No,” she corrected, and shoved them back apart. “You don’t hide from us.”

“I wasn’t,” you half-whined, reaching for her, craving the feel of her against her. Always craving.

“Sure you weren’t,” Ruhn cut in from his corner.

You nearly rolled your eyes, but Lidia’s movements caught your attention instead. The female slid down, now prone between your legs. Her tongue darted out, leaving a kitten lick against the already wet area.

“I bet I could shove it right in you,” she murmured, before almost burying her face between your legs. Your head fell back against the arm rest, an obnoxious moan leaving your lips.

“Fuck baby,” Ruhn cursed, and you didn’t know which of the two of you he was speaking to. Lidia, currently devouring you, or you, wrapped in the throes of pleasure.

At first, you barely felt it as something cold and hard poked at your entrance, but the gun quickly made itself known. Lidia’s tongue kept flicking your clit as she twisted the gun back and forth across your entrance, your legs parting wider to accommodate, one now thrown over the side of the couch.

Each bit, every inch, was foreign as she slowly edged it inside of you. Ridges hit against your inner walls, sending your hips bucking.

Footsteps sounded, and Ruhn was standing behind Lidia, whispering in her ear. You caught bits and pieces of it.

“Look at her.” “How good you fuck her.” “Hot.”

You wished there was a mirror so you could see yourself.

kinktober taglist: @fourthwing4ever @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy

@erencvlt @daycourtofficial @emidpsandia @thelov3lybookworm @hannzoaks

@callsigns-haze @throneofsmut

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124

@callsigns-haze @littlest-w01f

#ruhnlidia x reader #ruhnlidia x y/n #kinktober 2024 #crescent city imagine #ruhn danaan x reader x lidia cervos #lidia cervos x reader #ruhn danaan x reader

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cmdrfupa · 6 months ago

Text

Felicity #1

He was thankful for the sorcery world as it allowed him a life he could only dream of. But then it almost cost him his life, and imagining leaving you behind wasn’t easy. So he resigned, willing to be his beloved's absolute best support system and house husband. The perfect husband. So what’s that nagging feeling at the back of his mind?

~~please refer to *this* post for potential content warning~~

Homemaker!Ijichi x Reader

2.6k wc

Summer comes at an astounding pace. One day, allergy season, and spring showers. Next thing you know, the day to jump into a pool is here. New beginnings and cold frozen lychee martinis in hand.

Today was not that day.

As Ijichi lifted his visor, he wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the tremendous relief of the cloth against his skin. While he appreciated knowing the linens would dry much quicker with the heat, he wished it wasn't draining every drop of his life source in the 20 minutes he was outdoors. Grabbing the basket of dried items, he returned to fold them, thrilled to sit and finish the final 2 episodes of Bad and Crazy so he could finally talk to you about the end once you made it home.

"Baby? I'm home early." You take your shoes off, sliding on your slippers. As you walked further into the house, a delightful scent of pie and freshly cut pineapple filled the air, a surprising aroma for this time of day. Intrigued, you go to the kitchen, confident that he is up to something. There he is, headsets on, lost in the music, his voice softly humming the words to what you think is 505 by the Arctic Monkeys. His head bobs to the beat as he dices the pineapple into bits. You can't decide what's sweeter, the pineapple or the joy in his voice. You stand in the entryway, a warm feeling of love and contentment washing over you, waiting until he sets the knife down to approach. Rubbing the center of his back, he didn't flinch as he recognized your touch, but he was a bit flustered. "Darling! You're home very early today! I.. Dinner isn't even done." He looks down at his watch, then back at you. "Everything okay at the school? Are you hurt?" he quickly removes his headphones before bringing a hand to your face, ensuring no harm was done. You embrace him before kissing him. "Everything is okay. I'm just home early. I promise." The relief in your voice is palpable, reassuring him that all is well. "If you insist. Though you never leave early, something is up, yes?" the man was persistent. "You know me too well, Chi." "It's part of the Kiyotaka genes. Knowing your spouse so well, they accept defeat early," he warmly snickers before bringing a piece of pineapple to your mouth. "So. What's the news?" Swallowing, your eyes show the excitement before you speak. "Satoru accepted the proposal to change how we train students on field missions to transition into their sorcerer roles. He loved the idea and offered me the role so I could ensure it was done correctly!" Elation filled Ijichi's face as he realized he helped implement a new structure that would last. "Love! Th- this is big! I'm so proud of you!" His hug couldn't have been tighter. The achievement in itself was monumental. But this meant he could 100% step out of his role and be your best homemaker. "Well. this is no small feat! I need to plan something. A pool party? No, not everyone wants to swim." Ijichi grabbed a writing tablet from the nearby drawer and clicked the attached pen. "Honey." "We could have a luau? Eh. I don't want to dig up the yard even if it would produce a really succulent pig." "Chi?" "Yes, darling?" His eyes immediately find yours. Gleeful, he leans in for a kiss. Happily accepting, your lips meet his as your arms wrap around his neck. "Let's just do a dinner party. A small one. Nothing too extravagant. Some wine, a few appetizers, a main course. And we can see if Mrs. Nanami can make us a cake. Yeah?" "My darling love, that sounds perfect. Leave it to me."

So here he was, organizing a party celebrating the sunshine season and his beautiful spouse's promotion.

"Yes. And that one should have light pink spray roses, burgundy carnations, orange carnations, bells of Ireland, pink asiatic lilies, purple cushion spray chrysanthemums, blue sinuata statice, variegated pittosporum and if possible, leatherleaf fern."

