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butyoudidthis4what · 2 months ago

Text

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana.

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible.

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him.

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore.

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.”

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you.

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways.

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?”

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him.

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.”

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest.

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.”

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple.

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much.

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp.

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond.

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion.

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you.

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.”

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.”

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you.

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away.

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack.

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.”

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm.

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him.

“I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder.

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him.

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack.

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler.

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED.

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby.

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him.

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse.

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim.

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do.

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole.

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye?

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby.

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby.

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled.

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street.

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening.

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary.

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel.

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object.

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling, but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious.

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee.

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way.

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page.

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him.

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily.

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own.

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in.

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable.

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself.

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands.

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you.

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once.

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you.

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit.

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be.

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did.

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise.

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood.

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot x you #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbott #jack abbott fanfic #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott x you #dr jack abbot x you #jack abbott imagine

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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 1 year ago

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lightning strike | h. iwaizumi

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, recently established relationship, mutual pining, pwp, dry humping + making out, nipple play, implied raw sex, super love-dovey, deliberate name change from iwaizumi to hajime 18+

✮ wc ; 4k (???????)

✮ a/n ; something deeply frightening happened to me in writing this but whatever. made it with ten minutes to spare happy bday mr iwaizumi

pls be nice if characterization is everywhere its been a while

He’s nervous.

So nervous.

You laugh at him over a can of beer, even harder when he visibly flinches at the sound. The room is too quiet since all of your company has left for the evening. Iwaizumi is tipsy but not drunk - though you think if he has another can he’ll get there just fine.

“Your face is gonna get stuck if you keep frowning.”

He shoots you a glare that makes your lips quirk up. “Shut up. You sound like my Ma.”

“How is she by the way? Still good?”

Iwaizumi snorts and takes a long sip of his beer. He tilts his head back against the couch, arm stretched along the seats. His muscles pull taut underneath the skintight material of his turtleneck. You find yourself sitting on your hands to calm down, but you’re too unfocused for it too work.

“She’s good. She likes the countryside. Been growing squash and tomatoes and everything. Gonna try and stay with her a bit during off-season,” His voice is wistful and affectionate. An only son, filial and polite - you smile at him lovingly. “You should come visit with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Guess it’s the same since we’ve already met but since we’re going steady I though you might be too nervous.”

The realization settles in too late. Just when you thought he’d swallow the nerves down, they make an appearance once again. He sits up straight, clearing his throat, diverting his gaze to the coffee table separating you both. A blush spreads up, all through his body. His ears turn especially turn some shade of cherry red. Dusts all along his nose. He tsks at you, tongue clicking with a familiar petulance. You bite back a laugh.

“Going steady? Seriously?”

“Well,” Your face twists in mischief as you look up at him, your eyes locking briefly. “You’d get all hissy if I called us lovers.”

His eyes go wide - in equal parts shock and mild disgust. You can’t hold the laugh back that time time no matter how hard you try. It bubbles up out of you, euphoric and hysterical. Your laughter is too loud to savor his displeasure, so caught up in it that it takes you a few minutes to calm down again,

“I hate you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. A grin splits your face.

“No, you don’t.”

He frowns and his blush darkens just a touch

The room goes quiet save for the sound of your heartbeat. You try and collect yourself. The house feels too quiet, all prior company absen. Not that Mattsun and Maki dragged out Oikawa to be considerate of your newfound love or anything. You’re sure you’ve already gotten a long text detailing your extortion related to the favor. Still, you’re glad to be alone with him.

It’s easy to split your time between all of them separately when you’re all in the same place - but complicated to be all together. And alone time with Iwaizumi has always been hard to come by.

You’ve been pining for him since highschool - the frequency you wish to see him tuned tuned by the passing years of your relationship and feelings. You’ve gone through the whole spectrum of desires. From wanting to see him everyday constantly, to hoping you’d never have to see him again. It took you well over a decade to make any progress, and the entire process (while surely heartfelt) has been unmistakably clumsy and so, so long.

Spending alone time with Iwaizumi has thus always been complicated except for this one time. You got together, officially, just last week. The day he came home, where you incidentally found yourselves alone together. Something that’d been rare years prior due to said pining and trying to get over him. You don’t even really know how it happened. It felt like the most significant moment in your life thus far and incomparably anticlimatic at once. He was just sending you home since you’d got completely shitfaced, and before you left you grabbed him by the collar and announced it. Just like that.

(You threw up half-way through the car ride back. Your Uber was nice enough to pull over so you didn’t do it in his car.)

You went home after and didn’t speak for days. It took a few more days for either of you to work up the courage to sort things out forreal, but you made it work with the help of even more alcohol.

Things get busy though, when Oikawa returns home and Hajime is off-season. It’s rare things line up, and when they do - it’s only natural you spend all your time together. You did today too, celebrating Iwaizumi’s birthday among the four of you with take-out and Godzilla movies on your nice flatscreen.

But you haven’t been alone with each other since your chat establishing your relationship as not a pipe-dream, which was notably through text.

He’s nervous, so incredibly nervous but so are you. Just a little.

You look up after being lost in thought - to see Iwaizumi stare at you. The air shifts slow and steady, thick tension stirring in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, rubbing your feet together as you fold over yourself, chin resting on your knee.

You wonder if you should be the one to break the distance. Iwaizumi beats you to the punch this time. You suppose you’re even.

“Come ‘ere.”

He pushes the coffee table farther away from him with ease, careful not to knock anything over. Your tipsy self swoons over his competence, but you’re sure you’d do the same sober.

The look he gives you as you crawl over to him makes you feel bashful. You go over until you’re sitting side by side - stretching your legs out. Your thighs barely touches. Iwaizumi jolts, swiping a hand over his face in exasperation.

“Sorry,”

You shake your head. “It’s okay.” Because it is, then just to make sure. “Are we okay?”

“More than okay,” He admits, a breath of relief following the words. “It was a good birthday, by the way. Thank you.”

“They’ll get upset that you only thanked me,”

He bristles immediately making you giggle. “I’ll thank those knuckleheads later.”

You smile at him, wide and bright. He looks at you before quickly looking away, laughing a little humorlessly to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about but decide against asking, comfortable letting him go at whatever speed.

“Can I uh—“ He clears his throat. “Wanna kiss you. Just uhh… shit.”

You’d love to tease him, but you feel like your heart might explode out of your body so there’s not really much room. Nodding, you sit up on your knees and turn a little to face him. His features soften with remarkable fondness. You flush at the sudden attention. He sits up straighter, turning his head to face you. His forehead knocks against yours softly, noses brushes. His eyes are so sharp. You have to close your own when you feel him leaning in to kiss you.

Iwaizumi is warm. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be. His hands feel big as one snakes up to cup your neck. He gives you one deep kiss, followed by two pecks before pulling away to make you chase him. He rewards you by kissing you agai. The sudden pressure makes your head spin.

You pull away dazed. “You’re… super good at kissing.”

“Yeah?”

You press your thighs together at his reply. So sexy it’s unfair. “Uh-huh.”

He gives you a weighted hum.

His reaction spurs you on then. You pull away from him momentarily. Iwaizumi stares at you in reply, worry making his brow furrow. Before he can get the words out, you seat yourself on his lap. He’s taken aback as he realizes your intent, your arms around his neck. It’s not even really the alcohol, as much as it’s everything else. Cramped in your living room together, pressed up against your couch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and shiver in his arms smelling his cologne. Spicy with a hint of pine. He hesitates, hands settling so carefully on your hips.

He lets you stay like that undisturbed until you’re ready to pull away. Like he senses you needed that. He’s always been so good at knowing what exactly you need. Suddenly restless you decide you need to look at him again - make sure he’s real. That this is real.

“Hey,” He mutters. His pitch is low, sends your heart hammering.

You giggle, fluttering nervously. “Hi,” And then, “You like me,”

“Pfft,” His voice is so tender, so soft, so comforting. “More than that.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by your own giddiness, you squeak. You want to bury yourself in his shoulder again, but he’s quick to hold your wrist and stop you. He pins you under his gaze. It’s so intense you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights. Your head is empty and all he’s doing is looking at you.

But maybe that’s the whole problem. He’s looking at you, and you’ve wanted that for more than a decade. Now having it is too much, too suddenly - and you’re almost afraid of having it. It’s just a gaze, but it’s yours. He’s telling he’s yours in a way that’s just like him.

“You…” He starts on something before letting you go. “For a long time,”

He doesn’t need to explain. You already know.

“Me too,”

He calms down when you get it..

“Really?” He follows up. He doesn’t look at you as he goes on. “How long?”

You think on it.

“Since we were fifteen?”

“Same as me, then.” He’s clumsy with the follow-up. “That’s…”

“Dumb? Ridiculous? Too long?” You say, filling in the words for him. “I know.”

The extent of your own longing comes to you in waves. Love, like the sea trapped behind ice - so easily shattered. You’re drowning, your lungs aching trying to get adjusted to what is finally yours. The shock of it comes and goes, but you’re surrounded by it all the same. Iwaizumi stares at you and you stare back and nothing in the world exists except this desire you’ve kept to yourself for years.

His name comes out like a whimper on your lips. “Iwaizumi,”

“Hajime,” He corrects, so tender. So sweet to you. “Please,”

“Hajime,” You test the name out on your tongue. It’s sweet.

He doesn’t say anything after that.

Your breath hitches as Hajime crowds into your space again. His hands are firm on your hips as he kisses you again. It’s different from before, lingers longer - his tongue pressing along the seam of your lips until you open them and allow him in deeper.The taste of alcohol is clearer on your tongue, bitter remnants of malt making you drool at the corners of your mouth. You kiss hungrily, your hands carding through the short, black hair with a longing sigh. Hajime groans a little when you tug at the root and the only thing you can think to do is try to sink into him further. .

The hear raises without warning. Your skin under your clothes feels like it’s on fire. It feels different too suddenly for you to adjust and keep completely calm. Lust that borders cosmic engraves into your bones. Crumbling under the weight of it, you kiss Hajime like your life would end without it. In the moment, it feels like it would. Exchanged breaths are the only source of air for that space and time. You feel frantic, hazy - and Hajime who you know to be so steady, proves to be in the same place as you.