He sucked his teeth, crossing the name of the nursery off of his list with a look of defeat.

"Ah. No. That won't do, I'm sorry. Thank you for your time." He hung up the phone and began to scribble another note on his pad before sighing and sitting down next to you.

"Ijichi. While I appreciate everything you're doing, you don't have to get every available summer flower."

"Honey. I know you appreciate it, but it's not about the flowers. I want it to be a beautiful piece for you. You've done something amazing! I want to celebrate that with no cut corners." Lightly squeezing your hand, Ijichi kisses your forehead before pressing another to your nose.

You don't remember the last time you'd seen him this relaxed, but it suited him well.

His usual combed, pristine hair that formed on his face was now lazily combed back, showing his beautiful facial structure. His hollowed cheeks had a peach flush once he noticed you were admiring his face. "Honey." He was easy to fluster, even after this long. "You're so handsome. And so kind. Don't overdo it in the name of trying to please me."

He has learned from previous affairs he's planned that sometimes he bites off more than he can chew occasionally. Like that birthday when he invited every class at Jujutsu Tech, administration, and the front office of your apartment complex. "Baby. All these people aren't going to fit in my apartment for much longer." You looked at the over two dozen people uncomfortably smiling in the living room, cramped but trying to look happy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I uh.. we will make it work."

"It will be a small, intimate gathering. You've already decided on the guest list so that we will go with just those few." He rolled the sleeves up of his loose button-down, subtly interlacing his fingers with yours once he did. His cool touch brings a welcome tingle.

"You are a gift, Ijichi. I love you forever."

Kissing the palm of your hand, he glanced up at you over his glasses. "And forever, I love you. Now. Don't you have something to do? Like that shelf full of books you promised to go through so we can donate some?"

Your eyes narrowed before you laughed. "Yes, sir."

His lips met yours in a tender kiss. "Thank you, darling. I'll start dinner once I've finished making this last call."

He watched as you left the den, beaming as you hummed a tune equal to an angelic chorus. "Just get it over with Kiyotaka." Grabbing his phone and huffing, he scrolled down to the 'Gojo S. 😶' contact in his phone before hitting the call button.

"The renovations are gorgeous. You brought out the traditional style of the home." Kento admired the flooring of your living area, taking in the uniqueness of the classic tile pattern.

"Thank you! Ijichi thought it was a good idea to uncover the beauty of the hardwood under our carpeting—the entire first floor. Come! He'd love to show you the rest of the work." With a smile, Nanami followed you to the dining room, where your husband checked the wine bottles to ensure perfect temperature. "Honey? "

Slightly frazzled, Ijichi's shoulders jumped.

"Yes, my love? Kento!" He brought his hand out, noticing his friend shaking hands before pulling him in for a quick hug.

"It's good to see you. You look very well rested, Kiyotaka."

"So do you! Retirement is doing us good, it seems," the men chuckled.

"I'll let you boys catch up. I'll let you know when everyone has arrived." Kissing his cheek, you left to head towards the front of the house.

After giving his tour, Ijichi eventually made his way to the study, showing Nanami the latest addition to his collection of handcrafted fountain pens and watching him appreciate the craftsmanship. Hesitant, a question popped into mind as he looked around his office.

"Kento. May I ask you something?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

With a sigh, Ijichi swallowed before continuing. "What do you do with all this downtime? I feel like I'm getting on my partner's nerves with all the house renovation nonsense, the pens, the mundane things I do daily. Do you think we'll regret retiring this early? Do you think our spouses will tire of us?" It all spewed out without much thought.

Part of Ijichi was happy he wasn't in immediate danger anymore. Though his worry was now with you as you helped lead the new generation of sorcerers, he knew you were far more capable. But it made him feel that perhaps you weren't into him as much now. He was home planning new projects, planning parties, and making dinners that could feed a dozen. Were you tired of him?

He knew precisely what Ijichi was thinking.

"When I told my wife I wanted to leave the jujutsu world, I don't think I'd seen anyone so relieved in my life." he sips his beverage, looking down at his wedding band.

"I did something I said I wouldn't do: marry while still in that world. But she was my calm in every storm we waltzed into. I did it with no regrets, of course. But after the incident in Shibuya that almost cut my life short…"

"Yeah…" Ijichi recalled the day of hell. You were in Kyoto, trying to return quickly once you heard what was happening. Ijichi was right there, facing death intimately. The reminder showed in the burn scars that covered half of Kento's body. He wore them with no hints of being self-conscious about them. He saw a smile growing on Kentos's face.

"I don't regret it. None of it. I don't think I can when I see how my partner looks when I'm working on a puzzle or cooking our favorite meal. Downtime now is something I treasure. We used to yearn for a day of peace and a little sense, you know." they both laughed, recalling the after-work drinks and gripes. "We are also still young enough to find any other profession if we choose."

"You’re right. I'm just overthinking… A lot"

"Don't feel like you're supposed to know what to do. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing most days." The tone of Kento's voice held a lot of compassion as he quickly found the words to reassure his friend. "We have done a lot of work. Dangerous work. We can afford to be indecisive and leisurely choose what to put our energy into."

While his words held some truth, that guilty feeling still sat in Ijichi's heart. "I do enjoy the leisurely pace of my life now. The house projects, the cooking, and the look on their faces when I show them my latest addition. I don't want to lose the gift of their unconditional love and unwavering affection. It's what drives my every move."

"Then ask them. When you two were dating, they seemed capable of simply talking about the uncomfortable quite easily. That's not changed, Kiyotaka. If anything, they will appreciate hearing your thoughts now that you are, in fact, the best house husband you could be."

He nodded as if weighing the potential conversation's pros and cons before letting out a breath he didn't realize was being held in. "Thank you, Nanami."

"You're like my brother Ijichi, of course. Now, I'm starving, and rumor is you made Spanakopita."

Amused, Ijichi led Kento back to the party's center; chatter was heard as they returned to the dining area. With a pause, Ijichi heard your voice and listened for a while.

"Satoru, I'm telling you. The entire plan was his idea. That last-minute meeting with the heads? He's a mastermind with that kind of planning."

"Well, duh. But he was a liability for a while. Great driver, excellent spreadsheet creator. But don’t you remember having to come and use your technique to get him out of the way against that grade 2 curse?"

"I was falling in love with the man! Of course I did. I would’ve done it again if it meant he was safe. I should've left you to do it so I could've gone home to him early that night." Ijichi smiled as you and Gojo laughed. That flushed feeling came rushing back to his face.

"I'm glad he has you. And that you have him. He was good to us both in the office and the field. He deserves some peace in his life." Gojo seems genuine in his words, an occurrence Ijichi has yet to accept fully.

"Though life isn't as easy without his continued presence and organization skills. Oh, you love birds. Do you want or maybe need a third in the home?" He pouts.

"I'd rather go back to 10 hours' worth of paperwork in that stuffy office at the school, Satoru," Ijichi interjected as he wrapped his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek with a gentle nudge of his nose.

"It's an option Ijichi. I don't require much! Just a sweet treat every once in a while and maybe a hug or 5."

"Please. Don't," you snickered at the comment, kissing your husband back.

"Behave." a playful nudge to his arm makes Ijichis lips curl up slightly. "Ken! Did you get the grand tour? Don't you love it?"

Kento nods. "It's phenomenal. Your husband knows his way around a home."

"Doesn't he? I've been given the gift of a homemaker with this one. He's made it feel even more like a dream. Nothing short of luck to have him as my forever beau."

It was hard to miss Ijichi's ears turning red as the kind words gave affirmation that he was doing everything right.

"Okay, okay. Enough of that." Clearing his throat, he raised his glass." Let's make a toast. To new beginnings with old friends who will stand the test of time. May we have more moments to sing each other's praises and welcome new changes!'

Post Party Unwind

Massaging your feet, Ijichi smiled. The gentle blaze of the low-burning fire nearby creates a cozy atmosphere for the end of a beautiful day.

"Thank you again, my love. Everything was perfect! You even got Shoko to leave the hospital for a while. You must tell me your secrets."

A quiet laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, it wasn't much. I just told her you'd be thrilled to see her. And the promise of sending her home with a bottle of top-shelf tequila may have also worked." laughter filled the cozy backyard as the cool night air sent a slight chill up your legs and arms.

"Want to head inside? I can run a bath for you while I finish cleaning."

"Why can't you join me in said bath?"

"Darling, there's so much cleaning to get done. The wine bottles, the mopping. Goodness, the leftover cake-"

"Ijichi Kiyotaka, my dear husband. Your loving significant other wants you to join them for a nice bubble bath. Please don't make me beg. I want to show you my appreciation." glint in your eyes, giving him the answer to his unspoken question.

Six years in, he couldn't take a flirtatious bout without coming apart just a little. It was just as amusing now as it was when he was driving you around back then. Adjusting his glasses before reaching up to run his slender fingers over your thigh, gripping the lush flesh with obviously wanton intent. "I'll go run us a bath. You are my priority, after all."

Thanks to @/saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers!

Taglist: @marikuchanxo

Thank you for reading! 💞

#ijichi kiyotaka #ijichi x y/n #ijichi x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk oneshot #jjk oc #lu.logs

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tatoda · 1 year ago

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Truth or Dare || Chris Briney x fem!reader

masterlist

request

summary: you join chis on one of his interviews with the cast and one little detail calls you out

pairing: chris briney x fem!reader

warnings: none! fluff

wc: 300 (not sure)

just a small little thing hope you enjoy. not really edited so sorry

You have always been off the grid as chris’ girlfriend. All your social medias was private other than the fact that chris now had millions of followers digging into your daily lives. You both met back in college in your english class and started off as friends for the 4 years and he finally had the courage to ask you out at graduation. Ever since, y’all have been inseparable. He would bring you up in any conversation, post you on his instagram, being you to set. He was the best person you have ever met.

With chris getting a huge role in the show The Summer I Turned Pretty, you knew people would try and get in between y’all’s relationship. Since the fans couldn’t reach you, they would comment things on chris’ instagram just for you. But it never crossed chris’ mind that he would ever lose you, he would always talk about you no matter what no matter where.

And now season 2 has been filmed and now the first few episodes have been released, it was time for the cast to film some promo videos and production boosts for the fans. Chris brought you along for the day so you sat backstage in almost every video just smiling at the cast but mostly your boyfriend. You watched as they went through the truths and dared having a dance battle to eating horseradish. It was now chris turn to go and he picked out a truth.