His hands are so big. You can feel how tight he grabs you, his thumb pressing into your hipbones - itching to go lower. You don’t want to pull away but you want more. In the second you take a breath you tell him as much. Your own delirium might bring you shame if you were in any place to really feel it. “You can touch me. However you want.”

“Fuck. Don’t say that.”

“Hajime, please.”

You mutter something but you don’t catch what it really. Your head is swimming with unrepentant ardor and your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth. Hajime kisses you again and takes the lead. The pleasure echoes in how you sigh, your hips rutting against his lap as his hands squeeze your ass. His hands are so fucking big - strong and kind and hold you with no uncertainty. The groping goes straight to your cunt, stomach starting to twist with familiar arousal. You push your hips against him again.

You’re hardly thinking about it. Hardly thinking at all - no coherency or sense thrumming through your brain except his name. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. An incantation of destiny. A love song.

You feel his fingers inch up to go underneath your shirt - all of a sudden feeling burdened by all the layers between you. You can’t calm down.

He pulls away from you first in that instance. Before you can ask, he nudges himself close to your neck, kissing along your jaw. You feel the fabric of your shirt tug. “Can I take this off?”

You nod rapidly, then mimic him wanting him to do the same. His laugh is raspy in the follow through - your shirt and bra discarded somewhere on the floor. He stops suddenly, flicking his gaze up to you like he’s asking permission again. You just nod, not knowing how else to convey your desires.

Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal and cool air. Hajime’s tongue flicks from his lips.

His gaze makes you feel ticklish. He runs his palms over your tits with an appreciative noise. His eyes linger long enough to make your skin go hot all over, your spine prickling with heat.

“Staring,”

He looks up at your face, amused by your pout then kisses you as he feels you up, calloused palms brushing against your nipples, tits fitting perfectly in his hands. He smiles a little against your mouth. “Guess I am.”

“Take yours off,” You plea.

He obliges you, peeling the tight shirt away from his body and leaving his bare torso in full view. The proximity makes your lungs tighten like they can’t get enough air - heat radiating from his skin. His physique is toned, layers of muscle soft and comfortable He’s structured and gorgeous like a statue. You’re greeted by his broad chest and the corded muscles of his biceps. All sinew and strength, down his core. Strong and stable and big everywhere you could possibly look. You feel awestruck, mouth-watering at the sight - clit throbbing. Objectively attractive, you’re sure anyone in your place would feel the same. But this is your Hajime and the body he’s worked so hard on, full grown and yours. The trail of hairs down his stomach, getting coarse. The v-line of his waist makes you clench.

Too much.

The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, like water spilling from a broken dam. “I want you to fuck me so bad,”

His brows raise. You can feel something twitch hard against your clothed pussy. At full mast underneath the confines of his pants. \Your eyes go wet when you realize what it is. Mind sticky, you draw your lips into a pout and silent protest. Despite your desperation, you almost want to say it again, pleasure thrumming through your body at his reaction. It feels like electricity sparking up from the base of your spine all the way to the top of your head.

Hajime presses his face to your neck all over again - hot, open mouth kisses trailing from jaw to chest. You gasp when his mouth closes around your tits, tongue laving over the tender skin and making your back arch.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” He mirrors. His voice is scratchy and his grip is tight. “Been wanting to fuck you so bad for so long, you have no idea.”

There’s something true and well pathetic about the yearning that wells up inside of your gut and settles itself in your sternum. It spreads and grows and tangles in your ribs, curls around the vessels of your heartbeat. The kind of yearning that makes your whole being tremble, makes you want to preen and sing like a canary. It’d be good if time stood still so he could fuck you infintely - never being able to go where you can’t reach.

You rock against him and Hajime holds you steady like always. His voice drops down to murmur - speaking with alarming clarity. You’re teary from the sound of his voice.

“Let’s cum together,” He offers as reprieve, so sweet despite the harsh grip on your hips as he draws your weight down closer to him. You’re suddenly conscious of your choice in clothes - how thin the fabric of your shorts really as as the rough outline of his cock presses against the seam. You’re glad you didn’t wear underwear “And then I’ll make you cum again. I’ll take care of you,”

“You always take care of me,” You say with no awareness of your surroundings. He laughs breathlessly. ‘

“Yeah..since it’s you, it’s easy.”

You go wide-eyed but don’t get a minute to dissect. Not bothering to unbutton his jeans, you gape at the hard outline of his cock confined in black boxers. his He picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as your spine touches the carpet of your living room floor. You make a surprised noise as you’re let down gently. He doesn’t unfurl you from him. You spark back to life as his lips meet yours again chastely. The complaint you had dies on your lips when he trails down your jaw again. His voice is next to your ear, sinfully rough - warm breath tickling your skin. His teeth tug on your ear lobe and you shiver.

“Tell me if it’s too much,”

You don’t get a chance to ask about it.

The sudden motion of his hard cock rutting and humping against your sticky, wet cunt punches the air of out of your lungs.

There’s only a single layer of wet fabric keeping him from fucking you. The very idea makes your pussy throb unhelpfully. You understand all of a sudden that this was what he meant about wanting to make you cum. But it’s Hajime, your Hajime - so making you do any work wouldn’t cut it. Humping you in missionary of all things like he’s already inside you.

The thought overwhelms and you gasp.

You don’t recognize the sound of your own voice, so high and pitchy with need. Pure pornography. But there’s no camera for you perform for, nothing but Hajime above with with a heavy gaze. Your spine arches at the sensation once it hits its stride, the angle of friction just right. The indirect touches makes your core throb. Your clit has been achingly sensitive for so long, and the release of tension in a single thrust is enough to make you shudder each time. It feels like you’ve been holding the feeling in your entire life. You wheeze his name out brokenly as he does it again - a sharp thrust, precise enough to be perfect like he already knows you that well.

Your lower body feels week as the arousal starts to climb to a steady chorus. You pant for him like a bitch in heat.

He’s not inside you but the smack of his hips against yours makes you feel like you’re getting fucked anyways. You imagine how it’ll feel when he really fucks you and can’t see straight after the fact. Each little movement spreads precum along your shorts, already wet with your own arousal. The friction of the damp fabric makes you cry out from pleasure, animalistic with need. Your nails dig into his biceps as he kisses you all over, wherever he can possible reach. Along your neck, shoulders, collarbones chest. Any place he has accsess.

You want him so fucking deep it’s frustrating, want him up to your throat - but the lack of direct touch makes you want him more desperately. And it makes it feel so, so good. The kind of pleasure that’s dull and throbbing but makes something in your spine go alight, like shoving your thumb into a bruise. You want Hajime to press himself into you hard enough to make the healed dull yellows vibrant purple and red all over again.

You gasp helplessly each time he rocks his hips into you. He’s whispering such filth against your ear, into your mouth each time you kiss and you can’t reply with anything but his name. He praises you each time anyway, goads you into saying it again. Again and again and again until you can’t find your own voice.

“Say it again,” Hoarse, punctuated by another thrust that nearly drives you over the edge and makes your eyes go wide. “Say my name again, baby”

“Hajime.” So you say it- can’t think of any substitute since you’re not sure god would suffice. Locked between you in the warm sticky air is just Hajime, all yours.

Every muscle in your body starts to lock up as you hit the final stride to your orgasm. You want to cum so badly for him and only him. All over his cock in any way he’ll light you. The thought pushes you over the edge. Over and over and over until you hang over the precipice of your own orgasm. When it hits, it hits like a crash of thunder on open plain. Like suddenly everything in you that’s every been grounded in Earth is scattered with sparks, skating and careening across your body. You feel him in the fiber of your being. Your toes curl at the sudden release, not able to voice a warning that isn’t just a soft gargle in the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop or stutter in his motion, instead gripping your hips tight as he can while lets you run through your high - nothing but praise and affection.

You can feel him more than you can see him cum along with you. Sticky, hot seed flowing in spurts as his dick twitches for you - his ragged breathing covering your skin in goosebumps. You moan at the warm sensation drenching your poor, covered pussy and find the load to be wasted though you feel contented anyway.

You’re barely sane enough to catch your breath, but he eventually lets you down - though you can’t keep from hugging him. You pull back to look at each other.

You brush the sweat matted hair away from his forehead with a lovesick sigh and giggle. He looks down at you with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours with.

“Can’t believe I came in my pants like a teenager,” He says through a laugh.

“It’s like making up for lost time,” You say warmly, all floaty. “Plus, the way you were fucking me but not fucking me…definitely a man. It was really hot, you know?”

He groans. “I’ll get riled up again.”

You smile at him. “Let’s fuck lots for your birthday, Hajime.”

“Is that the present you mentioned earlier?”

You pretend to think on it. “Mm..no. Not just the sex, anyway.”

He looks at you confused as you lean in closer to him. “It’s safe so there’s no condoms anywhere in this apartment, unless you wanna go stop to get some.”

He gives you a blown out look of lust with a soft breath, voice bordering a growl. “As if I’d make it through the door now.”

You laugh helplessly happy and kiss him. “Happy birthday.” And then a little quieter. “I love you.”

He softens visibly but doesn’t say anything else. You don’t need to hear him to know.

You think the spare copy of your keys might make him cry. So you decide you’ll give it to him later.

The clock hasn’t hit midnight yet, anyhow. You have plenty of time.

Now and always.

#writing tag #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi smu #iwaizumi hajime x reader

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 10 months ago

Note

for thawing out, i see how you've already characterized the reader as kind of the calm, even keeled one of the group and i would LOVE to just see her stand up for herself and absolutely blow up after getting pushed too far by the boys (a little mean of me to want her to go through that but-) but yes i love me a good out of character moment that kind of make the characters be like "oh shit maybe we shouldn't be acting this way-" love you babe 🫶

Hi lovely, idk if this is exactly what you had in mind but thanks sm for requesting! Love you <3

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, implied past abuse, hurt no comfort (for some)

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.9k words

When Remus arrives at your apartment the next morning, Sirius is already standing at the front door. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glowers in Remus’ direction, but it’s difficult to find him very intimidating when his nose is pink from the cold.

“Oh,” he says, feeling awkward. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Sirius replies drily. “What are you doing here?”