“kiss sean kaufman again.” you rolled your eyes playfully

“again.” sean said jokingly “guys who put that one again.” and the whole cast started talking over each other

“nah, it’s what it said.” chris shows the paper around but too fast for anyone to see “look at it. it’s what it said.”

“one day it’s actually going to say kiss sean.” lola said before chris cleared his throat and read the paper

“besides your phone, what is the one item in your house you couldn’t live without.” you knew the answer instantly it was Aquaphor it’s what he cared almost as much as he cared about you, you introduced it to him about a few years ago and he hasn’t stopped using it since

“aquaphor,” gavin said before anyone

“aquaphor.” chris reached into his coat jacket and pulled out the tiny bottle you bought him last week “i’m on it because of my girlfriend.” he glanced at you before looking at the bottle and opened it “it’s the best things that’s ever happened to me… um.. besides.. my girlfriend.” he guested towards you and your cheeks instantly filled with heat as the cast looked at you “her introducing me to aquaphor.” he rubbed some on his lips

“she’s blushing!” lola pointed towards you and you laughed messing with your rings on your finger out of nervousness and chris gave you an apologetic look knowing you don’t like a lot of attention

After the interview was over you went into the back room where the cast was and sat down before their next interview. You sat on the couch drinking a lemonade while the cast talked around you. Sometime you didn’t like being here, you felt out of place sometimes.

“hey girly.” lola sat down next to you. you and lola have became very close friends despite all the rumors saying you hated her for kissing your boyfriend when it was all acting for a tv show

“hey, you ready for the next interview?” you turned towards her slightly

“yeah but my bed is really calling my name right now.” she sighed taking a sip of her water

“chris has mixed feelings about the interviews, he never wants to say anything wrong he really gets into his head about it. plus these are your last interviews before the strike happens so.”

“yeah it honestly sucks that we have to do this but it’s worth it, it’s also stopping us from telling the fans about season 3 too. we can’t promote anything.”

“it will be worth it in the end.” you smiled at her and a body fell next to you, glancing to your side you saw chris sipping on water too “hey you.” he smiled tipping his head to kiss the side of your forehead

“tired.” he whispered

“we’ll go home soon enough.” you leaned into his side and he wrapped an arm around you

“sorry i mentioned you with the aquaphor, it’s just really important to me and you kinda slipped out.”

“shush, it’s okay i want people to know you love the product more than me.” you nudged him with your shoulder

“hey that’s not true!”

“sure sure, anyone on the cast can tell you otherwise baby.” he shook his head playfully at you and brought you in closer to him

He was lucky to have you by his side in this major point in his life. He would never choose anyone other than you to be with him right here right now.

#chris briney imagine #chris briney one shot #chris briney x fem!reader #chris briney #chris briney x reader #chris briney fluff

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wander-wren · 9 months ago

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sometimes i wonder about what fandom is going to look like in 5 or 10 years. i think we might have already started to see a shift.

because, look, most of the oldest, biggest fandoms are from tv shows and movies, in particular ones that go on for years and scores of episodes. star trek, star wars, stargate (is everything star?), doctor who, supernatural…even sherlock really got its biggest popularity boosts in the modern day from tv adaptations. marvel and dc were comics first, too, but movies made them more accessible; their “cinematic universe” tags are the biggest on ao3 by far.

but what tv shows are we getting now? short, 8-episode things that get canceled two or three seasons in, that are usually less-than-faithful adaptations of other media anyway.

what movies are we getting? well, marvel turns more to slop every day, and everything else is remakes and sequels no one asked for. the general populace will still go see them and find some good movies that they like, but there’s not much really for fandom to grasp onto.

the best shows for fandom that we’ve had recently, that i can think of, are stranger things, game of thrones, and maybe our flag means death. stranger things is dying off, especially since they’re looking at a 3-4 YEAR gap between s4 and s5. game of thrones’s popularity plummeted after its final season, we all know that. our flag means death is still chugging fairly okay, but after that second season a lot of the fandom dropped it, and with it now being cancelled, i don’t see it sticking around.

yes, we can chalk part of this up to a new generation to of fans having this growing idea that fandom is super temporary, to be abandoned as soon as its not on trend. but media used to be on trend for a whole lot longer than it is now. seasons were longer, we had filler episodes, things were lower quality sometimes but at least they came out on a consistent schedule. i don’t mind if supernatural isn’t an artistic masterpiece, but if i was a stranger things fan waiting until 2026 for the final season, i would be annoyed if it wasn’t damn near perfect. that’s assuming i watched it at all—we’re all so used to not getting endings and moving on, so why would i bother?

i think there are two types of shows doing sort of okay about this. one is procedurals—9-1-1 is a popular one i’ve run into, and it started in 2018, around the beginning of the decline, but it’s managed 7 seasons in those six years, most of them with 18 episodes. the other is, honestly, anime—though we can and SHOULD talk about the terrible working conditions that make the fast turnarounds there possible. look at how big some anime fandoms are.

judging by the relative fandom popularity of other procedural dramas (grey’s anatomy, law & order, criminal minds), i think that’s going to remain sort of niche. fandom likes fantasy and scifi best, and they just don’t tend to have as strong of an overarching arc to dig into. at least, that’s why i wouldn’t watch them. i think there’s also a good chance these will start to die out in the coming years as well.

anime could also die out a little bit. better working conditions would necessitate less/slower content, and it’s true that most of the popular anime fandoms have been around for years, even decades.

so, what, no new, lasting tv show or movie fandoms anymore?

what will the biggest fandoms be in 5-10 years?

podcast fandoms have a shot. the magnus archives is still going strong, and i’ve been seeing a lot about dungeons and daddies. i think we’re kind of almost past the golden age for podcasts, but i am an outsider, so maybe that will change.

book fandoms seem like a kind of obvious choice, but they just don’t get as big without, you guessed it, a movie or show adaptation. and the downsizing has hit them, too—can you think of anything from the last 5 or 10 years that rivals harry potter, percy jackson, warriors, lord of the rings, hunger games, acotar…even game of thrones (asoiaf) again? i can’t. the collapse of the publishing industry is another post entirely.

2020 is really what cemented these changes, though they were starting in the late 2010s, at least. with actual industries shutting down, there was room for indie creators making things alone in their houses to pop up, and people had more time on their hands to try new things out and get into them.

the two things that have really been on the rise since 2020 is rpf and video game fic—often both combined. we’ve got genshin impact, call of duty, minecraft of course being huge, rpf of various youtubers, and k-pop rpf. now, i think rpf is contentious enough that it won’t really become the main fandom, but video game fic…might be it.

even video blogging rpf can often be a blurred enough line that people are more comfortable with it. and the thing is…youtube creators are actually more reliable than mainstream television these days. they need to be, to maintain their platforms. they need to not cancel series and to live up to their own hype as best they can and to not abandon the channel for 3 or 4 years at a time. and again, you can talk about burnout and unrealistic expectations and all of those things, but it’s still true.

maybe i’m completely wrong. maybe in 10 years the film and publishing industries will all sort themselves out and we’ll go back to the status quo. but i think this position fandom is finding itself in is interesting, and i wouldn’t necessarily be surprised if what’s most popular (both in the specific source material sense and the medium/genre sense) is different some time down the road.

#wren wrambles #fanfiction #ao3 #fandom #fandom meta #fanfic #fanfiction meta #i’m curious what other people think about this #tempted to tag the fandoms i mentioned for reach but. dont know. we’ll see how this does

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xunandran · 7 months ago

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Fuck it Friday (Firepilot Edition)

This episode was so good! But of course, I gotta make it nasty, lol! I would have been done, but I actually had to go back to work for 4 more hours after the episode was over, so I'm still working on the full fic, but have some Firepilot in honor of 07e06!

Full fic in the link! Not as nasty as I was going for, but still sweet!

“Mmmph.”

The enthusiastic crash of Evan’s lips against his is bewildering and intoxicating. He presses into the other man’s rough lips, crashing and tasting. He’s trying to be careful, trying to avoid imprinting too much of the fire’s afterthoughts into Evan’s clothes and skin. Evan is a beast though, the very definition of what he’d called him, and he’s ravenous.

When they pull away, Tommy’s breathless, nearly dazed. This wasn’t “go looking for hot chicks” Evan or even “I don’t know what I’m ready for” Evan. Tommy stares at Evan’s resolute blue eyes, twinking with so much devious glee that he feels inexperienced and small. Evan’s face is smeared with soot, his lips are plump, pink, and Tommy just wants to kiss him again.

Evan’s pulling him by the hand though, pulling him through the hospital’s halls toward Chimney’s room. “Evan. Your face.” But the other man doesn’t listen. He barrels forward singularly. Tommy might have been late, but he was going to be there.

They’re out of breath by the time they reach the press. Whether that’s from the mad dash, the fire, or Evan’s kiss, Tommy doesn’t know. Evan turns and places his hands on Tommy’s scorched turnout jacket. “They’re man and wife. They’ve kissed the bride and groom. Wish them well, but be quick.”

“Why?” Tommy asks, confused.

Evan smirks, and it spikes through every nerve in Tommy’s exhausted body. “Because I really need to get those off of you… right now.”

“I-uh-Eva…”

He doesn’t get to finish as Evan pulls him into the hospital room. “Hey! Look who almost made it!”

The crowd turns to them, and Tommy smiles, soot stained and exhausted. “Congratulations, you two! I’m sorry I missed the ceremony!”

Chimney nods and smiles. “Thanks Tommy! Looks like you two were… busy.”

Tommy’s honestly thankful for the grime to cover the blush, but Evan’s beaming, and he looks so handsome, soot smudged and all.

Evan scoots through the crowd to hug his sister and Chimney, and Tommy does his best to make pleasantries without spreading the ash on his clothes. To his left, he hears Evan and Eddie talking, and then they hug, a great tight thing that suggests that maybe everything he might have assumed from yesterday was just a misinterpretation.

As Evan takes his hand to pull them out of the door, Tommy hears Evan’s mother. “Where are you going?”

Evan stops and looks, first to Maddie, who smiles and nods, then to Eddie, who lightly shakes his head, almost as if he knows Evan’s thoughts better than the other man does. Finally, he looks back at Tommy and smiles before rounding on his parents. “I’m taking my date home to help him get cleaned up.” He doesn’t wait for their response. He pulls Tommy from the cramped hospital room and back down the hall.

“Evan.” Tommy stops the other man’s frantic pace by digging in. Advantages to having size and muscle mass on your partner. Evan turns to him, smile dopey and giddy, but faltering slightly. “Are you okay?”

Evan scrubs at his mouth, and Tommy swears it just digs the grime in further. Tommy can hear the other man’s nervous swallow. “I-I just did that, huh?”