Remus shrugs. Fine. If Sirius wants to be a prick (and what else is new), he can do that too. “I didn’t think you’d come. Have you knocked already?”

“Of course I knocked,” he all but sneers. “Why would you assume I wasn’t going to be here? I said I would be.”

“I honestly didn’t expect you’d be able to drag yourself out of bed.”

Sirius looks ready to make a retort, but your door opens. You look surprised to see both boys on your doorstep, your smile tentative. Remus still doesn’t understand how you can do that at such an early hour.

“Hi,” you say. Then you turn to Sirius, grin widening as you pinch the frozen tip of his nose fondly. “You made it.”

“Obviously I made it!” The other boy’s voice takes on a wounded tone, and Remus has to tuck a smile into his scarf. Sirius must suspect, because his gaze narrows.

“How did you get this address?” he asks Remus.

Remus feels his brow crinkle. It’s not as if he’s the one you’re in danger of.

“He texted me last night, and I gave it to him,” you answer for him. “I sort of assumed you’d oversleep.”

Sirius makes an indignant scoffing noise, but he appears to have nothing more to say. He seems in especially brutish form today. You’re as unphased by his moods as usual, hooking your arm through his.

“I’m sorry to get you both up so early, but I suppose two guard dogs are even better than one.” You squeeze Sirius’ bicep affectionately, and the look you send Remus is pure sweetness. “It’s really nice of you both to come.”

Something warm and fond blooms in Remus’ chest. Sirius mutters some disgruntled sort of assent.

You grin. “And now, we can all buy our own drinks!”

“Oh, fuck this then,” Sirius’ irritating pugnacious tone is back, though now it’s at least partly for show. “I didn’t realize that was part of the deal. I want out.”

You only make an amused pffting sound, pulling him playfully against your side.

Remus falls back to let the two of you walk alongside each other on the sidewalk. It’s odd and occasionally entertaining to watch you, so entirely familiar and at ease with each other. It’s the sort of relationship Remus hasn’t had in years, and he’s beginning to question whether he ever had a bond quite as close as yours. It’s obvious even from the outside that the pair of you know each other inside and out, and that you love each other just as deeply. But Sirius’ love is another thing entirely; the way he looks at you is almost too painful to witness.

Remus doesn’t understand why Sirius hasn’t pursued you. He certainly prefers it this way; it makes his job considerably easier with things platonic and professional between the pair of you, but it just doesn’t add up. Sirius strikes him as the sort of cocksure prat who goes for what he wants, every time. He’s certainly arrogant enough to be sure he’ll get it, and admittedly, with his looks and devil-may-care attitude, there aren’t many people Remus can see turning him down. (They definitely should, but they likely wouldn’t.) Perhaps, after knowing him so long and working with him so closely, you’re simply too smart to get entangled with the likes of Sirius Black.

You do eventually look back to call Remus up to join the two of you. Sirius looks irked at this, and Remus wishes he could say he was more mature, but he goes in large part because of it. You loop your other arm through his and make sure to include him in your conversation the rest of the way to the rink.

The morning’s practice goes by with much of the same forced camaraderie. You’re friendly and receptive, Sirius is loud and irksome, but overall Remus is pleased with how things are going. You’re improving every day, to a degree Remus can’t help but admire. He can easily see you perfecting this routine by the Olympics in less than a month, which certainly defies his expectations from when he first started coaching you. Sirius is the same as always; he’s not as consistent or as controlled as Remus would like, but he doesn’t seem inclined to change and his form is (though Remus wouldn’t admit it aloud even at knifepoint) truly beautiful to watch.

By the end, he has only one thing to say.

“I think we need to up the ante.”

You look up from where you’re putting on your skate guards, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“You’re going to perfect this routine.” Remus can say that with confidence now. A nice little bonus is the way your face lights with bashful pride when he does. “You’ll get plenty of execution points from that, but if you want to really compete it wouldn’t hurt to add a higher difficulty move.”

Sirius looks up, his gaze watchful.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

“A death spiral,” says Remus. “We could fit it in during the lower-level sequence towards the end. You should be ending with more of a crescendo anyway.”

You’re nodding. “An outside death spiral?”

“And backwards, if you’re up for it.”

“No way.” Sirius’ skates are already in his bag. You look over at him, bemused, but he’s looking at Remus. “You can’t fuck with the program this late. It’s only a couple of weeks before we leave.”

Reluctantly, Remus turns to face him. His eyes are like a brewing storm. “And would you like to medal whilst you’re there?”

“We don’t need this to medal.”

“You don’t know what the competition will be like. You need to bring everything you can to the routine.”

Sirius kisses his teeth. He stands, looking at Remus with barely repressed malice. “A backwards outside death spiral isn’t something you can just toss in at the last minute. We’re only just starting to manage what we have in the routine already! It’s too risky.”

Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes. Sirius isn’t subtle; it’s clear what this is really about. “She’s going to be fine,” he says firmly, refusing to back down when the other boy's eyes narrow. “She’s perfectly capable of deciding for herself whether she wants to do this, and your feelings cannot be the deciding factor here. The death spiral is a staple of pair routines. You have to take some risks if you want to compete at this level.”

“Oh, do you?” Sirius’ laugh is cold and dead. “Is that what you did? If it’s so fucking easy, why don’t we get out there so you can show us how it’s done?” He juts his chin towards the ice, jaw set and eyes blazing. “You can let us see how great it works out to take risks.”

Remus doesn’t even feel the ache in his hip as he takes two quick steps towards Sirius, towering over the other boy with his blood pounding in his ears. Sirius is forced to look up, but he turns his chin up defiantly. His face hardens as he takes in a short, quick breath.

You cram yourself between them.

It’s like snapping back into his body. Remus stumbles back, his hip screaming at the hurried motion. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron, collapsing backwards onto the bench while you put yourself in front of Sirius like a human shield. Your expression is wrathful.

“Do not do that,” you growl. You reach behind you, taking Sirius’ forearm in your grasp as though to keep him from moving. “God, why do you both have to be such dickheads to each other? We’re done here.”

You march straight past Remus, dragging Sirius along on your other side like a dog on a leash. He looks about as shell-shocked as Remus feels. Your outburst knocked him flat on his ass, literally. It’s not that Remus didn’t think you were capable of yelling; he suspected you had fangs, but the venom came as a surprise.

He winces when the door bangs shut behind you. They probably deserve that. He doesn’t envy Sirius, who’s likely to get a lengthy lecture from you on the walk home, but Remus does realize this could mean him losing his job. Trading petty remarks with Sirius had almost begun to feel like part of his role, but he’d never expected to make you so furious. He doesn’t know what it will mean for him that he has.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

During the entirety of Remus’ long, steamy shower, he cannot stop thinking of the look on Sirius’ face. The way his eyes had almost changed color, going from a murky gray to blue like the hottest part of a flame. He’d looked almost pleading, for half a second after Remus first brought up the death spiral, before his face hardened back into harsh stoniness. He keeps fixating on that look, that second where the dynamic between them seemed on the brink of shifting before it didn’t. But maybe it never could have. Maybe Remus imagined the whole thing; it was only half a second, anyway.

Regardless, he feels stupid for stooping to Sirius’ level. He’s better than that, he hopes, but in the last few weeks he’s let the other boy bring out the worst in him. He decides that if you don’t fire him, he’s going to try harder to be above it. If Sirius wants to trade insults like a child, Remus can treat him like a child; with patience and a repertoire of aloof platitudes, but he won’t engage with him anymore.

He’s put on a pair of pajama pants and is moving the waistband to hold a pack of frozen peas to his hip when there’s a knock on his door. He leans back to peer through the window, and there you are, blowing into your hands and shivering on his doorstep.

Remus groans as he gets up. He was really hoping to have at least one night of relaxation before having to have this conversation.

You must stop rubbing your hands together when you hear him opening the door. “Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” Remus replies, amused despite himself. They’re having one of those odd nights where snow falls but doesn’t stick, except to you apparently. Little white flakes are tangled in your hair and dusted across your shoulders. Remus can see some between your eyelashes when you blink. You’re stiff as a board, but there’s no hiding the tiny waves of trembles that shake your frame.

“I hope it’s okay that I didn’t call first.” Your voice is teetering on the brink of a chitter.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” Remus really shouldn’t feel so warm towards you when you’re likely here to fire (or at the very least, berate) him, but you do look terribly cold. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You step inside so fast he hardly has time to make room for you, and the sleeve of your coat brushes against his bare chest, making him shiver. Remus realizes then that he’s not wearing a shirt, but he decides not to care; it is his house (or his rental, at least), and you’re the one who showed up unannounced. He’s entitled to be as underdressed as he likes.

This small bit of indignance, though founded entirely from a battle within himself, reminds Remus to be miffed with you.

“If you’re going to ask me to apologize to Sirius,” he says, going to the kitchen to put the kettle on (he may be miffed, but he is still Welsh), “you can save it. I have no intention of getting into a row like that with him again, but I was not the one who was being unreasonable.”

You rub your lips together, nodding. “Yeah, I agree. You shouldn’t apologize to him.”

Remus feels his eyebrows draw together. “Okay…good. Because I’m not planning on it,” he says, just to be sure you understand. “He was completely out of line.”

You nod again. “He was.”

Remus finds his eyes straying to the door while he mulls over whether he’s feeling impolite enough to ask the next logical question. Then what are you doing here?

You take in a breath, letting it whoosh out of you. “I came because I want to apologize.”

It’s impossible to keep the surprise off his face. “You?”

“Yeah.” You rock a bit on your feet, and Remus realizes you’re still wearing your coat. Either you don’t plan to stay long, or you’re too anxious to take it off without an invitation. “I’m sorry I shouted at you earlier. It was really harsh—I mean, I was right, but I didn’t need to be cruel about it.” You glance to the side, a bit of bashfulness softening your voice. “I also shouldn’t have called you a dickhead.”

A little chuckle escapes him. “We were being dickheads.”

“You were,” you agree, “but I still shouldn’t have said it. I don’t want to be like that. I’m sorry, and I hope you still want to stay with us.”

You look back at him, your expression intentionally firm but your eyes beseeching, and some part of Remus melts. He and Sirius get into fights all the time—loud ones, with shouting and name calling and absolutely no holds barred—but you snap at them once, and here you are. Having walked here by yourself in the cold because you feel bad about it.

“Let me get your coat,” he offers.

You take your tea to the couch, where you curl up automatically on the side opposite Remus’, pulling your legs in so he can pass between you and the coffee table. Remus picks his peas back up as he sits carefully, stifling a groan. It’s a bit embarrassing to ice his hip in front of you, but the pain has become too much to ignore.

You wince as you watch him settle them underneath his waistband. “Is that because of me?”

He can’t very well tell you the truth when you sound so guilty. “No,” he says. “I have to do this a lot.” That part’s not a lie.

You nod, still looking sorry. Remus is grateful when you move on quickly.

“Just so you know,” you say, “Sirius probably won’t apologize to you either.”

Remus almost snorts. “Yeah, I wasn’t anticipating he would.”

You smile ruefully. “I know he probably feels bad about saying what he did—he knows he had no right—but he just gets so caught up in anger sometimes. If it helps at all, today was just an especially hard day for him. He’s always…extra on edge around this time of year. You learn not to take the things he says personally.”

Remus studies you through narrowed eyes. He blows steam off his tea. “Does he do that to you often?”

You shake your head. “I don’t typically goad him,” you say with no small amount of humor. Or pointedness.

He lifts a brow. He’s already told you he won’t be apologizing for giving as good as he gets.

You sigh, your expression going somber. “Listen, I know Sirius can get really—” you shake your head again, blowing out a breath “—really quite hot headed, but you can’t get in his face like that. His life has—well, it’s not my place to tell you about what his life has been, but even when he says things like that, you can’t act all threatening just because you’re having a spat, okay?”

Remus feels his brow wrinkle. “Threatening?”

Your face softens. “You looked like you were about to hit him,” you say gently.

Something inside Remus gutters. “I did?”

You nod, looking almost apologetic. He feels nauseous.

“I didn’t…”

“I don’t think you would have,” you clarify. “I’m not saying I thought you were going to hit him, I just know how Sirius works. And from his perspective, I know how it looked. You can’t do that to him.”

“I don’t want to do that to anyone.” Remus sounds injured even to his own ears, and so he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to shut out the pained pinch of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. “I really had no idea that’s how it looked. I think I got too caught up in being angry about what he said, but it won’t happen again.”

“I know.” Your voice is gentle. You set a hand on his knee, tentative but there. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. It’s okay, just…now you know. For next time.” Remus opens his eyes again, and you smile wryly. “You can shout at him all you want. Don’t let him dish it out without making him take it, but just stay away from physical stuff like that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees hoarsely. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You give his knee a friendly pat, leaning back against the couch cushions and sipping your tea.

Again, Remus marvels at you. Sirius fights for you every day, whether you ask him to or not, loud and bold and relentless in his devotion to you. He wonders if Sirius knows that even when he doesn’t ask, in your own way, you go to bat for him too.

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kleopatra45 · 7 months ago

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Moon in the Houses of D9 Chart

1st House

When the Moon occupies the first house of your D9 chart, feelings become the driving force in establishing your identity. What you seek in a partner is someone who understands your need to feel things deeply and does not stifle or shun your emotions. This makes for a spouse who is most likely instinctive and sensitive to your moods. They may ease your self-soothing pursuits, providing solid support and peace of mind merely in their presence. You will be able to explore how relationships enhance your self-perception, and together with this individual, you will be at ease revealing the innermost layer of your identity. Prepare for someone who cares about your emotional state and pushes you to go beyond your limits.

2nd House

Possessing the Moon in the 2nd house indicates that the individual seeks a sense of stability and emotional containment within the constraints of relationships. Such a placement often indicates a spouse who prefers coziness, sameness, and pooling of possessions. They may have a serene down to earth personality that provides you with the peace and the assurance you need. The potential mate is most probably an individual who appreciates the need for anchor, perhaps more so one with a strong inclination towards creating a house and providing for the family. Somebody to help you build and maintain good foundations that impart a sense of security and encouragement within the connection and oneself.

3rd House

Having a Moon in the third house indicates a propensity towards relationships that are intellectually stimulating and characterized by plenty of dialogue. One requires a partner who is inquisitive, articulate, and emotionally available. Your spouse might resemble someone who loves talking about anything, serious topic or trivial, thus making you feel bonded by such verbal exchanges. They could be funny, artistic, or thirsting for knowledge and they will offer the mental and emotional challenge you seek. Conversations come easily with them, and you can anticipate enjoying the processes of learning, discovering, and creating with one another.

4th House

When the Moon occupies the Fourth House, one feels the intense craving for a warm and nurturing home which is laudable. Finding a mate who understands the importance of connections, heritages and emotions is the expectation. The potential mate is most probably one who derives satisfaction in the art of home making and prioritizes emotional connection with the propounded mate. Protective, and loving are some of the qualities that she possesses as well as ensuring that you are emotionally secure. It feels as if a fortress will be constructed, and more so, traditions and rituals will glue the two together. This deity will restore order and comfort within you as well as contentment with the relationship.

5th House

If the Moon occupies the fifth house, it implies that romance, creativity, and fun are significant features of your emotional life. You are more likely to attain a spouse with a certain innermost child, probably of a romantic, creative or an artistic nature. This individual will promote your self-expression and will aid in bringing active and playful dimensions to the relationship. Additionally, they might motivate you to explore your artist side after experiencing something beautiful together. This type of bond will have its share of play and leisure, and your wife will be very instrumental in helping you meet your emotional needs amidst love, laughter and various activities.

6th House

The Moon in the sixth house indicates that one has a craving for stability and constancy in any relationship. A spouse who pays attention to schedules, exercising and relies on the feeling of togetherness is required. Therefore, your prospective marriage partner is potentially disciplined, committed, and active in carrying on with her works— a spouse who plays an active role in sustaining their day to day activities. He might also urge you to create better habits and even assist you in bringing order in your life. This individual nurtures stability and peace within the everyday interactions of the couple and will carry you through the storms and rain with a warm embrace and unwavering affection.

7th House

The placement of the Moon in the seventh house indicates that such individuals have an emotional connection in most of their relationships and that they are inclined to believe that being in a partnership is the key to happiness. Such individuals probably seek a spouse who is loving, gentle, and responsive to them. Shisamba’s mate will most likely be the person who seeks symmetry and closeness in the relationship. This mate will know you instinctively and probably assist you in finding parts of yourself that you could not access by yourself. There will be a very intimate bond between the two of you and feelings of safety, respect, and fulfillment will be given to you in a way that is warm and affectionate.

8th House

With the Moon located in the 8th house, there can be a tendency for an individual to seek emotional depth, intimacy, and transformationalism in any relationship. A partner for this person is most likely to be someone with a dark, romantic and intense character. They may provoke your protective emotions, making you deal with your fears and weaknesses. They could be interested in something like working with the mind, the spirit, or the body, and they will encourage you to feel your buried emotions. Such a partner will not shy away from walking on the emotional deep end with you, hence, making the relationship very meaningful and healing as well. Together, you will experience love that is purging and liberating at the same time, through the process teaching you that there is strength in being vulnerable.

9th House

Having the Moon positioned in the ninth house indicates a profound joy in emotional pursuits of studies, travel or extensions in one’s views. A prospective life partner in due course will be a free-spirited and adventurous person who, most probably, belongs to a different culture or ideological setup. This person will promote your inquisitiveness, and urge you to seek answers about spiritual matters, or the big questions in life. This person allows for emotional growth in the relationship and also makes you feel bigger and better than before. It is with them that you will step out of the boundaries and gain lessons from experiences as well as from the internal spiritual quest.

10th House

With the Moon being positioned in the Tenth House, it suggests that you search for someone who will be a stabilizing force, enshrined in respect and potentially elevated social standing. This individual would apply themselves to the work at hand, fulfill commitments, and be dedicated to a cause. Such a person will be supportive of your work and ambitions, and together you will build a lifestyle that will be envied by many. They will help you maintain your public persona and assist you in integrating work and personal fulfillment. This bond will most likely have a beneficial and practical approach, where focus on joint results helps each feel secure emotionally.

11th House

If the Moon is positioned in the 11th house, one’s sense of belonging and emotional contentment are more inclined to friendships, group activities, and common objectives. You are most likely to marry someone who is rather liberal, social and broad-minded, probably someone in the field of charity or in a kind of teams’ work. They will push you to achieve your dreams and strive together with you for them, broadening the scope. This partner will be a confidant, who helps and motivates you to achieve desires that you both cherish. You will embark on a cause, and transform into a pair, inspiring and drawing strength from each other’s endeavors, while the relationship remains the area of comfort and cordiality.

12th House

When the Moon is placed in the twelfth house, it reflects an inclination toward spirituality and a desire to bond with one’s spouse on almost a mystical level. With this position, it can be assumed that one’s future spouse is likely to be an intelligent and kind-hearted person with creative or spiritual interests. They likely are soothing and serene by nature, encouraging you to examine the recesses of your mind. With them, you’ll be able to find emotional comfort, learning how to enjoy one’s company along with peace within oneself. This individual will assist in the loving exploration of more concealed layers of oneself, offering an unwavering love and primeval experience that is far from ordinary, and allowing for the appreciation of deeper, more occult dimensions of existence.

©️kleopatra45

#astrology #astrology community #astro notes #astrology observations #astroblr #astrology tumblr #astrology readings #houses in astrology #astro community #vedic astrology observations #vedic astro notes #vedic astrology #vedicastrology #vedic chart #d9 chart #navamsa chart

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slut4thebroken · 1 year ago

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Needs

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary | Tommy’s been so busy with work that he’s been neglecting your needs… So you come up with a plan to finally get some attention.

Warnings | Smut, semi public sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, degradation, humiliation, praise, brat taming, gunplay, established relationship.

Words | 2.3 k

Notes | I feel like I still don’t really have his characterization down tbh :/ oh well😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Smut prompts 4. "what would they think if they saw you right now?" 36. “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” 48. “no panties. you need me that bad?” 50. “i bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home” 52. “you keep acting like a brat and i’ll take you over my knee right here. i don’t care how many people are watching” 75. "You wanted this. You can take it."