Tommy scoffs, but it’s a friendly sound. His eyes crinkle with warm affection, and his nose creases with a smile that is apparently enough to calm Evan, because the megawatt smile returns, teeth and sunshine. “You just did that. I hope you don’t feel like I-”

“No,” Evan interrupts, resolute. “I said you were my date today. You’re my date today.” He takes Tommy’s fingers in his, and the older man lightly thumbs along their joined digits.

“Okay.”

Tommy watches in real time as Evan’s confidence returns. The man that had just been shaken from coming out to his entire world squared up and cockily slid closer. Tommy liked this Evan. No, that was accurate. He liked Evan - Neurotic, infodumping, nervous, and now cocksure, he liked them all.

“You wouldn’t think less of me if I put out on the first date, would you?” Evan’s words ghost between kisses. The kisses are warm and sweet, but Evan’s gaze and the way it rakes over him is anything but sweet.

“I mean,” Tommy shrugs, lips in a tight smirk. “This isn’t our first date, so your virtue’s intact.”

Evan’s fingers slide into Tommy’s hair and lightly pull at the scalp. He kisses him again, fevered and needing. Tommy groans as Evan’s nails lightly rake against the back of his neck. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

Fucking hell, Evan. How was he supposed to resist an invitation like that?

Tommy lets Evan lead him to his jeep. He’s sore. He’s dirty. He’s exhausted. In all honesty, he doesn’t know how high Evan’s expectations are. He only hopes that the other man is understanding. They drive in comfortable silence to Harbor so Tommy can stow his kit and gather his things. Along the way, Evan takes Tommy’s hand and thumbs along the knuckles. Tommy watches him drive, cast in nothing but the slow strobe of streetlights to illuminate him. The lights pull shadows along his strong jaw, his nose, his adam’s apple. Evan catches him looking more than once, but Tommy doesn’t care.

#911 spoilers #fuck it friday #evan buckley #tommy kinard #evan buckley fanfic #tommy kinard fanfic #firepilot #firepilot fanfic #bucktommy #bucktommy fanfic #my fanfic

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lucky-clover-gazette · 5 months ago

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kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 7.5

(not a real chapter, i just decided to keep analyzing until i hit some kind of satisfying conclusion)

this is a special episode of "sam reads capri," in which i comment a bit more on chapter 7 so i can hopefully move forward and evaluate chapter 8 without constantly getting stuck on 7 again.

update after making the additional commentary: holy fuck, i think i solved it. to my satisfaction, at least. i'm really glad i did this.

i have noticed that capri chapters are often self-contained in terms of themes. like, the scenes that are stitched together are done so for a reason. in the case of chapter 7, this is especially interesting. we get the laurent slave stuff, the party, and then the intense lamen argument on the field where auguste died. at first i was almost annoyed that these two situations were put next to each other, because the laurent slave stuff bothered me so much. but then i began to wonder WHY they weren't separated into different chapters. what do they have in common, both thematically and in terms of my personal reading experience? to figure it out, i first have to summarize what happens even each individual scene of the chapter. here are my findings:

chapter 7 scene 1

damen and laurent approach marlas with their combined army. have some super awkward and stunted dialogue about staying in separate apartments. damen has an opportunity to reference a snarky joke, but doesn't. there is so much distance and hesitation, especially compared to their previous dynamic in prince's gambit (they shared a tent like every night and spoke very closely) and even captive prince (they hated each other so they just kinda said whatever the fuck). damen is extremely apprehensive about interacting with laurent in any kind of meaningful or personal way, and is very consciously restraining himself, as well as being restrained by his role as king.

chapter 7 scene 2

inside the fort, damen and laurent are immediately jumpscared by a hallway of slaves. like right in front of my salad. damen, who has already been experiencing massive discomfort and disgust with his own nation's customs, of which he briefly was a victim, continues to turn the slaves down. this is seen as disrespectful, but he's the king of akielos, so it's fine. laurent, meanwhile, seems not even to hesitate before stepping forward and choosing a slave like a kid in a pet shop ("i like that one"). the slave, isander, very obviously looks like damen, which damen notices immediately. laurent asks a little more about the customs of slavery, like the first night, and makes eye contact with damen as he says that he never got to command his previous bed slave (damen). then he asks the slave keeper to teach him how. the keeper says the slave doesn't speak veretian, but "to command any act of service is to honor a slave. the more personal the service, the greater the honor." aka: "he wants you to boss him around." laurent says "really?" and has isander come over, has him kiss his boot how damen had once (reluctantly) done, except isander is totally into it. laurent praises isander, isander's happy, and it makes everyone around them pleased, because the veretian prince is engaging with akielon customs. damen meanwhile has a salty thought about these people being stupid for thinking laurent would actually use the slave as intended, or even respect their customs, because there's no way laurent would actually fuck that guy, or any of these slaves. and damen would be better at undressing laurent anyway. laurent then has to get one more dig in, asking if isander can serve him in the baths, famously (between damen and laurent) a place where damen was embarrassingly turned on by his own attraction to laurent and punished for it. and laurent also says he's pleased by the idea of isander serving him at the party, also something damen did in arles. so basically, laurent just chose a slave that looked exactly like damen, gave him all the praise and affection he didn't give past slave damen and certainly not present king damen, promised a rebound speedrun of their greatest hits at arles in front of damen, all with complete composure and the plausible deniability of diplomacy.