This definitely was not your proudest moment… but you’re pent up and Tommy has been too busy to take care of you for almost two weeks now. You’re desperately craving some rough, hard fucking. And you know exactly how to get it.

Placing your hand on the man’s bicep, you laughed along with his “joke” and glanced at Tommy from across the room. He still hadn’t noticed you yet and you prayed he would soon because you’ve never met a man more bland and boring than the one in front of you. He’s also either completely stupid, or just doesn’t know that you’re with Tommy since he’s openly flirting with you.

“You know, you truly are very beautiful.” He said, the joking tone now completely gone.

“Oh- thank you..” You smiled, trying not to cringe.

“May I dance with you?” You glanced at Tommy again— still nothing.

“Sure.” He led you over to the center of the room and grabbed your hand, placing his other hand on your back, far too low. He started up another conversation and all you could do was nod or hum in agreement, too focused on looking at Tommy every chance you had.

When you finally, finally met his gaze.. you immediately recognized his expression. You forced your eyes back on the man in front of you and smiled, trusting that Tommy would be over here any second now.

“Hello, darling.” You stopped and tried not to smirk as you turned around. Tommy was looking between you and the man who quickly let go of you and stepped back.

“Mr. Shelby.” He greeted, giving an awkward smile. He looked between the two of you and seemed to suddenly understand the situation. His smile slowly dropped as he took another step back. “I- I’m going to..”

“Yeah, you do that.” Tommy sneered, waiting until the man scurried away before turning to you. He didn’t bother asking before grabbing your hand and pulling you into him by your lower back.

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you…” He murmured, making you smile a little. “We’ll see how cute you look later when we’re home.”

“We were just dancing.” You said, in a tone that implied that you weren’t just dancing.

“Right.” He scoffed.

“There’s no need to get insecure, Tommy.” You said innocently, watching as his cheeks tensed when he clenched his jaw. His piercing blue eyes practically stared through you and if it were anyone else, they would’ve backed down immediately.

“You keep acting like a brat and I'll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care how many people are watching.” He spoke in a low, menacing voice, making your stomach flutter.

“Really? You’re not too busy for that?” You snarked and his expression shifted into one of realization, then amusement.

“Is that what this is about? My girl is a bit needy so she turns into a whore?” As soon as he started teasing, you knew you had to do more for this plan to actually work.

“Screw you.” You spat, pushing him back by his chest. His eyes darkened and without paying any attention to the people who were now watching this encounter, he grabbed your wrist and started dragging you somewhere. “Let go!” You tried yanking yourself free, but his grip wouldn’t budge. He pulled you through a few hallways until you reached the kitchen, then shoved you into the room and slammed the door shut.

“Quit it. I won’t tell you again.” He warned.

“I didn’t even do anything! You’re the one who made a scene and dragged me away from the party.”

“Oh, I made a scene?” He chuckled and you clenched your jaw, letting out a heavy breath through your nose. “Does no cock for less than two weeks really turn you into a complete brat?” He was still so fucking amused, so you shoved his chest again. He suddenly gripped your neck and pushed you back a few steps until you hit the counter. “I said quit it.” He growled, tightening his grip on your neck.

“Fucking make me, Thomas.” You spat, purposefully using his full name.

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter right now… Don’t push your luck.”

“Oh, are you? Do you even have time for that?” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more bratty before in your life.

“Fine. You want to be fucked?” He quickly spun you around and pushed your chest down onto the counter, then bunched your dress up, letting it rest on your back. “Really, no panties? You need it that bad?” He snickered, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You don’t regret your decision to go without them though.

The sound of clothes rustling as he opened his pants had you squeezing your thighs together, eager for what was to come. Without any warning he fully sheathed himself inside you, making you cry out and scramble for purchase on the counter.

“Fuck! Tommy— what the hell?” He didn’t even give you a second to adjust before starting a brutal pace. Grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, he bucked into you wildly with little care for your own pleasure. But for some pathetic reason that only made all of this hotter. “God- Tommy, slow down.” You whined, trying to squirm away.

“You wanted this. You can take it." He gruffed, letting out quiet grunts now. Honestly, you’ve been a little horny since the moment you decided not to wear any underwear, but it’s been longer than usual since he’s been inside you and he didn’t do anything else to prep you, so the stretch burned a little. It was quickly turning into overwhelming pleasure though. When you reached a hand down to rub your clit, he twisted your arm behind your back almost painfully.

“Brats don’t get to touch. You’ll be lucky if I decide to let you come at all.” You cursed under your breath and closed your eyes, only getting more worked up by his words and the way he said them.

“Fine. When we’re done, we’ll go back out there and I’ll tell everyone about how Tommy Shelby can’t make a girl come.” You snarked. He pulled out with a low growl, making you smirk a little. You watched him walk across the kitchen, opening and closing drawers quickly. When he picked up a wooden spoon and started walking back over, you smirk dropped and you lifted yourself off the counter. “Tommy… Not here.” You warned, stepping away from him when he approached.

“Get the fuck over the counter or I’ll make you.” When you didn’t move, he unholstered his gun and pointed it at you lazily. “Now.” Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly, glancing between the weapon, the spoon, and his face. Even though you knew he’d never actually shoot you, the fear was still there. So you tentatively walked back over and leaned on the counter again. He lifted your dress, then immediately resumed fucking you, dragging the spoon over your ass to make you tense up.

“I have responsibilities other than satisfying your needs.” He started, placing a firm smack on your ass with the spoon, making you curse loudly. “I run a business,” another smack, this one even harder, “I have a family…” The third hit brought tears to your eyes. “You are not my only priority, you understand?” You whimpered at the fourth smack, but even through all of this, he never stopped fucking you.

“Answer me.” He growled, and this hit forced a choked sob out of you.

“Yes! I- I understand.” You cried, clinging to the counter to ground yourself a little.

“Your libido is inconsequential,” He continued, landing another hit on your already burning ass, “and I will not tolerate my woman acting like a whore because of it.”

“Tommy..” You whimpered pathetically.

“Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?” He spanked you twice in quick succession and you let your head fall onto the counter as a tear finally escaped your waterline.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, only crying harder when he hit you again.

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” You whimpered.

“Last fucking chance.” He spat, spanking you again.

“I’m sorry for… acting like a whore.” You choked out and he landed one more hit on each cheek before dropping the spoon onto the counter.

“There you go.” He cooed, rapidly snapping his hips into you, adding more pain to your already burning ass. “What would they think if they saw you right now?" He asked amusedly and you whined as your cheeks heated up. “Bent over some random rich asshole’s kitchen counter, getting spanked and fucked stupid…”

“Tommy…” You whimpered, voice barely audible. Your hips were digging into the edge of the counter painfully and your legs were trembling from the intensity of the pain and pleasure. With each thrust, his balls were smacking your clit, teasing you with the slightest amount of touch where you really needed it.

“From now on, when this cunt is needy, you come to me before whoring yourself around, got it?” You nodded desperately, feeling so close to pleasure that was just out of reach.

“Yes— yes.” You choked out. “Please, Tommy, I can’t take this.” Your voice was a weak whimper and you hoped it’d be enough to get him to cave.

“Do you need to come, darling?” He cooed mockingly, making you frown a little.

“Yes! Please make me come,”

“You can come. But you’re not using your hands.” He said cruelly.

“Tommy, please..” You whined, needing more. You knew he wouldn’t give it to you though.

“Better hurry too cause I’m getting close.” He chuckled quietly, obviously enjoying your suffering.

“I can’t! Please!” You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve been able to come from penetration alone.

“Do you need help, my love?” He asked softly, voice contrasting his actions as he fisted your hair and yanked your body up until your back was against his chest. The cold barrel of his gun dragged down your cheek, making you stiffen and close your eyes with a strangled whimper. “Is this better?” You let out a choked sob even though, yes, it was helping you get closer to the edge. “You’re trembling… Like a little lamb.” He murmured against your ear, sounding uncharacteristically endeared.

“Tommy..” You whispered, unconsciously flinching away from the gun.

“Are you scared?” He whispered back and you just barely nodded in response. “Good girl. I like you like this.” He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek and you mewled, feeling your orgasm barreling toward you. He never stopped thrusting, but based on his breathing and the quiet sounds he was making, you knew he was close. Which meant that if you wanted to come, you had to do it now. His lips moved down to your neck and began kissing and licking the sensitive skin, occasionally sucking it into his mouth to leave a mark.

“Come on, love. Drench my fucking cock, I know you can do it.” The gun brushed over your trembling lips teasingly. “This cunt isn't useful to me if it can’t come.” The degrading words forced a strangled moan out of you. When he cocked the gun, your body immediately went completely rigid. “If it’s not useful, then I don’t need it...” He said coyly and you whimpered in response, feeling so incredibly close to release.

“So be a good toy and let that cunt show me why I should keep you around.” That was all you needed to finally fall over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and your whole body tensed up, then started almost shaking as all of the tension was finally released. This was your first orgasm in almost two weeks and it had you struggling to breathe properly and keep yourself up with the way your legs were beginning to feel like jelly.

“Good girl.. I got you.” He cooed, holding you in his arms but never faltering in the movements of his hips. “Let it all out, darling.”

“Tommy.” You whimpered through all of the moaning.

“I know. I know, love.” He whispered, holding you tightly. “Ready for my come?” His words made another strong wave of pleasure roll through you and you were mumbling out incoherent pleas before you could stop yourself. You probably missed the feeling of him coming inside you the most out of everything.

Without another word, his hips stuttered, then he bottomed out, pushing you almost painfully into the edge of the counter with a low groan. You whined at the faint feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he painted your walls with his come. He was grunting quietly, his breathing growing ragged and fanning your neck, getting you worked up again. But he was done far too soon.

Panting quietly, he set his gun down on the counter, then kissed the crook of your neck, filling your stomach with butterflies. You loved his soft moments like this, especially after how rough and mean he was being.

“Good girl…” He whispered. “So good for me.” Your cheeks heated up at the praise.

“Don’t let me go, I’ll fall.” You warned quietly and he released of soft chuckle in response.

“Lean over the counter, darling.” He murmured, giving one last kiss on your neck before letting you lean back down, resting most of your weight on it. He dragged out slowly, making both of you hiss at the sensitivity. “Fuck… I missed seeing this.” He groaned, enjoying the sight of your walls wrapped around his length.

You whimpered in pain when he grabbed your sore ass and pulled you open to get a better view of your fluttering holes and his come leaking out. At the first sight of it though, he kicked your legs together, making it drip down your thighs instead.

“Tommy...” You whined and he gave a teasing slap to your ass as he let out a half hearted chuckle, then pulled your dress back down.

“Try not to leak all over the floor, love. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to explain that.”

Taglist (join here)

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#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby

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rika-mmendmethings · 3 months ago

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Risqué Sketches | Sylus

Summary: You're an artist at heart with your boyfriend, Sylus, mostly being your choice of muse. What happens when he comes across a sketchbook that holds your innermost desires and has provocative drawings of him?

Warning(s): explicit language, profanity, first-time, reader is implied to be female, innuendos, cunnilingus, bodily fluids, unprotected sex (tap it, guys), p-in-v intercourse, dirty talk, use of pet names like sweetie and kitten, cervix fcking (I am bad at tagging, hope you get the point)

Word count: 4.5k

Now playing: 2 on by Tinashe

Notes: My first work here ♥ This is the aftermath of my ovulation phase starting.

The sound of your 4B pencil gliding over the smooth, pristine paper broke the silence of the maroon room. You began with a simple circle, which, with a few deft strokes, morphed seamlessly into a diamond-shaped face. Next, the sharp outline of the nose, followed by the delicate contours of the ears and neck, all took shape under your skilled hand.

But it was the eyes that always turned out to be your favorite subject to draw. Their deep, ruby tincture was intoxicating, always pulling you in whenever they met your gaze. In this sketch, his eyes were half-lidded, revealing only a narrow strip of that vibrant red, while his lips curved into a smirk that was borderline dangerous.

With a few final flourishes, you put your pencil away, now staring at the image of your boyfriend, Sylus — shirtless, toned, and looking like he might chain you to his bed if you gave your consent. You held the notebook close to your chest and squealed, face tinted with both embarrassment and ardor.

You were an artist at heart, preferring a more characterized style that personified a person’s personality. People were always your favorite things to draw. There was always something satisfying about being able to perfectly capture a person with simple lines and colors.

Over the course of your relationship, Sylus quickly became your muse — the subject you constantly returned to in your art, the person you longed to capture with perfect precision. As your feelings for him deepened, so did your need to render every detail of him flawlessly. This longing intensified the moment he asked you to be his girlfriend.

What had once been innocent sketches of his sharp, piercing eyes and his Cheshire grins gradually evolved into something more risque, something undeniably charged with desire. Pages filled with nothing but images of a shirtless Sylus, drawn with a quiet intensity, reflected your secret longing for him to take control.

This secret collection of yours was hidden inside the drawers of your study back in your home, only retrieved in the quietest, loneliest hours of the night when the urge to indulge in your fantasies grew too strong to resist. You were far too embarrassed to let anyone, especially Sylus, see these drawings. If he ever discovered what you’d sketched in the privacy of your thoughts, you feared he would end things without a second thought.

So, it was a wonder why you'd carelessly left the sketchbook in your small overnight bag, uncharacteristically exposing it as you prepared to stay at his place. It was an oversight, a lapse in judgment — one that could easily spiral into disaster if you weren’t careful. And yet, some invisible pull urged you to pull it out and continue your drawings. After all, Sylus was out finishing the last deal of the day, and he’d be back at exactly 11:15. It was only 10:30, surely you had a little time to lose yourself in idle fantasy, right?

Your eyes traveled back down to your newest sketch, your brain trying to decide whether or not you were disgusted with yourself or if you should be pleased. The drawing itself seemed alright; the anatomy was near perfect, but the actual content…well…It felt sinful, like drinking too much bubbly soda that left a deep hole in your stomach and spoiled your dinner.

As your eyes drilled into the drawing before you, your mind split into a battlefield of guilt and curiosity, dissecting the morality of repeatedly sketching your boyfriend — especially the more risqué ones. You questioned yourself, wondering if your art had crossed a line when, suddenly, the door to your shared bedroom opened with a soft creak. You froze as if caught in the headlights of a car, watching helplessly as Sylus walked in, unfastening his cuffs.

"Beloved, I’m home," he announced, his voice light with a relaxed smile. "The diamond deal with Chang wrapped up rather quickly, so I came home and picked up some food for us."

Every profanity you’d ever learned rushed to your tongue in an explosive wave — cursing your bad luck, the spiteful gods, Chang the businessman, and most of all, yourself. This was it. The disaster you had been silently fearing. You should’ve thrown the sketchbook into the fireplace the moment you realized you’d brought it with you during your weekends with your lover—or better yet, you should never have sketched it at all.

You hastily shoved the indecent drawings beneath the maroon sheets, your fingers trembling. "T-that’s… wonderful," you managed, your voice unsteady as you fought to maintain composure. One wrong move, one slip-up, and Sylus’s razor-sharp instincts would catch on. "Welcome home, my love."

You forced a smile, as calm as you could muster, but Sylus’s unblinking gaze made the effort feel hollow. His smile faded into something more inquisitive, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. With a fluid motion, he removed his blazer and tossed it onto his mahogany armchair. Then, he took a few steps toward the bed, leaving the food untouched on the desk, its rich aroma floating through the air and teasing your senses.

"Wh-what’s up?" You tried to laugh, but it came out half-hearted, your words trailing off in the air as his presence seemed to loom over you, intensifying the tension. Did he really have to stand above you like that? Like a cat toying with its prey before the inevitable pounce?

“Nothing. I think…I think I just like the idea of coming home to you on my bed like this.” He plopped down onto the bed next to you. “That and you are acting quite peculiar.”

Oh, Lord.

“O-Oh? I am?” you stammered, inching toward the sketchbook in a desperate attempt to shield it from his view, silently praying to any higher power that Sylus wouldn’t notice its presence. Your fingers crawled toward the book, attempting to cover the glaring "SYLUS QIN, MY BELOVED" label emblazoned on the front.

Yet, despite your silent pleas, fate seemed to have something far less merciful in mind.

Sylus’s gaze narrowed, his eyes tracking your every movement, until they landed on the book — half-hidden but still unmistakable. “Ah, you were drawing,” he observed, his tone smooth and steady. “I don’t recognize that cover. May I see it?”

The sensation in your body was electric, every nerve igniting with panic. It felt as though you were doused in gasoline, and Sylus — ever so calm — was holding the match that would set everything aflame. The heat spread quickly to your cheeks, your throat tightening with the sharp sting of embarrassment. His gaze bore into you as if peeling away every defense you had left. You knew, then, that the longer you hesitated, the more suspicion he would harbor.

“Sketchbook?” you croaked, struggling to regain your composure. “Right, yes, I was just… drawing while waiting for you to get home. Totally normal, nothing you’d really want to see.” You grabbed the pad with frantic hands, clutching it to your chest as though it were the last thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your arms shielded it like an impenetrable barrier, a fortress protecting treasures from a curious and relentless dragon.

Sylus’s lips curved into a faint frown, and with barely any effort, he arched a single eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s nonsense, sweetie,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I always love seeing your art.”

“I-I really don’t think you’d want to see it,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, the sketches are so rough, they might burn your eyes out. And your eyes are too beautiful to be burned.” You tried to force a laugh, but it felt weak, hollow.

Sylus’s expression hardened into a skeptical frown, his nose scrunching slightly in the way he always did when he wasn’t buying your excuses. And in that moment, you realized — he wasn’t fooled. Not for a second.

Unfazed by your protests, Sylus extended a hand with a swift and decisive motion, reaching for the sketchbook before you could react. Panicked, you scrambled off the bed and hurriedly backed toward the center of the room.

“Beloved, this is nonsense. Why can’t I see your drawings?” Like a predator, Sylus stalked his way towards you slowly yet purposefully.

“Because—!” You blurted out, voice cracking under the weight of your panic.

“Because…?” he prompted, his gaze never wavering, his tone insistent.

He was now mere inches from you, close enough for you to feel the tension radiating from his body, his slight frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“Because I…” You dragged the word out, trying to buy yourself a moment of clarity. “I want to keep it private?” It was a half-truth, and you both knew it. Sharing your art has always been one of the most intimate ways you connect, a way to reveal parts of yourselves without words. You had never once turned down the opportunity to show him your creations — it was a quiet kind of intimacy you treasured deeply. And now, you were lying to him about it.

The room hung in a thick, charged silence as the two of you locked eyes, a fierce contest of wills. And in that moment, when Sylus’s lips curled into a knowing, almost playful smirk, you realized you had already lost this battle. He knew. He always knew.

“Forgive me for this, alright, sweetie?” he said, his voice low, and before you could react, his arm shot forward with the precision of a strike. He reached for the sketchbook again, and the tug-of-war began in earnest.

You fought back with all your strength, pulling desperately to keep the book out of his reach, but no matter how hard you tried, Sylus’s relentless determination — combined with the strength honed from years of training — meant you were always on the losing side. For every inch you gained, he yanked it back with ease, closing the gap effortlessly.

With one final, forceful tug, you lost your balance and crashed to the carpeted floor, the sketchbook slipping from your hands. Sylus stood over you, his imposing figure casting a shadow as he loomed above. One hand pressed down on the floor beside you, trapping you beneath him, while the other gripped the sketchbook with a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He pulled away, resting some of his weight on your lower abdomen and rendering you immobile. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but feel a certain way with Sylus on top of you like this. His smirks were always rugged and somewhat sinister in tone, but now, with him on top of you, it felt like electricity shooting through your body and down between your thighs.

He studied the front of the small binder with a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he glanced at the cover. “Ah, I see why you didn’t want to share this with me,” he mused. “A sketchbook full of nothing but me? Kitten, I’m flattered.”

You squirmed beneath him, desperation rising as you tried in vain to stop him. You pleaded and begged, but Sylus — unfazed — hummed softly as he began flipping through the pages. Each turn of the page only seemed to fuel his already growing ego, his confidence swelling with every passing second. With each flip, you felt as though the moments you had left as his girlfriend were slipping away. Time felt like it stretched into eternity, and worse still, you were powerless to stop it.