chapter 7 scene 3

damen does not feel like this is a homecoming. the slaves make him uncomfortable. he is acutely aware of laurent in the queen's chambers to his king's chambers, and imagines isander tending to him (but not as well as damen could). he specifically imagines isander being asked to the baths, being flushed with pride to be of service, and then damen curls his hands into fists and thinks about politics instead.

damen arrives at the function to see laurent looking cunty as ever with isander beneath him, being affectionate and shameless and vulnerable. laurent calls damen "brother" as he approaches, knowing damn well that damen is not thinking of brotherly things at the moment. damen feels supremely awkward in his seat next to laurent, without his own slaves, and the awareness of everyone in the room that he'd once been the slave at laurent's feet. one of his generals then questions damen's loyalty to akielos and implies that he's doing favors for laurent because of their sexual relationship. damen just goes straight to denial and dismissal, but laurent decides to show off his cuff and own the fact that he tapped that, damen was his slave, even though damen is the guy who killed his brother. so people really should not fuck with laurent, or question their leadership. it seems to work, and earn him the respect of the generals. food comes out, damen awkwardly feeds himself and the arrangement displeases everyone. damen observes that isander, who is feeding laurent by hand, is clearly in love with him. this, we can assume, is not unrelated to the fact that damen started catching feelings for laurent back in book 2 when he fed laurent by hand. laurent asks a slave to play damen's favorite song, which mentions a guy killing another guy to take his city and has the word "brother" in it. laurent somehow knows this is damen's favorite, perhaps informed by the slaves, who have played it many times for damen before. damen doesn't want to hear it now. damen watches jord tells loyse, aimeric's mom, that he's sorry for her loss, which she gives diplomatic "token attention" despite the very personal nature of the situation. this is similar to damen and laurent's earlier strained interactions. damen then summons jord over for a conversation that basically amounts to jord saying "laurent knew who you were the whole time? damn that's crazy. wild that he really trusted you anyway, because he definitely still did. and he didn't trust anyone else before that, so you must have really been special." damen of course chooses this moment to look over at laurent, who is now basically cuddling isander as isander feeds him grapes, playing with isander's not-unlike-damen's curly hair. damen considers isander to be "a prince's new favorite." everyone starts leaving the party have sex with their slaves (i hate it here) and laurent does the same gesture with isander. damen remembers that time torveld told him, laurent's slave, that he (torveld) was jealous, and would trade places in a heartbeat. damen then excuses himself to chase laurent, but only finds a very confused isander, who says that laurent immediately abandoned him to take a ride once the crowd stopped looking. damen knows that laurent has gone to the field where his brother died to clear his troubled head, and follows.

chapter 7 scene 4

damen arrives at the field. laurent is there, more vulnerable than usual in terms of his clothing. laurent is surprised to see damen there for a split second, but then ices over. damen says that he thought laurent might want a friend, and we know that it's because jord unintentionally reminded damen that he's the only person laurent has let himself get close to since auguste's death, even though he's the guy who killed auguste. damen knows this isn't an easy place for laurent to be and wants to support him, even if it's awkward. he knows nobody else can support laurent, the way he can. laurent, meanwhile, says they can fuck if damen wants, and insists that he knows damen does. that it's all he really wants. laurent tries to goad him into admitting it, and damen tries to talk to laurent about his feelings about auguste. laurent deflects again and damen accepts that they're not having the auguste conversation right now. he earnestly admits that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about having sex with laurent. laurent deflects with a taunt/joke, damen is earnest again, although he does say jokingly that laurent fucked like a virgin. laurent deflects with a taunt/joke again, damen is earnest again again, adding that laurent also fucked like "you knew what you were used to." this particular earnest comment hits on laurent's sexual trauma with his uncle, although damen doesn't know it. laurent tells damen that he (laurent) can't take damen's "particular brand of honesty right now." damen earnestly tries to reassure laurent that he really did like sleeping with him, even if he (laurent) was inexperienced. laurent shoots back that damen would oh my god i get it. wait. i understand the chapter. I UNDERSTAND THE CHAPTER.

laurent says "you like it simple." in response to damen admitting that he liked sleeping with laurent, even though he's not that good at sex. "YOU LIKE IT SIMPLE" MEANS SLAVERY. laurent is referring to the things he's learned about akeilon slaves, things we heard him ask about earlier in the chapter: the first night, the fact that simply giving them a command is to honor them, the fact that they know and can play damen's favorite song by heart. laurent is referring to the simplicity of romancing/loving/fucking a person who has been trained to be romanced, loved, and fucked. a slave who "[knows] what [their masters are] used to." a person who isn't a real person at all. laurent has been observing how this system works all night, and this is him fully expressing his disdain in the most personal way possible. his disdain for akielon slavery, for his assumption of damen's preferences, and in a way, for himself. laurent knows that he could never be an simple option for damen, just how damen spent so much of this chapter holding himself back because knows he isn't an simple option for laurent. nothing about them is simple, in the way things are for a master and a slave. they can't be, and they shouldn't be.

but still... damen and laurent, in this scene, both wish things could be different from how they are. they wish things could be simpler, sweeter, so they could truly fit into each other's lives. but laurent has to be a cold bitch, in order to prove himself in his position. he can't very well say that he and damen wear those cuffs because they belong to each other. and honestly, i don't even think laurent believes that damen wants him, beyond him being a good fuck, as evidenced by the way he greets damen in this scene. being around isander probably made laurent feel insecure, knowing that isander is the kind of person damen fucks for recreation. laurent's proposition was basically a characteristically aggressive, control-freak way for laurent to offer his submission, because he thinks that's all damen really wants. i'm quoting sharp objects again: "sometimes when you let someone do something to you, you're really doing it to them." it's a twisted reflection of the "purity" of akielon slavery, much more similar to the dynamic i think we can assume that laurent had with the regent. and that's really all laurent is used to, besides damen.