“I don’t know why you didn’t want to share this with me, kitten,” he continued, his voice light but laden with curiosity. “These are wonderful—”

His words trailed off as his gaze fixed on the next page. You could feel the weight of his body, the tension in the air, and the shift in his expression as his mouth parted slightly, his eyes widening with surprise. A faint blush tinged his ears, and suddenly, the silence in the room became almost suffocating. The air grew thick with something unspoken between you. Another shiver ran down your spine, like the brush of a ghost’s touch, as his intense ruby eyes met yours. You felt yourself becoming dizzy with the force of his stare, a pull so magnetic it made your body freeze, paralyzed by an overwhelming surge of emotion. You closed your eyes to steady yourself, fighting the urge to fall deeper into him.

You waited for him to speak, to say something, but Sylus remained silent, his gaze still locked on you, his fingers idly turning the pages. The only sound was the faint ringing in your ears, the heavy silence amplifying the tension between you both.

“I knew you would think I was disgusting…” you muttered, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

Sylus shook his head, his expression softening, his eyes crinkling with disbelief at your accusation. “What? No, no…” he said quickly, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s not that, beloved. This isn’t disgusting in the slightest.” He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was just a little… surprised, my love.”

His finger trailed down your neck to the opening of your shirt, leaving a fiery trail of butterflies in its wake and teasingly playing with the buttons. “I didn’t realize you needed me this badly, sweetie…” He whispered in your ear.

“S-Sylus…”

You shifted around, body suddenly searching - yearning - for something, but you weren’t sure what. It was an exuberant, even wanton, anticipation; a breathless pining that consumed every ounce of your being until your mind became clouded with need. Any previous inhibition or self-doubt you had quickly drifted away.

There was some more shuffling of papers and yet another soft chuckle emanated. “Kitten, if you wanted to know how big I was, you could have just asked.”

He held up another picture from your sketchbook, one where you attempted to draw a fully nude picture of Sylus that ended up being scrapped, the only remnant being the question How big even is he? 5, 6 inches maybe?

Instead of being embarrassed by this though, the comment only furthered your lack of restraint, and you had to slowly rock yourself back and forth against Sylus’s thigh to assuage the increasingly empty pit deep within you. Sylus’s lips pressed against your neck once more, surely leaving marks to remember in the morning.

A small whimper escaped your mouth, his hands wandering up further until they palmed your chest. You allowed yourself to move just a bit faster, only for Sylus’s hands to trail back down and tightly grab your hips, forcing you to remain still.

“Sylus, what the hell!” You whined.

“Patience, sweetie. If you want me to make love to you then you have to calm down, alright?” He turned you around so that you were now face to face and kissed you gently. “This is our first time, after all; I want to do it right.”

He continued to press tortuous open-mouthed kisses down your body, unbuttoning your blouse along the way. “You are so beautiful…” He murmured against your skin.

Your back arched from the hint of pleasure feasting your body, picking away at every last bit of sanity until nothing remained. The comfortable clothes you wore suddenly felt too tight and restricting to breathe.

He pushed you onto the bed so your back was flush against the covers, his frame looming over you, and from the tent of his black slacks, you could tell that your estimation of five to six inches was far off.

“Sylus…I need you…” You panted. “Please”

“And you will have me, sweetie.” He assured, the loving smile he only showed you in full view. “But for right now, I just want you to stay still and be good for me, alright?”

His mouth was back on yours before the words of agreement completely passed your lips, and his arms returned to their place on your cheeks, pressing you closer. He led the kiss this time, his tongue hungrily searching for your own, a groan rumbling low in satisfaction when it met its mark.

His mischievous mouth left yours to press kisses to your jawline, your pulse point, your neck. An involuntary whine left your throat when he found the sensitive spot nestled at the bottom slope into your shoulder, his teeth marking it as his own. “You taste so good, kitten,” he murmured, his assault on the thin skin continuing until you were sure it’d bruise. Despite his task, he didn’t miss the way you shivered at the affectionate moniker.

His tongue was back in your mouth, hands traveling from your throat to your collarbone, shifting around your heaving breasts to toy with your swollen buds. His kisses only paused long enough to rid you of the remaining garment before joining your skin again, traveling down to the hollow of your throat, the swelling skin of your breast, leaving violet blooms in his wake. You were writhing, full of need, your hands grasping desperately at his shirt until he took the hint and shifted it over his head.

Leaning back, he traced the outline of each nipple, moving slowly until he could palm each breast, squeezing slightly. “You’re so beautiful, sweetie,” He sighed, molten gaze focused on the sight of his hands full of you. “I’ve been thinking about how these would feel since forever.” Thumbs pinched and rolled the tender buds, causing you to keen loudly before he smoothed the hurt, lips coming to pull one peak into his mouth.

His tongue swirled against you, fingers alternating their pinching and pulling until you were whimpering. “Sylus, please,” you cried, a hand coming to tangle in his silver locks, tugging at the roots. He chuckled low against your skin, a devilish sparkle in his eyes as he looked up at you. “Shhh, I’ll give you what you want. Let me enjoy this.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. He was making you crazy with need, taking his sweet time in his torture of your body, and you weren’t sure you’d survive his exploration of you. A lick down your abdomen signaled his ascent, hands trailing down the curve of your pelvis. Bare before him, he admired your form, hands smoothing up and down your thighs. “God damn, you’re fucking sexy. I bet you taste as good as you look.”

Putting a finger in his mouth, you watched helplessly as he suckled the digit, pulling away once It was drenched in his salvia. Electricity raced through your veins when he made sudden contact with your throbbing center, dragging up your slit and pressing against your clit. A loud moan of his name had him grinning, leaning back down until you could feel his warm breath against your cunt. “Is this where you want me?” at your affirmative hum, he nuzzled closer, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your sopping core. His movements were slow and skilled, tracing a delicate pattern into your folds until he found the bundle of nerves at the apex. Wrapping his lips around it, he suckled gently, applying pressure until you were crying out for him.

He had you so worked up at this point that it wouldn’t have taken much longer to set you over the edge, his palms keeping you spread as his wicked tongue lashed against your heat. Your hips were undulating against him, hands pulling and tugging his hair as you held him closer. “Fuck, I’m so close, Sylus!” Your eyes rolled back, another moan leaving you. He grunted against you, the vibrations making you shiver. Letting go of your clit with a lewd pop, his fingers trailed up and down your slit, his eyes boring into your own.

A shrill cry left your lips as his efforts doubled, vision blurring with tears as you felt the band in your belly tighten. He had you right on the brink, and you wanted to go over the edge so badly. His fingers were pumping into you wildly, curling to hit that spot that made you see stars, unable to continue forming coherent sentences at his assault.

The second his lips suctioned back to your throbbing clit you slipped over the edge into orgasm, the white-hot band snapping and blooming from your nerves. Moans tore from your throat, a cacophony of his name. He murmured praises against you, his free hand smoothing circles into your flesh until you came back down, chest heaving. When he was sure it had ended he pulled his fingers out, licking them clean before crawling back over your body. “So good. You are amazing.”

Mouths joining again, he grasped you tight to roll over, switching your positions until you were now straddled on top of his torso. Your hands explored the expanse of him; strong muscles beneath flawless skin, smooth under your fingertips. Shifting your hips, you pressed your dripping heat against his strained erection still painfully hidden in his slacks, lapping up the deliciously low moans he pressed into your mouth. The friction of his pants against your sensitive flesh had you mewling, your lips finally leaving his own to trail messily down his jaw, his neck. Large hands join your own in pulling off the remaining offensive clothing between you, leaving him bare to your greedy eyes. He immediately pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips before grunting, “Hands and knees, sweetie. I'm about to make you see stars in the daytime.”

Shifting below him, you leaned on your forearms until your ass was perched in the air, wet cunt fully on display. A deep growl left his chest at the sight, a hand coming down to slap the flesh presented to him, causing you to yelp. “You’re such a devastatingly good tease, aren’t you?” Another slap resounded in the room, leaving a reddened mark in its wake. “So sexy, and all for me.”

Hips swaying, you taunted him further, the feel of his blunt head toying at your entrance making you whine. “Sylus, please, I need to feel you.” He hummed thoughtfully, continuing the slow drag of his cock against your dripping core. He seemed content in teasing you, enjoying the way you jumped when he brushed your sensitive clit before diving down to catch at your ready hole and sliding his cock to saturate your arousal. He stuttered, a low moan leaving his lips and sending a shiver down your spine as his palms returned to the flesh of your ass. “God, I think I might die.”

His descent into you was slow, your walls slowly adjusting to his girth to welcome him deeper. You pleaded, “Move, Sylus. I need you to mov—”

An urgent thrust cuts off your words, a gasp tearing from your throat instead. You felt unbelievably full, the slight sting from the stretch quickly ebbing into a low hum of pleasure, one that radiated down to your toes. Eye closing on instinct, you could feel every inch pulse against your sensitive walls, each of his glides torturously slow. You needed him harder, faster - you needed to fall apart against him.

His thrusts started coming at a rapid speed, his cock slamming home harder each time until the slapping sound of skin was echoing throughout the room. You felt the white hot band of your impending orgasm pull tighter, hands furling into the sheets. You wanted to drag your nails down his skin, to destroy him the way he was destroying you, but his current hold on your body prevented any movement.

It seemed he could read your thoughts because the next moment, you were flipped so that your back hit the bed and you were face-to-face with your lover. He ran a hand through his sweaty locks, briefly explaining, “Wanted to see your face as you came. I want to see you all ruined for me.” You felt a rush of wetness at his words, body already following his directions without a second thought.

The devil of a man just smirked, licking his lips as he positioned himself against your weeping core. Grabbing your knees, he folded them back into your chest before sliding home, the guttural groan leaving his chest in perfect harmony with your own. Arms caging you in, his face was inches from your own as he started pumping into you, crimson eyes taking in each expression of pleasure on your face, each whimper and moan from your throat. A particularly angled thrust had you crying out a garbled form of his name, and it was then he knew he found what he had been looking for.

Dewy lips crashed against your own and you were silenced by the overtaking of his mouth, his tongue seeking yours and stealing your breath. Your cries increased in pitch, the build in your lower gut ready to spill at any moment, and yet he continued to swallow each moan, rubbing your throbbing clit with his thumb.

It was with his next thrust against the tender spot of your walls that had you shouting out his name, orgasm slamming into you until your eyes rolled back and back arched into a dome. Sylus worked you through the high, his hips rolling and grinding into yours until you were messy, nails leaving an angry trail down the skin of his back and biceps.

He cursed, hiding his face in the crook of your neck before finally spilling inside of you, murmurs of your name pressed into your throat as he rolled his hips through his release. You reveled in its warmth, and after a few more lazy strokes he was collapsing on top of you, cock snuggly resting inside your core.

Heavy breaths were the only sound for the next few moments, a content hum leaving your boyfriend's throat as you raised a hand to stroke lazily through his white locks. Your body was sated, thrumming with a calming glow that had every muscle relaxing and your eyes drooping shut.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you were startled when you felt him pull out slowly, his cum spilling from your core. You pout, reaching out for him. “Where are you going? Come back.”

He chuckled, body leaning over yours once more. “Just going to clean up, kitten, don’t worry.” You watch as his eyes look down at the mess he made of you, his sleepy grin now turning dark as he eyed his release dripping down your thighs. Long digits swiped through the milky substance, his heavy-lidded gaze setting your skin ablaze before he pushed it back inside your abused walls, a small squeak leaving your lips. “Keep that where it belongs.”

You must’ve fallen asleep again because you woke to him wiping your tender sex clean, pulling your body upright to slip one of his t-shirts over your naked form. Allowing yourself to flop back down on the bed, you peered up at him as he slid into the bed beside you, wiggling you into his arms. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck and his hands found purchase on your waist and nape. He started playing with the hair there idly, causing you to melt against him. Silence enveloped you both and you drifted off to the land of dreams, content in the newfound intimacy that had bloomed between you two.

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hawkepockets · 6 months ago

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1 of my da:v opinions is that. ok. “eldest daughter/people pleaser raised in a land strange to her people” is an awesome core character concept. it’s just not at all who i thought harding was based on her inquisition dialogue? in veilguard, harding talks abt how she learned to butter people up and take up less space after being harrassed as a little dwarven girl in ferelden; in da:i, she said the same experiences taught her to be rough-and-tumble and to aim for the balls. even her minstrel song is about the vindictive glee she feels in battle while “cutting men down to size.” it calls her the “inquisition’s bloody prize.” she’s a violent person! violent enough to inspire ballads! by fereldan standards!

it’s not that she couldn’t have learned both behavior patterns, but since we don’t rly see them contrasted in harding’s da:v characterization, it feels more like an overwrite to say she’s gentle now.

she’s also just never been a people pleaser! her role in da:i was straight talker! she was one of the few npcs the inquisitor could trust to give a blunt report on the terrain and political situation in a new map. in “jaws of hakkon,” she had the clearest, frankest, most compassionate but also harshest insight about how their personhood was being eclipsed by their reputation and titles—

she’s forthright, without illusions, and also one of the most uncompromised & uncompromising believers in the inquisition’s cause. NOT one of the many followers courting the inquisitor’s favor & backing for their own agenda. absolutely not a pushover or a kissass.

and what’s the significance of calling harding an “eldest daughter” with implied negativity when her ma doesn’t appear in the game and their relationship is drawn as wholly positive?

so i think maybe harding & taash could’ve switched roles, with harding being the clear eyes of the party who tends toward the blunt, crass, and fanatical but will never lie or fawn, and taash being the heart, the people-pleasing eldest first gen immigrant daughter who gets in touch with their masculinity, individuality and fire during the story—while still retaining harding’s warm, naturalistic speaking voice & taash’s clipped commentary, and the contrast between their personalities that attracts them to each other.

the addition of younger siblings, whose relationship with shathann is not strained in the same way taash’s is since they are neither adaari nor the children shathann left the qun for, could also add depth & complexity to taash’s questline, more cultural ties for them to untangle (or - my preference - to realize don’t need untangled) and another contrast with only child harding, whose heavy responsibilities are all taken on by choice and not inherited… or so she thinks until her own personal quest.

maybe taash could even have another mom, who isn’t fridged?

just a notion!

#dragon age #veilguard #taash #harding #dav spoilers #<- sorry! shouldve been in there for the taash/harding mention

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ragde890 · 4 months ago

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Chainsaw Man #194 analysis

So... Chainsaw Man 194.

I can't help but think about Power with the first scene. Two chapters ago, Denji mentioned her. And now we've got a first page very reminiscent of the composition of chapter 71 —almost mirroring it.

It doesn't end there, however. I find the next page is also reliving —in this cycle Denji seems to be trapped in— the "Bat Devil Arc" (chapters 4-12).

Back then, Denji was in a very similar state to his current one. He found his life empty and meaningless and his trauma, simple thinking, lack of socialization and toxic relationship with society, sex, gender and himself led him to gaslight himself into believing that what he really needed was sex. During his whole "rescue Nyako" thing, for example, despite the fact that he obviously felt empathy towards Power and wanted to help her because he could relate to her feelings (having lost Pochita himself), he still gaslit himself into believing he was "only doing it for boobs". In fact, Denji thinking about himself as some kind of unfeeling monster or animal (or dog, as he was called by the Yakuza and Makima alike), trying to interpret anything in terms of "biological needs" is a self-destroying attitude that has persisted until now.

The only difference with that and his current way of thinking is that now he's at the very least self-conscious (although he is still unwilling to accept the times he's been a victim of SA and blames himself from it/is trying to convince himself he has/should have like it.), and the trauma is much bigger.

Then, the immediate page after this opening displays something that was already shown in the "Bat Devil Arc".

Denji, despite being hypersexual, stuck in a loop of death and violence, and in the case of these last chapters, pretending he can live "like a Devil", is not at his core a bad person. He cares about consent, he values the people around him, he doesn't wish harm.

Fujimoto feels the need to reiterate this because we've seemed Denji do fucked up shit these last chapters (eating the tree people, "enjoying" Yoru's destruction and killing spree) and we're probably gonna see even more.

In the next pages, we see that he's well-aware of how fucked up the situation is, but his casual demeanour shows that he's not really facing how *serious* the situation really is: like he doesn't want to truly face reality.

Again, we turn to the omnipresence of Fire . First in the news, that show the destruction caused by both Yoru and the Fire Devil, and then, a bit subtler, with Denji cooking Gyozas —with the paneling emphasising the fire on the stove.

The next page yet again reinforces Denji's new (old, in fact, but I'm referring to its post chapter 183 version) mindset of living like an animal/devil: caring only about "sensory pleasures" like eating, sleeping or sex.

It also makes the yuxtaposition of "everyday life" and destruction/apocalypse that's been on for the last arc even more obvious.

After that, we get to the next scene.

Some people might have not noticed, but this "One month from now" dialogue is implying a timeskip. "Two weeks" in universe ago, Barem said "Half a year", so... When was the 5 month timeskip? After Denji was captured by PS? During this chapter, after the first scene (in which case, Asa was 5 months in the backseat?)? For now, it's a mystery.

Right after that, we've got what looks like a callback to chapter 131, with Fami using what seems like the same kind of excuse Nayuta used back then. If we believe Fami is being honest here, then she was sincere as well in that interaction with Nayuta, and we'd finally have some characterization for her. It does indeed look like she's given up: she doesn't believe she can defeat the Death Devil anymore, so she's trying to enjoy what little life she has left (maybe even in *imitation* to Nayuta).

This next interaction with Yoshida is also interesting. He looks legitimately serious here. His "I'm no fun, huh?" is not one of his usual quips: he's genuinely agreeing to Fami's comment, and accepting as his reality.

Yoshida's painfully accepting that he's never had and will never have the fun/joyful live of a normal highschooler. Death will soon come and everything he'll have experienced are his practised smiles, fake connections and isolation. He's always been an outsider, unable to form connections with his peers, having shaped himself to be a Devil Hunter first and a human second (if at all). This is the alienating world he's chosen, that has forced him to cut all sensorial and social aspects of live. Until he is, as Fami described, no fun at all.

And he suffers all of this completely alone because the mask he's created for himself doesn't allow others to see the pain. He's shaped himself as a "necessary evil", a tool to serve PS, his whole existance defined by his job. He's one of the only main characters that take the treath of the Death Devil completely seriously. He wants the world to be saved, at the expense of his own life, because he wants to do the right thing (that's when he does "evil" things in order to "save the world", he still feels bad about it, like when he had to imprison Denji). But in order to do that, he has to sacrifice himself and his individuality. He believes live is about sacrifices, that wanting more than the choices you're given is selfish, that normalcy is about fitting in the box that's been constructed for you. A completely selfless, "lawful" ideology that goes completely against Denji's.

Yoshida craves human connection, but he can't get it at all, so he buries this need in books, tv and parasocial relations. Even when he tried having an actual connection with Denji, it didn't work at all. He's so painfully lonely and feels that's how it'll be forever. If anything, he acts as a perfect foil for Denji: both craving for actual human connections, and both adopting completely opposite but equally toxic mindsets to cope with the fact they can't get them. Both being forced into being used as tools, objects, but never people.

Then we get to the last scene. After a page of Yoru and Devil "hanging out" as devils, Asa finally takes control of her body again.

It's quite sad that even here, Denji still can't tell the difference of when it's Asa and when it's Yoru. That he still sees them as one big entity is very fucked up.

About Asa's situation right now, I don't know what'll happen. Her situation is as bad and traumatic as Denji's right now. Let's not forget that she's also been a victim of Yoru's SA (it was her body, after all), and she feels responsible for it. Not only that, but she's been forced to see how Denji completely disregards her to happily hang out with her abuser.

Furthermore, her entire motivation has "just" (depending on the precise location of the timeskip) been torn apart. All the stuff about "beating chainsaw man to save Denji" that Fami told her was pure lies, with Yoshida and Yumiko admitting that they want the War Devil to turn CSM into a weapon. She had convinced herself that saving Denji was her responsibility, her purpose, and now she's found out that she's just been used, and the situation just keeps worsening. What does she have left now?

For the record, I don't think she'll attack Denji next chapter. But it'll be as easy as talking it out either. This next arc will most surely be a tough one, as we're getting progressively closer to Part 2's climax.

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