four words. "you like it simple." and the entire chapter makes sense. the reason why this scene was in this chapter, juxtaposed with the slavery theme, makes sense. laurent's morals make sense, even if he's still functionally a hypocrite. laurent is protective of victims, people he sees as helpless and powerless and wounded. technically, isander is helpless and powerless, and a victim of the akielon slavery system. but laurent doesn't see isander, the individual, as a powerless, helpless, wounded victim. both because he's well-cared for and perfectly happy in his ignorance, incompatible with the image of "victim" laurent sees in his younger self and nicaise, and because deep down, laurent is jealous of isander too.

damen's response to those four words, "you like it simple," originally felt like an overreaction to me. but now i think i better understand what it means. All the breath left his throat. He stood, stripped, unready for it. Will you use even that against me? he wanted to say, and didn’t. Laurent’s breathing was shallow too, holding his ground.”

the "that" is slavery. both the practice in general, and laurent's assumption based on his new knowledge about the practice. damen saw laurent learn about the first night, and the proper method of commanding a bed slave. and damen knows that laurent knows he's been sleeping with slaves since he was a teenager. so logically, damen's reaction is to the realization that laurent thinks that damen fucked him as if he was a slave, and not a person. imagining him as a pretty object, groomed and submissive, noticeably and shamefully falling short where he is inexperienced. just like the regent.

which explains laurent's reaction, too, with the shallow breating. being around the slaves and isander and marlas must have made laurent more upset than he let on—about damen, about his trauma with the regent, about auguste—and he's only letting himself and feel and express it all now.

damen then makes himself change subjects, back to auguste. because talking about laurent's brother who he killed is somehow less complicated than their sex life. damen tries to reassure laurent that it was a fair fight and auguste wasn't in pain. laurent, unsurprisingly, responds with a taunt/joke.

horses pass by. laurent asks if damen sent them, damen says no. they find themselves in the same exact position they'd been in when they had their first night of true familiarity and companionship, in nesson-elroy. this part of the lamen greatest hits speedrun, they do themselves. the first time where damen felt not like a slave, but like laurent's equal partner. after laurent emptily re-enacting all of those kinky arles moments with isander, this is the thing that's too sacred to be done by anyone but the two of them. pressing up against each other in the midst of an adventure, free from the expectations of their true identities, barely able to contain the emotion between them. oh my god am i tearing up? i'm tearing up.

they pull away and damen tells laurent he isn't cold. damen knows he isn't cold. laurent wasn't cold when he tortured damen out of vengeful rage for the brother he loved, and laurent wasn't cold when he made love with his brother's killer. earnest, as ever. correct and they both know it.

laurent says they have to leave because of the riders, and then walks the conversation back to something damen said earlier, about it being a fair fight with auguste: "a fair fight? no fight's ever fair. someone's always stronger." and they leave.

laurent believes that everything is a power struggle, with one person in control and another person submitting. the strong and the weak, simple as that. this belief extends to intimacy and sex, which makes sense given laurent's sexual history and the veretian court. however, throughout the series we constantly see laurent's cynical outlook clashing with damen's earnest determination to act honorably. which makes the fact that laurent is the one against slavery between them, and damen is the one who has historically happily partaken, deeply ironic. and it makes it even clearer to damen that, to laurent, not only did he kill auguste—but he also made auguste look like the weaker man, adding insult to injury.

laurent never wants to be the weaker man, but also believes that people like himself—people who are decidedly not simple or trained into submission, who refuse to make themselves vulnerable because that would make them victims—can never truly be loved. so he'll choose to settle for being fuckable instead, and that choice gives him control. that's... that's probably why he didn't tell damen the truth about what he knew, in prince's gambit. because laurent assumed that if he was his real self, in his true complicated unsweet nature, damen wouldn't have wanted him in the same way, or at all. and just like jord said, damen was the only person laurent could trust.

damen wants to believe that things can be simple; not in the cynical way laurent implied, but in a way that's entirely earnest and vulnerable. he wants to be able to love and be loved without needing to prove himself the stronger man. he doesn't want to hold back, or follow customs, or be with a partner who is trained to get everything right. he wants someone real—the entire person, not just a body to fuck. he wants adventure and inside jokes, to be a not-slave but not-not-a-slave. he wants nesson-elroy, not arles or marlas. he wants to belong to laurent because he chooses to belong to laurent, and he wants laurent to choose him back.

either i totally just nailed this chapter analysis the second time around, or i overthought so hard that i came up with an entire unintended interpretation and made myself tear up about it. either way, good game, chapter 7. now i feel like i can move on.

#sam reads capri #capri #captive prince #kings rising #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #lamen #isander #the way my body PHYSICALLY REACTED when i Realized #i love!!! this kind of stuff!!!#digging into something and trying to make sense of it!#i KNEW there was more to this. my thoughts here might not be entirely accurate #but i do think pacat was adding more depth to the chapter than i initially assumed #i feel much better moving forward now to chapter 8 #when i tried before i kept referring back to my confusion with 7 #BRO i love reading and writing so much

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